Chapter 30

The headlights of the car slice through the trees, casting long shadows across the asphalt. Lydia leans forward from the back seat, squinting at the faint symbol drawn across the screen of Silver’s phone.

“I don’t know…” she says skeptically. “It doesn’t look like much to me.”

Silver sits in the passenger seat beside Michael, his jaw tight, thumb tapping restlessly against the door. He glances down at the mark again, then back at Lydia in the mirror.

“It’s a pattern. It means something.”

Lydia raises an eyebrow. “You really think Scott’s gonna know what it is?”

Silver shakes his head. “No. But he might know someone who does.”

She sighs, crossing her arms. “And how exactly are you so sure it means anything at all?”

Silver turns to her, his voice steadier now—conviction wrapped around every word.

“Because that girl wasn’t just looking for Scott,” he says. “It was like she needed to find him. Like she had to. That’s not nothing.”

From behind the wheel, Michael mutters, “Here’s a question—do we even know where Scott is?”

Silver hesitates for a moment, then shrugs, eyes narrowing in thought.

“He’s at a party.”

Everyone in the car whips their head toward him.

“What?” Allison asks.

“I texted Stiles for the location,” Silver says with a shrug. “Just texted Scott too. Figured we might need to move fast.”

Michael groans. “You really love making decisions for everyone, huh?”

Silver smirks slightly. “Only when I’m right.”

The four of them step out of the car. Music pulses from inside the house, spilling out in waves of laughter, bass, and footsteps. Silver weaves through the crowd, Lydia at his side, while Michael and Allison hang back, scanning the room.

Spotting Scott near the drink table, Silver walks directly toward him.

“Scott!” he calls out. “Can we talk? Outside.”

Scott sees the urgency in his face and doesn’t hesitate.

“This isn’t the talk we were gonna have, is it?” he asks, following Silver onto the porch.

Silver shakes his head. “No. I need to show you something.”

Lydia catches up and joins them, rolling up her sleeve. Silver does the same.

The bruise spans both of their hands—identical in shape and pressure, like something pressed against them both at once.

“It’s the same mark,” Lydia explains quietly. “Same shape. Same weight. Like it was meant to brand us.”

Scott leans in, eyes narrowing.

“Where did it come from?”

“We don’t know,” Silver says. “But it wasn’t random. And it wasn’t an accident.”

Scott stares at the pattern, and something shifts in his expression—recognition, or maybe unease. He looks between the two of them. The night around them has gone strangely still.

From the trees across the street—barely visible—a figure watches

🌕

Inside the Beacon Hills High School science room, tension simmered beneath the fluorescent lights. Derek leaned over a desk, studying the faint bruise on Silver’s and Lydia’s hands. “I don’t see anything,” Derek muttered, unimpressed.

“Look again,” Scott urged from beside him, frustration clear in his voice.

Derek raised an eyebrow. “How is a bruise supposed to tell me where Boyd and Erica are?”

Scott pointed toward Silver’s arm. “It’s the same on both sides. Exactly the same. Shape, pressure… Something did that.”

Derek gave a short, humorless scoff. “It’s nothing.”

Lydia steps in smoothly, arms folded.

“Pareidolia,” she said flatly. “It’s called pareidolia. Seeing patterns in meaningless data. A cloud that looks like a bunny, toast with a face—”

She moved closer, voice sharpening.

“It’s a subset of apophenia. And that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

Scott exhaled, trying to keep the peace. “They’re trying to help.”

Derek spun around, his patience gone. His tone turned biting as he gestured between Lydia and Silver.

“These two?” he scoffed.

He shot Lydia a dark look. “This one used me to resurrect my psychotic uncle—thank you, by the way.”

He then turns to Silver, voice colder.

“And this one? His family almost got my entire pack killed. Shot arrows into us like we were game animals.”

Silver’s jaw clenches. The bruise on his forearm suddenly feels heavier.

