Quinn's grip on Isaac was fierce as she held him tight, her arms wrapped around him after he'd been trapped in a grave by the overturned backhoe. Isaac kept insisting he was fine, but Quinn wasn't having it. She could see the exhaustion in his eyes, and feel the tension in his body.

The fear she'd been carrying ever since the body had been found in the woods six months ago hadn't faded, and now, with Isaac's late-night work and the growing unease in their town, she couldn't shake the thought that he could be the next target. Whatever had murdered that poor girl was still out there, and Quinn refused to let Isaac be next.

Most people would probably find Quinn's constant presence annoying, even suffocating, but not Isaac. For him, it was the only thing that made sense. She was his anchor, the one person who always seemed to get it, even when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

He may not have had the courage to stand up to his father—who was always just one step away from breaking him completely—but having Quinn by his side, always looking out for him, gave him a strength he didn't know he had.

But there was a nagging discomfort in Isaac's chest that wouldn't go away, something he hated about himself more than anything. He was lying to Quinn. She had no idea that the moment he fell into the grave, Derek Hale had been the one to save him, and Derek had made him an offer. A chance to become stronger, braver—a chance to protect himself, to protect Quinn. All he had to do was seek out Derek at the old, burned-down Hale house and receive the "gift." The bite. The transformation.

At first, Isaac had refused. He couldn't imagine turning his back on everything they'd been through, especially on the promise he'd made to Quinn: never lie, never hide anything from each other. They had grown up sharing every secret, every fear. But the pain in his chest, the weight of his father's wrath, and the constant terror that Quinn might be taken away from him—he knew he needed to be stronger. Stronger for her.

That night, everything changed. Isaac sat at the dinner table with his father, the air thick with the familiar tension. His father's voice, sharp and cutting, was laced with anger. The sound of glass shattering echoed through the house as usual. The neighbours, as always, pretended they didn't hear it, turning a blind eye to the chaos inside the Lahey home. Isaac didn't know how much longer he could take it.

His escape came in the form of running out of the house, out of breath, heart pounding. His first instinct was to head to Quinn's house. But as he stood outside, staring at her front door, a bitter curse escaped his lips. He couldn't go in. Not tonight. He turned away, a sense of urgency driving him toward the Hale house instead. He needed the bite. It was the only way he could protect her. It was the only way he could protect himself.

Meanwhile, Quinn was fighting her own battle. Her older brother had locked her out of the house, leaving her stranded in the cold with no place to go. Frustrated and angry, she made her way to Isaac's house, but when she got there, he wasn't home.

Panic surged through her as she realized she was on her own. With nowhere to turn, she spent the night outside, alone. She couldn't understand why Isaac wasn't there, why he wasn't answering her calls. Where was he? Why hadn't he come for her?

The storm that night didn't just bring rain—it marked the beginning of a rift between them. The lies. The secrets. The broken promises. Isaac had gone to Derek Hale, and Quinn had no idea that the person she had once been able to rely on was slipping further and further away from her.

Isaac was now part of a pack, surrounded by people who understood him in ways Quinn couldn't. Meanwhile, Quinn—who had once always been able to lean on Isaac—was slowly left with no one. No one but herself.

When the weekend passed and Quinn still hadn't been able to get in touch with Isaac, anxiety gnawed at her insides. Something had to have happened. He couldn't just vanish like that.

When she finally saw him at school, her heart gave a painful twist. He was different. Isaac, the quiet boy who used to be by her side, now stood in the middle of a crowd, laughing and joking with a group of people she didn't recognize. He was acting like someone else, someone she didn't know.

She watched him from a distance, a hollow feeling settling in her chest. Isaac had changed. He wasn't the same person who had once shared everything with her. And she was left alone, watching as he disappeared into a world that didn't include her.

The promises they had made as children, those sacred vows they had sworn to each other, now felt like distant memories, faded and almost unreachable. They had once been the foundation of everything they were—unshakable and pure. But now, those promises were buried under the weight of unspoken truths, half-lies, and the growing distance between them.

What had been a bond of trust and unspoken understanding was now torn apart by secrets, some told, some hidden away, and the harsh reality of their separate paths. The laughter they once shared now seemed like an echo, and the connection that had once seemed so impossible to break had frayed, leaving behind only the shadow of what they once were.

And that night, Quinn cried all alone, her sobs echoing in the empty room as the weight of everything she couldn't understand settled deep inside her. She curled up on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest, the tears relentless as they poured from her eyes. She didn't know why Isaac had pulled away, why everything felt different, but the ache in her heart was too much to bear.

Her throat grew raw from the constant stream of emotion, each sob shaking her body as if it might shatter her from the inside out. She couldn't fix what was broken, couldn't reach out to him, and in the silence of the night, the loneliness overwhelmed her. She missed him more than she could put into words—the Isaac she had known, the one who had promised to always be there.

But now, she was left with nothing but the empty space between them and the aching realization that some things, no matter how hard you try, can't be fixed.