Chapter 37

Silver had always wanted a dog. Every year, he’d ask, and every year the answer was the same. His mom claimed she was afraid of dogs. His dad used to say they moved around too much, never in one place long enough to take care of one properly.

But one year, Silver had really believed it might happen. Their neighbor was trying to find homes for a litter of beagle puppies—small, floppy-eared hunting dogs with big eyes and even bigger paws. Silver had picked one out in his head already. He’d even named it.

Then something happened. His mom got a new job in another state, and within a week the family packed up and left. The boxes weren’t even fully unpacked before the conversation about the puppy was forgotten.

Now, years later, Silver was standing in Lydia Martin’s backyard, arms crossed and patience thin.

“Prada! Please just pick somewhere and go!” he shouted at her Yorkshire terrier, who was aimlessly sniffing the same patch of grass for the fifth time. Prada didn’t even look up. She just shuffled to the side and kept sniffing.

Silver groaned and threw his hands up. “Your dog is the devil,” he muttered, turning on his heel and walking back into the house.

Lydia laughed from the kitchen, unfazed. “She does what she wants, when she wants.”

Silver kicked off his shoes by the door. “Remind me to never pet-sit.”

“You say that now.” Lydia glanced back at him, grabbing her purse. “Wanna go for ice cream? I’m craving something sweet.”

Silver gave a tired nod.

Lydia walked to the back door and called out, “Prada!”

The little dog pranced back in, as if she hadn’t just spent ten minutes ignoring Silver entirely.

A few minutes later, they were driving. The car was quiet, windows cracked, summer air brushing in with a warm breeze.

Silver looked around, noticing the familiar turn. “Uh… Lydia?”

“Yeah?”

“I thought we were going for ice cream.”

“We are.”

Silver frowned, looking out the window. “Then why are we at school?”

🌕

“Over here!” Silver called, spotting the familiar blue Jeep pulling into the school parking lot late at night. He stood beside Lydia, waving Stiles and Scott over as they jumped out of the vehicle. Silver gently rubbed Lydia’s back in support, his eyes flickering with quiet concern.

“Lydia?” Stiles asked, catching his breath.

“It’s the same thing—same thing as the pool,” Lydia said, her voice distant but clear. “I got into the car heading somewhere totally different, and I ended up here. …And you told me to call you if there’s a dead body.”

“You found a dead body?” Stiles asked, alarmed.

“Not yet…” Lydia murmured, leaning her head tiredly on Silver’s shoulder.

“Not yet? What do you mean, ‘not yet’? Lydia, you’re supposed to call us after you find the dead body,” Stiles scoffed.

“Stiles,” Silver said sharply, giving him a look.

“Oh no, I’m not doing that again,” Lydia snapped, straightening up to glare at Stiles. “You find the dead body from now on.”

“How are we supposed to find the dead body? You’re always the one finding the dead body!” Stiles threw his hands up in frustration as Lydia and Silver both rolled their eyes.

Just then, headlights swept across the lot. Another car pulled in—Michael behind the wheel, Allison in the passenger seat. They parked quickly and got out, approaching the group with urgency and tension in their eyes.

“Guys…?” Scott called out, having wandered a few paces ahead near the edge of the parking lot. Everyone turned to look as his voice dropped. “I found the dead body.”

🌕

Silver stood near the edge of the pavement, staring blankly at nothing, arms crossed tightly against his chest.

Michael approached slowly, careful with his words. “You need to go home.”

Silver didn’t even look at him. “Don’t start.”

“You just found out Deucalion tried to have you killed, Silver. By your own family. You’re in shock. You shouldn’t be here.”

Now Silver turned to face him, jaw tense. “Yeah, well, turns out home is where they were supposed to kill me. So forgive me if it’s not exactly my safe space right now.”

Michael flinched, but didn’t back off. “You can’t just ignore your family Silver. At least not Allison, she was innocent in this. She’s your sister!”

He dropped his voice again, quieter but no less fierce. “Everything I thought I knew—it’s a lie. I wasn’t attacked at random. I was bait. And you—” he pointed at Michael—”you knew.”

Michael’s face twisted with guilt. “I didn’t know what to do, I was also fifteen Silver. I was new to this world and then I was told that I had to keep this secret from! “

Silver scoffed. “And that makes it okay? That you walked around holding that secret while I blamed myself for years? While I begged myself to forget it? Michael, I almost died.”

“I know,” Michael said, his voice breaking. “You think I don’t hate myself for that? I should’ve told you, I know. But you were finally doing better, and I didn’t -“

“You don’t get to make that choice for me!” Silver snapped. “Not after everything else.”