“Okay, okay, now come on,” Stiles cut in quickly, waving his hands. “Nobody died, right? I mean, maybe a little maiming, sure. Bit of mangling. But not death! And that’s what I call a legally important distinction.”

Across the room, Michael and Allison stood near the cabinets, voices low.

“My mom did everything to protect me,” Allison whispered, “and I still lost her.”

Michael nodded, but his eyes lingered on Silver—watchful, tense.

Silver finally broke his silence, eyes fixed on the metal table, voice low but sharp.

“My mom didn’t die,” he said. “She lived long enough to look me in the eye and tell me I was better off gone.”

The room stilled.

“So maybe let’s not compare scars today, Derek.”

Derek’s face tightened. He didn’t reply—just stared, lips pressed in a hard line.

Silver straightened, composed now, but the weight of his words clung to the air.

“I’m not here for you,” he said quietly. “I’m here for Scott. I’ve made peace with what happened. Doesn’t mean I forgot.”

Derek’s voice came gruff and curt.

“You want to help? Find something real. Something that actually leads us to Boyd and Cora.”

Scott stepped closer, placing himself between them.

“Derek… just give him a chance. Okay?”

Derek looked at Scott one last time. The two talking in hushed voices. He turned and walked out, the door slamming softly behind him.

🌕

“The stock market is based on two principles. What are they?” Coach asks his class. Michael sits behind Scott, and raises her head at Scott raising his hand, “Yes McCall you can go to the bathroom. Anybody else?” Michael smirked, leaning back in his seat.

“Uh, no, Coach,” Scott said. “I know the answer.”

Coach burst out laughing, and Michael couldn’t help but chuckle with him.

“Oh, you’re serious?”

“Yeah. Risk and reward,” Scott answered.

“Wow! Who are you? And what have you done to McCall? Don’t answer that. I like you better. Does anybody have a quarter?”

“Yep.” Stiles whips one out of his pocket alongside a condom that just so happens to fall on the floor.

Michael snorted, holding back a laugh.

“Stilinski,” Coach said, picking up the condom and slapping it down on Stiles’ desk. “I think you dropped this. And congratulations.”

Michael was still chuckling when Stiles glared at him.

“Shut up, Michael.”

“I’m just proud of you,” Michael teased.

Coach held up the quarter like it was sacred. “Risk and reward. Put the quarter in the mug, win the reward.”

“Watch Coach.” Michael sits up as she watches Coach blow on the quarter before bouncing it in his mug. Michael claps along with the class, sitting back. “That’s how you do it. Okay. Heart.” Coach throws the quarter as Michael catches it in the middle of the aisle. ” Risk, Reward.”

Michael leaned forward slightly. “What’s the reward?”

“You don’t have to take the pop quiz tomorrow,” Coach said.

Michael arched an eyebrow. “It’s not really a pop quiz if you tell us about it.”

Coach shook his head, muttering as he took the coin back and walked up the aisle. “Michael, I expect more from you at this point. Really.”

“McCall. Risk, Reward. The risk, if you don’t put that quarter in the mug, you have to take the pop- the- the quiz.” Coach looks behind at Michael. “And-and you have to write an essay. Risk, more work. Reward,” Coach blows on his hand, “No work at all. Or choose not to play.”

“But, isn’t this just chance?” Scott asks. “No. You know your abilities, your coordination, your focus, past experience- all factors affecting the outcome. So what’s it gonna be, McCall? More work, no work, or choose not to play?” Scott looks at the quarter before placing it down on the textbook. “No play.” Coach calls out. “Okay, who’s next? Who wants the quarter?”

Stiles slams his hands on the desk as he stands up taking the quarter, “There ya go! There’s a gamblin’ man! Come on! Step up, step up. Alright Stilinski.”

As Stiles strutted toward the front of the class with far too much confidence, Michael leaned toward Scott, lowering his voice. “Hey—about this morning—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish.

The classroom door creaked open, and Sheriff Stilinski’s voice cut in, low but firm. “Stiles.”

