Episode 2

ON THE ROAD - NEXT DAY

Allison sat in the passenger seat of Lydia's car, staring at her arm, fingers tracing the faint bruise she'd gotten yesterday. "It's a pattern. It means something," she said, breaking the silence in the car.

Lydia, driving with one hand on the wheel, glanced over at the bruise skeptically. "I don't know... it doesn't look like much to me."

Allison pressed down on the bruise, wincing slightly. "It's not just the shape. When we pressed them together, it looked like some sort of symbol."

Lydia raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "You really think Scott's gonna know what it is?"

Allison shrugged, still focused on the odd mark. "No, but he might know someone who does."

Lydia shook her head with a sigh. "How are you so sure that it means anything at all?"

Allison turned to her, her expression more serious. "Because that girl wasn't just looking for Scott—it's like she needed to find him. Like she had to. That means something."

Lydia considered Allison's words for a moment, then shifted the conversation. "Speaking of new and mysterious... what do you think of Blake?"

Allison blinked, caught a little off guard by the sudden topic change. "Blake? The new guy?"

Lydia gave a teasing smirk. "Yeah, Blake. You spent some time with him yesterday, right?"

Allison hesitated, thinking back to the quiet, somewhat awkward guy who'd stepped in to protect her during the bird attack. "He seems nice. Kind of quiet... but I don't know. He didn't have to help when the birds attacked, but he did. He's... different."

Lydia's smirk deepened. "Different how? Mysterious bad boy different? Or mysterious charming bad boy different?"

Allison laughed, rolling her eyes. "Not like that. He's just... I don't know, kind of awkward, but not in a bad way. Like he doesn't realize how much attention he draws."

Lydia chuckled. "Trust me, Allison, he knows."

Allison shook her head, looking back at the bruise on her arm. "He's interesting. There's something about him."

Lydia raised an eyebrow, more serious now. "Yeah, he does have that whole 'brooding mystery guy' vibe going on."

Allison thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah... but there's more to him than that."

Lydia sighed, glancing over at Allison as they pulled into a parking spot. "I guess we'll just have to figure him out."

Allison gave a small nod, still thinking about Blake and the strange day she'd had. Between the bruise and the new kid, something was definitely happening in Beacon Hills, and Allison wasn't sure where it would all lead.

BEACON HILLS SUBURBS - NIGHT

Stiles pulled his Jeep to a stop at the side of the road, glancing over at Scott with an exaggerated sigh. "What?"

Scott looked over at him, confused. "What do you mean, 'What?'"

Stiles shook his head, already knowing where this was headed. "I mean 'What?', and you know what."

Scott frowned, still not following. "What 'what'?"

Stiles turned in his seat, giving Scott a pointed look. "That look you were giving."

Scott's brow furrowed. "I didn't give a look."

Stiles raised a finger, his voice dramatic. "Oh, there was a distinct look, Scott."

Scott threw his hands up in frustration. "What look?"

Stiles leaned closer, as if emphasizing his point. "The look that says the last thing you feel like doing right now is going to a party!"

Scott let out a long sigh, leaning back in his seat. "It's not that... It just seems weird, going to a different high school's party."

Stiles groaned, shaking his head. "What? Would you... God, one drink, all right? You'll be fine!" He straightened up, getting more animated. "I went to nursery school with this girl, okay? She promised to introduce us to all of her friends. So tonight, no Allison, no Lydia. Tonight, we're moving on."

Scott hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "You're right."

Stiles grinned, patting Scott on the shoulder. "That's right, I'm right!"

"Moving on," Scott echoed, nodding as if trying to convince himself.

"Onward and upward!" Stiles declared triumphantly.

"Let's do this," Scott said, finally getting into the spirit.

Stiles clapped his hands. "That's what I'm talking about. Now, look at me."

Scott looked over, uncertain. "Okay...?"

Stiles eyed him, checking his appearance. "How's my breath smell?"

Scott blinked in confusion. "I'm not smelling your breath."

Stiles rolled his eyes, impatient. "You're fine! Just, let's go in."

As Stiles parked the car and they started walking toward the party, the night felt full of new possibilities—until the looming tension of their real-world problems inevitably crept back into their thoughts. But for now, it was all about cutting loose and pretending for just one night that they were normal high schoolers.

HEATHER'S HOUSE

The party was buzzing, filled with the sound of laughter and music. Scott stood near the kitchen, glancing around the room, trying to make sense of the crowd. Heather, clearly drunk, swayed towards him, her arms raised in celebration.

"It's my birthday!" Heather slurred, as she stumbled past him.

Danielle, who was with her, chuckled. "Okay!"

Heather continued, as if repeating herself made it more official. "Tonight!"

Danielle raised an eyebrow. "Really? Tonight?"

"Yeah!" Heather insisted.

Danielle rolled her eyes. "For real?"

"Yeah!" Heather confirmed, swaying again.

Danielle leaned in closer, her tone lowering. "You know, your first time is usually sort of gross, and it kind of hurts..."

Heather shrugged it off. "That's fine with me."

Danielle looked appalled. "No romance? No waiting to fall in love?"

Heather laughed softly. "When I fall in love, I want to be good at it."

Danielle shook her head in disbelief. "Lord... You at least got yourself a target of opportunity?"

Heather's eyes lit up when she spotted Stiles. "STILES! Hi!"

Stiles, mid-conversation with Scott, looked over, surprised. "Hey! There's the birthday girl!"

Heather beamed. "So glad that you made it!"

Stiles looked overwhelmed. "Me too..."

Heather grabbed his hand. "Come downstairs with me and help me pick out a bottle of wine?"

Stiles nodded, his usual confidence slipping as he followed her. "Yes."

As Stiles disappeared into the crowd with Heather, Scott sighed and turned back to the room, unsure of what to do next. That's when he spotted Blake standing by the edge of the room, casually leaning against the wall.

Scott made his way over, recognizing Blake from school. "Hey, Blake, right?"

Blake gave a small nod, his posture relaxed. "Yeah, that's me."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "Didn't expect to see you here."

Blake shrugged. "Didn't expect to be here either. Some girl I met at school invited me."

Scott smiled. "Ah, that makes sense. Parties like this aren't really my thing."

Blake chuckled lightly. "Yeah, I get that."

Before they could continue the conversation, Allison approached them. Scott's attention shifted immediately to her. "Allison?"

Allison looked at Scott and then at Blake, clearly surprised to see him here. "Scott, I need to show you something."

Scott blinked, confused. "This isn't the talk we were gonna have, is it?"

Allison shook her head. "No. It's something else."

Blake, sensing the shift in the conversation, took a small step back to give them space. But Allison glanced at him, offering a small smile. "You don't have to go."

Blake hesitated, nodding slightly. "Okay."

Allison pulled out her phone, showing Scott the picture of the strange bruise. "This."

Scott stared at the image, his brow furrowing. "What is that?"

Blake, out of curiosity, leaned in slightly to get a better look. "That looks like a symbol or some kind of marking," he remarked, surprising both Scott and Allison.

Allison's eyes widened. "How would you know that?"

Blake shrugged casually, trying to brush it off. "I don't know... just a guess."

Scott glanced at Blake, feeling uneasy. "You've seen something like this before?"

Blake shook his head. "No, just thought it looked intentional, like it wasn't random."

Scott and Allison exchanged a surprised glance. Blake's calm and insightful comment about something so clearly tied to the supernatural left them both on edge. Neither of them expected a regular high school student to have such an accurate guess.

"Uh, yeah..." Scott muttered, unsure of how to respond. "Thanks."

Blake nodded, sensing the tension, and took a step back. "No problem. I'll, uh, leave you guys to it."

As Blake walked off, Scott turned to Allison, still processing what had just happened. "That was... weird, right?"

