I woke up screaming, but no sound came out.
For a heartbeat, I wasn't in a bedroom in Beacon Hills. I was back in the Abyss—that pressurized, infinite void where time felt like a loop of static. Before the "Binding," I had been a man of data, a researcher who valued cold logic until a lab accident stripped me of my physical form. I'd spent what felt like an eternity drifting as a flicker of consciousness in the dark, my identity slowly eroding until the Catalyst System snatched me up.
Interrupted. Incompatible. Manual Override. The System's words from the binding process echoed in my mind. I was a "glitch" forced into the shell of a teenager who happened to have just enough room in his head for a second passenger.
I sat up abruptly, my sheets soaked in a cold sweat. Outside, the pale light of a Monday morning filtered through the blinds.
[System Note: Welcome back to reality. It's Monday. You have 4 days (96 hours) until the Full Moon. Try not to chew on the furniture.]
"Shut up," I croaked, rubbing my temples.
The splitting headache from the binding was gone, replaced by a clarity that was almost surgical. I looked at my hands. They were Stiles' hands—bony, with bitten fingernails—but I moved them with the precision of a man who had spent years handling glass slides and calibrated instruments.
The merge was finally settling. I could access Stiles' memories—his childhood, his mother's laugh, his deep-seated loyalty to Scott—but they felt like files I was reading rather than lives I had actually lived.
Then, the smell hit me.
[Passive Skill Active: The Trace]
It wasn't just a smell; it was a sensory assault. I could smell the stale coffee from downstairs, the dust mites in the carpet, and the distinct, metallic copper of the blood-stained hoodie I'd shoved into the bottom of my trash can.
"Stiles? You up? I'm heading to the station!"
My dad's voice boomed from the hallway. In my old life, I was alone. But as the sound hit my ears, a surge of Stiles' fierce, protective affection flared in my chest, clashing violently with Julian's analytical detachment.
"Yeah! Just... looking for my shoes!" I yelled back. My voice sounded sharper to my own ears. More resonant.
I stood up and walked to the mirror.
[Supernatural Perception: The Scan - Initializing...]
Identification: Host (Stiles Stilinski / Julian) Condition: Werewolf-Stabilized. Note: Your heart rate is a steady 45 BPM. You're officially a medical anomaly, but at least your skin looks great.
I leaned in, staring at my reflection. My eyes looked the same, but there was a flicker of something cold and calculating behind them. The "Analytical Spark" wasn't just a trait; it was my soul's signature.
I grabbed my bag, making sure Scott's inhaler was tucked securely in the front pocket. I had four days to figure out how to be a werewolf, how to keep Scott from exposing us, and how to survive a week of high school without the System crashing.
"Okay," I whispered to the mirror. "Let's go to school."
Stepping outside was like walking into a wind tunnel of information. The morning air, which usually just felt "cold," was now a layered map of scents: the exhaust of a neighbor's car, the damp pine of the preserve miles away, and—faintly—the smell of ozone that seemed to cling to my own skin.
I climbed into the Jeep. The engine roared to life, and for the first time, I didn't just hear the noise; I felt the mechanical rhythm of every piston.
[Warning: Sensory Input at 85% Capacity.] [System Note: Your 'Wolf Sense' is currently uncalibrated. Everything is loud. Everything is smelly. Try not to drive into a tree.]
"Working on it," I muttered, gripping the steering wheel.
By the time I pulled into the Beacon Hills High parking lot, my head was beginning to throb again. The school was a buzzing hive. Hundreds of heartbeats thumping in a disorganized symphony, the smell of cheap perfume, gym bags, and teenage anxiety. I sat in my car, closing my eyes and trying to tune out the noise. Once the sensations were at a manageable level, I looked around.
I spotted Scott getting off his bike, a peculiar, dazed look on his face. Before I could call out to him, a silver Porsche pulled into the spot next to him. Jackson Whittemore swung his door open, slamming it into Scott's bike.
From across the parking lot, I heard Jackson's voice as clearly as if he were standing next to me. "Dude, watch the paint job."
I smirked, the Julian part of my brain offering a dry assessment. Jeez, what an asshole.
I hopped out of the Jeep and slammed the door, the sound echoing like a gunshot in my heightened ears. As I walked toward Scott, I let my eyes narrow, triggering the overlay.
[Supernatural Perception: The Scan - Initializing...]
Identification: Scott McCall Rank: F+ (Fledgling Lycanthrope) Condition: Confusion / Guilt / Physical Peak Status: [BONDED - Pack Potential] System Note: He hasn't noticed you yet, and he definitely thinks you're dead.
