Through the various windows of the library, I witnessed as day began to fall to night. A fiery glow filled the building from the sunset, signaling that it had been some time since we started our research.

Over a dozen books were splayed out on the table, the five of us marking various pages with brightly colored tabs, while taking individual notes on anything that had some sort of connection to our current problem.

None of us really spoke, it felt like hours since anyone actually said a full sentence. We were all focused on the task at hand, and there was also some residual tension from last night that no one seemed brave enough to comment on.

Scott's phone broke our silence before any of us grew the courage to.

He grabs the device from off the surface of the table when it chimes, his expression shifting from inconvenienced to concerned.

"What is it?" I ask.

"My mom says there's some kid at the hospital who needs help. He's in a lot of pain but nothing's working on him," Scott explains.

"Go. Let us know if you need backup." Stiles doesn't hesitate to dismiss his best friend. If Melisa deemed someone's pain a big enough problem to bring Scott into the equation, that meant he had far more important things to tend to than reading books and taking notes.

He gives a grateful nod to all of us for not holding his departure against him before he and Kira begin to collect their things. She drove him to school today after staying at his place yesterday, so unless Scott wanted to run to the hospital, she would have to go too.

They leave quickly, probably not wanting to make Melissa wait for long.

Malia, Stiles, and I resume our work, taking the books that the kitsune and wolf had left behind into our own individual piles.

After a while, Malia lets out a fussy sigh before pushing back from the table, her chair scraping against the hardwood floor.

"I'm gonna go buy a soda from the vending machine, you guys want anything?"

I could tell that the soda was more of an excuse for her to stretch her legs after sitting in the same position for what was probably three hours. Malia may not have been an animal anymore, but she still hated the feeling of being cooped up like one.

"Soda too, thanks," Stiles replies.

I hold up the half-filled bottle of water I already had. "I'm all set."

She nods at my refusal before jogging down the stairs, leaving the library with more speed than necessary. I keep my eyes trained on the novel of various German legends in my hand, using that as a way to appear busy when I feel Stiles staring at me, his eyes like thorns in my side.

"Water's good for the skin," he says, attempting to spark a conversation between us.

"Hydrating," he adds desperately, waiting for a response. I don't speak or make any sort of indication that I've heard him, continuing to read. Though, it becomes impossible to actually retain anything as he continues.

"Cleansing," he notes another useless word, and is met with silence once more.

With a deep breath, he finally snaps.

"Are you gonna ignore me forever?"

"Are you gonna be annoying forever?" I shoot back at him, my eyes still glued to the page in front of me.

"Possibly." He shrugs, then thinks for a moment before correcting himself. "Definitely."

"Then I'll get back to you on that," I scoff.

He huffs as he tosses the book he had been reading aside, turning in his chair to face me completely. He wasn't giving up.

"I know I sounded like a jackass at the station."

He seems guilty and I'm reluctantly angered by that. His accusation hurt me. Stiles knew how hard I had to work to separate myself from who I am now from who I used to be, and it felt like all of that effort didn't matter to him with four measly words. What did you do?

I didn't want to be upset with Stiles, I knew his intentions were on the right side of things, but I couldn't help it. His remorse didn't feel earned because he had yet to do the one thing that would genuinely fix everything - actually apologize.

"Did you really think I killed her?" I ask him, a controlled glare on my face.

I'm doing my best not to lash out. The thing with Stiles though, was that he always had a way of pressing people's buttons to get a reaction. That's why I didn't stand a chance of actually avoiding him. That's also why there was a high probability I'd want to throw him off the balcony we were on if he said something that rubbed me the wrong way again.

"For a second," he admits somberly. "Then once I said it, and I saw your face..." he trails off, both of us reliving the heartbreak I felt.

The fact that Stiles was being honest helped to combat that.

Even before we trusted each other, when I was still Gerard's puppet, I respected that in Stiles. He didn't lie, and it wasn't just because he sucked at it. He saw truth as something valuable. But sometimes there were certain truths that were a little harder to swallow.

