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The Jeep idled outside the station, engine humming like it had already accepted this was a terrible idea.
Stiles leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring through the windshield like the building had personally wronged him. “Okay. Now, the keys to every cell are in a password-protected lock-box in my father’s office. The problem is getting past the front desk.”
Derek didn’t hesitate. “I’ll distract her.”
Stiles let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Oh, great. Fantastic. Love that for us.” He turned, pointing at him. “No. You’re not going in there.”
“I was exonerated.”
“You’re still a person of interest.”
“An innocent person.”
Stiles blinked, then leaned back slowly, like he needed distance from that sentence. “You? Yeah, right.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Okay, fine. What’s your plan?”
“To distract her.”
Stiles stared at him. “That’s not a plan, that’s a word.”
A beat.
“How?” he pressed. “By punching her in the face? Because I feel like that’s your usual go-to.”
Derek gave him a look. Then, almost lazily, “By talking to her.”
Stiles opened his mouth—
Then glanced back at the station.
And froze.
“…oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
Derek frowned. “What?”
Stiles leaned forward, squinting through the glass like maybe this was some kind of stress-induced hallucination.
Nope.
Still there.
He dropped back into his seat, dragging a hand down his face like he could physically wipe this situation away. “No. No, no, no. Not tonight. Literally any other night would’ve been fine.”
Derek’s patience thinned. “What?”
Stiles turned his head just enough to look at him, expression flat with dread. “It’s Millie.”
A beat.
Derek waited.
“…and?”
Stiles gave a hollow laugh. “And it won’t work.”
That made Derek finally look.
Properly.
His gaze shifted past the windshield, settling on the front desk.
On her.
Dark brown hair, pulled back loosely like she hadn’t bothered to redo it in hours. Uniform sitting just slightly undone in that way that said long shift, not careless. About his age. Maybe a little younger. Maybe not. Hard to tell from here.
She looked bored.
Restless.
Like she was waiting for something to happen.
Derek’s eyes lingered for a second longer, taking in the details automatically—the way she leaned back in her chair, the idle movement of her hand, the quiet awareness in her posture that didn’t quite match the boredom on her face.
Then he looked away.
Unconcerned.
He’d seen girls like her before.
Stiles was still watching him, waiting for the realisation to land.
It didn’t.
Derek leaned back slightly, calm, certain. “It’ll work.”
Stiles stared at him.
Derek didn’t even bother looking back this time, just added, “It usually does.”
That did it.
Stiles just stared at him like he’d uncovered a personality flaw he didn’t have time to unpack. “Oh my God.”
“You don’t—” he started, already shaking his head. “She’s not—no. No, you don’t get to just—”
Derek was already reaching for the door.
“—walk in there like you’re some kind of—” Stiles cut himself off, gesturing vaguely. “—human distraction device.”
Derek smirked faintly.
That was worse.
Stiles let his head fall back against the seat for a second, staring at the roof of the Jeep like he was reconsidering every life choice that led him here.
Then he sighed, pushing his door open.
“Yeah,” he muttered, stepping out, “we’re so fucked.”
Millie sat behind the front desk with a report in front of her that she had technically been reading for the last ten minutes and had, in reality, absorbed absolutely none of. The pen in her hand tapped idly against the paper in a slow, uneven rhythm, the only sign she hadn’t fully drifted off into her own head yet. Night shifts were like this. Long stretches of nothing, broken up by moments of chaos that no one ever saw coming. Beacon Hills had a way of doing that; it lulled you into thinking things were calm just before something went very, very wrong.
She glanced up at the clock, then back down at the page, then up again like maybe the second look would somehow make time move faster. It didn’t. It never did. Her gaze drifted across the station instead, cataloguing the same details she’d seen a hundred times before; the vending machine that definitely ate more money than it deserved, the stack of paperwork she was absolutely not going to get through tonight, the empty chairs that somehow made the place feel even quieter. Her dad used to say the quiet shifts were the worst ones, because they meant something was building. She used to think he was being dramatic. Turns out, he wasn’t.
Her pen paused mid-tap. She tilted her head slightly, staring at the report again like it might suddenly become interesting if she tried hard enough. Noise complaint, it read. Of course it did. It was always a noise complaint or a neighbour dispute or something equally underwhelming. She huffed out a quiet breath, already rewriting it in her head. “Yes, hi, police. I’m going to need you to either quiet down or do something actually interesting so I have a story to tell.” That would go down well. Probably get her a lecture. Or fired. Or both.
She shifted in her chair, stretching her legs out slightly under the desk, rolling her shoulders back to fight off the creeping boredom. This was the part no one talked about when you signed up for the job; not the danger, not the adrenaline, just the waiting. The constant, low-level awareness that something could happen at any moment, paired with the very real possibility that nothing would for hours. It made your brain wander. Made you notice things. Patterns. People. The kind of details most missed because they weren’t looking for them.
Millie was.
She always had been.
Which was exactly why, when the door opened, she didn’t react straight away.
Millie looked up just in time to see Derek Hale walk in like he belonged there.
That alone was enough to get her attention.
Hale. Recently arrested, recently released, still very much not someone who wandered into a police station at night for fun. Her gaze moved over him once, quick and automatic—calm, controlled, not a hint of hesitation. If anything, he looked like this was going exactly how he expected it to.
Which—
Already suspicious.
And then she caught it.
The movement behind him.
Bad.
Not even slightly convincing.
Millie pressed her lips together hard, because the laugh hit immediately and she refused to let it out.
Oh my God.
Of course it’s you.
Her attention settled back on Derek, the situation rearranging itself instantly. The timing, the entrance, the confidence—and then she actually took him in properly.
Dark clothes, broad shoulders, that quiet kind of presence that filled the room without trying. The kind of face people trusted a second longer than they should. And then the smile—subtle, controlled, deliberate.
