The open clearing was the same as it always was in my dreams, only I was different now. I wasn't restrained, living through someone else's actions. I could move freely and explore the landscape my mind continued to conjure each time I slipped under.

Bloody snow crunched beneath my boots as I ventured forward, trudging through red and white. Dry trees encircled the environment, their curved brittle branches creating a dome around me from the outside world. It was beautiful, yet the cold that viciously nipped at my skin made me wonder how long it had been since warmth was able to exist here.

A subtle gnawing feeling grew within me as I walked. It told me I was meant to be somewhere else. I wanted to listen, to see whatever memory was lying beneath the surface of this dream, but with every new step I took, going deeper into the shelter of winding trees, I was confronted with the undeniable truth that I was returning home. Nothing else seemed to matter after that.

These were the woods of my people; my family.

They walked this same path over a century ago. They settled here as the world evolved. Then, they ultimately died here, too.

I hadn't recognized the typography at first, not used to how winter could interfere with the structure of nature. I had only seen these lands during a decade-long summer. When my grandmother was alive, she would say we were blessed for it. She saw snow as a bad omen; a pale face of death. I wonder what she would say if she knew our home had been consumed by flame instead.

My journey comes to an end when an unidentifiable blur passes me.

I whirl around in a circle, not wanting to keep my back to a potential enemy, but whatever was out there was quick. It disappeared behind thickly frosted tree trunks one second, only to appear in an entirely different area immediately after. I wondered, briefly, if there were multiple foes closing in on me. Though, as I catch glimpses, I'm able to see I'm only in the company of one person.

They have a lengthy cloak made of wool that covers their body, protecting them from the elements. A quiver of stitched leather hangs from a strap wrapped around their hip, holding arrows with feather fletchings. The bow clutched within their nimble fingers is hand-carved, sculpted from fine, dark wood.

It dawns on me then that this is no ordinary person, they're a hunter.

I'm meant to fear this. I'm meant to prepare to fight. I'm meant to do a lot of things, but I don't. I stop searching for the figure and allow it to reveal itself on its own. These are the woods of my people, and nothing that exists here will harm me.

Behind me, the snow shifts.

"Knight," a low, feminine voice speaks. Their tongue holds an accent I can't place, not with one word. Despite that, there's a sense of familiarity that floods me. It's the same sensation one gets when reuniting with an old friend.

I turn to greet them, finding a faceless darkness staring back at me. Their hood is pulled up, a void of black beneath it. I wait for the figure to speak again or show their true face, but neither happens.

The hunter reaches out to me. Their wounded palm faces upward, revealing a thin cut that traveled across the surface of their skin. Drops of their blood fall into the snow as they wait for me to accept their silent offer. I extend my own hand, finding myself willing, but before we can touch, another voice calls for me.

"Jac, come on, wake up."

Lydia's distant, seemingly coming from a place beyond my own mind. She sounds terrified. It makes this dream insignificant. I pull away from the hunter. I wanted answers for what this dream meant, but the needs of my friends would always outweigh my personal desires.

The hunter doesn't seem offended and gently drops their hand, and bows their head. It's a gracious dismissal, and though they don't say a word, I know they're telling me it was okay to leave, but only because our paths would cross again.

"Jac!" the banshee calls again, and this time, I answer.

---

Hands cradle the back of my head, a layer of soft padding between us. It does nothing to dispel the pounding that radiates through my skull.

"She's bleeding," I hear Malia say from above me as my senses return. Her voice is muffled at first, dampened by a faint ringing.

"I can see that," Lydia replies, her tone sarcastic yet troubled.

I force my eyes open, finding the pair kneeling on either side of me. Malia uses her strength to grip my shoulders and keep me upright, while Lydia holds a towel behind my head to control my bleeding.

"Jac?" Lydia stares at me, probably waiting for any signs of brain damage.

