Instinct I suppose pulled me here to this strange forest. Though wolves never traveled this far south. Wolf packs didn't come this far south.

I didn't have a pack. Not for a long time.

I lift my head and draw in the scent of my new surroundings. So many new smells. Familiar prey. Deer, rabbit, squirrel… but there was something else, something bigger. Deadlier. Its scent was like mine but different somehow. I couldn't quite put my paw on it.

The snapping of twigs in the distance pushed that thought to the back of my mind. I tilted my head to one side and listened. I heard the murmuring of human voices.

They were getting closer.

I slid under some brush, laying flat on my stomach. Listening to their voices as they passed by.

"Have you got your tux for the winter formal?" The female's voice said.

A hard swallow from the male before he responded, "Not yet. With everything I just haven't done it yet. But I promise Kira, I'll go this weekend."

I listened to them speak. I understood what they were saying. Why would I understand what humans were saying?

I felt strange. I should've stayed hidden. But I was terrified. So I took off. As fast and as far away from those humans I could understand as possible.

The moon was high in the sky when I paused to catch my breath. I was disoriented and confused. From the smells and sounds and the voices that I could understand. I should go back north but the instinctive pull wouldn't let me go back. I had to stay here… to figure it out.

I felt a rush radiating from the pads of my paws to the tips of my silvery fur. I give a quick shake before I take off running again. It wooshed so fast I didn't see it to dodge. I didn't know it was coming. The bright beams of light blinded me and then it hit me. This roaring beast flung me in the air and I rolled across the pavement. It must have scraped the fur from my body. I was cold. And heavy.

"What the hell did you hit, Peter?" More human voices. I couldn't find the strength to pick myself up to run.

"Fuck if I know, it just ran out in the middle of the road," the one called Peter responded. I heard his footfalls approaching but I couldn't make myself move. I only whimpered in pain. "Derek! Grab my jacket from the car. There's a girl here. And she's naked."

I felt hands on me before I could react. Strong, warm hands. They carefully wrapped something heavy and rough around me—likely the jacket they'd mentioned. The warmth it offered was a small comfort, though my body ached too much to fully appreciate it.

"She's freezing," the second voice said—Derek, I presumed. His tone was sharper, filled with a strange tension I couldn't place. "What the hell is a naked girl doing running out in the middle of nowhere?"

"Maybe she's one of those hikers who got lost. Or she could be…" Peter trailed off, his words hanging like the chill in the night air. I heard him sniff slightly, and the pause was pregnant with suspicion. "She doesn't smell human."

"What?" Derek snapped, his voice low and urgent. "Then what is she?"

I tried to move, to open my mouth and say something, but the effort was too much. A soft growl escaped my lips instead—a weak sound compared to what I was used to. It startled both men.

Derek crouched down beside me, his hand brushing a stray strand of my silver-tinged hair away from my face. "Hey, can you hear me? What's your name?"

Name. The word triggered something in my mind, but it felt buried beneath layers of instinct and confusion. I blinked up at him, my vision swimming with the blue glow of his eyes piercing through the night. He wasn't human either. That much I could tell. He was like me.

Or close enough.

"I…" My voice was raw, barely a whisper. "Don't… know."

Peter sighed loudly from above. "Great. A feral stray with amnesia. This night just keeps getting better."

"Shut up," Derek snapped. He stood, effortlessly lifting me into his arms. His scent was calming in a way I didn't understand—like cedar and earth after a storm. "We're taking her back to the loft. She's too injured to leave out here."

"And if she turns out to be a problem?" Peter's tone was nonchalant, but the words carried a warning.

Derek didn't hesitate. "We'll deal with it."

I wanted to protest, to insist I didn't need their help, but the darkness closed in before I could summon the words. All I felt was the steady rhythm of Derek's footsteps and the scent of his certainty carrying me into the unknown.

I woke up in a strange den. It smelled like wolves. Big wolves.

The sun beamed down through a large window above, warming my face. I turned away from the blinding light and froze. My body had changed. My paws were now hands and feet. Silvery-white fur had been replaced by smooth, pale skin. My snout was gone. Even my teeth felt duller, smaller.

I was human.

My new hands trembled as I touched my face and midsection, trying to make sense of what I was. The fabric covering me was unfamiliar, constricting. Clothes. They had dressed me.

"She lives."

The voice startled me, and I jerked my head up to see a man leaning casually against the doorway. His sly expression was as irritating as the chuckle that followed when I instinctively sniffed the air, trying to place him.