—
Millie nearly laughed.
—
After years of him trying to get past me… this is what finally works?
She leaned back slightly, settling into it, amusement settling in sharp and immediate.
“Good evening,” she said smoothly. “How can I help… you?”
“Hi,” Derek said.
Millie let the silence stretch just enough, watching him fill it.
“Um, I had a question…”
“Of course you do,” she said lightly.
“Um, sorry,” he added, “I’m a little— a little thrown. I wasn’t really expecting someone—”
“Like me?” she finished.
There it was.
That smile again.
“I was gonna say ‘so incredibly beautiful,’ but, yeah… I guess that’d be the same thing.”
Millie snorted under her breath, shaking her head once like she’d just been handed something mildly entertaining rather than impressive. She leaned forward slightly, resting her arms on the desk, eyes narrowing just a touch in mock consideration.
“Wow,” she said. “Straight in with flattery. No name, no reason, just—face first into charm.”
Derek’s mouth twitched, clearly not put off. “Usually works.”
“Mm,” she hummed, glancing him over again, slower this time, like she was actually assessing the claim. “I can see why you’d think that.”
A beat.
“Confidence, mysterious vibe, strong jaw… you’ve got a whole system going.”
Derek’s brow lifted slightly, something more amused creeping in now. “You listing my strengths?”
“I’m evaluating the attempt,” she corrected. “It’s a professional environment.”
“Right,” he said dryly.
Millie’s mouth curved. “So far? Solid effort. Bit predictable, though.”
“Predictable?” he echoed.
She nodded. “Yeah. Attractive guy walks in, smiles like that, hopes I forget how doors work.”
Derek let out a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh. “You didn’t forget.”
“Not yet,” she said lightly.
There was that beat again.
That almost-something.
Derek leaned into it, just slightly. “Give it time.”
Millie’s eyebrow lifted. “Oh, I love the optimism.”
She tilted her head, studying him like she was genuinely intrigued now, not even pretending otherwise.
“You always this sure of yourself,” she added, “or is this a special occasion?”
“I’m usually right,” he said.
“Dangerous thing to believe,” she replied instantly. “Especially in here.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Millie smiled at that, sharper this time, like she’d just found something she liked.
“See, now that,” she said, tapping her pen lightly against the desk, “almost makes up for the opening line.”
“Almost?” he pressed.
“Mm. Still docking points for lack of creativity.”
“And yet,” he said, “you’re still talking to me.”
Millie leaned back slightly, like she’d just been called out and wasn’t even pretending to deny it.
“Yeah,” she said. “I am.”
A beat.
Then—
She exhaled softly, like she’d come to a conclusion.
“You know what?” she said, voice carrying just enough to hit behind him. “I’ll give you this, Mischief.”
Behind Derek—
Stillness.
Immediate.
“This is by far your best attempt,” she continued, tone thoughtful now, like she was genuinely reviewing past efforts. “Hale here makes a much better distraction than Scott.”
A beat.
“He’s definitely prettier to look at.”
“…wow,” Stiles muttered from behind him.
Derek’s mouth twitched.
Confusion flickered in properly now.
“…Mischief?” he echoed, glancing slightly back but not fully turning.
“Yeah,” Millie said easily, like that explained everything. “He answers to it.”
“I do not—” Stiles started.
“You do,” she cut in, calm. “You just don’t like that you do.”
There was a beat of silence where Stiles clearly debated his life choices.
“…it was working,” he said instead, stepping out properly now, defensive.
Millie didn’t even blink. “It wasn’t.”
“It was,” he insisted, gesturing vaguely. “You were—there was—”
“What?” she cut in. “I spoke to him?”
“You flirted,” Stiles said, pointing between them like he’d caught her out. “You flirted with him.”
Millie paused.
Considered that.
Then nodded once. “Good observation.”
A beat.
“You want a sticker?”
Derek let out a quiet snort.
Stiles looked like he regretted speaking.
“That was flirting,” he insisted, doubling down.
“Mm,” she said, like she was humoring him. “And you thought that meant you were getting past me?”
“…yes?”
Millie looked at him.
Really looked at him.
“You’ve known me how long?”
Stiles opened his mouth.
Closed it.
“…don’t do that,” he muttered.
She smiled faintly.
Then, like she hadn’t just dismantled him entirely, her attention shifted back to Derek—not a big movement, just enough to include him again, like he’d never left the conversation.
“I mean,” she said, tone light again, “the confidence… the smile…” her gaze flicked over him once, deliberate but quick, “…the whole panty-dropper thing? Could’ve worked.”
Derek’s brow lifted slightly.
She leaned back, completely at ease.
“But,” she added, “like all his other attempts—”
A small glance toward Stiles, pointed—
“—it’s not going to.”
“Rude,” Stiles muttered.
“Accurate,” she corrected.
Derek’s attention shifted between them again, the pieces not quite fitting the way they should. This wasn’t how this went. This wasn’t the reaction he expected—not from her, not from anyone. And yet—
He wasn’t stepping back.
If anything, he was more interested now.
“You always ruin plans this quickly?” he asked, tone dry, but there was something else under it now. Curiosity.
Millie’s mouth twitched. “Only the bad ones.”
“…this was a good plan,” Stiles argued.
She gave him a look.
He deflated immediately.
“…it was an okay plan,” he corrected.
Millie exhaled softly through her nose, then pushed to her feet in one smooth movement.
“Not my plan,” Stiles said immediately, like he’d been waiting his whole life to make that clear.
Millie’s eyebrows lifted.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Her attention slid back to Derek, not even trying to hide the shift now.
“Oh,” she said, something like interest sharpening underneath the amusement. “So this was your idea?”
There was a beat.
Derek didn’t look away.
“If it works,” he said simply.
Millie let out a quiet laugh—half snort, half something else—as she shook her head once.