I didn't respond at first. Most of my focus goes to my senses, attempting to return them to full capacity. My vision was spotty and my hearing kept fluctuating. It distracted me from remembering how exactly I ended up in this position in the first place.

"What happened?" I croak, immediately pulling myself into a coughing fit. My throat was raw, making it painful to speak. Though, that ache triggers muscle memory. I can feel the Surgeon's phantom hand clutching me once more, and the rest returns in pieces.

I make out distant images, all of them slowly building my memory back together. I see our fortress being nothing more than a playhouse, the plan failing to do what it was meant to, and even the direst of solutions meaning nothing. Then, another image surfaces. Blue eyes turning gold. Fear and rage battled for dominance within them, and I had seen which one won out. I had seen what happened as my plea to run was left unanswered.

My pain becomes nothing more than another fleeting memory after that.

I push Lydia and Malia away, moving to stand. Lydia begins to refuse but I'm already rising to my feet. When I start to sway from side to side, Malia reaches out, clutching my forearm to keep me standing. I'm thankful that she doesn't order me to sit back down, only allows me to compose myself by leaning against her.

When I've regained a bit of my balance, I scan the expanse of the locker room. It was quiet and still, with no sign of Hayden and Liam anywhere.

"Where are they?" I grit out, trying to adapt to the way my throat burns.

Malia and Lydia don't respond. I had assumed it was because they didn't have any leads, but when I take a closer look at their reactions, I see that isn't the only reason for their silence. Lydia avoids my eyes while Malia's more tense than usual. Even through my haze, I can see their guilt clearly. It's easy to figure out then that Lydia wasn't the only one who knew about Scott's true intentions tonight.

They all agreed to risk Hayden's life for a plan they secretly admitted wouldn't work. Now, she was paying the price for their decisions, and so was Liam.

The realization makes me pull away from Malia.

I settle for leaning on a locker unit instead, staggering away from the coyote. Lydia lets out concerned refusals but I don't submit to her. I place my attention on my wound, wanting to make sure it would be bearable. The only thing that mattered now was finding Liam and Hayden, and I couldn't do that unless I was at least at a semi-optimal performance.

I reach for the base of my head, searching for the abrasion caused by my collision with the wall. The gash stings as my fingers prod it, sizing up the minor cut. I'm sure it appeared worse than it felt. Head wounds always have a tendency to look more gruesome than necessary.

I can feel myself slipping, though. My body craves rest. It wants to shut itself down and allow my wound to heal on its own, but that means precious time would be lost. I try to find balance, try to maintain the grasp on sanity I've been striving to have for months, but when my blurry eyesight catches the glint of something silver beside my feet, I feel myself slipping further.

I lower myself onto my knees, staring down at Liam's necklace as it lies discarded on the floor of the locker room, my bullet still attached to its fractured chain.

There was a struggle that occurred after I was rendered unconscious. Whatever happened during it, resulted in Liam's necklace being torn off of him. One of the Dread Doctors forcefully broke the links that held it together as they took him from me.

"Jac?" Lydia says from behind me.

I don't give her any type of acknowledgment as I rise from the floor.

My fist encloses itself over the broken chain, causing my hand to shake from the sheer strength of my grip. Unbridled anger dwells below the surface, and vengeance tempts me with each second that passes. It's been a long time since I felt such a burden, but I can't help it. I'm lost without my star to guide me back.

My instincts default to darker habits, and before I can think, I'm driving my fist into the locker I had used for support, Liam's chain still clutched in my hand.

"Jac, what are you doing?" Lydia trembles urgently.

I strike the metal repeatedly, not bothering to turn to her or Malia, and savor the pain that sparks within me as a result. Each punch holds purpose. It's not sporadic and fueled by thoughtless aggression, not truly. I understand exactly what I'm doing.

