Chapter 48

Silver came back to himself slowly.

The first thing he noticed was the cold hard floor beneath him. Then came the sound, a faint hum in the air, like distant electricity. His head felt thick, stuffed with static.

When he tried to open his eyes, the world split in two:

The right side came into blurry focus—dim light, the uneven lines of a hallway ceiling. But the left was a different story. His blinded eye ached like something was pressing against it from the inside, each pulse matching his heartbeat. The old injury from Deucalion’s claws had never hurt quite like this before—sharp at first, then dragging into a deep, grinding throb that spread into his temple and jaw.

He groaned, the sound barely more than a whisper.

“Ren?” His voice cracked as he pushed himself onto one elbow. The movement made his vision swim, the right eye tearing up instantly from the strain. The left stayed stubbornly dry, but the ache was enough to steal his breath.

For a moment, there was no answer. The hallway seemed empty, too quiet. Then, a soft sound—just a muffled exhale.

Silver twisted, scanning the shadows, and saw him. Ren lay a few feet away, half-curled on his side, his chest rising and falling. Relief punched through Silver so suddenly it almost hurt more than the eye.

He crawled toward him, one hand pressed against the wall for balance. “Hey—hey, come on,” he muttered, his voice urgent but shaky. He touched Ren’s shoulder gently, then shook him a little harder. “Ren, wake up. Please.”

Ren stirred, a low groan escaping him, but didn’t open his eyes.

Silver glanced down the hall, his stomach knotting. The Nogitsune was gone. That should have made him feel safer, but it didn’t. It meant the thing had left on its own terms.

And it could still be close.

His heart hammered as he reached for Ren again. “We have to move,” he whispered, more to himself than anything. “We can’t be here when it comes back.”

The emergency lights flickered again, sending the shadows crawling across the walls. Silver’s grip on Ren tightened.

🦊

Two days later, the Argent apartment was unusually quiet for a morning. Sunlight filtered through half-closed blinds, striping the kitchen table where a half-empty pot of coffee sat between three untouched mugs.

Silver sat hunched over one of them, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair. Without the dark lenses, the damage was impossible to ignore. The left eye was ringed with bruising that had settled into deep purples and sickly yellows, the lid still swollen. What little could be seen of the iris was clouded and dull, catching the light in a way that made it seem glassy and unfocused. A faint pink seam of new skin ran jagged along the scar already carved there, the fresh injury layered over old pain.

Every so often, he blinked—his right eye spilling a tear from the steam of the coffee or maybe from exhaustion—while the left stayed stubbornly dry. When it did water, it was just a thin shimmer, enough to sting and make him press the heel of his palm against it.

Allison padded in from the hallway, hair still damp from her shower, and slid into the chair across from him. Her eyes flicked to his injury for only a moment before she met his gaze—his good one.

“You didn’t sleep much,” she said quietly.

“Neither did you,” he countered, voice scratchy.

From the other side of the kitchen, Argent poured himself coffee, the rich smell cutting through the stale air. “I think we all know why,” he said, turning toward them. “The last forty-eight hours have been… something.”

Silver huffed out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. ‘Something’ is one word for it.”

They traded fragments of the last two days—Ren’s collapse, Silver’s own blackout, the flickering lights, the way it all went from ordinary to chaos in seconds. The words came haltingly, not because they didn’t want to talk, but because every detail seemed to open a door to something worse.

At one point, Allison reached across the table and touched Silver’s forearm. “You didn’t deserve that,” she said. Her voice was steady, but her grip was firm.

Silver glanced down, then back up, one corner of his mouth twitching in the ghost of a smile. “I’m starting to think that’s not how life works for us.”

Argent set his mug down, the soft clink cutting through the stillness. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, eyes fixed on Silver in that way fathers sometimes do when they’re not sure whether to scold or comfort. “How bad is it?”

Silver hesitated, his jaw tightening. “It’s… like my head is being split open from the inside. It starts here—” He tapped the corner of his scar with two fingers. “—and then it just… spreads. Makes it hard to think, hard to see straight. And every time I blink, it’s like I can still feel it burning through me.”

