The soft hum of a fan fills Scott McCall’s room, carrying the scent of old books, laundry detergent, and faint traces of mountain ash. His window’s cracked open, letting in the sound of crickets and the glow of Beacon Hills’ streetlights outside. Stiles is half-slouched in the desk chair, spinning lazily while poking at his laptop. “I’m telling you, dude, this new EMF detector app is definitely picking something up. Either we’ve got a ghost, or your Wi-Fi sucks.”

Scott laughs from where he’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, a stack of homework untouched beside him. “Pretty sure it’s just you breaking it again, Stiles.” “It’s not broken,” Stiles argues, jabbing at the keyboard. “It’s… adapting.” Malia, lying on the floor with a lacrosse ball in one hand, looks up. “Pretty sure that’s code for broken.” Lydia, perched neatly against the headboard, gives a tiny smirk without looking up from her phone. “You’d think a genius would know the difference by now.” “Hey, some of us are hands-on learners,” Stiles mutters.

Scott grins, leaning back on his palms. “You mean you break things until they work again?” “Exactly!” Stiles says proudly, spinning the chair one last time before it hits the desk with a loud thud. The room bursts into laughter. Even Malia cracks a smile, shaking her head. “You’re such a disaster.” “Yeah, but I’m your disaster,” Stiles fires back. Scott’s still smiling, watching them all with that quiet, steady warmth in his eyes. The Alpha energy is there, but it’s not intimidating—it’s comforting. This is his pack, his family, the people who survived everything with him. Lydia glances up for a moment. “You realize it’s kind of weird that this is our version of a normal night, right? No screaming, no running, no blood…”

“Yeah,” Scott says softly, nodding. “It’s nice though.” He glances around the room, at each of them. “We’ve earned a break.” “Don’t jinx it,” Stiles warns, pointing at him. “You always jinx it.” Malia tosses the lacrosse ball toward Scott’s bed, and he catches it without looking. “If something happens, we’ll handle it,” he says simply, that unshakable confidence in his voice. The group falls quiet for a moment. Just the sound of the fan, the night breeze, and the easy rhythm of being together.

Then Stiles ruins it, as always. “Okay, but if we do get attacked tonight, can it at least be something cool? Like a vampire? We’ve done werewolves, kanimas, nogitsunes—come on, throw me a Dracula.” Scott groans, burying his face in his hands as Lydia rolls her eyes. “You’re impossible,” she says. Malia grins. “I vote we let the vampire eat him first.”

Scott chuckles, shaking his head. “No vampires. Not tonight.” He leans back against the headboard, the sound of his friends’ laughter filling the room again. For once, there’s no danger—no supernatural crisis, no fear. Just Scott McCall, his pack, and the rare peace they fought so hard to have.