[She turns almost as soon as they land. At least it feels like landing. Apparating is like standing in one place but flying at 3000 miles an hour at the same time. There’s this tug behind her navel, like someone pulling a rope, pulling her stomach inside out - it’s not that it hurts, it just makes her feel nauseous. It’s the first thing in days that hasn’t felt like grief, but she latches stubbornly onto rage and it helps her swallow back the nausea, push it into a corner of her body. She wants out of her body, to claw herself right out of this skin that’s still raw from where too many people have hugged her, that still itches where she slapped Derek because it didn’t make her feel anything. Bones break like a routine: legs first, the spine curves, the skull bubbles and changes. She’s a mess of fur and growls akin to a warning, snaps her jowls at anyone stupid enough to approach or stay close.