A muscle jumps visibly in Stiles’ cheek, his jaw clamped tight so hard that his teeth ache. In the next train compartment, people are beginning to congregate near the windows. Confusion and irritation paint their expressions, though there’s no sign of the conductor just yet. Sweat beading on the nape of his neck, Stiles tries not to fidget. It takes an incredible amount of effort.

“Yeah? Well, if you have a brain, you’ll use this opportunity to take a hike. Or would you rather explain to the Night Council later why you had to slaughter a train of people as a cover up? You made your point, Cooper, so buzz off and leave me alone.”