The night was restless as Stiles stumbled through the moonlit woods, half-carrying an unconscious stranger. Instead of Scott's house, he headed to Derek's loft, knowing it would be safer.

Stiles banged on the heavy metal door. "Derek! Open up!"

Derek slid the door open, eyebrows raised at the scene before him. "Another crisis, Stiles?"

"Found them near the Nemeton. Didn't know where else to go," Stiles explained, helping the stranger to Derek's couch.

Scott arrived minutes later, followed by Lydia and Malia. The loft's large windows cast moonlight across the worried faces of the pack.

Lydia studied the stranger intently. "I don't sense death, but we should be careful."

Malia sniffed the air. "Unknown scent."

"Beacon Hills isn't safe for newcomers," Derek said, leaning against his desk, arms crossed. Despite his gruff tone, concern showed in his eyes.

As the pack debated, the stranger's eyes opened to find Stiles watching nearby.

"Welcome to Derek's totally-not-creepy loft," Stiles said. "I'm Stiles. That's Scott, our leader. Lydia's the genius, Malia's working on her social skills, and Mr. Sourwolf here is Derek."

Scott stepped forward. "Are you okay? Do you remember what happened?"