"Don't cry, little wolf," he said with a smirk, watching the water drip down my face. Tears? "You'll be fine once you get used to being on two legs again."

Before I could respond, another figure appeared behind him—a darker-haired man with sharp, piercing eyes. "Has she said anything?"

"No," the smirking one replied, stepping into the room. "She just woke up. We were just getting acquainted."

He strode over to me with easy confidence, stopping at the edge of the bed. Extending a hand, he said, "Let's get you something to eat."

I hesitated but placed my hand in his. His grip was firm yet steadying as he pulled me to my feet. My legs wobbled like a newborn fawn's, instinct screaming at me to drop to all fours. I resisted, clutching his arm as I forced myself to stand upright. People walked on two legs. I had to remember that.

"Good," he said as I took a shaky step, then another. Each one felt foreign, but he stayed close, offering support without condescension.

The darker-haired man—Derek—watched from the doorway, his gaze unreadable. "Let's hope she learns fast," he said, crossing his arms.

"She's doing fine," the smirking one replied, guiding me toward the door. "Now, let's get her fed before she falls over."

"What are you trying to do, Peter?" the one called Derek asked, his eyes narrowing like he could see straight through the smirk on Peter's face.

"Always so suspicious, nephew," Peter replied, his tone light, but there was an edge beneath it. His lips curved into a smirk as I leaned closer, drawn in by his scent. Smoke and cedar, pine after a strong rain, but beneath it all… sorrow. A sadness buried deep, so well hidden I almost missed it.

I shifted toward Derek. His scent was different—maple and oak, grounded and strong, but the sorrow was there too. A shared pain, though I didn't know what it was or why it clung to them like shadows. It was enough to make me cling to their essence, needing something solid in a world that felt wrong.

I lowered my head, guilt swirling in my chest when I caught the way they were looking at me. Had I done something wrong?

"It's okay, little wolf," Peter said softly, his hand tilting my chin so my eyes met his. "People usually get to know one another by talking. It doesn't give you all the information, but it's a start. You ready to head downstairs?"

I nodded, clutching his arm to steady myself. The winding, narrow staircase made the trip interesting, to say the least, but by the time I reached the bottom, I was standing on my own.

Peter guided me to the couch and helped me sit. His movements, though casual, had a strange gentleness to them.

"I, uh, don't have much to eat… hell, anything to eat here," Derek said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I called Scott and Lydia. Explained things. They're on their way with food and… other stuff."

"Lydia's probably thrilled at the thought of a makeover," Peter quipped, his eyes scanning me like he was appraising a piece of art. "I like her as she is."

"A young woman wearing nothing but your shirt. Yeah, I can't imagine why you'd like that," Derek retorted, his voice sharp, but his expression softened as he shifted his gaze to me. "Can you tell us your name? Or what happened to you?"

I shook my head, words failing me. Everything was wrong. I couldn't make sense of my own thoughts, let alone explain them.

"It's okay," Derek said gently, his tone patient, but the worry in his eyes betrayed him. "We'll figure it out."

Peter leaned against the arm of the couch, his smirk now subdued. "You've been through something big, little wolf. It'll take time, but you're not alone anymore."

Even though the words were meant to comfort, the ache in my chest only deepened. I didn't feel like I belonged here—human, wolf, or otherwise.

A low growl rumbled in the back of my throat as the scent of another wolf drifted through the air. My senses sharpened, and my body tensed instinctively. If I was here with them, then it was my duty to protect their den… their home.

Peter's voice cut through the rising tension, smooth and unbothered. "Must be Scott," he said, leaning casually against the couch. "Annoying, self-righteous pain in my ass. But he's not dangerous."

The growl in my throat quieted, but I still felt on edge, my body humming with vigilance.

The door slid open, and the sound of footsteps filled the room. A group of younger humans entered—two males and two females. Their faces were curious, their movements confident but not threatening.

I tilted my head, studying them. They looked human. Moved like humans. But their scent told me otherwise. There was something different about them, something familiar yet not entirely wolf.

Was this their pack?

The one who must have been Scott stepped forward first. His eyes held a steady kindness, his demeanor calm as he glanced around the room, taking stock. "This is her?" he asked, his tone soft but edged with curiosity.

"Brilliant deduction, Alpha," Peter quipped, his smirk returning as he gestured toward me.

The girl with fiery red hair elbowed Scott lightly, her lips curving into a small smile as she spoke. "Ignore him. He's always like this."

