January 15th 2011 - Saturday

The next morning, Charlie awoke slowly, relishing the cocoon of blissful unconsciousness where nothing in the world mattered. Unfortunately, a chilly gust of wind streamed through the open window, shattering her peace and reminding her she was alone in bed. She exhaled a sigh of relief. Rarely did she have the luxury of waking up after such an adventure, especially with a complete stranger. If she turned around now and found him still there, the embarrassment might just consume her. The Lurker had seized control of her a few times before, but never under such circumstances. She suspected it had something to do with her longstanding avoidance of predators of that ilk. Particularly after that one time nearly a decade ago when her old friend Deuc invited her to a rally as his Emissary. That adventure had ended in a bloody massacre, reinforcing her desire to steer clear of werewolves.

Charlie spent the weekend pondering her potential future encounter with Derek. If he was indeed who he claimed to be, avoiding the meeting would be nearly impossible. A chance encounter with Sharon interrupted her musings only as they both shopped at a market near the school.

"Charlotte," the dark-skinned woman greeted her, eyeing her with a curious glance.
Sharon was an embodiment of effortless elegance, her dark skin glowing with an inner radiance. Though not tall and a little overweight, she carried herself with a grace that commanded attention. Her almond-shaped eyes, sharp with intelligence, sparkled with mischief as she assessed her new friend.

Her curly hair, often tamed into intricate styles, was today left free in a wild, yet controlled halo that framed her face perfectly. Dressed in a flowy, colorful blouse and well-fitted jeans, she exuded confidence and warmth, a stark contrast to Charlie's more subdued appearance.

Charlie, on the other hand, exuded a captivating bohemian vibe intertwined with a fierce biker chic aesthetic. Her fiery red locks were meticulously braided and adorned with vibrant beads and delicate feathers, creating a mesmerizing visual feast. Clad in a sleek, black leather motorcycle jacket reminiscent of the rebellious Harley style, she paired it effortlessly with a simple, yet alluring t-shirt.

Her figure-hugging black skinny jeans stressed her slender frame, adding a touch of allure to her overall appearance. An array of necklaces, a combination of enchanting crystals and mystical symbols, along with contemporary jewelry, gracefully hung around her neck, emanating an aura of mystique. Completing her ensemble were stylish biker boots, exuding an air of confidence with every step. Her emerald green eyes, framed by delicate freckles, seemed to hold a universe of untold secrets, captivating all those fortunate enough to gaze into their depths.

"Did you have a good date yesterday?" Sharon's voice was smooth and teasing, her words dripping with playful curiosity.

"I..." Charlie stammered, wondering if the English teacher was clairvoyant. "Yes, something like that..."

"Girl, why did you let him out of bed? You still have soft knees... Ah, youth..." Sharon trailed off, seeing the redhead's embarrassment and not caring. She had taken a liking to her almost at first sight and wanted her to loosen up a bit, as she seemed perpetually tense.

"Handsome? Intelligent? I don't have to ask about other qualities, because I can see that from you perfectly..." She smiled mischievously.

"Handsome... and probably not stupid... But it's more of a one-night thing..." Charlie tried to keep her cool, but conversations like this were completely alien to her. She had been rise differently, and while she was aware, some might see her as rigid or prudish, the rules were too deeply and strongly instilled for her to overcome them quickly.

"If he doesn't call you, it means he's stupid after all," Sharon commented. "But if he brings you breakfast in bed next time, you'd better chain him to the radiator and not let him out," she winked and walked away towards the tills.

Charlie stood for a moment by the dairy fridges, looking after the departing woman, shocked. Unpretentiousness had always been a trait Charlie admired. That's exactly what Luise was, but Sharon's level was definitely beyond her. Despite this, she knew Sharon wanted to be friends with her. The redhead had a feeling she was going to become the English teacher's private project in the coming days, but she just wasn't sure what its purpose would be.

🌙

January 17th 2011 - Monday

Scott stumbled into the locker room, every movement a lifeless echo of his despair. His eyes, hollow and vacant, betrayed a soul crushed under the weight of revelation. How could everything unravel so swiftly? Just moments ago, he was basking in a fragile sense of hope, reconciled with Allison, ready for a fresh start. But that glimmer of optimism was obliterated the instant he recognized her father's face – the very Hunter who had aimed a crossbow at him just days before.

The reality hit like a freight train. Not only was he grappling with typical teenage dilemmas, but he was also entangled in a deadly game of survival. Any father is thrilled about their daughter dating, but this was far beyond overprotective dad's territory. This was life-threatening. And while none of his friends faced mortal danger for their romantic choices, Scott's situation was a horrifying exception. After the chaos of the full moon, the transformations, and Derek's cryptic warnings, there was no denying the catastrophe his life had become.

