Chapter 71

Scott, Stiles, Theo, and Deaton burst into the station, immediately hit by the chaos. Blood smeared across the walls and floor, papers scattered, and Deputy Clarke crouched, helping Stilinski to his feet. Scott sprinted forward, shouting, while Stiles’ gaze followed a streak of crimson that led deeper into the station.

There, Silver, Ren, Kira, and Lydia were crouched together. Silver’s hands were pressed firmly against Lydia’s side, blood coating his fingers. Her face was pale, but she was conscious, gritting her teeth against the pain.

Stiles froze, eyes wide.

Theo spotted Stiles staring and didn’t hesitate—he ran over, stripping off his belt as he went.

“Silver, you have to remove your hands!” Ren’s voice was sharp, steadying, but layered with urgency.

Silver shook his head, gripping Lydia tighter. “I—she—” His voice cracked.

“Silver!” Ren snapped, stepping closer. He gently but firmly pried Silver’s hands off Lydia’s wound, moving them aside as Theo knelt and cinched the belt around her waist, securing her.

“Stiles! Stiles, come on!” Scott barked, trying to yank his friend from his frozen spot. But Stiles’ eyes stayed locked on Lydia.

She caught his gaze and forced a faint nod, wincing but determined. “Tracy… Stiles, I’m fine. Help Tracy. Find Tracy. Go.”

Something flickered across Stiles’ face but he obeyed, finally following Scott.

Silver stayed kneeling beside Lydia, hands trembling, covered in her blood. His chest heaved, unsure whether he was angry, guilty, or terrified. He glanced at Theo, who was adjusting the belt around Lydia and murmuring soothing words, steadying her through the pain.

🎭

“Stiles.” Melissa’s voice cut through the tense silence as she approached, making everyone turn toward her.

“How bad is it?” Stiles asked, his voice tight.

Melissa’s eyes scanned the group quickly, then softened slightly. “Could have been worse. Theo—nice work on that tourniquet. You probably saved her life.”

Both Stiles and Silver’s heads snapped toward Theo, wide-eyed. Theo just shrugged, a little embarrassed, but Ren clapped him on the back. “Good job, man,” he said, smiling briefly.

Melissa shifted her gaze back to the group. “All right. She’s going into surgery now, so it’s going to be a while. Any other supernatural details I need to know about, or do we just stitch her up and hope for the best?”

Kira spoke up, her voice calm but firm. “It was the tail.”

Melissa raised an eyebrow, glancing at her.

Ren nodded in agreement. “Yeah, Tracy hit her with her tail. If that matters medically or magically, that’s what you need to know.”

Melissa gave a short nod before turning to leave, already moving with purpose.

“But it wasn’t just Tracy,” Malia interjected, her tone low but urgent, drawing everyone’s attention. “There were others. The guys in the masks.”

Everyone froze. Silver blinked, confusion crossing his face. Stiles frowned, tightening his grip on his backpack strap.

“Wait—what men in masks?” Ren asked, stepping closer, eyes narrowing.

🎭

The living room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the ceiling fan. Scott sat on the edge of the couch, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on Silver. Silver sat across from him in the armchair, hoodie pulled tight, glasses slightly slipping down the bridge of his nose. His left eye—the blind one—was hidden behind the glasses, but Scott’s gaze lingered there, thoughtful.

“Silver… I need to know,” Scott began carefully, voice low. “What exactly did you see? In the vision?”

Silver’s hands twitched in his lap, but he kept them under control. He shook his head slightly, not meeting Scott’s eyes. “I… I can’t. Not everything. It’s—” His throat tightened. “It’s too much. Too messed up.”

Scott leaned back a little, trying to keep his tone gentle. “I get it. I do. I need to know what I’m dealing with. We’re supposed to protect people together, Silver.”

Silver’s eyes flashed, frustration boiling over. “Protect people? You think I can protect anyone? Look at me! Look at these stupid powers! I can barely control myself sometimes!” He yanked at his hoodie, his voice sharp and biting. “And now this vision stuff—seeing things I don’t want to see! Feeling things I can’t stop!”