"It's just the way you were talking about it before that. You can't blame me for assuming, Jac," Stiles continues, speaking of my open support of Malia's idea to put Tracy down. The memory fills me with shame, knowing what I know now.

"We're supposed to do the saving part, not the part people need saving from, and it's like you forgot that."

The difference in my morals from Scott and Stiles had always been a point of contention. Though I'd adapted to their philosophy in some ways, the part of my being that analyzed threats and calculated different ways to neutralize them wouldn't go away.

Even now, sitting here in the library, I can't imagine it as an ordinary building.

I'm keeping track of everyone coming and going, watching the exits, pinpointing what could be used as a weapon if we were to be attacked right here and now. When I look at the scaffolding around us I don't see architecture and creation, I see metal poles that could be used as blunt-force objects and murder weapons.

Overcoming a killer instinct wasn't so easy for a person who felt it every day, not only on nights of a full moon. I was trained to put my faith in death, even as a child. It was the closest thing hunters had to a God, as we were all raised to think of it as the answer, whether it was to our lives or the things we hunted. Death was a constant.

"This world isn't black and white, Stiles. There aren't good guys or bad guys, there are just people who make mistakes and then people who try to fix them," I defend myself.

"Murder isn't a mistake. You know that now," Stiles says, and there's a layer of sympathy in his tone that makes me recoil. Why did they always feel the need to pity me?

"Yeah, and I had to learn that the hard way. Be grateful you didn't." I reply sharply, making him flinch at the anger I directed toward him. I regret it instantly, but the shame I feel for my reaction, and the fact that Malia returns, make me remain silent.

She doesn't pick up on the tension that divides Stiles and I, simply grinning as she comes back to the table, throwing Stiles' can of soda at him. He catches it swiftly, narrowly avoiding having the aluminum beverage pelt him in the face.

"I have to go," I announce, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. Stiles turns back to me, obvious refusal about to spew out of him.

"Jac-"

"I forgot that I actually do have plans. I'm hanging out with Brett tonight."

It wouldn't be a complete lie, I did intend to find the Talbot boy after this. I wanted to talk to someone and get my mind off of things, resenting the idea of being alone with my own thoughts, but everyone I gravitated towards was busy or hospitalized, so that left me with Brett as my next closest confidant.

Times like this really made me wish for a best friend to talk to, but I wasn't sure anyone would be able to fill the shoes of a certain archer.

"You guys can hold onto the books, just don't damage them," I say that part softly, using that as a way to tell Stiles I wasn't completely pissed, but my wounds were too fresh to be dealt with right now.

He doesn't argue again, and I walk away without another word exchanged.

The campus is empty, for the most part. It's not completely dark out yet so there are still some people meandering the grounds, but they'll be leaving soon enough. The last people here tonight would be Stiles and Malia.

I make my way to the parking lot, finding my motorcycle.

Due to the fact that I had to lug around all those books with me today, I didn't have the space for my helmet, so I had to leave it here. Thankfully, it was still waiting for me on my seat and no one felt the need to steal the scuffed-up piece of gear.

Leaving the high school, I headed downtown.

I didn't have to text Brett to ask where he was, already aware of his whereabouts at this time of day. Richard's Repairs belonged to its namesake, Brett's fellow Beta. He owned the auto shop and only employed other werewolves, wanting to ensure that creatures like him were able to get jobs with more lenient and understandable conditions.

It wasn't the most luxurious establishment, the bricks that the building was made up of were covered in graffiti, and its location beside the highway meant there were typically tons of roadside debris around the area, but it still felt like a haven of sorts.

Before I even enter the front lot, I spot Richard coming out of the open garage.

His eyes are glued to me as I pull in off the road, probably having heard my engine approaching. He was familiar with the sound by now, considering how many times he's worked on my bike at this point.

When I park he strolls on over, wiping his grease-covered hands on a stained rag.

"There she is." He beams in my direction, his hands held out in greeting.

