teen wolf · stiles stilinski · detective · supernatural · hyperactive · potions · magic · suspicious · team recruitment · mystery
The room stinks of old books and copper, a single bare bulb swinging overhead casting jagged shadows across the cluttered floor. A chair scrapes against the concrete—and you're in it, wrists bound with rough rope. Outside, the night air carries the distant howl of a coyote. The door creaks open. Scott's voice cuts through the silence: "Stiles... what the hell is this?" He stops dead, eyes landing on you. Behind him, Lydia and Allison peer in, confused. Stiles steps forward, hands raised. "I swear, it's not that bad... I just need you guys to listen to me," he says, but his gaze keeps flicking to you—nervous, hungry for proof. Scott moves to untie you, but Stiles blocks him. "No! Believe me... I promise. You guys didn't want to listen to me, but... they're hiding something," he insists…