Melissa trudged into her dimly lit home after an exhausting day on call, her spirit sagging with discouragement. She sole hoped to collapse into bed, but first, she needed to say goodnight to her son. Stepping into his room, she found it empty. A sigh escaped her lips, frustration mingling with fatigue. Just as she turned to leave, a noise from Scott's room caught her attention.

Suspicion prickled her skin. She backtracked cautiously, her eyes falling on a baseball bat leaning against the wall. Grabbing it, she crept into the room, brandishing the bat like a makeshift weapon. In the faint glow of the streetlamp filtering through the curtains, a dark silhouette loomed. Instinctively, she swung, stopping inches from her target—Stiles' freckled, terrified face.

Both let out startled squeals, like a pair of frightened schoolgirls. "Stiles! What the hell are you doing?" Melissa demanded, her voice a mix of exasperation and relief.

"What am I doing?" Stiles echoed, indignant. "Do either of you even play baseball?" He pointed to the bat Melissa still clutched in her hand.

Before Melissa could retort, the room flooded with light. Scott stood in the doorway, confusion etched across his features. "Can you please tell your friend to use the front door?" Melissa sighed, her patience wearing thin.

"But we lock the front door. He wouldn't be able to get in," Scott replied, as if it were the most logical explanation in the world.

"Exactly," Melissa said, rubbing her temples. "And, by the way, do either of you care that there's a police-enforced curfew?" Her eyes, weary and accusatory, roved over the two teenagers.

"No," they replied in unison, shrugging.

"Okay then. That's about all the parenting I can take for one night." Melissa tossed the bat onto Scott's bed and turned on her heel, her departure as swift as her entrance.

Scott laughed quietly as he bid his mother goodnight, his mood buoyed by a successful date. But his laughter died in his throat when he turned to see Stiles' crestfallen expression.

"My Dad left for the hospital fifteen minutes ago. The Bus Driver," Stiles began, his voice cracking. "They said he succumbed to his wounds."

"Succumbed?" Scott echoed, confusion creasing his brow.

"Scott... he's dead," Stiles clarified, the weight of his words hitting like a sledgehammer. Scott's face morphed through a kaleidoscope of emotions, from shock to grief, then rage.

Without a word, Scott bolted from the house, leaving Stiles in stunned silence. Fury fueled his sprint through the night, memories of the red-eyed monster attacking Mr. Meyers flooding back, vivid and haunting. He didn't slow until he reached a house shrouded in darkness and the shadows of ancient trees.

"Derek! I know you're here!" Scott's voice echoed through the house, raw with accusation. "I know what you did!"

"I didn't do anything," came a voice, cold and dispassionate, reverberating through the house.

"You killed him!" Scott ascended the creaking stairs, listening intently.

"He died," the voice repeated, devoid of emotion.

"Like your sister died?" Scott's disbelief cut through the tension like a knife.

"My sister was missing. I came here to find her."

"You found her..." Scott's voice wavered with anger and confusion.

"I found her in pieces!" Derek's voice crescendoed with fury. "Being used as bait to catch me."

"I think you killed them both," Scott concluded with grim determination. "And I'm going to tell everyone. Starting with the Sheriff..." He reached the top of the stairs, still searching for the source of Derek's voice.

Out of nowhere, a shadow came lunging at him from behind, grabbing hold of his shoulders and forcefully propelling him down the stairs. In the midst of his descent, Scott's transformation was triggered, causing his eyes to emit a golden glow, his brow to furrow, and his fangs to protrude. With remarkable agility, he landed gracefully on his feet, fully prepared to confront Derek, who had also leaped down to join him.

Scott forcefully grabbed Derek by his jacket, slamming him into a wall with such intensity that it threatened to shatter. However, Derek swiftly shrugged off the impact, deciding to remove his leather jacket to protect it from any damage. He casually rolled his neck, his eyes transforming from a vibrant electrifying blue back to their usual human grey-green color in a blink, too rapid for Scott to perceive.

The teenage wolf lunged once more, but was swiftly thrown against another wall. Derek, who possessed greater strength, granted Scott a moment to get up before launching a fierce counterattack, kicking him forcefully across the room. In retaliation, Scott grabbed a wooden board and forcefully rammed it into Derek, who quickly regained his composure and undercut Scott's legs, pinning him by the throat. The pain caused Scott to revert back to his human form, gasping for breath heavily.

Derek let him go, taking a step back while emitting a deep, guttural roar that reverberated through the house. Scott prepared himself for an imminent strike that never materialized. Tentatively opening one eye, he observed Derek, who had transformed back into his fully human form. Derek was breathing heavily, clearly struggling to reign in his murderous instincts.

"I didn't kill them. Neither of us did. It's not your fault, and it's not mine," Derek declared, his gaze piercing.

"This... this is all your fault," Scott shouted. "You ruined my life!"

"No, I didn't," Derek denied calmly.

"You're the one who bit me."

"It's not him, Scott," a new voice interrupted. Both men shifted their gaze to the doorway, where Charlotte Benoit stood. Her dark chestnut hair shimmered in the glow of the car's headlights.

"What?" Scott's confusion deepened.

Charlotte's gaze shifted to Derek, who nodded.

"I'm not the one who bit you," Derek confirmed.

Scott slowly backed away, his fingertips gingerly grazing the barely healed wounds on his neck. The touch sent a shiver down his spine as the memory of the attack flooded his mind, vivid and haunting. Blood stains adorned his trembling fingers, the metallic scent filling the air, a stark reminder of the violence he had endured. Overwhelmed, he sank into the plushness of the couch, his labored breaths punctuating the silence. Charlotte, concerned, reached out to offer comfort, but he flinched away, his gaze shifting between the two adults whose knowing expressions hinted at secrets he had yet to uncover.

"There's another," he whispered, realization dawning.

"It's called an Alpha," the witch specified simultaneously with Derek.

"The most dangerous of our kind. You and I, we're Betas," Derek explained. "My sister came here looking for him, trying to stop him. Now I'm trying to find him. And I don't think I can do it without you."

"Why me?" Scott asked, still not understanding.

"Because he turned you. You're part of his pack. It's you, Scott. You're the one he wants," Derek stated.

"And what are you doing here? Who exactly is he?" Scott turned to Charlotte, demanding answers.

"I came so you wouldn't kill each other. Your friend asked me for help," she replied truthfully.

"But why did you come to Beacon Hills in the first place?" Scott's anger flared. "Did you come together?"

"No," she answered, truthfully. "I came because I found out about the Alpha. He's dangerous, and my job is to protect people who know nothing about this part of reality. I'm a kind of guardian."

"And you know about me and him?" Scott pointed to Derek. Charlotte nodded. "Then who is Alpha?"

"I have no idea," the witch admitted, her voice tinged with regret.