The days following the Moros' defeat were a blur. The pack was still recovering, both physically and emotionally, but for the first time in weeks, there was a sense of calm in Beacon Hills. Camila had spent much of her time at the Stilinski house, trying to find a balance between the quiet moments and the whirlwind of emotions that came with her relationships with Stiles and Scott.
It was late afternoon when Camila found herself walking through the Beacon Hills Preserve, her feet crunching softly on the dirt trail. She had told Stiles she needed some air, and he hadn't argued, though she could tell he wanted to come with her. The truth was, she needed time to think—alone.
The woods were alive with the sounds of nature: birds chirping, leaves rustling in the breeze, the faint hum of insects. It was a stark contrast to the chaos of the last few weeks, and for a moment, Camila felt a flicker of peace.
Her thoughts drifted to Scott. She could still feel the warmth of his hand on hers, the steadiness of his presence during the fight with the Moros. He had a way of grounding her, of making her feel like everything might actually be okay.
But then there was Stiles—her anchor, her constant. He had been there through it all, always knowing how to make her smile, always ready with a sarcastic comment to break the tension. The thought of hurting him made her chest ache.
Camila sighed, stopping by a large oak tree and leaning against its trunk. She tilted her head back, staring up at the canopy of leaves. "What would you do, Allison?" she whispered.
The wind rustled the branches above, but no answer came.
By the time Camila returned to the Stilinski house, the sun was beginning to set. The golden light filtered through the windows as she stepped inside, finding Stiles sprawled on the couch, his feet propped up on the armrest. He looked up when she walked in, offering her a lopsided grin.
"Hey," he said. "How was the solo adventure?"
"Peaceful," she said, managing a small smile as she sat down on the edge of the couch.
"Good," Stiles said, his grin softening. "You deserve some peace."
"Thanks," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Stiles studied her for a moment, his grin fading. "You've been quiet lately."
"I've just been… thinking," she admitted.
"About Scott?" he asked, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability.
"And about you," she said, meeting his gaze. "Stiles, I don't want to hurt you."
"I know you don't," he said, his voice soft. "But, Cami, you can't keep worrying about me. I'll be okay. Eventually."
Her chest tightened at his words, and she reached out, placing a hand on his. "You mean so much to me, Stiles. I hope you know that."
He gave her a small, sad smile. "I do. And you mean the world to me. But I think… I think I need to start letting go."
Tears welled in her eyes as she nodded. "I don't want to lose you."
"You won't," he said firmly. "You'll always have me, Cami. Just maybe not in the way you thought."
That night, Camila found herself at the animal clinic, sitting on the counter as Scott cleaned up from the day's work. The quiet hum of the clinic was soothing, and for a moment, she just watched him, the way his movements were steady and deliberate.
"How are you feeling?" Scott asked, breaking the silence as he looked up at her.
"Better," she said. "The walk helped."
"Good," he said, setting down the supplies and leaning against the counter beside her. "You deserve a break."
"So do you," she said, smiling softly. "You've been carrying so much lately, Scott."
He shrugged, his expression thoughtful. "It's what I do. But it's easier with you here."
Her heart fluttered at his words, and she looked down, her cheeks flushing. "I've been thinking about what you said. About moving forward."
"And?" he asked, his voice gentle.
"I want to," she said, meeting his gaze. "I want to try. With you."
Scott's eyes softened, and he reached out, taking her hand in his. "Are you sure? I don't want you to feel like you have to choose because of me."
"I'm sure," she said, her voice steady. "You've been there for me in ways I didn't even know I needed. And I think… I think Allison would want me to be happy."
Scott's breath hitched, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "She would. And so do I."
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their emotions hanging between them. Then, slowly, Scott leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
"We'll take it slow," he said, his voice steady. "One step at a time."
Camila nodded, her heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. For the first time, she allowed herself to hope—not just for the future, but for happiness.
The morning sun streamed through the windows of the Stilinski house, casting a warm glow over the living room. Camila sat cross-legged on the couch, a cup of coffee cradled in her hands as she stared out the window. The events of the past few days had left her emotionally drained, but she also felt a sense of clarity she hadn't had in weeks.
Her thoughts drifted to Scott and their conversation at the clinic. For the first time since Allison's death, she felt like she was starting to move forward, even if it was just one small step at a time.
"You're up early," Stiles said, his voice soft as he entered the room.
She turned to see him rubbing his eyes, his hair sticking up in every direction. He flopped onto the couch beside her, grabbing a blanket and draping it over his legs.
