The forest was still and quiet as Stella and Stiles returned to the cabin, the moonlight their only guide through the dense trees. Stiles walked close to her, his flashlight bouncing off the uneven ground, the tension between them as thick as the cold night air.
When the cabin came into view, Stella let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Derek and Scott were already there, standing on the porch. Derek's arms were crossed, his expression unreadable, while Scott looked relieved as they approached.
"Anything?" Derek asked, his voice sharp.
"Claw marks and blood," Stella said, stepping onto the porch. "They were there, but they're gone now."
Derek's jaw tightened. "They're testing us. Watching. They won't stay scattered for long."
Scott frowned. "What about the western trail?"
"Same thing," Derek said. "Signs of movement, but no direct contact. They're regrouping."
Stiles leaned against the railing, his face pale. "So… what's the plan? Because I'm not a fan of this whole 'waiting for them to attack' strategy."
"We're not waiting," Derek said, his tone hard. "We're hunting."
Inside, the cabin felt colder than usual. The group huddled around the table, the map spread out in front of them, covered in red circles marking the places where the rogue wolves had been spotted. Stella traced one of the circles with her finger, her mind racing.
"They're circling us," she said. "Closing in, testing how far they can push."
Scott nodded. "They're trying to see if we'll break."
"They're not wrong to think that," Derek said grimly. "They're stronger as a pack, and they know it. If we let them regroup, we're outnumbered."
"So, what do we do?" Stella asked, her voice steady despite the unease in her chest.
"We go after them," Derek said. "Before they get the chance to strike."
Stiles threw his hands in the air. "Of course. Why not? Let's just walk into the jaws of death. Sounds fun."
"It's not a debate," Derek said, glaring at him. "They're a threat, and threats need to be eliminated."
Stella exchanged a glance with Scott, her stomach twisting. She didn't like the idea of taking the fight to the rogues, but she knew Derek was right. If they waited, the pack would only grow stronger.
The group spent the rest of the night preparing. Derek mapped out their route, dividing them into two teams. Stella would stay with Stiles and Scott, while Derek would lead Liam and circle around to cut off any retreat. It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was all they had.
As Stella packed her bag, Stiles hovered nearby, his usual humor absent. "Are we really doing this?" he asked quietly.
"We don't have a choice," Stella said, zipping her bag shut. "If we don't stop them now, more people are going to get hurt."
Stiles nodded, but his brow furrowed. "Just… promise me you'll be careful, okay?"
She looked at him, his concern warming her chest. "I will. Promise."
"And you'll have me there," he added, his grin returning, though it was smaller than usual. "To heroically distract any werewolves that come your way."
She smiled, the tension easing slightly. "I'll hold you to that."
By dawn, they were moving. The forest was cold and damp, the morning fog wrapping around them like a shroud. Stella walked in step with Scott, her senses heightened as they followed Derek's marked trail. Stiles stayed close behind, his flashlight still in hand even though the rising sun made it unnecessary.
The quiet was unnerving, every sound amplified by the stillness. Stella's claws itched to extend, her instincts telling her danger was near. Scott glanced at her, his expression mirroring her unease.
"Stay sharp," he said.
"I am," Stella replied, her voice low.
They reached another clearing, this one marked by fresh claw marks and the faint scent of blood. Stella knelt, her fingers brushing the ground. "They were here," she said. "Recently."
Scott nodded, his jaw tightening. "Then we're close."
"Too close," Stiles muttered, glancing around nervously. "I don't like this. It's too quiet."
As if on cue, a low growl echoed through the trees. Stella shot to her feet, her claws extending as her heart raced. The growl was followed by another, then another, until it surrounded them.
"They're here," Scott said, his voice tense. "Get ready."
The first rogue wolf burst through the trees, its claws slashing wildly as it lunged at Scott. He dodged, slamming it to the ground with a controlled strike. Another wolf appeared, then another, their snarls filling the air.
Stella moved on instinct, blocking a strike from one of the wolves and countering with her own. The fight was chaotic, the rogues' strength and desperation making them unpredictable. But Stella felt different this time—stronger, more in control. Every movement was deliberate, her training with Derek paying off.
"Behind you!" Stiles shouted, and Stella spun just in time to block another attack. The rogue snarled, its glowing yellow eyes wild with rage, but Stella held her ground, forcing it back with a powerful swipe.
Scott fought beside her, his movements fluid and precise. Together, they pushed the rogues back, their teamwork creating a rhythm that left little room for error.
The battle raged for what felt like hours, the forest echoing with growls and the clash of claws. Finally, as the last rogue wolf fled into the trees, Stella stood, her chest heaving as she scanned the clearing. The air was heavy with the scent of blood and sweat, but the rogues were gone.
