Stiles's Jeep rattled to a stop on the edge of a secluded clearing. The sun dipped low in the sky, painting the trees in dusky shades of orange and gray. Stella climbed out first, tightening her jacket around her shoulders as a gust of wind ruffled her hair. She could almost smell a storm coming—a crackle in the air she couldn't quite describe.
"This is the place?" Scott asked, peering around.
Derek, who'd insisted on leading them here, stood near the treeline. His stance looked tense, even for him. "It's quiet, remote," he said simply. "We don't want anyone seeing this."
Stiles hopped out last, slamming the door with more force than necessary. "We don't want anyone seeing what, exactly?" He glanced at the looming pines, as though expecting the Alpha or Kate Argent to leap out at any moment.
Derek turned, arms folded. "Scott, Stella—you both need to learn control. We can't have you shifting at the wrong time, especially if the Alpha is trying to manipulate your instincts."
Stella felt a tightness in her chest. She'd grown accustomed to her enhanced senses, but controlling her transformations was a whole different animal. Scott, similarly grim-faced, gave a nod. "So… how do we start?"
Without a word, Derek pulled out a small digital device from his pocket and tossed it to Scott. "Heart rate monitor," he said. "Put it on. You too, Stella. You're going to learn how to keep yourselves steady."
Stella blinked in surprise, but she stepped forward as Derek handed her a second monitor. She strapped it around her chest, feeling the snug compression of the band. Immediately, the device beeped to life. Her own heart pounded in her ears, and seeing the number flash on the tiny screen—already over 100—made her realize just how anxious she was.
"Your heart rate spikes when you're scared or angry," Derek explained. "You need to keep it under control to stop the shift from taking over."
Stiles watched from the sidelines, juggling a thermos in his hands. "So, what—you're going to scare them on purpose?"
Derek shot him a look. "More or less."
They spread out in the clearing, the breeze rustling through fallen leaves. Derek started simple: having Stella and Scott run short sprints, then immediately trying to slow their breathing until their heart rates dropped back under a certain threshold. Stiles stood by with a stopwatch, calling out the rising numbers as they flashed on the devices.
Stella could feel the burn in her lungs, but the real challenge was reining in the adrenaline. She closed her eyes, recalling any calming memory she could muster—sometimes thinking of her mom, or even the rare soft grin Stiles gave her when he wasn't being sarcastic. It helped… a little.
She glanced at Scott, who was visibly shaking off the urge to shift. Veins stood out on his arms, his jaw locked tight. The number on his monitor soared into the 120s, 130s—
"Scott," Derek snapped, voice low but urgent. "Focus on something that keeps you human."
Scott's gaze flicked to Stella, then back to Derek. "Allison," he said quietly, voice trembling as if just saying her name could calm him. And his heart rate, astonishingly, began to descend.
That's when Stella realized she needed her own anchor—some piece of her life she could latch onto that had nothing to do with claws, fangs, or fear. She let her mind wander… and found herself picturing Stiles's ridiculous grin, the way he'd crack jokes at the worst times just to make her laugh. Her heart rate inched downward, and she exhaled a shaky breath.
"Good," Derek murmured, watching the monitors. "Keep that feeling in your head. That's your anchor. That's how you hold back the shift."
Of course, Derek wasn't done. Once Stella and Scott showed a bit of progress, he stepped it up—suddenly yelling, banging on a nearby tree trunk, and throwing unexpected feints to startle them. Every time their heart rates spiked, they had to wrestle them back under control, fighting the surge of the wolf within.
Stiles paced nervously, keeping a running commentary. "Dude, you're at 110—go lower, lower! Stella, you're almost at 90—yes, that's good, that's good!"
The light began to fade as they kept at it. Stella's legs burned from sprinting, her head throbbed from the constant adrenaline rush, but she refused to give up. Every time her inner wolf threatened to claw its way out, she thought of the same thing: that wry smile she'd caught Stiles wearing just hours earlier, when he teased Derek about being Batman. It wasn't much, but it steadied her.
Scott and Stella were panting by the time Derek finally let up. Dark clouds slid across the moon, and a hush fell over the clearing.
"Not perfect," Derek said, voice gruff. "But better."
Scott looked at his monitor—heart rate just over 100 and slowly falling. "I'll take 'better' over 'ripping someone's throat out.'" He tried for a joke, but his tone came out shaky.
Stiles frowned, wandering closer. "So… do we keep doing this every day until we're all zen masters of werewolf calm?"
Derek's jaw tightened. "If you want a chance at surviving, yes. The Alpha won't give up on you two. If you can't control the shift, he'll use it to control you."
Stella shivered. She remembered how the Alpha had toyed with them in the woods near the old Hale house—like a predator testing its prey. She imagined losing control at the worst possible moment… and it sent a spike of terror through her system again.
Her monitor beeped wildly, climbing. Derek's eyes snapped to hers. "Anchor," he reminded in a harsh whisper.
Stella clenched her fists. *Think of him—*she told herself, picturing Stiles in her mind again—his crooked grin, his unwavering loyalty. Slowly, she lowered her heart rate, feeling the claws recede from her fingertips.
