When practice ended, Scott and Stiles left the field together, walking through the forested path that bordered the school.
"That was insane!" Stiles said, his voice brimming with awe. "Dude, you were like a ninja out there. How did you even do that?"
Scott ran a hand through his hair, still grappling with what had happened. "It was weird. It's like time slowed down. I had all the time in the world to react."
Stiles raised an eyebrow. "Time slowed down? That's not normal."
Scott hesitated. "That's not all. My hearing... it's like I can hear everything. Conversations from across the field, the whistle—it was deafening. And I could smell things too. Like, I could smell the gum in your pocket. Mint Mojito, right?"
Stiles stopped walking, pulling the gum out of his pocket and staring at it like it was an alien artifact. "Okay, that's freaky."
Scott nodded. "What if it's an infection? Maybe it's messing with my adrenaline or something. I feel... different. Stronger. Faster."
Stiles' expression turned serious—or at least as serious as he could manage. "I've heard of something like this," he said, his tone grave.
Scott frowned. "What do you mean?"
Stiles leaned closer, lowering his voice. "It's called Lycanthropy."
Scott blinked, unfamiliar with the term. "Lycan-what?"
"Lycanthropy," Stiles repeated. "It's bad. Really bad. But, you know, only once a month. On the full moon."
Scott's eyes widened in alarm. "What are you talking about?"
Stiles howled dramatically, a wide grin splitting his face. "Dude, you're a werewolf!"
Scott groaned, realizing his friend was joking. "This isn't funny, Stiles. Something's wrong with me."
Stiles grinned, unrepentant. "Relax. We've got a few days before the full moon. I'll melt some silver just in case."
Scott sighed, shaking his head as they continued down the path.
Scott stopped abruptly, causing Stiles to nearly collide with him.
"What? What's wrong now?" Stiles asked, waving his arms dramatically.
Scott's eyes swept across the clearing, his brow furrowed. "I think this is it," he said quietly.
Stiles squinted at the space, unimpressed. "This is what? A random patch of dead leaves in the middle of the woods? Riveting, Scott."
"No," Scott insisted, stepping forward. "This is where I found the body. Where I dropped my inhaler."
Stiles hesitated, glancing around nervously. The Sun's rays filtered through the trees casting long shadows along the forest floor. "Are you sure? Because, uh, I'm not seeing any bodies. Just, you know, leaves and creepy vibes."
Scott crouched down, running his hand over the ground. It felt familiar, but there was nothing here—no signs of the gruesome scene he'd stumbled upon the night before. "It was right here," he said, his voice tinged with confusion. I know it was."
Stiles leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Maybe the killer moved the body. That's what they do, right? Move the evidence to throw off the cops? Or—" He paused dramatically. "Maybe the body wasn't the only thing they moved. Maybe it was the killer themselves, lurking in the shadows right now."
Scott shot him a glare. "You're not helping."
"Hey, I'm just saying," Stiles replied, holding up his hands. "If some psycho with a body-moving hobby jumps out at us, I vote you handle it. You're the one with the newfound superpowers."
Ignoring him, Scott stood and began scanning the area for his inhaler. He was about to give up when a rustling sound made both of them freeze.
Out of the darkness, a figure emerged, moving with deliberate, fluid steps. Derek Hale.
Scott tensed, and Stiles grabbed his arm instinctively.
Derek stopped a few feet away from them, his piercing eyes narrowing as they met Scott's. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, his voice low and firm.
Scott blinked, trying to think of an explanation. "We were just—uh—looking around," he said, his voice faltering.
"This is private property," Derek said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You shouldn't be here."
"We didn't know," Stiles said quickly, his tone as innocent as he could muster. "We're just...exploring. Big nature fans. Love the outdoors. Who doesn't?"
Derek's expression remained impassive as he reached into his pocket. Without a word, he tossed something toward Scott.
Scott caught it reflexively and looked down to see his inhaler in his hand.
"You dropped that," Derek said simply, his sharp gaze lingering on Scott for a moment. His nostrils flared slightly as if catching a scent, but he quickly masked the reaction.
Scott's breath caught, his grip tightening on the inhaler. "Thanks," he managed, though he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Derek's presence than met the eye.
Derek didn't reply. He turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing into the shadows as silently as he had arrived.
Stiles let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Okay, that guy officially gives me the creeps."
Scott remained quiet, his mind racing. Something about Derek's presence felt...off.
Stiles nudged him. "Dude, do you know who that was?"
Scott glanced at him. "No. Should I?"
"Yeah," Stiles said, his tone dropping to a whisper. "That's Derek Hale. He's, like, a few years older than us. You seriously don't remember him?"
Scott shook his head.
Stiles frowned. "You should. His entire family died in a fire, like, ten years ago. The Hale house? It was all over the news."
Stiles' words had a heavy impact as Scott tried to understand what he meant. Derek appeared suddenly and seemed weird, which made Scott uneasy.
It felt like Derek knew more than he was saying, and that added to the knot in Scott's stomach.
"Let's get out of here," Scott said, his voice quiet but firm.
Stiles didn't argue. Together, they turned and made their way back toward the edge of the woods, their footsteps quick and purposeful.
But as they walked, something tugged at the back of Scott's mind but for now he continued on.