Ms. Blake’s words hit like a jolt—pulling Silver out of his head. “Idioms, analogies, metaphors, and similes—tools the writer uses to tell their story,” she said, pausing beside Lydia and Silver’s desks. “Lydia, I wasn’t aware you had so many hidden talents.”

“You and every guy I’ve ever dated,” Lydia replied smoothly.

Silver snorted, burying his face in his sleeve to hide the grin tugging at his lips. He sank a little lower in his seat, fidgeting with the frayed edge of his hoodie. Ms. Blake shot him a look—equal parts confusion and disapproval.

“Sorry,” he muttered without much conviction. “That was an idiom, by the way.”

Ms. Blake arched an eyebrow but moved on, turning back to the board.

“Idioms are something of a secret to the people who know the language or culture,” she explained. “They’re phrases that only make sense if you know the key words. Saying ‘jump the gun’ only makes sense if you know about the starting gun in a race. Or a phrase like ‘seeing the whole board.'”

“Like chess,” Stiles muttered.

Ms. Blake turned with a smile. “That’s right, Stiles. Do you play?”

“Uh, no. My father does,” he replied quickly.

“Now when does an idiom become a cliché?”

As hands went up around the classroom, Scott leaned over to Stiles and Silver. His voice was low.

“I think I can get to Ethan. I’m pretty sure I can make him talk.”

Silver raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t that a bad idea? I mean, he’s basically enemy number one.”

Scott ignored that. “The Emissaries are Druids, right?”

Silver and Stiles nodded.

“So what if the Darach was an Emissary to the Alphas?”

Stiles blinked. “First of all, I can’t believe we’ve reached a point where a sentence like, ‘What if the Darach was an Emissary to the Alphas?’ makes total sense to me. Second, there’s one huge problem with getting to Ethan.”

“What’s that?” Scott asked.

“Going through Aiden,” Silver cut in. “Since he’s been back in school, they’re always glued to each other. How are we supposed to separate them again?”

Scott fell quiet, clearly thinking. Then all three boys turned to look toward the front of the room.

Lydia glanced up from her notebook, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “You so owe me little Argent.”

🌕

Silver finished one last sweep of the stairwell, sharp eyes flicking across every shadow. “It’s clear,” he said, returning to the others. He slipped in beside Scott, his shoulder nearly brushing his, but his gaze was elsewhere—already thinking ahead.

Ethan watched him for a beat, then turned to Scott. “You want to know about Emissaries?”

“We want to know about your Emissaries,” Scott said evenly.

“Why are you even talking to me?” Ethan asked, voice rough. “I helped kill your friend. How do you know I’m not going to kill another one?”

“Is he looking at me? You threatening me?” Stiles said, stepping forward. “You know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna break off an extra-large branch of mountain ash, wrap it in wolfsbane, roll it in mistletoe, and shove it right up your freaking—”

“No one’s threatening anyone,” Silver said quietly, his voice clipped but steady.

Scott nodded gratefully and turned back to Ethan. “We’re talking to you because I know you didn’t want to kill Boyd. And I think if something like that happened now… you wouldn’t go through with it.”

“You don’t know what we owe them. Especially Deucalion,” Ethan said, his expression darkening.

“What do you mean?” Silver asked, stepping forward, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Ethan hesitated, looking directly at him. “We weren’t like Kali and Ennis when we met him. We weren’t Alphas.”

“What were you?” Scott asked.

Silver’s voice was quieter now, sharper. “You were Omegas, weren’t you?”

Ethan nodded, the weight of it settling in the silence.

“In real wolf packs, the Omega’s the scapegoat—the last to eat, the one who takes the abuse,” he explained. “That was us.”

“So, you and your brother were the bitches of the pack,” Stiles said bluntly.

“Something like that,” Ethan replied with a shrug.

“What happened?” Silver asked, his tone softer, more careful.

“They were killers. People talk about us like we’re monsters… but they were the ones who gave us that name. And our Alpha was the worst of them.”

“Why didn’t you fight back?” Stiles asked. “Become your little Voltron wolf and kick their asses?”

“We couldn’t. We didn’t know how to control it back then.”

“Deucalion taught you,” Silver guessed.

Ethan nodded. “And then we fought back. Took them out, one by one. When we got to our Alpha, he was begging. We tore him apart. Literally.”

Silver’s breath caught, but he didn’t look away. His voice was barely above a whisper. “What about your Emissary?”

Scott jumped in. “Are they all dead? Kali and Ennis’s too?”

Ethan nodded solemnly. “All except for Deucalion’s.”

