Somehow, despite asking the question, Derek didn’t expect an answer. Maybe it’s just superstiition, maybe it’s because, in recent months, they’ve become so hard to find, or maybe it’s because Derek’s thinking of Peter and how he never answered straight if he answered at all.

Derek stares at her - continues to do so, really, though his eyes fix on her with a renewed sharpness. All over again, he’s reading her face, mapping her out, in the hopes of finding something more than words, something he can trust. They study each other in the same way. Derek’s not sure what he expected, except that it probably wasn’t her. (So normal might about cover it, honestly, especially when he found her rooting through trash.)

Something about the idea of this girl’s mother knowing about them, knowing about what happened, starts the beginnings of an insidious anger somewhere in him, but he thinks about it, turns it over and over again in his head, and realizes that the shifter - cousin? - in front of him doesn’t know. When the fire still holds such a vast space in his mind, it’s hard to believe - and it’s also not what he needs to focus on right now.

His gaze flicks over her again. Her clothing fits, she wears it comfortably, and she had it ready, so however long she spends a coyote Derek assumes that she must shift fairly frequently. Did she steal them, or does she have people helping her? Who’s she with, Derek wonders, but instead he asks:

“How long have you been out here?”