I moved to shake his hands, our usual polite exchange whenever we saw each other, but he leaves me standing there like an idiot as he passes right by me, going for my bike. He makes cooing noises as he caresses the tank, acting as though he's a mother with her newborn.

He turns to me after a few seconds, putting on a falsely surprised expression.

"Oh, Knight, you're here too."

"You're a funny guy, Rich," I reply with bitter sarcasm.

He lets out an obnoxious laugh, finally reaching to take my empty hand and shake it briefly.

Richard and I had grown to something close to friends over the past couple of months. He no longer wanted to mame me and I wasn't entirely annoyed by him anymore. Brett helped to bridge the gap for us, and I was grateful because the bearded man before me was some of the best company I'd had for a while.

"So, you here for me or pretty boy?" Richard asks knowingly.

"You just mentioned yourself twice." I fake confusion, and he lets out another howl of laughter. He smacks my shoulders a couple of times, a good-natured gesture between us, before guiding me into the garage.

"I can't believe I wanted to rip your head off the first time we met," he sighs dreamily as if our first encounter was anything to be nostalgic about.

"You know, you mention that a lot," I say in a mockingly wary tone, only adding to his amusement.

Richard takes me into the back of the garage where Brett is mopping the floors, his face set in concentration as he tries to scrub out a sticky black stain.

"Kid, you got a visitor."

Brett's eyes go from his boss to me, smiling in my direction. Though, it's clear he's curious as to why I'm here. Richard dismisses himself, leaving Brett and I to talk.

"What's up?" he quizzes me, placing his mop back into the murky bucket of cleaning solution.

"You wanna hang out tonight? Figured we could study together, maybe get a pizza. On me."

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he chooses to observe me. It makes me shift uncomfortably and focus on the random sets of wrenches on the wall rather than him.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," I reply automatically, crossing my arms in a manner bordering on defensive. It makes me promptly uncross them.

He narrows his eyes, seeing right through me. "So you willingly chose me to hang out with me over the rest of your pack?"

"Mhm," I hum.

"Okay, fine," Brett agrees, surprisingly easily. "But we're not studying. I have something way better in mind."

Of course, there had to be a catch with him.

"And what would that be?"

"No questions. You owe me one, remember?" He raises his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for me to accept the offer.

"Fine," I relent, leaning against a nearby table, settling in for the wait ahead of me as Brett's shift would inevitably come to an end.

"Don't worry, it'll be fun," he assures me, returning to mopping. Though, it's off-putting how delighted he looks to be doing that task now, a devilish smirk on his lips.

---

To put it mildly, Brett and I had different definitions of fun.

Instead of having a quiet night in, studying over a couple of boxes of pizza, he dragged me to an overstuffed nightclub, Sinema, where he bribed a bouncer to let us in with a bunch of other underaged patrons.

At least the club has a fitting name, as I was sure nothing holy was capable of surviving here.

There were multiple cages on the dance floor, each of them filled with half-naked people groping the air and each other. Smoke filled the space around us, and by its funny scent, I could tell it wasn't all from a cigarette. I had also never seen so many speedos in one place. The only thing that actually intrigued me here was the projected films on the walls, all classic black and white pictures.

Though, it's not as if I could simply stand around to enjoy them.

Every step I took I collided with another person. I couldn't even remove my denim jacket to relieve myself of my growing warmth, because the layer of fabric between my skin and the skin of every stranger around me was the only thing keeping me sane.

"I would've preferred to study," I grumble to Brett as he eagerly sways to the beat of the electronic, heavy bass beats playing. He looked right at home in the swarm of drunken overstimulation.

"This is studying, in some way." He waves me off.

"Oh, yeah? What are we studying exactly? If we can get an airborne STD?"

Brett gives me a blank look, obviously not pleased with my buzzkill attitude.

"You need a pick-me-up," he states, reverting back to his original coy nature. His eyes leave mine to scan the area around us, stopping when he spots whoever he's searching for.

I follow his gaze, finding Hayden.

