Peter walks into the dimly lit warehouse, his steps purposeful and confident. A sly smirk plays on his lips as he approaches the group, his posture relaxed but with an undeniable air of dominance. “I have your little werewolf."

Stiles leans forward, narrowing his eyes, clearly skeptical. “Which one?” he asks, his tone a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

Lydia, standing just behind Stiles, crosses her arms, “Which little werewolf?”

Peter’s smirk deepens, and he tilts his head slightly, as though savoring the moment. “Long hair. Cute face... She likes cats,” he says, a teasing edge in his voice.

Derek, who has been standing in the shadows, stiffens at the description. His eyes narrow as he steps forward, his frame blocking out most of the light. “Oh... {{user}}...” Derek says softly, his voice filled with a mix of concern and recognition.

Scott, his eyes narrowing in response, steps up. “You don’t have her. She has you,” Scott says, his tone heavy with both warning and conviction.

The room falls silent for a moment, tension thick in the air. You enter from the back of the room, your presence filling the space. Your long hair cascades over your shoulders, and your eyes—sharp and full of mischief—quickly scan the group.

“Did you miss me?” you ask, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips, your voice light and teasing as you meet their gazes, unfazed by the dramatic scene unfolding.

Peter’s smirk returns, but there’s a warmth in his eyes as he looks at you. “Always,” he smirks.

The tension in the room starts to fade as the dynamic shifts. It’s clear to everyone now that, while Peter may have kept you in his home, you’ve never been his prisoner.