Stiles remembered going to bed like it was any other night. He'd texted Lila goodnight, knowing she'd probably already fallen asleep, her charm bracelet resting on her nightstand like it always was. He had smiled to himself as he lay in bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to his ceiling from when he was a kid.

It was normal. Completely normal.

Until it wasn't.

The first thing he noticed was the cold. A deep, bone-chilling cold that seeped through the walls of his room. Stiles woke with a jolt, his breath visible in the icy air. His heart raced as he sat up, scanning the darkness for something—anything—that could explain the sudden drop in temperature.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice cracking slightly. "Dad?"

The silence was suffocating. No reply. Not even the usual hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen or the faint creak of the house settling. It was as if the world outside his room had disappeared.

Then, a faint whistle.

It was distant at first, barely audible over the sound of his own heartbeat. But it grew louder, more distinct, sending chills down his spine.

"Okay, this is officially creepy," he muttered, throwing off the blankets and grabbing his bat from beside the bed.

As soon as his feet hit the floor, the compulsion hit him like a freight train. A deep, undeniable urge to leave the house, to drive somewhere he couldn't quite name. His body moved on its own, his legs carrying him to the door before his brain could catch up.

"Wait, what the hell?" he whispered, gripping the doorframe to stop himself. But the pull was stronger than anything he'd ever felt. It wasn't just his body—it was in his mind, a whisper that told him he had to go.

"No, no, no," he said, his breath quickening. "I'm not doing this."

But his hands betrayed him, grabbing his keys from the dresser. His feet carried him out the front door and into the Jeep. The whistle grew louder as he climbed into the driver's seat, his hands trembling as they gripped the wheel.

The engine roared to life, and the Jeep pulled onto the empty street. Stiles tried to resist, tried to turn the wheel or hit the brakes, but it was like his body wasn't his own. His knuckles whitened as he gritted his teeth, fighting the compulsion with everything he had.

"Where are you taking me?" he shouted into the darkness, his voice breaking.

The answer came in the form of a figure standing in the middle of the road, its silhouette barely visible under the pale moonlight. A Ghost Rider. Its glowing green eyes bore into him as the Jeep screeched to a halt, his body finally letting him go.

Stiles scrambled out of the car, his bat in hand, his heart hammering in his chest. "Oh, no. Nope. Not today," he muttered, raising the bat defensively. "You picked the wrong guy."

The Ghost Rider didn't move. It just stood there, silent and menacing, as if daring him to come closer. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw more of them. Three. Four. Five. Surrounding him.

"Okay, maybe today," he whispered, his voice trembling.

The first Rider raised its whip, the sound of it cracking through the air like thunder. Stiles swung the bat wildly, but it passed through the figure like smoke. The whip lashed out, wrapping around his arm and yanking him forward.

"No!" Stiles shouted, struggling against the pull. "You're not taking me!"

The Riders closed in, their forms flickering like shadows in the moonlight. Stiles fought harder, his mind racing as he thought of Lila, of Scott, of Lydia, of everyone he'd leave behind. "LILA!" he screamed, his voice raw with desperation. "Don't forget me!"

The world around him began to dissolve, the Riders pulling him into a swirling void of darkness. His screams echoed in the empty street, but there was no one there to hear them.

And then, silence.

Stiles blinked, his chest heaving, his body weightless in the endless void. The Riders were gone, but so was everything else. No Beacon Hills. No Jeep. No pack.

No Lila.

"Lila," he whispered, his voice breaking as tears stung his eyes. "Please don't forget me."

The void swallowed his words, leaving him with nothing but the echo of his own desperation.

...

The buzzing in Lila's head was constant now, an unrelenting hum that made it hard to think. She sat at the McCall house with the rest of the pack, her leg bouncing anxiously as she stared at the map spread across the coffee table. Her mind kept drifting to the last thing she remembered clearly: Stiles screaming her name before everything shifted.

But no one else remembered him. Not Scott, not Lydia, not even Malia. It was like he'd been erased completely, leaving her alone with fragments of memories and the suffocating fear that she was losing her grip on reality.

"Lila," Scott's voice broke through her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. He was looking at her with concern, his alpha presence grounding. "Are you okay? You've been quiet."

She blinked, forcing herself to focus. "No, I'm not okay. Something is wrong, Scott. Someone's missing."

Lydia frowned, tilting her head. "We've already talked about this. No one's missing, Lila. We're all here."

