Little Wolf (The Youngest Sequel)

Chapter Vingt

3rd P.O.V.

Stiles sat in the guidance counselor's office, across from Ms. Morrell's desk. He was fidgeting with his lacrosse stick, the strings taut between his fingers as he spoke, his eyes distant.

"You know when you're drowning, you don't actually inhale until right before you black out?" Stiles started, his voice softer than usual. "It's called voluntary apnea. It's like—no matter how much you're freaking out, the instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you just don't. Not until you feel like your head's gonna explode. Then, when you finally do let it in—that's when it stops hurting. It's not scary anymore. It's... peaceful, actually."

Ms. Morrell's gaze was steady, her expression unreadable. "Are you saying you hope Matt found some peace in his last moments?" she asked.

Stiles looked up, meeting her eyes, and his expression hardened. "I don't feel sorry for him."

Morrell tilted her head slightly. "Can you feel sorry for the nine-year-old Matt who drowned?"

Stiles sighed deeply, his fingers still working on the lacrosse stick, tying the strings with a nervous energy. "Just because a bunch of dumbasses dragged him into a pool when he couldn't swim doesn't really give him the right to go off killing them one by one." He paused, his voice hardening, his eyes narrowing as a flare of anger crossed his face. "And, by the way, my dad told me they found a bunch of pictures of Allison on Matt's computer. Not just photos—he photoshopped himself in with her. Like they were holding hands, or kissing. He built this whole fake relationship. So yeah, maybe drowning when he was nine sent him off the rails, but that guy was riding the crazy train long before this."

Ms. Morrell nodded slightly, absorbing his words. "One positive thing did come out of all this, though, didn't it?" She spoke carefully, her eyes watching Stiles closely.

"Yeah," Stiles muttered, his voice dipping lower, less conviction in it now. He rubbed a hand across his face, the exhaustion evident in his eyes. "Yeah, my dad's back on the force. But it still feels like there's something off between us. There's this... tension. It's the same with Scott too."

"Have you talked to Scott since that night?" Morrell asked.

Stiles shook his head slowly, eyes focusing on the lacrosse stick in his hands. "Not really. He's got his own problems, though."

Ms. Morrell leaned back slightly, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "I don't think he's talked to Allison either," she noted. "Losing her mom hit her hard. And maybe she's found comfort with her dad, but Scott..." She trailed off, letting her gaze settle on Stiles again. "It's been a difficult time for all of you."

Stiles looked up at her, and for a moment, his expression was unguarded—his eyes full of exhaustion and worry. "Yeah. And Jackson... Jackson hasn't been himself lately. Actually, the funny thing is, Lydia seems like the most normal one out of all of us." He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head.