Allison nodded, her brow furrowed in thought. "Yeah. Definitely weird."

DEREK'S LOFT - NIGHT

The loft was dimly lit, the silence between them heavy with the weight of what was to come. Erica and Boyd had been missing for months, taken by Deucalion's Alpha Pack. The full moon was only a day away, and Derek knew they were running out of time.

Isaac paced nervously, his anxiety visible. "You know, I'm starting not to like this idea. It sounds kinda dangerous," he muttered, casting a wary glance at Peter.

Derek, leaning against the table, sighed, his patience wearing thin. "You'll be fine."

Isaac stopped, turning to Derek with a look of disbelief. "Does it have to be him?" he asked, his tone almost pleading as he gestured towards Peter.

Derek's expression was firm. "He knows how to do it. I don't. It'd be more dangerous if I tried to do it myself."

Isaac scoffed, clearly unconvinced. "You know Scott doesn't trust him, right? Personally, I'd trust Scott."

Derek straightened up, his tone serious. "Do you trust me?"

Isaac hesitated, his internal conflict visible on his face. After a beat, he sighed. "...Yeah."

Still, Isaac couldn't shake his discomfort. "But I still don't like him," he muttered under his breath.

Peter, lounging nearby, smirked. "Boys..." His voice was laced with amusement as he pushed himself off the wall. "FYI, yes, coming back from the dead has left my abilities slightly impaired... but the hearing still works."

Isaac stiffened, realizing Peter had heard every word. Peter stepped closer, his smirk widening. "So, I hope you're comfortable saying whatever it is you're feeling straight to my face."

Derek cut in with a tired sigh, clearly done with the back-and-forth. "We don't like you. Now shut up and help us."

Peter shrugged, unfazed by the hostility. "Fair enough."

The loft grew even quieter as Peter moved closer to Isaac, preparing to start the ritual. Isaac's nerves were obvious, his hands fidgeting as Peter positioned him.

"Relax," Peter said calmly, his fingers grazing Isaac's temples. "I'll get more out of you if you're calm."

Isaac's voice trembled slightly. "How do you know how to do this again?"

Peter's smile was slow and predatory. "It's an ancient ritual used mostly by Alphas. It requires a lot of practice. One slip, and you could paralyze someone." Peter's tone darkened, the smile still on his face. "Or kill them."

Isaac's breath hitched. "You've... you've had a lot of practice, though, right?"

Peter chuckled, clearly enjoying Isaac's discomfort. "Well, I've never paralyzed anyone."

Isaac's eyes widened. "Wait... does that mean you've—"

Before Isaac could finish, Peter's expression changed. His focus sharpened, his body going rigid as he tapped into Isaac's memories and senses. The loft felt colder, and Derek moved closer, watching intently.

"I see them..." Peter's voice was quiet, distant.

Derek's eyes narrowed. "What do you see?"

Peter's breath quickened as flashes of Erica and Boyd darted through his mind, hazy and unclear. "It's confusing... but I can see them. Isaac found them."

Derek stepped forward, his voice urgent. "Erica and Boyd?"

Peter's eyes darted back and forth, struggling to make sense of the images. "I barely saw them... glimpses."

"But you did see them?" Derek pressed.

Peter's face darkened as another image surfaced, a figure that made his blood run cold. "And worse," he whispered.

Derek stiffened, his chest tightening. He already knew what Peter was talking about. "Deucalion."

Peter nodded, his voice lowering. "He was talking to them... something about time running out."

Isaac, who had been silent, finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "What does it mean?"

Derek's jaw tightened, the tension in the room thickening. "He's going to kill them."

Peter shook his head quickly. "No, no, no. He didn't say that." His voice took on a darker tone. "But he did make them a promise... that by the full moon, they'd both be dead."

Derek's heart sank. "The next full moon?" he asked, his voice strained.

Peter sighed deeply. "Tomorrow night."

The weight of Peter's words settled over the loft like a heavy fog. They had less than 24 hours to find Erica and Boyd before Deucalion's deadly promise came true.

BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL - NEXT DAY

The group stood in the school parking lot, the tension between them palpable. Derek was pacing, clearly frustrated, while Scott tried to get him to focus.

Derek's eyes narrowed as he looked at Scott. "I don't see anything."

"Look again," Scott insisted, pointing to the bruise on Allison's arm.

Derek sighed, skepticism clear on his face. "How is a bruise gonna tell me where Boyd and Erica are?"

Scott stepped closer, his voice more urgent. "It's the same on both sides! Exactly the same."

Derek glanced between the marks on Allison and Lydia, clearly unimpressed. "It's nothing."

Lydia, standing off to the side, spoke up, her tone matter-of-fact. "Pareidolia. Seeing patterns that aren't there? It's a subset of apophenia..."

Scott shot her a look, exasperated but still hopeful. "They're trying to help."

Derek scoffed, crossing his arms. "These two?" He pointed at Lydia. "This one, who used me to resurrect my psychotic uncle—thank you." His hand swung toward Allison. "And this one, who shot about thirty arrows into me and my pack?"

Stiles, ever the peacemaker, raised his hands. "Okay, all right, come on... No one died, all right? Look, there may have been a little maiming, okay? A little mangling, but not death! And that's what I call an important distinction."

Allison's voice was soft, her face tight with emotion. "My mother died."

The air grew heavier. Derek's face hardened as he shot back, "Your family's little honor code killed your mother, not me."

Allison's gaze sharpened, her tone steady but firm. "That girl was looking for Scott. I'm here to help him, not you."

Derek let out a bitter laugh. "You want to help? Find something real."

There was a moment of tense silence before Scott stepped in. "Derek, give her a chance, okay? They're on our side now."

Derek looked unconvinced, but Scott pressed further. "Maybe Blake was right." The mention of Blake brought a flicker of curiosity to the group.

Derek tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. "Blake? What about him?"

Scott glanced around, trying to explain without giving too much away. "He was at the party. He saw the mark too, said it looked intentional. Not random."

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "Blake said that?"

Scott nodded, the memory of Blake's calm insight still sticking with him. "Yeah. And... I think he might be right."

Derek folded his arms, still not convinced but slightly more open. "So, what? You're taking the word of some new guy now?"

Scott shook his head. "No, but Blake has a point. And if he can see something's off, maybe we should look into it."

Derek's eyes flicked toward Allison again, then back to Scott. "Maybe you should tell her what her mother was actually trying to do that night."

BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL - HALLWAY

Scott and Stiles walked side by side, their conversation drifting back to the strange events from earlier. Just as they rounded the corner, Blake caught up with them, falling into step as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Blake flashed them a friendly smile. "You guys heading to class, or is this the part where we pretend to do something productive?"

Stiles grinned at Blake's slightly awkward, but endearing charm. "We're masters of pretending. Trust me."

Scott chuckled softly, feeling a little more relaxed now that Blake was around. "Yeah, something like that."

Blake kept pace, glancing between them with mild curiosity. "You guys always seem to be up to something. You've got that... I don't know, vibe, like there's more going on."

Stiles raised an eyebrow at Blake's observation, the familiar grin on his face never fading. "What kind of vibe are we talking about here?"

Blake shrugged casually, a hint of something deeper in his tone. "I don't know... like you're always on the edge of something big. It's like this place has secrets, and you guys seem to be in the middle of them."

Scott and Stiles exchanged a quick glance, both trying not to let on too much. They still weren't sure how much Blake suspected, but he was definitely picking up on the fact that things weren't quite normal in Beacon Hills.

"Beacon Hills has its weird moments," Scott replied, keeping his tone light.

Blake smirked. "Yeah, weird's one way to put it."

Stiles, sensing the shift in tone, decided to steer the conversation back into something lighter. "Speaking of weird... you're new here, Blake. How's it feel to dive headfirst into all this Beacon Hills madness?"