“Right,” she muttered, amused, then glanced back at Stiles. “Wow. I take it back. This is bold for you.”
“It’s not—” Stiles started, then stopped, because that wasn’t even the worst part of this.
Millie ignored him.
Completely.
Her attention stayed exactly where it was.
“You walked into a police station,” she said lightly, eyes still on Derek, “to flirt with a deputy.”
A beat.
“That usually go well for you?”
Derek’s mouth twitched. “Better than expected.”
Millie huffed a quiet laugh at that, shaking her head again like she couldn’t quite believe what she was entertaining right now.
“God,” she muttered under her breath, “the confidence alone is almost convincing.”
“Almost?” he echoed.
She glanced at him properly now, just for a second, smile pulling slightly at her mouth.
“Don’t push it.”
Behind them—
Stiles made a noise of pure frustration.
“Hi,” he said loudly. “Still here. Still part of the problem.”
Millie turned her head just enough to acknowledge him, expression flattening instantly.
“So,” she said, like the last two minutes hadn’t happened, “what is it this time?”
Stiles blinked.
“…what?”
She gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “Let me guess. Dad took something off you, you’re deeply offended, you need to get it back before you spiral.”
“I do not spiral—”
“Or,” she continued over him, “you need a file, you’re not allowed a file, so naturally you’ve decided crime is the solution.”
“That’s—okay, first of all—”
“Or,” she added, tapping her pen against the desk again, “you forgot something and instead of asking like a normal person, you brought…” she gestured loosely toward Derek, “…this.”
Stiles opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“…I forgot something,” he said finally.
Millie stared at him.
“…wow.”
“I did,” he insisted quickly. “It’s—important. Very important. Like—legally important. Possibly life-saving, actually, if you really think about it—”
“I’m not,” she said.
“—and I just need two seconds,” he continued, words picking up speed now, tripping over each other. “In and out, super quick, you won’t even notice I’m gone, I’m basically invisible—”
“You are many things,” she cut in. “Invisible is not one of them.”
“I can be,” he argued.
“You’re talking right now.”
“…I can be quietly visible?”
Millie just looked at him.
Then exhaled.
“You done?” she asked.
A beat.
“…no, but I can be,” he said quickly.
“Good,” she replied. “You’ve got two minutes.”
Stiles blinked.
“…two?”
“Actually,” she corrected, “that was generous. One.”
“Millie—”
“One.”
“Come on, I need at least five—”
“One,” she repeated, already turning away like the conversation was over. “And if I have to come get you, I’m telling noah everything.”
Stiles froze.
Considered that.
“…one is fine,” he said quickly.
Then he was gone.
Running.
Millie watched him disappear for exactly half a second before her attention shifted back again, easy, automatic.
Like it had been there the whole time.
Derek watched her for a second longer, something not quite adding up now. “You two seem… close.”
Millie let out a short laugh at that, shaking her head slightly. “Close?”
A beat.
Then she looked at him properly, amusement flickering back in.
“Wait,” she said, squinting at him like she’d just realised something genuinely ridiculous, “he sent you in here to flirt with me and didn’t even tell you who I am?”
Derek’s brow pulled faintly. “He told me your name.”
Millie stared at him.
Then huffed out a laugh, turning slightly away for a second like she needed a moment to process that.
“Wow,” she muttered. “That’s—honestly, that’s worse.”
Derek’s confusion deepened, but there was still that edge of something else there too—interest, maybe.
“And technically,” he added, “he said it wouldn’t work.”
Millie snorted.
“Oh, he knows me then.”
That landed.
Derek’s gaze narrowed slightly, reassessing now, pieces shifting into place—but not quite enough to fully understand it.
“Yeah,” she continued lightly, glancing back at him, “we’ve known each other a while.”
“A while,” Derek repeated.
Millie smiled faintly. “Long enough that this?” she gestured loosely toward the front desk, the station, him, the whole situation, “was never going to work.”
Derek’s mouth twitched. “It almost did.”
Millie’s eyebrow lifted.
“Mm,” she said. “Careful. Confidence like that gets people into trouble.”
“I’m already in trouble,” he pointed out.
She tilted her head, considering that, then smiled slightly.
“Fair.”
There was a beat—quieter this time, something less playful settling in underneath it. Not uncomfortable. Just… different.
Derek was still watching her.
Trying to figure her out.
Millie let him.
Then—
A noise.
Sharp.
From down the hall.
Millie’s expression changed instantly, the amusement dropping out of it like a switch had been flipped.
“What was—”
Another sound.
Closer.
And then—
Everything moved.
The sound came again—closer this time, heavier, wrong.
Stiles.
Millie didn’t think, she moved.
By the time she rounded the corner, everything hit at once—Stiles backing up, something clattering to the floor, and a man—
No.
Not just a man.
Hunter.
Crossbow already up.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, already reaching for something, anything—
The arrow fired.
It missed Stiles by inches and embedded in the wall with a thunk that felt far too permanent.
“Okay—no—absolutely not,” Stiles said, hands up like that was going to help.
Then—
Movement.
Isaac.
Launching forward with a snarl that was very much not human.
Millie blinked once.
Right.
Wolf.
Okay. That’s new. Not surprising. Still annoying.
Behind her, the fire alarm screamed into life—Stiles, obviously—loud enough to rattle through her skull as everything tipped fully into chaos.
“Isaac—!” Stiles tried.
Too late.
Derek was already moving.
Fast.
He shoved Stiles sideways just as the hunter lunged again, the crossbow swinging round, and everything blurred—impact, bodies colliding, a grunt, the sharp scrape of boots against tile.
Millie’s brain didn’t slow down.
It sped up.
Hunter—Argent, probably. Crossbow—loaded. Isaac—triggered. Derek—alpha, control variable. Stiles—alive, somehow still talking—
She grabbed the nearest solid object—a metal clipboard, decent weight—
Stepped in—
And swung.
