𖣂

The faint thud of Scott sneaking back through his bedroom window stirred Reign from the edge of sleep. She frowned, shifting under her blankets, debating whether to investigate. Eventually, she let out a breath and shook her head. He's probably sneaking back from seeing Allison.

Typical.

Rolling over, she pulled the covers tighter around herself and let the sounds of the quiet house lull her back to sleep.

𖣂

The next morning, Reign strolled into school flanked by Lydia and Allison, the sharp click of their heels echoing against the tiled floor while her sneakers barely made a sound. She walked a step behind them, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of her jacket, as the two of them slipped seamlessly into conversation like it was second nature.

Lydia, her strawberry-blonde waves bouncing with every calculated step, was mid-rant about some miracle beauty serum that apparently cost an entire paycheck. Allison, ever patient, listened with an amused smile as if this wasn't the tenth time Lydia had gone on about the life-changing effects of her skincare routine.

Reign let their words wash over her, only half-paying attention as her gaze drifted toward the floor. She was tired—not the kind that sleep could fix, but the kind that settled somewhere deep, like a weight she couldn't quite shake. Dragging herself out of bed that morning had felt impossible, and now she was here, trailing behind her two perfect friends, wondering how the hell she even fit into their world.

Lydia, with her razor-sharp intelligence and polished exterior, never seemed out of place anywhere. And Allison—cool, calm, and effortlessly graceful—was the kind of person who probably never second-guessed herself. Meanwhile, Reign couldn't even get through a single day without running headfirst into chaos.

It didn't help that they both managed to look like they belonged on a magazine cover while she was... well, her. Sneakers, rumpled hair, and an overwhelming tendency to freak out the second someone got too aggressive. It was a miracle she hadn't been kicked out of their little trio yet.

"You okay?" Allison's soft voice broke through her spiral of thoughts.

Reign blinked, glancing up. "Yeah, just tired," she lied, shrugging one shoulder like it didn't matter. "Long night."

"You should try that new sleep mist I told you about," Lydia chimed in without missing a beat, her perfectly manicured fingers tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Lavender. Works like magic."

"Right," Reign drawled, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "Because my biggest problem is a lack of essential oils."

Lydia arched a perfectly shaped brow. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to try."

"Or," Reign countered, "I could just survive off redbull and sheer willpower."

Allison chuckled softly while Lydia let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly unimpressed with her life choices.

As they reached their lockers, Reign twisted the dial absentmindedly, her mind already wandering. Another long, weird day was practically guaranteed—she could feel it. And knowing Scott and Stiles, it was only a matter of time before things got even weirder.

"You're coming to lunch today, right?" Allison asked, leaning against the locker next to hers.

"I mean, if I survive my next few classes, sure," Reign replied, flicking a stray piece of lint off her jacket. "Why?"

"No reason," Allison said a little too quickly, her lips curling into a smile that screamed not suspicious at all.

Reign narrowed her eyes. "Okay... what are you two planning?"

Lydia, who had been busy applying a fresh coat of lip gloss, glanced up with an innocent expression that wasn't fooling anyone. "Please, we're not planning anything."

"Uh-huh," Reign muttered, shutting her locker with a soft clink. "I don't trust either of you."

"You shouldn't," Lydia quipped, snapping her compact shut. "But you love us anyway."

Unfortunately, she wasn't wrong.

As the bell rang, signaling the start of the next period, the three of them parted ways—Lydia sauntering toward AP Biology while Allison disappeared into History. Reign, however, had no intention of actually going to class.

Her feet carried her in the opposite direction, down the quieter halls where the crowd thinned and the air felt a little less stifling. Honestly, she needed a break—just a few minutes to breathe before the chaos inevitably found her.

Of course, the universe had other plans.

Rounding a corner, she caught the faint sound of voices drifting through the otherwise empty hall. Male voices—one sharp and cocky, the other low and dangerous.

Her stomach twisted with unease as she crept closer, curiosity pulling her in despite every instinct screaming that she should mind her own business.

"...Where's Scott?" The rough, commanding voice cut through the silence.

