Stiles Stilinski had seen his fair share of the supernatural, but nothing like her. A shadowmancer. An anomaly even in their world of werewolves, banshees, and chimeras. And yet, there she was, sitting in the corner of the sheriff's station, the dim light making the shadows around her dance unnaturally.

She was different from the others—silent, observant, as if she were still deciding whether to trust them. Scott and the rest of the pack had managed to get her out of the Dread Doctors’ lair, but the hard part was just beginning.

"Are you sure she's not dangerous?" Lydia murmured beside him, her eyes locked onto the girl.

Stiles didn't answer immediately. His fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh. Dangerous? Maybe. But weren’t they all, in some way? She was an unknown variable, but that didn’t mean she was the enemy.

“I don’t think she wants to hurt anyone,” Stiles finally said, though there was an unspoken but at the end of that sentence.

Before Lydia could respond, his dad approached. Sheriff Stilinski sighed, rubbing his temple as he studied the girl. “She says she doesn’t remember much—name, family, where she came from. Nothing.”

Stiles glanced at her again. One year in the hands of the Dread Doctors… What had they done to her?

Scott leaned against the desk. "She should stay with us. Until we figure things out."

Sheriff Stilinski frowned but nodded. "Fine. But she’s your responsibility."

Stiles barely registered the conversation because, at that moment, she looked up—right at him. There was something intense in her gaze, something unreadable. Stiles swallowed, feeling an unfamiliar pull in his chest.

Maybe she didn’t remember who she was. But Stiles was going to find out.