Crack.
The hunter dropped like a sack of bad decisions.
Derek turned.
Just for a second.
Long enough to see her.
Standing there.
Completely unfazed.
Like she’d just dealt with an inconvenience.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
That wasn’t—
That wasn’t normal.
Millie raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t just stand there, dude. Sort your beta out before he eats him.”
Derek’s attention snapped back—
Isaac.
Mid-shift.
Eyes blown, body turning toward Stiles—
Stiles froze. “Oh my God, he’s gonna eat me—”
“I’m not gonna—”
“You’re literally—look at your face—”
Derek growled.
Low.
Sharp.
Final.
It cut straight through everything.
Isaac froze mid-step like he’d hit a wall, the shift snapping back as his body jerked, breath ragged as he dropped back into himself.
“I wasn’t gonna eat him,” Isaac muttered.
Stiles pointed at him. “You were thinking about it.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You growled—”
“Enough,” Derek snapped.
Silence.
Brief.
Millie crouched by the hunter like the argument was background noise, already checking pockets, pulling weapons, unloading things with quick, efficient movements.
Knife—obvious. Backup knife—of course. Extra bolts—dramatic. No personality though, disappointing.
She huffed quietly.
“Bit much for a Tuesday night,” she muttered.
Stiles stared at her.
Actually stared.
“…you’re being weirdly okay about this,” he said.
Millie didn’t look up. “Define weird.”
“Hunter. Crossbow. Werewolf,” he said, counting on his fingers. “You hit a man over the head with office supplies and you’re making commentary.”
She shrugged, still patting down the hunter. “Multitasking.”
Derek was still watching her.
Not the hunter.
Her.
The way she moved. The lack of hesitation. The fact she hadn’t asked a single question.
Something in his expression shifted.
Subtle.
But there.
“How did you know?” he asked.
Millie glanced up. “Know what?”
“That we are wolves.”
Millie straightened slowly, brushing her hands together.
Then—
Derek moved.
Fast.
Her back hit the wall, his arm braced beside her shoulder, the other catching her wrist.
Stiles froze.
Eyes wide.
“Whoa—hey—HEY—” he rushed forward a step. “Okay, no, we’re not doing that—she’s—Derek—”
Derek didn’t look away from her. “How did you know?”
Millie blinked.
Then rolled her eyes.
“Oh my God,” she muttered. “We’re doing this now?”
“Answer the question.”
She tilted her head slightly, like she was deciding how much patience she had for this.
Then—
“You,” she said, nodding toward him, “are a Hale.”
A beat.
“Not exactly subtle.”
Derek’s jaw tightened.
“And dimples over there—”
“I don’t have—” Isaac started.
“—the neon yellow glow-stick eyes,” she finished, pointing lazily at him, “kind of gave it away.”
A beat.
“And,” she added, “the whole trying to eat Stiles thing? Bit of a clue.”
Stiles pointed immediately. “THANK you.”
“I wasn’t gonna eat him,” Isaac muttered.
Millie looked at him.
Flat.
“…sure.”
Derek didn’t move.
Didn’t loosen his grip.
“You’re lying,” he said.
Millie blinked.
Then let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
“Am I?” she said. “Or are you just not used to people keeping up?”
“That wasn’t normal,” he pressed. “Your reaction. Your reflexes.”
Millie huffed, rolling her eyes again.
“Dude,” she said, “the uniform? I work at the sheriff’s department. Kind of an entry-level requirement to not freeze when someone tries to shoot you.”
Derek didn’t look convinced.
At all.
His gaze sharpened.
Watching.
Listening.
Millie clocked it instantly.
And sighed.
“Oh my God,” she muttered. “Seriously?”
She leaned her head back lightly against the wall, then looked straight at him.
“Jesus,” she said. “For someone who can literally hear heartbeats, you’d think you’d use it.”
A beat.
“Go on,” she added. “Listen.”
Stiles blinked. “…oh, that’s—actually a really good point.”
Derek hesitated.
Just for a second.
Millie held his gaze, completely steady.
“Not a hunter,” she said. “Not lying. Just… not an idiot.”
Silence.
A beat.
Then another.
Derek searched her face.
Listening.
Measuring.
Nothing spiked.
Nothing gave.
Millie raised an eyebrow. “You done?”
That—
That was when Stiles finally exhaled, tension snapping.
“…yeah,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Also—just to circle back—he does that.”
Derek shot him a look.
Stiles shrugged. “You do. You pin people. It’s a whole thing.”
Millie nodded slightly. “Good to know. I’ll add it to the list.”
Derek didn’t move.
Didn’t loosen his grip.
Didn’t step back.
Millie glanced down briefly at where he still had her pinned, then back up at him, completely unimpressed.
“Okay,” she said lightly, “so this is the part where you let go.”
Nothing.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Like… right now,” she added. “Before you need a whole new problem.”
Derek’s jaw tightened slightly. “What problem?”
Millie tilted her head, like she couldn’t believe she had to explain this.
“The one where my boss—your favourite sheriff—walks in,” she said, nodding vaguely toward the front, “sees you pinning me to a wall, and decides to skip straight to violence.”
A beat.
Then, pointed—
“Fire alarm’s kind of a giveaway, by the way. Tends to attract attention.”
That—
That landed.
Behind them, the alarm still blared, sharp and relentless.
Stiles’ eyes widened.
“Oh—shit,” he said, snapping back into reality. “Yeah—no—she’s right—dude, we need to go, like, now—”
He took a step toward them—
Then stopped.
Eyes flicking between Derek’s grip and Millie.
“…and also,” he added, pointing, “you need to get off her.”
Derek didn’t move.
Stiles gestured more aggressively. “Like—immediately. Right now.”
“Why?” Derek asked, still watching Millie.
Stiles stared at him.