Scott immediately stood and crossed the room, kneeling beside Silver’s chair. “Hey… hey, it’s okay. It’s alright,” he murmured, placing a hand on Silver’s shoulder. “You’re here. You’re alive. You’re safe.”

“I know,” Silver whispered, voice quivering despite his attempt at calm. “I just… I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet.” He glanced down at his hands, then let out a shaky breath. “It’s… it’s not just the vision. It’s… everything with Lydia. How close she was to… you know. And I…” His voice caught, and a single tear escaped, sliding down his cheek.

Silver’s hands clenched, trying to hold himself together, but his shoulders shook. “I just… I feel so angry,” he admitted, voice breaking. “Angry that this keeps happening… angry that I can’t fix it. Angry that I can’t protect her.”

Scott’s gaze softened, and he reached over, gently brushing a tear from Silver’s cheek. “You’re doing more than you realize. You’re strong. And…” he hesitated, then smiled faintly, his tone light but sincere, “there’s something pretty about your left eye, you know. The way it catches the light… it’s… different. Unique. Like you.”

Silver sniffled, letting a small, bitter laugh escape. “Different… huh?”

Scott nodded, keeping his hand on Silver’s shoulder. “Yeah. And it’s part of you. Part of what makes you… you. Vision, anger, worry, all of it. It doesn’t make you weak—it makes you human.”

Silver’s breathing began to steady, though his hands still trembled. He looked at Scott, trying to find some sense of relief in his friend’s words. “I guess… I just wish I could do something. Anything. Not just watch.”

“You’re not just watching,” Scott said firmly. “You’re here. You’re ready. And you’re not alone. Not ever.”

Silver gave a shaky nod, letting himself lean slightly against Scott, finding comfort in the steady presence.

“Sorry to interrupt,” a calm voice said, drawing all their attention. Deaton was standing in the kitchen, his coat slightly rumpled, a bag slung over his shoulder. He set it down carefully before pulling out a small jar and placing it on the table.

“A Werewolf with the talons of an eagle,” he said, his voice low, measured. “Possibly a shapeshifter from Eastern mythology—a Garuda.” He paused, then retrieved another jar.

Silver leaned forward, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

“Tracy’s claws,” Deaton continued, lifting the jar for them to see. “The unmistakable talons of a Werewolf.”

He picked up a third jar, one that made Silver’s brow rise. “But this… a Werewolf who also carries the venom and scales of a Kanima.”

Silver glanced between the jars, then back at Deaton. “What do you even call that?” he asked, voice tight with disbelief.

“Personally,” Deaton said, his lips twitching in a faint grimace, “I call it terrifying. But right now, my focus is on how Tracy managed to get across the mountain ash.”

Silver nodded slowly. “I thought nothing supernatural could do that,” he murmured.

“As did I,” Deaton agreed, eyes sharp. He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping. “So if Tracy crossed the mountain ash… and no natural supernatural can do that…” He let the sentence hang, letting them fill in the implication.

Scott’s brow furrowed. “Tracy’s not… a supernatural.”

“Exactly,” Deaton said, nodding firmly. “If she wasn’t born one, and she wasn’t bitten, then she had to have been made.”

Silver’s eyebrows shot up, his left hand instinctively reaching out to rest on Scott’s arm. “Made?” he whispered, disbelief lacing his tone.

Deaton’s gaze swept over them, steady and intense. “Someone is trying to create supernatural creatures using non-supernatural methods. And somehow… they’re managing to blur the lines between science and the supernatural.”

Scott and Silver exchanged a sharp look, the weight of that sinking in.

“There’s more,” Scott added, voice tight. “Liam said he found another hole out in the woods.”

Deaton turned his attention to Scott. “Burying them could be part of their process—a kind of incubation,” he said slowly. Silver tilted his head, confused.

“So… what are we supposed to do?” he asked, voice tight.

“Same thing you’ve always done,” Deaton replied, tone firm. “Protect your friends. Protect each other.”

Scott frowned. “And someone like Tracy? What do we do with her?”

Deaton shook his head slightly. “I wish I could tell you. Hopefully, I’ll have more answers soon. I’ll be gone for a few days.”

Scott blinked. “You’re leaving?”

“Just a few days,” Deaton said, gathering his things. Silver let out a soft sigh, tension draining slightly, though unease lingered.