Allison’s hand stayed on his arm, her thumb brushing back and forth slowly.

Argent’s voice dropped lower, calmer, but it carried a weight Silver knew well. “You need to tell me when it gets like that. Don’t try to hide it, don’t try to push through it on your own. I don’t care how tough you think you are. If it gets worse, I’ll pull you out of whatever mess you’re in, no matter who else is involved. Understood?”

Silver swallowed, then gave a small nod. “Understood.”

Argent finally turned, coffee in hand, his gaze steady on Silver. “What exactly do you remember from that night?”

“Ren was out cold. It came at me next. I couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. Next thing I know, I’m waking up with the world spinning and my head pounding.” Silver’s jaw tightened. “I hate that I can’t remember more. Feels like I should.”

Allison reached over, giving his hand a quick squeeze. “Hey, you survived. That’s what matters right now.”

Silver gave her a faint, tired smile. “Yeah. Just wish surviving didn’t feel so much like losing.”

Argent’s tone was steady, but softer now. “The last forty-eight hours were a warning. It tested you. Next time, you’ll be ready.”

Silver shrugged, though his eyes dropped to the table. “To face Stiles?”

The three of them fell silent, the unspoken weight of those words hanging in the warm morning light.

🦊

The harsh fluorescent lights gave the hallway a washed-out, sterile look. Rachel sat slouched in one of the plastic chairs, eyes fixed on the floor, her fingers worrying the hem of her sweater. Michael paced a few feet away, glancing at the closed doors every few seconds as if sheer willpower might make them open.

Scott, Allison, Silver, and Melissa arrived together, their footsteps muffled against the polished tile.

“Have you been here all night?” Scott asked, his voice quiet but carrying a note of concern.

Rachel nodded without looking up. “Yeah… They won’t let us see him because I’m not legally family.”

Michael’s jaw tightened. “He’s got us…” he muttered, his voice sharp with unspoken frustration.

Melissa stepped forward, producing her hospital key card from her pocket. “I’ve got a key card,” she said, glancing between them. “Be quick.”

They followed her down the corridor, the air growing colder as they neared Isaac’s room. When Melissa swiped them in, the door clicked softly, revealing Isaac lying pale and still under the thin blanket.

Allison stepped closer to the bed, her brow furrowed. “I thought he’d be healing by now.”

“So did I,” Scott admitted, his gaze fixed on Isaac’s shallow breaths.

Rachel moved closer, her voice trembling. “Is he in pain?”

Scott hesitated for only a second before pulling up a chair. He reached out, placing a steady hand on Isaac’s arm. The muscles in his forearm tensed, his jaw locking as he drew in a slow breath. Rachel’s eyes widened as she realized what he was doing—taking the pain onto himself. Scott’s chest rose and fell sharply, his face tight with the effort, until he finally let go, blinking hard to steady himself.

“It won’t heal him,” Scott said hoarsely, “but it helps with the pain.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Did Stiles really do this?”

Scott’s head lifted, his tone grim. “Whatever’s controlling him did it—whatever’s inside him.”

“Well, then how do we get whatever’s inside of him the hell out of him?” Allison asked.

“I’m working on it…” Scott began—only for Michael to cut him off.

“Working on it?” Michael snapped, stepping toward him. “He’s lying there half-dead because you couldn’t stop this before it got this far!”

Scott straightened, his voice sharpening. “You think I wanted this to happen? You think I didn’t try?”

“You call this trying?” Michael’s voice rose, echoing off the walls. “Every time you ‘try,’ more people get hurt. Isaac’s paying the price for your failure!”

Scott’s fists clenched at his sides, his breathing heavy. “I’m doing everything I can—”

“It’s not enough!” Michael took another step forward, the air between them taut as wire. “You keep playing hero, but you can’t protect anyone!”

“Stop!” Rachel’s voice cut through the room like a whip. She stepped between them, her hands out, eyes fierce. “Both of you! This isn’t helping him. Isaac needs us working together, not tearing each other apart.”

