Stiles Stilinski

The school smelled of disinfectant, fear, and metal—that smell had haunted Mia for the last three days. She'd known Stiles longer than the entire pack. Before werewolves and alphas, he'd laughed loudly in the cafeteria and could defuse any tension with a joke. That Stiles was gone. The circles under his eyes, the absentminded look, he'd stopped making sarcastic responses. And then Lydia saw him that night outside the hospital. With eyes as black as pitch.

Now Mia stood at the end of a dark second-floor corridor. The lights flickered. Footsteps came from around the corner—unhurried, heavy. He stepped into the light: the same tousled head, the same jacket, but his eyes—a bottomless darkness. He smiled the smile one gives to a victim before the leap.

"Have you come to say goodbye?" The voice sounded strange, hoarse. "Did you think you could save me, like in a melodrama?"

Mia didn't back down, even though her pulse pounded in her temples. Stiles stopped half a meter away. His hand slowly rose, his fingers trembling as if he were struggling with himself.

"I'll slit your throat and I won't care," he whispered almost tenderly. "You'll become just another number."

Instead of fear, Mia stepped forward. A spark of pain flashed in his eyes.

"Stiles," she said firmly, though tears were already blurring her vision. "I know it's you."

He flinched, his hand darting to his throat—but froze a millimeter from his skin. "Shut up," he hissed. "He's not here." But Mia placed her hands on his shoulders. "You're here. The one who stood under my window for three hours because I was sad. The one who brings me coffee and lies about accidentally buying two."

His breathing hitched, shadows flickered before his eyes. He growled, but there was desperation in the growl. "No, Mi," he breathed out in his own voice. "Run. Please."

Instead, Mia hugged him, pressing her face tightly against his shoulder. He smelled of iron and obsession, but beneath it all, she could smell his familiar scent—apple shampoo and dried grass.

"Stiles," she whispered. "You would never hurt me. Come back to me, please."