“How scared should we be?” Silver asked quietly, almost to himself.

Deaton’s eyes met his, serious, steady. “I’ve lived in the supernatural world a long time. I’ve seen creatures and chaos you can’t imagine. But I’m still a doctor. Still a man of science. Something like this? It rattles the foundation of everything you believe. It shakes you to your core.”

Scott’s voice cut through the heavy pause. “Something like what?”

Deaton’s gaze was unwavering, voice low and measured. “The rules… the rules have changed.”

🎭

Sunlight slanted through the blinds, casting long stripes across the kitchen floor. Silver sat at the table, his hoodie pulled tight around him, fingers drumming nervously. His dad, Chris, was leaning against the counter, coffee in hand, watching him with a measured calm.

“I… I need to ask you something,” Silver began, voice low, hesitant. “Something about… the other night.” He swallowed hard. “When I touched the silver… that stuff coming from Tracy… I saw… things. I had a vision.”

Chris set his coffee down, walking over slowly. He pulled out a chair and sat opposite his son, eyes sharp but soft. “A vision?” he echoed, tilting his head.

Silver nodded, fists clenched around the edge of the table. “It wasn’t just scary. It felt… real. Like I was there. Like it was me. I saw… me, as a baby. Struggling to breathe. And then… I was alive.” His voice cracked slightly. “Dad… what the hell happened to me?”

Chris’s gaze didn’t waver. He leaned back, taking a deep breath. “You were sick. Really sick. The doctors didn’t know if you were going to make it. It wasn’t standard procedure—far from it—but it was life or death, Silver. Every choice I made, every risk… it was for you. And I don’t regret a second of it.”

Silver’s hands dropped to the table, trembling. “It didn’t feel… nautral.” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Chris softened, reaching across the table to rest a hand over Silver’s. “Wasn’t meant to be natural,’ kid. It was… experimental. And sometimes, to save someone, you blur lines. Lines people say you shouldn’t cross. But I didn’t hesitate, because I knew you were worth it. Every risk iit was for you. For your life.”

“Dad… if it was like that, and I survived… could it be—” Silver trailed off, hesitating, choosing his words carefully. “Could the blurred lines between science and the supernatural… could… kind of… apply to me?”

🎭

Scott stood near the table, arms folded tight across his chest as Stiles and Malia hurried back into the room, the library buzzing with quiet tension. Kira lingered by the shelves, already pulling down books, her focus sharp despite the worry etched into her face.

“Did you get in to see Lydia?” Scott asked immediately.

Stiles shook his head, jaw tight. “No. She’s still in the ICU. No visitors unless you’re family.” His voice softened just a fraction. “She’s alive, though.”

Scott nodded, exhaling slowly, like he’d been holding his breath since the station. Malia dropped the bestiary onto the table with a dull thud and flipped it open, scanning the pages like she expected something to leap out at her.

“Anything in here about half-werewolves, half-Kanimas?” Kira asked, joining them and flipping through another book.

Scott didn’t hesitate. “A chimera.”

Stiles blinked at him. “Uh—what?”

“A chimera,” Scott repeated, looking up. “A creature made of incongruous parts. Not born—made.”

Kira’s eyes lit with recognition. “Yeah. That fits. Tracy wasn’t shifting naturally. She was… assembled.”

“And if Liam’s right about finding two burial sites,” Scott continued, “then Tracy’s not the only one.”

Malia’s head snapped up. “There’s another.”

“Who?” Kira asked. “And why would they bury them in the first place?”

“Deaton thinks it’s part of the process,” Scott said. “Like they’re resetting them. Or activating them.”

Malia’s expression darkened. “The people in masks.”

Silence settled over the table as the weight of that sank in.

Scott’s gaze drifted toward the doorway, then back again. He frowned. “Where are Silver and Ren?”

Kira hesitated. “Ren said they were running an errand. Something… for Lydia.”

That didn’t sit right with Scott. His jaw tightened, concern creeping in.

Stiles noticed immediately. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Hey. Speaking of Silver…” He glanced around the room, then back at Scott. “What’s going on with the big proposal plan?”