“…because,” he said slowly, like he was explaining something incredibly obvious, “if my dad walks in and sees you pinning her to a wall, it’s not a conversation.”
A beat.
“It’s a shoot first, ask questions later situation.”
Millie snorted.
Then—
Actually laughed.
Head tipping back slightly, the sound slipping out easily, completely unbothered.
“Oh my God,” she said, shaking her head. “He would.”
Stiles pointed at her. “THANK you.”
“He absolutely would,” she added, still amused. “No hesitation.”
Derek’s grip faltered.
Just slightly.
Millie caught it immediately.
Leaning forward just a fraction, voice dropping slightly—
“Seriously,” she said, quieter now. “You want to test that theory, be my guest.”
A beat.
Then, back to normal—
“Or,” she added, “you could let go and get your beta out of my station.”
Silence.
Then—
Derek stepped back.
Finally.
Stiles let out a breath. “Great. Love that decision. Big fan.”
Millie pushed off the wall, brushing her shoulder like she’d just been mildly inconvenienced.
Derek didn’t hesitate this time. “Right. Let’s go.”
Isaac was already moving.
Stiles stepped after them—
“Yeah, no,” Millie said, catching the back of his hoodie and yanking him to a stop.
He stumbled slightly. “Hey—”
“Not you, Mischief,” she said, already steering him back toward the desk. “I’m not dealing with this alone.”
Stiles blinked. “…rude.”
“Accurate,” she replied.
Derek paused at the doorway.
Just for a second.
His eyes flicked back.
Caught hers.
Something unreadable there—curiosity, calculation, something that hadn’t been there when he walked in.
Millie held the look.
Unbothered.
Then raised an eyebrow slightly, like well?
That was enough.
Derek turned and disappeared down the hall, Isaac close behind him.
The door swung shut.
And just like that—
Silence.
Well.
Silence, if you ignored the still-blaring fire alarm and the unconscious hunter on the floor.
Stiles looked at her.
She looked at him.
“…we’re in trouble,” he said.
Millie exhaled. “You think?”
Footsteps.
Heavy.
Fast.
Both of them turned just as Noah pushed through the doors, already scanning, already assessing—
His gaze landed on the scene.
Unconscious man.
Empty holding cell.
His son.
Millie.
A broken clipboard.
A long, long pause.
Stiles pointed immediately.
“…he did it.”
Noah closed his eyes.
Just for a second.
Like he was gathering strength.
“Stiles,” Millie said flatly, “shut up.”
She stepped forward before he could say anything else, expression shifting instantly—softening, just enough, something almost sweet settling in as she looked at Noah.
“Okay,” she said, hands coming up slightly. “Before you react—”
“Why,” Noah cut in, voice already tired, already done, “is it always you three?”
Millie blinked.
Then, without missing a beat—
“I ask myself that same question every time.”
Stiles frowned. “Three? There’s only—”
Noah didn’t even look at him. “Oh, Scott decided not to join tonight? Good for him.”
Stiles looked mildly offended. “I feel like I’m being grouped unfairly.”
“You are,” Millie said. “Just not in the way you think.”
Noah finally looked at her properly, arms folding.
“…start talking.”
Millie glanced at the hunter.
Then the alarm.
Then back at Noah.
“…define start,” she said carefully.
Noah stared at her.
Not amused.
Not convinced.
Just… tired.
Millie gave him a small, hopeful smile.
The kind that had absolutely gotten her out of trouble before.
“…no,” Noah said flatly.
Stiles made a quiet choking noise behind her.
“Worth a shot,” Millie muttered.
Noah pointed—slow, deliberate—at the unconscious hunter. “Start there.”
Millie followed his finger, like she hadn’t already fully assessed the situation three separate times.
“Right,” she said. “Okay. So—fun fact—he broke in.”
Noah blinked once.
“Did he,” he said.
“Mm,” she nodded. “Very rude. Didn’t sign in, no appointment, zero respect for procedure.”
Stiles coughed. “He had a crossbow—”
“Stiles,” she said without looking at him.
“Yep. Silent. Done.”
Noah’s gaze didn’t move. “And the cell?”
Millie exhaled softly through her nose.
Ah.
There it is.
She tilted her head slightly. “You know, in my defence—”
“I don’t,” Noah cut in.
“—it was already open,” she finished anyway.
A beat.
Stiles slowly turned his head toward her.
“…it was not,” he whispered.
Millie ignored him.
Noah’s eyes flicked, briefly, to Stiles.
Then back to her.
“Try again.”
Millie sighed.
“Okay,” she said. “Fine. Revised version.”
She gestured vaguely behind her.
“Hunter breaks in. Shoots at your son—which, by the way, feels like something we should circle back to—”
“We will,” Noah said.
“Great,” she replied. “Love that for us.”
A beat.
“Then,” she continued, “chaos. Screaming. Fire alarm—”
“That was me,” Stiles said.
“Obviously,” she muttered.
“—and,” she finished, “in the confusion, the cell may have become… less occupied.”
Silence.
Noah stared at her.
“…less occupied,” he repeated.
“Mm.”
Another pause.
“…Millie.”
“Yeah?”
“Where is he.”
She considered that.
Briefly.
Then gestured vaguely toward the door Derek had left through.
“…gone?”
Stiles made a noise that sounded like a dying animal.
Noah pinched the bridge of his nose.
Long.
Slow.
Measured.
Millie shifted her weight slightly, rocking back on her heels.
“You know,” she added, helpfully, “technically this is a successful containment situation.”
Noah lowered his hand.
“…how.”
“Well,” she said, counting on her fingers, “hunter—contained.” She pointed to the floor. “Stiles—not dead.” A pause. “Which is always a win.”
“Thank you,” Stiles said weakly.
“And,” she finished, “minimal property damage.”
Noah looked at the wall.
At the arrow embedded in it.
At the overturned chair.
At the still-screaming fire alarm.
