Chapter 43

The classroom buzzed with low conversation, students waiting for the bell to ring. In the corner, Stiles, Scott, Allison, Silver, and Michael were huddled around Stiles’ tablet, a hiking trail map pulled up on screen.

“Here’s where we found the den,” Stiles said, pointing to a cluster of lines near the center of the map. “Right in the middle of the hiking trails.”

Allison leaned in and nodded. “That could actually narrow it down. Coyotes travel in fixed trails. But I don’t think she’s going back to the den. Coyotes don’t like wolves-and they’re smart. If they don’t want to be heard, they walk on their toes.”

Silver raised an eyebrow, quietly impressed. “Smart little bastards.”

Stiles squinted at the screen. “Wait-coyotes tip-toe?”

Michael smirked. “Yeah, Stiles. They pirouette too. Graceful as hell.”

Silver snorted a laugh, and Allison rolled her eyes just as the bell rang.

“I gotta run,” Allison said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Send me the pinned location.”

She was already halfway out the door. Silver and Michael started to head toward their desks, but Silver’s path was cut off when someone stepped in front of him-tall, composed, and oddly quiet.

Ren.

He gave Silver a small, unreadable smile. “Hey. Nice sunglasses.”

From across the room, Scott, Michael, and Stiles all noticed the interaction. Scott’s eyes narrowed.

“Who even is that guy?” he muttered to Stiles.

Michael leaned back in his chair, catching the shift in Scott’s expression with delight.

“You okay there, McCall?” he said under his breath. “Jealousy’s not really your color.”

Back near the door, Ren continued, “My sister and I did some digging-on the Bardo. Thought you might want the real story.”

He began fumbling through his bag, then glanced around and spotted Kira a few desks away. “Kira, do you have them?” he asked.

Kira blinked. “No. You took them this morning.”

“Well, can you look?” Ren asked.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Silver said, voice low and guarded.

Ren shrugged. “It only took a few hours.”

Silver’s expression darkened. “Then you definitely didn’t have to.”

At that moment, Mr. Yukimura appeared from the hallway, holding a thick stack of papers. “Kids,” he said. “You forgot all the research you did for that new friend of yours.”

He handed the entire stack to Ren.

Across the classroom, Stiles and Scott whipped around at the words new friend, eyebrows shooting up in tandem. Michael turned toward Silver with a grin, absolutely thrilled. Silver’s face flushed with color.

Ren held the papers out with a half-apologetic smile. “Here. All yours.”

Silver hesitated, then took them. “…Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Ren said casually, before walking off with the kind of confidence that made everything seem intentional.

From his desk, Scott watched Ren go, the faintest frown tightening his features.

“All right, everyone, let’s get started,” he said, his voice calm but commanding. “We were just talking about internment camps and prisoners of war. There’s a passage in our reading I’d like to go over in more detail. Who’d like to come up and read aloud for us?”

His gaze swept across the room, pausing as he made his selection.

“Mr. Stilinski, how about you?”

Stiles froze mid-note, pen hovering above his notebook. He glanced up, startled. Across the room, both Silver and Michael looked over, alert.

“I can do it,” Silver offered casually, his eyes flicking toward Stiles.

Mr. Yukimura gave a polite smile. “That’s very generous of you, Silver, but I asked Mr. Stilinski.”

Silver’s expression tightened slightly, something flickering behind his eyes. Something off.

“Come on up, Mr. Stilinski,” Yukimura urged.

Stiles stood slowly, every movement rigid. He looked uncomfortable-more than that. Fragile. Michael leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing as he watched him walk.

“This is a bad idea,” he muttered under his breath.

“He’s not okay,” Silver said quietly, watching Stiles closely.

At the front of the class, Stiles reached the podium and gripped its sides with both hands. His knuckles turned white. He blinked too fast, his balance shifting slightly on his feet.

“Stiles,” Silver said, louder now, his voice firm and focused.

Michael’s jaw clenched as he leaned forward in his seat, ready to move.

Then Stiles exhaled a shaky breath-and his knees buckled. His face went paper-white, a sheen of sweat forming on his brow.

Silver was on his feet in an instant. “Hey, hey, you’re okay. Breathe,” he said, grounding him with his voice.

Scott appeared beside them, helping to hold Stiles upright.

“We should take him to the nurse,” Scott said, his tone all business.

