Stiles and Scott have called up a pack meeting due to the latest murders, which obviously were caused because by species we don't know shit about yet. I haven't slept for months ever since you disappeared, everyone thinks you're dead, even Lydia: a banshee with the best intuition of us all. I'm focusing on our friends talking, but my gaze moves up, and I freeze. It's you standing in Scott's doorway.

Guys...