Scott slumped against his locker, each breath a laborious effort. It was in this sorry state that Stiles found him.

Stiles, with his buzzed hair and wide, expressive eyes, which were now filled with concern, looked at his friend. His lean frame tensed up as he approached Scott, always the eager investigator, ready to dive into whatever mess Scott had gotten into.

"You apologize to Allison?" Stiles asked, eyes narrowing with concern as he assessed his friend's obvious distress.

Scott, his usually warm brown eyes now shadowed with worry, nodded. His dark hair was disheveled, and his normally tanned skin looked pale under the fluorescent lights.

"Yeah..." Scott's voice was a mere whisper, still numb from shock.

"So, she's giving you a second chance?"

"Yeah."

"Then everything's good?" Stiles smiled, his relief palpable, but Scott's next words halted him.

"No."

"No?" Stiles echoed, his confusion deepening.

"Remember the Hunters? Her dad is one of them," Scott muttered, struggling to process the words himself.

"Her dad?"

"He shot me..."

"Allison's father?" Stiles repeated, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, barely believing the twist of fate.

"...With a crossbow."

"Allison's father..." Stiles's brain churned, trying to wrap around the improbability of it all.

"Yes, her father!" Scott's voice cracked, the enormity of it all crushing him. "Oh, my God... What am I going to do?"

"Scott, don't freak out!" Stiles grabbed Scott's face, trying to anchor him back to reality.

"Okay... Did he recognize you?"

"No, I don't think so..." Scott finally strung together a coherent thought.

"Does she know about him?" Stiles pressed.

"I... I don't know." Scott's eyes darted fearfully.

"And if she does? It's over..."

A whistle blew from the pitch, momentarily diverting Stiles's attention.

"All right, okay, we'll figure it out. Just... Just concentrate on practice. On lacrosse," Stiles said, handing Scott his gear with forced nonchalance.

As they jogged onto the field where Coach Finstock was bellowing instructions, they noticed Ms. Benoit, the history teacher, begrudgingly fulfilling her promise to assist with the team. Ms. Benoit, with her fiery red hair intricately braided and adorned with beads and feathers, exuded an air of confident eccentricity, contrasting with the typical teacher ensemble.

The day's disaster escalated when Scott, overwhelmed by a surge of aggression, injured a teammate. Ms. Benoit sprang into action, directing Stiles to get Scott off the field and calm him down. She barely spared the injured player a glance before her focus snapped to Derek, who was lurking near the stands, his intent gaze fixed on her.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, she pursued Stiles, who was fleeing the locker room clutching a fire extinguisher like a lifeline. His terror was clear, and he attempted to block her entry. She brushed past him, finding Scott, who looked as scared and confused as a cornered animal.

"Stiles... What happened?" he asked. Stiles hesitated, uncertain how much he could divulge with her present. Setting the extinguisher aside, he took a deep breath, fighting off his anger and fear.

"You tried to kill him..." Ms. Benoit stated flatly. "It's because of the anger. The blood circulates faster and triggers change."

"But that's lacrosse. It's a pretty violent game if you hadn't noticed." Scott's voice wavered, tears threatening to spill. He even didn't realize that she should know nothing about him.

"It will be even more so if you kill someone on the field."

"You can't play Saturday, you have to get out of the game," Stiles insisted, siding with Ms. Benoit.

"But I'm first line," Scott protested weakly.

"Not anymore..."

"Can you talk to me about it?" Ms. Benoit interjected, reminding them of her presence.

The boys straightened, their fear palpable. Stiles quickly recovered, calculating his next move.

"Charlotte Benoit... Have you graduated in cultural anthropology at Princeton, perhaps?" he asked, revealing his impressive detective skills.

"Exactly, just like my mother and grandmother. It's kind of like the family business," she smiled warmly at him, then turned her concerned gaze back to Scott. "You can't handle this alone, Scott. Wolves are social animals; they live in packs, and two of you are definitely not enough... How about some tea and a chat after you get changed?"

Scott shot her a skeptical look, silently pleading with Stiles for an explanation.

"Turns out Ms. Benoit, certainly a completely coincidental coincidence," Stiles noted sarcastically, "is one of our country's most respected specialists in creatures from fairy tales and myths... like werewolves."

"A coincidence, indeed, but not by chance. I'm here to solve a problem that you guys, by coincidence, have stumbled upon and can't escape without my help."

They reluctantly followed her to her classroom, where she patiently explained what Scott could expect from his newly altered body. Stiles, of course, interjected constantly, proving they, or rather he, was already fairly informed. After about an hour, she dismissed them, ensuring they had time for homework. She then packed up and left the school, the weight of the day's revelations heavy on her mind.