Scott shifted in the passenger seat, glancing at Beacon Hills High School as it loomed through the windshield. Morning fog clung to the football field. Students milled toward the entrance, backpacks slung loose.

A laugh cut through the chatter outside. Familiar. Bright.

Stiles stopped.

Y/N stood by the main doors, arms crossed. Laughing with someone none of them recognized. Hair darker than last week. Eyeliner sharper. Leather jacket—too tight, too new, too something. The boy beside her leaned close, hand brushing her elbow.