Chapter 44

Silver’s room was quiet, dimly lit by the golden haze of a desk lamp left burning through the night. The soft breeze slipping in through the cracked window carried the scent of pine and distant asphalt — Beacon Hills at rest, for once.

Beneath the blanket, they weren’t curled together in some dramatic embrace. It was more instinctive than that. Scott’s face was half-buried in the pillow beside him, his breath warm against Silver’s shoulder, one arm lazily slung across his waist.

Silver hadn’t planned to fall asleep with him there. But when Scott didn’t leave, he hadn’t asked him to.

The moment was quiet. Still. Warm in a way Silver rarely let himself have.

Then—

Buzz. Buzz.

Scott’s phone vibrated on the nightstand, its light slicing through the calm.

Silver stirred first, blinking awake, already bracing himself.

“Shut it off,” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep.

Scott groaned into the pillow and reached blindly for the phone. “It’s Stiles.” He scanned the message, and in seconds, Silver felt the tension coil in him like a pulled wire.

Silver rolled onto his back, tossing one arm across his forehead. “It’s the middle of the night.”

Scott didn’t answer. He sat up slowly, hoodie in hand, already half out of the moment.

For a beat, neither of them spoke.

Then quietly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to ask, “You know this looks like something, right?”

Silver’s chest tightened, the words lodging in his throat.”But we’re not…”

He turned to face Scott, finally, fully. Their faces were inches apart in the amber glow.

“Because if I admit it is — and something happens to you…” He stopped, jaw clenching. “I won’t survive that, Scott.”

Scott reached out, fingers sliding up gently to rest against Silver’s neck, thumb brushing along the edge of his jaw like he was trying to anchor him.

“Then don’t survive it alone.”

That was all it took.

Silver leaned in — or maybe Scott did. Either way, the space between them vanished. The kiss hit like gravity — messy, aching, desperate. All the things they never said coming out in the way Silver pulled Scott closer by the hoodie, in the way Scott straddled him without hesitation, lips never leaving his.

It wasn’t slow. It was all want and fear crashing together, too much, too fast, too late.

Scott’s hands slid beneath Silver’s shirt, rough palms skating across scarred skin like he needed to memorize it — like he already knew this wasn’t something he could keep.

Silver gasped against his mouth, then broke the kiss just long enough to breathe. His forehead pressed against Scott’s.

“We’re not… together,” he whispered, like it was something he had to remind himself.

Scott didn’t argue. He stood, hoodie in hand, and crossed to the window. One foot on the sill, he looked back over his shoulder with a soft, crooked smile.

“But if we were… you’d make it impossible to leave.”

Silver gave a faint, tired smirk, his voice a low murmur.  “I already do.”

Scott disappeared out the window and into the night.

Silver stayed there for a long time, the blanket pulled up around him, staring at the space Scott left behind — still warm.

He didn’t know what they were. But it felt a lot like love.

And maybe, for now, that was enough.

🦊

Scott stepped onto campus, his backpack slung over one shoulder. The morning air was heavy with tension—he could feel it before he even reached the courtyard, where Stiles, Isaac, and Michael were already waiting.

Before anyone could say much, Ethan appeared with Aiden close behind.

“You’re back in school?” Scott asked, brows raised.

Ethan shook his head. “No. Just to talk.”

Stiles gave them a once-over, already suspicious. “Oh, that’s kind of a change of pace for you guys. Usually you’re more into the whole hurting, maiming, and killing thing.”

Aiden didn’t flinch. “You need a pack. We need an Alpha.”

Michael blinked, then scoffed. “Yeah, absolutely not. That’s hilarious, though.”

“You came to us for help,” Aiden said evenly. “We helped.”

“You beat his face into a bloody pulp!” Stiles snapped. “That’s not helping. That’s actually the opposite of helping. It’s—what’s the word? Counter-productive.”

Scott folded his arms. “Why would I say yes?”

“Because we’d add strength,” Aiden said. “We’d make you more powerful. There’s no reason to say no.”

Isaac stepped forward, voice cold. “I can think of one. Like the two of you holding Derek’s claws while Kali impaled Boyd.”

His eyes narrowed, jaw tight. “In fact, I don’t know why we’re not impaling them right now.”

Aiden growled low in his throat. “You want to try?”

Scott raised a hand between them. “Sorry, but they don’t trust you.” He looked between the twins. “And neither do I.”