"Couldn't sleep," she admitted, taking a sip of her coffee.
Stiles tilted his head, studying her. "You seem… different. Lighter."
"I feel lighter," she said, smiling faintly. "I think I'm finally starting to figure things out."
"Yeah?" Stiles asked, his tone curious but cautious.
"Yeah," she said, her voice soft. "I talked to Scott last night."
Stiles' expression didn't change immediately, but she could see the flicker of understanding in his eyes. He nodded slowly, his hands fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.
"How'd it go?" he asked, his voice quieter now.
"It went… well," she said. "We're going to take things slow. See where it goes."
Stiles let out a slow breath, his gaze dropping to the floor. "That's good. I mean, it sucks for me, obviously, but… it's good for you."
"Stiles—" she began, but he held up a hand.
"No, it's okay," he said, his voice steady. "I meant what I said before. I just want you to be happy, Cami. And if Scott's the guy who makes that happen, then… I'm okay with that."
Her chest tightened at his words, and she reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "Thank you, Stiles. For always understanding."
He smiled faintly, his eyes glistening. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it. I can only be this mature for so long."
She laughed, and for the first time in weeks, it felt genuine.
Later that day, the pack gathered at the high school library to discuss the aftermath of the Moros and the lingering effects of its presence in Beacon Hills. Scott stood at the center of the group, a notebook in hand, while Lydia and Derek leaned against the table, their expressions thoughtful.
"We've contained the immediate threat," Scott said, his voice steady. "But the Moros left behind more than just fear. It's going to take time for things to settle."
"And what if something else comes along before it does?" Lydia asked, her tone sharp.
"Then we'll handle it," Derek said, his voice firm.
Camila sat beside Stiles, her fingers nervously tracing the edge of her notebook. She could feel Scott's eyes on her occasionally, and each time their gazes met, her heart fluttered.
"Any updates from Deaton?" Derek asked.
Scott nodded. "He's monitoring the area for any residual energy. So far, nothing major, but we should stay alert."
As the meeting wrapped up, Camila found herself lingering behind as the others filtered out of the library. Scott stayed back too, catching her eye as he approached her.
"Hey," he said softly.
"Hey," she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You okay?" he asked, his concern evident.
"I'm getting there," she said, smiling faintly. "One day at a time, right?"
"Right," he said, his voice warm.
They stood in silence for a moment before Scott reached out, his hand brushing against hers. "You're doing great, Cami. I hope you know that."
Her breath caught at his words, and she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thanks, Scott. That means a lot."
He smiled, his eyes filled with quiet understanding. "Come on. I'll walk you to your car."
That evening, Camila sat on the porch of the Stilinski house, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she watched the stars. The cool night air was refreshing, but her thoughts were anything but calm.
She heard the door creak open behind her and turned to see Stiles stepping outside, a mug of hot chocolate in his hands.
"Thought you might want some company," he said, offering her the mug.
She smiled, accepting it. "Thanks."
Stiles sat beside her, his knees pulled to his chest as he stared up at the sky. "You've been quiet tonight."
"Just… thinking," she said softly.
"About Scott?" he asked, his voice gentle.
"About everything," she admitted. "It's hard to let go of the past, you know?"
"Yeah," Stiles said, his tone thoughtful. "But sometimes, letting go doesn't mean forgetting. It just means making room for something new."
Camila looked at him, her eyes glistening. "You're wiser than you let on, Stiles."
He grinned, his usual humor returning. "Don't tell anyone. I've got a reputation to maintain."
She laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Thanks for always being here."
"Always," he said softly.
The air in Beacon Hills carried a faint chill as autumn began to creep in. Camila stood outside the animal clinic, leaning against the side of the building while waiting for Scott to finish locking up for the night. The soft glow of the streetlights cast long shadows across the parking lot, and the distant hum of traffic filled the otherwise quiet evening.
"Sorry for making you wait," Scott said as he stepped outside, pulling his jacket tighter around him.
"It's okay," Camila said, offering him a small smile. "I don't mind."
Scott walked over to her, his warm gaze lingering. "You've been quiet today. Everything okay?"
"Just thinking," she admitted. "About… us."
Scott tilted his head slightly, his expression softening. "What about us?"
She hesitated, her arms wrapping around herself. "I don't want to mess this up, Scott. I feel like every step we take is uncharted territory, and sometimes, it feels like I'm still trying to figure out who I am after everything that's happened."