The dark-haired male standing beside her didn't say a word, his sharp eyes scanning me with quiet intensity, as though assessing whether I was a threat.

The other girl, who smelled faintly of lightning and ozone, stepped forward cautiously. "Hi," she said, her voice light and tentative, like she was testing the waters.

I didn't respond. My growl was gone, but my body was still taut, ready to react if needed.

"She's skittish," Peter said, watching me with amusement. "Give her time."

The girl who smelled of lightning frowned slightly. "She's scared."

"She's also right here," Peter added, his voice laced with mock indignation, though his eyes never left me.

Scott crouched slightly, bringing himself closer to my eye level. "You're safe here," he said, his voice calm and reassuring. "No one's going to hurt you."

Safe. The word didn't feel real. Not yet. But as I looked at their faces—this strange not-quite-human pack—I couldn't help but wonder if it might be true.

The red-haired girl stepped forward, her sharp green eyes studying me with curiosity and a hint of calculation. Her scent was like lavender and old books—soft but commanding, like she was used to being in charge.

"I'm Lydia," she said, her voice confident but not unkind. "And you've got quite the mystery about you, don't you?"

I didn't answer. My gaze darted to the next human—no, not human. The one who smelled of ozone and rain, her dark hair wild, and her eyes sparkling with a mix of warmth and curiosity.

"I'm Kira," she said, offering a small wave. "I know this must be overwhelming, but we're here to help." Her tone was soft, genuine.

My attention shifted to the lanky boy standing slightly behind her, his face lit with an almost nervous energy. His scent reminded me of coffee and freshly cut grass—pleasant but buzzing with an undercurrent of unpredictability.

"Stiles," he said quickly, his hand shooting up in an awkward wave. "Well, technically it's Stilinski, but everyone calls me Stiles. And, uh, wow, you're—you're new, huh? To all this?" He gestured vaguely, earning an exasperated sigh from Lydia.

"Stop rambling, Stiles," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

Finally, my gaze returned to the one called Scott. His expression was calm, his presence steady like a rooted tree. He smelled of earth and something warm, like sunlight after a storm.

"Don't worry," Scott said, his voice gentle but certain. "We'll figure everything out together. But first, let's get you something to eat."

At the mention of food, my stomach growled audibly. Heat crept up my face as they all exchanged amused glances.

Peter smirked. "See? She likes the idea. Let's not keep her waiting."

Derek muttered something under his breath about Peter being insufferable, but before I could dwell on their exchange, a large box was placed on the coffee table in front of me. I tilted my head, sniffing the air. The scent was rich and savory, instantly making my mouth water.

"It's pizza," Kira explained, opening the box to reveal steaming slices of bread, cheese, and something meaty. "Have you had it before?"

I shook my head slowly. Lydia leaned over and plucked a slice from the box, handing it to me.

"Just try it," she said, her tone encouraging but firm.

Awkwardly, I took the slice with both hands, mimicking how they held it. The first bite was overwhelming—a burst of flavor so intense it made me pause.

"It's good, right?" Stiles asked, grinning. "Pizza's basically the best thing ever."

I nodded, chewing slowly. The cheese stretched with every bite, the sauce tangy and the crust pleasantly chewy. But eating like this—sitting upright, using my hands instead of my teeth—felt strange. I glanced up to find all their eyes on me, and I froze mid-bite.

"It's okay," Scott said quickly. "Take your time."

They went back to their quiet chatter, giving me space. Despite the oddness of it all, the food soothed a hunger I hadn't realized was so deep.

For the first time since I woke up in this strange den, I felt a little less lost.

"Before we dive any deeper into this fact-finding mission," Lydia said, her gaze sharp as it scanned me from head to toe, "we need to get you cleaned up and dressed." Her nose wrinkled ever so slightly as her eyes lingered on the oversized shirt I was wearing. "Maybe that will help you feel human again."

I tilted my head at her words. Human. I didn't know what that meant—to feel human. The fabric clinging to my skin felt strange and confining. I didn't remember a time when I wasn't running free, my fur catching the wind, my paws digging into the earth. Had I ever felt human? No.

"I don't think she's ever felt human," Peter said, his smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, as though the entire situation was endlessly entertaining to him. "And honestly, who can blame her? It's overrated."

"Peter," Derek growled, his voice low with warning.

Lydia rolled her eyes, brushing past their bickering with an air of practiced grace. "Well, you're here now, and you're going to need to at least look the part if we're going to figure this out."

