She looked out of the window, loosing herself in the surrounding woods. But she can't seem to get Derek out of her mind. His voice, his touch, his eyes... The feeling that shot through her when their hands touched or eyes locked. She can't seem to get Derek Hale out of her mind at all.
The jeep rolls forward in silence now, the earlier banter fading like mist. Stiles keeps his eyes on the road, but every once in a while, he flicks a glance into the rear view mirror—watching Aria out of the corner of his eye.
She's staring out the window. Distant. Quiet. The moonlight paints half her face in silver—soft shadows beneath her lashes, lips just slightly parted as if caught mid-thought.
And for once… Stiles isn't talking.
Because he sees it.
The faraway look.
The subtle flush on her cheeks when she thinks no one's watching.
That tiny shiver that runs over her.
His fingers tighten on the wheel again—not with anger this time—but something quieter. Something darker.
He knows that look.
He's seen it before—in Scott after Allison died…
In Lydia when Jackson left…
In himself, every damn time he looked at someone who was supposed to be off-limits.
And worst of all?
For just one heartbeat—one treacherous beat—he doesn't hate it on her as much as he should."
Stiles clears his throat loudly and turns up the radio—anything to break this silence creeping between them like fog.
"Seriously though," he says too quickly; "Next time you go for a 'walk,' how about not wandering into cursed woods? There are actual monsters here—and I don't mean metaphorical ones like me."
Aria barely reacts. Just sighs softly and curls deeper into herself.
"Yeah," she murmurs under her breath, so quiet only werewolf ears could catch it: "Maybe I already found one."
Scott threw a sideways glance Stiles way, proving that he heard what Aria just mumbled.
Stiles feels Scott's gaze like a physical weight. He doesn't look at him—can't—but he knows that one sideways glance carries volumes.
He lets out a slow breath through his nose, hands gripping the wheel just a little tighter than necessary. The radio blares some forgettable rock song—too loud for the silence they're all pretending isn't there.
Then, in a voice so low only Scott can hear: "She can't be thinking about him. Not Derek. Not now. Not ever."
Beat. "...Right?"
Scott just stares back at him with that knowing look—the one that says: You already know the answer to that, don't you? And worse—you're not even mad about it.
As soon as the jeep stopped in front of the house, she climbed out and stormed into the house. Noah were quick to stop the other two before they entered the house. "Where did you find her?" His question followed quickly.
Stiles and Scott exchange a glance—quick, loaded. The kind that says: We're not telling him the whole truth.
Stiles steps forward, shoving his hands into his pockets with practiced nonchalance. "She was just… walking. Took a wrong turn somewhere near the edge of the preserve. We found her before she got too far in."
Stiles meets his dad's eyes—steady, calm. But inside? Not even close.
Noah narrows his gaze slightly, clearly sensing something off in Stiles' tone. He glances past them toward the house where Aria disappeared inside.
"And who exactly 'found' her first?" The question hangs heavy—too sharp for coincidence.
Scott shifts uncomfortably beside Stiles. "Uh… I did, Mr. S? Heard her voice while we were driving by—"
Stiles cuts in smoothly, voice light but firm: "Yeah, Scott totally saved her life again! Classic McCall move—swooping in like some noble golden retriever with fangs."
Scott shoots him a side-eye.
Fangs?
Oops.
Too much? Stiles scolded himself in his mind.
But Noah doesn't smile. He stares at Stiles for a long beat—one father to his son—and finally sighs. "Just… both of you be careful out there. Always!
He turns toward the house, shoulders tense, muttering under his breath: "Beacon Hills wasn't made for people like us to stay safe…"
Behind them, unseen—the wind stirs through the trees.
Somewhere deep in the forest—a lone wolf howls once more into the night.*
"That was a close call. I don't think we should worry him about the entire Hale conspiracy." Scott said.
Stiles exhales sharply, watching his dad disappear into the house before turning to Scott with a grimace.
"'Hale conspiracy' makes it sound like we're in some government thriller. But… yeah. No way we're telling him Derek was out there—eyes glowing, tension crackling, looking at Aria like she's something he just unburied instead of met." He runs a hand through his hair, voice dropping low.
"I mean… did you see that look between them? It wasn't just attraction. It was... recognition. Like they'd already been circling each other for lifetimes and just haven't found each other until now."
Another beat pass. "And now she's thinking about him. I saw it."
Scott crosses his arms, expression softening with understanding—and maybe a little worry. "You know... not every connection in this town ends in heartbreak or bloodshed."
Stiles scoffs, but there's less bite to it than usual. "Says the guy who dated someone whose family legacy involved killing werewolves with arrows and Latin incantations."
Scott shrugs, unfazed. "But here we are."
Stiles stares at the house where Aria vanished into—the lights flickering on upstairs in her room.
"Yeah," he mutters finally. "Here we are."
But deep down? He knows this isn't over.
It never is.