You'd gotten used to it by now. The way Scott's eyes skimmed past you in the hallway. The way Stiles talked at you during group projects instead of to you. The way Lydia's perfectly glossed lips curved into a polite, empty smile when you passed.

It was easier this way. Safer.

Your mother had left for work before the sun rose—same as always. A note on the counter. Microwave dinner. Love you. The house creaked around you, empty and cold, as you pulled on your jacket and grabbed your helmet.

The Kawasaki hummed beneath you like a living thing, carrying you through the fog that clung to Beacon Hills like a second skin.

You didn't know, then, that tonight would change everything.

The preserve was darker than usual. No moon. No stars. Just the suffocating weight of something wrong pressing down on the trees.

You'd been following the scent for miles—ozone, rot, and something old. Something that didn't belong.

And then you heard them.

Screaming.

His voice, cutting through the trees like a blade. Scott. Calling out orders. Calling out names. Calling out in pain.

You moved before you could think.

The creature was massive—a twisted, humanoid thing with too many limbs and eyes that glowed like embers. Claws the size of your forearm. A maw that unhinged like a snake's.

Scott was on his knees. Blood matted his hair, dripping down his face. Stiles was pinned beneath a chunk of rubble nearby. Lydia pressed against a tree, eyes wide. Liam was down, barely breathing.

The creature lunged.

And something inside you snapped.

The shift wasn't gentle. It never was.

The sound that tore from your chest wasn't human. It was ancient. Primal. A roar that shook the trees and sent birds scattering into the sky like shrapnel.

The creature froze. Turned.

You descended on it like a comet.

Black scales. Golden eyes. Wings that blotted out the world.

Fire.

The creature didn't even have time to scream. Your claws found its throat. Your flames swallowed its body whole. You tore through it with a savagery that would've terrified you if you'd had any room left for thought.

When it was over, the silence was deafening.

You stood in the ashes, chest heaving, smoke curling from between your lips. The pack stared at you—frozen, bloodied, terrified.

Scott's eyes met yours. Wide. Disbelieving. His lips parted, but no sound came out.

You couldn't stay.

Your wings caught the wind. You launched yourself into the sky, leaving nothing behind but scorched earth and a question none of them could answer.

Three days later.

The locker hall was quiet.

You walked past them like you always did. Head down. Hood up. The normal. The invisible.

But you felt their eyes on you before you heard their voices.

He was standing in front of you. His arm was bandaged. His face still bruised. But his eyes—those amber eyes—were locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart stutter.