Scott ran a hand through his hair, tension tight in his shoulders. “We can’t focus on anything else right now. The proposal plan’s on pause until we figure out what’s really going on. And the last vision he got—from Tracy—shook him.” He glanced at Stiles, Malia, and Kira, voice low. “Silver’s holding something in. I don’t think he wants to talk about it yet. But I can tell… he’s angry. About Lydia. About everything that’s happened.”

Kira frowned, flipping a page in her book without really reading it. “So he’s bottling it up… letting it eat at him?”

Scott nodded, jaw tight. “Exactly. And that’s dangerous. If he’s reacting to this… if it’s that silver substance, the Kanima, the masked men—whatever it all is. We need to figure this out.”

🎭

The room smelled like antiseptic and something older—fear that had soaked into the walls and never left.

Michael sat at the metal table, hands folded. Silver didn’t sit. He stayed standing, fingers curled tight in the sleeves of his jacket.

“I need help,” he said.

Michael’s eyes sharpened, but his voice stayed even. “With what?”

“Lydia got hurt,” Silver said, the words tumbling out faster now. “A Kanima attacked her. She’s in surgery.”

That cracked something in Michael’s expression. Just for a second.

“Is Jackson back in town?” he asked sarcastically.

“This is serious, Michael.,” Silver said. “Malia chased the Kanima and saw these men in masks.”

Michael leaned back slightly. “Men in masks?”

Silver nodded, throat tight. “There was something else. When Tracy collapsed earlier that day… this silver substance came out of her.” He hesitated, then forced himself to continue. “I touched it.”

Michael didn’t interrupt.

“I had a vision,” Silver said quietly. “Not like before. Clearer. Closer.” His jaw clenched. “It reacted to me.”

Michael studied him through the glass. “And that’s why you’re here.”

“Yes.”

A long silence followed. The lights buzzed overhead.

“You think you’re connected,” Michael said at last.

“I know I am,” Silver replied. “And I don’t know how. Or why.” His voice wavered. “But Lydia almost died, and I can’t sit with that not knowing.”

Michael’s gaze softened—not kindly, but seriously. “If there are masked men and a Kanima behaving outside its nature, then someone is intervening. Experimenting.”

Silver swallowed. “On her?”

“On all of you,” Michael corrected.

That landed hard.

Silver’s hands curled tighter in his sleeves. “Then tell me how to stop it.”

Michael leaned forward. “That depends,” he said slowly, “on what they think you are.”

Silver didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could.

🎭

The air outside felt too cold, too sharp in his lungs.

Silver walked fast, he didn’t realize how long he was inside for. The sky was dark but he was mostly surprised to see Ren’s car sat at the far end of the lot.

Ren was leaning against it, arms crossed, eyes locked on the door.

Silver didn’t get three steps closer before Ren spoke.

“So?” Ren said. “You get what you needed?”

Silver stopped. “I didn’t lie to hurt you.”

Ren laughed—short, bitter. “You lied because you didn’t trust me.”

“That’s not true.”

“You looked me in the eye,” Ren snapped, pushing off the car. “You told me you were done with him.”

Silver’s jaw tightened. “Lydia is in surgery, Ren.”

“And that makes it okay?” Ren shot back. “You drag me to Eichen House and then I find out you’ve been seeing him this whole time?”

“I didn’t say the whole time,” Silver said. “I said I needed answers.”

Ren shook his head. “You don’t get to decide when I deserve honesty.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and shaking.

Silver’s voice dropped. “I’m scared.”

Ren froze.

“Something’s happening,” Silver said. “And it’s tied to me. I can feel it.” He looked up, eyes burning. “We can’t find anything. It’s been six months, Ren. I’m out of time.”

Ren’s anger faltered—but didn’t disappear.

“You don’t get to cut me out,” he said quietly. “Not after two years.”

Silver nodded once. “I know.”

Ren turned toward the car, jaw clenched. “Get in. Kira and Scott found something.”

Silver hesitated, then did.

The engine started, but neither of them spoke as Ren pulled out of the lot—anger humming just beneath the silence.

🎭

“A kid turning into a half-scorpion, half-Werewolf? Is there even a myth for that?” Ren muttered, frowning as they approached the club, the neon lights flickering against the wet pavement.