She extended a hand toward me, her expression softening just a little. "Come on. I'll help you."

I hesitated. The idea of leaving this room, venturing further into their strange den, made my stomach tighten. But something in Lydia's eyes told me she wasn't asking. She was commanding, and somehow, I trusted her.

Slowly, I reached out and took her hand. It was warm, steady. She gave me a reassuring nod as she pulled me to my feet.

"Good," she said. "Let's start with a shower and see if we can find you something a little more… appropriate to wear."

She led me down the hall into their bathroom—or at least that's what she called it when she flipped a switch, and light flooded the small space. The ground beneath my feet felt different here, cooler and smoother than the warm wood on the other side of the threshold. Everything about this place felt strange, foreign, and oddly delicate, like it was made for a world I didn't belong to.

Lydia opened a glass door and reached in, twisting a handle. Water poured from a strange spout overhead, the steady sound filling the room. I instinctively stepped back, my muscles tensing at the unfamiliar sight. She must have noticed because her tone softened, though her words carried that same unyielding authority.

"This is how humans clean themselves," she said matter-of-factly, handing me a sponge and a bottle filled with a liquid that smelled sweet, like vanilla. "Use these to wash all of you."

She then handed me another bottle, her fingers brushing against mine briefly. "This one's for your hair. It's gentler and will make it easier to comb out later."

I took the bottles hesitantly, staring at them like they held the answers to questions I didn't know how to ask. Lydia gestured toward the shower with an encouraging nod, and I stepped through the glass door, feeling the warm water cascade over me.

The shirt I was wearing clung to my skin immediately, heavy and uncomfortable. I looked down at myself, unsure what to do next.

"Oh, right," Lydia said, her voice laced with amusement. "Take that off," she motioned to the shirt with a wave of her hand.

I hesitated, gripping the hem. The idea of exposing myself felt strange, vulnerable, though I wasn't entirely sure why. I'd never worn clothes before last night, and yet the thought of removing them in front of her made me feel small and out of place.

Lydia's expression softened, and she stepped back to give me space. "Don't overthink it," she said gently. "I'll be right outside the door if you need anything."

She turned and walked out, leaving me alone with the sound of the rushing water. Slowly, I peeled the soaked fabric from my skin and dropped it to the floor. The warmth of the water washed over me, easing the tension in my shoulders and loosening the dirt and grime from my body.

I picked up the sponge and mimicked the motion Lydia had shown me, using the vanilla-scented liquid as she instructed. The scent was overwhelming at first, but soon it became strangely comforting, like a shield of softness wrapping around me.

For the first time, I could see myself—really see myself. My reflection in the glass door was clearer than the pond water I used to drink from. A girl stared back at me, her hair tangled and wild, her eyes wide with confusion. This was me now.

And yet, I didn't know who I was anymore.

The water stopped with a twist of the handle, and I stood there, dripping and unsure of what came next. My skin tingled from the warmth, and my hair felt lighter now, cleansed of the dirt and sweat that had clung to me. I grabbed a soft cloth hanging nearby—it smelled faintly of lavender—and pressed it to my skin, mimicking what I'd seen Lydia do earlier.

The door opened a crack, and Lydia's voice floated in, calm but firm. "You decent?"

I wrapped the cloth tighter around me, though I wasn't entirely sure what she meant. My mouth moved to form words that I didn't know how to say.

But she stepped in seemingly hearing what I was thinking, a bundle of fabric in her hands. Her eyes scanned me quickly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Much better," she said, setting the clothes on the counter. "You clean up well, little wolf."

Her comment made me glance at my reflection again, and for the first time, I didn't look away. I didn't recognize the girl staring back, but she seemed… softer now. Less wild.

"These should fit," Lydia said, interrupting my thoughts. She held up a pair of dark leggings and a simple long-sleeved shirt. "They're mine, so they'll be a little snug, but it's better than Peter's oversized wardrobe."

I reached for the clothes, my movements hesitant. "Thank you." The words felt strange on my tongue, but Lydia didn't seem to notice. I never remembered speaking before.

"Don't mention it," she replied, stepping back toward the door. "I'll give you a minute to get dressed, and then we'll join the others."

As the door clicked shut, I slipped into the clothes. The fabric hugged my skin in a way that felt both foreign and oddly comforting, like a second layer of protection. When I was done, I caught my reflection again.

I looked… human.