Scott's brows furrowed, and he stepped closer, his voice steady. "Cami, you're doing amazing. I know it's not easy, but you've been stronger than anyone I know. And whatever this is between us… we'll figure it out together."
Her chest tightened at his words, and she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just… I want to do right by everyone—by Stiles, by Allison, by you."
Scott reached out, gently taking her hand in his. "I get it. But you don't have to carry all of that by yourself. We're in this together."
Her heart fluttered, and for the first time that day, she felt a small flicker of peace.
Back at the Stilinski house, Camila found Stiles in his usual spot on the couch, surrounded by stacks of papers and research materials. He looked up as she walked in, his expression brightening momentarily before settling into something quieter.
"How was the clinic?" he asked, setting a notebook aside.
"Good," she said, sitting down beside him. "We talked a little. About… us."
Stiles nodded, his gaze dropping to the papers in front of him. "You two are really figuring it out, huh?"
"We're trying," she said, her voice soft. "But I'm still figuring things out too, Stiles. I don't want you to think I've forgotten how much you've done for me."
He smiled faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You don't have to explain, Cami. I get it. And I meant what I said before—I'm happy for you. For both of you."
Her chest ached, and she placed a hand on his arm. "You're still so important to me, Stiles. I hope you know that."
"I do," he said, his voice quiet. "And I'm always going to be here, no matter what."
They sat in silence for a moment, the unspoken weight of their emotions hanging between them.
The next day, the pack gathered at the high school library to discuss the recent disturbances in town. Lydia had picked up on some strange energy near the old Hale property, and Derek had reported sightings of a lone werewolf in the area.
"I don't think it's just a rogue," Lydia said, her tone sharp as she leaned over the table. "There's something else—something darker."
"Darker how?" Scott asked, his brows furrowed.
Lydia hesitated, her fingers tracing the edge of her notebook. "It's hard to explain, but it feels… ancient. Like it's been waiting for the right moment to resurface."
Derek nodded. "I've felt it too. Whatever it is, it's not just passing through. It's here for a reason."
Camila exchanged a glance with Stiles, unease prickling at the back of her neck.
"So, what's the plan?" Stiles asked, breaking the silence.
"We go to the Hale property," Scott said. "Figure out what we're dealing with before it can cause more damage."
"And by 'we,' you mean us," Stiles said, gesturing to the group.
Scott nodded. "We'll need everyone on this."
That evening, the pack made their way to the Hale property, the crumbling ruins bathed in the pale light of the moon. The air was thick with tension, and every sound seemed amplified in the stillness of the night.
Camila walked beside Scott, her knife tucked into her boot as she scanned the shadows.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice low.
"Yeah," she said, though her heart was racing. "Just… on edge."
"Stay close," he said, his hand brushing against hers briefly.
Ahead of them, Derek and Lydia led the way, their movements silent and deliberate. Stiles followed closely, his flashlight cutting through the darkness.
As they reached the center of the property, a low growl echoed through the air, stopping them in their tracks.
"Did anyone else hear that?" Stiles whispered, his voice tight.
The growl came again, louder this time, and a figure emerged from the shadows—a massive, wolf-like creature with glowing red eyes.
"Everyone, spread out!" Scott shouted, shifting into his werewolf form.
The fight erupted instantly, the creature lunging at Scott while the others scrambled to hold their positions. Camila's heart pounded as she ducked under the creature's claws, her knife slicing through the air.
"Watch your left!" Stiles yelled, tossing her a flashlight.
Camila caught it and turned the beam on the creature, its form flickering as the light hit it.
"Scott, now!" she shouted.
Scott lunged, his claws sinking into the creature's chest as it let out a piercing howl. With one final blow, the creature collapsed, its body disintegrating into shadowy tendrils that faded into the night.
The group stood in stunned silence, their breaths heavy as they surveyed the empty clearing.
"What the hell was that?" Lydia asked, her voice trembling.
"Something ancient," Derek said, his tone grim. "And I don't think it's the last of its kind."
Later that night, back at the Stilinski house, Camila sat on the porch steps, her thoughts racing. Stiles joined her after a while, a blanket draped over his shoulders.
"Another day, another supernatural disaster," he said, his tone light but weary.
"Yeah," she said softly.
They sat in silence for a moment before Stiles turned to her, his gaze steady. "You did good out there, Cami."
"Thanks," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You're stronger than you think," he added, his tone sincere.
Camila smiled faintly, her chest tightening. "I wouldn't be here without you, Stiles. You know that, right?"