Blake chuckled, his blue eyes bright with humor. "It's... interesting, to say the least. Different from what I'm used to. But I think I'm starting to figure it out."

Scott nodded, feeling a sense of camaraderie building between them. "You're holding up pretty well for someone who's new to all this."

Blake shrugged again, his easygoing nature showing through. "I've learned to adapt. Besides, I'm starting to think hanging out with you two is probably the best way to get the full Beacon Hills experience."

Stiles grinned, slapping Blake on the back. "Oh, man, you have no idea."

BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL - CLASSROOM

Inside the classroom, Blake took a seat near Scott and Stiles. He leaned back in his chair, watching with amusement as Coach Finstock began his usual chaotic routine.

"McCall!" Coach shouted, tossing a quarter onto Scott's desk. "Risk and reward! Put the quarter in the mug, win the reward!"

Blake leaned over toward Scott, smirking. "This guy always like this?"

Scott chuckled. "Pretty much."

Scott hesitated as Coach continued his wild speech about risk, reward, and focus. He glanced over at Blake, then at Stiles, unsure if he should play along.

"But isn't this just chance?" Scott finally asked, still distracted by everything happening in his life.

"No!" Coach barked. "You know your abilities, your coordination, your focus... so, what's it gonna be, McCall? More work or no work?"

Scott sighed, clearly not in the mood for games. "No play."

Blake laughed softly as Coach moved on. "You really aren't much of a gambler, huh?"

Scott smirked back. "Not really."

Stiles leaned over, grinning. "Yeah, Scott likes to play it safe. Me, on the other hand? I'm all about the risk."

Blake gave a small smile, still observing the dynamic between the two. "Well, sometimes playing it safe is the smart move. But a little risk keeps things interesting."

AFTER CLASS - HALLWAY

As they left class, the three of them continued their conversation. Stiles, as usual, couldn't help but bring up something lighthearted. "You know, Blake, if you stick with us, you're probably gonna see a whole lot more 'weird' stuff."

Blake gave a knowing smile, his tone casual but curious. "Weird, huh? I'm starting to think weird is the new normal around here."

Scott raised an eyebrow at Blake, trying to gauge how much he actually knew. "You get that feeling too?"

Blake met his gaze with a shrug. "Just picking up on things. You guys seem to know a lot more than you let on."

Stiles gave a short laugh, nudging Scott playfully. "What can we say? We're just really... in tune with the town."

Blake smirked, letting the conversation drift into easier territory. "Well, either way, I'm glad I met you guys. I could use a little more excitement in my life."

Scott glanced at Blake, the walls between them slowly breaking down. "Yeah, same here. It's good to have you around."

Stiles grinned, patting Blake on the back. "Welcome to the madness, man."

Blake chuckled, feeling the camaraderie grow. "I think I'm ready for it."

BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL - HALLWAY

Blake, Scott, and Stiles parted ways after their class, with Blake heading in another direction, leaving Scott and Stiles to deal with the mounting tension of their own supernatural struggles. The conversation from earlier about the bruise still hung in the air as Scott and Stiles walked down the hallway.

BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL - OUTSIDE THE LOCKERS

Lydia and Allison stood by the lockers, observing the crowd as they chatted. Lydia's eyes drifted toward the twins, Ethan and Aiden, who were standing by the entrance, clearly catching her attention.

"I want one..." Lydia muttered under her breath.

Allison, amused, glanced over at her. "Which one?"

Lydia scoffed, rolling her eyes playfully. "The straight one—obviously."

Allison smirked but couldn't help teasing. "And here I thought you were interested in Blake?"

Lydia raised an eyebrow, a slow, almost seductive smile crossing her lips. "Blake? Oh, he's... intriguing. Definitely caught my attention. There's something sexy about him. Mysterious, quiet... but you can tell there's a lot more under the surface."

Allison chuckled. "I noticed. You looked pretty interested in him when we were talking the other day."

Lydia shrugged with a knowing grin. "What can I say? He's different. And different is good."

BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL - LIBRARY

Meanwhile, Scott and Stiles found a quiet corner in the library, talking in hushed tones. The weight of Heather's disappearance was clearly pressing down on Stiles.

"So, you think they kidnapped Heather to turn her?" Scott asked, his voice low but concerned.

Stiles paced back and forth, his frustration evident. "Derek says it's easier to turn teenagers..."

Scott frowned, trying to piece things together. "But what would a pack of Alphas need with a Beta?"

Stiles threw his hands up, his patience wearing thin. "Scott, I don't know. I don't care. This girl... Our moms were best friends before mine died, okay? We used to take frickin' bubble baths together when we were three. I gotta find her!"

Scott, feeling the urgency in Stiles' words, nodded firmly. "Then we need Isaac to remember."

Stiles stopped pacing, looking at Scott with a mixture of hope and doubt. "How? Peter and Derek couldn't do it. You know any other Werewolves with a better trick?"

Scott paused, thinking back to his earlier conversation with Blake. Blake's insights had been sharp—too sharp for a regular guy. There was something about him that didn't quite add up, though Scott wasn't ready to voice his suspicions just yet.

"...Maybe not a Werewolf," Scott muttered, his thoughts turning to Deaton. "But someone who knows a lot about 'em."

BEACON HILLS ANIMAL CLINIC - NIGHT

Later that evening, Scott, Stiles, Derek, and Isaac gathered at the clinic. Deaton was already setting up for the ritual, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone. Isaac was clearly nervous, but they needed him to access the buried memories of the night he found Erica and Boyd. Time was running out, and they had no other leads.

Deaton's voice was calm as he explained the process, but the intensity of the situation was impossible to ignore.

"Obviously, it's not going to be particularly... comfortable," Deaton began, adjusting the equipment. "But, if we can slow your heart rate down enough, you'll slip into a trance-like state."

Isaac swallowed hard, trying to remain composed. "Like being hypnotized."

"Exactly. You'll be half-transformed. It'll let us access your subconscious mind," Deaton continued.

Scott, ever the concerned friend, stepped forward. "How slow does his heart rate need to be?"

Deaton glanced at Scott, his expression serious. "Very slow."

Derek, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. "Okay, well, how slow is 'very slow?'"

"...Nearly dead," Deaton answered flatly.

Isaac's eyes widened. "It's safe though, right?"

Deaton paused, then offered a small, knowing smile. "Do you want me to answer honestly?"

Isaac let out a sigh. "No. No, not really."

Stiles, who had been quiet up until this point, looked uneasy. "What?"

Derek, sensing Isaac's growing fear, spoke up. "Look, if it feels too risky, you don't have to do this."

Isaac hesitated, his heart racing, but he nodded. "No, we have to. We don't have time."

DURING THE RITUAL

As Deaton began the process, Isaac's body slowly fell into the trance-like state, his breathing growing shallow. Scott, Stiles, and Derek stood by, watching with bated breath as Deaton guided Isaac through the dangerous procedure.

"Get him back under," Deaton instructed, as Isaac stirred slightly. "Hold him!"

Derek stepped in to steady Isaac as his body jolted. "We're trying!"

Deaton's voice was firm but calm. "Now, remember... only I talk to him. Too many voices will confuse him and draw him out."

The room fell silent as Deaton leaned closer to Isaac. "Isaac? Can you hear me?"

Isaac's voice was quiet and distant. "Yes... I can hear you."

"This is Dr. Deaton. I'd like to ask you a few questions. Is that all right?"

"Yes."

Deaton kept his voice soothing, trying to guide Isaac through the fog of his memories. "I want to ask you about the night you found Erica and Boyd. I want you to remember it for me in as vivid detail as possible, like you're actually there again."

Isaac's body tensed, his voice becoming shaky. "I-I don't wanna do that. I don't... I don't wanna do that."

Deaton kept his tone calm. "Isaac, it's all right. Just relax. They're just memories. You can't be hurt by a memory."