Kate had taught me that pain was the quickest way to control. Hunters could give in to the pain and make it into another weapon at our disposal. I'd been scratched and slashed on countless hunts before, but when I concentrated on the agony it provided me with, when I fed off of it, everything else drifted away. Pain could be an anchor, just as much as affection.

I had tried to stray from Kate's teachings these past few months, but I needed them now more than ever. Balance couldn't bring Liam back.

Each hit I make is followed by a deep breath. It's a morbid meditation, but it breeds results. Soon, I can feel my ears pop, and I'm able to make out the sound of flesh against metal. My sight slowly follows through harsh blinks, and though it's not perfect, it's enough.

After a while, I remove myself from the locker and stand on my own, ignoring the blood that coats various parts of my body and threatens to swallow me whole.

"Jac?" Malia is the one to speak this time. Her voice is hesitant, something that's rare for her.

She and Lydia stand there, waiting for me to give any sort of explanation for my actions of apparent madness. They don't get one, especially not as rapid footsteps sound from the hallway.

We all turn to face what's coming, our stances defensive. Malia pulls Lydia behind her, letting out a low growl as the footsteps draw closer. A bit of the tension in the room eases when Scott and Mason reveal themselves in the doorway. I'm not sure what the latter's doing here, but I can't bring myself to ask him for an explanation, because I also can't bring myself to tell him what's happened.

Their eyes widened at the scene of the wrecked locker room, various units strewed about, and a part of the wall shattered. Though, it's nothing in comparison to their reaction when they notice the absence of two other people.

"They're gone," Lydia whispers, breaking the news shakily.

"Hayden and Liam are gone," Malia repeats after her grimly.

Scott and Mason stand there helplessly, neither of them able to even speak as an extension of themselves has vanished. Mason's best friend is gone. Scott's Beta is gone. Both connections would feel like the loss of a limb if we were unable to find him.

Scott's gaze travels downward, spotting the smudges of my blood coated on the floor. He immediately looks at me, his dark brown eyes seemingly turning black from distress.

"Your head," he breathes out, coming toward me.

"Scott-"

"Let me take your pain," he says, reaching for my hand.

His fingers graze the skin of my wrist, making me recoil as if I've been burned. Scott's expression battles between shock and hurt, unsure of why. He doesn't understand that his taking my pain has caused me more harm than good, and led to more suffering than peace.

He doesn't understand, because I'm too much of a coward to make him.

"I barely feel it," I force out.

"That's because of your adrenaline," Scott says softly, reaching for me again with a tentative hand as if I'm one of the aggressive animals he and Deaton treat at the clinic.

This time, I side-step him completely, unable to help the glower my face defaults to. Anger was a quick and reliant defense mechanism, more effective than truth. If he saw through me, he wouldn't let me step foot out of this locker room, and that wasn't an option.

"That's because it doesn't hurt," I corrected heatedly.

As if I've struck him, Scott flinches away from me. His arguments disappear and he doesn't reach for me again, only stares at me with distant eyes. The silence is worse than him pestering me, as it only makes time stretch farther.

I move forward, making him focus on me. "We need to find them before it's too late, Scott. You know we do."

He nods slowly. The sorrow fades from his features and it's replaced by determination as everything catches up to him. He knows what's at stake here, and I'm not the only one who can't lose their Beta.

I pass Scott, going over to where Liam, Hayden, and I had been seated all night. The others watched me strangely, unsure of what I was doing. They only grow more confused when I throw a bundled-up towel at Scott's chest, the Alpha catching it at the last second.

"It has Hayden's scent," I explain.

She had been using it as a makeshift pillow as she slept. We also had her bag, but the faux leather material wasn't as reliable for tracking compared to cotton. Both materials absorbed scent, but at a different capacity. That's why most hunters stuck to wearing leather. A creature couldn't run from what it could barely pick up on.

I also grab Liam's discarded jacket and toss it to Malia. She's the only other being here with a scenting ability, and it would be best if she and Scott tracked one person at a time, that way they wouldn't get mixed up.

