Chapter 38

The hallway buzzed with the low hum of generators and worried conversation. Emergency lights flickered overhead, casting sharp shadows across Beacon Hills High’s pale walls.

Isaac paced near the lockers, phone pressed to his ear. “I can’t get a hold of Derek or Scott,” he muttered, his voice tight. He glanced toward Allison, who was just ending a call of her own.

“They’re transferring Lydia to a hospital downtown,” Allison said, brushing her hair behind her ear. “She’s got bruising on her neck, but they think she’ll be okay. They’re evacuating Beacon Memorial.”

“The storm’s that bad?” Isaac asked, concern rising in his voice.

“It will be,” she replied grimly. “I overheard one of the EMTs—they’re not sure if the backup generators at Beacon can handle a full outage. They’re years out of date.”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed. “Beacon Memorial… that’s where Cora is.”

Just then, Argent stepped into the hall, flanked by Rachel Heart. “I’m taking you both home,” Argent said, firm but calm.

Michael was already beside them, looking between Silver and his mom. “I don’t think that’s happening.”

Isaac shook his head. “No. I have to get to the hospital. I’m not leaving Cora there with just Peter.”

“I’ll go with him,” Silver said, stepping forward. His voice was steady, but there was heat behind it. “I’m not going home.”

“This isn’t the time for revenge,” Argent snapped. “You think confronting Deucalion will fix what he did to you? He’ll rip you apart.”

Silver’s voice dropped, tight with rage. “Then let him try.”

Michael stepped between them. “Silver—stop. This isn’t why we’re going.”

“He’s out there,” Silver insisted, barely holding his voice in check. “And I’m not hiding anymore.”

“You’re not a hunter,” Argent said, firm. “And this isn’t justice. It’s suicide.”

Rachel placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “And what about you?” she asked softly.

Michael grabbed Allison’s hand, looking back at her then back at his mother. “I’m not going either. I’m with them.”

Rachel sighed, her jaw tight. “You’re not soldiers.”

“Fine,” he muttered at last. “But you listen to everything I say when we get there. If I say run, you run. Understood?”

“Crystal,” Silver said, already moving toward the exit.

🌕

Rain poured in steady sheets, soaking the pavement and drowning out the night. The lights of Beacon Memorial Hospital glowed dimly through the downpour. Argent stood just outside, eyes scanning the lot.

“Looks like the evacuation’s over,” he said flatly.

Allison stepped closer, squinting into the rain. “Are you catching a scent?”

Isaac shook his head. “Not with the rain this heavy.”

Argent’s gaze drifted to Silver, his voice dropping into something softer. “You don’t need to prove anything tonight.”

Silver didn’t look at him. His jaw was tight, his arms crossed. “I’m not trying to prove anything.”

Argent studied his son, arms folded. After a beat, he stepped forward, his tone lowering into something more father than soldier. “You’re chasing vengeance, Silver.”

Silver snapped his head toward him, voice sharp and cracking. “Well, I can’t exactly go after the bullies who started this, can I? He wanted me dead, Dad. He scarred me. I have nightmares—waking up shaking, sweating. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. He made me this… this disgusting, insecure monster.” His voice caught, raw and bitter.

Argent’s shoulders eased, the hard edge of the hunter softening with guilt. “Okay,” he said gently. “Silver, then. But you need to hear me. You survived Deucalion once. That means something. He wanted you dead, and he failed. You don’t owe him your life just because he didn’t finish the job.”

Silver looked away, rain streaking his face, though it was hard to tell where water ended and grief began. His voice was barely a whisper. “Then why does it still feel like I’m waiting for him to?”

Silence fell between them, heavy and still. Argent exhaled, slow and tired, turning his eyes to the empty street.

Silver didn’t move. “You think I’ll ever stop feeling like prey?”

No one answered. The storm rolled on, as relentless as the fear in Silver’s chest.

🌕

The flickering hallway lights cast long, uneasy shadows across the sterile floor. The building groans beneath the weight of the storm battering the windows. Silver, Michael, Rachel, Allison, Argent, and Isaac move in a tight cluster down the dim corridor, every step echoing too loud in the quiet.

Rachel and Argent moved ahead, weapons drawn, their boots silent against the tile. In perfect sync, they cocked their guns—two sharp metallic clicks slicing through the tense quiet.

“I’m gonna take that as a sign you’re a little worried,” Isaac muttered under his breath, glancing at Rachel.

Without looking at him, Rachel replied firmly, “Stay close to me.”

Silver trailed behind them, eyes darting across the empty corridor. “This place feels wrong,” he said quietly. “Like it’s holding its breath.”

