HEARTLESS - STILES STILINSKI

2- The Lies We Tell Ourselves

The school bell rang, signaling the end of another class, and I could feel a hundred pairs of eyes on me as I gathered my books. I'd always hated being the new girl, but after years of moving from place to place, you'd think I'd be used to it. Beacon Hills was no different from any other small town-a close-knit community where everyone knew everyone else's business. And now, I was the latest piece of gossip.

I adjusted the strap of my bag over my shoulder and walked out of the classroom, keeping my expression neutral. The hallway was buzzing with the usual after-class chatter, and I could hear snippets of conversations as I passed by. Most of it was typical high school drama, but every now and then, I caught something that made my ears perk up-mentions of strange events, rumors about the woods, talk of the supernatural.

But I wasn't here to chase down rumors. I had a mission, and it didn't involve getting sucked into the town's teenage soap opera. My focus was clear: find out what was really going on in Beacon Hills and figure out why this place was such a magnet for the supernatural. That meant keeping my head down, avoiding unnecessary attention, and definitely staying away from the locals.

I sighed inwardly, knowing that last part was already proving to be a challenge. Stiles Stilinski was a problem, plain and simple. I had pegged him as someone to watch out for the moment I walked into that classroom. His sharp eyes, the way he questioned me, how he seemed to see right through the half-truths I offered up-it all made him dangerous. And that was before I even factored in how annoyingly attractive he was.

I clenched my jaw as I made my way down the hall. The last thing I needed was to get distracted by some guy, especially one who was clearly suspicious of me. Stiles was sharp-sharper than anyone I'd met in a long time. I could tell he wasn't going to let me off the hook easily, which meant I needed to be careful around him. Careful, and distant.

But, despite myself, I couldn't stop thinking about the way he looked at me, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. It was unsettling, but also... intriguing. Most people didn't bother to dig beneath the surface, but Stiles was different. He didn't just accept things at face value, and that made him a wildcard in a town full of hidden dangers.

As I walked to my locker, I caught sight of my reflection in one of the hallway windows. Silky dark black hair fell in soft waves around my shoulders, my brown eyes staring back at me, unreadable. I'd perfected the art of the poker face years ago-it was essential in my line of work-but here, it felt like I was wearing a mask. I was always on guard, always hiding something, and sometimes I wondered if I even remembered what it felt like to just be myself.

If I could even figure out who that was.

I shook off the thought as I reached my locker, twisting the combination lock until it clicked open. I was here for a reason, and getting all introspective about my identity crisis wasn't going to help. My father's voice echoed in my mind, stern and unyielding: Stay focused, Avery. Trust no one. You're alone in this.

But that was the thing, wasn't it? I didn't want to be alone. Not anymore.

I shoved my books into my locker and grabbed what I needed for my next class. The truth was, despite everything my father had drilled into me, I wanted more. More than just hunting, more than the endless cycle of moving and killing and never looking back. I wanted to understand the world I lived in, to find a place where I could belong without constantly looking over my shoulder. But I wasn't naïve enough to believe that Beacon Hills was that place. Not yet.

I closed my locker and turned to head to my next class when I nearly collided with Lydia Martin. She was the epitome of high school perfection-beautiful, confident, and completely out of my league in every possible way. Her strawberry blonde hair was styled in loose curls, and her piercing green eyes seemed to see right through me.