Chapter 1 – "Formality"

Or

Dedicated to Mars

The Sherriff filed an official report, of course. He always had to after this particular sort of disturbance and it was usually the same collection of facts. Where and when, the witnesses and suspects, the weapon and the motive. And finally, all of it was tied up with a short, concise little bow that he concluded from all this evidence. Sherriff Stilinski had written god only knows how many of these reports, and had always tried to logically piece together the appropriate conclusion, however this particular conclusion was left brief and incomplete. No one was really sure what had happened that night. The community was still whispering about the mysterious murder that had happened just a month ago. The Sherriff told himself the same thing that he had been telling himself for twenty years. One is an incident. Two is a coincidence

Three is a pattern.

But first, a word about Emily van der Waals:

She was beautiful. The type of beauty that was wrapped up in a slightly narcissistic smirk and eyes that seemed like as if they always knew a secret that you didn't. She was simultaneously sensual and vulnerable, self-assured and yet lacking self respect, an elevated sense of self worth which combated against her undeniable honesty.

Emily had tumbles of long shiny blonde hair and thick dark eyelashes. She was an extrovert and student of Beacon Hills High with a (vastly) below normal grade point average but exceptional gymnastic skills. To the other students who knew her from the lunch hall and her Instagram uploads, Emily van der Waals radiated an air of perfection. She had long legs, small breasts, a full, bow-lipped mouth, and – though Dutch – a tan all year round.

Emily lived a relatively non-complex life. She had a close bond with her grandmother, the classiest woman she knew, who was also the mayor of Beacon Hills. Her parents were wealthy lawyers who spent at least three months of the year in their native Holland. She shared unhealthy amounts of sibling rivalry with her older brother Michaël who went to Yale and studied law, lived in a large house nestled at the end of a cul-de-sac, and was constantly glued to the hip of her best friend, redhead Lydia Martin, whose boyfriend drove a Porsche and was almost certainly going to be appointed captain of the cheerleading squad in her junior year.

Emily and her bestfriend were normal. They were popular, quick witted, usually the centre of attention in a crowd, and loved to gossip. Both she and Lydia were confident and calm and walked down the corridors with their heads held high.

Those are the characteristic that their classmates recalled to the sheriff, that they were both normal sixteen-year-old girls.

Emily van der Waals was normal.

Lydia Martin was normal.

She was normal until she left the dance to wander to the lacrosse pitch – around 10:15 p.m. – when she faced her attacker.

Fate works in funny ways sometimes, because Emily van der Waals loved to party but, if she didn't, Lydia Martin would have bled out on the lacrosse field only to be found hours later. She would not have pursued Stiles Stilinski, Lydia's date, to ask where she had gone and five minutes later would not be kicking off her heels to run across the pitch.

(Struggle)

The lights on the lacrosse field lit up with booms that made Emily's ears ring. It was strange, the knot in her stomach and the sweat covering her palms. She knew something was wrong. She could feel it. Where was Lydia? What had Jackson been talking about? Thump.

Something was very wrong.

Stiles stood beside her in his suit, shielding his eyes from the artificial white light. "Why the hell are the field lights on?"

Emily squinted through her lashes, scanning across the field until she came across the familiar petite figure of Lydia. She sighed, her worry washing away. That was until she saw him. Thump.

"Who the hell is that?" Emily demanded. Her throat was dry and sore and her feet throbbed dully whilst the knot in her stomach twisted. Thump.

"No," Stiles whispered in sudden realisation. Then louder again, as if he knew something that Emily didn't. "No."

Adrenaline pumped through her veins. Thump. Thump. Emily's long legs pumped hard against the ground, the sound of her erratic breathing pounding in her ears.

"Lydia!" She could barely hear Stiles screaming. "Run!"

Everything was in slow motion, Stiles running, Lydia looking back at them with a confused expression. Emily would later forget what happened next.

The man in the middle of the field's face shifted, what looked like fangs growing out of his gums. The blonde's already poor vision turned blurry, and all she saw next was Lydia's limp body hit the ground.

"Stop!" Emily screamed hoarsely. Racing faster towards the man she lifted her fist to swing for him.

He beat her to it, a claw reaching out and smashing into her skull, knocking the blonde to the ground.

In the official report, the doctors said her blackout was due to a mixture of shock and blunt force trauma. She landed beside Lydia in a heap, dizziness overcoming her.

Darkness began to cloud her vision.

