Chapter 29

The night air was cool and still as Lydia drove down the dimly lit road, the headlights cutting through the darkness. In the passenger seat, Silver sat with his arms folded, his eyes focused ahead but his expression distant. His sleeves were short, revealing the faint scars running down his arms—no longer hidden, no longer something he apologized for. This was who he was now.

In the back, Allison and Michael sat close together, hands intertwined, their ease with each other obvious. Lydia glanced at Silver through the rearview mirror, trying to keep the mood light.

Lydia glanced at Silver through the rearview mirror, eyes narrowing playfully. “It’s a noncommittal group scenario with snacks,” she said pointedly.

Michael gave a short laugh from the backseat. “I thought it sounded fun.”

Silver shifted, scoffing under his breath. “That’s because you are a golden retriever.”

Lydia cleared her throat and pressed on, forcing optimism into her tone. “Look, it’s been a long summer. Maybe this is good for all of us. Starting fresh. Junior year, new chances.”

“I told you I’m not ready to get back out there,” Silver said.

“You were in France and didn’t do any dating for four months?” Lydia shot him a look. “I mean, come on, Silver. Hot French men.”

Silver raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”

“I mean, after—” Allison started, only for Lydia to cut her off quickly.

“Do not say his name.”

“Is he okay?” Allison asked gently. “Did everything work out?”

Lydia shrugged. “Well, the doctors looked like complete idiots when he turned up alive, but everyone got over it. And yeah… Derek gave him Werewolf 101. Like ‘How Not to Randomly Kill People During a Full Moon.'”

“So, you’ve talked to him?” Allison asked.

Lydia shook her head. “Not since he left for London.”

“You mean since his dad moved him to London,” Allison muttered.

Lydia scoffed. “Whatever. He left. And seriously? An American werewolf in London? Like that’s not gonna be a disaster.”

Silver gave her a sidelong glance. “So… you’re totally over him?”

Lydia huffed. “Would I be going on a double date if I wasn’t?”

Silver raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Lydia groaned. “Yes, okay, it’s a double date. It’s not an orgy. You’ll live.”

Silver turned his face toward the window, trying not to smile—and failing.

Scott shook his head. “Nah, we agreed to give each other the summer—no texts, no calls.”

Stiles glanced over, curious. “So, then how do you know he won’t be back at school, then?”

Scott’s voice dropped, uncertain. “After everything that happened, I’m not sure he’s coming back at all…”

Stiles looked past Scott and saw Lydia’s car pull up next to them at the red light. In the passenger seat, he spotted Silver.

Stiles smiled confidently. “I think he is. I’d say it’s pretty definite, you know… like, one-hundred-percent…”

Scott followed Stiles’ gaze, his eyes widening. “Oh my God! Oh—”

Silver looked up and caught sight of Scott and Stiles. His voice cut through the car, frantic and panicked. “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! I can’t see him, not now!”

Scott ran a hand through his hair. “Can we just drive, please? Stiles?”

Stiles groaned, exasperated. “Scott, it’s a red light!”

Silver snapped, urgency thick in his voice. “Lydia, go! Just go!”

Lydia hesitated. “But the light—”

“I think we should talk to him. I just think we should say something.” Stiles tells Scott. “No, no, no, Stiles, come on.” Scott tries to stop as Stiles reaches across him rolling down the window.

Then Lydia slammed on the gas, driving right through the red light.

Stiles leaned forward, voice lowered. “…You know, they probably didn’t see us.”

“You alright?” Lydia asks. Silver nods to her not saying a word. He looks back to see the Jeep still stopped at the light. “Talk about terrible timing.”

As soon as the light goes green, Stiles speeding up, following the car in front of them he can tell that Scott is still on edge. “What are you doing?”

“I’m driving.” Stiles answers. “We’re right behind them.”

“It’s a straight road Scott. Do you see any turns?”

“I don’t want it to look like we’re following them.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?” Stiles asks Scott.

“I don’t know, anything.” With that, Stiles presses on the break as the car comes to an immediate stop.

The car coasted to a stop, Lydia’s foot pressing gently on the brake as the tension in the car thickened. From the passenger seat, Silver twisted around to glance out the back window, his voice low but firm.
“Lydia, stop. We need to go back and talk to them.”

Through the back windshield, the Jeep sat motionless in the middle of the road, its headlights glowing dimly against the dark stretch of pavement. Lydia squinted, her brows drawing together as she pointed.
“They stopped too,” she said.