“You mean Morrell?” Stiles asked.

Before Ethan could answer, he flinched, staggering slightly.

Silver caught the flicker of pain cross his face. “What is it?” he asked quickly. “Are you hurt?”

Ethan shook his head. “Not me. My brother.”

🌕

“Aiden, stop!” Lydia yelled as Silver, Stiles, and Scott rushed into the locker room.

They arrived just in time to see Aiden yank a barbell plate off the weight rack. When Cora rose to face him, he slammed it across her cheek with a sickening crack, sending her crashing to the floor past Lydia.

“Stop!” Lydia screamed again.

Aiden raised the weight, ready to swing again, but Scott and Ethan tackled him, the barbell plate clattering to the floor. Stiles instinctively stepped in front of Lydia, and Silver threw a protective arm out across her chest, keeping her back even as his eyes stayed locked on Aiden.

“Aiden, you can’t do this!” Ethan shouted, straining to hold his brother back.
“She came at me!” Aiden growled, still struggling.

“It doesn’t matter!” Ethan snapped. “Kali gave Derek till the next full moon. You can’t touch him—or her!”

Aiden glared at them all, panting hard. Then his gaze shifted—and softened slightly when he saw Lydia trembling in Silver’s arms, her expression pale with horror. Silver didn’t even glance at Aiden, just tightened his hold on Lydia like he was shielding her from all of it.

A few feet away, Cora groaned, barely able to sit up. Scott stepped forward, instinctively protective, but didn’t move any closer yet.

It was a tense standoff.
Scott looked to Silver. Silver gave the smallest nod, and together they turned toward Ethan, eyes pleading. Ethan understood, sighed, and finally managed to drag his brother out the door.

Stiles knelt by Cora, reaching for her. He paused when he saw blood on her temple.
“Guys… I think she’s pretty hurt.”

“Would you just stand still?” Silver asked, moving in to help, but Cora slapped his hands away.
“I don’t need your help,” she hissed, pulling the bloody paper towel from his hand.

“You’re bleeding. So yeah—you kind of do,” Silver muttered, but didn’t push further.

“Are you okay?” Scott asked gently, glancing between Silver and Cora.

“She doesn’t look okay,” Lydia added, worry tightening her voice.

“I’ll heal,” Cora snapped, bracing herself.

As soon as she stepped away from the sink, she stumbled. Scott and Stiles moved to catch her, but she caught herself, gripping the edge of the counter with a hiss of pain.
“I said I’m fine.”

“Do you realize how suicidally crazy that was?” Stiles demanded. “What were you thinking going after them?”

“I did it for Boyd. None of you were doing anything,” Cora said bitterly.

The room fell into silence. Her words hit hard.

“You’re just a bunch of stupid teenagers, running around thinking you can stop people from getting killed.” She looked between all of them, her voice rising. “But all you really do is show up late. All you ever do is find the bodies.”

“She’s definitely a Hale. I’ll make sure she gets home,” Stiles said quietly as he followed Cora out, leaving Scott, Lydia, and Silver alone in the hollow silence of the locker room.

“Please don’t. Don’t even start,” he warned, eyes flashing with exhaustion and something harder—defiance. “The last thing I need right now is to be lectured.”

Scott took a cautious step forward, voice gentle but unwavering. “I’m not here to lecture you, Silver. I just want to understand. To help.”

Lydia’s gaze softened, but her tone carried urgency. “We’re not trying to fight you. We’re trying to stand with you.”

Silver shook his head, bitter laughter escaping him. “Stand with me? You don’t know what it’s like. My life got flipped upside down, Scott. Last year I was a stupid kid in love but now I’m someone who was supposed to die.”

Scott’s voice dropped low, earnest. “I don’t pretend to understand everything. But I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you let me in.”

For a moment, Silver wavered—his defenses flickering. But then his jaw clenched, voice tight with heartbreak. “You can’t fix this. No one can.”

Lydia took a step closer. “Maybe not alone. But you don’t have to be alone.”

Silver’s eyes darkened with pain, and for a heartbeat, the walls around him seemed to crumble. But then, with a shaking breath, he turned away.

“I’m done talking,” he said. “Just… leave me alone.”

Lydia’s voice was barely audible as she watched him go. “We’ll find a way. We have to.”

Scott nodded grimly, staring after Silver. “Yeah. We will.”

🌕

Silver stepped quietly into the Argent house, pausing outside the office door as he heard voices inside. He pushed the door open just enough to slip in and saw Michael and Allison bent over a map spread across the desk.

“Okay, okay, hold on a second,” Michael said, his tone sharp. “Your dad is the killer?”

