The desert night air bites at my exposed skin as I pull Parrish's hoodie tighter around me. The fire casts flickering shadows across everyone's faces, but my gaze keeps drifting to Derek. He stands apart from the group, talking quietly with Theo, but every few seconds, I catch him glancing in my direction.

We haven't spoken properly since Russia. Since that night in the cabin when he fucked me senseless in a sleeping bag, then pretended it never happened. Again.

Lydia gathers us all together, her voice tight with nervous energy. "Scott is at the cave entrance. He can hear Monroe moving around. Only one heartbeat. It's now or never."

A nervous excitement courses through me. This is what we've been hunting for eight years. But beneath that, a different kind of tension simmers - the same tension that's always between Derek and me.

Parrish claps me on the shoulder, his hellhound warmth seeping through the hoodie. "Ready, Sheriff?"

I nod, forcing a confident smile, but my eyes meet Derek's across the circle. His gaze is intense, burning into me, and for a moment, everything else fades away - the desert, the mission, Monroe. It's just us.

He takes a step toward me, his expression unreadable, and I feel my heart race. This could be it. The moment everything changes.

"Stiles," he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear.