The world was never fair, he’d learnt that early on. People were treated unfairly, good people lost the ones they loved, and as much as Stiles wanted to pity himself, he was lucky compared to the werewolves. So once he turned twenty one he took most if not all his saved up money to buy a werewolf, a specific one, one he’d seen in town in his youth, one who he knew had lost basically everything.
“Mister Stilinski I trust you have found something of interest in our stock?” The lady was old, not exactly scary, but unnerving at the very least. Stiles nodded. “That’s ten thousand for number thirty five, Hale.”
He was informed about the wolf, advised to choose someone else, but he denied it, crossing his arms and making up some story about the guy at least being pretty until he was finally directed to the room he was in. “Hello?”