Isaac's breathing grew ragged, panic rising. "I don't wanna do that."

"It's all right," Deaton said softly, trying to soothe him. "Relax. Relax."

Slowly, Isaac began to calm down again, his breathing becoming steadier. Deaton continued. "Good. Now, let's go back to that night—to the place you found Erica and Boyd. Can you tell me what you see? Is there some kind of building? A house?"

Isaac's voice was faint, but he responded. "It's not... It's not a house. It's stone. I think marble."

Deaton nodded, encouraging him. "That's perfect. Can you give me any other descriptors?"

Isaac's voice trembled as he continued. "It's dusty... and so empty..."

"Like an abandoned building?" Deaton asked.

Isaac's breathing became uneven again. "Someone's here. Someone's here!"

Deaton spoke soothingly. "Isaac, relax—"

Isaac's panic rose, his voice shaking. "No, no, no, they see me! They see me!"

Deaton kept his voice steady, trying to pull Isaac back. "They're just memories—you won't be hurt by your memories. Just relax. Relax."

Isaac's body twitched as the memory took hold, but eventually, he calmed down again. Deaton spoke in a low, steady tone. "Good. Now, tell us what you see. Tell us everything."

BEACON HILLS ANIMAL CLINIC - NIGHT

Isaac's body twitched slightly as the memory began to overwhelm him. Deaton, Scott, and Derek all leaned in, watching closely. Isaac's breathing grew heavier as Deaton guided him deeper into the trance.

FLASHBACK—FIRST NATIONAL BANK, SEVERAL DAYS AGO

Isaac's voice trembled as he spoke, his words cutting through the fog of the memory. "I hear him... Boyd. He's talking about the full moon, about being out of control when the moon rises."

Deaton's voice was calm, but there was a sense of urgency in his tone. "Is he talking to Erica?"

Isaac swallowed hard, struggling to focus. "I think so... but I can't... I can't see her. I can't see either of them."

Deaton pressed forward, his voice soothing but firm. "Can you hear anything else?"

Isaac's voice wavered as the panic started to creep back in. "They're worried... about what they'll do during the moon. They're... worried that they're gonna hurt each other."

Derek's expression darkened as he listened. His voice was quiet, filled with dread. "If they're locked together on the full moon, they're gonna tear each other apart."

Deaton's tone became more urgent. "Isaac, we need to find them right now. Can you see them?"

Isaac's breathing quickened. "No..."

Deaton stayed calm, trying to draw more from Isaac. "Do you know what kind of room it is? Is there any kind of a marker? A number on a door? A sign?"

Isaac's panic suddenly spiked. His voice trembled with fear. "They're here! They... They—"

Deaton tried to calm him. "It's all right."

Isaac shouted in terror. "No!"

Deaton tried to guide him back. "Just tell us—"

Isaac's voice grew more frantic. "They see me! They found me! They're here!"

Derek, who had been growing increasingly impatient, stepped closer. "This isn't working."

He called out to Isaac, his voice firm but intense. "Isaac, where are you?"

Isaac shook his head, his panic deepening. "I can't see them, it's too dark!"

"Just tell me where you are," Derek insisted, his tone pushing Isaac further.

Deaton intervened, his voice sharper now. "You are confusing him—"

Isaac cried out in frustration. "I can't see!"

Derek, ignoring Deaton's warning, pushed again. "Isaac, where are you? Just tell me where you are!"

Deaton glanced at Isaac's rapidly rising heart rate, his voice urgent. "His heart rate... he could go into shock—"

Scott stepped in, his voice full of concern. "Derek, let him go!"

But Derek, desperate to find Erica and Boyd, pressed one last time. "Isaac, where are you? What did you see?"

Isaac suddenly stilled, his voice breaking through the panic. "A vault! It's a bank vault! I saw it! I saw the name. It's, uh... B-Beacon Hills First National Bank. It's abandoned, and they're keeping them locked inside, inside the vault."

As the realization hit, Isaac slowly came out of the trance. His eyes were wide and unfocused, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory. "What?" he murmured.

BEACON HILLS ANIMAL CLINIC - PRESENT

Stiles leaned closer to Isaac, his voice grim. "You don't remember what you said right before you came out of it, do you?"

Isaac shook his head, confusion and unease flooding his features. "No..."

Stiles sighed, his expression darkening. "You said when they captured you, that they dragged you into a room, and that there was a body in it."

Isaac's face paled. "What body?"

Stiles' voice dropped, filled with sorrow. "Erica. You said it was Erica."

BEACON HILLS ANIMAL CLINIC - NIGHT

The tension in the room was palpable as Isaac's revelation hung in the air. The mention of Erica's body being in the vault had hit them hard, but there was still uncertainty, especially with Boyd trapped alongside someone else.

Isaac's breathing was still uneven, but Scott, Derek, and Stiles knew they couldn't afford to waste any time.

Derek's voice cut through the silence, his tone firm. "She's not dead."

Stiles shot him a look, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "Derek, he said, 'There's a dead body. It's Erica.' Doesn't exactly leave us room for interpretation."

Derek shook his head, unwilling to accept it. "Then who was in the vault with Boyd?"

Stiles threw his hands up. "Someone else, obviously."

Scott, trying to remain calm, added, "And maybe it was the girl on the motorcycle, okay? The one who saved you?"

Isaac shook his head, still trying to process everything. "No, she wasn't like us... And whoever was in the vault with Boyd was."

Stiles thought for a moment before speaking up again. "What if that's how Erica died? They, like, pit them against each other during the full moons and see which one survives? It's like Werewolf Thunderdome."

Derek's eyes narrowed as he made up his mind. "Then we get them out tonight."

Deaton, standing at the edge of the room, spoke up, his voice steady but filled with caution. "Be smart about this, Derek. You can't just go storming in."

Derek's determination was clear. "If Isaac got in, then so can we."

Deaton raised an eyebrow. "But he didn't get through a vault door, did he?"

Scott nodded in agreement with Deaton. "We need a plan."

Derek's frustration was evident as he ran a hand through his hair. "How are we gonna come up with a plan to break into a bank vault in less than twenty-four hours?"

Stiles, who had been typing on his phone, suddenly looked up. "Uh, I think someone already did..."

Derek frowned. "What?"

Stiles held up his phone and began reading aloud. "'Beacon Hills First National Bank closes its doors three months after vault robbery.' Doesn't say here how it was robbed, but it probably won't take long to find out."

Derek stepped closer. "How long?"

Stiles gave him an exasperated look. "It's the internet, Derek, okay? Minutes."

BEACON HILLS ANIMAL CLINIC - NIGHT

Inside the clinic, Scott, Stiles, and Derek were scrambling for answers. Isaac's revelation about the bank vault had provided a crucial lead, but they knew time was running out. They needed a plan—and fast.

OUTSIDE BLAKE'S MOM'S CAFÉ - NIGHT

Blake stepped out of the café, the night air cooling his skin as he waved back toward his mom. She had been busy with the café, and he had helped out as much as he could, but his mind wasn't on the night's work. That mark Lydia and Allison had shown him earlier still gnawed at him.

"Don't stay out too late," his mom's voice floated from the doorway, full of motherly care.

Blake smiled and nodded. "I won't, Mom."

As he walked away, Blake's thoughts turned back to the bruise. The symbol on it was too deliberate to be just a random mark. He couldn't shake the feeling that it had deeper meaning—something bigger than just a strange injury.

Stepping into the shadows of a nearby alley, Blake pulled out his phone. With quick fingers, he searched for anything that might give him a clue about the strange symbol. After a few frustrating minutes of scrolling through vague results, something caught his eye—a logo.

The logo matched the one he had seen on the bruise. Blake's breath caught in his throat as he read further. The logo was tied to an old, abandoned building in Beacon Hills: the Beacon Hills First National Bank.