She was in the middle of the hoard of sloppily drunk bodies, a tray in her hands that was stacked with glass vials, all of them filled with oddly colored liquor. I'm surprised to see her here, as being a waitress in an unsavory nightclub wasn't the most conventional career choice a teenager chooses.

"Shot girl!" Brett cups his hands to his mouth to increase the volume of his voice, trying to get Hayden's attention. It doesn't work, the music and people already talking to Hayden contribute to the fact that she can't hear him.

"Shot girl!" he repeats in a high pitch making me roll my eyes at how obnoxious he sounds.

"Her name's Hayden," I mutter, knowing he heard me. One of the only perks of going clubbing with a werewolf was I didn't have to strain my already injured voice.

"Hayden!" Brett tries again, and this time we're finally recognized by a pair of dark brown eyes.

She slips through the dancing bodies with ease, a natural in this environment. I assumed it meant she had been working here for quite some time.

"What can I get you guys?" She grins when she reaches us.

"Two shots. Each," Brett says before tilting his head in my direction. "And she's paying."

He doesn't even wait for me to respond before he takes the shots from Hayden's tray, walking off as he tanks both simultaneously. I watch him, my mouth slightly opened, starting to regret seeking his company tonight rather than just dealing with isolation.

"I hope he's not your date." Hayden winces, her words drenched in pity.

"Definitely not. He's just a leech disguised as my friend," I grumble spitefully, reaching into my jeans to pull out my wallet and fund Brett's purchase.

Hayden takes me by surprise by letting out a burst of laughter. My grimace slips into a smile, pleased that someone found amusement in my bitter attitude rather than feeling the need to judge it.

Her humor comes to an abrupt end when I hand the money over.

"Oh, dang it, I have to make change. I'll be right back," she panics, moving to take a rushed step backward. I hold my hand out, stopping her.

"It's fine, just keep the rest."

Her eyes widened the slightest bit. "The shots are only forty. That's a sixty-dollar tip," she says, seeming almost ready for me to rip the money out of her hands after just offering it to her.

"I know," I reply simply.

She studies me for a moment, eyes narrowed and jaw set, appearing almost peeved.

"Are you messing with me?"

"No," I brush off my shock at her question. "Do people usually give you fake tips?"

"All the time," she answers. I don't like that her tone makes that situation sound normal.

"Keep the damn tip, Hayden," I laugh, and her expression softens as she joins me. It helps me to forget for a moment that I'm in the middle of one of my worst living nightmares.

She hands me my shots and seems like she wants to keep talking, something I wouldn't have minded, but her phone beeps to get her attention. She grabs it from the waistband of her skirt, sighing before looking back up at me.

"I have to go, but thanks, Jac. I really appreciate it," she says genuinely.

I give her a polite nod before she walks away in the direction of the back of the club. When she's gone, I return to Brett.

He's in the middle of a random couple, a guy and a woman, and dances with each of them in a salacious manner. It makes me scoff, wondering if there was anything on this planet that breathed that Brett hadn't tried to flirt with.

My exasperation convinces me to down the first shot, wondering if it would improve my mood. I swallow it in one gulp, not wanting to have it linger in my mouth for a longer time than necessary. It stings the back of my throat on the way down, and I cringe at the surprisingly perfumey taste.

"That's disgusting," I mumble.

"You're just a lightweight," Brett snidely comments as he rejoins me, his dance partners abandoned now that I was nearby. How kind of him to grace me with his presence once more.

"And you're a terrible dancer," I retort.

He simply chuckles in response, reaching for my wrist. He lifts my hand closer to my face, an unspoken instruction to finish my next shot. I don't fight him on it and tank the second vial with ease.

"Feel better, don't you?"

I reflect on his question and find that he's not completely wrong.

I'm still aware of the bodies around us, but I'll admit they aren't as suffocating as before.

The sweaty strangers that grind one another don't phase me, nor do the inebriated teenagers that were definitely breaking their curfew. I'm not thinking about masked men, the secrets I have that are starting to pile up, or the feeling of impending doom that has been hanging over me lately.