(The Report)

Just like every sort of official document, the police report failed to convey the sense of terror and confusion that lingered, unmentioned, in the town that night as students and teachers and parents lined up to be interviewed.

(Struggle)

Everything was blurred when Emily awoke from her unconsciousness. She could her the fast drum of her heart in her ears and the taste of blood in her mouth. Her dirty hands shot out to grope the grass beside her, finding Lydia instead. Lydia? What happened?

Emily's confusion worsened when she tried to remember what had happened. Running. Screams. Stiles.

She tried to call out, cry for help, shout for Stiles, but when she tried only a whimper escaped her mouth. She was too confused, too nauseas, too dizzy. Suddenly, she jerked forward and retched onto the grass, the taste of bile burning her dry throat.

"Lydia!" Emily heard a voice crying. "Em!"

It was Jackson. She shouted for him, but her throat was raw and hoarse and she could only manage a small cry. Jackson ran towards them, his silhouette becoming clearer and clearer. Emily stumbled to her feet.

Jackson swooped Lydia's lifeless body up bridal style. Emily stomach lurched at the way that she flopped limply as they ran towards the school.

(Aftermath)

The hospital was clean and smelled strongly of soap. Doctors scribbled on clipboards, doe eyed nurses sipped black coffee, and Emily sat quietly in her torn dress.

The ambulance had taken her a short while after Lydia. Her head was still throbbing. It was too quiet. Doctors walked too slowly. Sherriff Stilinski sat beside her, a middle aged man with thinning hair who clearly didn't know how to make small talk with teenage girl.

Jackson burst through the doors and both Emily and the Sherriff stood. "Where is she?" He demanded, looking between the both of them. He was rushing. Glancing about as if he would be able to find Lydia's room.

"Hey. Hey!" The Sherriff stopped him. "What the hell happened to that girl?"

"I-I don't know. I went out looking for her-"

Sherriff Stilinksi interrupted him. "What, you just happen to wander unto the middle of that field and you just found them there like that? Don't lie to me son."

He was blaming Jackson. Emily knew Jackson. He would never punch her. He would never hurt Lydia.

"This isn't his fault!" She argued with the Sherriff.

The Sherriff looked at Jackson. "She's your girlfriend! That's your responsibility!"

Jackson threw his hands up in defence. "No, she's not, okay? She didn't go to the formal with me."

The older man paused and looked between the two teens. "Then who'd she go with?"

"Do you really wanna know?" Emily folded her arms. "She went with Stiles."

The Sherriff looked dumbfounded. "What?"

"Stiles took her," Jackson said.

The sheriff looked around the hospital, shaking his head. He was beyond mad. "Somebody had better find my son."

(Briefly, Derek Hale)

Emily swayed to the beat of the dance music blaring from the expensive speaker system in her living room. The party was a total success, and she didn't even feel worried about anything getting trashed because of how many shots she had taken. Her parents business meeting back in Holland was the best thing that had happened all month. She was trying to find Danny, long legs stumbling through the large crowd in her kitchen and head throbbing dully.

Em spotted one of Danny's ex's standing near the hall. "Hey, have you seen Danny?" She sounded a lot drunker than she felt. God, was her voice really that slurred?

"I last saw him in your room." Danny's ex told her with a smug grin. No surprise there. Whenever Danny got drunk he would always give up and go back to him. The older guy winked suggestively at her. "Hope you don't mind, babe."

Em groaned, making her way past him and towards the front hall. All she wanted was a dance with Danny, was that too much to ask? Besides, he was supposed to be looking out for her tonight and –

Em suddenly collided with someone dressed in leather. In her drunken state it took Emily more than a few seconds of staring at the strangers face to figure out why he looked so familiar.

Jesus fucking Christ! She thought. It's Derek Hale.

"Where's Scott?" He demanded, glaring at the drunken teenage girl.

Em's eyes had widened considerably. Why the hell was he at her party? In her house? He was the prime suspect in an on-going murder investigation! "Wh-what are you doing here?"

She could feel her heart thumping hard. Why did he want Scott? He was with Alison… The tall and mysterious man was talking to her, but all she could hear was pounding of the music and the rush of blood in her ears.

Derek grew annoyed of Emily just staring at him blankly. He needed answers. Now. He grabbed her arm and began pulling her through the house.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?" Emily shrieked. She clawed at his hand trying to escape his grasp. "I do cheer! You better get off me or I'll -!"