"The bank..." Blake murmured, realization dawning on him. The logo on the bruise wasn't just some strange mark—it was tied to that place.

Blake slipped his phone back into his pocket, the realization settling in. The bruise wasn't just some random mark—it was a logo, tied to something much bigger. The abandoned Beacon Hills First National Bank bore the same symbol. His instincts told him that this connection wasn't just a coincidence; it meant something dangerous was unfolding.

Taking one last glance down the quiet street, Blake nodded to himself. He'd follow this lead, and soon, the truth would come out. But for now, he needed to stay sharp.

STILINSKI HOUSE – MORNING

Morning light trickled through the curtains of the Stilinski house, casting soft shadows across the living room. Scott and Stiles were sprawled out on the couches, the tension of the night before hanging in the air like an unwelcome weight.

Sheriff Stilinski moved through the house, already dressed for the day, his badge glinting in the early sunlight. His voice carried through the quiet house.

"Boys! Time to wake up!" he called, his tone firm but familiar. "Boys!"

Stiles stirred, letting out a tired groan, his body sinking deeper into the couch cushions as if trying to escape the morning. "Dad…" he mumbled, half-asleep.

Scott sat up slowly, blinking against the brightness of the day, still feeling the weight of everything they'd learned the night before. The tension, the worry over Heather, Erica, and Boyd, lingered in the back of his mind like a ticking clock.

"I gotta get to work," Stilinski said, grabbing his coat and keys from the hallway. "You two? Get to school."

Stiles jolted upright, the mention of Heather snapping him out of his grogginess. "Dad! Heather?"

Stilinski turned back to face his son, his expression grave. "No," he replied quietly, shaking his head. "Nothing yet."

Stiles sighed heavily, the frustration and fear evident in his eyes. "Ten hours and nothing," he muttered, running a hand through his already-messy hair. His jaw clenched with worry.

Scott leaned forward, trying to offer a sliver of hope, though he felt the same uncertainty gnawing at him. "We're going to find something," he said, his voice firm, but his eyes betrayed his own doubts.

Stiles's tone was sharp, bitterness creeping into his words. "Finding something doesn't make Erica any less dead… or Boyd any less about-to-be-dead."

Scott shook his head, refusing to give in to the despair. "We still have time."

Stiles shot him a skeptical look but then cracked a half-smile, his sarcasm returning. "Is this whole 'remain optimistic in the face of complete and utter disaster' thing part of the 'Be A Better Scott McCall Program?'"

Scott shrugged, trying to keep the mood light, if only for a second. "Not if it doesn't work."

Stiles let out a short laugh, his frustration softening slightly. "No, it works."

Suddenly, Stiles's face changed. His eyes widened, alarm spreading across his features. "Oh, Dad! Dad?"

Stiles bolted up from the couch, his heart pounding as the growing sense of urgency filled the room. "Dad!"

BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL – LUNCH AREA

Lydia and Allison sat at one of the outdoor tables, their bags scattered around them. The campus was bustling with students, but Lydia and Allison's focus was elsewhere. The strange bruise that had appeared on their arms wasn't just some mark—it had meaning, and they were trying to figure it out.

"So, Mystery Girl leaves a bruise on our arms that turns out to be the logo for a bank?" Lydia scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder with an exaggerated eye roll. "What's she trying to do? Give us investment advice?"

Allison shook her head. "Not at this bank—it's been closed for years."

Lydia's eyes narrowed slightly. "So why aren't you telling Scott?"

Allison hesitated. "Because—according to someone—I need to find something real first."

Lydia opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted as Blake approached, his hands casually in his pockets. He gave them a small smile, his presence immediately catching Lydia's attention.

"Mind if I join?" Blake asked, his tone easy but polite.

Allison smiled warmly. "Sure, go ahead."

Blake slid into the seat across from them, glancing between the two girls. "You two seem deep in conversation. What's going on?"

Lydia leaned in, her eyes locking on Blake with a playful intensity. "We're always deep in conversation, Blake," she said, her voice smooth, teasing. "But today's a little more… complicated."

Blake raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not pressing the issue. "Complicated? I can relate to that." He gave a small smile, his shy yet charming demeanor starting to show.

Allison glanced at her phone, checking the time. "Actually, I've got an errand to run after school," she said, looking at Lydia. "I can't drive you home today."

Lydia waved her hand dismissively. "I'll manage," she said before turning her attention back to Blake, her gaze softening in a way that was hard to ignore. "Maybe Blake can keep me company?"

Blake chuckled lightly, a bit caught off guard but not flustered. "Yeah, maybe," he replied, meeting her gaze.

Allison gave Lydia a knowing smile before gathering her things. "Alright, I'll see you both later," she said, giving Blake a quick wave before heading off.

As soon as Allison was out of earshot, Lydia leaned in closer to Blake, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "So, new guy," she started, her voice low and seductive, "you settling in alright?"

Blake smiled, sensing the change in her tone. "Yeah, getting there. Everyone's been pretty welcoming so far."

Lydia smirked. "I bet they have," she said, her eyes trailing over him with interest. "But I get the feeling you're not just any ordinary new guy."

Blake leaned back slightly, his smile turning a bit more playful. "What makes you say that?"

Lydia's lips curved into a slow smile. "Call it intuition," she said, her tone suggestive but playful. "You've got that whole mysterious vibe going on. The kind of guy who doesn't show all his cards."

Blake chuckled softly, a bit awkward but playing along. "Maybe I like keeping people guessing."

Lydia raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying their back-and-forth. "Well, I happen to like puzzles."

Blake met her gaze, a small smile on his lips. "Good to know."

The conversation shifted slightly, becoming more personal as they talked. Lydia leaned in closer, her voice softer but still carrying that flirtatious edge. "So, what brought you to Beacon Hills? You and your mom just decided to pick up and move here?"

Blake nodded. "Yeah, she got a job opportunity here, so we figured it'd be a good fresh start. I wasn't expecting Beacon Hills to be... as interesting as it's turned out to be."

Lydia tilted her head, her eyes studying him. "Interesting, huh? What exactly have you found so interesting about it?"

Blake hesitated for a moment, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "Let's just say, it's not like any other place I've lived."

Lydia's smile widened. "You have no idea," she murmured, leaning back and crossing her legs. "But trust me, you're going to love it here."

Blake grinned. "I'm starting to."

The conversation flowed easily between them, with Lydia's flirtation never too subtle, and Blake responding in his quiet, charming way. There was a clear attraction between them, but it was still light, teasing—neither of them ready to push it further just yet.

As the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, Lydia stood up, grabbing her bag. "Well, I guess that's our cue."

Blake nodded, standing up as well. "Looks like it."

Lydia gave him one last look, her smile lingering. "I'll see you around, Blake."

Blake watched her go, shaking his head with a small, amused grin. He wasn't sure what he'd gotten himself into with Lydia Martin, but one thing was for sure—Beacon Hills was getting more interesting by the day.

BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL – HALLWAY

As Lydia walked away from the lunch area, Blake watched her disappear into the flow of students heading to their next class. A smile lingered on his face as he picked up his own bag, heading in the opposite direction. His mind, however, wasn't on his next class—it was on the strange day he'd had so far. Lydia was right; there was something more to this place, and Blake's instincts told him that whatever it was, it was only the beginning.

Further down the hall, Scott and Stiles walked side by side, their conversation low but intense. They were both thinking about the events unfolding around them—the mysterious girl, the marks on Lydia and Allison, and the constant threat looming over Beacon Hills.

"So, we meet at Derek's at five to go over the plan, and then we don't get started until dark," Scott said, keeping his voice down as they approached the lockers.

Stiles nodded, still processing everything. "Okay. What do we do 'til then?"

