Three years.
It was strange how quickly they could pass, yet still leave marks deep enough that Stiles could feel them whenever he paused long enough to think. He wasn't that skinny, jumpy eleven-year-old anymore who followed Ronan through mountains with a notebook clutched in both hands. Sure, he was still jumpy — that part would probably never go away — but he was taller now, stronger, better trained, and way more aware of the world he lived in.
Fourteen.
Fourteen, and already living a life no normal teenager could ever imagine.
Outside, soft snow fell in lazy zigzags across the treetops, coating the remote cabin in white. It was early evening, the fire giving off a steady warmth as Stiles sat at the small desk in his room — a desk worn smooth by years of scribbled notes, sketches, maps, and last-minute observations Ronan forced him to redo for accuracy.
His phone buzzed.
He grabbed it instantly.
Dad.
Stiles inhaled slowly before answering. He had learned, over the years, that every conversation with his father required composure. Too much worry in his voice, and Noah would hear it. Too much excitement, and he'd ask questions Stiles couldn't answer. Too flat, and Noah would get suspicious.
Balance.Everything in Stiles's life was about balance.
He clicked Answer.
"Hey, Dad."
Noah's warm, familiar voice filled his ear. "Hey, buddy. How're you doing over there? Settling in? Eating well?"
Stiles smiled despite the weight in his chest. "Yeah. I'm good. Ronan's been keeping me busy."Way busier than you'd want to know, Stiles thought.
"Well, that's good. Routine is good," Noah said. "I know the place is different from home, but you always handle change better than you think."
Stiles leaned back in his chair, staring at the wooden ceiling. "Yeah, I try."
There was a soft pause, the kind Noah took whenever he was choosing his words carefully.
"So," Noah said lightly, "How are classes going?"
Stiles blinked, catching the quick twist of guilt in his stomach. He had gotten better at lying — not because he wanted to, but because he had to. Protecting someone sometimes meant hiding things from them. Ronan had taught him that. Life had taught him that earlier.
He forced an easy breath. "Good. I mean, math is… math. Still painful. Still trying not to cry every time numbers show up." He laughed a little, trying to make it sound natural.
Noah chuckled. "Just like your old man. I swear numbers have a personal grudge against us Stilinskis."
"Yeah," Stiles said with a smile. "History's fine. English is okay. Science is actually kind of cool."If you count Ronan teaching me how to identify creature behavior patterns as "science," Stiles added silently.
"Any problems with teachers? Or classmates?" Noah asked.
"Nope. Everything's great. I'm keeping up."With fighting drills. With tracking. With conditioning. With surviving, Stiles finished in his mind.
"That's good to hear." Noah sounded relieved, but Stiles heard the small thread of longing behind the words, the ache that always surfaced when Noah talked to him. "I'm proud of you, Stiles. You've been handling… everything… better than I could've expected."
Stiles looked down at the desk, fingers gripping the edge.
He missed his dad.He missed him every single day.
But going home? Not yet. Not when he wasn't ready.
Not when Beacon Hills would one day become a supernatural disaster zone.
"Thanks, Dad," Stiles said softly. "I'm trying. Really."
"I know you are." Noah exhaled shakily, but tried to keep his tone upbeat. "You're a good kid, Stiles."
Stiles swallowed. "You're a great dad."
They stayed on the line for a moment, comfortable silence stretching between them, warm and familiar even from miles apart. It was the closest Stiles felt to home.
"Alright," Noah finally said. "I won't keep you. It's late. Don't forget to sleep."
"Yeah. You too. Night, Dad."
"Goodnight, son."
The call ended.
Stiles stayed still for a moment, staring at the dark screen, letting the weight of the lie burn through him. He didn't like lying. He hated it, actually. But if he told Noah the truth — that he had spent five years training with a hunter in remote places, studying supernatural behavior, sharpening skills no kid should have — Noah would have driven up here that second, dragged him home, and locked him in his room.
Stiles couldn't let that happen.Not when one day Scott would need him.Not when the town would need him.
The phone buzzed again.
Stiles blinked.
Scott.
A different kind of ache hit him — softer, more nostalgic.
He answered immediately. "Scott!"
Scott's voice was bright, warm, familiar in a way that made Stiles smile before he even processed the words.
"DUDE, I've been trying to catch you all day! Where have you been?"
"Training," Stiles answered automatically, then quickly added, "Homework. Lots of homework."
Scott snorted. "Homework? You? Did the school finally break you?"
Stiles grinned. "Yeah, well. Happens to the best of us."
Scott laughed — that same sweet, endlessly hopeful laugh he had even at nine years old. Except now he was fourteen, and his voice had deepened a little, the edges rounded by adolescence.
"How's Beacon Hills?" Stiles asked, twirling his pencil.
"Same as always," Scott said. "Except I joined the lacrosse team!"
Stiles almost dropped his pencil. "NO WAY. Seriously? Scott, that's awesome!"