He had led her through the house and out to her front lawn. He shook his head in exasperation. "I'm going to tell you this so you can tell your friend, she needs to stay away from Scott."

Em grew even more confused. How does he know Ali? She looked away from him and was suddenly blinded by flashing lights, blinking hard to try and unblur her vision. "What are you talking abou-?"

When she turned around, Derek Hale was gone.

(Aftermath)

Stiles showed up at the hospital after his father left to look for him. Him and Emily were standing at a corner, arguing in hushed voices.

"You know what?" The tall blonde spat at him. "It's good that we're in a hospital, because I'm going to kill you."

Stiles dry swallowed. "I'm-I'm sorry. I lost the keys to my jeep. I had to run all the way here."

Emily glared at him. "Stilinski, I don't care!" She clenched her jaw. "I don't remember anything since I blacked out. You were the only other person there. What happened?"

He ignored her question. "Is she gonna be okay?"

"They don't know because they have no clue what happened. She lost a lot of blood, but there's something else going on with her."

"What do you mean?" Stiles frowned.

"The doctors say it's like she's having an allergic reaction. Her body keeps going into shock. You have to have seen something. What attacked her?" Emily asked.

Stiles sighed. "No. No, I have no idea."

"Have you seen Scott?" Emily thought it had been odd that she hadn't seen Scott or Alison since the dance.

"What do you mean?" Stiles frowned. "Isn't he here?"

"What are you talking about? I've been calling him on his cell phone. I've gotten no response." Emily said, clearly annoyed.

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, sudden realization crossing his face. "Yeah, you're not gonna get one."

(Jackson)

Emily van der Waals and Jackson Whitmore where interviewed, of course, as were a few of their classmates. That was the source of the "when, where, how" information, and that was how most everybody else in the school later found out about what transpired at 10:15 p.m. on February 11th at the Beacon Hills High lacrosse pitch.

Emily's testimony to the Sherriff what brief ("I'm the Mayor's granddaughter, you know.") and somewhat short ("Are we finished here?"). The students were urged to return home – all the students, that is, expect for those who were not quite finished with their interviews. Lydia had been taken to the hospital. The rest no one really knew.

It was the early hours of the morning and Jackson and Emily were still at the hospital, refusing to leave. They sat in their formal outfits, Emily in her scandalously form fitting dress and Jackson in his ostentatiously expensive Hugo Boss suit. Emily was shivering.

In the silence, she couldn't do much but think. Think about Lydia, think about where Scott was, and think about Derek Hale's guest appearance at her house… Ever since the new semester had started everything had changed. She noticed the hushed whispers and meaningful glances. Why had Jackson been such an asshole recently? Something was going on, Emily just couldn't put her finger on what.

She tried to read one of the magazines that was provided in the hospital, but that was no use. As usual, the letters where just scribbles she couldn't decipher.

Jackson was thoughtfully silent. Emily leaned over, and in a quiet tone so that no one else could hear, she said: "You don't think they're all hiding something, do you?"

Jackson looked at her. Em couldn't tell what he was thinking like she usually could. It scared her. "Nah." He agreed quietly. That was all he said.

(An Abundance of Stiles)

Emily flipped through the pages of the magazine she had picked from the pile of unfortunately old issues of Teen Vogue and stained newspapers. She stared at the pictures of celebrities on the red carpet but she couldn't concentrate. All she could think about was Lydia.

Even though the doctors had reassured her that she didn't have to be there, Emily couldn't leave the hospital. Anxiety and worry had flowed through her body like a hot fever every since that night. Only family was allowed into Lydia's hospital room, which Emily had obviously thrown a massive fit at in the reception ("I'm the Mayor's granddaughter, you know.")

Eventually she had accepted defeat as the wrinkly old hag behind the desk had threatened to have her escorted out, and sat on the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the corridor beside Stiles, who had stayed here the whole weekend. Overkill, in Emily's opinion, who had visited the hospital each day, going home to sleep and shower and eat.

He had tried to make conversation with her. "So…" He began, the first night since the formal, breaking a long period of awkward silence. "You're a cheerleader?"

"Mhm."

"Nice."

"Yep."

When Stiles had finally fallen into a deep sleep, his limbs sprawled across the chairs and he clung on to the 'Get well soon!' balloon that he had bought for Lydia. He snored incredibly loudly for a sixteen-year-old boy and Emily grew more and more annoyed as the minutes ticked by liked hours and her back got sorer and sorer.