Scott glanced at his watch, then back at Stiles. "What, right now?"

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. We've got hours."

Scott shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. "We've got English."

Stiles groaned dramatically, leaning his head back. "English? Really? Dude, we're planning a break-in, and you're thinking about English class?"

Scott gave him a look. "We need to keep things normal, at least for a few hours."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Fine. But I swear, if we get more homework, I'm blaming you."

Scott and Stiles made their way to English class, the weight of the day heavy on their shoulders. As they talked about the plan, their minds wandered to the dangerous night ahead. But for now, they had to maintain some normalcy, even if just for a few more hours.

DEREK'S LOFT – NIGHT

As night fell, Scott, Stiles, Derek, and Peter gathered in Derek's loft, the weight of the situation pressing down on all of them. The plan to break into the abandoned bank to rescue Boyd and Erica was in motion, but there were still plenty of uncertainties.

Stiles had spent the afternoon researching the previous robbery at the Beacon Hills First National Bank, and now his notes were spread out on Derek's table. He moved between papers and diagrams, explaining the strategy he'd come up with.

"Okay, you see this?" Stiles pointed to a crude map of the bank. "This is how they got in—a rooftop air conditioning vent that leads down inside the wall of the vault, which is here, okay?"

Scott leaned in, looking at the map as Stiles explained further. "One of the robbers was lowered into this shaft. The space is so small, it took him about twelve hours to drill into that wall, which is stone, by the way. Then, throughout the rest of the night, they siphoned the cash up to the guys back on the roof through that one little shaft in the wall."

Stiles finished with a dramatic flourish. "Boom!"

Scott, ever the pragmatist, asked the crucial question. "Can we fit in there?"

Stiles nodded, though his confidence wavered. "Yes, we can, but very, very barely. And they patched the wall, obviously, so we're gonna need a drill of some kind. I'm thinking maybe a diamond-bit…"

Derek, who had been growing increasingly impatient, interrupted. "Look, forget the drill—"

Stiles blinked in disbelief. "Sorry?"

Derek's expression remained unflinching. "If I go in first, how much space do I have?"

Stiles stared at him. "What do you… What do you think you're gonna do, Derek? You gonna punch through the wall?"

Derek's tone was flat. "Yes, Stiles. I'm gonna punch through the wall."

Stiles scoffed, crossing his arms as he leaned back. "Okay, big guy, let's see it! Let's see that fist. Big old fist. Make it, come on! Get it out there! Don't be scared, big bad wolf!"

Derek raised his fist, his expression still calm as Stiles continued. "Yeah, look at that! Okay, see this? That's maybe three inches of room to gather enough force to punch through solid co—"

He stopped mid-sentence as it dawned on him. "He could do it," Stiles muttered under his breath, his voice losing its sarcastic edge.

Derek's patience had clearly run thin. "I'll get through the wall," he said, his voice firm. "Who's following me?"

Peter, lounging nearby, raised his hands in mock surrender. "Don't look at me! I'm not up to fighting speed yet. And honestly, with Isaac out of commission, you're not looking at very good odds for yourself."

Derek clenched his jaw, his frustration barely contained. "So, I'm supposed to just let them die?"

Peter shrugged, his tone dry. "One of them already is dead."

Derek's voice tightened with irritation. "We don't know that!"

Peter, exasperated, rolled his eyes. "Do I have to remind you what we're up against here? A pack of Alphas, all of them killers. And, if that's not enough to scare your testicles back into your stomach, try to remember that two of them combine bodies to form one giant Alpha."

He smirked, his voice lowering as he muttered, "I'm sure Erica and Boyd were sweet kids. They're gonna be missed."

Stiles, glaring at Peter, couldn't hold back. "Could someone kill him again, please?"

Derek's frustration grew, but Peter's pragmatism wasn't enough to sway him. Derek turned to the others, his tone more serious now. "Not worth the risk."

Derek's eyes locked onto Scott, who had remained quiet until now. "What about you?"

Stiles, eager to prove himself, stammered, "Yeah, if you want me to come…"

Derek shot him a look. "Not you."

Stiles quickly backpedaled. "...Got it."

Scott finally spoke, his expression serious. "I don't know about Erica... but if Boyd's alive, we have to do something. We have to try."

Derek hesitated, the gravity of the situation clear in his eyes. "But...?"

Scott furrowed his brow. "Who's the other girl? The one locked in there with Boyd?"

The room fell into a heavy silence as they realized that even with their plan, there were still so many unknowns—and so much at stake.

FIRST NATIONAL BANK – NIGHT

The air inside the abandoned bank was thick with dust, the musty scent of forgotten spaces lingering in the air. Allison crept through the dimly lit hallways, her heart racing as she tried to make sense of everything happening around her. She had followed her instincts, tracking the strange events that led her here, but she hadn't expected to stumble upon something this dangerous.

The bank had been shut down for years, its vaults long emptied, but the secrets it held were far from buried. As Allison ventured deeper into the building, she felt a shiver run down her spine. The sense of foreboding was overwhelming.

Suddenly, a figure appeared in the shadows—a familiar face.

"Miss Morrell?" Allison gasped, stopping dead in her tracks.

Marin Morrell, the enigmatic guidance counselor and emissary to the werewolves, stepped out from the darkness, her eyes sharp and focused. Her expression was impatient, as if Allison had just interrupted something far more dangerous than either of them could control.

"Keep your mouth shut, and listen close," Marin hissed, her tone urgent. "You have no idea what you just stepped into. Right now, you've got maybe twenty seconds to get your ass hidden."

Allison blinked, confusion and shock warring on her face. "What are you doing here?" she whispered, her voice laced with disbelief.

"There's no time for that," Marin snapped, her voice tense. "Get in that storage closet over there. Lock the door. When you hear the fighting start, that's when you come out."

Allison's heart pounded harder. "What fighting?" she asked, her breath catching in her throat.

Marin's eyes darted to the side as she quickly assessed the situation. "You'll hear it!" she said, her voice rising with impatience. "Now, go!"

Without another word, Marin turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Allison standing there in stunned silence for a brief moment. The urgency in Marin's voice had been unmistakable, and Allison's instincts screamed at her to listen.

Swallowing her fear, Allison darted toward the storage closet Marin had pointed out, slipping inside just as the sounds of footsteps echoed down the hall. She locked the door behind her, her hands trembling as she pressed her ear to the cool metal, listening.

The silence was suffocating, broken only by the sound of her own heartbeat, until, suddenly, the unmistakable sounds of a fight erupted from somewhere deeper in the bank. The clash of fists, the growl of something inhuman, reverberated through the walls.

Her time was up. She knew what she had to do.

OUTSIDE THE FIRST NATIONAL BANK – NIGHT

Blake stood just outside the perimeter of the old, abandoned Beacon Hills First National Bank. The building loomed in the distance, its dark windows casting eerie shadows under the pale moonlight. He hadn't planned to be here, but something had drawn him toward this place, a tug at his instincts that he couldn't ignore.

Earlier that day, after discovering the logo tied to the bank, Blake had done more digging—only to find out the bank's history was filled with strange occurrences. It wasn't long before his curiosity got the better of him. Now, he found himself staring at the same bank, his senses heightened, feeling something dark and dangerous lurking nearby.

Blake took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he tapped into his heightened senses. His muscles tensed, and his vision sharpened as he scanned the area. The air felt thick with tension, and for a moment, he wondered if he had made a mistake coming here alone. But he couldn't shake the feeling that this place held answers, that somehow it was connected to everything happening in Beacon Hills.

His heart pounded in his chest, but not from fear. It was the adrenaline kicking in—the same rush he used to get back home whenever something supernatural was nearby. He hadn't felt this on edge in a long time.

