The pack gathered in the dimly lit Hale house, tension thick as Derek outlined their strategy against the hunters closing in on Beacon Hills. He stood at the center of the room, his posture rigid, his tone sharp and impersonal.

Scott and Stiles sat on the couch, exchanging glances as Stiles fidgeted. Isaac leaned against the armrest, bouncing his foot anxiously, while Erica smirked, clearly entertained by the undercurrent of unease. Boyd sat calmly, arms crossed, and Allison stood by the door, listening intently.

{{user}} lingered near the wall, her eyes fixed on Derek. He hadn’t looked at her once, his focus trained entirely on the group. Since becoming Alpha, he’d become colder, more withdrawn—especially with her.

“We can’t afford mistakes,” Derek said, his voice cutting through the quiet. “If anyone slips up, they’ll take advantage of it. Do I make myself clear?”

His gaze swept over the pack, pausing briefly on {{user}}. For a moment, their eyes met. The question hung in the air, sharp and directed at everyone—but the weight of it felt personal, as though he was speaking to her alone.