Luna's POV:

The sharp buzz of my alarm jolts me awake. 6:30 a.m. blinks on the screen. I groan, smacking it off and sinking back into the warmth of my blanket. For a moment, I just lie there, trying to make sense of everything that happened last night. It still doesn't feel real.

Eventually, I drag myself out of bed, quickly change clothes, and run a brush through my hair. I head downstairs, the scent of something warm drifting from the kitchen. Mom's already up, humming softly to herself.

"Morning," I say, offering her a small smile.

She turns and smiles back. "Good morning, sweetie."

I grab a bowl and pour myself some cereal, settling at the table. As I crunch through the first few bites, she looks over.

"Are you ready for the school year?"

I shrug. "I guess so. My solo choir teacher says I'm getting better with my vocals."

Her eyes light up. "That's great, honey! One of these days, you'll have to let me hear you sing."

I grin. "Maybe one day."

She just laughs softly, and I can't help but smile back. After finishing breakfast, I head upstairs to brush my teeth. As I rinse out my mouth, I hear movement from the next room—Scott's up.

I knock lightly on his door. It creaks open, and there he is, half-awake and standing in front of his mirror with a toothbrush in his mouth.

"Morning," I say. "How're you feeling? How's the wound looking?" My eyes drift toward the bandages wrapped around his side.

He spits into the sink and shrugs. "It's feeling a bit better. Haven't actually looked at it yet."

I raise an eyebrow and smirk. "What, afraid you'll faint?"

"Hey!" he protests, but we both burst out laughing. It's weird—after everything that happened, Scott still finds a way to make me laugh. Somehow, he keeps things grounded.

"Ready for school?" I ask, slinging my backpack over one shoulder.

He exhales slowly, like he's preparing for battle. "Let's do this."

Together, we grab our bikes from the garage and ride out into the crisp morning air. The sun is barely up, casting a soft golden light over the quiet streets. As we pedal toward school, a strange feeling lingers in my chest. Something's different. I can feel it.

And deep down, I know... this is just the beginning.

The image of those haunting red eyes and Scott's wounds from last night clings to my mind like a shadow I can't shake. It feels strange—unreal, almost like something out of a nightmare. A chill crawls over my skin as I lock up my bike, the morning air doing little to calm my nerves.

"Hey, Princess! Watch the paint job!" a voice calls out.

I turn to see Jackson leaning against his shiny car, his trademark smirk already annoying me. I roll my eyes. "Would it kill you to be nice for once?"

He chuckles and saunters off, clearly pleased with himself.

Scott walks up beside me, shaking his head. "What an ass."

I laugh, the tension easing just a little. Together, we head toward the school, where I spot Stiles waiting near the entrance. I give him a wave, and we walk over.

"I got your text last night," Stiles says, practically buzzing with excitement. "I missed all the good action!"

"Good action?" I echo. "More like straight-up horror."

I glance at Scott. "Show him."

Scott hesitates, then lifts his shirt just enough to reveal the fresh bandages across his side. Stiles leans in for a look and immediately winces.

"Damn," he mutters.

"It was dark, but I swear—it was a wolf," Scott says, his voice serious.

"A wolf?" Stiles raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Come on, man. This is Beacon Hills, not the freakin' forest."

"I heard it howl," Scott insists, but as he speaks, my mind begins to drift.

That abandoned, burned-out house… What was he doing there? Why did he go alone? I need answers.

"Luna, you good?" Stiles nudges me, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I blink, then smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Nothing to worry about. Let's just get to class."

But their worried looks linger in my head even as we part ways.

When I walk into first-period choir with Ms. Fells, the tension finally starts to lift. Singing has always been my escape—the one place where the chaos of life quiets and I feel like myself again.

Ms. Fells greets me at the front. "Okay, Luna. Did you finish the piece from last week?"

I nod, a hint of pride in my voice. "Yes."

"Great. Let's start from the top."

I take a deep breath, step into position, and begin to sing my rendition of Without You by Usher. The moment the music starts, the world fades away—and I lose myself in the sound.

As my other classes wrap up, I make my way to the lacrosse field, my favorite refuge. I settle onto the bench and pull out my journal, where I jot down song ideas swirling in my mind. The sun casts a warm glow over the field, and I look up, letting my thoughts drift like the clouds above. Today feels different; I've never felt this alive. The song I performed earlier still resonates within me, every note infused with exhilaration.

Yet, a flicker of doubt lingers. Should I share my passion with my family and friends? It feels like a leap I'm not quite ready to take, but maybe someday.

My reverie is broken by a friendly voice. "Hi, is this seat taken?" I glance to my right to see a girl I've never met before. I smile and shake my head. She beams back at me and takes a seat. My gaze flickers to the left, where Lydia Martin, the infamous redhead of Beacon Hills, lounges with her usual air of mischief. I would love to tap into her thoughts…not.

"My name is Allison Argent," the newcomer says. "I just moved here. What's your name?"

Before I can respond, Lydia chimes in. "This is Luna McCall. She's a senior here." I offer a sarcastic smile and extend my hand. Allison shakes it, her grip warm and firm.

Scott, my brother, bursts onto the field, glancing our way. I wave, and he lifts his hand in return, though his gaze shifts quickly to Allison. She brightens at the sight of him. "Who is he?" she asks, her curiosity palpable.

"Not sure why, but that's Scott McCall," Lydia says with a smirk.

"I know him! He's in my English class," Allison replies, her interest growing.

I roll my eyes. "He's my brother." Watching Scott play, I notice a spark in him, he's improving at lacrosse. It's a shock; he usually struggles. Where is this newfound energy and confidence coming from?

As Stiles leaps up to cheer for him, followed by Lydia, I remain on the bench, my mind racing with questions. What's happening to Scott?