I almost laughed; it was a perfect opportunity. I kept my footsteps light, ghosting up behind him until I was inches away. Then, I pounced, slamming both hands onto his shoulders.
"BOO!" I barked in an eerie tone.
Scott practically levitated, spinning around with a gasp of pure shock. "STILES!"
Before I could even offer a sarcastic follow-up, he lunged forward, wrapping me in a bone-crushing hug. He was shaking. "I'm so sorry, man. I ran... I thought you were dead. I thought it killed you."
I laughed, patting his back while trying to pry his surprisingly strong grip off me. "Dude, you really think some overgrown puppy could take me out?" I let the sarcasm drip from my voice as I stepped back, playfully flexing my arm. "I'm made of tougher stuff."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the plastic device. "Here, take this. Though, I have a feeling you won't be needing it anymore."
Scott took the inhaler, looking at it with deep confusion. "Why wouldn't I need it?"
Instead of answering, I reached out and gave him a firm pat right on his ribs—exactly where the Alpha had bitten him. Scott flinched, his face scrunching up in anticipation of the agony, but then his expression went blank.
Nothing. No pain. No soreness.
His eyes went wide as he frantically peeled back the edge of the bandage on his side. "Wh—What? Stiles, where is it? Where's the injury?"
He started to hyperventilate, his heart rate spiking so loud it sounded like a drum kit in my ears. I stepped into his personal space, grabbing his shoulders to ground him.
"Look at me, Scott. Look." I rolled up my own sleeve, revealing the smooth, unmarred skin where the teeth had sunk in only hours ago. "I'm not injured either. My senses are through the roof, and I'm willing to bet yours are about to do the same."
I leaned in closer, my voice dropping to a serious whisper that brooked no argument. "All I can tell you right now is that you need to stay calm, and try not to listen to everyone's heartbeats at once. We'll talk after school, agreed?"
Scott stared at my arm, then back at my face, finally nodding slowly. "Agreed."
Scott and I walked through the double doors, and the sensory assault reached a crescendo. The smell of floor wax and unwashed gym clothes was bad enough, but it was the noise—the slamming lockers sounding like cannon fire—that made me want to claw my own ears off.
Suddenly, the crowd seemed to part.
Walking toward us was Lydia Martin. In Stiles' memories, this moment usually involved him fumbling his words and staring like a lost puppy. As she got closer, I felt a familiar heat rise in my chest—Stiles' old biological reflex, a desperate crush fueled by years of pining.
But then, the [Analytical Spark] kicked in. I looked at her, and the red-hot infatuation was instantly cooled by a layer of blue data. My mind didn't see a "Goddess"; it saw a high-value target with an erratic energy signature.
[Supernatural Perception: The Scan...] Identification: Lydia Martin Rank: E (???) Condition: Bored / High-Cognition / Masked System Note: Something is 'pinging' on the sonar. She's not just a popular girl; there's a resonance in her vocal cords that shouldn't be there. Caution: She's smarter than you think she is.
"Hi, Lydia," Scott mumbled, still dazed.
She didn't even look at us. She just swept past, a cloud of expensive perfume trailing behind her that made my nose twitch. The old Stiles would have been devastated. Julian, however, just tilted his head. Beautiful? Yes. Productive for my survival? Currently, no. I dismissed the crush as a hormonal glitch. I didn't have time for unrequited love. "Let's get to class," I said, trudging through the sea of students.
We took our seats in the back of the classroom just as the bell rang. The teacher began writing on the board, his voice droning on. "As we all know, there was indeed a body found in the woods last night. I am sure your eager little minds are coming up with various macabre scenarios, but I am here to tell you that the police have a suspect in custody."
Scott and I shared a sharp, knowing look. A suspect? Already? "Which means," the teacher continued, "you can give your undivided attention to the syllabus on your desk outlining this semester."
Suddenly, a sharp ringing vibrated in my ears. I winced, looking around confused until my focus was pulled toward the front of the school building. My hearing was tunneling, cutting through the walls.
"Mom, three calls on my first day is a little overdoing it," a girl's voice said from a bench outside. I could hear the faint, garbled squawking of the phone's speaker, then her reply: "Everything except for a pen... okay, okay, I gotta go. Love you."
I heard footsteps approaching—a staff member escorting her. They were talking about the town she'd moved from, their voices growing clearer as they reached the door. My heart began to thump against my ribs, a strange, involuntary reaction. Why is my heart racing just from the sound of her voice? Is this the wolf instinct or just Stiles being a teenager?
