The cold night air crept through the open window of Camila's room as she sat on her bed, staring at the journal her mother had left behind. Chris had given it to her earlier, explaining that it contained details about her family's history with the ritual.

The faded leather cover felt heavy in her hands, a tangible reminder of the legacy she hadn't asked for. She took a deep breath and flipped it open, the scent of old paper filling her nose. The handwriting was neat and deliberate, her mother's words spilling across the pages like a ghost from the past.

August 14th

The weapon must remain sealed. The power it holds is too dangerous, even for us. I've bound it with blood—our blood—but I know this isn't the end. One day, someone will come for it, and when they do, our family will have to make a choice: protect the world, or risk everything for our survival.

Camila's fingers tightened on the edge of the page. Her mother had known this day would come, had known that their bloodline was tied to something far greater than they could control.

A knock at her door startled her, and she quickly closed the journal.

"Come in," she called, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her.

The door opened, and Stiles stepped in, his familiar awkward energy filling the room. "Hey," he said, shutting the door behind him. "I figured you might need a distraction."

Camila smiled faintly, gesturing to the spot beside her on the bed. "You figured right."

He sat down, his knee brushing against hers as he leaned back on his hands. "So, what's on your mind? Let me guess—Alpha packs, scary rituals, and impending doom?"

"Something like that," she said, her tone light but tinged with exhaustion.

Stiles' gaze shifted to the journal in her lap. "What's that?"

"It's my mom's," Camila replied, running her fingers over the cover. "It's about the ritual. She knew about the weapon, about the bloodline. She knew this would happen."

Stiles frowned, his brow furrowing. "And she didn't, I don't know, destroy it or hide it better?"

Camila let out a bitter laugh. "She did everything she could. But some things can't just be destroyed, Stiles. They're part of who we are."

He reached out, placing a hand on hers. "You're more than whatever this is, Cami. You're strong, and you're smart, and you're not alone in this."

Her chest tightened at his words, and she looked at him, her voice trembling. "What if I fail? What if I can't stop them?"

Stiles' grip on her hand tightened, his eyes locking onto hers. "Then we fight, and we keep fighting, until we figure it out. Because that's what we do. That's what you do."

For a moment, the weight of her fears felt lighter, his presence a steady anchor in the storm.

The next day, the group gathered at Derek's loft, the tension in the air palpable. Derek stood near the window, his arms crossed as he looked out over the city.

"We don't have much time," he said, his voice steady but grim. "The lunar eclipse is less than a week away, and the Alphas are getting bolder."

"They're not just targeting us," Scott said, his jaw tight. "They're targeting Camila."

All eyes turned to her, and she felt the weight of their concern pressing down on her shoulders.

"They think I'm the key to finishing the ritual," she said, her voice firm despite the knot in her stomach. "But I'm not going to let that happen."

Derek nodded. "Good. Because if they complete the ritual, they'll have the power to control every werewolf in Beacon Hills—including Scott."

"We need a plan," Lydia said, her tone sharp.

"We already have one," Chris Argent said, stepping into the loft. He held up a map, the edges frayed from wear. "This is the ritual site. If we destroy it, they can't complete the ritual."

"How do we destroy it?" Allison asked, her arms crossed.

"With this," Chris said, holding up a small vial of silver liquid. "It's a chemical compound designed to neutralize supernatural energy. But we'll need to get close to the site to use it."

"That's going to be a problem," Stiles muttered. "The Alphas aren't exactly going to let us waltz in and start pouring stuff on their magic rocks."

"Then we distract them," Scott said, his voice steady. "Some of us keep the Alphas busy while the rest of us destroy the site."

"It's risky," Derek said, his tone cautious.

"It's our only chance," Camila said, her resolve hardening.

That night, back at the Argent house, Camila sat on the porch steps, her mind racing. The plan was dangerous, but it was their only hope. She heard the door creak open behind her and turned to see Stiles stepping out.

"Hey," he said, sitting beside her.

"Hey," she replied, her voice soft.

"You okay?" he asked, his gaze searching hers.

She nodded, though her hands trembled slightly. "I'm scared, Stiles. But I have to do this."

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're not doing this alone, Cami. We're all in this together."

Her breath hitched, and she looked at him, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'll never have to find out," he said, his tone filled with quiet determination.

Before she could respond, he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. It was a promise, unspoken but clear: he wasn't going anywhere.

When they pulled back, she smiled, her heart lighter than it had been in days. "Thank you, Stiles."

"Always," he said, his grin returning.

For the first time in a long time, Camila felt hope—fragile but real—and she held onto it as tightly as she could.