Reign froze, recognizing it immediately. Derek.

And he did not sound happy.

The other voice—Jackson's—was laced with his usual arrogant smugness. "What, are you his dealer or something?" he sneered.

Peeking carefully around the corner, Reign's eyes widened as she spotted them standing by the lockers. Derek stood stiffly, tension radiating from every muscle, while Jackson leaned back with his arms crossed, projecting the kind of overconfidence only rich, spoiled kids seemed to possess.

"I'm not playing games," Derek warned, stepping closer. "Where. Is. He?"

Jackson didn't budge. "I'm not telling you anything, psycho."

For a split second, Reign thought Derek would walk away—or maybe just scare him a little more—but then his hand shot out, claws extending as he dug his thumb into the side of Jackson's neck.

Jackson's cocky façade shattered. "What the hell—!" he choked out, face paling as his body tensed.

Reign clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp, heart hammering in her chest. Okay, definitely not normal.

For a wild second, she debated stepping in—telling Derek to back off—but something about the hard glint in his eyes made her stay put. Getting between an angry werewolf and his target? Not happening.

Instead, she did the smart thing—she turned on her heel and walked away.

Scott and Stiles better have a damn good explanation for this.

I need to find Scott and Stiles, she thought, picking up her pace.

𖣂

When the bell rang, Reign pushed through the double doors leading outside, the cool afternoon air brushing against her face. She scanned the parking lot, catching sight of Stiles heading toward his beat-up Jeep, moving with a determined, almost frantic energy.

"Hey!" she called out, picking up her pace to catch him.

Stiles didn't stop. He didn't even glance her way. Instead, he yanked open the driver's side door and slid in like he had somewhere incredibly important to be—which, knowing him, was probably true.

Reign huffed, jogging faster. "Stiles! Wait a second!"

The sound of the Jeep's engine sputtering to life masked her voice, and for a brief, annoyed moment, she considered letting him drive off to whatever disaster he was about to cause. But before she could decide whether chasing after him was worth it, something—or rather, someone—stepped directly in front of the moving vehicle.

Derek.

"Jesus Christ!" Stiles yelped, slamming his foot against the brakes with enough force to make the tires screech.

Reign froze mid-step, heart lurching as Derek stood there like a statue—pale, sweaty, and definitely about two seconds from collapsing. For someone who usually oozed terrifying, brooding confidence, he looked bad.

"What the hell—" Stiles muttered, half in shock, knuckles white on the steering wheel.

Before either of them could react, Derek's knees buckled, and with no grace whatsoever, he crumpled onto the asphalt like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

"Oh, great," Reign sighed, already feeling the impending headache creeping in.

Out of nowhere, Scott appeared—because, of course, he did—his face twisted with worry as he rushed to Derek's side. "He's hurt," he said quickly, voice low but urgent. "Help me get him in."

Stiles, still gripping the wheel like it was his lifeline, blinked in disbelief. "Uh—why are we helping him again? Didn't he, like, try to kill us a few days ago?"

"Stiles." Scott's tone left no room for argument as he bent down to grab Derek's arm.

Stiles groaned but scrambled out of the Jeep anyway, muttering under his breath the entire time. "You know, one day, I'm gonna start saying no to you. And when that day comes, I'll be so proud of myself."

Reign rolled her eyes as she yanked open the back door. "Would you two hurry up? He looks like he's about to die, and as fun as it would be to let him, I'd rather not deal with the paperwork and seeing dad at the station."

With Scott's help, Derek half-stumbled, half-was-dragged to the Jeep. As soon as he was settled in the passenger seat, his breathing came in shallow, pained gasps. He looked even worse up close—sweat-slicked skin, blood staining his shirt, and the kind of exhausted, drained expression that screamed not good.

Derek's voice, rough and strained, barely filled the cabin. "Go to Allison's house..." he rasped. "Find the bullet..."

Reign, still hovering outside the car, frowned. "Wait, what bullet? What's he even talking about?"

Scott ignored her question, focusing solely on Derek. "You're sure that'll work?"

