The forest felt heavier at night, a tangle of shadow and sound that seemed alive. Stiles gripped his phone tightly, his knuckles white as he trudged behind Scott.
"I'm just saying," Stiles whispered harshly, breaking the stillness, "if we die out here, my dad's going to kill me for lying about the whole 'studying at Scott's house' thing."
Scott shot him a look over his shoulder. "We're not going to die, Stiles. You've been watching too many horror movies."
"Scott, this is a horror movie. Look at where we are!" Stiles gestured around dramatically. "Dark forest? Weird noises? Creepy whispers? This is literally the setup for every gruesome murder ever filmed."
"Relax," Scott replied, though his voice carried a slight edge of unease. His heightened senses were picking up something—an unfamiliar scent just out of reach, faint but growing stronger.
"You're hearing the whispers too, right?" Stiles pressed.
Scott hesitated. He wasn't sure how to explain it to Stiles, but he could hear something. Not whispers exactly, but a low, rhythmic thrum, like a heartbeat pounding through the air. It was faint but insistent, tugging at his instincts.
"Let's just keep moving," Scott said finally, his hand clenching into a fist. "It's probably nothing."
Stiles muttered something under his breath but followed. The flashlight beam from his phone flickered weakly, barely cutting through the darkness. The trees loomed closer together here, their branches forming a near-solid canopy overhead.
Then the noise came—a rustling in the underbrush, sharp and deliberate.
Both of them froze.
"Scott?" Stiles whispered, his voice climbing an octave.
"I hear it," Scott said. His senses went into overdrive, adrenaline sharpening every detail. He turned toward the sound, his eyes flickering gold in the darkness.
A figure emerged from the shadows.
At first, it was hard to make out—human-shaped but unnervingly fast, darting from one tree to the next with unnatural precision. It stopped abruptly, standing just beyond the reach of their light.
"Who's there?" Scott called, his voice steady despite the fear tightening in his chest.
The figure stepped closer, and the light caught its features. It wasn't a who. It was a what—a man-shaped creature with pale, mottled skin and unnaturally elongated limbs. Its face was grotesque, the eyes too large and reflective, gleaming like a predator's.
"Scott," Stiles whispered again, this time trembling. "What is that?"
The creature didn't wait. It lunged forward with a guttural snarl, moving faster than either of them could react. Scott barely had time to shove Stiles aside before it crashed into him, knocking him to the ground.
Scott growled, his werewolf instincts kicking in as he clawed at the creature's grip. It was strong—stronger than anything he'd faced before—and it fought with a savage, almost animalistic fury.
Stiles scrambled back, his heart pounding as he watched the struggle. He fumbled for something, anything, to use as a weapon, finally grabbing a thick branch.
"Get off him!" he yelled, charging forward and swinging wildly.
The branch connected, but the creature barely flinched. It turned its gaze on Stiles, its lips pulling back in a snarl that revealed rows of jagged teeth.
Scott yelled, trying to pull it back, but the creature batted him away effortlessly. It lunged for Stiles, its claws outstretched—
—and then it stopped.
The air around them changed. It was subtle at first, like a faint pressure building in the atmosphere, but it grew quickly, becoming heavy and oppressive. The creature hesitated, its head snapping toward the trees.
Out of the darkness, a figure emerged.
Tall and broad-shouldered, the man moved with deliberate, unhurried steps, his boots crunching softly on the forest floor. He wore a long coat and a wide-brimmed hat that cast his face in shadow, but even from a distance, his presence was palpable.
"Who the hell—" Stiles began, but the words died in his throat as the man stopped a few feet away.
The creature snarled, crouching low like it was ready to pounce. The man didn't flinch. He stood perfectly still, his head tilting slightly as if studying the situation.
Then it happened.
Without warning, the oppressive atmosphere around them exploded outward like a shockwave. The creature staggered, its snarl turning into a whimper as it dropped to its knees. Stiles felt it too—a crushing weight pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe. His legs trembled, and he dropped the branch, barely managing to stay upright.
Scott, still on the ground, looked up in stunned confusion. The golden glow of his eyes flickered as his wolf instincts screamed at him to submit.
The man took another step forward, his presence alone enough to make the creature cower.
"Leave," the man said, his voice low and calm but carrying an edge of unmistakable authority.
The creature hesitated for a moment, trembling under the weight of the unseen force. Then it scrambled to its feet and bolted, disappearing into the darkness without a backward glance.
The oppressive weight lifted instantly, leaving the forest eerily silent.
Stiles gasped for air, clutching his chest as he tried to process what had just happened. "What the hell was that?"
Scott pushed himself to his feet, his eyes locked on the stranger. "Who are you?"
The man finally stepped closer, his face coming into view under the faint light of the phone. His features were sharp, rugged, and familiar.
"Paul?" Stiles breathed, his voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and awe.
Paul tilted his head slightly, the faintest hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Hey, little brother."