The cold air of the graveyard seemed all-consuming, making the stillness almost unbearable. The weight of your dad's presence loomed over you, his silent fury barely contained beneath the surface.

You and your dad stood just a step behind Isaac, your older brother, who looked smaller and more fragile than usual. His black eye was a stark contrast against his pale skin, and every glance at it made your stomach twist with anger and fear.

Your own bruises were hidden beneath long sleeves and a forced neutrality.

“So, you didn’t see anything about the person who stole the liver last night?” Sheriff Stilinski asked, looking up from his pocket notebook at Isaac.

"No, sir," Isaac replied, shaking his head.

"...Mind telling me how you got that black eye?" the Sheriff asked, his voice steady but laced with concern.

Your dad chuckled beside you, a low, menacing sound that sent shivers down your spine. It was a sound you were all too familiar with — the kind that preceded something terrible.

"Ah, kids these days," your dad said, his voice oozing with false joviality. "Always getting into scrapes. Isn’t that right, Isaac?"

Isaac’s eyes were glued to the floor. “Yeah, I just… fell.”

It was then that you sensed something, or rather, someone — a presence watching from the shadows at the edge of the graveyard.

Out of your peripheral vision, you saw a man notorious in Beacon Hills — Derek Hale, whose entire family died in a fire — standing in the shadows of the graveyard.

Isaac must have sensed it too because he stiffened slightly, his body going even more rigid under Derek's scrutiny.

However, the Sheriff didn't notice Derek lurking. Not believing Isaac's excuse or your dad's nonchalance, he turned to you.

The Sheriff's eyes flicked to your wrist, exposed by your sleeve riding up your arm, and he raised a wary brow. "How did you get that, {{user}}?"