It took nearly a minute of fierce concentration, but at last, the heart monitor's numbers drifted downward. When it dipped below 100, Stella let out a lungful of relief.
They piled wearily back into Stiles's Jeep. Dusk had fully fallen, and the wind carried a faint electric charge that smelled like rain. Derek, as always, was first to leave—slipping into the shadows without so much as a goodbye. Stella rubbed her eyes, exhausted in every sense of the word.
"So," Stiles said, adjusting the driver's seat, "I guess we do this again tomorrow?"
Scott nodded, leaning his head against the window. "If it means we can protect ourselves and the people we care about, then yeah. We do it again tomorrow."
Stella stared out at the dark forest, her heart still pounding softly in her chest. Control was possible—she'd proved it tonight—but it was hanging by a thread. And with the Alpha still out there, and Kate Argent lurking in the background, that thread could snap at any moment.
"Tomorrow," she echoed quietly, forcing herself to believe there would be a tomorrow—one where they were still in control, still holding onto the flicker of humanity that set them apart from the monsters in the shadows.
Stella yawned as she shuffled into the kitchen, drawn by the smell of coffee brewing on the counter. Scott was already there, fiddling with his phone. Bags under his eyes betrayed a night as restless as her own.
"Morning," she said, rubbing her neck. The muscles still ached from last night's training session with Derek.
"Morning." Scott gave her a once-over. "You look how I feel."
She snorted, pouring herself a mug of coffee and plopping down at the table. They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the gentle gurgle of the coffee machine. Despite the hush, Stella felt a new closeness with Scott—an unspoken understanding that, in all of Beacon Hills, only the two of them knew what it was like to walk the edge of human and wolf.
"You got any classes you can't fall asleep in today?" Stella asked, attempting to lighten the mood.
Scott chuckled weakly. "All of them, probably. But I can't afford to doze off. Coach is riding me about lacrosse again." His expression darkened. "He's psyched that I'm playing so well, but… I hate lying to everyone about how I'm suddenly better."
Stella took a sip of coffee, wincing at the bitterness. "We both hate it. But… it's safer this way, right? If people found out we're—" She lowered her voice. "Werewolves?"
Scott set his phone down, exhaling. "Yeah. Doesn't make it easier, though."
They fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Stella cleared her throat. "Hey, remember when we were little, and you tried to show me how to ride a bike without training wheels?"
Scott looked up, surprised by the sudden shift in conversation. A smile ghosted his lips. "You crashed into the mailbox twice. I felt so guilty, I tried to hide the scratches on your knees before Mom got home."
Stella laughed, the memory warming her chest. "You were so worried she'd be mad at you, but she was just relieved I was okay. She said, 'That's what big brothers are for—showing little sisters how to take risks.'"
Scott's gaze flickered with nostalgia. "I guess we're still taking risks, huh?"
"Bigger ones," Stella murmured. She reached across the table, placing a hand on his arm. "But that just means we have to look out for each other even more."
Scott's phone buzzed, snapping the moment. He glanced at the screen, and Stella noted the way his eyes lit up. Allison, she guessed. A pang of worry twisted in her stomach—Allison had no idea how complicated their world really was—but Stella also understood how much Scott cared about her.
He rose, grabbing his backpack from the chair. "We should get going. Don't want to be late. Especially since we have that 'normal' teenage life to pretend we're living."
Stella smirked, downing the last of her coffee and slinging her bag over her shoulder. Together, they stepped outside, morning sun cutting through the lingering shadows of the night. They might have secrets, but in that moment, Stella felt an unbreakable bond with her brother.
They were two sides of the same coin—different struggles, same burden—and for better or worse, they'd face the danger ahead as a team. Even if everything else fell apart, they still had each other.
Stella could hear her own heartbeat thudding in her ears as she stepped out of Stiles's Jeep. The old, abandoned industrial lot they'd driven to was just as grim as she'd imagined—rusted fences, crumbling concrete, and flickering lights. Derek had told them to meet here for more "advanced" training, and every instinct Stella had was screaming danger.
Scott climbed out on the other side, quietly adjusting the heart rate monitor beneath his hoodie. His eyes flicked to Stella, and she nodded, trying to convey the same steady resolve he was attempting to muster. They'd practiced slowing their heart rates, but this time, she suspected Derek wouldn't settle for slow and steady.
Stiles, as always, was carrying an armful of props—an old lacrosse stick, some plastic cones, and a beat-up stopwatch. "You sure about this?" he asked, glancing at Derek, who stood near a chain-link fence, arms folded.
Scott swallowed hard. "No, but we have to try. Otherwise…" He trailed off, and Stella knew the rest of his sentence: Otherwise, we'll never learn to control the wolf before the Alpha finds a way to use it against us.
With a curt tilt of his head, Derek gestured them over. The air smelled of oil and metal, and a faint wind whistled through the broken windows. "You've had some practice keeping your heart rates down," Derek began, his tone as rough as ever. "Now you need to learn control under pressure."