🦊

The hallway of Beacon Hills High echoed with the usual morning noise—lockers slamming, students chatting, footsteps squeaking on polished tile. Scott walked beside Stiles, still tense from the encounter earlier.

“All right, that’s my face!” Stiles yelped, swatting Scott’s arm away. “Hey, dude! Good decision, buddy. Good Alpha decision.”

Scott gave a weak smile. “I hope so…”

“No,” Stiles said confidently, nodding. “You know so. Then I can take—”

He stopped mid-sentence, narrowing his eyes.

“What are you looking at?”

Scott blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” Stiles said, pointing. “You looking at Silver?”

“What? No,” Scott said a little too quickly, eyes darting away.

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “I thought the two of you were back together?”

Scott hesitated, lips parting like he wanted to explain but couldn’t quite find the words. He glanced down the hallway—Silver was there, leaning against a locker, unaware of the conversation happening just a few feet away.

Scott sighed, voice low. “It’s complicated.”

Stiles nodded slowly. “How complicated?”

Scott’s voice softened. “Do I really need to explain that to you?”

Stiles shook his head, “I get it. So… ask him out again.”

Scott blinked. “Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“Right now?”

Stiles groaned. “Yes, Scott, right now! I don’t think you get it yet. You’re an Alpha. You’re the apex predator. Everyone wants you. You’re like… the hot girl that every guy wants.”

Scott stared at him. “The hot girl?”

Stiles pointed at him, dead serious. “You are the hot girl.”

Scott tilted his head, slowly letting it sink in. “I’m the hot girl.”

Just then, Michael passed behind them, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

Scott turned to him, fully confident now. “I’m the hot girl.”

From the side, Isaac—carrying a stack of books—didn’t even glance up as he walked by. “Yes, you are.”

🦊

The hallway was quiet, only the faint hum of distant voices seeping through the walls. Silver leaned against the lockers, one shoulder pressed cool against the metal, sunglasses shielding his eyes as always. A stray beam of light caught the edge of his left eye, briefly illuminating the strange clouds swirling inside it.

Ren stepped in, his footsteps soft but deliberate. He stopped a few feet away, studying Silver with that same curious look that never seemed to fade.

“That eye of yours,” Ren said, voice low but steady, “it’s pretty wild. I don’t get why you hide it so much.”

Silver stiffened, jaw tightening. His voice was clipped. “It’s nothing. Not something you’d care about.”

Ren raised an eyebrow, unfazed by the cold. “You say that like a reflex. ” Ren stood straight up, “I mean you’re covered in scars. That’s gotta be a hell of a story.”

Silver scoffed – but it was strange to hear someone call his scars a story. They weren’t memories – they were stories Silver had.

Silver exhaled slowly, fingers curling into the edge of the locker. “Why are you talking to me?” he said finally, voice rough but steady.

Ren was taken back, shocked by the question. “Because I want to know you better. I thought this is how people normally make friends? Ask questions, get to know each other. Find out what’s going on with Silver and his sunglasses.”

Silver furrowed his brows, “trust me. You don’t want to be friends with me.”

Ren: Maybe let me decide that.

The silence stretched, but Silver found himself studying Ren’s face—open, patient, genuine.

Breaking the quiet, Ren shifted forward a step. “My parents want to invite you over for dinner. They’re still figuring out the whole coyote thing, and they thought maybe sharing a meal might make it easier.”

Silver blinked, caught off guard by the invitation.

“Dinner?” he asked, voice flat but curious.

“Yeah,” Ren said, awkward but sincere. “Nothing fancy. Just a thank-you and maybe a chance to talk. Or not talk. Whatever.”

Silver crossed his arms tighter. The sudden fear of new people looking at him, seeing his eye scared him. “Dinners aren’t really my thing.”

Ren shrugged, grinning. “Neither is being polite, but here we are. And, uh, you can bring your boyfriend.”

Silver cut in quickly, the edge sharper this time. “Not my boyfriend.”

Ren laughed, holding up his hands. “Right, right. The non-boyfriend.”

Silver smirked faintly, the tension loosening just a bit.

“If he wants to come, he’s welcome,” Ren added. “No pressure.”

Silver paused, weighing the offer.

“Maybe,” he said after a long beat. “I’ll think about it.”

Ren’s smile deepened, warm and steady. “Good. No rush.”

