The bell above Moon's Kitchen door jingles as I slide into the booth across from Boyd, my knee bouncing nervously under the table. The diner smells like burnt toast and coffee—familiar, comforting scents that normally calm me down. Not today.

"He's been circling the block for ten minutes," Boyd says without looking up from his menu. His eyes flick toward the window, then back to me, his expression carefully neutral for any humans watching. "70s sedan, probably a Lincoln. Dark blue."

I nod, flipping through my own menu even though I've memorized it after a year of studying here. "Alex seem nervous?"

Boyd snorts quietly. "When doesn't she seem nervous? But yeah, more than usual. Said the client gave her the creeps."

The bell jingles again. My head snaps up. A man enters, collar turned up against the drizzle outside, hat pulled low over his face. But I catch the flash of a feather in the hatband—the signal Alex mentioned.

"That's him," I murmur, watching as he slides into a booth three tables away.

Boyd's nostrils flare slightly—wolf senses picking up something I can't detect. "He smells wrong, Stiles. Like..." He pauses, searching for the right word. "Like Matt Daehler."

My blood runs cold. Matt—the psychotic kanima master who terrorized us senior year. That kind of wrong.

I'm about to respond when Alex trips as she approaches the man's table—a deliberate stumble, our prearranged signal that something's very wrong. Her face pales when she gets a good look at him, her hands trembling slightly as she takes his order.

Boyd pulls out his phone, texting Erica and Danny. "They're in position."

I watch the man's hand brush against Alex's arm as she turns to leave. She freezes, her shoulders tensing. When she glances our way, her eyes are wide with fear—the kind of fear that says more than just "I'm in trouble."

This isn't just about Alex anymore.

The man says something to her, something too quiet for human ears, but Boyd tenses across from me. "He's got her wrist. Hard."

That's all I need to hear. I stand up, pushing my chair back with a screech that draws eyes. The man looks up, annoyed, as I approach his table.

"You're going to want to let go of her," I say, keeping my voice calm despite the rage building inside me.

The man smirks. "Mind your business, kid."

I lean in, letting a little of the supernatural anger show in my eyes. "Her business is my business. Let. Her. Go."

His hand tightens on Alex's wrist, and she whimpers. "Or what?"

I feel Boyd standing behind me, a silent threat. "Or you'll find out why Beacon Hills wolves have a reputation."

The man's eyes narrow, but he releases Alex, who stumbles backward into Boyd. Before I can react, he's standing, faster than he looks capable of moving. "You have no idea who you're messing with."

"Actually," I say, "I think I'm starting to get an idea. And I don't like it."

From outside, I hear a car door slam—Erica and Danny, arriving with backup. But the man just smiles, cold and predatory, before turning and walking out of the diner.

Alex collapses into the booth, breathing hard. "That was Matthew Keller," she gasps. "And he didn't come for me."

I exchange a worried look with Boyd. "Then who did he come for?"

Alex meets my eyes, her expression grave. "He mentioned a name before you interrupted. Elizabeth Burke. And he said something about... Beacon Hills."

My blood turns to ice. Beacon Hills. The Nemeton. The pack.

"Danny just texted," Boyd says, checking his phone. "He found Burke. She's in the trunk. And she says Keller's working for someone else. Someone who wants the Nemeton."

I sink into the booth, my mind racing. "Khari Satiavi," I whisper. The name from my research—ancient vampire legend, daughter of Lilith.

Boyd nods. "Erica recognized the name. She's real, Stiles. And she's coming for us."