The house still smelled like ash.

Even after all these years, the ruin of the Hale home carried its grief in the walls that hadn’t collapsed, in the floorboards that creaked under his boots, in the memories that refused to rot away with the wood. This place was a monument to everything he lost.

And now… maybe to her too.

He leaned against a scorched beam, arms crossed, eyes trained on the blackened doorframe. He shouldn’t be here. But he always came back when his mind wouldn’t shut up. When guilt clung to him like sweat. When her absence felt heavier than it had any right to.

He told himself that he just needed air. That he was being stupid. Overthinking.

They’d slept together. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

Except it did.

For him, it always had.

Even back in high school, when she was just the sheriff’s sarcastic, smartass daughter who sat on the bleachers with a book instead of watching the game, he noticed her. Noticed how her laugh cracked under her breath when Stiles did something dumb. How she never flinched when she looked at him — not even when the rumors about the Hales started. Not even after the fire.

She was always more than a friend. Even if they never said it out loud.

And then that night happened.

That stupid, too-quiet, too-honest night. After a hunt for the alpha gone sideways and a bottle of whiskey passed between them like a truce. After too many near-deaths and not enough boundaries.

He kissed her first. He remembered that clearly.

And she didn’t stop him.

It was slow and urgent all at once — not the kind of heat that burned out quickly but the kind that had been building for years. Quiet tension set ablaze. Their hands had memorized each other like they’d done it a hundred times before. Like their bodies already knew.

And then she was gone.

Gone before sunrise. No note. No goodbye. No explanation.

Just empty sheets and the ghost of her perfume on his pillow.

He told himself it didn’t matter. That it was better this way. That if she didn’t want to talk about it, he wasn’t going to beg.

But the silence ate at him. Every time he saw her, it felt like she was pulling further away — laughing with the boys, teasing Stiles, talking about monsters and leads and never once looking him in the eye for longer than two seconds.

Like nothing happened.

Like they hadn’t crossed that line — and crashed through every goddamn wall they’d spent years building.

He should let it go.

They were too alike. Both stubborn. Both guarded. Both good at pretending they didn’t feel what they did.

But Derek wasn’t good at pretending anymore. Not about this.

The crunch of leaves pulled him from his thoughts, and he stiffened.

He knew her heartbeat before he heard her voice. Knew the rhythm like a song he’d been humming under his breath since he was sixteen.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said without turning.

The silence that followed was proof enough.