Shattered Bonds

The Search begins

The panic in Scott's chest burned hotter than the anger he felt. The rope had come out of nowhere, pulling Stiles away from him, and in an instant, Stiles was gone—vanished without a trace.

"Where did they go?" Scott's voice cracked as he stood in the middle of the forest, his mind racing.

Derek was there, his stoic expression giving nothing away. "Stay calm. We'll find him."

"Calm?" Scott nearly yelled, spinning on his heel. "They took him, Derek. They took him!"

"I know," Derek said softly, but the underlying tension in his voice made it clear that he wasn't as calm as he appeared. "We'll find him. Together."

They weren't alone. The rest of the pack had gathered around them, and each face was a mirror of Scott's—fear, guilt, and raw panic etched into their expressions. Lydia, Jackson, and Isaac had arrived on the scene just moments after Stiles was taken, and now they were all searching for clues.

"I can feel him," Lydia muttered, her face pale as she concentrated. "He's still alive. Just... barely."

"What do you mean?" Scott asked urgently, his eyes wide with hope.

Lydia shook her head, unable to explain the sensation, but it was clear that she was picking up something. "I feel him... but there's something else. The danger is getting worse, and I can't pinpoint where he is. He's moving... or he was."

"Damn it." Scott's jaw clenched. "We have to find him. Now."

Derek stepped forward, his voice firm. "Focus. We can't afford to let our emotions control us. We need to track him down methodically. We search in teams. Lydia, you stay close to Scott. Jackson and Isaac, go check the perimeter. I'll lead the search."

The pack split into groups, combing through the woods, but hours passed and still, there was no sign of Stiles. No scent, no trail. Not even a hint of where he could be.

As the night stretched on, exhaustion began to weigh heavily on Scott, but he refused to give up. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Stiles—lying helpless, somewhere in the dark, maybe hurt, maybe scared.

"I should have stopped him," Scott muttered to himself. "He's not supposed to get taken. He's the one who always gets us out of trouble. He's... he's the one who makes us laugh when everything seems impossible. And now, I can't even save him."

Derek, who had been searching at the far end of the woods, came back with grim news. "There's nothing here. No sign of Stiles, no trail. It's like he vanished into thin air."

Scott's heart sank, but there was no time to dwell on the hopelessness of the situation. They couldn't afford to fall apart now.

"We need to think. We're missing something," Derek said. His voice softened, an edge of frustration creeping in. "We need to move fast. The longer we wait, the worse it gets."

Just as the pack regrouped, Scotts Phone started ringing. A Call from Sheriff Stilinski.

"Any updates on his location?" the Sheriff asked, he had been informed as soon as possible to help with the Search.

Scott's throat tightened. He couldn't bring himself to answer right away. How could he explain that they had no idea where Stiles was? That they had failed?

"Nothing yet," Scott said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But we're not stopping. We'll find him."

---

Days had passed since Stiles' disappearance, and with each passing hour, the search grew more desperate. The pack was exhausted, physically and emotionally. Scott could feel the weight of guilt in every step he took, knowing that Stiles was out there somewhere, and they couldn't get to him fast enough.

But the breakthrough came when Lydia, using her banshee abilities, picked up on something. She had a vision—an image of a dilapidated hotel, an old, rundown building on the outskirts of town. It wasn't much, but it was enough to set the pack in motion.

"I think they're holding him there," Lydia said, her voice quiet, barely above a whisper.

Scott's heart slammed in his chest. The thought of Stiles being locked away in some old hotel made his blood run cold. But it was a lead—a small, fragile thread they could follow.

The pack regrouped, the quiet urgency in the air palpable. They knew they were close now. They could feel it. But the closer they got, the more they realized they were up against something far more dangerous than they'd ever anticipated.

It wasn't just a random group of rogues or supernatural hunters—they were facing a well-organized, malicious force. Whoever had taken Stiles was playing a far more complex game than they had expected. And Scott could feel that time was running out. Every minute that passed felt like an eternity, and the dread that gnawed at him only grew with each step.

The journey took them deeper into the outskirts of Beacon Hills, to a part of town that most people avoided. Abandoned hotels, decaying buildings, and dark alleyways were all part of the landscape here. But it wasn't the kind of place you'd expect to find a well-equipped group of kidnappers, let alone a holding facility for one of their own.

"This is it," Lydia said, her voice tense as she scanned the building. "I can feel him. He's close, but he's not alone."

Scott's heart pounded in his chest. "Stay alert," he whispered. "We don't know who or what we're dealing with."

The pack moved in slowly, creeping through the darkened hallway, their footsteps muffled by the aged carpet beneath them. The hotel was eerie quiet, except for the occasional creak of the floorboards or the distant sound of water dripping somewhere in the building. It felt like the building itself was watching them, aware of their every move.

"There has to be another way in," Isaac said, his voice barely a whisper. "It's too quiet in here."

Before anyone could respond, a distant clatter echoed down the hallway. The sound of something being thrown—maybe a chair. It was a signal, loud and clear. The kidnappers knew they were here.

Derek's eyes narrowed as he examined the room. "They're playing us. The kidnappers know we're close. They want us to waste time."