Allison shook her head, firm but uncertain. “No. I mean, I don’t think he is, at least. I hope he isn’t.”

Michael smirked, gold eyes glinting with suspicion. “You hope he isn’t the serial-killing dark druid who’s been slashing throats?”

“Yeah,” Allison replied quietly.

“Right.”

Silver stepped fully into the room, folding his arms. “Are we really entertaining that possibility? That dad is some kind of monster?”

“I live here too. That’s my dad. My family. If something’s happening, I deserve to know.”

His voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t flinch. He looked around the room—at Isaac, at Michael—then back to Allison.

Michael glanced at Silver, wary but firm. “I’m just saying, we need to consider all options.”

Allison held up the blacklight, her voice sharp. “Look—see the marks on this map? Five more bodies to be found. No names listed.”

Michael and Isaac stepped back, giving Allison room.

“What are you doing?” Allison asked, tension threading her words.

Michael’s tone softened as he took a step back. “Something my father taught me… Take a step back. Look at the whole picture. Sometimes, when you’re too close, you miss what’s right in front of you. You get lost in the details.”

Allison shifted the map slightly under the blacklight. The marks glimmered, slowly revealing a pattern.

“Look at that… You see it?”

Isaac blinked, surprised. “Whoa. What is that?”

“Allison,” Silver said quietly, “that’s a five-fold knot. It’s a Celtic symbol.”

Michael exhaled. “If your dad’s not the killer, then he’s definitely hiding something.”

Allison looked up at Michael. “Where have you seen that symbol before?”

Michael hesitated, memories flickering. “My dad used to draw it. It’s from an old family book.”

Silver frowned. “What family?”

Before Michael could answer, Isaac entered the room quietly, catching the tail end of the conversation.

“Five-fold knot?” Isaac repeated, stepping closer. “I’ve seen that symbol too—old folklore about guardians and protectors.”

Michael’s hand briefly touched Allison’s as he moved the light over the map again. “Virgins. Warriors. Healers. Philosophers. Guardians.”

Isaac’s eyes darkened. “It’s not just a symbol. It’s a warning.”

🌕

Silver’s phone buzzed sharply against the tabletop, the sudden vibration slicing through the tense quiet of the apartment. He snatched it up, thumb swiping across the screen. Lydia’s message glowed ominously.

His breath caught. The room seemed to close in around him.

“He’s missing. Westover. Lydia just texted,” Silver said, voice tight but fraying.

“What do you mean, missing?” Allison asked, stepping closer.

Silver’s eyes flashed, anger simmering just beneath the surface. “I mean he’s gone! Taken—like the others. And you know who’s behind this, don’t you? My dad.”

He slammed his fist onto the table, papers fluttering. “All this time, he’s been lying to me! Pretending he’s protecting me, but really he’s the one pulling the strings. Every death, every symbol—it’s his game.”

Isaac’s face paled. “Silver, maybe you’re jumping to conclusions—”

Silver whipped around, eyes blazing. “No! I’ve seen the map. I’ve seen everything. He knows things no one else could. And he’s been using me like a pawn. How many lies, Dad? How many times have you told me one thing and done the opposite?”

Michael stepped forward, voice soft but steady. “Silver—”

Silver cut him off, voice rising. “Don’t. Just don’t. I’m sick of everyone making decisions for me, hiding the truth. If Westover was taken from the school, there’s another mark. Another point on the current. And I’m going after it.”

Allison nodded, pointing. “That mark wasn’t there before—there.”

Isaac swallowed hard. “You think that’s where the next sacrifice will happen?”

Silver’s jaw clenched, his voice cold and certain. “I don’t think. I know.”

🌕

The air was thick with static. The hum of electricity buzzed overhead like a warning, vibrating in Silver’s bones. He moved like a shadow, fast and focused, leading the way with his crossbow slung across his back and bitterness clenched between his teeth.

“Are we seriously not calling Scott?” Isaac asked from behind, his voice low but laced with tension.

Silver didn’t turn. “Do you see Scott here?”

“Cool,” Isaac mumbled to Allison. “Yeah, this feels real safe.”

Michael jogged up beside Silver, panting. “You could’ve waited.”

“You could’ve stayed out of it,” Silver shot back, not missing a step.

“I’m not letting you do this alone,” Michael said, breath shallow, words meant to comfort but failing.

“I never was alone.” Silver’s tone turned bitter. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

Michael didn’t answer. His hand hovered near his knife—instinct, not threat.

The four walk into the building,

“I’m just saying,” Isaac muttered, eyes scanning the dark, “if your dad tries to kill me—I’m defending myself.”

