"And we were doing so well, too." Maybe Peter just didn't do anything of particular note today, aside from idly scheming and planning and reading. And fucking Chris six ways to Sunday.

Peter's... relationship with the youth of Beacon Hills was strained, to say the least. They didn't trust him, but they came to him for information every so often. For help. The contradiction of it was something of a delight, but. These days, Peter's reasons for remaining in this town were dwindling one by one.

A smile that didn't reach his eyes played on his face, Peter having picked up his scotch at some point again, the glass hanging loosely from his hand. "I don't have the answers you're looking for. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that you don't need them."

His voice was level, conversational, even, eyes on Chris when he said, "I've experienced firsthand the results of what happens when a hunter starts asking after a werewolf's personal life."