Stiles turned slightly, not looking up yet. “Yeah, Coach, I got it,” he called without missing a beat.

“No,” the sheriff said again, more serious this time. “Stiles.”

That stopped him. Stiles looked up, startled. The room shifted—conversations faded, even Coach stilled.

Scott and Michael exchanged a look, tension sparking in the silence between them.

“Is that normal?” Michael asked, voice low, cautious. “His dad just showing up in the middle of class like that?”

Scott shook his head. “No. Not really.”

Michael’s jaw clenched slightly.

Then, a soft plink echoed through the room.

“Yes!” Coach whooped. “Danny! That’s how it’s done! Reward. Who’s next? Greenberg, put your hand down. You don’t have a chance.”

🌕

The library is quiet, the hum of whispered conversations barely rising over the occasional flutter of turning pages. Sunlight filters through the high windows, casting long slats of light across the floor. Tucked at a corner table far from the main aisle, Lydia, Allison, and Silver are gathered around a laptop and a spread of open books, the pages scrawled with unfamiliar symbols and half-faded sigils.

Lydia suddenly lifts her gaze from her phone, eyes locking onto a pair of new boys stepping through the double doors.

“I want one,” she says under her breath, voice light but laced with interest.

Allison glances up, following her gaze before giving Lydia a teasing look.
“Which one?”

Before Lydia can answer, Silver leans lazily across the table, flipping a pen between his fingers. He doesn’t even look where she’s looking—he doesn’t need to. A smirk tugs at his mouth.

“The straight one—obviously,” he deadpans, tone dripping sarcasm.

Allison bites back a laugh, covering it with the back of her hand. Lydia huffs dramatically and rises from her seat, smoothing her skirt before striding confidently toward Aiden. Silver watches her go, shaking his head with a half-smile.

“She moves fast,” he mutters, sipping from his coffee.

Allison’s hand snakes out and grabs his cup. Silver blinks, surprised.
“Hey! Rude.”

She ignores him, eyes still on the laptop screen.
“What if it’s not a symbol?” she murmurs, her tone shifting. “What if it’s a logo… like a calling card?”

Silver straightens a little, the air between them going still.

🌕

The morning sun cast long shadows across the parking lot as Lydia and Silver stepped out of the car, the hum of the waking town around them. They moved side by side toward the school entrance, the chill of the early day still lingering in the air.

Lydia glanced at Silver, breaking the silence. “So, Mystery Girl leaves a bruise on our arms that turns out to be the logo for a bank?” Her tone held a mix of disbelief and amusement.

Silver smirked, adjusting his backpack. “Not just any bank,” he said, “It’s been closed for years.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow as they approached the front doors. “Then why aren’t you telling Scott?”

Silver’s gaze darkened slightly. “Because—according to someone—we need to find something real first.”

They exchanged a brief look before stepping into the bustling halls of the school, the weight of the mystery pressing on them both.

🌕

The cold, abandoned corridors of the First National Bank echoed under their feet. Allison led the way, flashlight in hand, while Silver trailed behind, his fingers twitching nervously, crossbow ready. Michael stayed close, keeping a tight grip on the knife tucked into his jacket. They weren’t exactly prepared for what they’d find—but they weren’t turning back either.

As they rounded a corner, a figure stepped into the light. Allison froze.

“Miss Morrell?” she asked, stunned.

Marin Morrell didn’t look surprised. She moved quickly toward them, her tone clipped and urgent.

“Keep your mouth shut and listen close,” Marin snapped, glancing over her shoulder. “You have no idea what you just stepped into. Right now, you’ve got maybe twenty seconds to get your asses hidden.”

Michael took a step forward, confused but alert.
“What are you doing here?”

“No time. You’ve got maybe twenty seconds before everything goes to hell.” Marin pointed down the hall toward a rusted metal door.
“Get in that storage closet. Lock it. Do not come out until the fighting starts.”

Silver narrowed his eyes.
“Fighting? What fighting?”

