As Scott and I made our way back through the preserve, the golden light slanting through the trees, I found myself drifting into memory—back to a time when I was the one learning, not teaching.
I was eight, turning nine, living with Uncle Haohiko in Alaska. The mornings there were always cold, the kind of cold that bit through your jacket and made your breath hang in the air like smoke. Haohiko was already up, as always, when I stumbled out of the cabin, rubbing sleep from my eyes. He was crouched by the river, steam rising from his mug, his silhouette broad and solid against the pale dawn.
"Ross," he called, not looking up. "You're late."
I jogged over, boots crunching on the frost. "Sorry, Uncle. I—"
He cut me off with a wave of his hand. "Excuses are for people who want to stay weak. You want to be strong, you show up. Every time."
I nodded, swallowing my protest. Haohiko stood, towering over me, and handed me a stick—rough, heavy, stripped of bark.
"Today, you learn to listen," he said, voice low and steady. "Not just with your ears—with everything. The forest talks if you know how to hear it."
He led me into the trees, moving with a grace that always surprised me for a man his size. I stumbled after him, the stick awkward in my hands, trying to keep up. We stopped in a small clearing, the ground soft with pine needles, the air thick with the scent of sap and earth.
"Close your eyes," Haohiko instructed.
I did, the world going dark. At first, all I heard was my own breathing, too loud, too fast. Then, slowly, other sounds crept in—the distant rush of water, the whisper of wind through the branches, the soft scurry of a squirrel in the underbrush.
"What do you hear?" Haohiko's voice was a rumble beside me.
I hesitated. "The river. The wind. Something moving—maybe a squirrel?"
He grunted, approving. "Good. Now, what do you smell?"
I inhaled, the cold air burning my lungs. "Pine. Wet earth. Smoke—someone's fire, maybe?"
Haohiko clapped me on the shoulder, nearly knocking me off balance. "Better. But you're still thinking too much. Trust your instincts. Let the world come to you."
He made me stand there, eyes closed, for what felt like hours. He'd toss a stone into the brush, and I'd have to point to where it landed. He'd crush a leaf in his hand, and I'd have to name the plant by scent alone. When I got it wrong, he'd make me run laps around the clearing, the cold air burning in my chest, my boots slipping on the frosty ground.
But when I got it right—when I really listened, really felt the world around me—he'd smile, just a little, and I'd feel ten feet tall.
After a while, he handed me the stick again. "Now, defend yourself."
I barely had time to react before he swung his own stick at my legs. I jumped, clumsy, and he laughed—a deep, booming sound that echoed through the trees.
"Too slow!" he barked, but there was pride in his eyes. "You have to feel it coming, Ross. Not just see it. Anticipate."
We sparred for a while, the sticks cracking together, my arms aching. He'd shout instructions— "Lower your stance! Watch your left! Don't forget your feet!"—and every time I slipped, he'd tap me on the shoulder or the back of the knee, just enough to make me stumble.
Eventually, he called a break. I dropped onto a fallen log, panting, sweat prickling under my jacket despite the cold. Haohiko sat beside me, pulling a flask from his coat and taking a long swig before handing it over. I took a sip, expecting water, and nearly choked as the sharp bite of whiskey burned my throat.
He roared with laughter, clapping me on the back so hard I almost fell off the log. "That's for being late!" he crowed, eyes twinkling. "Next time, you'll be on time, eh?"
I coughed, wiping my mouth, but I couldn't help laughing too. "You're evil," I managed, voice hoarse.
He grinned, teeth flashing white in his beard. "Maybe. But you'll remember, won't you?"
I nodded, still grinning. "Yeah. I'll remember."
But Haohiko wasn't done. As I caught my breath, he stood and stretched, then pointed to a patch of snow at the edge of the clearing. "See that?" he said, voice all business again. "Go check for tracks. Tell me what passed through here last night."
I trudged over, squinting at the snow, trying to make sense of the jumble of prints. I knelt, tracing the outline of a paw—fox, maybe? —and then something else, bigger, with claws. I was so focused, I didn't notice Haohiko creeping up behind me until a cold, wet clump of snow exploded against the back of my neck.
I yelped, spinning around as he doubled over with laughter, his whole body shaking. "Lesson two, Ross—never let your guard down, even when you think the test is over!"
I glared, but I was laughing too, snow melting down my collar. "You're the worst."
He just grinned, tossing another snowball from hand to hand. "And you're learning. That's what matters."
That night, as we sat by the fire, Haohiko handed me a bowl of stew, his face softened by the flickering light.
"You did well today, Ross," he said quietly. "You're learning. Not just to fight, but to see. To understand. That's what makes you a man—not strength, not claws, but the heart to protect, and the wisdom to know when to act."
I looked at him, the weight of his words settling over me. "Do you think I'll ever be as strong as my dad?"
He chuckled, the sound deep and warm. "Stronger. Because you'll have what he never did—a choice. Remember that, Ross. Strength is nothing without purpose. And purpose is nothing without heart."