Silver glanced down the hallway, a strange weight lifting from his chest.

“Thanks, Ren.”

“Anytime,” Ren replied. “Seriously.”

They stood there for a moment longer, the air thick with all the things left unsaid. Then Ren’s gaze flicked toward the end of the hall, catching Scott watching them, expression guarded but intent.

Ren’s lips curved in a knowing smile. “Looks like you’ve got an audience.”

Silver followed his eyes, tension flickering briefly.

Ren took a step back, hands in his pockets. “I’ll leave you two to it.” With a nod, he turned and walked away.

Silver walked towards Scott just as Stiles came barreling down the hall, breathless and urgent.

“Sorry… Hey, guys, where the hell have you been?” Stiles asked as he runs up to the two boys. “The police are leaving. Why are they leaving?” Lydia asked as she ran up to them, making their eyes widen. “They must have cleared the building and grounds, which means he’s not here.”

“Who? What are you guys…”

“He has to be here. That sound, the buzzing I’ve been hearing? It’s getting louder.” Lydia sighed.

🦊

“The bestiary is literally a thousand pages long. If I’m going to find anything about flies coming out of people’s bodies, it could take me all night,” Allison said as she moved toward the classroom window.

Michael stepped up beside her, offering a hand. “Need a boost?” he asked with a smirk.

“Allison could manage,” Lydia said, eyes narrowing.

“Sure,” Michael shot back, “but I figured it’d be more entertaining to help.” He helped Allison out of the window and followed her through.

Silver closed the window behind them.

“Where do we start?” Silver asked, turning to Lydia and Stiles.

“Upstairs,” Stiles said, glancing at the clock. “We gotta go.”

Lydia rolled her eyes but didn’t argue as they all took off down the hall.

🦊

“Scott and Isaac are in the basement, right?” Lydia asked as they looked around the art room

“Yeah, with Ethan and Aiden. The plan is they meet us in the middle, in the boiler,” Stiles said.

Silver tilted his head, eyes lingering on a picture of an explosion pinned to the wall.

“So let me get this straight,” Silver said. “All of the wolves—all the ones with glowing eyes—are in the basement, in the boiler room?”

Realization crossed Stiles’ face. “Oh my god! An engineer could use a boiler room to blow up the whole school.”

“We have to get them out of there,” Lydia said urgently.

“We have to get everyone out,” Stiles agreed, looking at both of them.

“How do we do that?” Silver crossed his arms, smirking as a sly look crept onto Stiles’ face.

“Oh no,” Silver muttered just before Stiles grabbed both him and Lydia by the arms and dragged them out of the room.

🦊

Silver and Lydia stood just behind Stiles as he pulled the fire alarm, the sharp clang echoing through the halls. They watched silently as waves of students poured out of the school, their footsteps pounding on the pavement like a distant storm. Silver’s lips curled into a quiet chuckle, the tension momentarily lifting.

But then their eyes caught movement behind him, and a sudden chill ran down Silver’s spine.

Stiles slowly turned—and practically jumped out of his skin when Coach appeared right behind him, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. Without hesitation, Coach grabbed Stiles by the ear, yanking him roughly to his feet. Silver and Lydia exchanged startled looks before trailing after them down the crowded hall.

Coach’s voice was low but fierce, filled with a tough kind of exasperation. “Pulling the fire alarm on Mischief Night? That’s one thing. Doing it when there’s a mass murderer loose? That’s insane! If I were four years younger, I’d punch you myself.”

Stiles tried to protest, rubbing his ear. “Coach, that doesn’t make any sense.”

Coach shot back, voice firm as steel. “Well, it makes sense to me!”

Silver sighed and jogged back toward his friends. They were clustered near the entrance, faces tight with worry.

“We didn’t find anything,” Aiden reported, shaking his head.

Scott’s expression was grim as he added, “Not even a scent.”

Stiles let out a heavy breath. “It’s three o’clock. School’s out. If there was a bomb, wouldn’t it have gone off by now?”

Ethan’s voice was tentative as he asked, “So… does that mean everyone’s safe?”

The group’s eyes turned to Lydia. She looked torn, biting her lip before shaking her head slowly.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “I just don’t know.”

🦊

The sun had sunk low behind the trees, casting long golden shadows across the quiet Beacon Hills street as Scott and Silver coasted to a stop on his motorcycle. The engine’s purr faded into the hush of early evening. Crickets chirped. The scent of pine and warm asphalt hung in the air.

