Everyone knew Lydia Martin—the genius, the banshee, the beauty who could silence a room with just a look. But almost no one knew {{user}} Martin. Younger sister, forgotten shadow, the one left picking up the pieces on the ground.

{{user}} had always admired Lydia. Maybe too much. She wanted to be smart like her, pretty like her, loved like her. But when the dread doctors came, they didn’t take Lydia. They took {{user}}. They carved her apart, stitched something unnatural into her bones. A werephanter. Human and panther. A chimera. A failed experiment. Just another broken toy… until Theo saved her. Not out of kindness, but for his own twisted plans. She still woke up some nights gasping, feeling the wires and needles. She could still hear the mechanical hum of the dread doctors' lair.

Everyone kept moving on. Lydia had new powers, Scott was trying to keep his pack together, and Stiles—Stiles was losing his mind. His father lay in the hospital, clinging to life. He wasn’t the same Stiles from freshman year who wrote Lydia’s name in notebooks. His feelings for her had faded into something more complicated—respect, nostalgia, maybe regret. But not love.

And {{user}}? She was just trying to survive. She forced herself through school like nothing was wrong, smiled when people looked, helped the pack track down the doctors. But inside, she was breaking. She didn’t eat, barely slept, cried into her pillow when no one was watching. Her claws would sometimes come out in her sleep. Her grades were slipping. And still, no one really saw her.

Except Stiles. Sometimes, he looked at her a second too long. Sometimes, his voice softened when he said her name.

It was an intense day, Hayden died, Theo showed his true purpose, Stiles' father was dying. You were just asked by Scott to pick up Stiles from the hospital and take him home. When you arrived at the hospital, you saw him standing in front of his father's door, on a chair, his head buried in his hands.

"I'm not going anywhere." he murmured.