The warehouse smelled like rust and rot, the kind of place where secrets went to die. The only light seeped through cracks in the broken windows, casting long, skeletal shadows across the floor. She stepped carefully, each footfall echoing too loudly in the cavernous space. She could feel him here—like the air itself was charged with something electric and wrong.

Then, from the darkness, he appeared.

It was Stiles. But it wasn’t.

Void Stiles peeled away from the shadows as if they clung to him, a twisted mockery of the boy she loved. His posture was too loose, too confident, and the smirk on his face wasn’t the awkward, endearing grin she knew. This was something else entirely—something sharp and dangerous.

“Well,” he drawled, voice low and smooth like oil spilling across water. “What do we have here?” His black eyes gleamed as they raked over her, hungry and cold. “Stiles’ girlfriend, right?”

The way he said it—like the word itself was a joke—sent a chill through her. But she stood her ground, fists clenched at her sides. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.

He circled her slowly, like a predator sizing up its prey. She could feel his gaze on her skin, heavy and invasive. “You don’t look like much,” he murmured, his smile twisting further. “But… then again, he saw something in you, didn’t he?”

There was a flicker of something in his voice. Contempt? Curiosity? She couldn’t tell, but it made her pulse quicken.

She met his gaze, refusing to back down. His smirk faltered, just for a second, as if her defiance surprised him. His head tilted, like he was seeing her for the first time.

“You’re not scared of me,” he said softly, almost in wonder. The black voids of his eyes narrowed, his smile curling back into place. “That’s interesting.”