Allison gripped her weapon tighter. “Storm or not, hospitals aren’t supposed to feel this empty.”

A low, distant thud echoed through the hall. Subtle. Faint. But enough to freeze every step.

“I think I heard something,” Isaac said, tension rising in his voice.

“Where?” Michael spun around, back to back with Silver now.

Isaac didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stepped away from the group, crouched low, and then laid himself flat against the cold tile, pressing his ear to the floor.

Michael blinked. “What are you doing? This isn’t Die Hard, man.”

The others stood completely still, breath held. After a long, silent beat, Isaac looked up.

“Below us,” he whispered.

🌕

“Scott?”

“Scott?!”

He rushes over, pulling Scott into a tight, relieved hug. Scott holds on just as tightly for a second, exhaling in sheer exhaustion. Melissa stands nearby, catching her breath, her expression urgent.

Melissa faced the group, her voice tense. “There’s a problem. Jennifer and Derek are stuck in the elevator.”

Argent turned to Scott, concern in his eyes. “So then they’re essentially trapped?”

Scott nodded. “Yeah, right.”

Isaac added, “There’s no way of getting them out without turning the power back on.”

Melissa shook her head. “But if we turn it back on, they’ll hear the elevator moving.”

Scott’s jaw tightened. “And the second it stops, they’ll be on them. We can’t let that happen—we can’t get into a fight with them right now.”

Argent stepped forward, his tone cold. “You’ve got us now.”

Scott shook his head firmly. “It’s too much to risk. They want Jennifer dead. And if she dies, there’s nothing we can do for Stiles’ dad. Or Cora.”

A beat of heavy silence settles. Everyone looks at each other, tension rising.

Argent’s voice cut through the room, flat and tired.
“I don’t even think I know which teacher this is.”

Isaac blurted out, a little too casually, “She’s—the one with brown hair. Kind of hot, actually.”

Everyone turned to stare. Michael muffled a laugh behind his hand, while Silver raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

Isaac held up his hands defensively. “No, it’s jus—just an observation.”

Allison stepped forward, her tone sharp and sure. “I’ve got an idea.”

Then Argent’s grip was on Silver’s shoulders, pulling him aside. His voice was low but heavy with meaning.
“I want you to stay with us. Help us out. But I know you. As soon as I turn around, you’re going to run. When you do that, just—”

Silver cut in, voice dry and biting,
“Live up to the name?”

“No.” Argent shook his head quickly. “Stay safe.”
He pressed a quick kiss to Silver’s forehead.

Scott stepped closer, worry etched across his face. “What are you doing?”

Silver sighed, frustration clear in his voice.
“I don’t want to tell you now. I’ll find you after all this, okay?”

“Sil—”

“I promise you, Scott.” The words were firm, a vow hanging heavy between them.

Kali’s expression was tight, her claws flexing against her palm. “What are they doing?” she asked, her tone edged with impatience.

Deucalion, ever composed, let a small smirk pull at the corner of his mouth. His blind eyes remained eerily focused as if he saw more than anyone else. “Plotting,” he said, voice calm and faintly amused.

🌕

The storm howled outside, battering the windows of the hospital as smoke curled through broken corridors and emergency lights pulsed dimly overhead. The building moaned under the pressure of wind and water, but Silver moved through it—wounded, determined, crossbow clutched in shaking hands.

He turned a corner, boots crunching on shattered glass, only to stop dead. A figure emerged from the smoke like a phantom, slow and deliberate.

Silver raised his weapon. “It’s you,” he breathed.

Deucalion stepped forward, calm and unblinking. “You’ve grown,” he said, voice smooth as silk.

Silver’s grip tightened. “Why me?” he asked, pain flickering in his eyes. “Why didn’t you just kill me? Why did you make me live through this?”

Deucalion tilted his head, almost regretfully. “Because look at you now, Arthur. Look how strong you are. Those scars made you a man in your family’s eyes. You survived an Alpha attack—and didn’t even turn.”

Silver’s voice cracked. “You wanted me to.”

There was a flicker of something darker in Deucalion’s expression. “Of course I did. You would have been so much stronger. You could’ve been one of us.”

The moment hung—too long, too tense.

Then, in a sudden blur of motion, Deucalion was on him. Claws flashed in the red haze of the emergency lights, and Silver didn’t have time to scream before they tore across his face—deep, clean, surgical. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud, blood blooming beneath him like a crimson flower.

He gasped once. Then the world went black.

Silver lies motionless in the hallway, the hospital erily quiet. One eye open, clouded over—permanently fogged. And Deucalion is gone, like a ghost in the storm.