[Stiles' gaze is locked on one of the mirrors and he nods slightly, clutching more tightly onto his bat. He feels it too. That they're being watched. That something is lying in wait. And Stiles know what it is. Hates it.
He breathes out, shaky and nervous.
He catches movement in one of the mirrors from behind and he whirls, shattering it with his bat.]
no subject
He breathes out, shaky and nervous.
He catches movement in one of the mirrors from behind and he whirls, shattering it with his bat.]
There won't be if I break every damn one.