Silver sat behind him, arms locked tightly around Scott’s waist—not for theatrics, not to be seen. It was instinct. Safety. A stillness he rarely let himself have. His cheek had rested lightly against the back of Scott’s shoulder during the ride, and now that they’d stopped, he was reluctant to move.

Scott swung his leg over and looked back, offering his hand. “Here,” he said softly.

Silver stared at it for a moment before taking it. His fingers closed around Scott’s like he was afraid to be steady on his own. Scott helped him off the bike with ease, but the contact lingered—longer than necessary, longer than either of them acknowledged.

They stood on the sidewalk, facing the Yukimura house. Lights glowed inside, warm and inviting, and the faint hum of conversation drifted through slightly open windows. From the outside, it looked like something normal. Safe. Silver stared at it like it might explode.

Scott glanced over. “You ready?”

Silver’s arms crossed over his chest, his face unreadable. His sunglasses—usually fixed in place like armor—hung loose in his hand. His left eye, clouded and scarred, caught the porch light. He didn’t hide it, but he wasn’t exactly offering it up either.

Scott noticed the way Silver’s shoulders had tensed. The way his jaw had set just slightly too tight. The silence between them felt heavier than it should.

“You can wear them,” Scott said gently, nodding toward the glasses.

Silver’s eyes flicked down at them. “I shouldn’t have to,” he muttered.

“No,” Scott agreed, stepping a little closer, “you shouldn’t. But you can. If it makes things easier.”

Silver looked away, jaw clenching. “I hate how they look at me. Like I’m… half something. Like I’m broken.”

Scott’s voice was quiet, sure. “Then they don’t see you. Not really.”

Silver’s breath hitched slightly. “Easy for you to say. You walk into a room and people trust you. Respect you. You’re a True Alpha.”

Scott frowned. “You think that makes everything easier?”

“You don’t have to fight to be seen,” Silver replied, the words slipping out sharper than he meant. “I’m just the half-blind kid with too many scars.”

Scott didn’t flinch. “You’re the guy who didn’t give up. The one who still shows up. You’re the one I’d trust to have my back. Every time.”

Silver finally met his eyes—unshielded, vulnerable. He hesitated, then slowly slipped the sunglasses back on, not for defense this time, but for breathing room.

“Thanks,” he murmured. “For coming with me.”

Scott gave him a sideways grin. “I wasn’t about to let you show up to his house alone.”

Silver raised a brow. “Are you jealous?”

Scott blinked, caught off guard. “What? No. Why—?”

Silver cracked a faint laugh, low and surprised. “Relax. That was a joke.”

Scott’s hand found his again. Not possessive—just grounding.

Silver looked up at him. Really looked. The space between them was electric—not romantic, not platonic, just something dense and real that didn’t need a name.

Scott gave his hand one last squeeze, then let go, motioning toward the porch.

Silver took a breath, adjusted his sunglasses, and stepped forward.

🦊

The Yukimura family room was warm and quiet. Silver sat on the loveseat, back too straight, like he wasn’t sure how to blend into the space. His sunglasses stayed on, even indoors, even now.

Scott sat to Silver’s left, more at ease but still tethered to him. His knee bumped Silver letting Silver know that he was there.

Across from them, Ken and Noshiko Yukimura settled in with a practiced grace. Between them sat Kira and her older brother Ren. Ren lounged comfortably, arms crossed, casting the occasional glance at Silver—not judgmental, just observant. Kira gave Silver little smiles anytime their eyes met, trying her best to make the room feel less like a spotlight.

Ken cleared his throat, pouring warm tea into small ceramic cups. “Scott. Silver. Thank you for what you did. I know it was a lot. We were very lucky.”

Scott offered a modest smile. “You don’t need to thank us. Anyone else would’ve done the same.”

Silver didn’t speak. He just lowered his eyes toward the table.

“Still,” Noshiko added gently, “we’re glad you were there. Honestly, we just wanted a chance to say thank you in person.”

Ren leaned forward slightly, smirking. “Also, my dad insisted on cooking enough food for a small army. So… really, you’re doing us a favor.”

Kira elbowed him. “What he means is, we’re happy you came.”

Silver finally glanced up. His voice was quiet but steady. “I don’t usually do dinners.”

“Well,” Ken said kindly, “you’re doing just fine so far.”