Allison leaned forward between the seats, a hint of concern in her voice.
“Why would they stop?”

Michael gave a dry laugh from the backseat.
“It’s Stiles and Scott. Do you really want to try and apply logic to those two?”

Silver exhaled, his fingers twitching slightly as he looked ahead again.
“Maybe we should go back.”

That was the last thing he said before the world turned to chaos.

The deer came out of nowhere—a flash of wild eyes and flailing limbs. It slammed into the windshield with a horrifying crunch, glass shattering in every direction like tiny blades of ice. Silver ducked instinctively, arms shielding his head as shards rained down. Allison screamed. Lydia let out a sharp cry as the car rocked from the impact.

Seconds passed in stunned silence before footsteps pounded up to them.
“Are you okay?” Scott’s voice cut through the fog of panic.
“Are you hurt?” Stiles added, crouching near the passenger side.

Lydia blinked rapidly, shaking glass from her hair.
“It came out of nowhere,” she said, her voice trembling.

Silver pushed open the door, stepping out carefully, his arm scraped but not bleeding.
“It ran right into us,” he said, eyes wide with disbelief.

Michael turned to Allison, his hand gently touching her arm.
“Are you hurt?”
She looked down at herself, breath still shaky, then shook her head.
“No… no, I’m okay.”

But Lydia’s voice rose in a sudden, high-pitched panic.
“Well, I’m not okay! I am totally freaking out! How the hell does it just run into us?”

Michael looked around, still breathless.
“Why would it do that? This doesn’t make any sense.”

Silver’s voice was quiet but steady, his eyes scanning the road.
“I saw its eyes… right before it hit us.” He looked to Scott.
“It was like—it was like it was crazy.”

Scott stepped forward, crouching next to the crumpled animal. His hand brushed gently over its fur, his face suddenly soft with recognition.
“No,” he murmured.
“It wasn’t crazy. It was scared.”
He looked up at them all, his expression grim.
“Actually… terrified.”

🌕

The morning sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow across the new apartment’s open living room. Everything was newer—cleaner—even if the family inside it still carried the same cracks.

Silver stood in front of the full-length mirror in his room, adjusting the sleeves of his charcoal T-shirt. The faint white lines that mapped his arms like constellations were visible now—and staying that way. He rolled his shoulders, let out a slow breath, and grabbed his backpack from the chair.

From the kitchen, a familiar voice floated through the apartment.

“Allison! Silver! First-day-of-school breakfast is happening whether you like it or not!”

Silver padded into the hallway, eyebrow arched. “Is this a guilt pancake situation or just regular, back-to-school anxiety carbs?”

Argent looked up from the stovetop, flipping the last of the pancakes onto a plate with military precision. “A little of both.”

Allison appeared next to him, already dressed, hair curled and perfect—of course. She gave Silver a look that hovered somewhere between hope and apology.

“You used to love first-day pancakes,” she said carefully, offering a plate. “Especially with chocolate chips.”

Silver glanced at the plate, then back at her. “I also used to love trusting people,” he said, voice cool but not cruel.

Allison winced slightly but didn’t argue. She just handed him the plate and added softly, “We’re trying, okay?”

“I know,” he said, sighing as he sat at the counter. “That’s the part that makes this so awkward.”

Silver said, picking at a pancake with his fork. “It’s the fact that we all tiptoe around each other like we’re afraid the wrong word will break everything again.”

“Well,” Allison muttered, mouth full of pancake, “that’s mostly because it might.”

Silver let out a short laugh, and for the first time in weeks, it wasn’t bitter.

Argent watched the two of them, something easing in his shoulders.

“I’m just saying,” he added, reaching for his travel mug, “I think it’s okay if today is… normal.”

“Define normal,” Silver said.

“You go to school. You maybe roll your eyes at a teacher. Allison threatens someone. I forget to pick you up,” Argent offered with a half-smile. “The usual.”

Allison grinned. “I don’t threaten. I warn.”

Silver raised his coffee mug in mock salute. “To normal.”

A few minutes later, backpacks slung over shoulders, they stepped out into the morning light. As the front door clicked shut behind them, Silver glanced sideways at Allison.

“I still don’t forgive you,” he said quietly.

She looked at him, not hurt—just understanding. “I know.”

