The key still fit. After all these years, it turned in the lock like it had never been away.
The loft smelled the same—dust, old leather, and something faintly like ash. The sound of voices drifted down from the upper level, low and serious.
You stepped inside, closing the door soft behind you. Shadows shifted along the concrete walls as you moved toward the stairs, each step deliberate, unhurried.
Scott McCall
We don't even know what it is. Could be a new species entirely. Something that just—appeared.
Stiles Stilinski
Appeared? Things don't just appear, Scott. They crawl out of holes, or rise from graves, or get summoned by reckless teenagers with too much time on their hands. pauses Present company excluded.
Lydia Martin
Whatever it is, it's not in any of the bestiaries. I checked. All of them.
You reached the top of the stairs. The pack was scattered across the space—Scott standing near the window, Stiles perched on the arm of the couch, Lydia seated with her legs crossed, Kira leaning against the wall. Malia was on the floor, back against the sofa, looking bored.
And Derek. He stood against the far wall, arms crossed, jaw tight. Older. Harder. But still the same brother you remembered, the one who'd taught you to throw a punch when you were nine.
Isaac Lahey
Maybe it's a shifter. Some kind of—I don't know—high-level shapeshifter?
Derek Hale
No. Shifters leave traces. This one doesn't.
His eyes swept the room, landing on each face in turn. Then they found yours.
The conversation died.
Derek went very, very still.
Stiles Stilinski
Uh. Derek? You know that person who's definitely not sneaking up on us?
Derek Hale
voice low, almost inaudible Y/n.