"We'll split up to cover more ground. I'll comb the surrounding streets and work my way out, you two take the preserve. If you find anything, you call me," I order them gruffly, not caring how demanding it sounded. This wasn't a time to be delicate, it was a time for action.

We had no idea where the Dread Doctors' base of operations was or what they were intending to do with Hayden and Liam, but based on their track record, the sooner we found them, the better.

Scott and Malia both nod, taking the commands without question.

"Where's Parrish?" I ask the coyote, noting the lack of a certain deputy.

"He's gone, too," she replies.

"They took him?" Lydia interjects, horrified at the idea of Parrish being abducted. Malia shakes her head, wanting to put an end to Lydia's worries.

"I saw him drive off before they even came in," she says, speaking of the Dread Doctors' unannounced arrival.

"Why would he leave?" Lydia asks, more confused than she already was.

"We can deal with that later," I reply, my voice far too sharp for debate.

If Parrish hadn't been taken, then we were wasting time wondering where he was or why he left. He could explain himself later and make whatever apologies he wanted to, but he would do it when Hayden and Liam were returned safe and sound.

I pocket Liam's broken necklace before grabbing my gloves and helmet, slipping the former on as I speak to Mason and Lydia.

"You guys stay here," I say. "If they're able to escape, they're going to try and find us and circle back. Turn off the rest of the cell jammers and keep your phones on."

There's a bit of guilt in my words that I have to hide. I only wanted them to remain here because they would be liabilities. Neither of them knew how to fight or track. If they went off on their own, things would inevitably go off the rails.

Malia and Scott both sniff their respective sources, gathering up as much of Liam and Hayden's scent as they can. I give them a questioning look, silently asking if they're ready. I wasn't going with them, but I wasn't leaving until I was sure they would be out there searching, too.

"Let's go," Scott says, dropping the towel before bolting out of the locker room. Malia follows his lead, passing Mason Liam's jacket.

I follow behind them, all of us racing to exit the building. Each step feels like another blow to my head, but I've had worse injuries than this and was still able to find a way to fight. If anything, my purpose to remain standing was stronger now than ever.

We split when we reach the parking lot. Malia and Scott head in the direction of the field, intending to use the adjacent treeline as an entry point into Beacon Hills' massive preserve, while I continue on the path to my motorcycle.

"If you don't find anything in thirty minutes, you call me!" I shout over my shoulder before they get too far.

I slip on my helmet when I reach my bike, straddling the seat with ease. I make quick work of starting it up, earning a powerful roar from the engine. It's as if it's calling out for Liam, too. I give the tank a solid pat, grateful I wasn't entirely alone at this moment.

I pull out of the lot, swiftly taking the main road.

Not too many cars were out yet, the morning still bordering on night. It allowed me to speedily make my way through the neighborhood that surrounded the school. I kept my eyes peeled for anything or anyone, but eventually, it became clear that my search may be futile.

There are no screams for help. No flickering street lights to guide the way. Nothing.

"Liam! Hayden!" I call out over and over again, my throat aching from use.

I work my way out of the docile community and venture into the heart of the town, various local businesses, and establishments around me now rather than cozy homes. I peer down dark alleys and my gaze lingers on the faces of people sleeping on the streets, wondering if they might be familiar.

None of it matters, as I still come up empty.

Things only worsen when I catch a pungent whiff of smoke. I fear that it's my engine burning out, but it remains perfectly steady. I lift my visor momentarily when I reach a red light, looking up at the dark sky above me, finding billows of gray. I squint, trying to discern its origin, and my heart all but skips a beat when I do.

It's coming from the clinic.

"Stiles," I breathe out in panic. I no longer have to wait for the light to turn green as I make a right turn, my path tonight now taking me in an entirely new direction.

