Location Unknown

Prologue

Teresa Parker and husband, Michael were shot dead in their own home at 12:20am whilst their ten-year-old adopted daughter, Samantha, sat quietly in her bed upstairs. She was next.

The yelling was what woke her up, the gunshots, however, are what numbed her. Her father was in the police force, it had seemed like a countless amount of times in which the procedure of what exactly to do in an armed break-in scenario had been drilled into her mind. But at that moment, when her mother screamed and the first gunshot sounded, Samantha dared not to even blink. It took her thirty seconds, all while listening to her mother's sobs, to snap into action. For so young, Samantha was painstakingly quick-witted, the girl knew that if she sat still – in her bed, defenseless – she would not live to see another day. In her Star Wars pajamas, she slowly crept out of bed. The floor muffled her mother's cries, but that was what brought chills to Samantha's toes, not the coldness of the floor. She was light on her feet as she ran to her father's study, and as if on cue, just as she stepped foot into the room lit by a small lamp, the second gunshot sounded, and her mother's cries stopped.

Samantha, for what felt like the first time since she woke up, inhaled a sharp breath. The cool air filling her lungs, she darted to the drawer of her dad's desk. Roughly pulling it open, the gun she knew he had kept sat neatly on top of a pile of police reports, and she exhaled. Grabbing it, she did not care to close the drawer, instead she dropped to the floor, crawling to the far corner of the room while keeping her eyes on the doorway. Her back hit the shelves of books as she heard heavy footsteps ascend the stairs, Samantha stopped breathing all together. She raised her arms, the gun shaking as it pointed to the doorway, at about the height a man would stand.

Her dad had taught her how to use a gun before, she knew what to do, however the difference was the gun he had used to teach her was a barely functioning BB gun ordered from the internet, the gun she now held in her hand was very, very real. From the moment she had cocked her gun towards the doorway, everything was a blur.

She remembered few things of the incident, looking back at it, but the key events were clear.

He had found her, he stood tall and gaunt, covered in speckles of her parents' blood.

He saw the gun in her hands. And he matched her, his gun barrel pointing directly at her small, alarmed face from where he stood in the doorway.

He began to speak, but he had no chance to utter any more than two words before the third gunshot of the night deafened Samantha's ears.

He fell to the ground. But, he was not dead, not yet.

Fourth gunshot. It wasn't from her dad's gun, though. Samantha felt an odd push jolt her body, then a warmth in her thigh, inches above her knee. She did not look down. Instead, she shot again.

Fifth gunshot. The man was dead. And she, finally, looked down.

She memorized distinctly how the red of her blood made the printed pattern of R2D2s on her pant leg look particularly terrifying.

She too remembered how much blood came seeping out from underneath her, it made her dizzy. Her brain became foggier than before, and her eyes grew foggy too. The ringing in her ears never ceased, for what felt like an hour she could only her heart beat, the ringing and the sound of her panting.

Eventually, however, she heard a voice. It felt distant, though when she opened her eyes, the voice belonged to a person crouching only inched away from her face. He held her hands tightly as he called for someone who quickly appeared wearing uniform in the doorway who disappeared as fast as he came, Samantha felt so sleepy as she tried hard to focus on the man's face. And when she did, she smiled. It belonged to Uncle John, who wasn't really her uncle at all, but she loved him like one. He was the Sheriff, but he was also her friend. He looked concerned, she remembered that much, he was pleading with her, and at the time she didn't really know why. He told her to stay with him, over and over again, he said it was going to be okay. And with one exhale, her eyes closed for the last time that night.

7 Years Later – Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital

Stiles paced in the waiting room, a 'Get Well Soon' balloon tied hastily at his wrist, bobbing as he went. The overall sterile atmosphere of the hospital was no stranger to Stiles Stilinksi, he had been here many, many times before. And he, with him and his best friend always attracting mayhem, would probably be here many, many times more. Everything had felt a bit quiet since the whole Alpha and Kate Argent nonsense, the only thing keeping Stiles' mind busy was the fact that Lydia was still in hospital. And with his 10-year-plan still in movement, he was planning on staying in the hospital until she was to be released.

So, it felt somewhat normal, not entirely normal, but normal nonetheless. Something about its normalness irked Stiles. The supernatural side of things died down a little, but that didn't prevent Stiles from feeling like something was watching him all the time. It was an unnerving feeling, and Stiles had brought it up on more than one occasion, but Scott had merely shrugged it off, saying he was being paranoid, ding dong the Alpha is dead. But every so often, when Stiles was walking to his car, to class or even crossing the street, he would feel it. The distinct feeling of someone's eyes on him. He'd sometimes even see a shadow, hiding behind the trees in the reserve, or cars in the parking lot, and that shadow would disappear almost as soon as he blinked.

Very much like the shadow he saw right then as he stopped pacing, at the end of the hallway, standing in dead center as nurses passed without a second glance. As Stiles inched closer, the shadow turned into a figure, and the figure turned into a girl. Something about her was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. She was no older than he was, but much shorter. The distance between them hid a lot of her features, the color of her eyes hidden behind long shadowy lashes. Her face held an expression, one that Stiles could not decipher.

"Will you please just go home Stiles?" Stiles jumped, turning to face Melissa McCall. He did not respond, only giving her a small expression, in which said, 'That's a no, but I also don't have time for this right now' before turning back to where the girl stood. Or, more accurately, previously stood. She had disappeared, in mere seconds, as if she was never there at all.

A/N:

Hi there, guess who's back at it again with a new story! Yeah, you guessed it, I am. I hope you've enjoyed this half prologue half chapter 1 kinda deal, please do let me know what you think, I already have most of the next chapter written up so if you're loving what I've got going here, let me know!

Lots of love,

Emma G.