"Because everything until now has been so relaxing," Stella muttered under her breath, earning a raised eyebrow from Derek.
Scott let out a nervous exhale. "What do you want us to do?"
Derek crossed to a nearby set of rusty storage containers, pushing one open. Inside were a few heavy metal chains, a tarp, and—most jarringly—a pair of large, caged dogs. They barked and snarled, clearly agitated.
Stella's eyes went wide. "Dogs? Seriously?"
"They're trained," Derek replied, though his tone was anything but reassuring. "They're going to chase you. Your job is to keep running—hard and fast—until your adrenaline spikes. Then you bring your heart rates back down before you shift."
Stiles made a strangled noise. "Let me get this straight: you're letting angry dogs chase them, and they have to not turn into werewolves? Sounds foolproof."
Derek's jaw tightened. "Fear, pain, stress—those force the shift more than anything else. If they learn to fight it under real pressure, they'll stand a chance when the Alpha corners them."
Stella's stomach twisted, but she shot Scott a determined look. "We can handle it."
He managed a shaky nod. "Right. Let's do this."
Derek released the dogs, who sprinted forward with frenzied barks. Stella's heart leapt into her throat as she and Scott broke into a run across the cracked pavement. The overhead lights buzzed, their glow reflecting in the dogs' wild eyes.
Stella's feet pounded the ground, lungs burning with each breath. She'd never been a great runner—lacrosse was Scott's thing—but the surge of adrenaline propelled her forward. Her heart rate monitor beeped wildly, numbers climbing into the 120s…130s…
"Stella—" Scott gasped from a few strides ahead, clearly struggling as well. He clutched at his chest, the too-familiar urge to shift rippling across his features.
Keep it together, she told herself, forcing down the panic. She pictured her anchor—her bond with Scott, the memory of them as little kids, the promise that they'd protect each other. Slowly, her vision stopped dimming at the edges, and she felt her heart rate stabilize.
Up ahead, Scott skidded to a stop, fear etched on his face. One of the dogs was almost upon him, teeth bared. Instead of lunging at it, he squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling sharply. Stella nearly collided with him but managed to swerve around just in time.
In seconds, the dogs caught up, barking manically. But to Stella's shock, they slowed. Derek had reappeared, a sharp whistle at his lips, calling the animals off before they could do any real damage.
Hunched over, Scott wheezed. "Oh my God… I… I did it. I didn't shift."
Stella fumbled to check her monitor. Her heart hammered, but it hadn't gone off the charts. Relief mingled with the lingering terror.
Derek marched over, snapping the leashes back onto the dogs. He didn't exactly offer praise, but there was a hint of approval in his eyes. "That's step one."
Stiles ran up, panting even though he hadn't done any running. "You guys look—terrible. But also kinda impressive? Don't get me wrong, I was two seconds from calling 911."
Scott let out a raspy laugh. "Thanks, man."
Derek gestured for them to follow him again. "Not done yet. Come on."
They spent the next hour pushing through a brutal cycle of sprints, evasion drills, and forced calm. Each time their hearts threatened to jump off the charts, Stella and Scott had to find their anchors. Occasionally, Stella's mind drifted to Stiles—she'd see him yelling out their heart rates, or watch him do something ridiculous in the background. That flash of warmth or humor was enough to keep her human.
By the end, Stella's muscles felt like jelly, and Scott looked ready to collapse. The dogs panted lazily now, as though bored by the endless chase.
Derek finally called it. "Alright, that's enough." He shot Stella and Scott one last measuring look. "You're improving. But the Alpha won't chase you with dogs. Next time, it'll be him. And he won't stop."
Stella's pulse thudded at the reminder. "We'll get stronger," she said, swallowing her fear. "We have to."
Stiles stepped in, feeding a treat to the calmer of the two dogs. "So… how do we know we're ready before the Alpha decides to pay us a visit?"
Derek's face was grim. "You won't. You'll just have to hope you can hold it together when it matters."
The rustle of wind through the chain-link fence sent a sudden chill down Stella's spine. She remembered the savage shape lurking in the woods, glowing eyes in the darkness. Every day they spent chasing control felt like a race against a ticking clock.
On the drive back, silence reigned, broken only by Stiles's Jeep squeaking over potholes. Scott gazed out the window, mind clearly on Allison. Stella could guess his worries: if the Alpha attacked, Allison would be in the crossfire… and so would Kate Argent, the hunter with a vicious streak.
Stella rested her head against the seat, exhaustion creeping into every muscle. She pictured her brother's determined face, the way he'd refused to lose control tonight, not just for himself, but for everyone he cared about.
Maybe neither of them had chosen this life. But the one thing they could choose was how to face it: together, relying on each other's strengths—and anchors—to keep from turning into the monsters they feared.
Looking over at Scott, she managed a tired smile. "We'll handle it," she said softly. "Somehow."
Scott nodded, eyes still focused on the passing streetlights. "Yeah. Together."
Even with the ominous weight of the Alpha's threat looming, that single word—together—was enough to keep their hearts steady for just a little while longer.