Morning came quietly.
The Colorado mountains were wrapped in a soft layer of early fog, the sunlight still hidden behind the peaks. Inside the cabin, everything felt unusually still — peaceful, but charged with something invisible. Stiles woke slowly, blinking against the pale light through his window.
Today felt different.He didn't know why yet…but he felt it.
He got dressed, grabbed a sweater, then stepped into the kitchen. Ronan was already sitting at the table, a mug of steaming coffee in his hands. He didn't look tired — he looked thoughtful, almost solemn.
"Morning," Stiles said, taking a seat.
Ronan nodded. "Morning."
There was no small talk, no casual comment about the weather, no joke to break the tension. Stiles felt his heartbeat shift, a quiet unease building in his chest. Ronan only looked like this before something important.
Finally, Ronan set the mug aside.
"We need to talk," he said.
Stiles straightened. "About what?"
Ronan leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers interlaced.
"There's one last mission," he said. "Before you go back to Beacon Hills."
Stiles's breath caught. Last mission? The words hit him with a strange mix of excitement and dread.
"It's in a village west of here," Ronan continued. "Small place. Remote. There have been multiple deaths these past few weeks."
Stiles felt a cold thread run down his spine.
"What kind of deaths?" he asked.
"The kind that point toward a werewolf," Ronan replied evenly. "Not an Alpha or a Beta — the patterns suggest an Omega. Alone. Unstable."
Stiles nodded slowly. Omegas were unpredictable, isolated, dangerous because they had lost their pack — or never had one.
"And you want us to go check it out?" Stiles asked.
Ronan shook his head.
"No," he said. "Not us."
Stiles blinked. "What?"
Ronan looked him straight in the eyes.
"I want you to go," he said quietly. "Alone."
The room seemed to tilt for a moment.
"Alone?" Stiles repeated. "Ronan… a werewolf—"
"An Omega," Ronan corrected. "Not a full pack wolf. Not one of the old ones. Not a blood-crazed monster from legend." He paused. "You can do this."
Stiles didn't answer at first. His mind was moving too fast.He had fought beside Ronan. He had hunted. He had tracked.But alone? Entirely alone?
Ronan continued, his tone steady:
"This isn't about testing your strength. It's about testing your judgment. Your instincts. Your control."
Stiles stared at the table for a long moment.
"…and what if I fail?" he whispered.
Ronan didn't flinch.
"You won't."
Stiles looked up.
"You know how I'm so sure?" Ronan asked. "Because you're not the boy who hesitated anymore. You've grown into someone capable. Someone sharp. Someone trained."
A long, heavy silence passed between them.
Stiles exhaled slowly. "Okay. I'll do it."
Ronan nodded once. "Good. But before you go—"
He stood up.
"I have something for you."
Stiles frowned. "What? Supplies? Maps?"
Ronan shook his head.
"No. A gift."
He gestured for Stiles to follow, and Stiles did, stepping out into the crisp mountain air. The morning was quiet, the trees rustling softly as they walked around the side of the cabin.
Then Ronan stopped beside something large covered with a tarp.
Stiles blinked.He had never seen this here before.Not once.
Ronan grabbed the edge of the cover, took a breath…and pulled it away.
What stood beneath the tarp made Stiles freeze completely.
A sleek, polished, pure black Nismo R34 GT-R Z-tune.
The body reflected the morning light, every line sharp, elegant, and powerful. Even standing still, it looked fast.
Stiles's words caught in his throat.
"…what is this?" he breathed.
"My gift to you," Ronan said simply.
Stiles stared, stunned. "A— a GT-R? Ronan, this is—"
"Not new," Ronan interrupted gently. "It's the 2004 model. But it's in perfect condition."
Stiles stepped closer, hand lightly brushing the mirror-smooth surface.
"I… I don't understand," he said. "Why?"
Ronan's expression changed.Just slightly.A shadow crossed his eyes — one Stiles had seen only once before, the previous night when Ronan had spoken about Marcus.
"It was meant for my son," Ronan said quietly.
Stiles froze.
Ronan continued, voice steady but soft.
"I bought it years ago. Back when Marcus was little. I told myself that when he grew up — when he became a man — I'd give it to him."He swallowed, but his gaze didn't break."That day never came."
Stiles placed a hand on the hood, grounded by the metal beneath him.
"Ronan…" he whispered, unsure what to say.
Ronan rested a hand on Stiles's shoulder — firm, warm, steady.
"I'm giving it to you," he said. "Not because you're replacing him. No one could. But because… you became someone I'm proud of. Someone I could trust with what I never got the chance to give."
Stiles' chest tightened painfully.
He looked at Ronan with an emotion he couldn't name — something between gratitude, sadness, and deepest respect.
"…I don't know what to say," he whispered.
"You don't need to say anything," Ronan replied. "Just take it. Use it. And when you leave for Beacon Hills… let it be the thing that carries you into the next part of your life."
Stiles nodded slowly.
Ronan handed him the keys.
Stiles stared at them.The weight of them.The meaning of them.
Then Ronan stepped back.
"You leave for the village as soon as you're ready," he said. "I've already packed your gear. Maps, survival equipment, communication device."He paused. "Remember — this mission is yours alone. I won't be watching from the shadows. I won't intervene."
Stiles felt the world grow heavier.
This wasn't just another hunt.This was a rite of passage.
"And Stiles," Ronan added quietly,
"Come back alive. Not because you must… but because someone waits for you."
Stiles looked at him — really looked at him — and nodded.
"I will," he said.
Ronan gave a single nod in return, turned, and walked back toward the cabin.
Stiles remained beside the GT-R for a long time, fingers around the keys, heart steady but full of something deep, fierce, and new.
This was it.
His last mission before returning home.
His final test.
The road, the hunt, and everything he'd become…all of it started here.
End of Chapter 19