Rekindle The Flame || Stilinski || Book Four || WATTY's 2022

Forty

WHEN STILES ENTERED THE PAGE HOUSEHOLD, HE DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT.

Jemma's words just played on repeat as he walked across the front lawn, hands in his pockets. She refused to reveal anything, but swore it was a sight he needed to see. And when Stiles finally arrived upstairs, he couldn't do anything but agree with her.

He lost his breath as he entered the abandoned room that had been hidden behind the wallpaper. Jemma watched him wander around the carpet in awe, from where she remained near the doorway. His feet guided him naturally to the window, where he peaked through the broken blinds.

He couldn't help but let a smile slip onto his face, seeing his own bedroom window only meters away. His hunch had been right.

"You knew about it, didn't you?" Jemma's quiet voice made him turn to her.

To reply, Stiles dipped his head into a nod. "I, uh, had my suspicions," he admitted and rubbed the back of his neck. "But I didn't know anything for sure."

The empath pursed her lips, accepting his answer. But then, she quickly grew frustrated. Not at Stiles, but at herself. "God, this room was on the blueprints," she stated, still in disbelief. "My dad said the contractors made a mistake, but...that was over twenty-five years ago. I was only a baby when we moved in."

Stiles didn't reply, wanting to look over the bedroom again. He just couldn't help it. The room being there proved Lydia's theory--about Michael being conjured and the relics. Jemma was so upset when they never found one, but it turned out it had been there all along.

Except Stiles quickly noticed a difference when his eyes moved towards the left wall. It wasn't empty anymore.

There was a bed. Covered in a purple comforter to match the walls and fluffy white pillows, there was a bed.

"Stiles, did you forget something?"

Stiles's lips parted from Sierra's voice echoing in the room. When he turned more to the right, tears appeared in the corners of his eyes. Because now, a ribbon bulletin board hung beside the huge window, with a wooden desk pushed underneath it.

"Stiles?"

The boy's gaze snapped back to Jemma, who stared at him in confusion. "What is it?" she asked, sensing the longing and heartache around him.

Stiles didn't reply at first, but furrowed his brows. He quickly faced the bed again, his insides twisting when he noticed it wasn't there. The bulletin board also disappeared--along with the desk. The room was completely empty.

"It's, uh, nothing," Stiles forced out, and wiped away a stray tear from his cheek.

"I don't understand how you and Lydia knew this was here," Jemma went on as her head started to shake. Stiles cast his gaze to the floor, but immediately met her eyes when she finished her thought. "But...if you want to discuss the possibility that I had a little sister, I'm listening."

The sides of Stiles' mouth flipped up and he slowly nodded to show that he agreed. After closing the door to give them more privacy, he began to tell Jemma everything he knew.

It didn't take long, since Jemma knew the basis of what was occurring in Beacon Hills. She just never received updates after their talk in the living room three weeks prior. So much had happened--especially in regards to the trip to Canaan.

Jemma was intrigued when hearing about Lenore, especially when Stiles started talking on how she conjured up her dead son, Caleb. She meant what she said; she wanted to listen to Stiles. She wanted to believe him.

Before, she played along with the idea that maybe the group of teenagers were on the right track. But now, evidence continued to back up their claims, including the very room Jemma stood in. There wasn't a reason for her not to full absorb everything Stiles stated.