The door opened again, and Lydia returned with a hairbrush in hand. "Sit," she instructed, pointing to the edge of the bathtub. I obeyed without question, and she stood behind me, gently working through the tangles in my hair.

"You've got good hair," she said after a few minutes of quiet concentration. "Strong. Wild."

I wasn't sure how to respond, so I stayed silent.

She didn't seem to mind, continuing to brush until my hair was smooth and untangled. "There," she said, stepping back to admire her work. "Now you're ready to meet the pack."

"Pack?" The word felt heavy, laden with meaning I wasn't sure I understood.

"Scott's pack," Lydia clarified, offering her hand to help me up. "You'll like them. They'll like you too, once we figure out exactly who—or what—you are."

I hesitated before taking her hand. Her touch was steady, grounding. As she led me out of the bathroom, the low hum of voices grew louder.

My heart raced. I wasn't sure if I was ready for this.

"Relax," Lydia said with a small smile, sensing my nerves. "You've already met the worst of us. The rest will be easy."

With that, we stepped into the living room, where the others were waiting.

The room fell silent as their gazes settled on me. I felt exposed despite the clothes Lydia had given me, like they could see the parts of me I didn't yet understand.

"You look nice," Scott said, his voice kind but tentative, as though he didn't want to startle me.

I tilted my head slightly, studying him. He smelled different from the others—steady, like the earth after rain. Alpha, Peter had called him. But he didn't feel like an Alpha to me. Not in the way I'd imagined. He wasn't the strongest or the oldest. His presence wasn't commanding, but there was something about him that felt… safe.

Peter lounged in a chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, a smirk playing on his lips. "She cleans up well, doesn't she?"

"Peter," Lydia snapped, her tone sharp enough to make even him straighten slightly. "Be decent for once."

The others exchanged glances, a mixture of amusement and exasperation passing between them.

I shifted on my feet, uncomfortable with the attention. My eyes flicked to each of them in turn. Lydia, standing just behind me, radiated a confidence that was both intimidating and reassuring. Kira's energy was softer, warmer—her scent carried a hint of static, like the air before a storm. Stiles was different altogether. Human, but something about him was just as magnetic. He had an energy that buzzed, like he couldn't sit still for too long.

"Hungry?" Stiles asked, breaking the silence. His voice was bright, cutting through the tension.

I nodded cautiously.

"Perfect," he said, gesturing toward the table where a couple of pizza boxes and fast food bags were spread out. "We didn't know what you liked, so we got a little of everything. Pizza, burgers, fries—you name it."

I hesitated, my instincts warring with my curiosity. Food was food, but this wasn't the kind I was used to. Lydia gave me a gentle nudge toward the table, her expression encouraging.

I approached slowly, the scents wafting from the boxes making my stomach clench with hunger. Scott opened one of the pizza boxes, and the sight of the melted cheese and pepperoni made my mouth water, even if I didn't understand why.

"Try this," he said, offering me a slice.

I took it with both hands, mimicking the way he held his own slice. The crust was warm against my fingers, and the cheese stretched as I took a cautious bite. The flavors exploded on my tongue—salty, savory, rich. It was nothing like the raw meat I was used to, but it wasn't unpleasant.

The others watched me, their faces a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

"It's good, right?" Stiles said, grinning.

I nodded, swallowing quickly before taking another bite. The others began eating too, the tension in the room easing as conversation resumed.

"So," Lydia said, her tone light but probing, "do you remember anything? Where you came from? How you ended up here?"

I lowered the slice of pizza, my appetite suddenly dulled by the weight of the question. I shook my head slowly.

"That's okay," Scott said, his voice gentle. "We'll figure it out together. You're safe here."

I turned the word over in my mind. Safe. It wasn't something I'd ever associated with a place or with people. Safety had been about survival—keeping my distance, staying alert, never trusting. Yet here they were, offering me this fragile idea like it was something I could simply accept.

I glanced at Scott again. His eyes were steady, warm, and there was no trace of deceit in them. His voice had carried no threat, no edge of dominance. It confused me. Wasn't an Alpha supposed to command, to control? But he seemed more interested in helping than ruling.

My gaze shifted to Lydia. She was watching me closely, her expression soft but curious. She hadn't treated me like a burden or a curiosity. She'd given me clothes, helped me clean up—human things I didn't fully understand but appreciated all the same.

