𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐘𝐀𝐑𝐃 | DEREK HALE

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When Cynthia heard the approaching footsteps, she looked up from her tea to find Cindy adorned in an outfit that deviated sharply from her usual casual attire.

Stiles was evidently in the vicinity.

Cindy sported a snug, long-sleeved dress, its hem halting midway up her thighs, complemented by sheer stockings.

In a surprising twist, she opted for the comfort of her Converse shoes, a stark contrast to the expected high heels heeled boots.

A jacket dangled casually from her right hand, and her typically unruly hair had been transformed into a sleek, pin-straight style.

A faint application of makeup adorned her features, prompting Cynthia to blink twice in astonishment.

Observing the unexpected ensemble, Cynthia couldn't help but sense that something was amiss.

Straightened hair, a dress, and makeup were not elements of Cindy's typical repertoire.

The grandmother's curiosity was piqued, and she harboured a myriad of questions. However, she understood that answers might elude her tonight.

Cindy, after a brief exchange of goodbyes, departed from the house, leaving her grandmother in a state of pondering and an unspoken sense of concern.

Cynthia found solace in her trust in Cindy.

The young girl had never given her a reason to doubt her judgment, and Cynthia believed she would be fine.

Witnessing Cindy climb into Stiles' Jeep eased some of her concerns, although she couldn't help but worry about the old rust bucket breaking down. However, her concerns about Cindy getting into serious trouble were minimal.

As the years passed, Cynthia acknowledged that she was growing too old for such worries.

Cindy consistently made sound choices, and with Stiles at her side, she was confident that they would look out for each other.

Sipping her tea, Cynthia comforted herself with the assurance that everything would be fine.

They arrived at Lydia's house around nine, just when the party was hitting its peak.

Stiles couldn't help but be amazed that his best friend, Cindy, was donning a dress. Her transformation from the usual casual attire left him inquisitive.

"Okay," Stiles piped up first, unable to contain his curiosity, "What's with the dress?"

Cindy casually shrugged, "I had nothing else to wear..."

"You lie!" Stiles accused, pointing a finger at her, confident that he had uncovered the truth.

His intuition about Cindy was typically spot-on.

"Please, Cindy, don't try to win Scott back."

Stiles halted her progress, grabbing her arms for emphasis.

She responded with a roll of her light eyes, a gesture that spoke volumes, before locking gazes with him, her lighter eyes meeting his darker ones.

She leaned in closer to him, her breath carrying a hint of mischief, "No one is trying to win Scott back. The plan is to get wasted."

Cindy flashed him a pursed-lip smile, smoothly extricating herself from his grasp.

Stiles muttered curses under his breath, a mix of concern and exasperation, silently praying that nothing untoward would happen tonight.

The party held little appeal for her, but the allure of free alcoholic beverages was undeniable.

Stiles made a conscious effort to keep an eye on her, only to find her elusive.