𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐫, m. tate & i. lahey

𝟎𝟎𝟕. the smell of death

ANCHOR

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ISAAC AND MALIA are seated at their desks, waiting for the lesson to begin. The werecoyote studies Isaac's notes while he rests his chin on the palm of his hand as he scrolls through his notifications— none of their friends have come to school today, and none of them have texted either.

"Isaac," Ms. Fleming says. "Put your phone away." The boy awkwardly nods and apologizes, stuffing his cellphone into his jacket pocket a moment later. Their teacher continues taking attendance and marks each of her students missing or present. Then she gets to Stiles and Lydia, and the woman sighs heavily. "Any idea of where your friends are?"

Malia looks up from the notebook, glancing at their empty seats. "I could try catching their scent," she suggests in a casual tone.

Isaac's mouth drops slightly before he forces himself to shut it completely. Thankfully, no one takes particular notice or care for the girl's response. "Uh. No, ma'am."

"Right..." Ms. Fleming watches Malia uncomfortably, holding her notepad tighter than before. "How about I just mark them down as absent?"

Malia turns her attention back to the notes and reads over them with little to no interest. However, the sound of a quiet voice pauses her reading. She straightens in her chair, furrowing her eyebrows and looking around the classroom. The beta behind her notices her odd behavior.

"Everything okay?" he asks, leaning forward to rest his arms on his desk. Malia makes eye contact with him, and he can tell that something's wrong. "Lia, what is it?"

"Nothing..." she whispers over her shoulder, although she's still on the edge of her seat. Then, Malia snatches Isaac's notes and shoves them into her bag, hopping out from her desk and swinging her backpack over her shoulder. She's almost to the door when her teacher stops her.

"Malia," Ms. Fleming addresses her directly, and Malia pauses her steps. "Do you need to be excused from class?"

"Yeah?" the girl replies, jerking her head as if it were obvious. Then she walks out of the classroom and into the hall, leaving the class and her teacher confused by her actions.

Malia continues to round the corner, entering a more open space in the school. Her steps cease when she senses a presence behind her, and she turns to find Derek standing toward the top of the staircase. "What're you doing here?"

"Brett's still out of it," he explains, stepping down the stairs and closer to Malia. "I need to find his pack and warn them about the dead pool."

"So, what do you need me for?"

"I know a little something about this pack," Derek says, stopping at the last two steps. "They have a kind of secret meeting place in the woods. No one's spent more time in the woods of Beacon Hills than you." He brings out a green lacrosse jersey, tossing it forward. Malia catches it with ease. "This is Brett's— breathe it in."

The werecoyote frowns, reminding him of her lack of skills. "I'm not good at that yet."

However, Derek is persistent. "Try it. I'll teach you."

Malia tightens her lips, hesitantly bringing the cloth closer to her face. She sniffs at first, then inhales the gross smell of sweat. Her features wrinkle slightly, but she pushes away her disgust and focuses on what Derek says.

"Focus on the different scents; some are tied to identity. Others give off an emotion," Derek informs her, keeping his voice at a calm level as to not distract her from her concentration. When Malia opens her eyes and looks up at him, he raises his brows. "Got it?"