There was a small silence as everyone settled into their seats. Noshiko, ever graceful even in her curiosity, tilted her head. “If you don’t mind me asking… how long have you had the eye injury?”

Silver’s cup froze mid-air. He slowly set it down.

Scott opened his mouth to deflect, but Silver beat him to it. “It’s recent,” he said flatly.

Noshiko nodded. “That must’ve been hard.”

Silver gave a half-shrug, like he wasn’t sure how to respond to sympathy. “Some days.”

Then Kira leaned in, cautious but genuinely curious. “Do you really wear your sunglasses all day at school?”

“Kira!” Ren hissed under his breath.

“It’s okay,” Silver said before anyone else could speak. Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and slid the sunglasses off, revealing the full damage beneath. A thin, jagged scar traced from his brow down past the cheekbone. The eye itself was glassy and unfocused..

Where his eye should gleam it was now clouded and opaque,

He didn’t look away.

Everyone at the table went still. Not out of discomfort, but out of respect. No one flinched.

Ken cleared his throat gently. “The school allows him. His father made sure of it.”

Then he stood, smoothing his napkin. “I’ll just go get dinner ready.”

As he left the room, Ren leaned closer to Silver, voice low. “Sorry about that. Kira blurts sometimes.”

Silver smirked faintly. “It’s fine. People always ask eventually.”

He placed his sunglasses back on, trying to regain some sort of comfort.

Scott reached beneath the table again, brushing his fingers against Silver’s. This time, Silver didn’t pull away.

🦊

“So, Scott, Silver, I’m sure that as native Californians, you’ve eaten at some pretty impressive Japanese sushi restaurants,” Noshiko Yukimura says as everyone gathers around the dinner table. “But I have to tell you—my husband is a superb chef.”

Silver smiles politely as the dishes are placed in front of them, but he feels Scott’s hand tighten around his under the table. “Okay, we have hamachi, uni, ikura, and hirame,” Noshiko announces.

“This looks delicious,” Silver says, leaning forward slightly, but everyone’s attention shifts to Scott, who squints down at the sushi like it might bite him.

“You’ve never eaten sushi before, have you?” Noshiko asks, eyebrow raised.

“Is it all raw?” Scott replies, hesitant.

“Not the rice,” Silver mutters under his breath, trying to stifle a laugh.

“Oh my god, guys, we were supposed to have lasagna tonight,” Ren groans, glaring at his parents. “I was trying to impress them. I didn’t want to bring out the, Mr. Yukimura interrupts. “I’ll make lasagna.”

Scott glances at Silver, who already has a piece of sushi on his plate. “Sorry,” Silver whispers, lowering his chopsticks, sensing Scott’s unease. Scott exhales, catching the flicker of disappointment on Silver’s face—the kind he’s seen too many times before.

“Oh no, it’s okay. I can try anything. Really,” Scott says quickly, forcing a smile. “Plus, Silver’s been trying to get me to try sushi for a while now.”

Silver looks over at him, surprised but touched. The Yukimuras begin eating.

“How do I…?” Scott leans in, holding his chopsticks awkwardly. “How do I use these?”

“Is he serious?” Kira asks flatly.

Ren leaned his chin on his hand and smirked. “Come on, man. Even toddlers in Japan know how to use those.”

“Ren,” Noshiko warned lightly.

Silver chuckles. “Here. Try holding this one like a pencil. And the other goes underneath it, like this. You only move the top one.”

Everyone watches as Scott struggles to pick up a piece of sushi. Just before it reaches his mouth, it slips—and Silver deftly catches it with his own chopsticks.

“So, you guys moved here from New York?” Silver asks, shifting the conversation.

“I have family ties here. Several generations back,” Noshiko replies.

“Yukimura is Japanese, right?” Scott asks.

“Yes,” Mr. Yukimura says. “But I’m actually Korean. When my wife and I married, I took her name. She was the only surviving member of her family.”

“You didn’t want to take both names?” Silver asks.

“We were married in Japan,” Noshiko explains. “The law requires the couple to share the same name. To belong to the same koseki.”

“My wife’s lineage is quite unique,” Mr. Yukimura adds. “I was actually going to talk about it in class—”

“Please don’t,” Kira cuts in quickly.

Silver smirked. “It’s okay. My dad once brought a hunting crossbow to Career Day. Because nothing says ‘elementary school safe’ like a live weapons demo.”