Mr. Yukimura gave a calm nod. “Go ahead.”

By the time they started toward the door, Michael was already there, holding it open without a word.

Scott had Stiles’ arm slung over his shoulder, guiding him down the corridor with slow, steady steps. Stiles was pale, breath hitching in his throat, trying to walk on his own but leaning heavily on Scott for balance.

“I’m fine,” Stiles insisted, breathless and weak. “It’s… I just need a second.”

“You’re not fine,” Scott said firmly, not slowing. “Just get to the bathroom. Come on.”

Behind them, Silver and Michael trailed closely, both watching Stiles with wary eyes. Silver kept stealing glances at his friend’s face, concern etched into his features. Michael stayed quiet, tense, his eyes scanning their surroundings.

They reached the boys’ bathroom, and Scott shouldered the door open, not missing a step.

“I got him,” he said, guiding Stiles inside without waiting for help.

Silver instinctively moved to follow, only for Michael to reach out and catch his arm.

“Let him talk to Scott first,” Michael said gently, his voice low. “He needs space.”

Silver paused mid-step, resisting for a second, his jaw tightening as his eyes stayed locked on the bathroom door.

“Yeah… okay,” he said softly, though his voice was heavy with doubt.

For a beat, he stood there, motionless. Then his gaze flicked toward the end of the hall, where the locker room door sat ajar, humming faintly under the flickering fluorescent light.

“I’ll meet you in a sec,” he murmured, his voice distant.

He turned without waiting for an answer and walked off down the corridor. Michael stood where he was, watching Silver’s retreating back before leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes distant.

The locker room was silent, save for the low hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Silver stepped inside slowly, each footfall echoing against the cold, tiled floor. The space smelled like chlorine and sweat and something metallic he couldn’t quite place-maybe his own dread. He walked toward the row of sinks and stared at his reflection under the harsh lighting. His fingers slipped under the frames of his sunglasses, lifting them off.

Without the barrier of dark lenses, the mirror revealed the eye he always tried to hide: clouded, pale, with a jagged scar slashing down through the lid like a crack in glass. He splashed cold water onto his face, trying to ground himself, but when he looked up again, the image hadn’t changed. That ruined eye stared back-accusing, tired, half-dead. He hated it. And yet, he couldn’t look away.

The silence held him for a moment longer, suspended in a fragile sort of stillness.

Then, the creak of a door behind him made Silver tense. He spun around, shoulders squared-but it was only Ren, standing in the doorway with that same unreadable calm.

“Hey,” Ren said simply.

Silver stiffened. He fumbled with the sunglasses in his hand, trying to slide them back on like armor. “What are-what are you doing here?” His voice came out rougher than he meant.

Ren stepped inside, gaze flicking, just briefly, toward the eye Silver had tried to hide.

“Is that real?” he asked, not with judgment, just curiosity.

Silver froze again. His fingers hovered over the sunglasses. Shame crawled up his spine.

Ren added, “It’s cool.”

That stopped him. The words were unexpected, disarming. Silver’s breath caught in his chest. Slowly-hesitantly-he lowered the sunglasses. Ren moved closer and gently reached out, removing them completely. Their eyes met. Ren’s steady, patient. Silver’s wide, raw, uncertain.

“It’s… not what I expected,” Ren admitted, quietly.

Silver opened his mouth to say something-anything-but before he could, a sharp scream rang out from the hallway. It pierced the moment like shattered glass.

He flinched hard.

The locker room door slammed open and Kira stumbled in, panting, wild-eyed. She turned and slammed it shut behind her, the metallic bang echoing off the walls.

“There’s a coyote-here. In the school,” she said, voice breathless.

A howl followed, low and chilling, vibrating through the floor.

Silver’s sunglasses fell from his hand, clattering against the tile.

Ren immediately stepped forward. “Come on,” he said, already pulling Silver and Kira behind a nearby row of lockers. The three of them crouched low, Kira’s back pressed against the cold metal, her breath shaky. A loud crash followed-the sound of glass splintering. Something had broken in from outside.

Peering around the edge of the lockers, Silver spotted it. A coyote-large, wild, frenzied-stalked into view, eyes glinting, fur raised. Silver stood slightly, instincts kicking in.

“I’ll distract it,” he offered, tense, jaw set.

