Chapter 1
Stiles Stilinski’s Final Mission Before Graduating from the FBI’s Magical Academy
Ten missions down. One more to go, and he’d finally get his first real case after graduation. His dream, within reach—if he didn’t die here first. The dark creatures were already closing in.
“Damn it, Luka!”
Luka was the idiot who had woken them up, disturbing their slumber within the ancient stone walls of an abandoned château in France. Who in their right mind would mess with the Argent’s domain? Ghost purging was supposed to be a clean job—help the spirits move on, not unleash furious dark beasts imprisoned by the Argents centuries ago.
Now, Luka was a few steps behind, and Stiles was fully prepared to kick him if necessary. Meanwhile, their girls had wisely taken the easy way out.
“How was I supposed to know the Argents trapped monsters inside stone walls?!”
“And why the hell did you break a wall for no reason?!”
As if summoned by their bickering, the decaying floor beneath them gave way. Both fell, bracing for the inevitable bone-crushing impact. Luka, ever the quick thinker, fired off a spark of flame magic, propelling himself toward Stiles. He latched on tight.
“Get off me, you’re heavy!”
“Save me!!”
“Fuck you!”
Stiles pressed his thumbs against his ring and middle fingers, summoning a glowing sphere of air that rapidly expanded, slowing their fall just enough—
Thud.
Face-first into dirt and rotting wood.
“Happy now?!”
Luka scratched his head, looking far too pleased with himself. “Well, I didn’t die, so… yeah.”
“Great. Now, what’s your plan for the five nine-foot-tall monsters coming straight at us?”
Stiles pushed himself up, dusting off his clothes before yanking Luka up as well.
“Remember the crystal lesson, Sparky? Use it. Trap them. I doubt they can break through.”
“You think it’s that easy?!” Stiles shot back. Unlike Stiles, Luka wasn’t a Spark—just a spellcaster with magic bound by incantations and sigils.
“Well, it’s a stupid plan, but it’s all we’ve got. After that, we’ll transport them to the Academy. I can’t cast anymore spells, Selene and Hayla already ran away.”
Stiles exhaled sharply. Night creatures could regenerate, and he had no idea how to kill these ones. Fire hadn’t worked. Slicing them apart hadn’t worked. Studying them at the Academy might be the only real option.
Clapping his hands together, he thrust them toward the sky. A series of glowing sigils appeared in the sky, from which several massive crystal spikes shot out, forming cages around the dark creatures
His vision swayed. Magic drained fast, and he was spent.
Didn’t matter. Luka could carry him. For once, the idiot could shoulder some responsibility.
———
Back to home… weird
Stiles returned home with his dad after graduation. He never thought he’d say it, but—he missed this place. And he missed his father even more.
For now, until his first case assignment, he was taking care of his dad like a child.
The house was a complete disaster. Dust and clutter everywhere. He didn’t blame his dad—his father never really knew how to live without him.
So, Stiles had spent the entire day scrubbing the place clean, then cooking his father real food for the first time in years. No more greasy takeout. No more questionable gas station snacks. He didn’t know when his dad would be home, but by the time he arrived, everything would be perfect.
He slid a tray of vegetarian lasagna into the oven before starting on the side dishes. His dad was going to eat until he burst. Maybe some tacos, a fresh salad, and natural juices to go with it.
With a flick of his fingers, the dishes scrubbed themselves, floating in midair as he focused on chopping vegetables.
Then—the front door creaked open.
Back already? That was fast.
But instead of his dad, Melissa stepped in—his best friend’s mother. His second mom.
“MELI!”
She froze, eyes going wide with surprise. She hadn’t known he was back.
For her, Stiles was like a son. When he left for the academy, it felt like losing one. Without hesitation, she crossed the room and hugged him tight, ignoring the floating dishes and enchanted knives slicing cucumbers midair.
“Kid! When did you get back?!”
Stiles didn’t blame her for not knowing. The graduation ceremony had been held late at night at the academy, and only his dad had been able to attend. By the time they got home, they were both exhausted, collapsing together in his father’s bed—the only clean one in the house.
By the time Stiles woke up, his dad had already left for work, and Stiles had thrown himself into cleaning, postponing any emotional reunions until after the house was livable again.
Now, standing here with Melissa—seeing her exactly the same, holding a packed lunch for his dad—it made his chest tighten.
So his dad hadn’t been completely neglecting himself.
He wanted to thank her. For looking out for his old man.
“Last night,” Stiles answered. “Sorry I didn’t stop by to say hi, Mel.”
“It’s fine. How are you, kid? You’ve gotten taller.”
“Obviously.”
The last time they saw each other, he had just graduated high school at eighteen. Now, at twenty-three, he stood in front of her, noticeably taller but otherwise unchanged. Same face. Same lanky frame.
