Chapter Text
Monroe flees the crime scene of Beacon Hills sometime during the night. Theo goes home.
He parks in the preserve deeper than ever before, leaves his bullet-riddled truck unlocked, his phone on the dashboard, and systematically breaks down his body until four rough paws touch cool ground. And then he runs.
Four months, two weeks, and five days later, Theo is still running.
Running unsteady hands through dirty, too-long hair. Running a dry tongue over even drier lips. Running through empty hallways of the morgue. Running cold fingers over the screen of his phone, never stopping to connect the call.