He nodded, his expression soft. "And I wouldn't be the same without you. But you've got this, Cami. You don't need me to tell you that."
Her heart ached at his words, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm still figuring it out," she admitted.
"You will," he said. "One step at a time."
As the stars glittered above them, Camila felt a quiet resolve settle over her. The road ahead was uncertain, but she wasn't facing it alone—and that made all the difference.
The morning air in Beacon Hills felt heavy with a quiet unease. The events at the Hale property the night before lingered in everyone's minds, especially Camila's. She sat on the edge of her bed at the Stilinski house, staring at the knife Chris Argent had given her before he left. The blade gleamed faintly in the soft light filtering through the curtains, a tangible reminder of the life she'd inherited from her family.
A knock at the door startled her.
"Cami? You up?" Stiles' voice was muffled but warm.
"Yeah," she called back. "Come in."
Stiles stepped inside, his hair still messy from sleep, a mug of coffee in his hand. He handed it to her without a word and sat down beside her on the bed.
"Rough night?" he asked after a moment.
She nodded, her fingers curling around the mug. "It feels like no matter what we do, there's always something worse around the corner."
"That's Beacon Hills for you," he said with a faint smile. "We should put that on the welcome sign: 'Home of constant supernatural disasters.'"
Camila managed a small laugh, but it quickly faded. "Do you ever feel like you're… carrying ghosts? Like the people we've lost are still here, watching us, judging us?"
Stiles grew quiet, his usual humor replaced by a rare seriousness. "All the time," he admitted. "I think about my mom, about everything she missed. And now, with Allison… it's hard not to feel like we're living for them as much as for ourselves."
Camila's chest tightened, and she glanced down at her mug. "I just keep wondering what Allison would say if she saw me now."
Stiles reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "She'd say you're doing the best you can. And knowing Allison, she'd kick anyone's ass who said otherwise."
Camila smiled, tears brimming in her eyes. "Thanks, Stiles."
"Anytime," he said, his voice soft.
Later that afternoon, the pack gathered at Scott's house to discuss their next steps. The living room was crowded, the tension palpable as everyone tried to make sense of what they had faced at the Hale property.
"The creature wasn't just a rogue werewolf," Derek said, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. "It was something older. Something connected to the land itself."
"And we have no idea what it wanted?" Lydia asked, her tone sharp.
"Not yet," Scott admitted, his jaw tightening. "But Deaton thinks it might have been a scout. If that's true, there could be more on the way."
Camila's stomach sank. "So, what do we do?"
"We stay alert," Scott said, his gaze sweeping over the group. "And we stick together. Whatever comes next, we'll face it as a pack."
Camila nodded, the determination in his voice grounding her. But even as they planned, she couldn't shake the feeling that something bigger was coming—something they weren't prepared for.
That evening, Camila found herself at the animal clinic again, helping Scott clean up after a long day. The quiet hum of the clinic was soothing, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world.
"You've been quiet," Scott said, breaking the silence as he wiped down the counter.
"Just thinking," she said, leaning against the wall.
"About last night?" he asked, glancing at her.
"About everything," she admitted. "Stiles, Allison… us."
Scott set the cloth down and turned to face her, his expression soft. "Cami, I know this isn't easy for you. It's not easy for me either. But we're doing the best we can."
"I know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It just feels… complicated. Like I'm trying to balance everyone's expectations, including my own."
Scott stepped closer, his hand brushing against hers. "You don't have to balance everything on your own. I'm here, Cami. For whatever you need."
Her chest tightened, and she looked up at him, her voice trembling. "What if I don't know what I need?"
"Then we figure it out together," he said, his voice steady.
The warmth in his eyes made her feel like, for a moment, everything might actually be okay.
When Camila returned to the Stilinski house that night, she found Stiles sitting on the couch, a notebook in his lap. He looked up when she walked in, offering her a small smile.
"Long night?" he asked.
"Yeah," she said, sitting down beside him.
Stiles set the notebook aside, his gaze searching hers. "You okay?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "I think so. It's just… a lot."
"I know," he said softly. "But you're handling it, Cami. Better than anyone else could."
Her heart ached at his words, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. "Thanks, Stiles. For always being here."
"Always," he said, his voice steady.
As they sat in the quiet of the living room, Camila felt the weight of her grief and uncertainty start to lift, if only a little. She wasn't sure what the future held, but with Scott's steady presence and Stiles' unwavering support, she knew she wouldn't face it alone.