The moon cast a soft silver glow over the dense forest surrounding Beacon Hills, bathing the trees and underbrush in an ethereal light. Derek Hale stood at the edge of the woods, his tall figure a dark silhouette against the night sky. His intense blue eyes scanned the surroundings, a mix of caution and familiarity etched into his features.

The wind rustled through the leaves, carrying with it the scent of pine and earth. Derek's senses were heightened, his werewolf instincts attuned.