She had finally had enough when he put his feet across her lap as he stretched out in his sleep, pushing them off of her in disgust. Checking to see if the old bitch behind reception was still watching her with an accusatory glare, Emily quietly tiptoed into Lydia's hospital room, thanking her gracefully long legs (one of her best assets).

Her best friend was awake, sitting upright and staring at the wall. She looked really terrible; dark circles underneath her eyes; a sallow complexion; greasy hair that stuck to her gaunt cheeks.

Emily done her best to gather all of her cheerful best friend optimism that she could, smiling at her when she sat at the edge of the bed. "Hey. I got sick of sitting with Stiles.'

That made Lydia laugh a little bit. "You don't have to be here, Em. You know that."

"Of course I do, I'm worried." Emily reached out and placed a hand on Lydia's arm. "Are you okay?"

Lydia shrugged. "The doctor says I'll have to stay in here for a few more days.'

Emily shook her head. "That's not what I meant, Lydia." If she had been an anxious mess during these past couple of days, what was going on with Lydia? The few minutes Emily had missed because of her blackout still plagued her thoughts; what had happened to Lydia? ; Who had hit her? ; Where had Stiles went?

Her best friend looked at her. "I'm fine." She said in a small voice. It wasn't true – Lydia was avoiding the question.

Emily wrapped her arms around her and pulled her into a hug. It felt like such a relief to finally be with her again. She felt herself tear up as Lydia held onto her tightly. "It's okay to be scared, Lydia. I am too." Emily admitted. Her voice sounded thick and broke on the last word she spoke; yet it felt like such a relief to touch her best friend. Lydia was tangible, she wasn't going anywhere.

She pulled away and realised Lydia was crying too. Emily wiped away the moistness on her cheeks. "You look a lot better."

This made the ginger girl raise an eyebrow at her. "Please. I look like crap."

"Yeah, you do." She admitted. Looking around the room, Emily wasn't surprised that Lydia's room had turned into a botanical garden, vases of flowers covering every inch of space in the room and overloading her senses with vibrant colour and floral scents.

"I'm going for a shower." Sighing, Lydia swung her legs over the other side of the bed and struggled to her feet.

When Emily walked back out into the corridor, Stiles was still in a deep slumber, only this time he was sleep talking. He was mumbling in incoherent sentences. Emily stood in front of his sleeping body tangled over the chairs and folded her arms.

"Mm…" He moaned. "You first…. oh, me first… okay…"

Disgust spread across Emily's features as her eyebrows were knitted together and her mouth downturned. "Ew Stiles. Get up."

He still continued to mumble. "You're dirty." Stiles muttered, pouting and making kissing noises.

She kicked him hard in the legs, not wanting to actually touch him. "Stiles get up!" Emily shouted, loud enough to attract some attention from passers by.

He finally woke with a jolt and a confused expression, getting tangled in the large Mylar balloon he was holding. The tops of Stiles' ears had turned red as he said something about the vending machine and hurried off down the corridor.

(Intangible)

"Ahhhhhhh!"

The sudden shrill scream made Emily jump in her seat. It had come from Lydia's hospital room. Without hesitation she sprinted to the door, calling Lydia's name. She could feel Stiles running behind her with the same rushed fever.

Lydia's dad, who had just arrived at the hospital, and a middle-aged nurse (who Emily would later learn was Scott McCall's mum) were already there.

"What the hell was that?" She yelled as she wrenched open the door.

Emily ran to the bathroom, where she was met with the sound of running water from the showerhead and a soaking wet floor. Adrenaline pounded through her veins as she clumsily pulled back the waterproof curtain, expecting an injured Lydia to be lying on the shower floor.

She wasn't.

(The Sheriff)

Stiles and Emily were sitting in their usual seats as the sheriff, his deputies, and Miss McCall walked past. Emily quickly got to her feet, pulling Stiles with her and walking quickly to keep up with them and listen to the conversation they were having.

"Naked? As in nude?" The sheriff repeated for confirmation, absolutely bewildered.

"I'm pretty sure they mean the same thing." The nurse replied dryly. "But yes, as far as we know she left clothing optional."

Emily and Stiles cringed. It was freezing outside at this time of the year.

The sheriff had a stern and serious look on his face. "Alright, you checked the whole hospital right?"

"Every last corner."

"Nothing suspicious?" He asked.

"Nothing. She just took off."