“But I’m still getting in the car,” he added. “So… progress.” Silver walked towards the car, passing by Michael walking up to Allison. “What was that?” Michael asks.

“Progress,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Come on. He’ll leave without us.”

🌕

The hallway was buzzing with first-day energy — lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, and someone already yelling about forgetting their schedule. Lydia strolled through it all like she owned the place, heels clicking against the linoleum, while Silver walked beside her in his usual worn Converse, hands in his pockets and eyes scanning faces he hadn’t seen all summer.

“Freshmen,” Lydia said, weaving past a cluster of wide-eyed fourteen-year-olds. “Tons and tons of fresh men…”

Silver gave her a side glance. “You mean fresh boys. Lydia, they’re fourteen.”

She shrugged without missing a beat. “Eh, some are more mature than others.”

Silver chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.

“You know,” he said, “it’s okay to be single. Focus on yourself for a little while. Work on becoming a better person.”

Lydia gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “Silver, I love you. So if you need to do that thing where we talk about me but actually talk about you, I fully support it.”

Silver cracked a smile but didn’t answer.

“I don’t want a boyfriend,” she added, eyes sweeping the hall. “I want a distraction.”

“Brothers?” he offered, smirking.

“Twins,” she confirmed without hesitation.

They stopped by his locker, and as he spun the dial, Lydia leaned against the door beside him, voice a little quieter now.

“How’s it been? At home, I mean. With Allison and Michael.”

Silver paused, his hand resting on the lock a beat longer than necessary. His voice was low when he answered.

“I don’t want to fight with them,” he said. “I just… live there. That’s all.”

Lydia nodded, watching him carefully, but didn’t push.

🌕

The hallway buzzed with first-day energy as Silver and Lydia walked side by side toward class, their voices low but animated.

“So then she told me it was a ‘healing cleanse,’ but I swear it was just spicy water and lies,” Lydia was saying, her heels clicking against the tile.

Silver snorted. “You say that like you didn’t drink the whole bottle.”

“I was being polite,” she said, flipping her hair. “And mildly curious. Also, my skin does look better.”

“Yeah, glowing with the fire of regret,” Silver teased, nudging her with his elbow.

As they stepped into the classroom, the energy shifted instantly. Stiles nudged Scott from his seat near the middle of the room and whispered, “Hey, look.”

Just ahead, Lydia, Silver, Allison, and Michael all stopped short as they ran into each other by the door. A beat of awkward silence passed, thick and sudden. Lydia quickly recovered and made a beeline for her seat near the window, Allison trailing close behind without a word. Michael gave Silver a look, but Silver ignored it, walking toward the desk in front of Scott.

Scott blinked, surprised again by the sight of Silver in short sleeves, his arms no longer hidden — the scars faint but unmistakable. He swallowed.

“Hey,” Scott said quietly.

“Hey,” Silver returned, cool but not cold, as he slid into the seat in front of him.

From across the row, Stiles gave Scott a slow thumbs-up. Scott just groaned and lowered his head.

Michael, after a brief pause, sat behind Scott, clearly uncomfortable with the arrangement. He glanced around the room before slumping into the chair, already pulling out his phone.

As chatter filled the room, Silver heard the buzz of his phone, then noticed everyone else’s vibrating as well. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the text from an unknown number:

“The offing was barred by a black bank of clouds and the tranquil waterway, leading to the uttermost ends of the earth flowed somber under an overcast sky, seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness.”

A woman’s voice rang out as she entered the classroom, dark hair loose, heels clicking confidently. “This is the last line to the first book we’re going to read this year,” she said, placing her bag on the desk. “It’s also the last text you’ll receive in my classroom. Phones off, everyone.”

🌕

Michael halfheartedly flipped open his book but kept glancing forward. Scott passed a folded note to Silver, and Silver handed it back without turning around.

Michael tilted his head, watching silently.

Mr. McCall?” The new teacher Miss Blake calls for Scott and they leave the room.

Across the aisle, Stiles leaned toward Lydia and whispered, “Hey, Lydia. What’s with the bandage?” He nodded toward her ankle. “Is that from the accident?”

Lydia looked back with a dramatic sigh. “No. Prada bit me.”

Silver blinked. “Your dog?”

Lydia sat stiffly in her chair, her ankle resting delicately on the rung beneath her seat. She turned to Stiles with a dramatic sigh.
“No, my designer handbag. Yes, my dog,” she snapped, clearly irritated.