But Ren caught his arm. “No,” he said sharply. “You have one eye. How are you going to dodge anything?”

Silver froze. His mouth opened in protest, then shut again. He nodded once and backed down behind the lockers, pulse hammering in his ears.

A second later, Scott burst through the locker room door, all momentum and fury. He slammed his hand against the lockers beside them with force. The entire row toppled like dominoes, creating a makeshift barricade just as the coyote lunged forward. It crashed into the blockade, snarled, and-after a brief, tense moment-spun and bolted through the shattered window, vanishing into the night.

Silver dropped back against the lockers, heart pounding, sweat on his brow. His eye-the damaged one-throbbed slightly, as if burned into place by the adrenaline. He exhaled hard.

Ren and Kira slowly slid down beside him, the silence returning in pieces. None of them said anything. There was nothing left to say.

The locker room suddenly felt smaller-warmer, heavier, darker. Like the quiet after a storm when you know another one’s already on the way.

And Silver sat there, his ruined eye open to the world, wondering if his greatest weakness might one day become the very thing that saves them all.

🦊

“Why were you not headed to lunch like everyone else?” Mr. Yukimura said, making Scott and Silver look over at Ren and Kira, “They left their bags! I was just trying to do something nice.” Kira said.

“And you?” Mr. Yukimura turned his attention to Ren.

Ren shifted slightly, glancing at Silver, who was adjusting his sunglasses and staring at the ground. After a pause, Ren answered quietly, “I was skipping class.”

Stiles caught Silver’s eye and offered a fake smile. “You okay?”

Silver looked up briefly, his voice low but steady. “I’m fine.”

Suddenly, Stiles spoke up, breaking the tension. “Guys, I think I know what she was looking for.” He pulled his backpack open and pulled out a small, worn baby doll from inside, holding it up.

Scott sighed, disbelief clear in his voice. “You took the doll from the car?”

“Yeah, I thought that you could use it! You know, for, like her scent.” Stiles defend.

“Where did you get that?” Someone asked making them look over to see Mr. Tate standing in the doorway. “Where did you find this?” He asked as he took it from Stiles, “It belonged to my daughter.”

“Mr. Tate, I don’t know how you heard about this – if you have your one police scanner or what – but you can’t be here.” Stilinski said and went to lightly push Tate out of the room but froze for a second moving Tate’s jacket to reveal a gun at his side. “I have a permit.” Tate said. “California schools are gun-free zones, permit or no permit. You need to leave, Mr. Tate. Now.”

“You find that animal! You find that thing!”

🦊

Deaton stepped into the examination room, his expression serious as he set three small bottles down on the metal table.

“Xylazine,” he explained. “It’s a tranquilizer for horses. For a werecoyote, expect it to work within seconds.” He looked around the group, gauging their reactions. “I only have three. So whoever’s shooting needs to be a damn good shot.”

Michael didn’t hesitate. “Allison’s a perfect shot.”

Isaac scoffed lightly, arms crossed. “Well… she used to be.”

“She can do it,” Michael insisted, unwavering.

“If we manage to find the thing,” Isaac muttered, not looking convinced.

From the side, Stiles gestured dramatically toward Isaac. “Okay, what is the point of him? Seriously. What is his purpose? Aside from the constant sarcasm and the scar? And what’s up with the scarf? It’s sixty-five degrees outside.”

Isaac rolled his eyes in frustration, but before either of them could escalate, Silver pressed two fingers to his temples, voice dry.

“Oh my god, boys. Please. You’re both pretty.”

“Look,” Isaac said, ignoring the jab. “Maybe I’m just asking the thing no one wants to say-how do we turn a coyote back into a girl when she hasn’t *been* a girl in eight years?”

That silenced the room for a moment. All eyes turned to Scott, who looked down at the floor before raising his head again.

“I can do it,” he said quietly, conviction in his voice.

Silver looked at him, skeptical. “You can?”

Scott nodded. “You remember the night Peter trapped us in the school? In the gym, he got me to shift with just his voice. Deucalion did the same thing at the distillery.”

Silver crossed his arms. “Hate to be devil’s advocate here, but this is a werecoyote. Who knows if that’ll even work? *If* you can find someone to teach you.”

“That’s why you called Derek first,” Stiles realized.

Scott sighed. “Yeah. I could try it on my own. But right now… I’m too scared to even change into a werewolf.”