I'm mildly relieved when I near the clinic, finding that the building wasn't up in flames. Whenever Deaton would return from his mysterious trip, I doubted he would want to find his place of work burned to rubble. Though, that relief is short-lived when I enter the back lot and discover the true source of the fire.

Stiles' Jeep is flipped over, and the gas that poured from it ignited the ground in its immediate vicinity. The Stilinski boy himself lies unconscious on the interior roof of the overturned vehicle, the flames closing in around him.

"Stiles!" I shout as I bring my kickstand down, not bothering to switch my bike off.

I sprint toward him, ignoring the harsh lick of flames against my skin as I crouch beside the Jeep, tucking my arms under his to drag his limp body onto the gravel and away from the wreck. He begins to wake in my arms, his body violently shaking as he hacks up a lung, the smoke drying his throat.

I crouch at his side and take my helmet off, moving to hold him in a seated position. I wipe his face clean as it's covered with ash and blood splatter. The blood doesn't worry me much when I realize it isn't his.

"What the hell happened?" I ask.

His mouth forms words as he attempts to respond, but only more coughing pours out. I start patting his back, hoping that would aid him even the tiniest bit.

"Look out," a voice comes from behind me.

Theo marches toward Stiles and I as he exits the clinic, a fire extinguisher in his hands. He stands between us and the growing flames, killing the nearby waves of bright orange in a cloud of white.

He sprays Stiles' Jeep first, then works his way around until all that's left is smoke. When he turns to Stiles and I, my eyes are drawn to the left side of his face. Blood pours from his nose and forehead, and there's a splotch of black char on his cheek. His healing has done its job to get rid of any real damage, but the remnants of his injuries remain to inform me as to whose blood was all over Stiles.

"The body's gone," he says as he drops the extinguisher.

Apparently, the plan at the school wasn't the only one doomed to fail tonight.

"Who was it? Did you see them?" Stiles rushes out, trying to speak before the smoke overpowers him again.

"The camera didn't catch it, and when they hit me... all I saw was fire." Theo looks at us, but I can tell he's thinking back to what happened, trying to remember.

Stiles obviously wants to ask him more but the smoke he breathed in won't allow him to. He starts to cough wildly again, even going so far as to spit onto the ground in hopes of clearing his throat.

"He took in a lot of smoke, we should get him to the hospital," Theo says to me.

"I'm fine," Stiles dismisses him, his breathing evening out. He soon does a double-take on me, as if only realizing now I'm the one at his side.

"What are you doing here?" He asks.

I hesitate, finally having to say the words myself.

"They took them, Stiles," I say slowly. "Hayden and Liam, the Dread Doctors took them."

Theo and Stiles both freeze at the news, but it's Stiles who reaches to place his hand over mine as it rests on his upper arm. I hold his gaze, giving myself a moment to breathe in the empathy he offers me. He knows how I feel about Liam, even if he isn't aware of the whole story, and he also knows this is beyond bearable for me.

A static noise coming from the Jeep interrupts us. Stiles, Theo, and I all turn, listening as a police radio the Stilinski boy "borrowed" from his father comes to life.

"Suspect in one-eight-seven is in custody and en route to station," says a male deputy. "Suspect's name is Yukimura, Kira."

At the mention of Kira, I feel Stiles freeze under my touch. He understands the code being used, and his reaction tells me it's nothing good.

"What's a one-eight-seven?" Theo asks, just as lost as I am.

Stiles' hand grips mine tighter, as if clinging to a lifeline. It's a silent admission that there might not be any turning back after this. Things had changed tonight, and if we didn't prepare for what would come, they would never be the same again.

"Homicide," he says, his voice holding more weight than I ever thought possible.

~

||| A/N |||

vote and/or comment if ya want!!

the teen wolf movie is almost here yall, i'm so excited. i can't wait to see void-allison and watch her try and murder everyone.

*fingers crossed isaac makes an appearance cause that's my boi*

also, i want to write a book for the movie with jac, but if liam dies, i might not lmao

<3