Cautiously, Blake began to approach the building, his footsteps silent as he moved closer to the entrance. He wasn't sure what he expected to find, but his instincts told him that something—someone—was inside. His mind flickered back to the strange mark on Allison and Lydia, the symbol that led him here. It couldn't be a coincidence.

He stopped at the edge of the parking lot, his eyes narrowing as he spotted movement inside. It was subtle—a shadow darting between the pillars. Blake's pulse quickened. Someone else was here.

For a moment, Blake debated his next move. He could sense that whoever—or whatever—was inside wasn't human. The familiar hum of supernatural energy buzzed at the edges of his awareness, and the red of his werewolf eyes flickered briefly in the darkness.

Suddenly, a loud crash from inside the bank startled him, followed by the unmistakable sounds of a struggle. The noise was enough to make his decision for him. Whatever was happening, he couldn't turn back now. Without hesitating, Blake moved toward the side of the building, slipping into the shadows as he made his way toward the rear entrance.

The door was ajar, as if someone had forced their way in. Blake slipped inside, keeping his senses on high alert. His footsteps were careful, controlled, as he moved through the dimly lit corridors of the abandoned bank. The faint sounds of fighting grew louder, the clashing of fists and snarls echoing off the walls.

Blake's jaw clenched. He wasn't sure what he had walked into, but whatever it was, it wasn't good.

As he moved deeper into the bank, he caught a glimpse of two figures locked in combat near the far end of the hallway. He couldn't make out who they were, but the sheer force of their blows made it clear that both were supernatural. His mind raced as he tried to piece together what was happening.

Staying in the shadows, Blake edged closer, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of a familiar face—Allison. She was crouched, hidden in a storage closet, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. She hadn't seen him yet.

Blake's heart raced. He couldn't step out now, not without revealing more than he was ready to. But he couldn't just leave her like this either. For now, he decided to watch and wait, to see how the situation played out. His time would come—but for now, he needed to stay hidden, gathering as much information as he could.

DEREK'S LOFT – NIGHT

Inside Derek's loft, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The clock was ticking, and the plan to break into the bank was looming over them like a dark cloud. Stiles paced back and forth across the room, his mind racing with nervous energy. Peter leaned against the wall, looking utterly unbothered by the whole situation, while Derek stood off to the side, his eyes focused but silent.

"I can't take waiting around like this, you know?" Stiles blurted out, his hands gesturing wildly as he paced. "It's nerve-wracking. My nerves are wracked. They're severely wracked. Wracked!"

Peter, ever the sarcastic observer, glanced at Stiles with a droll expression. "I could beat you unconscious and wake you when it's over…"

Stiles let out a long, frustrated sigh, ignoring the comment. "You think Erica's really dead?"

Peter scoffed, crossing his arms. "You think I really care?"

The question hung in the air for a moment, and Stiles paused in his pacing. "I just… I don't understand the bank, though, okay? What's the deal with that place?"

Peter raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. Stiles continued, his hands gesturing as if it would help him make sense of it. "Why wouldn't they chain them up in some underground lair or something? They're an Alpha Pack, right? So, shouldn't they have a lair?"

Peter rolled his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "They're Werewolves, not Bond villains."

Stiles stopped mid-step, an idea sparking in his eyes. "Wait a sec, wait a sec—maybe they're living there, you know? Like, maybe the bank vault reminds them of their little wolf dens!"

Peter looked at him, deadpan. "Wolf dens?"

"Yeah, wolf dens!" Stiles repeated, as if the idea made perfect sense. "Where do you live?"

"In an underground network of caves hidden deep in the woods…" Peter replied, his voice flat and mocking.

Stiles's eyes widened, his excitement bubbling up. "Whoa, really???"

Peter scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "No, you idiot. I have an apartment downtown."

Stiles blinked, his enthusiasm deflating slightly. "Okay, fine, but still, that just proves that there's something up with the bank."

Derek, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up. "And why wait around for the full moon? Why not just kill them whenever they want to?" His voice was tense, the frustration clear.

Peter, growing more irritated by the minute, shrugged. "Maybe they think it's poetic."

"They've already had three full moons to be poetic," Stiles said, throwing his arms in the air.

Peter sighed, the annoyance creeping into his voice. "And here, you've only had one full hour to be so annoying—"

Stiles immediately shot back, his voice defensive. "No, go ahead. Finish what you were saying. I'm annoying? What were you gonna say there?"

Peter's patience snapped. "What are the walls made of?"

Stiles looked confused, his brow furrowing. "What?"

"The vault!" Peter snapped, his voice sharp. "The walls—what are they made of? Where would it say that?"

Stiles paused, his brain finally catching up. "Oh… uh, I don't know... Like, wood and brick, or—"

"No, the vault!" Peter cut him off, his frustration evident. "The walls. What are they made out of? Where would it say that?"

Peter started rummaging through the papers on the table, muttering to himself. "Doesn't say anything... Where... Where would it say the materials? The type of stone?"

Stiles's eyes lit up as he suddenly remembered something. "Oh! Oh, hang on." He quickly pulled out another document from the pile, flipping through the pages with urgency. "Yeah, here, hang on. It's gotta be in there."

Peter leaned over, his eyes scanning the page as Stiles found the information. "There. The vault's made of reinforced concrete with a Moonstone outer layer," Stiles said, reading aloud.

Peter's expression darkened as he considered the implications. "Reinforced concrete," he muttered. "That's why they're holding them there."

Stiles looked at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Peter straightened, his tone suddenly serious. "Moonstone. It's a natural inhibitor. That vault isn't just a place to lock them up. It's a cage designed to weaken them."

Derek's eyes narrowed as he processed the new information. "They're keeping Boyd and Erica in there so they can't use their full strength."

The weight of the revelation settled on the room, and Stiles swallowed nervously. "So... how do we get them out?"

Derek's expression hardened. "We figure it out fast. Full moon's coming, and they won't survive another night in that vault."

FIRST NATIONAL BANK – NIGHT

The dark, abandoned halls of the Beacon Hills First National Bank echoed with the sounds of Derek's hurried footsteps, followed closely by Scott. The full moon was rising, casting an ominous glow through the cracked windows as they approached the vault where Boyd and Erica were being held. The tension was mounting, and Derek's impatience was palpable.

"What?" Derek snapped, his tone filled with irritation as he noticed Scott lagging behind.

"There's just something I can't get out of my head…" Scott said, his brow furrowed in thought, but Derek wasn't in the mood for distractions.

"The moon's rising, Scott. What is it?" Derek urged, his voice filled with urgency.

Scott paused for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. "Risk and reward," he said slowly, as if working through the thought in real-time.

Derek raised an eyebrow, his frustration growing. "Which means what?"

Scott looked at him, the weight of his realization starting to sink in. "We're not measuring the risk with enough information. We don't know enough."

Derek's voice tightened, his patience wearing thin. "We know time's running out!"

"Yeah, but think about it," Scott continued, his voice rising slightly. "They put the triskele on your door four months ago. What have they been doing all this time? Why wait until now?"

Derek shook his head, his focus fixed on the immediate danger. "We don't have time to figure out every little detail—"

"Okay, but what if this detail—the reason why they waited—is the most important one?" Scott pressed, clearly troubled by the unanswered questions.

Derek exhaled sharply, his frustration reaching a peak. "Then we do nothing, and Boyd and Erica are dead."

Scott's face twisted with conflict. He knew Derek was right—time was running out—but there was a nagging feeling that they were missing something crucial. Yet, the clock was ticking, and they couldn't afford to lose another moment.

Derek's voice softened, though his resolve remained unshaken. "I know what I'm risking—my life for theirs. And I won't blame you if you don't follow me."

Scott hesitated, his mind racing. But in the end, there was no choice. They had to act, even if the stakes were higher than they understood.

