Charlotte finally managed to get out of bed and make her first cup of coffee that morning. Suddenly, there was an unexpected knock on her front door. She furrowed her brow in confusion. So far, the only people who had visited her were the courier she was expecting and Derek, who never bothered with knocking and simply appeared in random rooms at random times. The knocking came again, more urgent and nervous this time.

Clutching a steaming mug in one hand and cradling a book under her arm, she swung open the front door to face a gangly, taller-than-her boy with cropped dark hair and wide, apprehensive brown eyes.

"Stiles," she greeted him, arching an eyebrow and leaning casually against the doorframe. Her cats wove between her legs, clearly plotting to claim her visitor as their new pet.

"Mrs. Benoit..." he panted, looking thoroughly flustered. It was clear he'd run the short distance from his blue Jeep, parked haphazardly at the curb, to her porch steps. "Scott ran away..."

"What do you mean, he ran away?" she shot back, not budging from her spot. The full moon had passed, rendering the boy harmless, or so she assumed.

"We found that girl's body last night, and I had that wolfsbane with me. Scott started feeling sick because of it, and when I threw it away, he just vanished..." His words tumbled out in a frantic rush, leaving Charlotte scrambling to piece together his meaning halfway through his breathless tirade.

She ushered him inside, brewed a calming herbal tea that she practically forced into his hand, and seated him at the kitchen table. Astra, her white cat, leaped into his lap, demanding pets and offering her unique brand of feline therapy. Stiles's fingers sank into her soft fur, and he took a deep, steadying breath, holding it for a moment. Charlotte was relieved to see the teenager regaining control, sparing her from using her magical and empathic abilities, which she loathed to wield over others.

"So there's this guy, Derek Hale, living in a burnt-out house in the woods. Scott figured out he was the one who killed that girl and buried her in his yard. He sniffed it out, like police dog..." Stiles recounted the night's events, concluding with how he'd stashed the wolfsbane in his backpack before the police arrived, and how Scott had disappeared as they made their way home.

When he finished, a heavy silence settled over the kitchen. Charlotte struggled to collect her thoughts. The boys' conclusions were wildly off-base. Derek wasn't a murderer, or at least he hadn't killed his sister. The reason for his wolf's eyes being blue, indicating a killer, was still a mystery she needed to solve, but it wasn't pertinent to the current crisis. She studied the anxious teenager, gauging how much to reveal. She bypassed her own knowledge of the older werewolf and direct her attention to the discoveries about the grave.

While rummaging through one of the many unpacked cardboard boxes in the adjoining room, she made Stiles wait. She returned with a medium-sized box, setting it before him with a knowing smile.

"It's a Polaroid, the type of camera that prints pictures instantly," she explained. "I know everyone uses their phones now, but I want you to use this. If you see something suspicious—a person, place, or thing—snap a picture and bring it to me ASAP. You can use your phone too, but physical prints are very important to me."

She could almost see the gears turning in the boy's head as he processed her instructions. His expression brightened momentarily, only to fall again.

"You're the Witch Derek told Scott about," he blurted out, catching her off guard. "He knows about you, which means you're in danger..."

"No more than you and your friend," she corrected, downplaying the situation. "I can handle myself far better than you two."

"So, you're a witch ... What does that even mean? Like a sorceress? A fairy?" he queried, his curiosity piqued.

"I think witch is the best term, but it's a bit inflated. I can't hurl fireballs or foresee the future. Nothing like Harry Potter. I'm just a regular person with a bit more knowledge," she continued briskly, preventing any further digressions. "But back to you. You said you arrested a man for murdering a girl in the forest?" He nodded. "Was she buried under a wolfsbane spiral as a wolf?" she asked. Another nod. "So, this Derek knows Scott's a werewolf?"

"Derek's a werewolf himself. He's the one who bit and turned Scott," Stiles clarified.

"He willingly surrendered and is now either in custody or undergoing interrogation. Meanwhile, Scott is out there somewhere, either in the woods or the city, in god knows what state? And he's planning to play in a game that both I and the adult werewolf who turned him advised him not to?"

Stiles's wide grin faded as the gravity of the situation dawned on him. He glanced around the kitchen, finally fixing his gaze on Astra's blue eyes, still unconsciously stroking her fur.

"Seems like it..."

The teenager spent several hours in her house, meticulously reconstructing the events leading to the discovery of Laura's body.

Charlotte asked him to draw the exact layout of the spiral and the grave, which he did with surprising precision. All the while, she pondered how the boy had got her address—a troubling thought, but not a priority. She considered visiting the police station to check on Derek, but dismissed the idea. He had her number; if he needed help, he'd call. No sense in drawing attention to their acquaintance.

As for Scott's disappearance, she chose not to worry. His wolf's instincts would likely drive him to hide and recover from the mild aconite poisoning he'd inflicted on himself. She conveyed this to Stiles, reassuring him so he could finally head home.

Eventually, evening descended, and Charlotte made her way to the school's lacrosse game. She hoped Scott had found his way back by now, although she had heard no updates. Perching herself in the stands just behind the substitutes' bench, she exhaled a sigh of relief when she spotted the teenage werewolf gearing up for the game.

"You going to try to convince me not to play?" Scott's words drifted over to Charlotte, directed at his friend.

"I just hope you know what you're doing," Stiles responded with a mixture of concern and resignation.

"If I don't play, I lose first line. And Allison."

