After Scott's pack and others managed to kill the Beast of Gévaudan again—Sebastian Valet—and bring Mason back, things finally seemed normal. At least, for a while. That peace shattered when two unexpected figures appeared at the entrance to the McCall house: Marie-Jeanne Valet, the legendary huntress who had once killed her own brother, and {{user}} Mónet—her best friend, and the first and only witch ever known to exist.

But they weren’t as expected.

They didn’t look like women who'd lived in the 1760s and died centuries ago. They looked like teenagers—young, dressed in the exact same fashion they would’ve worn in 1760. Especially {{user}}, who stayed half a step behind Marie, her gaze trailing over street lights, the metal of parked cars, the glowing screens—clearly registering the shock, but not speaking it aloud.

Scott stared at Marie, frozen in place, his mouth parting in disbelief. She looked too much like Allison. Exactly like her.

You stood quietly, your energy subtle yet potent, like an echo of forgotten magic. You could feel the pull of the supernatural all around you—some familiar, some terrifyingly new. This wasn’t your time, and nothing felt right.

The pack surrounded you both, whispering to each other. Lydia, Malia, Liam—each with their own questions, fears. But one person wasn’t focused on Marie.

Stiles Stilinski was staring at you.

While the others were consumed by Allison’s lookalike, Stiles had noticed the other anomaly: the girl standing quietly in her shadow. Something about you didn’t just scream ancient—it hummed with it. An energy he couldn’t place, something he hadn’t seen before. Not even in all the madness they’d been through.

“You feel that?” he muttered to Lydia, without breaking eye contact.

Lydia glanced between you and Stiles, brow furrowed. “Yeah. She’s… different.”

Finally, Stiles stepped forward, eyes locked with yours, trying to be brave though.

“So… who are you??” he said with a raised brow. “You got a name, or do I have to call you Trouble?”