“We need a real alpha,” Stiles said.

Scott gave him a look, but Stiles held up his hands defensively. “You know what I mean. An alpha who can do alpha things. An alpha who can get it going. You know, get it-“

“Up?” Silver offered with a smirk.

Stiles pointed at him in agreement. “Exactly.”

Scott groaned. “Great. I’m an alpha with performance issues.”

Silver chuckled under his breath-or maybe he didn’t.

Deaton brought the group back on track. “Is there anyone else besides Derek who could help?”

Isaac shook his head slightly. “I wouldn’t trust Peter.”

Stiles leaned forward, hopeful. “What about the twins?”

“They’re not alphas anymore,” Deaton said. “After what Jennifer did-almost killing them-it broke that part of them.”

Silver tilted his head with a small shrug. “Sure, but what if they still *know* how to do it?”

Scott hesitated, glancing at him. “Nobody’s seen them for weeks.”

Silver met his eyes, voice quieter now. “Actually… that’s not totally true.”

🦊

They stood in the Argent apartment, where the dining table had been transformed into a makeshift command center-maps unrolled at odd angles, crossbows lined up beside tranquilizer darts, and half-empty mugs of coffee forgotten in the chaos. The late afternoon light spilled through the blinds, striping across the floor and casting a golden sheen over Allison’s focused expression as she tightened the strap of her quiver.

“Do you think you can hone in on Malia?” she asked, turning to Isaac with a tight urgency in her voice. “If not, we’re going to be in the woods for a very long time…”

Isaac inhaled slowly, eyes fluttering closed as he concentrated. “I’ve got a pretty good lock on her scent,” he murmured. “It’s actually kind of strong.”

Allison tilted her head, waiting. “What is it?”

Isaac cracked one eye open, face twisting with mild disgust. “Pee.”

Michael, who had been lounging against the doorframe with his arms folded and a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, let out a short laugh. “Very dignified.”

Isaac shot him a sharp look, clearly unamused.

But Allison didn’t react. Without a word, she turned and walked out of the room, her boots silent against the hardwood.

🦊

Silver sat cross-legged on the floor, the disassembled parts of his crossbow laid out in front of him like a ritual. The quiet was absolute, broken only by the soft click of metal and the rhythmic sound of him wiping down each piece.

No music. No distractions. Just the steady focus of cleaning something that could kill if it needed to.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt-just a pair of worn gray sweatpants-and the soft light from the window traced over every scar carved across his skin. His ribs. His shoulder. The long faint lines down his back.

And his eye-his ruined eye-was uncovered for once. No sunglasses. No bandages. It was pale and glassy, the color long drained out of it, and he didn’t bother to hide it. Not here. Not when he was alone.

He stared down at the crossbow laid out in front of him, his gaze falling on a small inscription carved into the frame. The letters were faded now, softened by wear and time, but they were still legible. His father had engraved them a few days before his thirteenth birthday. A few days before everything changed.

Silver rubbed at his wrists absently, trying to shake the thoughts loose, like dust off an old coat. But they clung stubbornly.

He leaned in and ran his fingers over the inscription-each letter touched like it might vanish beneath his hand:

Arthur “Silver” Argent.

His real name. The one no one used. Not even him.

“What a stupid name,” he muttered under his breath, bitterness crawling up the back of his throat.

He didn’t have time to regret the words.

The the door slammed open.

“Allison-!” Michael’s voice cut through the stillness a second too late.

Silver didn’t have time to react. Allison burst into the room and tackled him hard to the ground, pinning him beneath her with terrifying speed. Before he could speak, he felt the sharp tip of an arrow pressed against his throat.

“Allison!” Michael yelled, charging forward.

He and Isaac rushed in at the same time, grabbing Allison and pulling her back with force. She dropped the arrow immediately, shaking.

“Oh my God!” she gasped. “I’m so sorry. I’m-I’m so sorry!”

Silver sat up slowly, eyes wide, chest still rising and falling as he stared at her.

“I don’t know what I was doing,” she whispered, backing up. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

Isaac gave a weak chuckle, trying to defuse the tension. “It’s… better than ring daggers, I guess?”

Allison turned to him, stricken. “How am I supposed to help anyone if I’m like this?” Her voice cracked. “What am I supposed to do?”

Michael stepped in front of her, hands gently framing her face. “Liss, look at me.” His voice was low and steady. “Let me do this for you. Please, baby?”