Mr Stilinski was deep in thought as he processed this information, turning to an officer; he commanded "Alright, lets get an APB out on a sixteen year old redhead."

"Any other descriptors?" The sheriff directed the question to Stiles, Emily, and Lydia's dad.

Emily nodded. "I think she's, like, probably five foot four-"

Stiles interrupted. "She's five foot five, green eyes, pale skin. And she strawberry blonde, actually."

"Stalker much?" She muttered under her breath.

The sheriff had had enough of the two teenagers bickering and pulled them into a corner of the hospital lobby. Stiles let out a yelp.

His dad used a hushed yet stern tone. "What the hell are you two doing here?"

Emily looked at him as If he was some sort of idiot. "Um, Lydia's my best friend. I was visiting." Stiles nodded along with her reasoning.

"Visiting hours are over." He argued.

"Are you trying to accuse us of something?" Emily demanded of the middle-aged man. Stiles rolled his eyes: Emily always had a flare for the amateur dramatics. "Because I'm the mayor's gra-"

"Uh-huh." The sheriff interrupted her rant, clearly having heard about Emily's grandmother a million times. "How about you two head home? Do you have a ride, Miss Van der Waals?"

"No." Emily seethed. "My parents are in Holland on a business trip."

"I think you had better give this girl a ride home, son." The sheriff gave Stiles a pat on the shoulder and stalked off down the corridor.

As Stiles and Emily walked hastily towards the exit, they passed two workers looking at a broken vending machine lying face down in the corridor. Stiles pretended not to notice, whistling instead.

Emily smirked at him and Stiles let out a short "Shut up" whilst glowering at her.

(Search Party)

Scott was already in Stiles' jeep by the time they had reached the car park and so

Emily clambered into the backseat.

"Give me directions?" Stiles asked, looked at her in the rear-view mirror.

"I'm coming with you guys." Emily insisted.

"No you're not." Scott turned round to face her. He looked worried.

"Yeah, you are definitely not tagging along." Stiles agreed in an annoying voice.

Scott gave her an empathetic look. "Sorry Em, I can't let you get hurt."

Emily raised her eyebrows. "What are you talking about?"

He looked like as if he had said something he knew he shouldn't of. "Um, nothing. You just-"

"Look," She interrupted impatiently. "Lydia is my best friend, I'm coming whether you like it or not."

The teenage boys did not want to argue with Emily and her matter of fact tone and, instead, Stiles put his foot to the gas pedal.

Scott sighed. "I promise that we'll find her, okay?" He reassured her. Emily studied his face; large brown eyes; dimpled chin; strong jawline. Scott looked like as if he wanted to say more, but instead he squeezed her small cold hand in his large warm one and turned back around in his seat.

(Argents)

They came across Alison on their way and she had leaned over the window talking to the two teenage boys in the front seat. They were speaking in hushed, hurried tones, obviously not wanting Emily to hear them (she wasn't stupid).

Emily strained her ears to listen to the conversation. "Why is Em….?" "…Wouldn't…" "Your dad…" "Yeah…three guys…. SUVs" "Search party" "…Hunting…" "If… turning" "…explain after Kate's funeral" Get in."

Soon they were going well over the speed limit, pummelling down the road at an obscene pace as Scott hung out of the window sniffing the air. "Take the next right!" he yelled.

Emily raised an eyebrow. "What the hell is he doing?"

Stiles and Alison shared a look. "Uh…"

"Giving directions?"

Five minutes later Emily was traipsing behind the others, pulling Stiles' hoodie tightly around her. She couldn't see anything, only smell the musky damp scent of the forest and hear the crunch of dead winter leaves beneath her trainers. These woods were totally creepy.

The trees grew sparser and sparser as the forest made way for some sort of clearing. A massive run down house stood in the middle, moonlight licking at the sides of the wood. It looked like it had been burnt down. Windows were smashed and there was barely any roof left to hold the four walls together.

Then Emily realised: this the Hale's house, the same one that Alison's aunt Kate had burnt down and killed the family that lived there years ago. She had heard her Oma talk about it.

Emily folded her arms, shooting an accusatory glare at Scott. "Seriously? You think she came here?"

"Uh, I just had a really strong feeling, I guess."

She rolled her eyes, stepping closer to the house. "I don't know about you guys, but I don't exactly see Lydia hiding out here."

Alison agreed. "Em's right. I've never seen her here before."

Stiles nodded walking closer to the house with Emily.

"Maybe she came here on instinct," Allison said to Scott. "Like she was looking for Derek."