He could almost see Scott smiling on the other end. "Yeah, coach said I have potential. I'm… kind of good at it."
"Kind of good?" Stiles said dramatically. "You? Scott McCall? My guy, you're gonna be a superstar."
Scott laughed shyly. "Nah, it's nothing big. But—I don't know. It's fun. And it kinda feels like something I'm meant to do, you know?"
A quiet pang hit Stiles. Yeah. I know exactly what you mean.
"You'll crush it," Stiles said warmly. "Just promise me you'll score at least one goal in my honor."
Scott laughed harder. "Only one? Come on, Stiles — I'll score a hundred."
Stiles clutched his chest. "That's… beautiful. I'm emotional."
They both laughed.
Then Scott's voice softened. "I miss you, dude."
Stiles froze. The words hit deeper than he expected.
He breathed out slowly. "I miss you too, Scott. A lot."
"You're coming back someday, right?" Scott asked quietly. "I mean, not now, but… someday?"
Stiles closed his eyes.
"Yeah," he whispered. "Someday."
They said goodbye a minute later — Scott with a bright promise about the next lacrosse tryout, Stiles with a shaky smile he hoped Scott couldn't hear.
When the call ended, the room felt heavier, like everything Stiles was holding onto had lifted and crashed down at the same time.
He sat on the bed, elbows on his knees, rubbing hard at his eyes.
He was doing the right thing.He was sure of it.
But doing the right thing didn't always feel good.
A soft knock sounded at the door frame.
Stiles straightened instantly.
Ronan leaned against the wood, arms crossed, watching him with calm, unreadable eyes. He had that look — the one where he saw more than Stiles wanted him to. The one where Stiles knew he couldn't hide anything even if he tried.
"Phone calls?" Ronan asked gently.
Stiles nodded.
"How'd they go?"
Stiles hesitated. "Good. I mean… good. Dad's okay. Scott's okay. They just… miss me."
Ronan stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. "Missing people is a sign you care about them. And that they care about you. It's normal."
"Doesn't make it easier," Stiles muttered.
"No," Ronan said softly. "It doesn't."
Ronan moved to sit on the edge of the desk, arms still folded. The firelight caught the faint lines of age on his face — lines of experience, patience, and maybe guilt of his own.
"Stiles," Ronan said, voice steady, "I need to talk to you about tomorrow."
Stiles straightened, instincts snapping into attention. "Okay. What's happening tomorrow?"
Ronan studied him for a long moment.
Then said it.
"You're going on your first solo hunt."
The room felt suddenly colder.
Stiles blinked once. Twice. His heart thudded softly against his ribs.
"Alone?" Stiles asked. Not scared — just… processing.
Ronan nodded. "I'll be nearby. Watching, keeping distance. But you'll be the one tracking, identifying, and making the final call."
Stiles felt a rush of surprise and… pride. And fear. And anticipation. All clashing at once.
"What kind of creature is it?" he asked.
Ronan shook his head slowly.
"That's your job to figure out."
Stiles frowned. "You mean… you're not going to tell me anything?"
"I'll give you the location," Ronan said. "Evidence from the site. And a few boundaries. But the creature? Behavior patterns? Risks? Weaknesses? All of that—you will determine."
Stiles sat back, absorbing that.
five years of training came back to him in flashes:Observation drills. Tracking patterns. Behavior analysis. Survival studies. Environmental reading. Memory exercises. Hours of questioning, retesting, forcing his mind to work sharper, faster, calmer.
"Why now?" Stiles finally asked.
Ronan looked at him with a calm seriousness Stiles had rarely seen in such full force. "Because you're ready. Not just physically. Mentally. Emotionally. You know how to stay steady. How to read danger. How to think fast without panicking. You've grown."
Stiles felt something warm spread in his chest — pride, yes, but also something like belonging.
"But listen carefully," Ronan continued, voice firm but not harsh. "A solo hunt is not about killing. It's about understanding. Identifying what you're dealing with. Knowing when to push forward and when to step back. You don't engage unless you're absolutely certain. Your purpose is not to fight — it's to learn."
Stiles nodded slowly, absorbing every word.
"Tomorrow," Ronan said, "you'll take your first step into the world as a hunter on your own terms."
Stiles swallowed, his breath catching slightly.
"I won't let you down," he whispered.
Ronan gave a rare, genuine smile. "I know."
Stiles held that moment — the warmth of it, the trust behind it — close. Because tomorrow, the world would stop being a classroom and become a test.
A real one.
Ronan stood. "Get some rest. You'll need a clear mind in the morning."
Stiles nodded. "Goodnight, Ronan."
"Goodnight, Stiles."Ronan paused at the door. "And remember… you're not alone. Even when you're doing it solo."
The door shut.
Stiles stared at the fire, heart racing with a blend of fear and excitement he couldn't fully name.
Tomorrow would be the beginning of something new.
He wasn't sure he was ready.
But he was sure he would try.
And that was enough.