The next morning, Stella sat in her room, sunlight streaming through her window in weak, fractured beams. She was exhausted—physically and emotionally—but for once, she felt something that resembled hope. Last night had been a step forward, even if Derek's methods were harsh. And then there was Stiles. The way he had grounded her with just a look, a few words—it had been enough to keep her from falling apart.
She couldn't stop thinking about it. About him. About the way he'd said, You're stronger than you think. She wanted to believe it.
The knock on her door startled her out of her thoughts. "Come in," she called, and Scott entered, holding two mugs of coffee. He handed one to her with a small smile and sat at the foot of her bed.
"You okay?" he asked, sipping his coffee.
Stella shrugged. "I don't know. Better, maybe. Last night was… different." She glanced down at her mug, the steam curling into the air. "I didn't think I'd be able to pull back."
"But you did," Scott said, his voice steady. "And you're going to keep getting better at it."
She sighed. "What if I don't? What if it gets harder? The full moon's only part of it, Scott. Every day, I feel like this… thing inside me is waiting for me to slip up."
"I feel it too," he admitted. "But that's why we have to keep fighting it. Derek's not wrong about one thing: the more scared we are, the more control it has. Last night was proof that you can fight back."
Stella nodded, but the doubt lingered. She didn't want to drag Scott down with her struggles; he already had enough to deal with. "Thanks, Scott," she said quietly. "For everything."
He reached out and gave her shoulder a light squeeze. "We're in this together, Stell. Always."
At school, Stella kept her head down, trying to focus on the mundane rhythm of the day. But her heightened senses made everything sharper—every whispered conversation, every scrape of a pen against paper. She clenched her fists under her desk, forcing herself to tune it out.
By the time lunch rolled around, she was ready for a break. Stiles found her in the cafeteria, balancing a tray of questionable food. He slid into the seat across from her, his grin already making her chest feel lighter.
"Good morning, sunshine," he said. "Sleep okay after the werewolf boot camp?"
"Not really," Stella replied, though she couldn't help smiling at his teasing tone. "But thanks for coming last night. You didn't have to do that."
"Of course I did," he said, leaning forward. "You're my friend, Stella. And friends don't let friends get eaten by their own inner wolves."
She laughed softly, shaking her head. "Is that a Stilinski life motto?"
"It is now," he said, his grin widening. "I'll make a T-shirt."
They fell into an easy rhythm, talking about everything except the supernatural chaos that hung over their lives. For a moment, Stella felt normal. Almost.
But the reprieve didn't last.
Across the cafeteria, she spotted Lydia Martin, perfectly composed as always, laughing with Jackson and a few other students. But Stella's eyes weren't on Lydia—they were on the tall, broad-shouldered figure who had just entered the room. Derek.
Her stomach flipped. What was he doing here?
"Uh, is it just me, or does Derek Hale look like he's about to interrogate the entire lunchroom?" Stiles muttered, following her gaze.
Derek's eyes locked onto hers, and Stella knew immediately he wasn't here for small talk. She grabbed her tray and stood, her pulse quickening.
"I'll be right back," she said, and Stiles frowned but didn't stop her.
Derek was waiting near the doors, his expression as grim as ever. "We need to talk," he said quietly, jerking his head toward the hallway.
"Couldn't this wait?" Stella asked, though she followed him out of the cafeteria.
"No," Derek said, his voice clipped. "There's something you need to see."
He led her to an empty classroom, shutting the door behind them. Stella crossed her arms, uneasy under his intense gaze. "What's going on?"
Derek pulled out his phone and showed her a grainy photo of claw marks on a tree. They were deep, jagged, and unmistakably werewolf.
"This was taken this morning," Derek said. "Near the Preserve."
"Okay," Stella said slowly. "What does this have to do with me?"
Derek's expression darkened. "You don't remember anything from last night after training, do you?"
Her stomach dropped. "No… I went straight home. You know that."
"Then explain these," Derek said, his voice low but sharp. He zoomed in on the photo, and Stella's blood ran cold. The claw marks were deep, but what caught her attention was the small splash of blood on the bark.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "I didn't—Derek, I didn't do this."
"Are you sure?" he pressed, his tone softer now but still firm. "You were on the edge last night. If you blacked out—"
"I didn't!" she snapped, though doubt clawed at her mind. She remembered going home, falling into bed, but what if…?
"Stella," Derek said, his voice low. "If you're losing control, we need to figure it out now. The Alpha doesn't need much to use you. One slip, and you're his."
"I didn't do this," she said again, though her voice wavered. She clenched her fists, trying to steady her breathing. "I didn't."
Derek studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Fine. But if there's even a chance you're slipping, you need to tell me. You can't afford to hide this."
Stella swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling in her chest. She didn't know if he believed her—or if she believed herself.
When she returned to the cafeteria, Stiles was waiting for her at the same table, concern etched into his face. "You okay? What did Derek want?"
"Nothing," she said quickly, sitting down. "Just pack stuff."
Stiles raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"
"Stiles, just… drop it, okay?" she said, her voice sharper than she intended. His expression softened, and he nodded.
"Alright," he said quietly. "But if you need to talk, I'm here."
The words hit her harder than they should have. She looked at him, his brown eyes steady and unwavering, and for a moment, she considered telling him everything. About the claw marks, the doubt gnawing at her mind, the fear that she was losing control.
But she couldn't. Not yet.
Instead, she managed a small smile. "Thanks," she said softly.
And for the rest of lunch, Stiles kept the conversation light, pulling her out of the shadows in her mind—if only for a little while.