Emily turned around. "Derek? As in Derek Hale? As in that totally creepy guy who has been a prime suspect in several murder investigations that showed up at my party looking for Allison?"

"That's the one." Stiles confirmed sarcastically.

Allison and Scott lingered behind them, talking quietly.

"Whoa, hey look at this," Stiles called out to them. Allison shared a look with Scott before crouching down beside Stiles. Emily stood standoffishly with her arms folded as they examined something on the ground. "I think it's a trip wire." He said, pulling the trip wire.

Instantly, Scott was thrown up into the air and dangled upside down with a rope tied around his ankle that connected to the trees above them. Emily snorted out loud.

"Hey, Stiles?" He called out, clearly annoyed.

"Yeah buddy?" His best friend asked as he spun around. "Oh…"

"Next time you see a trip wire, don't trip it."

"Noted." Stiles said as Allison slapped a hand over her mouth to hide her audible giggles. Both of them started to walk forward in an attempt to help him down when Scott held out his hands to stop them.

He gasped, "Wait, someone's coming"

Emily raised an eyebrow and looked around at the eerily quiet forest surrounding them. "What do you mean someone's coming?"

"Just go!" Scott replied in an urgent whisper, flailing his arms about as if to ward the other three off.

Emily made no effort to move until Stiles grabbed her arm and Allison began to run into the trees. He pulled her through the darkness and into the woods, further and further until he was certain that they wouldn't be seen but could still make out Scott swinging in the distance.

And the three men that were walking towards him.

"Alli, is that your dad?" Emily whispered to the girl next to her.

Allison ignored her and watched the scene with wide eyes as her father crouched down next to Scott's head.

"What is your dad doing in the middle of the woods?" When she got no reply, Emily questioned, "Who are those guys with him?"

Stiles leaned forward. "What are they saying?"

Emily grabbed the back of his ill-fitting hoodie, pulling him backwards and giving him a pointed glare. "If he sees you he'll find Allison and realise they're still going out."

The three teenagers crouched in the middle of the moves, not moving because they had neither the gall nor the ability to move their muscles, which the cold made ache. Emily bit her lip as she watched the scene unfold in front of her and decided that she couldn't just sit there and wait any longer. Something about Alli's dad was totally sketching her out.

Without thinking, she sprang upwards with all the confidence she could muster, ignoring the sound of Allison's gasp and Stiles' frantic whisper shouting. Emily walked towards the tree in front of the Hale house where Scott was still hanging upside down, the soggy leaves squelching beneath her trainers.

She strained her ears to catch the last part of the conversation. Mr Argent was questioning Scott, with an oddly uncurious tone in his voice "Lydia's in your group now, isn't she? Part of the clique? Is that the world you use? Or is there another way to put it? Part of your pack?"

He let the question hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "Actually, clique sounds right to me."

Emily decided to stop his intimidating little power trip show down and shouted over to them, "Hey Mr Argent!"

His head turned and his lips grew into a tight polite smile. "Oh, hello Emily. I didn't know you were with Scott." She could tell that he was lying. He had noticed her from the moment she had stood up.

"We're looking for Lydia." Emily informed him. She looked over his shoulder at the big jeep and the three men that where with them. "I guess you are too?"

The middle aged man nodded. "Of course I am. Your grandmother phoned me as soon as she heard the news."

Emily folded her arms. "Oh? I didn't know that you knew my Oma."

His smile grew wider. "She is the mayor, Emily." For some reason there was a tension in the air around them and every word uttered felt forced.

She tossed her hair to the side. "You don't' have to tell me twice, Sir." Emily didn't break her eye contact with him once. "Looks like Scott's gotten into a bit of a predicament when I left him to cover this part of the wood."

Chris looked back at Scott who was still hanging from the tree, mouth agape as he watched Emily almost challenge the man.

"Scott, do you know what a hemicorporectomy is?" Mr Argent inquired. There was a weight to his words that Emily didn't really understand.

"I have a feeling I don't want to."

"A medical term for amputating somebody at the waist." He went on to explain. "Cutting them in half. Takes a tremendous amount of strength to cut through tissue and bone like that."

Emily's brow furrowed and her lips parted slightly. Okay, it was one thing to play the overprotective, arms dealer father… But this? He was being a total asshole.

"Let's hope a demonstration never becomes necessary."

And with that, Allison father turned around to face his cronies and made his way back to the big black jeep.