Suddenly, Ren frowns, looking over at Scott’s plate. “Scott? What happened to your wasabi?”

Silver goes pale. “Oh no.”

Scott begins coughing, face red and eyes watering. “I thought it was guacamole,” he chokes out.

Silver covers his face with one hand, the other reaching for Scott’s water glass. “We’re never getting invited back,” he mutters.

Ren leaned over to Kira. “Okay, I’m sorry, but that was kind of amazing.”

“Shut up,” she whispered back, swatting his arm.

Noshiko pushed a fresh glass of water toward Scott, completely unbothered. “It happens more often than you’d think.”

Ren grinned and raised his tea cup toward Silver. “Honestly? For a guy who doesn’t do dinners, you’re killing it.”

Silver looked at him, surprised—and maybe, just maybe, a little less tense than when he first walked in.

🦊

Silver stepped just inside the door, taking in the space—bookshelves lined with old manga and game cases, a poster for Akira above the bed, and a katana hanging on a display rack. It felt lived-in, but curated, like Ren kept certain parts of himself on display and the rest locked away. Silver could relate.

“Thanks for having us,” Silver said, finally stepping inside. “Dinner was… fun.”

Ren arched a brow as he flopped down onto the futon, a soda can in hand. “Fun?” he repeated. “You call nearly killing your boyfriend – sorry, non-boyfrien with wasabi and my dad panic-cooking lasagna for the second time this week fun?”

Silver smirked. “Memorable, then.”

Ren huffed a laugh and leaned back on one arm. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Is Silver your actual name?”

“A family nickname,” Silver said, glancing over his shoulder as the door creaked and Scott stepped inside.

“Everything okay?” Silver asked as Scott walked up to him.

“Yeah, just my mom.”

Scott stood next to Silver, watching Ren’s move, ready for anything.

Then—before anyone could say more—Kira appeared behind Scott, holding up a pizza box.

“Oh thank God,” Scott said dramatically. “I thought I was gonna die back there. No offense to sushi!”

“None taken,” Kira said, “Just don’t let my mom hear you say that.”

Silver tilted his head. “You ate one piece.”

Scott placed a hand over his heart. “And I was brave.”

Ren snorted.

🦊

The front porch light casts a warm glow as the door creaks open. The four teens step out into the cool night, laughter from inside still faintly echoing behind them.

Silver lingers a moment at the threshold before stepping down the stairs.

“Thank you for having us,” he says softly, glancing at Ren, then Kira. “Really.”

Ren shrugs like it’s no big deal, but there’s a flicker of something real in his eyes. “You survived dinner. That counts for something.”

Kira grins, nudging Ren. “Yeah, next time we’ll ease you in with something less… raw.”

Silver chuckles under his breath. “I’m not sure Scott’s ready for a next time.”

“I heard that,” Scott calls, tugging on his jacket as he trails behind them. He smiles at Silver, a little sheepish but trying.

As they walk toward the curb, Silver falls into step beside Kira and Ren, chatting quietly. Scott hangs back, his hands shoved in his pockets, but his eyes stay locked on Silver—every gesture, every laugh.

Just as they reach the sidewalk, Silver says something that makes Kira laugh, and Ren actually cracks a smile. The sight softens something in Scott.

Then, subtly, Silver glances back over his shoulder—like he’s checking to see if Scott’s still there. Scott steps forward instinctively, and without thinking, Silver reaches back and loops his arm through Scott’s.

It’s subtle.

But Scott’s breath hitches, and his hand tightens slightly in response.

Kira sees. Ren sees. But no one says anything.

They all pause at the end of the driveway. The night is quiet, the street still.

“See you guys at school,” Ren says, looking up toward the stars instead of at them.

“Yeah,” Kira adds, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Text when you get home?”

“Promise,” Silver says.

Scott nods too. “Thanks again. For… everything.”

Ren gives a casual salute. “Don’t crash.”

Silver adjusts his helmet, then slides on behind Scott, his arms wrapping loosely around his waist before things go…

🦊

The apartment was quiet except for the soft shuffle of cards on the kitchen table. Michael leaned forward, eyebrows raised in mock seriousness as he eyed Isaac across from him.

“Got any twos?” he asked, holding his cards close to his chest.

Isaac didn’t even look up. “Go fish.”