"Allison's not going anywhere. It's just one game you don't have to play," Stiles tried again, following Charlotte's advice.

"I want to play. I want to be on the team, I want to go out with Allison. I want a semi-freaking normal life. Do you get that?" Scott's voice wavered with nerves, teetering on the edge of desperation. Charlotte understood his longing for normalcy but felt powerless to intervene.

"I get it," Stiles conceded after a pause. "Just try not to worry too much while you're out there, all right? And try not to get angry." He plopped down next to Scott, his back to the field, and shot Charlotte an apologetic glance.

"Got it."

"Or stressed..."

"Got it."

"And don't worry about Allison being there. Don't think about her father trying to kill you," Stiles added, unaware this was news to Charlotte. "Or Derek trying to kill you. Or the girl he killed. Or that you might kill someone..." He rambled, visibly flustered, ignoring Scott's increasingly horrified expression. "If the hunter doesn't kill you first." Realizing he had overstepped, he finally muttered, "I'll shut up now."

A familiar voice called out from just above Charlotte's head, and as she turned, she saw Melissa McCall, Scott's mom, sitting on the bench above. They exchanged pleasantries, Melissa inquiring about Charlotte's injured arm. The witch engaged in friendly conversation, but kept a watchful eye on the crowd. Further up in the stands, she spotted Allison and an older man who had to be Chris Argent, her father, and a hunter.

"Scott," Lydia Martin's voice cut through the air as she grabbed Scott by the shirt, pulling him close. "I just want you to remember one thing for tonight..." She leaned in, her height aided by high heels.

"Winning isn't everything?" Scott guessed, uncertain.

"Nobody likes a loser," Lydia corrected with a saccharine smile, smoothing his jersey before sauntering off.

Charlotte half-listened as Melissa tried to explain the rules of lacrosse, a game neither of them particularly enjoyed. Her attention, however, remained fixed on the unfolding events. She sensed an underlying tension, a harbinger of the evening's potential chaos. As the players charged onto the field, Stiles remained on the bench, soon joined by his father, the sheriff, in informal attire.

"Hey, kiddo," the sheriff greeted. "Any chance you'll be seeing some action tonight?"

"Action? Definite possibility," Stiles muttered, his mind clearly elsewhere.

The sheriff took his seat beside Melissa, who introduced him to Charlotte as Noah, unaware they'd already met under less pleasant circumstances.

From the outset, the game went poorly for Scott. His teammates ignored him, passing the ball among themselves. When Scott finally had a chance, one of his own team members, number 37, shoved him aside to score a goal, further souring his mood. Melissa's half-hearted applause mirrored Scott's frustration, exacerbated by Allison's reluctant banner-waving for Jackson Whittemore, the team captain.

"This is not going to be good," Stiles muttered, his concern echoing Charlotte's sentiments.

From her vantage point, she couldn't see Scott's face, but she felt the simmering aggression. Even the opposing team seemed wary, avoiding direct confrontations with him. Her gaze flicked to the Argents. Chris was leaning in, speaking to Allison, but Charlotte couldn't catch the words. The hunter's presence was troubling; he wouldn't ignore the signs of a werewolf on the field.

With the Beacon Hills Cyclones trailing by two points, the tension in the stands was palpable. Lydia and Allison held up another banner for Jackson, though Allison's expression was conflicted. Charlotte had a sinking feeling that Scott's focus was elsewhere, ignoring everything that didn't fit his immediate reality.

As the game resumed, Scott's frustration boiled over. He executed a near-impossible acrobatic leap, scoring a goal and eliciting cheers from the crowd. Charlotte bit her thumb nail nervously, aware of the implications of his display. Stiles cheered wildly, momentarily forgetting the potential fallout.

The ball came back into play, and Scott, now more aggressive, scored again, nearly tearing through the goalkeeper's racket. With 40 seconds left, the teams were tied.

"What? Did you see that?" Melissa exclaimed, pride lighting up her face.

Charlotte didn't respond, her focus on Scott, who was acting like a cornered animal. His opponents regrouped, surrounding him, but he remained eerily calm, scoring the winning goal with seconds to spare.

Spectators flooded the field, celebrating.

Stiles exhaled in relief, but Charlotte's unease persisted. She watched as Scott, hidden from view, examined his hand. She knew what he saw: claws instead of nails. He bolted off the field, Allison trailing behind, with her father watching closely.

Stiles stayed by Charlotte's side, scanning the crowd. Suddenly, the sheriff's phone rang, disrupting the moment. He answered, his expression darkening. After hanging up, he informed Stiles, "The results from the coroner came in. The body belongs to Laura Hale. She was killed by an animal. We have no grounds to detain the suspect any longer, so they released him. Stiles, be careful. The guy has a right to be mad at you, and he doesn't look nice."

Noah headed toward the parking lot, presumably back to work. Stiles stood frozen, absorbing the news, while Charlotte's mind raced, contemplating the night's implications.

Stiles sprinted to the locker room to relay the new information to his friend, leaving Charlotte alone in the stands. Her eyes fell on Jackson Whittemore, the team captain, who was scrutinizing a glove he had picked up from the grass. A jolt of anxiety coursed through her as she realized the potential evidence in his hands. When he abruptly looked up, Charlotte followed his gaze and saw Derek standing near the bleachers, locking eyes with Jackson. The younger man quickly looked away and walked off, while Derek started towards her.