"No," Lila snapped, her frustration boiling over. "Someone is missing. Stiles! Don't you feel it? That empty space, like something's been ripped away?"

The pack exchanged uneasy glances.

"Lila," Malia said cautiously, her claws flexing slightly. "We've been through a lot lately. Maybe you're just stressed—"

"I'm not making this up!" Lila shouted, standing abruptly. "How can none of you remember him? Stiles is your best friend, Scott! Lydia, you loved him once. And Malia, he—" Her voice broke, and she looked down, her hands trembling. "He's real. He has to be."

Scott placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression soft but pained. "Lila, we believe that you're feeling something, but we don't remember anyone named Stiles. Maybe—"

"No," she interrupted, pulling away. "This isn't stress or trauma or whatever excuse you want to give me. He's out there, somewhere, and he's in danger."

Lydia's Instincts

After the tense meeting, Lila found herself sitting alone on the back porch, staring out at the darkened woods. The buzzing in her head was louder now, almost overwhelming, and she pressed her palms against her temples, willing it to stop.

"I don't think you're crazy," Lydia's voice startled her.

Lila looked up to see her twin stepping outside, her arms crossed but her expression softer than before.

"Then why don't you remember him?" Lila asked, her voice trembling.

"I don't know," Lydia admitted, sitting beside her. "But I feel… something. A pull, like there's a thread I can't quite grab hold of. Maybe it's my banshee instincts, or maybe it's just because you're so convinced."

Lila looked at her, hope flickering in her chest. "Then help me. Please. If anyone can figure this out, it's you."

Lydia nodded, her green eyes resolute. "Let's start with the buzzing. What does it feel like?"

"It's like… a vibration in my head," Lila explained. "It started the night Stiles disappeared, and it hasn't stopped since. It feels like a warning, or maybe a connection to him."

Lydia tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Banshee hums are usually tied to death or danger. If Stiles is still out there, the buzzing might be your link to him."

"Then why can't I find him?" Lila whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "Why can't I bring him back?"

Lydia reached out, squeezing her hand. "We'll figure it out. I promise."

The Hospital Clue

Scott called the pack to the hospital later that evening after hearing about another disappearance. A man had vanished from his hospital bed, and no one could remember him, not even his own wife.

Lila stayed close to Lydia as they followed Scott and Malia into the room. The buzzing in her head spiked sharply as they stepped inside, and she winced, clutching her temples.

"Lila?" Lydia asked, catching her arm.

"I'm fine," Lila said through gritted teeth. "It's just… louder here."

Scott scanned the room, his alpha senses heightened. "Something happened here. I can feel it."

Lydia moved to the bedside table, her fingers brushing over an old, tattered book. Her eyes widened slightly, and she looked at Lila. "Does this feel familiar to you?"

Lila stepped closer, the buzzing intensifying as she touched the book. A flash of memory hit her like a freight train—Stiles sitting beside her, flipping through the same book while rambling about some obscure supernatural theory.

"He was here," Lila whispered, her voice shaking. "Stiles was here."

Scott looked at her, his brow furrowing. "How do you know that?"

"Because I remember," she said firmly. "The buzzing—it's him. He's trying to tell me something."

The Train Station Vision

As the pack regrouped in the parking lot, Lila's head began to spin, the buzzing morphing into something sharper. She staggered, and Lydia caught her just as the world around her shifted.

Suddenly, she was standing in a train station. It was dark and endless, the air heavy with a suffocating stillness. Shadows moved in the distance, and faint whispers filled her ears.

"Lila?" a voice called out, faint but unmistakable.

"Stiles?" she whispered, her heart racing.

She turned, her eyes scanning the station until she saw him. Stiles stood a few feet away, his face pale but determined. "You can't let them forget me!" he shouted, his voice desperate. "Lila, don't let go!"

"Stiles!" she screamed, running toward him, but the shadows surged forward, swallowing him whole.

Back to Reality

Lila gasped, her vision snapping back to the hospital parking lot. Lydia and Scott were holding her, their faces filled with concern.

"What happened?" Scott asked.

"I saw him," Lila said, her voice trembling. "He's in a train station. He's trying to hold on, but he's slipping away."

Lydia's eyes widened. "The Ghost Riders. Their victims—they take them to a ghostly train station. It's like a limbo between existence and oblivion."

"Then we have to get him out," Lila said, her resolve hardening. "I don't care what it takes. We're bringing him back."

Scott nodded, his alpha instincts kicking in. "Then that's what we'll do. Together."