“Then I’ll make sure you stay down,” Silver said coldly. “We don’t need more chaos.”

“Wait,” Michael calls out stopping all of them. “Are we sure this is still a good idea? He could already be dead or the actual darach could be here.”

“Just help me find him.” Allison pleads with him. They crossed the rusted gate of the substation. The air shifted—metallic and sour.

Isaac paused. “Wait… I smell blood.”

Silver turned on a dime. “Where?”

“I—I don’t know. Not far. But strong. I think it’s—”

But Silver was already gone.

“Silver!” Michael called out, chasing after him. “Stop!”

“Don’t just run in!” Allison snapped.

“We’re gonna die,” Isaac muttered under his breath.

Silver gasps as he catches sight of Mr. Westover moving, before the Darach moves from behind him. “Silver, wait!” Allison calls out as he starts to walk faster towards it.

“GET DOWN!”

The gunshot cracked like thunder, lighting up the hall with a burst of sparks from a power box. Silver didn’t even think—his arm shot out, pulling Allison down beside him. Behind them, Michael yanked Isaac behind a metal panel, both ducking low as flickering light strobed through the smoke.

Chris Argent stepped into view through the haze, gun still raised, eyes cold and focused. His stance was calm, but the danger radiated off him.

Rachel was right behind him, flashlight gripped tight in one hand, her jaw set. Her hands trembled—not from fear, but fury.

“You could’ve killed him!” Rachel snapped at Chris, voice slicing through the air.

“He ran in,” Chris said, lowering his weapon just slightly. “I was trying to stop him.”

Silver slowly stood, his chest heaving, voice shaking with rage. “You always say that. You’re always ‘trying to protect me.’ That’s the excuse, right?”

“Silver—” Chris started, cautious.

“You lied. Again.” Silver’s voice rose like a storm breaking open.

“I didn’t think it would get this far—” Chris said, trying to explain.

Silver let out a bitter laugh. “You never think. You just decide. You decide for all of us. And I’m supposed to play the good son, shut up, and trust that you know best?”

“Silver, not here…” Michael said quietly, stepping forward.

Silver turned on him in a flash, voice sharp and cold. “Why not? Scared someone might finally tell the truth?”

Michael backed off, jaw clenched, saying nothing.

Chris’s eyes softened, regret barely breaking through his hunter mask. But Silver was already moving, storming past them toward the slumped body by the generator. The man was barely breathing—bound, bloodied, broken.

“That’s Mr. Westover,” Silver said, voice hollow.

“Our history teacher,” Isaac whispered, horrified.

“We were wrong,” Allison muttered, staring at the symbols carved into the man’s wrist.

Silver stood slowly, brushing dust off his palms as he looked at the group gathered around the injured teacher.
“It’s not guardians as in cops,” he said, voice tight, eyes burning. “It’s people who protect others. Teachers. Counselors.”

His gaze snapped toward his father.
“You knew this.”

Chris didn’t answer right away. The air between them was thick, heavy with all the things they never said.

“I knew it was a possibility,” he finally admitted, the guilt creeping into his voice.

Silver took a step forward, the weight of betrayal pressing into every syllable.
“And you let me walk around like nothing was happening? You promised no more lies.”

Chris’s voice dropped, more tired than defensive.
“I was trying to protect you.”

Silver laughed bitterly, but there was no humor in it. “No. You were protecting the lie. Like you always do.” His voice cracked at the end, but he didn’t look away.

Isaac scoffed, glancing between them with visible frustration.
“Hey, just a thought? Maybe right now isn’t the best time for a little family meeting. There’s still one more teacher.”

Argent’s expression shifted.
“The recital…”

Allison looked up.
“Guess we’re going after all.”

🌕

Silver, Allison, Rachel, Michael, Argent, and Isaac arrived at the school, stepping cautiously into the shadowed building. The music from the orchestra echoed hauntingly through the halls—violins and cello blending in eerie harmony. Silver furrowed his brows as the tune suddenly shifted. The strings dropped away, replaced by a somber song laced with low chanting that reverberated through the air like a warning.

“Something is happening,” Silver muttered to Allison, his eyes scanning the darkened auditorium.

Without warning, a piercing shriek rang out, sharp and unnatural. Isaac clutched his head, stumbling back as his golden eyes flared.

“Isaac?” Rachel asked urgently, moving toward him.

Silver’s head snapped up just in time to see the pianist—mid-performance—suddenly stiffen, then collapse over the keys, dead. The jarring note from the crash rang out across the room like a funeral bell.