"It has to," Derek bit out, his jaw tight with pain.

Without missing a beat, Scott turned back to Stiles. "Take him somewhere safe. I'll call you."

"And what am I supposed to do with him?" Stiles snapped, flinging a hand toward Derek like he was some stray dog. "Babysit him while he sheds all over my car?"

Scott didn't flinch. "Just do it."

Before Reign could slip away unnoticed, Scott's gaze landed on her. "Go with them."

Her entire body stiffened. "Wait, what?"

"I need you to keep an eye on him," Scott said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

She let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. "Yeah, no thanks. I'd rather not get my throat ripped out today."

"He won't hurt you," Scott insisted, though he sounded less sure of that than he probably meant to.

"You hope he won't hurt me," Reign corrected, folding her arms across her chest. "There's a big difference."

"Reign," Scott said again, voice softer now—pleading. "Please."

Damn him. He always knew how to get her to agree to things she definitely didn't want to do.

With an exaggerated sigh, she dropped into the back seat, glaring daggers at the back of Stiles' head. "Fine. But if he eats me, I'm haunting you."

"Noted," Scott said, already backing away. "Just—keep him alive until I figure this out."

As Scott disappeared into the crowd, Stiles let out a long, dramatic groan. "This is the worst."

"Tell me about it," Reign muttered, leaning back against the seat as she watched Derek with open suspicion. "And why do I have to sit in the back?"

"Because it's my car," Stiles shot back, twisting the key in the ignition. "And if you want to sit up front, you should've called dibs faster."

"You are insufferable."

"And yet, you're still here," he quipped, flashing her an annoyingly smug grin.

Reign scoffed under her breath, but the humor didn't last long. She glanced at Derek, who had his head tilted back against the seat, breathing slow and heavy—like every second was a battle not to pass out.

Her stomach twisted uneasily. Whatever was happening to him? It wasn't good.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, she tried again to break the tense silence. "So, what's the deal with the bullet?"

Stiles huffed, tightening his grip on the wheel. "I don't know. Something about wolfsbane or magical werewolf poison."

"Great. So we're winging it." Reign shook her head. "Because that always works out so well."

"Hey, if you've got a better plan, please, enlighten me."

Reign rolled her eyes. "You could always just leave him on the side of the road."

"I thought about it," Stiles admitted, flicking a glance at Derek's pale face. "But I don't really want a death wish."

"Smart choice," Derek rasped weakly, startling them both.

Reign arched a brow. "Fantastic. He's still alive."

"For now," Stiles grumbled.

𖣂

The ride was tense, to say the least. The only sounds filling the Jeep were the hum of the engine and Derek's labored breathing. Reign shifted uncomfortably in the backseat, glaring daggers at the back of Stiles' head while he tapped anxiously against the steering wheel.

"Why do I always get dragged into your weird crap?" she huffed, watching Derek slump against the passenger window, looking one breath away from passing out.

"Because you love me," Stiles shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm as he threw her a smirk through the rearview mirror.

She snorted, folding her arms across her chest. "Love is a strong word."

"You know," he said, tapping the brakes a little harder than necessary as if to irritate her, "for someone who's so popular, you're surprisingly invested in our nonsense."

"And for someone who's supposed to be smart, you have terrible decision-making skills," she snapped, leaning forward. "Like, oh—I don't know—taking a half-dead werewolf for a joyride? Brilliant, really."

Stiles rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't fall out of his head. "I'm sorry—do you have a better idea? Or are you just here to bitch?"

Reign scoffed, shaking her head. "Oh, yeah, I've got a genius idea: How about you call Scott and let him deal with it since he's the one with the furry problem, not us?"

"I did call Scott. No answer," he bit out, pulling out his phone and tossing it into the cupholder with a loud clunk. "But, hey, by all means—keep throwing out useless suggestions. It's super helpful."

She pulled out her own phone, fingers flying across the screen as she sent Scott a quick, irritated text. No response. With a frustrated groan, she leaned back against the seat, jaw clenched. "Of course, he's not answering. Because that would be too easy."