And then there was Peter. His scent still lingered in my nose: cedar, pine, and that underlying sorrow he hid beneath his sharp words. His smirks and jabs felt like armor, like he used them to keep others at a distance. Yet he hadn't hesitated to catch me when I stumbled.

Kira's energy was different—quiet and calm, like the hum of electricity just before lightning struck. She watched from the corner of the room, her smile kind and unobtrusive, as though she understood I needed space.

But Stiles was the most puzzling of them all. He was human—just human—and yet he didn't seem out of place among them. His scent was all warmth and caffeine, underscored by something sharper, like adrenaline. He buzzed with an energy that felt like it could fill the entire room, and though I didn't understand it, I found it oddly comforting.

I felt my shoulders relax as I took another bite of the strange food they called pizza. The warmth of it settled in my stomach, soothing the gnawing hunger that had been my constant companion.

What are they expecting from me? I wondered, my eyes flicking between them.

They spoke easily to one another, their voices blending into a symphony of familiarity. It was clear they were a pack, even if not all of them were wolves. There was trust between them, an ease that I found both enviable and foreign.

I clenched my hands in my lap, feeling the soft fabric of the clothes Lydia had given me. The idea of belonging to something like this—to a pack—seemed too much to hope for. I'd been alone for so long. Was it possible they meant what they said? That I was safe here?

The thought filled me with a strange mix of longing and fear.

"You're quiet," Stiles said suddenly, breaking through my thoughts. His grin was lopsided, his tone teasing but not unkind. "I mean, no offense, but I don't think I've ever met anyone quieter than Derek, and that's saying something."

"Maybe she just doesn't like your face," Peter quipped, leaning back in his chair.

"Or your jokes," Lydia added dryly, though the corner of her mouth twitched in amusement.

I looked down at the slice of pizza in my hands, unsure how to respond. Words still felt strange, heavy, like I couldn't trust them to carry the weight of what I wanted to say.

"It's okay," Scott said, his voice gentle again. "You don't have to talk if you're not ready. We'll figure this out, one step at a time."

I nodded, a small gesture that felt like a monumental step. For now, that was all I could give them.

But as I sat there, surrounded by their voices and their laughter, a flicker of something unfamiliar stirred in my chest. It wasn't trust—not yet—but maybe, just maybe, it was the beginning of hope.

"There is something you can try," Peter said, his eyes glinting as he looked between Scott and me. He held out his palm, sharp claws extending from his fingertips. "But it may sting, little wolf."

I met his gaze and nodded. I wanted to know—to remember who I was, what I was—just as much as they seemed to.

"Are you sure?" Scott asked, his tone steady but tinged with concern as he stepped behind me.

Another nod. The sting of Scott's claws piercing the back of my neck was sharp but brief, fading quickly as a molten heat spread through me. My vision burned gold, and then everything around me melted away as we plunged into the depths of my subconscious.

All I could ever remember was being a wolf. I'd had a family—a pack—once, a long time ago.

Wolves are supposed to be apex predators, rulers of the wild with no natural enemies. But there are unnatural predators. Ones with guns, knives, and cruelty. They pushed us from our homes, deeper into the woods. And then they killed us. Not for food. For sport.

The sound of a gunshot ripped through my memory, sharp and visceral. My ears rang as though it had just happened. I saw my mother, her form slipping into the brush as she whispered for me to stay hidden. She ran, leading the hunters away.

Another shot. And then silence.

Darkness crept into the edges of the memory. I waited in the brush, holding my breath, praying that I was wrong. That my ears had deceived me.

When the scent of the hunters faded, I crawled out, trembling. The air was still. Too still. My paws carried me toward a crumpled form on the ground—my mother. She wasn't a wolf anymore. She was a woman, her human body splayed out and lifeless. Her scent lingered, faint and fading. But she wasn't in there anymore.

The rest of my pack was scattered around her, some still wolves, others like her—caught halfway between forms, forever frozen.

A sorrowful howl tore from my throat, raw and unending. It echoed through the forest, through my memory, and back into the present.

I gasped as I snapped back to the room, my chest heaving. Tears streamed down my face, and I struggled to ground myself. Scott stood beside me, his own breaths labored as he pulled his hand away from my neck.

"She's been through hell," he murmured, his voice heavy with emotion.

"So... she's an Omega?" Stiles asked, his tone cautious but curious.

"Not exactly," Peter said, his usual smirk replaced with something more thoughtful. He looked at Derek, who gave a single, solemn nod.

"She's a Sigma," Peter finished, his voice carrying a note of intrigue.