Michael sighed, dragging a card from the deck before glancing over his shoulder toward the living room. Allison was standing by the couch, thumbing through an old leather-bound book filled with yellowed pages and scribbled notes.

“You find anything?” Michael called out.

Allison didn’t look up. “Yeah. It’d be easier if my boyfriend helped instead of playing Go Fish.”

“You know I can’t read Latin,” Michael shot back, turning toward her.

“You could try,” she replied sharply, flipping a page. “There’s a reference in here about flies being able to carry messages to the dead.”

Michael blinked. “What, like ghost messenger pigeons?”

“Yes,” Allison said dryly. “Exactly. The undead are just dying to hear from you.”

He snorted. “Maybe I’ll send one to your attitude.”

Allison gave him a sweet smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Maybe I’ll send one to your last brain cell.”

They stood there for a moment, eyes locked, annoyance simmering just beneath the surface. Then, almost simultaneously, they turned and walked out of the room, still bickering under their breath as they disappeared down the hallway.

Left behind at the table, Isaac stared down at the forgotten card game and let out a slow sigh.

“Yeah,” he muttered to himself. “I’ll just guard the cards. Great plan.”

🦊

“Silver? Silver!” Stiles shouted, stumbling toward him. “Oh my god.”

Silver jerked upright with a ragged gasp, flinching as he sat up too fast. His sunglasses flew off from the sudden motion, skidding across the pavement. The lens cracked on impact.

He blinked against the harsh daylight, dazed, before his eyes landed on Scott, who was groggily pushing himself upright.

“Barrow—he took Kira and Ren,” Scott said, still breathless.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, we know. He was after her the whole time.”

Scott hung up his phone, looking more focused now. “We need a plan. He’s going to kill them if we don’t stop him.”

Silver rubbed at his temple, then picked up his cracked sunglasses, staring at them like they’d betrayed him. “He planned all of this,” he muttered, voice tight. “He knew exactly what he was doing.”

“I knew he was there,” Lydia said quietly. “But how did I know?”

“Because you heard the flies,” Stiles said, shooting her a glance.

“What do you hear now?” Scott asked gently.

Lydia looked down, brow furrowed. “Nothing,” she said. “But I feel like it’s still there. Like I’m supposed to know what to do but I can’t grab it. It’s like… it’s right on the tip of my tongue and I—” She threw her hands up, frustrated. “I swear, it’s making me want to scream.”

She took a few steps away, shaking her head, visibly overwhelmed.

Then Silver straightened, sunglasses still dangling from his fingers, voice suddenly clear.

“Then scream,” he said. “Lydia, just scream.”

Lydia hesitated, then took a deep breath—and let out a piercing, banshee scream that split the air. Scott, Silver, and Stiles all winced, covering their ears as the sound rang out through the street.

When she stopped, Lydia looked up slowly toward a nearby streetlamp. A soft buzzing echoed faintly.

“It’s not flies,” she said, eyes wide. Then she spun around, startling the boys. “It’s electricity.”

“Wait.” Silver stepped toward Stiles, holding his broken sunglasses now forgotten in his hand. “Didn’t you say Barrow used to work in electrical engineering? A power substation?”

Stiles blinked, gears turning. Scott’s eyes widened.

“What substation?” Silver demanded.

🦊

The distant hum of electricity grows louder as Scott’s bike roars into view, tires skidding across gravel outside the abandoned substation. The crumbling brick building looms ahead, pulsing with flickering light — like the place itself is alive, waiting.

Scott kills the engine and swings off the bike, moving fast, tension written in every line of his body.

Silver slides off behind him, pulling off his helmet. His jaw is tight, that haunted look in his eye again — the good one. The blind eye catches a flicker from the streetlamp, pale and unnatural.

Scott turns to him, urgency turning sharp. “Wait.” He blocks Silver’s path with an arm. “You shouldn’t come in.”

Silver freezes. “What?”

“Stay with Lydia. Just in case. If something goes wrong—”

“You want me to babysit?” Silver cuts in, voice already rising. “Are you serious right now?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?” Silver steps closer, eyes burning. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you don’t trust me to hold my own.”

Scott exhales, jaw clenched. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“You think I need protecting?”

“You’re half-blind, Silver!” Scott finally snaps. “He’s twisted, and he’s dangerous, and if you can’t see—”

“Don’t,” Silver warns, low and cold. “Don’t bring my eye into this like I’m broken.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

They stare at each other, the air between them charged — the hum of the substation matching the tension vibrating in Silver’s spine.

