𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐫, m. tate & i. lahey

𝟎𝟎𝟗. the argument

ANCHOR

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MALIA FLIPS FROM one side to the other on the mattress, neither of them seemingly comfortable for her. She shuts her eyes and tries to fall asleep: none of her efforts are successful. She doesn't feel tired whatsoever, but she wants all of her thoughts to be gone. Her mind hasn't been peaceful since yesterday. Since before Malia found the dead pool; before she found her true name.

Malia hasn't spoken to any of her friends. She has put her phone on silent and ignored any of the calls or messages they've sent. The girl has no interest in speaking to or seeing any of them. They all lied to her and had no intention of telling her the truth. Malia gave them an opportunity to tell her at the vault— and they still avoided it.

Abruptly, she sits up in her bed, pushing the blanket halfway down her body. She's been laying there for almost an hour, and she hasn't fallen asleep. Malia groans as she takes her phone off her nightstand and unlocks it.

There are four text messages from Allison, twenty from Stiles, seven from Kira, and thirteen from Isaac. Scott and Isaac have both called her four times. Malia briefly opens their messages and swipes through them while reading. Most of them consist of apologies, and others of explanations. None of them matter to her.

The werecoyote exits the messaging app, shutting off the device. She tosses it next to her pillow and falls back onto the cushion. She stares at one of the walls in her bedroom for a moment— then she closes her eyes and turns the other way, deciding to try and get at least a few hours of sleep before sunrise.

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Malia paces the Hale vault, having entered from the outdoor access. She inspects the many trinkets and items on the shelves— the werecoyote didn't have much interest yesterday, but now she does. Her phone starts to vibrate as she closes the lid to one of the small chests on a higher shelf. She takes the device out of her back pocket, and the name on the caller causes her to pause.

The girl reluctantly presses the off button, and Isaac's name is replaced by a black screen. Malia shoves her phone in her back pocket of her jeans once more, and as she turns the other way, the safe near the entrance to the basement catches her eye. She strides toward it, her hand reaching out to grasp the lock and handle.

Malia positions her free palm against the safe, shifting her body in a firmer stance. She pulls down at the lock, the metal creaking quietly. Malia's features wrinkle slightly as she uses more force, tightening her grip on the lock. She grunts when the handle breaks off, and the werecoyote lets out a breath of release. Malia straightens, placing the broken piece of the safe to the side while she opens it.

The large locker contains only one thing— a very thin file with four words written on the front: Malia Tate — Adoption Records.

The girl's eyes soften, and her brows furrow in both wonder and confusion. However, before she can flip the file open, footsteps begin to approach from behind. Malia whirls to face the gate, and she meets the gaze of Peter Hale. The man takes another few steps closer, and Malia's body stiffens.

He sighs, tilting his head to the side as Malia narrows her eyes at him. "I've got to buy a better safe." Malia stares back at him with a cautious demeanor, and Peter glances at the folder in her hands. "I can't let you leave here with that."

"Maybe you won't have a choice," Malia says in a challenging tone.

Peter begins to circle the teenage girl. She copies his actions. "Is that right?"