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Summary
Of late, he’d grown increasingly cautious of the entire Argent household, a strange itch forming under his skin whenever he ran across them.
Mieczyslaw would swear later there was the sound of shattering glass before memories began to flood in. He felt his chest heave with panic, eyes dripping tears as his knees began to buckle before Deaton caught him, helping him remain upright until the strength returned to his legs.
Deaton turned toward him again, face set in determination.
“Stiles, run.”
And so he did.