“I’m not your weak spot, Scott,” Silver says, voice sharp and flat. “You don’t get to sideline me because it makes you feel better.”

Scott looks like he wants to say something — anything — but the words stall out.

“I’m going in there,” Silver finishes. “Whether you want me to or not.”

The echo of a metallic clang rang out down the corridor like a warning shot.

Scott and Silver bolted toward the noise, rounding the corner at full speed—only to stop in their tracks.

Kira and Ren were bound to a chain-link fence, electrical wires twisted cruelly around their torsos and arms. Sparks danced at their feet, the current crackling just inches from their skin.

“Scott! No—look out!” Kira screamed.

From the shadows, Barrow emerged like a monster from a nightmare. Before Scott could react, the madman lashed out with a sparking cable—slamming it directly into Scott’s chest. The jolt sent Scott flying, his body crashing against the concrete floor with a sickening thud.

“Silver!” Kira cried out.

Barrow turned toward him.

One of Silver’s eyes was milky white now—damaged and blind from a past battle—but it only made the other eye burn brighter.

He didn’t hesitate. With a roar, Silver launched himself at Barrow, tackling him into the ground.

“Persistent little—” Barrow snarled, clutching at the bleeding wound on his stomach. He twisted, swinging the live wire at Silver.

The cable struck across Silver’s ribs with a crackling pop.

“Ah—!” Silver cried out as he was launched backward, slamming against the metal fence beside Ren. The impact sent shockwaves through the entire building. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, a trembling hand pressed to his side.

His sunglasses skittered across the floor. One lens was shattered.

“You had your chance,” Barrow snapped.

He turned away from Silver and stormed toward Kira and Ren. Ren shifted, instinctively trying to shield Kira with his body even as the wire buzzed ominously close to his face.

“No—don’t!” Scott shouted, struggling to rise. “She’s not the one you want!”

Barrow paused. Glanced at Scott. Then grinned—slow and awful—before crouching in front of Kira.

“Please…” Kira’s voice trembled. “Please don’t…”

The wire moved closer.

On the ground, Silver groaned and forced himself upright, sweat and soot streaked across his face. His gaze landed on Ren’s terrified expression.

And something inside him snapped.

“Get away from them,” Silver growled.

Barrow turned—just in time to catch Silver lunging again, claws bared. They slashed across his arm, drawing a cry of pain.

Barrow twisted, raising the wire to retaliate—

And then the room erupted in light.

Electricity exploded outward in a blinding storm of white-blue energy. The moment Barrow touched the wire to Kira, the surge should have killed her.

Instead, it bent.

Lightning flowed into her hands, curling and crawling across her skin like it belonged there. Her hair lifted in the electric wind, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Kira…” Ren whispered, breathless.

Everyone froze—Silver, Scott, even Barrow—as the substation filled with unnatural silence.

The last spark vanished.

Barrow collapsed at Kira’s feet. The wire slipped from his hand.

Kira stood there glowing, untouched, her chest rising and falling in stunned shock.

Scott stared at her, slack-jawed.

Silver staggered to his feet, still gripping his ribs, his shirt torn and burned. He limped toward Ren, dropping to one knee beside him.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse.

Ren gave a weak smile. “Nice eye.”

Silver managed a tired grin. “You owe me a new pair of sunglasses.”

🦊

The front door creaked open and Rachel stepped inside, setting her keys down on the table. She glanced around, frowning slightly when she saw Michael alone on the couch, tossing a stress ball absentmindedly into the air.

“I thought you said Allison was coming over,” Rachel said, toeing off her boots.

Michael sighed without looking at her. “She was—until she decided Isaac and I weren’t helping and stormed off.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Where is Isaac, then?”

Before Michael could answer, a muffled scream echoed from down the hall.

Both of them froze.

“Isaac?” Michael stood up, the ball falling from his hand.

Another scream—louder this time—ripped through the silence. Rachel rushed toward the hallway, Michael close behind. She reached for Isaac’s bedroom doorknob and twisted.

Locked.

“Isaac?” Michael called again, voice rising. He pounded on the door. “Isaac! Come on, open up!”

“Isaac!” Rachel shouted, panic creeping into her voice. “It’s Rachel—open the door!”

Michael slammed his palm against the wood again. “Isaac!”