He liked being Stiles Stilinski—skinny, smart, and deceptive. His nerdy appearance was a weapon, a way to fool his enemies.
“How’s Scott?”
Melissa stepped carefully around the floating knives, plates, and vegetables as she made her way into the kitchen. Her hand brushed against the handle of one of the airborne knives, making her jump slightly.
“Impressive… I mean, Scott’s great. He’s doing well.”
The music in the corner crackled before cutting off.
Stiles sighed and turned it off completely. He had wanted to keep the music on, because Melissa seemed far more interested in his magic than in conversation.
“Mel.”
She snapped back to attention. “Oh, right. He’s fine. Still with Allison… Argent.”
The name hung in the air like an unwelcome ghost. Melissa knew how complicated the Argents is, how the name alone stirred painful history for the kids she had watched grow up.
Stiles ignored it.
“What about the others?”
Melissa picked up a knife and started chopping alongside him, falling into an easy rhythm.
“Malia and Kira are together. Cora’s been trying to visit her uncle and brother, but… no response. I keep passing messages for her. Boyd and Erica are still attached at the hip. Isaac and Cora have this… thing. Hard to explain. She’s also looking after her nephew, Eli. Ethan, Danny, and Jackson hang out and think no one notices them. Aiden and Lydia are still… Aiden and Lydia.”
Stiles smirked, slicing through a tomato. “So, nothing’s really changed.”
But then he paused.
“Wait. When did Cora’s uncle wake up? I’ve never met him. Or her brother..”
Melissa’s knife hesitated mid-air.
“Yeah… I feel bad for her. For Eli and Malia too. They’re both lost.”
Stiles frowned. That same question had nagged at him for years.
“Why won’t they let them see their families?”
Melissa sighed, focusing on the vegetables. “They’re unanchored wolves. Dangerous. Wild. They’ve killed too many people.”
She reached for another carrot, her voice quieter.
“So they keep them locked away… until they’re dealt with.”
Stiles stopped cutting.
“Dealt with?!”
His stomach twisted.
He had never personally witnessed an elimination, but he knew what it meant. It wasn’t a prison sentence. It wasn’t a second chance.
It was execution. A fate reserved for uncontrollable monsters.
“So, how’s work?” Stiles asked, eager to steer the conversation away from the grim reality of losing family.
He still remembered Allison’s descent into madness after her father disappeared—how her grandfather’s manipulations and her mother’s cruelty had nearly driven her to trying kill them all
Melissa sighed. “Trying to take care of the poor Alphas before bring another Darach to twist their minds and bodies until they go insane… and then die.”
Stiles scoffed. “I don’t get why you talk about them like they’re victims. Didn’t they kill people?”
“Yeah, they did. But… I don’t know.” She hesitated, as if picking her words carefully. “I feel like they need help. Like they need a chance. Every single kill they committed was when they were unstable, and they even killed the Darachs that came to help them. It’s like they’re… giving up. Begging for execution. I’m not defending them. I know they’re dangerous. But after caring for them for a while, I realized they’re not completely evil.”
Stiles said nothing, focusing instead on plating the food.
Melissa left soon after, even though he’d wanted her to stay for dinner.
As soon as he shut the door behind her, the doorbell rang again.
Probably Melissa forgetting something.
But when he opened it, a man in a black cloak stood there.
“Um..”
The FBI’s magical insignia gleamed on his chest.
Without a word, the man handed him a file.
Stiles’ first case.
Then, in a blink, the man vanished.
Stiles shut the door and tossed the file onto the table. He’d read it later.
Right now, his dad had just come home, looking utterly exhausted—thoug his eyes lit up at the sight of the spotless house.
“Stiles.”
“Dad. Come on, I’m serving dinner.”
Noah took a deep breath, inhaling the delicious scent. “Kid, I missed you so damn much—for your cooking.”
Stiles gave him a look. “Just for my cooking?”
Sliding into his seat, Noah grinned. “We’re watching Star Wars after dinner.”
Mouth full, he added, “God, I even missed those terrible movies you force me to watch. Feels like forever.”
After dinner, Stiles let the dishes clean themselves while he curled up on the couch with his dad, watching old movies and laughing like nothing had changed.
Eventually, exhaustion won, and they called it a night.
Stiles took the case file to his room, sitting in front of his laptop. He typed in a series of encrypted runes along with his official membership ID for the secret magical network.
Paper was too easy to trace.
He set the file on his desk, watching as it merged seamlessly into his computer.
Case Details: Eichen House.
Stiles’ stomach dropped.
Of all places.
The report was frustratingly vague. His objective? To “tame” a group of rogue werewolves.
Age range: 30-50.
No pictures.
Just names without last names.
A list of violent crimes.
And a final note: Dr. Alan Deaton would brief him tomorrow before escorting him to the facility.
Stiles leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.
Eichen House.
It was never just a hospital.