DEREK'S LOFT – NIGHT

Back at Derek's loft, Stiles sat hunched over a pile of papers, his eyes scanning the research they had been pulling together. Peter stood nearby, his usual smirk replaced by something more serious as they both pieced together the truth.

"There. That's it," Stiles said, pointing to a passage in the old text.

Peter's eyes narrowed as he read the word. "Hecatolite…"

Stiles frowned, the name sending a chill down his spine. "Is that awful? That sounds awful."

Peter didn't waste any time, his voice suddenly filled with urgency. "Get 'em on the phone! Call them, now!"

Stiles fumbled for his phone, his mind racing. "Okay, why…?"

Peter's gaze darkened as the gravity of the situation became clear. "'Cause Boyd and that girl aren't gonna kill each other… They're gonna kill Derek and Scott."

The realization hit hard as Stiles hit the call button, his hands trembling. He could only hope they weren't too late.

FIRST NATIONAL BANK – NIGHT

The atmosphere in the vault was suffocating as Derek cautiously approached Boyd. The weight of the full moon hung in the air, and the tension among them grew with every second.

"Boyd?" Derek called softly, stepping closer. "Boyd, it's me. It's Derek."

Boyd remained in the shadows, his form tense, the primal rage from months of being kept away from the moon visible in his every movement. Derek's eyes flicked to the sky—the full moon was rising, and they were running out of time.

Meanwhile, Scott's phone buzzed. He answered quickly, his voice low. "Stiles, now is not the best time..."

"Scott! No, listen to me, okay?" Stiles's voice was frantic. "You gotta get out of there. The walls of the vault are made from a mineral called hecatolite—it scatters the moonlight!"

Scott's brows furrowed. "What does that mean?"

Stiles's voice came through fast. "It keeps the moonlight out. They haven't felt it in months—"

Peter's voice took over. "Think of it like the gladiators in the Roman Colosseum. They used to starve the lions, making them more vicious. Deucalion has kept them from shifting for three months, weakening their tolerance to the moon."

"They're going to be stronger," Stiles added, his voice more urgent.

Peter's voice was sharp. "More savage. More bloodthirsty. Scott, they're the starved lions, and you and Derek just stepped into the Colosseum."

Scott's eyes widened as he realized the gravity of the situation. "Derek... we've got a problem. A really big problem."

But before Scott could say more, Derek's focus shifted. His eyes caught movement in the shadows, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "...Cora?"

Scott looked confused. "Who?"

Derek took a step forward, his heart pounding. "Cora?"

From the darkness, a growl echoed, and a figure stepped forward—Cora Hale, Derek's younger sister, her eyes glowing yellow with the intensity of a Beta werewolf.

"Derek..." she growled, her voice laced with urgency. "Get out. Get out now!"

Suddenly, Boyd lunged, his instincts fully triggered by the broken seal. Allison, standing near the vault entrance with her bow drawn, spun around in time to see Boyd rushing toward her.

"Look out!" Allison screamed, but before she could react, a blur of motion appeared in front of her.

Blake.

Without hesitation, Blake grabbed Allison by the waist and spun her out of the way, shielding her body with his own. His eyes flashed a fiery red as he let out a fierce growl, his werewolf nature finally revealed.

Both Scott and Derek froze, their eyes wide with shock as they watched Blake, the new guy, reveal his supernatural side.

"Blake?" Scott said, his voice barely a whisper, filled with disbelief.

Allison, still in Blake's protective hold, looked up at him, her breath catching in her throat. "What...?"

Before any of them could process what was happening, Boyd lunged again, but this time, Blake was ready. With supernatural speed and strength, he blocked Boyd's attack, slamming him back against the wall with a powerful shove.

The impact sent Boyd staggering back, giving Derek and Scott a moment to recover from their shock.

"Blake, you're... you're a..." Scott stammered, still trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Blake's eyes, glowing red with Alpha power, flickered toward Scott. "We don't have time to talk about it right now."

Allison pulled herself together, looking between Blake and the others. "You... you're a werewolf?"

Blake nodded, but his focus remained on Boyd and the imminent danger. "We need to get out of here. Now."

Derek, still in shock, shook his head. "Cora's here. My sister."

Scott's eyes widened, glancing between Derek and Blake. "What the hell is she doing here?"

Derek's voice cracked with emotion. "Like I have a clue? I thought she was dead!"

Suddenly, Allison shouted again. "Look out!" Boyd lunged a third time, but before he could get too close, Blake was on him, knocking him back once more, his red eyes blazing.

"Don't break the seal!" Derek yelled, trying to regain control of the situation.

But the door was already open, and Boyd's strength was only growing. In the chaos, Allison found herself looking at Blake in awe, still processing the fact that he had been hiding his true nature all along.

As Boyd snarled and tried to advance again, Allison stepped forward. "We need to stop him before he gets outside!"

Scott rushed to help Blake, the two working together to hold Boyd back. "Don't touch her!" Scott shouted as Boyd reached for Allison.

Derek looked furious, his voice cutting through the chaos. "What were you thinking, Allison?"

Allison, her voice filled with frustration, shot back, "That I had to do something!"

"She saved our lives," Scott added, standing in front of her protectively.

Derek wasn't done. "Yeah, and what do you think they're going to do out there now? Do you have any idea what we just set free?"

Allison's face hardened, her eyes narrowing in anger. "You want to blame me? I'm not the one turning teenagers into killers!"

Derek's gaze darkened. "No, that's just the rest of your family."

Allison's breath hitched, her voice shaking with fury. "I made mistakes. Gerard is not my fault."

Derek's next words were cold and cutting. "And what about your mother?"

Allison looked confused, her voice barely a whisper. "What do you mean?"

Derek glanced at Scott, his expression urging him to speak the truth. "Tell her, Scott."

Scott hesitated, guilt flooding his face. "Allison…"

"What does he mean, Scott?" Allison demanded, her voice trembling.

Before Scott could answer, Blake growled, his attention still on Boyd, who was struggling to break free from his hold. "We'll figure that out later," Blake said, his voice firm. "Right now, we need to stop this."

Scott, Derek, and Allison exchanged glances, the weight of everything settling in, but there was no time to dwell on the past. The full moon was rising, and the danger was far from over.

MARTIN HOUSE – NIGHT

The quiet stillness of the Martin household was shattered by a sudden, blood-curdling scream. Lydia Martin's voice pierced through the night air, filled with terror and agony.

"AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

She stood in her bedroom, her hands gripping the sides of her head, her face twisted in horror as if something unseen was overwhelming her senses. Lydia collapsed to her knees, her scream echoing through the house as she experienced another one of her mysterious episodes. The pain was unbearable, the fear palpable, and yet she had no idea why this was happening—why her body and mind were being consumed by this force she couldn't understand.

Her mother, Natalie Martin, rushed up the stairs, bursting through Lydia's door with wide, panicked eyes. "Lydia? Lydia, what's happening?!" She ran toward her daughter, trying to reach her, but Lydia couldn't respond, still lost in whatever invisible force had taken hold of her.

In the distance, outside the house, the full moon hung ominously in the sky, its glow casting eerie shadows across the yard. The supernatural chaos unfolding elsewhere in Beacon Hills had now reached Lydia in a visceral, haunting way.

Lydia's screams subsided, leaving her panting, shaking, and drenched in a cold sweat. She stared blankly at the floor, her breaths shallow and ragged, her mind still reeling from the terrifying experience.

She didn't understand. Why was this happening to her? Why did she keep feeling these unbearable sensations, hearing things no one else could hear, and being drawn to places of death? It made no sense. Was she losing her mind? Or was something darker, something she couldn't yet comprehend, happening to her?

Her mother knelt beside her, gently touching Lydia's arm. "Sweetheart, talk to me. What's going on?"

Lydia didn't have an answer. She shook her head, her eyes wide with fear. "I... I don't know," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I don't know what's happening to me."