“You’re not kidding. You got the usuals—” Maybe it should be odd, a human so new to the Underground pinpointing what constitutes usual. “—Sylvia and her ilk, buncha vamps, some high tier fae, you.”

He gives the other man a sly look.

“Guess our vulpine buddy isn’t the only one hoping to forge alliances.”

Though Stiles can't say what Abigail Widdowson would need said alliances for. Based on a series of text messages, he has his suspicions, but nothing concrete.