After school, the boys ventured into the woods, retracing their steps to where Scott had found the body and lost his inhaler. The overcast sky draped everything in a somber gray, but the forest had shed its eerie menace from the night before, the shadows softer, the silence less oppressive.

"I don't know what it was," the black-haired man began, his voice electric with excitement. "I felt like I had all the time in the world to catch the ball. And that's not the only weird thing. I can hear stuff I shouldn't be able to hear. And I can smell things."

"Smell things? Like what?" Stiles, trying to keep up with his friend's brisk pace, prodded for more details.

"Like the mint mojito gum in your pocket..."

"I don't have any..." Stiles slowed down, digging into his jacket pocket. His hand brushed against something, and he pulled out half a packet of mint mojito gum, giving Scott a look of disbelief, then a mocking smirk. "All this started with the bite?"

"What if it's an infection?" Scott frowned, a worried crease forming on his forehead. "What if my body is flooding with adrenaline before I go into shock? I knew I should have gone to the ER."

"I've actually heard of this," mused Stiles, adopting a serious expression and scrunching up his nose. "It's a specific kind of infection... All the symptoms add up. I think it's called... Lycanthropy."

"Really? What's that? Is it bad? It sounds bad..." Scott's concern was palpable.

"It is, but only once a month, on the night when it's full." Scott looked at his friend with uncomprehending eyes, but when Stiles started pretending to howl at the moon, Scott punched him in the arm.

"You're an ass," he muttered, moving ahead.

"Hey, you're the one who heard that wolf howling," laughed Stiles, trailing behind.

"There could be something seriously wrong with me!"

"I know, you're a werewolf!" Stiles teased, his amusement clear as Scott shot him a questioning look. "Okay, obviously, I'm kidding. But if you see me melting all the silver I can find, it's because Friday's a full moon."

Scott paused, scanning the woodland undergrowth with a furrowed brow. He felt an inexplicable certainty that he was in the right place, even though he couldn't distinguish these particular trees from any others in the forest. "I swear this was it. The body was here. The deer came running, I dropped my inhaler..." He bent down, sifting through the mulch with his hand in search of his lost medicine.

"Maybe the killer moved the body," Stiles suggested, kicking at the leaves absentmindedly.

"If he did, I hope he left my inhaler. Those things are like eighty bucks," sighed Scott, discouraged, turning his gaze back to the ground.

After a moment, Scott felt Stiles nervously patting his shoulder, trying to get his attention. He looked up to see Stiles adjusting his sweatshirt awkwardly, his eyes fixed on a silhouette standing nearby. The man, several years older than them, dressed in black with a leather jacket and light stubble on his square jaw, watched them in silence, exuding a strange tension. Scott stood up abruptly, feeling a rush of adrenaline. Stiles stuffed his hands deep in his pockets, licking his lips nervously and avoiding the stranger's gaze as he approached with quick, determined steps, his face a mask of impassivity but his movements radiating anger.

"What are you doing here?" The man's low voice cut through the tension. The boys were too stunned to reply immediately. Stiles nervously ran a hand over his head, staring at his shoes. "This is private property."

"Sorry, we didn't know," Stiles replied, swallowing nervously.

"We were just looking for something." Scott hesitated under the stranger's intense scrutiny. "Forget it. Sorry to bother you."

As they were about to leave, the man pulled an inhaler from his jacket pocket and tossed it to Scott, who caught it effortlessly. When Scott looked up in surprise, the man had already walked away.

"Come on, I have to get to work," Stiles urged, still looking shocked.

"Dude, that was Derek Hale. You remember him, right? He's only a few years older than us."

"Remember what?"

"His family. They all burned to death in a fire about ten years ago."

"I wonder why he's back," pondered Scott, staring into the woods where Derek had disappeared, clenching the inhaler tightly in his fist.

🌙

She didn't get home until late afternoon, her head buzzing with thoughts so many she feared they might start pouring out of her ears. In need of fresh air to calm her racing mind, she decided to take Isle for a walk in the woods, which began just beyond the back gate of her garden. She didn't plan on going far, though a quiet part of her hoped she might stumble upon the other half of the corpse before the police did. On reflection, she realized how incredibly suspicious that would look. She should avoid the forest for a few days; discovering a dead body should come as a shock to any mundane person.

Despite her intentions, her legs carried her farther than she expected. Before she knew it, the remnants of the burnt-out house where she was supposed to meet Laura days ago came into view between the trees. It was only then she realized her canine companion had disappeared. She called out to Isle, her voice echoing through the trees, but there was no sign of the spirited collie. Instead, a tall, well-built man in a leather jacket emerged from the shadows, blocking her path. Charlie swallowed hard at the sight of him; he was strikingly handsome, with a broad, chiseled jaw adorned with a trace of stubble, dark hair, and piercing grey-green eyes that stared at her intently from beneath furrowed brows. The top of her head barely reached his mouth, and for a fleeting moment, she considered bopping his nose and dashing off to hide in some rabbit hole. He definitely made her uneasy.

Within her, the Lurker, her inner demon, stirred. It sensed Derek's powerful aura, an intoxicating blend of danger and magnetism, and subtly nudged her towards him, amplifying his attractiveness in her eyes. The Lurker always reveled in pushing her towards danger, delighting in the thrill it brought.

"This is private property..." Derek announced in a low, surprisingly warm voice, trailing off as if giving her a chance to explain herself.

"Sorry, I didn't know... My dog got lost somewhere. Have you seen her? A marbled border collie with a red collar."

"No, but I can help look for her. It's not safe to walk alone in the woods," he said, and she sensed a hidden meaning in his words. Did he know about yesterday's incident, or could he even be the killer? He extended his hand towards her. "Derek Hale."

"Charlotte Benoit," she replied, shaking his hand and feeling a pleasant shiver run down her spine. His skin was warm, almost hot, against her icy fingers. "I wasn't alone, as I mentioned. Isle was with me, but she must have found something more interesting."

His lips curved slightly in an imitation of a smile, though his face remained a stony mask. They walked together towards her house in silence. She tried to watch him out of the corner of her eye, wondering if her suspicions were correct. Was he Laura's brother? Laura had mentioned no one else going to show in Beacon Hills alongside her. She decided not to ask; she was never particularly trusting, and he could have easily given her a false name. Trying to sense his aura became challenging for her because of her own accelerated heartbeat.

They searched for the dog for about half an hour. Derek hadn't spoken the entire time, giving the impression of a silent recluse, which only heightened her surprise that he had offered his help.

"I don't think there's anything to it..." she broke the silence. "Maybe she just went home."

"If you don't find her by tomorrow, I'd suggest checking with the nearest vets. Someone might have found her and taken her there," he replied, turning on his heel and heading back towards the burnt house.

"Yes... Thank you for your help!" she shouted after him, then trudged back to her cottage.

Unfortunately, Isle didn't make it home, and as lashing rain poured from the sky, Charlie decided she would visit the nearest vet the following day before work.