Marin’s voice dropped to a hiss.

“You’ll hear it. Now move!”

Allison shoved the door open, leading the way. The three of them ducked into the small, dark storage room, closing the door just as distant growls and footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Inside, the flashlight beam swept across dust-covered shelves, broken boxes… and something else.

Allison froze.
“Oh my god…”

Silver stepped forward slowly. There, crumpled against the back wall beneath a ripped tarp, was a body.

Michael reached down with a shaking hand and pulled the fabric aside.
The pale, lifeless face of Erica Reyes stared up at them.

🌕

Derek crashed through the wall of the vault, rolling hard onto his side as Scott stepped in after him, his eyes scanning the darkness. A shadow moved.

“Boyd?” Derek called, breathless. The figure stood still, too still.

Another growl echoed off the walls. Boyd stepped forward, but something was off—his eyes were feral, his movements rigid.

“It’s me. It’s Derek,” he said, voice low and steady, trying to reach him.

Scott moved beside him. “Stiles, now is not the best time,” he muttered, eyes still locked on Boyd.

Through the static-filled earpiece, Stiles’ voice came urgently. “Scott! No, listen to me, okay? You gotta get outta there. The vault walls are made of hecatolite—it scatters the moonlight.”

“What does that mean?” Scott asked, barely above a whisper.

“It means they haven’t felt the full moon in months,” Stiles said. “Deucalion starved them of the shift—like gladiators. They used to starve lions for three days before sending them into the arena.”

From a crack above them, moonlight filtered in.

“Scott, they’re gonna be stronger,” Stiles starts to say, “More savage, more bloodthirsty, Scott, they’re the lions. They’re the starved lions and you, and Derek just stepped into the colosseum.” Peter says.

From the shadows, another figure moved fast and low. “Cora?” Derek said, frozen in place.

Cora lunged.

“Who?”

Scott barely had time to react before Boyd came crashing down from the other side. Boyd roared, claws flashing, and flung Scott across the floor like a rag doll.

Scott scrambled to his feet, and hid behind a slab of concrete where Derek was already hiding. His breath was ragged, chest rising and falling in panic.

“You know her?” Scott asked.

“She’s my sister. My younger sister,” Derek said hoarsely.

“What the hell is she doing here?” Scott demanded.

Derek shook his head, furious. “I don’t know. I thought she was dead.”

A shout echoed from the doorway.

“Look out!” Allison’s voice rang. Silver stood next to his sister, and released his bow, grabbing the attention of the wolves.

“No!” Derek’s voice bellowed. “Don’t break the seal!”

“Boyd!” Allison yells as she wipes away some mountain ash. Boyd and Cora quickly run out.

“Don’t touch her!” Michael snapped, shoving Derek’s hand off Allison’s arm as she staggered back, still breathing hard from the chaos.

“What were you thinking?” Derek growled at Allison, voice edged with disbelief.

Tears clung to her lashes, but her voice was steady. “That I had to do something.”

Michael stepped between them, jaw clenched. “She saved your life.”

Derek turned on him, furious. “Yeah? And what do you think they’re going to do out there now? Do you have any idea what we just set loose?”

He whipped back toward Allison, eyes burning.

“You want to blame me?” she shot back, voice rising. “Well, I’m not the one turning teenagers into killers.”

Derek’s lips curled. “No. That’s just the rest of your family.”

Allison flinched. “I made mistakes,” she said quietly. “Gerard is not my fault.”

Derek didn’t blink. “And your mother?”

The air dropped to a hush. Allison froze. So did Michael.

“What do you mean?” she whispered.

Silver, off to the side, shook his head like he was trying to stop something before it started. His voice was quiet, brittle. “Scott…”

Everyone turned.

Derek didn’t look away. “Tell them, Scott.”

“Tell him what you saw.”

Silver’s breath caught in his throat.

“Scott,” he said again, almost begging now. “What does he mean? What does he mean?”