The morning after their impromptu picnic, the cabin felt unusually calm. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the dust motes floating lazily in the air. Stella sat at the kitchen table, sipping her coffee, replaying the quiet moments from the day before. The sound of Stiles's laugh, the warm tone of his words, the way his presence made the weight in her chest feel just a little lighter.
"You're smiling," Scott said, walking in and pouring himself a cup of coffee. His tone was teasing, but his brow furrowed as he studied her face. "Why are you smiling?"
Stella rolled her eyes, setting her mug down. "Can't I just have a good morning for once?"
"You can," Scott said, leaning against the counter with a knowing smirk. "But you don't usually."
Before Stella could respond, the door opened, and Stiles walked in, his hair sticking up in every direction and a yawn stretching across his face. "Morning, fellow survivors of wilderness boot camp," he mumbled, grabbing a cup and filling it to the brim. "What's on the agenda for today? More grueling physical punishment? Another run-in with murder wolves?"
Scott raised an eyebrow, his gaze bouncing between Stiles and Stella. "You two seem… chipper."
"Chipper? I'm barely awake," Stiles said, rubbing his eyes. "But thanks for the compliment, I guess."
Stella shot Scott a warning look, silently daring him to press further. He raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk growing. "Okay, okay. I'll leave it alone—for now."
After breakfast, Derek called everyone into the main room, his usual scowl firmly in place. A map was spread across the table, red marks scrawled along various points in the forest.
"We're moving up the timeline," Derek said without preamble. "The Alpha may be gone, but his pack isn't. If we don't act fast, they'll regroup and come after us."
"What does 'act fast' mean, exactly?" Scott asked, his voice cautious.
"It means we take the fight to them," Derek said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We know where some of them have been spotted. If we move now, we can catch them off guard."
Stiles frowned. "You're talking about hunting them down?"
"Yes," Derek said bluntly. "They won't hesitate to come after us if they think they can win. We need to show them we're not an easy target."
Scott exchanged a glance with Stella, his jaw tightening. "Do we even know how many there are?"
"Enough to be a threat," Derek said. "But they're scattered. If we hit them before they regroup, we stand a chance."
Stella felt a chill creep up her spine. The thought of going after the rogue pack made her stomach twist, but she understood the necessity. "When do we leave?" she asked, her voice steady despite her nerves.
"Tonight," Derek said. "We'll split into two teams. Scott and I will take the western side of the forest. Stella, you and Stiles will cover the eastern side."
"Wait, wait, wait," Stiles said, raising his hands. "You're pairing me with Stella? No offense, but I'm the least qualified person here to fight a rogue werewolf."
"You're not fighting," Derek said, his tone sharp. "You're watching her back. Stella can handle herself, but no one goes alone."
Stiles opened his mouth to argue but closed it again when Stella shot him a look. "Fine," he muttered. "But if I get mauled, I'm haunting you, Derek."
The sun was just beginning to set when Stella and Stiles set out, the forest bathed in the warm glow of twilight. Stella led the way, her heightened senses on high alert. Stiles followed close behind, clutching a flashlight and muttering under his breath about how bad of an idea this was.
"Relax," Stella said, glancing back at him. "I've got this."
"Yeah, I know you do," Stiles said. "It's me I'm worried about."
She smiled despite herself. "You'll be fine. Just stay close."
They walked in silence for a while, the sounds of the forest filling the space between them. Stella's heart pounded as she scanned the trees, every rustle of leaves or snap of a twig putting her on edge.
After about an hour, they reached a small clearing. Stella stopped, holding up a hand to signal Stiles to stay quiet. She crouched down, her eyes narrowing as she focused on a faint scent in the air.
"What is it?" Stiles whispered, crouching beside her.
"Blood," she said, her voice low. "It's fresh."
Stiles's grip on the flashlight tightened. "That's not reassuring."
Stella followed the scent to the edge of the clearing, where she found a small patch of trampled grass. Claw marks were gouged into a nearby tree, and droplets of blood dotted the ground.
"They were here," Stella said, standing. "But they're gone now."
Stiles looked around nervously. "Gone where? And are we sure they're not coming back?"
"I don't know," Stella admitted. "But we need to keep moving. If they're nearby, we can't let them catch us off guard."
Stiles nodded, his usual sarcasm replaced by quiet determination. "Lead the way."
As the night deepened, the forest grew colder and quieter, the stillness pressing down on them like a weight. Stella's nerves were frayed, but she kept moving, relying on her instincts to guide her.
"Hey," Stiles said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. "What's your anchor?"
She glanced at him, surprised by the question. "Why do you ask?"
"Because you seem like you've got this whole werewolf thing figured out," he said. "And I know Derek's all about finding an anchor or whatever. So, what is it?"
Stella hesitated, her gaze dropping to the ground. "It's… people. The people I care about. Scott, my mom… you."
Stiles blinked, caught off guard. "Me?"
She nodded, her cheeks warming. "You're always there for me, Stiles. Even when everything feels like it's falling apart, you keep me grounded."
For a moment, he didn't say anything. Then he smiled, a soft, genuine smile that made her chest tighten. "Well, for the record, you're my anchor too."
Her breath caught, and she looked away, focusing on the path ahead. "Thanks," she said softly.
"Anytime," he replied, his voice just as quiet.
They didn't encounter any more signs of the rogue pack that night, but the tension lingered as they made their way back to the cabin. Stella's mind raced with questions and doubts, but one thing was clear: no matter what came next, she wouldn't face it alone. Stiles had her back—and she had his. Always.