Michael, seated behind Scott, leaned forward slightly, propping his arms on the back of Scott’s chair. “Has it ever bitten you before?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

Stiles didn’t answer—he was too busy glaring over his shoulder at Michael, clearly unimpressed.
Michael huffed. “Can you stop glaring at me?” he said, irritation creeping in.

Silver, sitting in front of Michael with his shoulders straight and arms crossed, didn’t even turn around. His voice was low and calm.
“We don’t have to like him, Stiles,” he said. “We just have to tolerate him.”

A beat.

“Besides, he’s pretty good in a fight.”

Allison glanced sideways, a flicker of appreciation crossing her face at her brother’s words. Michael caught it but said nothing.

Stiles scoffed under his breath, but his tone shifted.
“Okay. But what if it’s like… the same thing as the deer? You know, how animals start acting weird right before an earthquake or something?”

Allison tilted her head. “Meaning what? There’s gonna be an earthquake?”

Michael leaned back, shrugging. “Or something.”

Lydia shifted in her seat again, this time more serious. “Maybe it means something’s coming. Something bad.”
She turned her gaze slowly toward Stiles. “It was a deer… and a dog. What’s that thing you always say about threes?”

“Once, twice,” A bird hitting the window gets everyone’s attention. Silver looks up startled, as Miss Blake walks over to the window. Before anyone could react, the window shattered, birds pouring in like a living storm, flapping and shrieking as students screamed and ducked under desks.

“Get down!” Miss Blake shouted.

Stiles instinctively threw his arms over Lydia. Michael shielded Allison. Silver crouched low, arms over his head, as glass and feathers flew past him.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, it stopped. The birds, dozens of them, lay lifeless on the floor, their bodies still.

The classroom was silent.

🌕

Silver was hunched forward, elbows on his knees, absently picking at the edge of his sleeve. Allison sat beside him, quiet, arms crossed tight. Michael, comforting her

Rachel stood near them, arms wrapped around herself, chewing on her thumbnail.

Argent stepped toward them, voice low but steady. “I guess this is still our normal.”

Silver looked up at him, eyes tired. “You mean the birds flying kamikaze-style into our classroom? That’s not normal, Dad.”

“Silver,” Argent said gently, but his son shook his head.

“No—first the deer, now this.”

Michael gave a nervous laugh. “So… what? Nature’s mad at us?”

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” Silver said, his voice hardening. “Things don’t act like that unless something’s coming. “

Argent glanced at Allison, who avoided his gaze. “Are you two all right? Either of you hurt?”

“We’re okay,” Allison said softly, barely above a whisper. “Just… shaken.”

“Silver?” Argent asked.

“I’m not bleeding, if that’s what you mean.” Silver’s voice was flat. “Not today, anyway.”

Argent didn’t take the bait. He crouched slightly, eyes level with his son. “Silver, this isn’t a joke.”

Rachel stepped closer to Michael, placing a hand on his arm like she was grounding both of them. “Chris,” she said to Argent, “if you know something—anything—we should be prepared for…”

“I don’t,” Argent said carefully. “Not yet. But I’ll find out.”

He turned back to Silver and Allison. “And when I do, I expect the same from you. No secrets. No half-truths. I need to know you’re safe.”

Silver’s eyes narrowed slightly. “We don’t exactly do family dinners anymore. So… what, do we text you when the next supernatural death trap shows up?”

Michael shifted uncomfortably at that. Allison looked away.

“Mr. Argent.” Stilinski calls out. Argent and Rachel both look over to him.  “You wouldn’t have any insight into this, would you?”

“Me?” Argent asks, surprised.

“Yeah. All this bizarre animal behavior, it’s- you must have seen something like this before, right?”

“I’m not sure why I would or why you would think I would.” Argent tells Stilinski looking at his children. “I’m sorry. I-I could’ve sworn I overhead my son talking about how you were an experienced hunter.”

Everyone looks back to Stiles. “Ah, right. Well, not anymore.” Argent tells Stilinski.

Silver can’t help but let a laugh out.

🌕

The school bell echoed through the mostly empty hallway, a familiar sound that somehow felt foreign in the heavy silence. Lydia leaned lazily against a locker, scrolling through her phone, her posture casual but her eyes sharp. A few feet away, Silver lingered—arms crossed, gaze flicking toward the end of the corridor, restless.