Then back at her.
Millie followed his gaze.
“…low to moderate property damage,” she corrected.
Stiles nodded immediately. “Yeah, that feels more accurate.”
Noah stared at both of them.
Then—
“…the claw marks,” he said, nodding toward the hunter. “That Isaac?”
Millie didn’t even hesitate. “No.”
A beat.
Noah’s eyes flicked back to her.
“…no?”
She shook her head slightly. “Not Isaac.”
He watched her for a second longer.
Then—
“Who, then.”
Millie paused.
Just briefly.
Then, casual as anything—
“…Hale may have also been here.”
Noah let out a quiet breath through his nose.
Not surprised.
Just… confirming.
“Right,” he muttered.
A beat.
Then, sharper—
“And Isaac?”
Millie jerked her thumb toward the door. “With Hale.”
Noah huffed again, longer this time, like that tracked exactly with what he already knew.
“Okay,” he said. “Great. Fantastic.”
A pause.
Then, under his breath—
“Teenage werewolf loose with an alpha. That’s… probably for the best.”
Millie nodded. “Statistically speaking? Yeah.”
Stiles went very still.
Slowly—
“…I’m sorry,” he said.
No one acknowledged him.
“…I’m sorry,” he repeated, louder now. “Did you just say werewolf?”
Millie closed her eyes briefly.
Ah.
There it is.
Noah didn’t even look at him. “Stiles—”
“No—no, no, no,” Stiles cut in, pointing wildly between them. “We’re not skipping past that—hunter, claws, Hale, alpha—you just said that like it was a weather update—”
“It kind of is,” Millie muttered.
“STOP DOING THAT,” Stiles snapped.
Noah finally turned his head.
Looked at his son.
A long, measured pause.
“…you’re joking,” Stiles said.
Noah raised an eyebrow. “About?”
“This,” Stiles said, gesturing at everything. “All of this. You know?”
Another pause.
Then—
“I’m the sheriff,” Noah said.
Flat.
Simple.
Like that explained everything.
Stiles stared at him.
“…that is not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting right now.”
“That’s a yes,” Stiles said immediately. “That’s—no, that’s a definite yes—you know—how long have you known?!”
Noah gave him a look.
Didn’t answer.
Millie did.
“Couple of months,” she said lightly.
Stiles whipped around. “WHAT?”
She shrugged. “Roughly.”
“You—” he pointed between them. “You told him?”
Millie tilted her head. “He’s the sheriff.”
“That is not the point!”
“It kind of is,” she said.
Noah’s mouth twitched.
Just slightly.
“I asked,” he added.
Stiles turned back to him. “You asked??”
“You were acting suspicious,” Noah said.
“You always act suspicious,” Millie added.
“NOT HELPING.”
Noah folded his arms. “Millie filled in the gaps.”
Stiles stared at her like she’d personally betrayed him.
“You told my dad about werewolves before I did.”
Millie winced slightly. “When you say it like that—”
“HOW ELSE WOULD I SAY IT?!”
She held up a hand. “In my defence, there was an active situation, limited time, and you were nowhere to be found.”
“I WAS TRYING TO PROTECT YOU.”
“From what,” she said flatly, “information?”
Noah looked between them.
“…we are not doing this right now.”
Stiles pointed at him. “You said alpha.”
“Yes.”
“You said it like it was normal.”
“It is,” Noah said.
A beat.
Then—
“For this town.”
Silence.
Stiles looked like his brain had just blue-screened.
“…I hate it here,” he muttered.
Millie nodded. “That’s fair.”
Noah exhaled, long and tired.
“…we are going to have a conversation.”
Stiles pointed immediately. “Yeah, we are.”
“Not now.”
“…oh.”
A beat.
“…okay.”
Millie clapped her hands once, lightly. “Great. Emotional breakthroughs pending, crimes still happening.”
Noah gave her a look.
She smiled.
Bright.
Unapologetic.
And absolutely the reason this situation existed in the first place.
The station had finally gone quiet.
Properly quiet this time.
No alarms. No shouting. No Stiles.
Just the low hum of fluorescent lights and the soft scratch of pen against paper.
Millie sat at the desk, one leg tucked slightly under her chair, pen moving steadily as she filled out the report she absolutely did not want to be writing at this time of night.
Across from her, Noah leaned back slightly in his chair, glasses low on his nose, reading through what she’d already written with the kind of focus that said he was looking for problems.
He always was.
A beat passed.
Then—
“…full version,” he said.
Millie didn’t look up. “You just read it.”
“I read the version you want on record,” Noah replied. “Now I want the version that actually happened.”
She paused.
Just slightly.
Then sighed, pen tapping once against the paper before she leaned back in her chair.
“Okay,” she said. “Well.”
A beat.
“So—Stiles decided—”
She stopped.
Tilted her head.
“Actually, no. Derek decided.”
Another beat.
“…or it was Stiles’ idea and Derek just made it worse. Honestly, unclear. Bit of a joint failure.”
Noah’s mouth twitched.
Millie carried on, completely unfazed.
“Anyway. The plan—” she made a vague gesture with her pen, “—was that Derek comes in, hits me with the whole—”
She paused again.
Then, without shame—
“—panty-dropper smile—”
Noah made a noise.
Not quite a laugh.
Not quite anything else.
Then immediately straightened.
“…I’m sorry,” he said, holding up a hand. “The what.”
Millie didn’t even blink. “Panty-dropper smile.”
Noah stared at her.
Long.
Hard.
Then pointed at her with the pen he’d stolen off the desk at some point.
“Please never say that again about Hale.”
A beat.
“You are,” he added, more firmly, “basically a daughter to me. I do not need to be thinking about that.”
Millie snorted.
Actually snorted.
“Noted,” she said, lips twitching. “Traumatised the sheriff. Adding that to my list of achievements.”