"No shit, Sherlock," Stiles snapped. "Meanwhile, we've got Mr. Deathbed over here, and unless you've suddenly become a werewolf doctor, maybe stop riding my ass and help."

"Riding your ass? Are you serious right now?" Her voice rose, anger bubbling beneath the surface. "I wouldn't have to 'ride your ass' if you had a functioning brain cell and didn't drag us into every insane thing that happens in this town!"

Stiles let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, well, sorry we can't all just stand around looking pretty while the rest of us actually handle things."

Reign's face twisted with fury as her heart slammed against her ribs. "Oh, screw you, Stilinski. I don't just 'stand around'—I'm here, aren't I? Putting up with your constant bullshit while you act like you're the only one who ever deals with any of this!"

"Oh, please," he snapped, voice dripping venom. "You act like you're above it all, like this isn't your problem—when you could walk away anytime, but you don't. So spare me the holier-than-thou routine, because if you hated it so much, you'd be long gone."

Before she could bite back, Derek groaned, shifting uncomfortably. His hand trembled as he weakly pushed up his sleeve, revealing a jagged blackened vein spreading up his arm like something out of a horror movie.

Both of them froze, momentarily distracted.

"Oh my God," Stiles blurted, face twisting with revulsion as he looked away. "What the hell is that?"

Reign's stomach churned at the sight, but she forced herself to stay calm—because one of them had to. "Is that... contagious?" Stiles asked, half-joking but also not. "You know what—you should probably just get out now."

"Start the car," Derek rasped, voice low and edged with warning.

Stiles hesitated, narrowing his eyes. "I don't think you should be barking orders with the way you look. You know what—I'm pretty sure I could drag your little werewolf ass out on the street and leave you for dead."

"Oh, my God, are you serious?" Reign groaned, dragging her hands down her face. "Just shut up and drive, Stiles!"

Derek didn't flinch, his voice like steel despite the pain etched across his face. "Start the car. Or I'm gonna rip your throat out. With my teeth."

Stiles blinked, seemingly unimpressed. "Wow. Charming." But despite his sarcasm, he finally shifted the Jeep back into drive and pulled out onto the road.

The silence was heavy, tense—only broken by the occasional, ragged sound of Derek breathing.

"So what's the plan, genius?" Reign asked after a moment, her voice still sharp. "Or are we just gonna drive around aimlessly until he drops dead?"

"I'm taking him to his place," Stiles answered flatly, glaring at the road ahead. "What else am I supposed to do?"

"You seriously think taking him home is smart? When he's like this? What happens if something worse shows up, huh? Are you planning to fight it with sarcasm?"

"We're almost there," Stiles growled through gritted teeth.

"Where?" Derek demanded weakly, lifting his head just enough to glare at Stiles.

"Your house," Stiles said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Derek blinked slowly, as if he was genuinely questioning his sanity. "My house?"

"Yes, your house," Stiles snapped, glancing in the rearview mirror at Reign like she was supposed to back him up. "Why not?"

Derek let out a low, bitter laugh—dangerous even in his weakened state. "Not when I can't protect myself."

"Oh, awesome. So we're driving around with an unarmed ticking werewolf time bomb. Great. Love that for us," Reign bit out, fingers curling into fists on her thighs.

"You got a better idea, Princess, or do you just like bitching for fun?" Stiles shot back, his patience clearly snapping.

"Maybe I wouldn't be bitching if you weren't constantly making things worse!" she shouted, leaning forward until her face was inches from his.

"Maybe I wouldn't be making things worse if you actually did something useful instead of sitting back and judging me!" he fired back, his voice rising to match hers.

"You're a goddamn control freak with a hero complex, Stiles!" she yelled. "And you know what? One day, you're gonna get us all killed because you can't stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong!"

Stiles slammed on the brakes so hard the Jeep lurched forward, jerking both of them in their seats.

"What is your problem?!" he shouted, fully twisting around in his seat until their faces were inches apart.

"My problem?" Reign snapped back. "You're my problem! You don't think, you don't listen, and you drag us into insane situations without a