“Is it me,” Lydia said without looking up, “or is Beacon Hills turning into more like Beacon for the Totally Bizarre and Supernatural?”

Suddenly, the door at the end of the hallway swung open with force, and Braeden strode in—purposeful, no hesitation. Her eyes immediately scanned the two of them.

“Where’s Scott McCall?” she asked, voice cutting straight to the point.

Her gaze snapped to Silver.
“You’re Arthur, right?”

He straightened a little, caught off guard.
“Yeah… How do you know that?”

“Where’s Scott?” she asked again, more impatient now.

Silver blinked. “He had to leave. Said he’d be back before third period, but—”

Braeden didn’t wait for him to finish. She reached out, grabbing both his wrist and Lydia’s hand in a single, firm motion—stopping them both cold.

“Is he coming back?” Braeden cut in, stepping forward and grabbing his arm.

Lydia stepped forward quickly, voice sharp.
“Hey! Easy with the physicality, sweetheart!”

Braeden released her grip. Lydia rubbed her own shoulder dramatically.
“Ugh. Well, she bruised me.”

Silver looked down at his arm, then back up.
“Huh. Me too.” He wasn’t joking, but his tone was light—barely.

Just then, footsteps approached, and Chris Argent appeared at the far end of the hallway, calm but alert.

“Come on,” he said, his voice steady. “Let’s get you two out of here. School can wait another day.”

Lydia and Silver began walking with him, but Silver hesitated, glancing over his shoulder down the corridor.

“Where’s Michael and Allison?” he asked, tension creeping into his voice.

“Rachel took them,” Argent replied, calm but firm.

Silver looked down at his clenched hand, fingers twitching slightly. He didn’t say anything, but worry flickered across his face, quick and unreadable.

Argent slowed his pace just enough to turn back to him, voice softening.

“Hey… You don’t have to worry about this anymore. Remember our agreement?” He met Silver’s eyes. “We stay in Beacon Hills—but only if we stay out of this. It’s not our problem now, okay?”

🌕

Silver’s room was softly lit, the glow from a single desk lamp casting long shadows on the walls. It was cleaner than it used to be—neat, but still lived-in. A few half-unpacked boxes sat in the corner, the remnants of a move he hadn’t quite accepted. The door stood slightly ajar, just enough for muffled voices from down the hall to drift in and out.

Silver sat cross-legged on the bed, a book open in his lap but untouched. He stared at the same page for minutes at a time. At the foot of the bed, Lydia lay upside-down, her head dangling over the edge, long hair brushing the floor as she gazed at the ceiling in thought.

Lydia flipped over dramatically and crawled toward the head of the bed, propping her chin on her hand as she stared at him. Her eyes narrowed.

“Okay, when did you get arms?”

Silver blinked. “What?”

“I’m sorry, but since when do you have biceps?” she teased, flicking his upper arm. “And when did you become a guy who wears T-shirts like it’s no big deal?”

Silver rolled his eyes, but his cheeks flushed faintly.

“You’re the one who told me to stop hiding,” he said.

Lydia smirked, a proud smile on her face.

“So…” Lydia sighed, stretching out the word, “the Hearts live down the hall now.”

Silver didn’t look up.
“You say that like it’s a sitcom.”

Lydia grinned, swinging her legs lightly.
“It kind of feels like one. Uncomfortable family dynamics, unresolved exes, and neighbors who walk around like emotional landmines.

He let out a quiet chuckle, but it faded quickly, the weight behind his eyes never fully lifting.

“Michael and Allison are usually in his room. Or hers,” Silver said, voice flatter now. “Which is fine. We all agreed on a fresh start.”

Lydia shifted, her tone softer.
“But it doesn’t feel like one.”

Silver was quiet for a long beat. He leaned back against the headboard, the book falling shut in his lap.

“Sometimes I walk past their door,” he murmured, “and I think… maybe I shouldn’t have come back. Not to this.”

Lydia flipped over and crawled up beside him, stretching out until they lay shoulder to shoulder, her presence a steady anchor.

“You did come back,” she said. “And you’re here. So whether it feels fresh or not—you still get to choose what happens next.”

He turned his head toward her, expression tired but touched by something soft. His lips curled into a faint smile.

Their hands rested between them, almost touching. Silver glanced down, then stilled.

“Lydia,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Look.”

She followed his gaze—and there, where their bruised hands sat side by side, the markings lined up. The shadows, the shapes—they formed something. A pattern. An image.