"We did it," Scott said, his voice breathless. "We held them off."
"For now," Stella said, her gaze still fixed on the forest. "But this isn't over."
Stiles stumbled over, clutching his flashlight like a lifeline. "Can we officially say we survived? Again?"
Stella smiled faintly, exhaustion tugging at her edges. "Yeah. We survived."
He grinned, his relief palpable. "Not bad, McCall. Not bad at all."
As they regrouped and prepared to return to the cabin, Stella felt a flicker of hope. The fight wasn't over, but they were stronger than before. Together, they could face whatever came next. And as she glanced at Stiles, his lopsided grin easing the tension in her chest, she knew she wasn't facing it alone.
The forest was silent as the group trudged back to the cabin, the aftermath of the battle weighing heavily on everyone. Stella kept pace beside Scott, her body aching with every step. Stiles followed close behind, quieter than usual but still casting nervous glances at the trees. Derek walked ahead, his usual stoic demeanor in place, but there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there before.
When they reached the cabin, the air felt heavier, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. Derek stepped inside without a word, and Scott followed, his expression grim. Stella lingered on the porch, her eyes scanning the treeline.
"You okay?" Stiles asked, stepping beside her. His voice was soft, but his concern was clear.
Stella nodded, though her hands trembled slightly. "Yeah. Just… processing."
"You were amazing out there," Stiles said, his tone lighter now. "Like, superhero-level amazing. I mean, if this were a movie, you'd get the cool slow-motion fight scene."
She chuckled, the tension in her chest easing just a little. "Thanks, Stiles. I'm just glad we all made it back."
"Me too," he said, his grin fading into something softer. "You really held your own, Stella. I don't think I've ever seen you this… in control."
Her chest tightened at his words, a mix of pride and fear swirling inside her. "I'm trying," she said. "It's just… hard, you know? Balancing everything."
"You're doing more than trying," he said, his voice firm. "You're winning."
Stella looked at him, his brown eyes steady and unwavering. "I don't know what I'd do without you," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Stiles blinked, surprised by her honesty, but he recovered quickly. "Lucky for you, you'll never have to find out."
Her lips curved into a small smile, the warmth of his words settling over her like a blanket. For a moment, the chaos of the world faded, leaving only the quiet strength of their bond.
Inside the cabin, Derek and Scott were already discussing their next move, their voices low but intense. Stella sat at the kitchen table, tuning them out as she focused on cleaning the dried blood from her claws. Stiles sat across from her, fiddling with the flashlight he refused to let go of.
"So," Stiles said, breaking the silence. "What's next? Are we just going to keep playing whack-a-mole with rogue werewolves?"
Derek shot him a glare. "The pack is weakened. If we push harder, we can finish this."
"Finish it how?" Scott asked, his voice wary. "Are we talking about taking them down, or are we trying to give them a chance to stop?"
Derek's expression darkened. "Some wolves don't stop. They don't know how. If we give them an inch, they'll take it and come back stronger."
"Not all of them are like that," Stella said, her voice firm. "We've seen it. Some of them are just scared."
"And some of them will tear you apart the second you hesitate," Derek snapped. "This isn't about mercy. It's about survival."
The room fell silent, the weight of Derek's words settling over them. Stella clenched her fists, her mind racing with doubts and questions. Was there a way to fight without losing herself? Without becoming the kind of monster they were trying to stop?
That evening, the cabin was quiet, everyone retreating to their own corners to recover. Stella sat on the porch, staring at the sky as the stars began to appear. The cool night air was a welcome relief, but her thoughts refused to settle.
Stiles joined her, his footsteps light as he sat beside her. "You've got that look again," he said.
"What look?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"The 'I'm carrying the weight of the world and trying not to let it crush me' look," he said, giving her a small smile.
She sighed, leaning back against the railing. "It just feels like it's never going to end. Every time we think we're making progress, something else happens."
Stiles nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah, it sucks. But you know what? You're not alone in this. You've got Scott, Derek—even me, your resident human disaster."
She laughed softly, the sound easing some of the tension in her chest. "You're not a disaster, Stiles."
"Debatable," he said, grinning. "But seriously, Stella, you're doing great. Better than great. You're stronger than you think."
Her gaze softened, and for a moment, the weight on her shoulders felt a little lighter. "Thanks, Stiles."
"Anytime," he said, his voice quieter now. "I mean it."
As the night deepened, Stella found herself leaning on Stiles more than ever. His presence was a steady anchor, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there was still light to be found.