Noah shook his head, dragging a hand down his face like he was reconsidering every life choice that led him here.
“Continue,” he said.
Millie nodded, still faintly amused.
“Right. So. Hale comes in, attempts charm,” she said, ticking it off like bullet points. “Meanwhile, Stiles is doing his best—”
She waved her hand vaguely.
“—James Bond impression.”
Noah huffed a quiet laugh at that.
“Which,” she added, “was not successful, by the way. Shocking, I know.”
“Unbelievable,” Noah muttered.
“Truly,” she agreed.
A beat.
“Anyway, he was trying to sneak in, get the keys, let Isaac out,” she continued. “That was the plan as far as I gathered.”
Noah leaned back slightly. “And the rest?”
Millie shrugged.
“Didn’t get that far,” she said. “Hunter kind of… accelerated things.”
Noah nodded slowly.
That tracked.
Of course it did.
A quiet beat settled between them again, the kind that came after chaos, when everything had finally stopped moving but hadn’t quite settled yet.
Millie picked her pen back up.
Started writing again.
Noah watched her for a moment.
Then—
“…you handled it well,” he said.
Simple.
Matter-of-fact.
Millie didn’t look up, but something in her posture shifted slightly.
“Yeah,” she said. “I know.”
Noah’s mouth twitched.
A beat.
Then—
“Go home,” he said. “You’ve been here long enough.”
Millie didn’t argue.
For once.
She just nodded, finishing the last line, sliding the paper across the desk toward him.
“Night,” she said, pushing her chair back.
“Millie.”
She paused.
Looked back.
“Lock your door,” he added.
A beat.
Millie’s mouth curved slightly.
“Always do.”
The house was quiet when Millie got in.
Properly quiet.
She shut the door behind her with a soft click, leaning back against it for a second, eyes closing briefly as the night finally caught up with her.
“Jesus,” she muttered.
Keys dropped onto the side.
Jacket shrugged off.
Boots kicked somewhere vaguely near the wall.
She moved through the house on autopilot, heading straight for the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing the first drink she saw. Cold. Good enough.
A long sip.
Another.
Then she shut the fridge with her hip and headed upstairs, already pulling her hair loose as she went.
Bathroom light flicked on.
Too bright.
She winced, squinting at her reflection.
“…yeah,” she said to herself. “You look like you got hit with a crossbow incident.”
Fair.
She reached for the sink, turning the tap on, splashing cold water over her face. Makeup smudged, exhaustion obvious now that the adrenaline had worn off.
Cleanser.
Routine.
Familiar.
Grounding.
By the time she finished, the night felt… quieter. More distant. Like something she’d deal with later.
She dried her face, tugging at the collar of her shirt as she stepped back.
Then—
Bathroom done, she moved on without thinking, flicking the light off behind her.
A quick stop—
Then back into the hallway, already unbuttoning her shirt as she walked, too tired to care about anything other than getting into bed.
Halfway undone.
Mind elsewhere.
Door open.
Step inside—
The door shut behind her.
Fast.
Solid.
Millie barely had time to react before her back hit the wood, breath catching as a hand braced beside her head.
Instinct hit first—
“—”
Her body tensed—
Then stilled.
Because—
Oh.
For God’s sake.
“…again?” she said, breath still slightly uneven but voice already settling back into something sharp, something controlled.
Derek didn’t move.
Close.
Too close.
Eyes on her like he hadn’t quite decided what to do yet.
Millie blinked up at him.
Then glanced down briefly—
His arm.
The door.
Her.
Back up again.
“…you know,” she added, dry, “most people text before they show up in someone’s bedroom.”
Derek’s mouth twitched, just slightly.
“I never got your number.”
Millie blinked.
A beat.
“…right,” she said. “Yeah, that feels like the main issue here.”
He didn’t move.
Still close.
Still braced against the door.
But something had shifted.
Not threat.
Not quite.
His gaze flicked over her—quick, assessing, automatic—and then back to her face.
“You okay?” he asked.
It was quieter than she expected.
Millie paused.
Just for a second.
Then shrugged one shoulder against the door. “Got shot at. Hit a man with a clipboard. Did paperwork.” A beat. “Standard night.”
Derek’s jaw tightened slightly.
“You were in the middle of it.”
“I usually am,” she said lightly.
Another beat.
Then—
“You helped,” he said.
Simple.
Direct.
Millie tilted her head. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m not,” he replied.
But there was something in it.
Something closer to respect than he’d probably admit.
She clocked it.
Of course she did.
“Careful,” she said, voice softer now, just a touch. “You keep that up, I might think you’re grateful.”
Derek exhaled quietly through his nose.
“I am.”
That—
That landed.
Millie’s expression flickered.
Just for a second.
Then it was gone again.
“Wow,” she said. “Big day for emotional honesty.”
Derek ignored that.
“What did you tell the sheriff?” he asked.
There it was.
Practical.
Controlled.
Millie nodded slightly. “Cover story.”
“Which is?”
She shifted a little, still pinned but not uncomfortable—just… aware.
“Hunter breaks in,” she said. “Goes for me, not Stiles. Makes it cleaner.” A small shrug. “I knock him out. Fire alarm goes off in the struggle.”
Derek listened.
Focused.
“And Isaac?” he asked.
“Panics,” she said. “Thinks there’s a fire. Runs.”
Derek considered that.
Then nodded, once.
“That’s smart.”
Millie smirked faintly. “I know.”
Another beat.
Then—
“He knows,” Derek said.
Not a question.
Millie’s eyebrow lifted. “Obviously.”
Derek’s gaze sharpened. “You told him.”
“Yeah,” she said simply.
A pause.
Then, slightly more pointed—
“Someone had to.”
Derek didn’t argue that.
Didn’t like it.
But didn’t argue it.
A quiet beat settled between them.
Closer than it should’ve been.