Silver stayed a few steps ahead, bow slung across his back, glasses shielding his blind eye. The weight of the lies he carried toward Scott pressed on him, and he could feel it showing on his face. Ren noticed and gave a quick, comforting pat to his back before shaking his head and following him inside.

Scott and Kira were already waiting near the entrance. Scott glanced at Silver, suspicion in his eyes. “Where have you been?”

Silver shrugged, trying for casual, easy. “We had a few things to take care of for Lydia,” he said, his voice light, almost too light.

He caught the narrow glint in Scott’s eyes—the one that said Scott knew he was lying. Silver’s stomach tightened. He was never good at hiding things from Scott, not really.

The four of them stepped into the club, and immediately the lights stuttered and alarms blared, red strobes cutting through the darkness. Everyone froze for a split second before Silver reacted, sliding an arrow from his quiver, nocking it, and letting it fly. The tip hit a ceiling-mounted rig, and it exploded in a shower of sparks.

Scott’s gaze met his for a brief moment, a flash of relief and awe. “God, I love you,” he said, before darting forward into the chaos.

Guilt pricked Silver’s chest—he knew Scott had no idea how often he bent the truth. His eyes flickered, betraying the weight of it. Ren’s hand landed firmly on his back, grounding him before he darted off after Scott.

They followed the chaos, hearing a roar slice through the music and shouting. Through a bead curtain, they caught sight of a kid—spikes jutting from his arms and back—pinning Liam to the ground.

Ren reacted instantly, sprinting and grabbing a metal beam. He spun around it, kicking the scorpion-like boy, Lucas, off Liam just long enough for Kira to unsnap her belt and whip it into a sword. Scott charged, but Lucas hurled him to the floor, sending Liam tumbling behind.

Silver didn’t hesitate. He lunged, swiping at Lucas, careful to dodge the spikes jutting from his limbs. He grabbed an arm, twisting it to control the strike, and kicked him hard in the stomach. Lucas staggered back, but then lunged forward again. Silver slammed his elbow into Lucas’s back, forcing him to stumble.

Lucas shook it off, claws and spikes aiming for Silver, but Silver twisted out of reach and grabbed his hand before a punch could land, kneeing him in the stomach to buy space.

Lucas turned toward Kira. Her sword flashed in a blur as she blocked his strikes, the fox aura flickering around her as she spun and lunged. Lucas grabbed her hand, but she kicked him free, making him stumble. Before he could recover, Liam shot forward, seizing Lucas by the shirt and slamming him into the floor.

Relief washed over them as Lucas’s eyes returned to normal, but the tension didn’t leave. Kira’s aura flared again, fiery and dangerous. “Watashi wa shi no shisha da!” she yelled in Japanese, swinging her sword with lethal intent.

Scott grabbed her arm mid-swing. “Kira! Stop!”

She froze, glare sharp, before the aura receded, and she stepped back, breathing heavily. Everyone’s eyes widened.

Scott glanced around, urgency in his voice. “Is everyone okay?”

“We need to get him out of here,” Scott said, voice firm. “Liam, help me lift him.”

Ren approached Kira, his hand gentle on her shoulder. “Hey,” he whispered. “It’s okay.” She leaned into him, trembling slightly, and Silver’s chest tightened—he couldn’t shake the memory of Allison in that same way, the ache stabbing at his side. A familiar headache pressed against his temples.

Then, chaos struck again. An arrow, threaded with a thin wire, shot through Lucas’s chest as Scott and Liam lifted him. It pulled back with a snap, and their eyes darted upward.

Above them, the men in masks Malia had warned them about stood, silent and watching.

“Why did you do that?” Scott shouted, shock and disbelief in his voice.

One of the masked men spoke calmly, voice cutting through the tension. “His condition was terminal.”

Silver’s brows knitted. “What does that mean?” he demanded, stepping forward. The figures began to retreat, but Silver’s shout made them pause.

“Hey! What the hell does that mean?”

They stopped, turning slowly. One of them’s eyes glinted coldly through the mask.

“Failure.”

Then they walked away, leaving Silver staring after them, heart hammering, mind reeling. His fists clenched, the words slicing deeper than any wound.