𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍, derek hale ✓

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

┏━━━━⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆━━━━┓

BLUEST OF EYES

THE HOUSE WAS IN WORSE SHAPE THAN IT HAD BEEN LAST TIME.

There was so much debris everywhere, signs of an obvious struggle that has taken place a mere few hours ago. The police had been there, based on the caution tape that surrounded the perimeter of the area, but they'd turned in for the evening with just a lone car posted up down the street.

Emerson snuck in through the back door, stepping over a puddle of dark but dried liquid that stained the floor. Bile rose to her throat that she had to choke down as she stood in the centre of the home.

Back in Rochester, she didn't have the pleasure of seeing the destruction left in the bad man's wake. She was shipped off the minute her guardian was pronounced dead at the hospital by the woman's son who'd been eighteen at the time. She wondered how he was doing, left to deal with the wake of Deucalion's wrath while she could only keep moving.

Emerson glanced around the room before her hand was migrating to her wrist, fiddling with the silver chain that she'd had since she was six.

He'd come back to the house eventually, she was sure of it, but she needed something concrete that would ensure he'd be making an appearance tonight.

It was quite literally now or never.

With her tongue between her teeth, she wrapped her fingers around the chain and pulled.

The sound of it hitting the floor reverberated around in her ears before she felt a wave of dizziness shoot through her skull. Emerson had gone more than a decade without her sense of smell, and there she was, disobeying the very command her grandmother had given her, all for a chance to confront Deucalion. 

Instantly, she was reverted back to when she was a kid, standing in the garden as she smelt the flowers before the sense was taken from her. She inhaled sharply, catching hints of emotion in the home that she swore she could almost taste on her tongue. Panic. Rage. Hurt.

She gagged on it, her hand going to her nose as she looked around. Too busy taking it all in, as though for the first time, she didn't notice the way the bracelet dissolved into a pile of grey ash by her feet.

There was a twinge of nervousness in the air, and it took her a moment to recognize that it was coming from her.

Rolling her shoulders back, willing herself to calm her racing heart, she took a seat on the kitchen island just a few steps away from the bloodied floor.

She could play the waiting game just as well.

ೃ࿔*:⋆

This time around, she could smell the intruder before she could see them.

Two hours after the fact, not that she'd been counting, someone was outside the home.

The scent was unrecognizable, most were given her years of not needing to catalogue them, but the tapping of a cane against the pavement outside was something that lingered in her nightmares.

His figure was stood in the doorway, the only heartbeat around, meaning he'd come alone. She hopped down from the counter, the sound of her feet hitting the floor made his head snap in her direction.

He inhaled, almost nodding to himself.

"It's much easier to find you when you have a scent," the man drawled in greeting, taking leisurely steps into the home. His cane retracted, holding it in his hand. "It's one that I'm sure I'd never forget. Hello, Emerson."