Ronan had been watching Stiles since dawn.
Not standing over him, not directing him — just observing quietly from a distance, hidden behind the tree line, letting the boy think he was working alone. That was the purpose of this test: to see how Stiles functioned without guidance breathing down his neck.
And now, as Stiles crouched in the clearing, tying the last of his improvised traps, Ronan exhaled through his nose.
There it is again, he thought.The hesitation.
Stiles knotted the line carefully — a clean, tight wrap. He had the technical skill. He had the precision. But then… he paused. Looked at the trap. Adjusted it again, softer this time, less decisive. As if he didn't want to harm anything.
Ronan shook his head mentally.
You're quick, kid. Sharp-minded. But you still think creatures fight fair. You still think they'll stop if you ask them to. That's dangerous.
Stiles moved to the next section of the terrain, marking distances with the toe of his boot.
Ronan could read his patterns like a map:measuring angles, calculating speed, building funnel routes — smart ideas, all of them. But every plan was made with the same flaw:
You're planning to slow it.Not stop it.Not end it.
Stiles set the second trap: tripline, sound trigger, harmless but startling.
Ronan frowned.
You know how strong these things are. But you're still scared of going too far. You don't understand yet… hesitation doesn't make you merciful. It makes you vulnerable.
He watched as Stiles stepped back, surveying the layout. The traps were positioned well — logically, cleverly. But none of them would actually incapacitate a creature determined to kill him.
Ronan folded his arms.
And that's the problem. You're thinking like prey. Not a hunter.
THE CREATURE EMERGES
The sun dipped, shadows stretching across the forest floor.
Stiles moved into position.
Ronan remained hidden, his breath controlled, body still. Not interfering. Not yet.
The creature's growl echoed from the cave.
Stiles stiffened.
Ronan closed his eyes for a moment.
This is the part you always struggle with, kid. You prepare well… but the moment danger breathes on your neck, you start doubting your own work.
The creature lunged out of the cave, fast and aggressive. Stiles reacted with good instincts — rolling, guiding it into the first trap.
The metal clatter rang out.
The creature flinched.Stiles moved sharp and fast.
Ronan nodded slightly.
Good. You read it well. But you're still keeping too much distance. You're not controlling the fight — you're running from it.
Stiles led the creature into trap two. The creature stumbled. Stiles hit the angle perfectly.
You're learning… just not fast enough.
The creature attacked harder now, regaining speed.
Stiles dodged, rolled, redirected.
Ronan tracked every step.
Your footwork is improving. But you're fighting like you think you can wait it out. You can't. You don't have the strength to trade hits. You only have your brain — but your fear mutes it at the worst moments.
Stiles landed a palm strike.
Not enough force. Ronan's jaw tightened. Not enough commitment.
The creature grew more violent, more determined.
Stiles backed away.
Wrong. You can't back up here — you give it space, it resets, then you lose the pace.
The fight intensified.Stiles was fast, reading the legs, reading the imbalance, using trees as cover.
But Ronan could see the strain beginning — the panic creeping behind Stiles's eyes every time the creature got too close.
Breathe, kid. Trust yourself. Trust the plan.
Stiles avoided a hoof swipe by inches.
That should've been your counter-strike, not another dodge.
The creature grazed Stiles's side.Stiles winced.
Ronan's hand tightened around the rifle slung across his back — but he didn't intervene.
Not yet.
The creature lunged again. Stiles hit its weak leg — good, clean, effective. The creature collapsed.
And then—
Stiles froze.
Ronan felt his stomach drop.
"No," he whispered under his breath. "Don't stop now. Don't look at it like that. Finish the fight."
Stiles stepped back.
The creature lay still.
Too still.
Ronan's heartbeat ticked faster — not out of fear for himself, but for the boy standing ten feet from a beast pretending to be defeated.
He believes in the possibility of mercy. He believes creatures have the same instincts as humans. He still doesn't understand.
Then it happened:
The creature sprang up violently.
Stiles didn't have time to defend.
Ronan didn't wait another second.
One fluid motion — rifle lifted, sight locked, finger steady — and a controlled tranquilizing round shot across the clearing.
The creature jerked forward… collapsed.
Stiles crumpled backward, breath shaking.
Ronan strode out from the trees.
"You okay?" he asked, voice low.
The boy nodded weakly.
Ronan helped him up, steady and silent.
He didn't speak again until they returned to the cabin.
BACK AT THE CABIN
The cabin door shut behind them with a soft thud.
Ronan guided Stiles to sit on the wooden bench. Stiles winced as he lowered himself, the pain from the creature's strike catching up to him now that the adrenaline was fading.
Ronan fetched the first-aid kit and knelt beside him.
"Lift your shirt," he said, calm but firm.
Stiles obeyed. The scrape across his side was shallow — painful, but not dangerous. Ronan cleaned it with gentle but efficient movements.
Stiles hissed softly.
"I know," Ronan muttered. "It stings. Hold still."
For a while, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the soft tap of supplies and the crackle of the small stove.
Finally, Ronan broke the silence.
"You hesitated from the very beginning."
Stiles lowered his eyes.
"I didn't want to… hurt it more than necessary," he whispered.
Ronan let out a slow breath.
"Stiles," he said, tone controlled, "creatures like that don't think about 'necessary.' They don't think about fairness. If you give them a chance to stop… they'll use it to kill you."
Stiles swallowed hard.
"You can't win by pitying something that's trying to tear you apart," Ronan continued. "You set good traps — smart traps — but none of them were decisive."
Stiles glanced up, guilt and frustration mixing in his expression.
"I thought if I could outsmart it—"
"You did." Ronan cut in gently. Not harsh. Not angry. "But intelligence without commitment is just running in circles."
Stiles looked down at his hands.
Ronan put a firm hand on his shoulder — careful not to cause pain.
"You're not weak," he said. "You're scared of becoming something you don't want to be. That's not a flaw. That's humanity. But hesitation in a real fight is dangerous."
Stiles nodded, slowly.
Ronan wrapped the final bandage around his side and secured it.
"Next time," Ronan said softly, "don't fight like you're trying not to lose. Fight like you're trying to live."
Stiles let the words sit in his chest, heavy but true.
Ronan stood, closed the first aid kit, and added:
"You did better than you think. But I'm going to make sure you do even better than that."
He paused at the door.
"Tomorrow," he said, "we go again."