Stiles's Arc

Chapter 1 of 20

Stiles bolts upright in bed, sheets soaked through. The dream still claws at him — the fox spirit shrieking, the dark hound tearing it apart, then turning its yellow eyes on him. He gasps, scanning his room. His evidence board still leans in the corner, six photos pinned, one wound gap unsolved. Just a dream. He tells himself that twice. Then he sees it on his pillow. A dark coin, heavy, etched with a snarling jackal's face. The same face from the dream. His hand shakes as he picks it up. The metal is cold. Too cold. He turns it over, finds strange markings he can't read, and his stomach drops. He shoves the coin into his jeans pocket and dresses fast. He doesn't tell his dad. He doesn't call Scott. Not yet. He grabs his keys and heads for the door, trying to breathe normal. Outside, the morning is too quiet. He freezes on the porch. The bushes near the driveway shift, and for one second he sees eyes — red, glowing, watching him. He blinks. Gone. Just leaves. His heart hammers anyway. He runs to his blue jeep and drives. Hands tight on the wheel. He checks the mirror twice a block. The coin burns against his thigh through the denim. At the brick high school, Scott is already waiting by the steps. He looks Stiles over once. "You okay?" Stiles forces a grin. "Yeah. Fine. Just didn't sleep." Scott studies him a beat longer, then nods slow. Stiles walks past him into the building, coin heavy in his pocket, knowing now that whatever killed those six people knows his name.