The memory faded as Scott and I reached the edge of the preserve, the sun dipping low behind the trees. I glanced at him—sweaty, tired, but grinning, a spark of pride in his eyes.
"Hey," I said, clapping him on the back. "You did good today. My uncle would like you."
Scott looked at me, surprised. "Yeah? What is he like?"
I smiled, the ghost of Haohiko's laughter echoing in my mind. "Tough. But fair. He taught me everything I know about surviving—about listening, about fighting, about protecting the people who matter. He used to say that anyone can be strong, but it takes real courage to care. And he's still out there, probably making some poor kid run laps in the snow right now."
Scott nodded, thoughtful. "Sounds like someone I'd want on my side."
I laughed, the sound ringing through the quiet evening. "Yeah. Me too."
As we headed back toward the house, I felt a quiet sense of peace settle over me. Haohiko's lessons lived on—in me, and now, maybe, in Scott too. And that, I realized, was the real legacy of strength: not what you could do alone, but what you could pass on.
At the house, Scott dropped his bag by the door, stretching his arms over his head.
"I'm starving," he said, grinning.
I laughed. "Good. That means you worked hard. Go shower—I'll make something."
He disappeared upstairs, and I leaned against the counter, listening to the water running, the faint sound of him humming under his breath.
When Scott came down, hair damp, wearing clean clothes, I tossed him a soda. "You earned it."
He grinned, flopping onto the couch. "So, what's next?"
I sat beside him, the couch creaking under my weight. "Tonight, we'll go over some basics—how to control your shift, how to stay calm under pressure. Tomorrow, we'll go for a run before you go to school. For now, just relax. You did good today."
He nodded, a contented smile on his face. "Thanks, Ross. Really."
I clapped him on the shoulder, the room filling with the scent of baking pizza as the timer dinged. "Anytime, Scott. That's what I'm here for."
As the afternoon settled in, the house felt warm, safe—a haven against the chaos outside. I watched Scott dig into his pizza, laughing at something on TV, and felt a quiet satisfaction. This was what I wanted—to help, to guide, to be there when it mattered.
Looking down at my phone as it buzzed Unknown number "Still not found her, we are still looking" must be Chris giving me an update.
And as the day deepened, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of us—teacher and student, friends, maybe even family. For the first time in a long time, I felt at home.
*****
Scott
Scott sat on the edge of his bed, the late afternoon sun slanting through the blinds and striping the worn comforter beneath him. His thumb hovered over Allison's name, the phone suddenly heavy in his hand. He could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator downstairs, the distant bark of a neighbour's dog, the world moving on as if nothing had changed. But everything had.
He pressed "call." The ringing seemed to echo in his chest.
"Allison?" Her voice was cautious, almost fragile, as if she'd been holding her breath all day.
Scott swallowed, his own voice trembling. "Hey. I know you probably don't want to talk, but… I need to. Please. I can't let things sit like this."
There was a pause, filled with the soft static of the line. "Scott, I'm… I'm not sure I'm ready. Everything's upside down. My family, you—what you are. What you said this morning. It's like I don't know what's real anymore."
He closed his eyes, grounding himself in the familiar scent of laundry detergent and pine drifting through his open window. "I get it. I do. But you don't have to figure it out alone. Let me help. Let me answer your questions. I'll be honest. No more secrets remember."
She hesitated, her breath shaky. "Is Ross there? The man from earlier—the one who was at your house with your mom?"
"Yeah. He's here. He said he'd answer anything you want this morning to remember. He's… different. He knows more about this world than Derek. Nobody has told me more and he knows more than me and stiles have found. He's not liked the Derek or Peter."
Another pause. "If I come over…, will you both really tell me the truth?"
Scott's voice was soft, desperate. "No more secrets remember. I swore this morning. And if you want to leave, I won't stop you."
A long silence. "Okay. I'll come. But I need you to promise."
"I promise," Scott said, relief and fear mingling in his chest. "I'll text you the address."
Dusk had settled by the time Allison arrived, the sky streaked with violet and gold, the air crisp with the promise of night. She stood on the porch, arms wrapped around herself, her breath fogging in the chill. Scott opened the door, his heart thudding, and the warm light from inside spilled out, painting her in gold.
"Hey," he said, voice gentle.
She stepped inside, the scent of coffee lingering in the air. Ross stood in the kitchen, arms folded, watching her with a calm, steady gaze that seemed to see right through her nerves.
They sat in the living room, the hush broken only by the ticking of the old wall clock and the distant creak of pipes. Allison's hands twisted in her lap, her knuckles white.
Scott started, voice trembling. "Ask anything. About me. About Ross. About what's really happening in Beacon Hills."
Allison looked at Ross, then Scott. "What are you, really? What does it mean to be a werewolf? Not just the stories—what's real?"
Scott took a shaky breath, searching for words. "It's not like the movies. we don't turn into a wolf when the moons full." I interrupt quickly here" That not quite true, Scott can't turn into a wolf or even an upright one, but it is possible" I smile and nod to Scott to continue "I don't lose control—well, not always. It's more like… everything's turned up. My senses—hearing, smell, sight. I can heal fast. I'm stronger, faster. But it's not just physical. There's this… thing. This anger, sometimes. Like something wild inside, me, trying to get out. I must fight it, every day."