Michael’s glare lingered on Scott for a long moment before he finally backed away, jaw tight. Scott exhaled slowly, looking past Rachel to Isaac, avoiding Michael’s eyes.

The room fell into a heavy silence, the steady beep of Isaac’s heart monitor the only sound, a quiet reminder of just how much they all stood to lose.

🦊

Ren leaned back against the edge of the desk, the wood creaking under his weight. He let out a slow, tired sigh, his gaze drifting over the chaotic sprawl of research papers and open books scattered across the tabletop.

“The thing is…” His voice was quiet, almost cautious, like he was deciding whether to tell Silver everything. “In all the stories, Kitsune aren’t exactly your noble hero types. They’re tricksters. Clever. Mischievous. They don’t really follow the same rules we do. Right and wrong—good and evil—those aren’t concepts they’re built around. They act on impulse, curiosity, instinct… sometimes just because they can.”

Silver sat across from him, arms folded tightly over his chest, frowning. “So what—you’re saying this thing’s just doing all of this for the hell of it?”

Ren shook his head slowly. “No. Not exactly.” He slid one of the heavier books across the desk toward Silver, stopping it with two fingers on a yellow sticky note marking a passage. “That’s the unsettling part. I found something else—something about Nogitsune. They’re not just playful; they can be cruel. Vindictive. And if you offend one, it’s not like dealing with a person you can apologize to. They take it personally… and they don’t let go.”

Silver leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. “Offend it how? What does that even mean?”

Ren’s mouth twisted into a helpless shrug. “I don’t know. Could be an insult. Could be breaking a promise. Could be something so small we wouldn’t even think twice about it. But to them? It’s a wound. A mark that festers. And if it’s doing something this bad—going after people like this—then someone didn’t just offend it. Someone must have really, really crossed a line.”

The lamp between them hummed quietly. Silver’s gaze softened as he studied Ren’s face. “How’s your head?” he asked after a beat. “I know you got slammed pretty bad the other night. I… I’m sorry about that.”

Ren’s lips curved faintly, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey, you’re not the Nogitsune. I feel more bad for Stiles.”

Silver huffed a short breath through his nose, not quite a laugh, then tapped his fingers restlessly against the arm of his chair. He hesitated before speaking again.

“Listen… my friends and I are heading out soon. It’s… probably dangerous.” He paused, leaning forward slightly. “But I want you to come with us.”

Ren’s brow furrowed. “Want? Or ‘could use an extra body to throw in front of danger’?”

“Want,” Silver said firmly. “You’ve been digging into this just as much as any of us. You’ve figured out things I wouldn’t have even known to look for. That matters. I don’t want you sitting on the sidelines like you’re not part of this.”

Ren blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “…You really think I can help?”

“I know you can,” Silver said. Then, with a faint smirk, he added, “And, yeah, maybe also as an extra set of eyes so I don’t miss something with this one working at half capacity.” He gestured vaguely toward his injured left eye, but the joke didn’t fully hide the underlying truth.

Ren studied him for a moment, then let out a slow exhale. “Alright. I’m in. But on one condition—”

“Don’t get knocked out again,” Silver guessed.

Ren pointed at him with mock seriousness. “Exactly.”

Silver’s smirk widened. “Deal.”

🦊

Ren had his hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, head tilted just enough to watch the ground as if he was trying to avoid attracting attention.Silver, walking just ahead of him, moved with an easy confidence — head high, steps steady, the faint curve of a smirk tugging at his mouth like he was already preparing to argue with someone.

“They’re not going to be okay with this,” Ren said quietly, eyes still locked on the ground.

“Yes, they will be,” Silver replied without looking back.

“I don’t really know them,” Ren continued. “I don’t know anything.” His voice wasn’t sharp, just matter-of-fact, as if he was reminding Silver of something he’d overlooked.

Silver slowed slightly, glancing over his shoulder. He hated to admit it, but Ren was right — he didn’t know their past. Not the messy, jagged edges of what had happened before. To Ren, it was just Michael, Allison… and Silver. No context. No history.

“You’ll be fine,” Silver said after a beat. “Besides, Lydia likes anyone with a cute face.”

