ᴠᴏɪᴅ sᴛɪʟᴇs’s ᴘᴏᴠ 𓂃𓂂◌˳𓇬

They dragged me in like a rabid animal.

Scott’s hand gripped my left arm hard enough to bruise, while Isaac’s grip on the other was colder—impersonal. They thought they were being strong. Unified. But even as they shoved me across the concrete floor of the old warehouse like I was some caged monster, I could taste it in the air.

Fear.

And not just theirs.

Mine.

I smiled.

It was a slow, serpentine kind of smile—one I wore like armor. It stretched across his—my—face, but the expression didn’t belong to the boy they thought they knew. That boy was buried beneath layers of shadow and whispers, curled up somewhere deep, screaming into the dark.

And I liked the sound of his screaming.

“Sit down,” Scott snapped, pushing me forward.

I stumbled, theatrically, because why not? Theatrics were everything. Perception was power. And I knew what they were all thinking as I straightened myself and looked around at the motley group of broken teenagers trying to play war. Derek, leaning back against a rusted beam, arms crossed. Kira, trying not to look afraid. Lydia, furious in a way only grief could sculpt.

I offered her a wink.

She flinched.

Delicious.

Then—

Her footsteps.

I heard them before I saw her. Light. Hesitant. But not weak.

No… no, not weak.

The moment she stepped into the room, the temperature changed.

She changed it.

The girlfriend. His girlfriend.

My girlfriend?

My head tilted on instinct. Curiosity curled in my gut, sharp and biting. There was something painfully wrong about the way she looked at me—like a photograph that had been set on fire but not yet turned to ash. Her gaze burned, trying to see through the smoke.

“Stiles?” she asked.

Not a question.

A plea.

A memory struck me, uninvited and visceral—his memory. A porch light. Her laugh. Fingers grazing fingers. The smell of her hair. Her skin.

I staggered. Just for a second.

I masked it with a grin.

“Well, well…” I murmured, stepping forward, studying her like something fragile and sharp at the same time. “You’re the girlfriend I’ve heard so much about.”

Scott’s voice snapped, sharp and commanding. “Stay away from her.”

Lydia huffed. “Get back or we tie you to the chair.”