Della Argent spent her childhood in San Francisco. She had a good life, a quiet life. She did well in school, she had lots of friends, she took ballet classes down the street from her mother's bookstore and when she got a little older her parents let her bike to Ocean Beach and read for hours. And when she wasn't on the beach, or in class, or with friends, she was following her cousin Allison around the city. Even though she was almost three years younger, Allison always let her tag along. They were as close as sisters. And every Friday, they'd have a sleepover. Allison's bedroom was bigger, so they always went to her house. That was why Adella wasn't home on the night her life imploded.

At 12:34, March 12, 2011, the Argent's landline rang in the office. It rang and rang and rang, until Allison yelled to her father to answer it.

"Dad, can you get the phone? It won't stop ringing."

"Who would be calling us at midnight, God only knows," Allison's mother huffed, wrapping her robe around herself a bit tighter. "What are you girls still doing awake?"

"Sorry Aunt Victoria, I was keeping Allison awake talking." Della said, looking down. She loved her aunt, but she could be a little intimidating.

"It was both of us," Allison lied. Della really had been keeping her awake. She hadn't told anyone, but she'd felt off all day. She was too anxious to go to sleep.

"It's fine, girls, just get to b—" but Victoria never finished. She was cut off by Chris's sharp voice snapping "What?"

Della's heartbeat picked up. Victoria motioned for the girls to stay in Allison's room, but they followed her downstairs anyway. Della's ears were ringing, each step downstairs making it worse. She forced herself down but when her feet hit the last step she wished she hadn't.

"Della—" her uncle said her name like it was an apology, though for what, she didn't know. "Della, sweetie, sit down."

ears stained aunt Victoria's face. That wasn't right, her aunt never cried. Never.

"Why?" The girl asked. She didn't usually argue, but everything felt wrong. His face, it was wrecked. Her uncle looked broken and she didn't want to know why. She didn't want to deal with any of this. And that ringing... it was deafening, numbing her senses.

Allison sliped her hand into her cousins and gave it a squeeze. She was standing tall, smolders back. She looked strong. It made Della feel stronger. "What happened?"

"Your parents, Della, they... they're gone."

"What do you mean gone?" Allison asked, but Della's vision was blurring. She could barely hear her cousin of that incessant ringing. Like the phone, minutes before, ringing and ringing and ringing. She blacked out before she could hear her uncle's reply.

Her parents had been found dead in their row house on Irving St. That's what the phone call was about. Police discovered their bodies after being called to the house over a noise complaint. There wasn't enough left for an open casket. Adella went to live with her aunt and uncle. She missed so much school that she was held back a year. She could barely get out of bed for months. Allison was always there, checking on her. She'd bring her to the beach sometimes and they'd sit in silent grief for hours, staring at the sea.

She was still grieving, but the pain was getting easier to bare. But she was sick of walking the streets of SanFrancisco without her parents. It wasn't the same without her father's laugh or her mother's warm smile. Luckily, Chris's job kept the Argent's moving and by October, Adella had had a new house, a new school, and a new zip code. And so, she made a new start in Beacon Hills.

She and Allison had become even closer, so Della was there when her cousin met Scott and the others. She was younger than her cousin's friends by two years but repeating a grade made her the oldest in her class by far. She didn't really fit anywhere, but Allison made sure she was comfortable with the pack. So Della was there when they discovered that he was a werewolf and she was there when the truth about the Argent family came to light. She'd dealt with Peter's killing spree and two weeks after her fourteenth birthday, she watched Peter tear out her aunt Kate's throat. When her aunt Victoria died she grieved with Allison, just as her cousin had grieved with her when she lost her own parents. Hunter training, Gerard's manipulation, Jackson's time as the kenima, searching for the dark druid, they'd done it all together. She'd even helped fight the Nogitsune.

And when the firefly spirit spilled Allison's blood, Adella had screamed so loud it rivaled Lydia. She'd screamed for hours, wanting to tear off her skin. This, she thought at the time, is a loss I cannot bare. But she had. She had.

She was fifteen now, though still only a freshman. She didn't have many friends in her grade though, she spent all her time with the pack. Lydia had become something of an older sister to her. It helped to know that the banshee grieved for Allison in the same way Della did. She guessed it helped Lydia too. She'd also gotten closer with Kira and Malia. It was strange not having Allison anymore, but her friends did their best to fill the void. They all helped each other heal.

Apparently, they also helped each other track down certain moody, blue eyed werewolves, you know, if they happened to go missing.

That was how Della found herself in Mexico just days before the start of her freshman year, surrounded by the only people who made her feel at home. Her true family.

Her pack.