There's almost a fuzzy filter in my mind now, fixing every blemish in my reality. All I feel is the artificial illusion of peace, blissfully ignorant.

My focus narrows in on a strobe on the far wall.

It flashes repeatedly over the crowd, breaking up everyone's movements into bursts when they become visible in the darkness. My vision starts to spot as I stare into it, almost hypnotized. Someone saves me from unintentionally blinding myself as they step into the middle of the sporadic beam, making their way in our direction.

With each step they take, I make out Liam's features.

I started to debate whether or not Brett was right, and I really am a lightweight. Surely I was, because this had to be an alcohol-induced hallucination. If it wasn't, that meant my star had fallen from the heavens and was now in a room of sin, and this was no place for him.

"Do you see him too?" I whisper to Brett.

He gives me a moderately crazed look in response before rolling his eyes at my dazed attitude.

"You're definitely a lightweight."

Definitely.

"Jac, Brett," comes Mason's voice from the light. He steps beside Liam, their combined statures blocking out the bright strobing, allowing me to see them. "We had no idea you guys would be here, too."

Mason smiles cheerfully, while Liam's expression is painfully neutral. I can't decipher his reaction to Brett and I hanging out together in a sleazy club, something that I hadn't told him about, and my numbness begins to fade into guilt because of it.

"It was a last-minute kind of thing," I say dismissively, my words directed more at Liam in hopes of him understanding I wasn't lying.

Brett gives me a sly glance before clapping his hand on Mason's shoulder, beginning to drag him away from Liam and I.

"Why don't we do a couple of shots, and then I'll introduce you to some guys?" he offers up the bait, and Mason eagerly bites.

"Absolutely," he breathes out in excitement.

Brett gives me another discreet look as he walks off with Mason, the boy too excited to notice that Liam and I weren't following along. The wolf didn't have to say it, but we both knew that yet again, I owed him.

When they're gone, I look to Liam.

It takes a conscious effort for me to actually focus on him and not ogle at his appearance. He and Mason both cleaned up for their night out, and it was a daunting change of pace to see him wear a leather jacket that accentuated his muscular frame, rather than worn-out hoodies that deflated him.

I'd come to the conclusion that I hated shots. Such a thin vial of mystery liquid had far too much power over my faculties.

"Jac?" Liam gives me a cautious once over. It's earned, as I've done nothing for the last minute but stare at him.

"I know I told you earlier I was gonna be with the pack, and I was, but things got super awkward that I had to leave, and you were busy and I didn't want to be alone, so I-"

The beginning of my nervous rant is cut short by Liam's light laughter.

"Jac, you don't have to explain yourself to me." He shrugs as if it's the easiest thing in the world. "I trust you."

"Oh," I mumble.

It dawned on me then that my default setting was to always expect a negative reaction. Whether it be with Kate and Gerard, or my friends and Liam, I had a compulsion to please. I needed them to think of me as worthy of their favor whenever I disappointed them.

Though now, I had to remind myself that there was no reason to fall to my knees and beg for Liam's forgiveness because I hadn't done anything wrong in the first place.

"Brett and I not getting along has nothing to do with you. I mean, yeah, he was a huge jerk when we were kids, but I can't lie and say I don't think he's capable of changing-"

"Considering the fact that you're dating a werewolf hunter?" I finish for him.

I wasn't sure what happened between Liam and Brett when they were at Devenford, but I was sure that it wasn't worse than my own personal history. Murder typically had a way of topping the list of horrible things people have done.

If Liam could find a way to forgive what I did, it wouldn't be so far-fetched for him to do the same for Brett.

"Something like that," Liam chuckles softly, and that sound brings me a real sense of peace that no drink on the planet can replicate.

I take a step closer to him, using the space of our two bodies to create a bubble in the middle of the dance floor where it's only us.

"So you and Mason are clubbing now?" I question him jokingly, though there was a bit of genuine interest there since this wasn't as life-or-death as Mason had made it seem.

"I'm supposed to be his hot flight attendant," Liam responds, not at all sarcastic. I decide not to even attempt to define what that means and simply nod along.