Silver stayed where he was on the floor, silent, staring at the half-assembled crossbow beside him-his ruined eye still exposed.

🦊

“Anyone else think we might be doing more harm than good?” Lydia asked, arms crossed as she stood beside the cars parked along the edge of the preserve. The group-Scott, Stiles, Silver, Michael, Isaac, and Allison-had gathered in a loose circle, tension hanging in the cool forest air.

“We’re trying to keep a father from killing his own daughter,” Scott said firmly, trying to anchor the mission in some kind of morality.

Isaac tilted his head. “Technically, we’re trying to stop a guy from killing a coyote… who happens to be his daughter… who we also have no idea how to turn back into a human.”

Silver let out a dry huff of disbelief, shaking his head, and Stiles turned toward Isaac with an annoyed squint. “Again with the not helping.”

“Did you bring it?” Scott asked, cutting in and turning to Allison.

She hesitated a moment, then silently opened the trunk of her car. The group watched as she reached in and pulled out a massive dart gun, nearly the size of her upper body. The kind that didn’t just knock things out-but could probably take down a bear.

Michael raised an eyebrow. “Subtle.”

Allison didn’t respond. She just slammed the trunk shut with finality.

A gunshot cracked through the air like thunder-sharp, distant, and unmistakably real. In an instant, the teens scattered, each darting in a different direction across the preserve in a desperate bid to reach Malia before her father did.

Silver didn’t hesitate. He swung his leg over the back of Scott’s bike, gripping his waist as the engine roared to life. The two of them tore through the woods, weaving between trees with practiced ease. It was a familiar rhythm, muscle memory from better days-back when late-night rides had meant something else entirely.

But the illusion shattered with a scream.

Isaac’s voice-raw and unmistakable-rang out through the trees.

Scott’s hands flew to his head mid-ride, eyes squeezed shut in pain. He lost control. The handlebars jerked. The bike veered off the path and slammed into the underbrush. Both boys went flying.

Silver hit the ground hard, breath knocked from his lungs. Dirt and leaves clung to his bare arms as he rolled to a stop. A sharp ache pulsed through his side, but he pushed it down the moment he saw Scott sprawled ahead of him, motionless.

“Come on, Scott…” Silver whispered, dragging himself forward. His voice trembled, thick with panic. He grabbed Scott’s arm, hauling him upright. “Come on, we don’t have time for this.”

Scott blinked, dazed. “Are you okay?” he asked, brushing twigs out of Silver’s hair with shaking hands. His fingers grazed Silver’s cheek, tender and trembling. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what just happened-I didn’t mean to let go-“

Silver cut him off, quiet but firm. “It was a mistake. A bad moment, that’s all.” He held Scott’s gaze, steady and grounding. “But we’re okay. You’re okay. We need to find her.”

Scott nodded, jaw tightening as he helped Silver to his feet. They took off running, the trees swallowing their footsteps. Then-movement. A flash of fur between the trees. The coyote.

“There!” Silver pointed, slowing only as they reached the crash site. Malia’s den. The place she kept returning to.

Scott didn’t hesitate. With one last glance at Silver, he surged ahead, leaping over the wreckage in a single, powerful bound. He landed with a snarl, shifting midair-eyes glowing, claws bared, alpha strength radiating from him like heat.

Silver stood just behind, hands hovering at his sides, not moving. Watching. Waiting. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum.

Malia growled in front of them, snarling as she backed toward the den. Something wild, desperate, and scared filled her every movement.

Then-

Scott roared.

The sound tore through the forest like a force of nature. It echoed off the trees, deep and commanding. Silver flinched at the power in it.

And just like that-something changed.

Movement snapped Silver’s attention to the right. His breath caught.

A girl emerged from the brush.

Disoriented. Naked. Covered in dirt and leaves. Her limbs shook as she rose to her feet, as though she’d never stood upright before.

Malia.

Silver’s hand flew to his mouth in shock, eyes wide. Malia stared at them in stunned silence, her eyes darting between the boys, then downward-toward her hands. She blinked, then again, like she was seeing them for the first time in years.

Scott’s red eyes flickered back to brown. He stepped forward slowly, wrapping a steady arm around Silver’s waist as they both took her in.

“She’s back,” Silver whispered, barely believing it.