Millie felt it first—
the shift.
Subtle.
But there.
His gaze dropped.
Just slightly.
Instinct.
Not deliberate.
Millie followed it.
Then—
Oh.
Right.
Her shirt.
Still half undone.
Lace just visible beneath.
She didn’t fix it.
Didn’t rush.
If anything—
her chin tipped up just a fraction.
Derek’s breath caught.
Barely.
But she heard it.
And more than that—
she felt the shift in him.
The air changed.
Denser.
He stepped in closer without meaning to—
or maybe meaning to just enough.
Millie’s pulse kicked.
Hard.
Fast.
She saw the moment he noticed.
His head tilted slightly—
listening.
Her heartbeat.
Too loud now.
Too quick.
Her lips curved.
Slow.
Knowing.
“…something wrong?” she asked softly.
His eyes snapped back to hers—
but it was already too late.
He’d noticed.
All of it.
Millie leaned her head back against the door, just slightly—
exposing her neck.
Not careless.
Deliberate.
A test.
Derek stilled.
Properly stilled.
His jaw tightened.
Because now—
it wasn’t just her heartbeat.
It was her scent.
Warm.
Alive.
Shifted.
Different.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
Something softer.
Something sharper.
It pulled at him—
low and instinctive—
and for a second, control slipped.
Millie saw it.
Felt it.
Her breath caught—
just slightly.
And that—
that made it worse.
Derek exhaled slowly through his nose—
but didn’t step back.
Didn’t move away.
“…that’s scent marking, isn’t it,” she said quietly.
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
Millie watched him—
really watched him now—
the restraint,
the tension,
the way he was holding himself still like moving even slightly would tip something over.
“…you’re fighting it,” she added.
A beat.
Nothing.
Her gaze softened—just slightly.
Then—
“You should tell them,” she said.
Derek frowned faintly. “Tell who.”
“Your pack.”
That landed.
She didn’t break eye contact.
“You’re an alpha now,” she continued, voice low, steady. “They need to understand what that means.”
A beat.
“Instincts don’t just go away because you ignore them.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Derek’s breathing slowed—
deliberate.
Controlled.
Trying to get it back.
Millie watched it happen.
Then—
softer—
“Relax,” she murmured.
Not teasing.
Not pushing.
Grounding.
Her head tilted slightly—
offering.
Clear.
A choice.
Derek’s eyes flicked to her throat—
then back to her.
Checking.
Millie didn’t move.
Didn’t pull away.
Her fingers lifted instead—
light—
grazing his jaw, then his neck.
A quiet answer.
That was enough.
Derek stepped closer.
This time—
on purpose.
Slow.
Measured.
His hand lifted, brushing a loose strand of hair back behind her ear first—
controlled.
Careful.
Then—
he leaned in.
His breath ghosted against her neck—
warm—
too close—
and Millie’s pulse spiked again under it.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
A quiet inhale—
closer—
not biting—
not rough—
just a low, instinctive press.
A claim.
Scent, not force.
Millie stilled—
breath catching—
then steadying again.
Her hand tightened just slightly at his neck—
not stopping him.
Not pushing him away.
Just…
there.
Grounding him back.
When he pulled back—
it was controlled.
Chosen.
Not lost.
Millie’s lips curved faintly.
“…yeah,” she murmured, voice soft but sure, “you definitely need to explain that to them.”
Derek held her gaze.
Something in him had settled.
Not gone—
just… steadied.
Millie let her hand drop.
Stepped back just enough to put space between them again.
Control restored.
For both of them.
“Goodnight, Hale,” she said lightly.
Like none of that had just happened.
Like it absolutely had.
Derek hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then—
“Goodnight.”
Quieter.
And then he was gone.
The room fell quiet again.
Too quiet.
Millie stayed where she was for a second longer, back still against the door, breath slowly evening out as the moment caught up with her all at once.
“…yeah,” she muttered softly.
“That’s… going to be a problem.”
Outside—
Derek didn’t stop moving.
Down the street.
Across the road.
Far enough that he should have been clear-headed again.
Should’ve.
But he wasn’t.
Because she was still there.
Not physically—
but close enough.
Her scent lingered.
Clung.
Threaded through his senses like it had no intention of leaving.
Warm.
Alive.
Familiar already in a way that didn’t make sense.
He exhaled sharply through his nose—
like that might clear it.
It didn’t.
If anything—
it made it worse.
Because now he could still feel it.
Her heartbeat—
too fast, then steadying under his hand.
The shift in her scent when she realised what he was doing.
Not fear.
Never fear.
Something else.
Something that had answered him instead of pulling away.
Derek’s jaw tightened.
He kept walking.
But slower now.
Because his mind—
wasn’t where it should be.
Her voice.
Calm.
Certain.
You should tell them.
Your pack.
It looped.
Stuck.
And underneath it—
something deeper.
Quieter.
Instinct.
His wolf didn’t settle.
Didn’t move on.
Didn’t dismiss it as a moment.
It held onto it.
Onto her.
Derek stopped.
Just for a second.
Breathing slow.
Controlled.
Trying to force it down.
Trying to put distance between himself and whatever that was—
whatever she was—
But it didn’t go.
Didn’t fade.
If anything—
it settled deeper.
Not urgent.
Not chaotic.
Certain.
Like something already decided.
His hand flexed slightly at his side.
Unconscious.
A habit when something felt unfinished.
Because that’s what it was.
Not over.
Not resolved.
Not done.
Derek exhaled slowly.
Looked back once—
toward her house.
Just for a second.
Then turned away again.
Because leaving—
didn’t feel like leaving.
It felt like—
pause.
His wolf knew it.
Clear.
Steady.
Unshaken.
This wasn’t the end of it.
Not even close.
Derek didn’t say it.
Didn’t need to.
But the thought sat there anyway—
solid.
Unavoidable.
He’d be back.