The Stilinski house was quieter than usual. Camila sat at the kitchen table, a mug of tea warming her hands as she stared out the window. The morning light filtered through the curtains, but it felt dimmer, like the world itself was grieving.

Since Allison's death, everything had changed. Chris Argent had left Beacon Hills, unable to face the constant reminders of his daughter's absence. Camila had refused to leave, despite his insistence that it would be safer for her elsewhere. And when she'd told Stiles, he hadn't hesitated—he'd opened his home to her without a second thought.

The past few weeks had been a blur of adjustments. Living with Stiles and his dad had been… comforting, in a way. Sheriff Stilinski's steady presence had become a quiet source of strength, and Stiles—well, Stiles had been her rock. But even his jokes and awkward attempts to lighten the mood couldn't fully lift the weight on her chest.

"Hey," Stiles said, breaking her reverie as he entered the kitchen. His hair was a mess, his hoodie rumpled, but his smile was warm. "You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep," she admitted, taking a sip of her tea.

Stiles grabbed a bowl of cereal and sat across from her. "Nightmares?"

"Not exactly," she said softly. "Just… everything."

He nodded, his expression sobering. "Yeah. I get that."

They sat in silence for a moment, the quiet between them comfortable but heavy.

"I feel like I don't belong here," Camila said suddenly, her voice trembling.

Stiles frowned, setting his cereal aside. "What are you talking about? Of course, you belong here."

"I don't," she insisted, her eyes welling with tears. "This isn't my home, Stiles. My home is gone. My sister is gone. My dad left. And now I'm just… drifting."

"You're not drifting," he said firmly, reaching across the table to take her hand. "You're here. With me. And you're not alone, Cami. You've got me, Scott, Lydia… We're your family now."

Her breath hitched at his words, and she looked down at their joined hands. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Stiles' grip tightened, his voice softening. "You'll never have to find out."

The day passed in a haze of routine. Stiles drove them both to school, his chatter filling the silence as he tried to distract her from her thoughts. Scott met them at their lockers, his usual upbeat energy dulled by the shadow of Allison's absence.

"Hey," Scott said, his voice gentle.

"Hey," Camila replied, managing a small smile.

Scott studied her for a moment, his brow furrowing. "You doing okay?"

"She's doing as well as she can," Stiles said, stepping in before Camila could answer. "And by that, I mean she's not crying over her tea, so… progress?"

Camila rolled her eyes, but a faint smile tugged at her lips. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Stiles."

"Always," he said with a wink.

Scott's expression softened, and he nodded. "We're here if you need anything, Cami. You know that, right?"

"I do," she said, her voice quiet.

The rest of the school day was uneventful, but the weight of Allison's absence lingered everywhere. Her locker was still there, untouched, a silent reminder of everything they'd lost.

That evening, back at the Stilinski house, Camila sat on the couch, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she flipped through an old photo album she'd brought from the Argent house. Pictures of her and Allison filled the pages—laughing at the beach, posing with their dad on a hunting trip, smiling at prom.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, but not before Stiles walked in and saw.

"Cami," he said softly, sitting down beside her. "You don't have to hide it."

"I just… miss her so much," she whispered, her voice breaking.

"I know," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I miss her too."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their shared grief filling the room.

"She was so much stronger than me," Camila said finally. "She always knew what to do, how to fight. I don't know if I'll ever be like her."

"Don't say that," Stiles said, his voice firm. "You're stronger than you think, Cami. You've been through so much, and you're still standing. That's strength."

She looked at him, her tears glistening in the dim light. "You really believe that?"

"I do," he said, his gaze steady. "And I believe in you."

Her heart ached at the sincerity in his voice, and before she could think, she leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It was brief, but it carried all the gratitude and emotion she couldn't put into words.

When they pulled back, Stiles' cheeks were flushed, but his eyes were bright. "Wow," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Camila laughed softly, her chest feeling a little lighter for the first time in weeks. "Thanks, Stiles. For everything."

"Always," he said, his grin widening.

And as they sat there, the photo album forgotten between them, Camila felt a flicker of hope—a reminder that, even in the darkest moments, she wasn't alone.