Ross nodded, his voice low and even. "In this world, werewolves are born or made. Some are bitten; some inherit it. The full moon makes it harder to control the wolf, but it doesn't force you to change. It just… amplifies what's already there. The real danger isn't the moon—it's losing yourself. Giving in to the animal. That's why anchors matter."
Allison frowned, her voice barely above a whisper. "Anchors?"
Scott nodded. "Something—or someone—that keeps you human. For me, it's you. And now my mom as well. When I feel like I'm losing control, I think about you. About whom I want to be. Not just what I am."
Ross leaned forward, his presence grounding. "Werewolves have packs. Alphas, betas, omegas. The alpha leads, protects. Betas follow. Omegas are alone—dangerous, sometimes, because they have no one to help them stay grounded. The bite can heal, but it can also kill. It's a risk, every time."
Allison's voice was small. "And the eyes? I saw Dereks eyes. The claws?"
Scott flexed his hand, letting the claws extend, then retract. "It's part of it. The eyes change colour—yellow for betas, blue if you've taken an innocent life, red for alphas. It's not just a power thing. It's about what you've done. Who you are."
Ross added, "It's not a curse. Not really. It's a responsibility. You can use it to hurt, or to protect. That's the choice every werewolf must make."
Allison's eyes shimmered with tears. "My family… we hunt people like you. My aunt says it's to protect people. But after last night, I don't know what to believe."
Ross's voice was gentle but firm. "The Argents have a code: 'We hunt those who hunt us.' It's a good code, if you follow it. But not all your family does. Some let fear or hate to guide them. That's when innocent people get hurt. Your family could be better, Allison. From what I can see and have investigated, your dad follows the code very close to the line but he also was raised to hate wolves and its hard for him, your mother, Your mother is more like a bear than most bears, she would kill anything and anyone that threatened your life, She would butcher the world with a grin. I am not saying this is a bad thing she is a mother it's kind of inspiring to be truthful. I've heard stories about her. And I don't want to colour your judgment on the other members of your family personally I think you should look yourself as I said I don't want you to only have one sided view that includes ours, ill give you facts and you can make your own opinion" Allisons smiles at the part of her mother and looks sullen when I mentioned about the rest of her family.
Scott reached for her hand, his own trembling. "You don't have to be like them. You can choose your own path. I want to protect people, too. That's my role now. Not just as a werewolf, but as someone who cares about this town—and about you."
Allison's voice shook. "But what if I can't? What if I'm not strong enough?"
Ross smiled, kind. "Strength isn't about fighting. It's about standing up for what's right, even when it's hard. You're already stronger than you think."
She looked at Scott, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I don't want to lose you. But I don't know if I can do this."
Scott squeezed her hand, his voice raw. "You won't lose me. I'm still me. I just… have more to figure out now. But I want to do it with you."
The silence that followed was thick, but not empty. It was filled with the sound of their breathing, the distant hum of the heater, the world outside settling into night.
After a long moment, Allison wiped her eyes, her voice unsteady. "Can we go outside? I need some air."
They stepped out onto the porch, the cold biting at their skin, the sky above a deep indigo scattered with stars. The grass was slick with dew, and the air was sharp with the scent of pine and distant woodsmoke. Scott walked beside her, hands shoved deep in his pockets, heart pounding so hard he thought she might hear it.
They stopped beneath the porch light, its glow casting a golden halo around Allison's hair. She looked up at him, her eyes searching, vulnerable.
Scott hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He could feel the rough grain of the porch rail beneath his fingers, the cool night air stinging his cheeks. "Allison… I know things are complicated. I know you're scared. I am too. But I want to do something normal. Something good. Will you go to the winter formal with me?"
She blinked, caught off guard, her breath a white cloud in the air. "Scott, after everything—are you sure?"
He nodded, voice trembling. "Yeah. I want to go with you. Not because I want to pretend things are normal, but because I want to share something real with you. Even if it's just for one night. I want to dance with you. I want to laugh with you. I want to remember what it's like to just… be us."
Allison's eyes filled with tears again, but this time there was a smile trembling on her lips. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"
Scott managed a shaky laugh. "Yeah. But I mean it. I want you there with me. If you'll have me."
She stepped closer, her hand finding his, cold but steady. "I'd like that, Scott. I'd really like that."
He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and for a moment, the world felt simple again—just two teenagers, standing in the moonlight, daring to hope. The porch light flickered, and Allison squeezed his hand, grounding them both in the moment.
"What colour would you be wearing, do you know? Ross said I should ask for when he gets me a suit and accessories if I was lucky enough for you to have said yes."
Allison let out a genuine laugh, the sound bright and clear in the stillness. She nodded, her smile growing. "I'll let you know, I promise." For the first time since everything changed, Scott felt like maybe—just maybe—they could find their way through it. Together.