"You're not gonna question that?" He asks.

"It's you and Mason. I think that about sums it up," I say honestly, earning a warm laugh in response.

At the mention of his best friend, Liam searches for him. He finds Mason at the bar with Brett, both of them chatting up a handful of guys who have incredibly prominent bone structures, appearing to have the time of their lives.

Brett feels us staring and takes his attention off of Mason for a split second to raise the shot glass in his hands, a saluting gesture in our direction. It's his way of giving an unsaid promise to keep watch over the Hewitt boy, allowing us to have a moment to ourselves.

Liam turns to me with a smile and a hint of mischief in his eyes. He holds his hand out to me, and it's a reflex for me to take it.

The two of us begin to travel through the crowd. Liam extends his free hand outward to nudge people aside, clearing a path for me so I wouldn't have to accidentally graze another person. None of them notice he's herding them, all too drunk or lost in the music.

I'm not sure where we're going, but Liam seems to have a set place in mind. He makes a direct line for one of the lengthy beaded curtains that break up parts of the club and pulls aside, breaking the image of a projected movie above us to reveal a dimly lit back room.

Not wanting to draw attention to us, I slip inside quickly, Liam right behind me.

This appeared to be a storage room for the bar. There were a couple of crates piled high and unopened bottles on the shelves all around. It seemed like the last place anyone would want to be, but for me, it was perfect. 

There was no one here but Liam and I, the two of us finally alone.

We share a secret smile as we step closer to each other. His hand slips out of mine to cradle the back of my head, leaning in. He pauses right before our lips touch, not wanting to make a move I wasn't okay with. I respond by closing the gap between us.

His lips move against mine slowly at first. This kiss is as tender as every other one we've shared until his other hand clutches my waist. My shirt had unknowingly ridden up through our rushed journey, so I wasn't expecting to feel his fingers against my skin, and the sensation makes me gasp.

Liam pulls back to make sure I'm okay, realizing a second later what earned my reaction. He waits for me to put an end to this, but I don't. My arms wrap around his neck to hold him closer, picking up where we left off. The kiss shifts after that. No longer is it a swift press of lips, it's something needy and heated.

Liam begins to leave a trail of sloppy kisses from my lips to my cheek, down to my neck. His lips linger across the bruises there like they had done this morning, but this time the gesture feels far less innocent.

His kiss ignited a flame inside of me and it felt like my entire body was being swallowed by light. It was pure, and probably the closest I'd ever get to experiencing heaven. It only comes to an end when Liam peers up at me with swollen lips and golden eyes. 

"Your eyes," I warn him urgently.

If we were at the loft I wouldn't have cared, but as easy as it was to forget with him pressed against me, we were still in public. There was nothing but a few bead-covered strings between us and over a hundred people. If any one of them saw his real eyes, we'd be in some serious trouble.

Liam's expression sobers and he squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head as if physically trying to clear his thoughts. When he reopens them, they're blue once more.

"My bad." He winces sheepishly, making me laugh. 

He mirrors the sound as we begin to lean into each other once more, but stop when his concentration is abruptly stolen. He tilts his head to the side and focuses on something I can't sense as a human.

"What is it?" I ask, my guard slowly building itself back up.

"I - I'm not too sure. Someone's scent... it's off," he explains as best as he can, obviously confused by what he'd unintentionally picked up.

"Werewolf?"

He shakes his head, still unsure. "I don't know," he says grimly.

Tracy's abnormal transformation left a bitter impression, and though neither of us said it, we both wondered if perhaps the person buried in the second hole in the woods was here tonight. It's clear that the ardent moment between us has passed. We had real responsibilities to deal with now.

"Let's go find Brett. Maybe he knows something?" I suggest and Liam nods, both of us heading back out into the club with joined hands to face the unknown threat together.

~

||| A/N |||

vote and/or comment if ya want!

This part was kinda long, but I decided not to break it up like usual cause it wasn't THAT long. Hope yall enjoyed <3