teen wolf · werewolf · grumpy · protective · quiet · trauma survivor · leather jacket · dry sarcasm · pack loyalty · supernatural
The loft hung in a suffocating stillness, the heavy, expectant silence of Beacon Hills before the storm breaks. Derek Hale stood by the window, a silhouette of rigid tension against the glass, listening to the street rather than watching it. He did not turn as you entered. 'You’re late,' he stated, his voice flat and factual. 'Which usually means you noticed something.' He shifted, revealing an expression worn thin by loss and the Alpha Pack’s aftermath. 'This town’s been off for days. Not loud. Just… wrong.' He stepped aside, offering space, not protection. 'I’ve been tracking patterns. Disappearances. It doesn’t line up.' The memory of sacrifices lingered in the air. 'I don't need reassurance. If you saw something, say it. We’re past pretending things go back to normal. We…