POV: Leo Stilinski
I didn't sleep that night. Not because I couldn't—my control over my instincts meant I could rest whenever I chose—but because my mind kept replaying what happened in the preserve. The way Peter Hale had stopped. Studied me. The way he'd retreated instead of tearing Scott apart like canon said he would.
Peter Hale doesn't back down.
Unless something scares him.
Stiles burst into my room just after sunrise, slamming the door open with his usual disregard for personal space. "Okay, no, absolutely not. You don't get to just sleep after whatever that was last night. Scott's freaking out, I'm freaking out, and I nearly died sprinting through the woods."
"You jog to the fridge," I said dryly. "You'll live."
"That's different, that's recreational."
I sat up, rubbing my eyes. "Peter was there. Watching Scott. I got in the way."
Stiles stared. "…You got in the way of a murder-wolf."
"Yes."
"With your human body."
"Yes."
He opened his mouth, closed it, then rubbed his face. "I'm adding this to the list of reasons you terrify me."
Scott appeared in the doorway, pale and exhausted, like he hadn't slept either. "Leo… whatever that thing was last night—it felt wrong. Like it wanted me."
Because it did.
I met his eyes. "It did. But it didn't get you."
Scott hesitated. "You knew it was coming, didn't you?"
I didn't answer immediately. "I knew something bad would happen. Not exactly when."
That was the safest truth I could give.
Scott nodded slowly. He trusted me. Way too easily.
School felt heavier that day. Like the building itself was holding its breath.
Scott jumped at every noise. Stiles tried to act normal but failed spectacularly. And I stayed alert, senses stretched thin beneath my skin.
Peter was still out there.
Waiting.
At lunch, Stiles leaned forward conspiratorially. "Okay, so hypothetically—purely hypothetically—if there were a supernatural murder creature targeting Scott, how screwed would we be?"
"Very," I answered.
Scott swallowed. "That's… comforting."
I exhaled slowly. "But you wouldn't be alone."
That mattered. I could feel it.
Then it hit me.
A scent.
Burned. Metallic. Old.
Peter.
My muscles tensed instantly. I scanned the cafeteria, the hallways beyond it. Students laughed, talked, lived their normal lives, completely unaware that an Alpha predator was close enough for me to smell.
"Leo?" Stiles whispered. "You just went full statue."
"Finish lunch," I said. "Both of you."
Scott frowned. "What's going on?"
"He's nearby," I said quietly.
That shut them up.
The rest of the day passed without incident—but I knew better than to call that peace. Peter was probing. Testing reactions. Seeing how far he could push before I pushed back.
That night, I returned to the preserve alone.
I needed answers.
The moment I stepped beneath the trees, the forest reacted—silence cascading outward as animals fled. I let my control loosen just enough to breathe as what I truly was.
My hybrid form unfolded smoothly—bones lengthening, muscles surging, fur darkening until I stood twelve feet tall, shadow given shape. My tail swept behind me, nearly six feet long, claws sinking into the dirt.
I didn't roar.
I didn't need to.
Peter emerged from the darkness, glowing eyes wary.
"What are you?" he asked.
I bared my fangs. "The reason you don't touch Scott McCall."
He circled once, then stopped.
For the second time, Peter Hale chose to retreat.
And as I watched him disappear into the trees, I understood something important.
The timeline was already changing.
And next time, it wouldn't be this easy.