The door swung open, and the principal stepped in. "Class, this is our new student, Allison Argent. Please do your best to make her feel welcome."
Allison started walking toward the back, heading straight for the empty seat directly behind me. I didn't hesitate. I reached into my bag, grabbed a spare pen, and turned around just as she was sitting down.
"Hey, I'm Stiles," I said, my voice steady and casual. I held out the pen.
She froze, giving me an odd, slightly startled look. For a second, a cold sweat broke out on my neck. Shoot, did I overplay it? Did I seem like a stalker?
But then, the most radiant smile broke across her face. "Thanks," she whispered, taking it.
[Notice: Social Link Established - Allison Argent] [System Note: Nice move, Romeo. You managed to be helpful without being a creep. Mostly. 25 XP awarded.]
After class, I headed to my locker, still riding the high of a successful interaction. I turned my head and caught Allison looking over at me from her own locker. She smiled. In response, a dumb, almost creepy grin spread across my lips before I could reign it in.
Control, Julian. Professionals don't gawk, I scolded myself.
She was quickly distracted by Lydia, who swooped in like a predator claiming territory. I leaned against my locker, subtly tilting my head to tune in to their conversation.
"That jacket is absolutely killer," Lydia said, her voice dripping with practiced charm. "Where did you get it?"
"My mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco," Allison replied.
"And you," Lydia declared, "are my new best friend."
Jackson appeared a second later, wrapping a possessive arm around Lydia's waist. I was about to dismiss them when a voice closer to me broke my concentration. It was a girl standing near Scott, looking at the scene with a mix of envy and confusion.
"Can someone tell me how the new girl is here all of five minutes and she's already hanging out with Lydia's clique?" she asked.
"Because she's hot," I blurted out before my analytical filter could stop me.
Scott shot me a look, but my focus snapped back to the trio.
"So, this weekend there's a party," Lydia told Allison.
"A party?" Allison asked.
"Yeah, Friday night," Jackson added.
The anticipation I'd felt about potentially asking Allison out vanished instantly. Friday. That's the night of the full moon. Shit. I can't go, and I definitely can't take her.
"Uh, I can't," Allison said, shifting uncomfortably under Jackson's intense gaze. "It's family night this Friday. Thanks for asking, though."
A massive wave of relief washed over me, so strong it was almost embarrassing. Ugh, what is going on? I can't focus on anything but her, I groaned internally.
Jackson, ever the ego-maniac, started spouting crap about the party and trying to sell her on the "glory" of Beacon Hills Lacrosse. Within seconds, Lydia and Jackson had roped her into coming to watch the practice this afternoon.
I felt a chill run down my spine. I had spent all of last night making fun of Scott for wanting to make the team, but looking at Allison now?
Change of plans. I'm not just making the team. I'm owning that field.
The locker room was a sensory nightmare. The smell of old sweat and cheap body spray was thick enough to taste. While Scott fumbled with his gear, looking dazed, I felt a strange vibration in my bones—the 15 Agility was making me feel like a coiled spring.
As we walked out to the field, Scott suddenly stopped. His head tilted, his eyes unfocusing.
"Stiles, do you hear that?" he whispered.
I tuned my ears, bypassing the shouting coach and the clatter of sticks. I heard it: a ragged, fluttering heartbeat and a sharp, metallic tang of fear. I turned my head and triggered the overlay.
[Supernatural Perception: The Scan...] Identification: Erica Reyes Rank: F- (Human / Vulnerable) Condition: Borderline Seizure / Social Anxiety Note: Her neurological stability is dropping. She's staring at the bleachers like they're about to collapse on her.
"She's gonna fall," Scott muttered. Before I could say anything, he turned away from the drill, heading toward the girl sitting alone on the bottom bench. He forgot about the practice, forgot about the "glory"—he just saw someone who needed help.
Well, there goes Scott's chance at first line, I thought, a mix of Julian's irritation and Stiles' pride swirling in my head.
"Stilinski!" Coach Finstock's voice cracked like a whip. "Get in the cage! We need someone to catch to give the boys a confidence boost"
I looked at the bleachers. Allison was there, sitting next to Lydia. She smiled at me again. My heart did that annoying teenage skip again, but the System quickly drowned it out with a mission prompt.
[New Quest: Defensive Dominance] Objective: Impress the crowd without revealing your 'Furry' nature. Reward: 75 XP & Rank D- Recognition. Failure: Jackson humiliates you in front of the 'Variable'.
