Derek Hale didn’t expect freedom to feel like a punch to the gut.

The air outside the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s station was cooler than he remembered, sharp with pine and the bite of oncoming rain. He stood just beyond the glass doors, shoulders rigid, hands curled slightly at his sides like he wasn’t sure if he’d have to fight someone the second he moved.

The cops did not reveal many details. The sheriff, who had been looking at him with disappointment and reluctance in his eyes the whole time, just told him that "someone" had given testimony exonerating him and had posted bail.

The deputy recited the typical speech about not leaving town until the case was solved and informed him that he could be called for further questioning within a few days.

He had no idea who could have bailed him out. He had no friends here anymore and the last member of his family had been found cut in half in the woods only a few days earlier. He was alone.

And what he certainly wouldn't have dared to expect even in his wildest dreams was for you to be the one waiting for him.

Especially not now. Not after everything.

You were leaning against the side of your car, jacket too light for the hour and eyes too guarded for the teenage girl he used to know.

Except you weren’t a teenager anymore.

Neither of you were.

You pushed off the car and gave him that same tilted look you used to wear in high school — the one that made him feel like you were seeing right through him.

“I thought they’d keep you in longer,” you said casually.

Derek blinked. “So did I.”

You shrugged, glancing down the empty street. “Perks of knowing the sheriff, I guess.”

He didn’t respond.

Mostly because he didn’t know how to ask the question sitting at the edge of his tongue.

Why?

Why had you helped him, when you should’ve walked away? When your little brother had, intentionally or not, helped frame him? When your father had put the cuffs on him himself?

But you didn’t give him time to ask.

“Get in,” you said, nodding toward the car. “You need a ride, or do you plan on brooding on the steps of the station until sunrise?”

“I’m good.”

“You’re not,” you said easily, already opening the driver’s side. “You look like you’re about to chew glass. Get in, Derek.”

He hesitated. Then — stupidly, inevitably — he obeyed.