I stepped into the crease, pulling the goalie mask down. The world slowed. I could see the rotation of the ball as the first player fired a shot. To a human, it was a 90mph blur. To me? It looked like a lazy balloon.
I didn't even think. I snapped my stick up, the webbing catching the ball with a satisfying thud.
"Nice save, Stilinski!" Coach barked, sounding genuinely confused. "Do it again!"
Jackson stepped up next. He looked at me with pure disdain, his grip tightening on his stick. I could smell his aggression—it was sour, like vinegar.
[Target Identified: Jackson Whittemore] Rank: D- (Peak Human Athlete) Condition: Aggravated / Arrogant Note: He's going for your head, not the net.
He lunged, firing a shot with enough force to break a normal person's wrist. My [Analytical Spark] calculated the trajectory in a microsecond. I didn't just catch it; I stepped out of the crease, snagged the ball out of the air, and spun around Jackson before he could even finish his follow-through.
The field went silent. I looked at the bleachers. Allison was leaning forward, her eyes wide. Lydia actually looked away from her phone.
"Stilinski..." Coach whispered, "What the hell was that? Was that... talent?"
I felt the adrenaline coursing through me, my 12 Strength making the heavy stick feel like a feather. I looked over at Scott. He was still sitting with Erica, helping her through her breathing. He'd completely missed his turn.
I smirked behind the mask. Sorry, Scott. Looks like I'm the star player today.
As I walked off the field, the adrenaline was still humming in my veins, making the air feel electric. Suddenly, the blue interface flickered, momentarily blurring my vision as the notifications stacked up.
[QUEST COMPLETE: Defensive Dominance] Reward: 75 XP & Rank D- Recognition. Bonus: +10 Rep with Allison Argent.
[LEVEL UP! You are now Level 2] Current EXP: 25/200 Rewards: +5 Attribute Points (AP) / 1 Skill Point (SP)
[System Note: Look at you, actually being athletic. I almost didn't recognize you without the 'clumsy sidekick' debuff. Use your points wisely; the Moon doesn't care about your feelings.]
I wiped the sweat from my forehead, heading toward the bench where Scott was finally standing up. Erica was looking at him with a dazed, grateful expression—she looked better, her scent shifting from "Pre-Seizure" to "Lingering Shock."
Five points, I thought. That's a 10% increase in my baseline power.
[New Feature Unlocked: The Pack Link (V1.0)] Description: You are now spiritually tethered to Scott McCall. Active Effect: You can sense Scott's general emotional state and location within a 1-mile radius. Passive Effect: Shared XP. When Scott performs a "Heroic Act" or "Supernatural Feat," you gain 10% of the XP value.
I leaned against the bench, the blue interface hovering in my peripheral vision as I pondered my new attributes. Five points to change my destiny. Five points to survive Friday.
"Stiles," Scott's voice was low, pulling me out of the menus.
I looked up. Scott was walking toward me, leaving a much calmer Erica behind. He looked pale, his hand unconsciously rubbing the spot where he'd been bitten. He wasn't looking at me; he was staring at the dense tree line that hugged the edge of the practice field.
"I feel it too," I whispered.
The [Pack Link] thrummed for the first time—a cold, prickly sensation at the base of my skull. It was a shared instinct, the feeling of a heavy gaze boring into us.
I didn't turn my head. I didn't want to tip my hand. Instead, I subtly triggered [The Scan], sweeping the dark shadows between the oaks. The data flickered to life, much clearer than the night before.
[Target Identified: Unknown (Leather Jacket / Man from Woods)] Rank: C+ (Beta - Peak) Condition: Observing / Evaluating / Neutral System Note: He's not hiding his scent. He wants you to know he's there. He's also looking at you with a look that says 'You're doing it wrong.'
It was the guy from the ravine. The one the System had labeled a Peak Beta. He was standing perfectly still in the shade, his arms crossed, watching us like a scientist observing a pair of lab rats that had suddenly started talking back.
"He's been there since I helped Erica," Scott muttered, his voice trembling. "Stiles, who is that?"
"I don't know," I said, finally letting my eyes meet the man's gaze for a split second before he turned and vanished into the brush. "But he's been following us since last night. He knows what we are."
I gripped my lacrosse stick, my mind already calculating the next move. Leveling up felt good, but seeing a Rank C+ just standing there reminded me how small I still was.
"We need to find him," I said, my analytical side taking over. "If he has answers about the moon or the thing that bit us, we aren't waiting until Friday. We're finding him after school."