Ren finally looked up at him, brows raised just a fraction. “I have a cute face?” he asked, the hint of a smirk slipping in despite himself.

Silver rolled his eyes but didn’t answer, because they were already close enough for Michael to notice them.

Michael’s gaze flicked from Silver to Ren in an instant, his jaw tightening as his chin tilted toward Ren. “We’re seriously bringing him?” he asked, low and pointed.

Ren shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pocket but stayed quiet. Silver stepped forward, his voice firm.

“Yes,” he said. “We are.”

Michael’s gaze had already shifted from Silver to Ren, his expression sharpening like a blade.”It’s Peter Hale. He gets in people’s heads. The fewer variables, the better.” Michael said, his arms crossing tight against his chest.

Silver’s voice lost any trace of humor. “Ren’s not a variable. And you’ve seen what he can do when it counts.”

Ren hovered a few steps back, gaze fixed somewhere near Michael’s shoes as if the asphalt was infinitely more interesting. “I can… uh, just wait outside, if this is a big deal,” he mumbled, the words nearly carried away by the breeze.

Michael’s eyes cut to him, sharp and assessing. “Can he even fight?”

Ren straightened — not much, just enough — and met his gaze for the first time. “Yeah? Yes. Yes, I can,” he said, the repetition sounding almost like he was convincing himself as much as anyone else.

Silver stepped forward, voice clipped. “And I’ll fill him in on the way. I don’t lie to people about plans.”

Michael’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t push it further.

That’s when Lydia drifted closer, the click of her heels soft against the pavement. She leaned in toward Silver, voice barely a whisper. “He’s cute,” she murmured, a sly smile playing on her lips.

Silver shot her a quick side-eye — part confusion, part reluctant amusement — but before he could reply, Lydia straightened and spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “Ren and Silver are coming with us.”

Allison raised a brow but didn’t object, already unlocking the car. Michael muttered something under his breath and yanked open the rear door.

Ren offered a small, uncertain half-smile to no one in particular, then followed Silver toward the vehicle.

🦊

“While it’s smart to bring us with you, I still think the rest of this is totally insane,” Silver said as he and Lydia walked up to the loft door.

“I tried to find Stiles, and I led everyone into a mental institution! I call that a colossal failure,” Lydia replied, her voice sharp with self-recrimination.

Allison cleared her throat, trying to keep the conversation from spiraling. “Look, I just need to figure this out, and he’s the only one offering help.”

“Peter Hale doesn’t offer help,” Allison countered, raising a brow. “He offers a chance for you to be manipulated into giving him what he wants.”

Allison cleared her throat, trying to keep the conversation from spiraling. “Look, I just need to figure this out, and he’s the only one offering help.”

“Peter Hale doesn’t offer help,” Allison countered, raising a brow. “He offers a chance for you to be manipulated into giving him what he wants.”

Before Lydia could respond, Silver stepped forward, his voice calm but carrying a subtle edge. “She’s right. Peter’s not exactly the ‘let’s all work together’ type. If we go in there, it’s on his terms. That’s exactly how people end up doing something they swore they wouldn’t.”

Lydia’s brows drew together, but she kept her hand on the doorknob. “We don’t have time to argue. If he knows something—”

“And how are you going to know if he’s lying?” Silver cut in, his gaze steady. “You think you can outplay him, but Peter’s been doing this a lot longer than any of us. You’re walking straight into his game, Lydia.”

“I’m walking into answers,” Lydia shot back, though her tone was tighter than before.

Silver exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Just… keep your guard up. If he offers you something that sounds too good to be true, it’s because it is.”

Lydia shrugged lightly, lips pressing together. “Fine. Let’s see what he wants…” She reached for the handle, pulling the door open.

Peter stood in front of the loft’s massive windows, the light framing him in a way that made his smirk seem even more deliberate. “The Hunters, the Banshee and…” He turned, his eyes flicking over the group, “…unexpected company. Come in.”

They stepped inside cautiously.

Ren lingered near the threshold, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, his shoulders angled toward the door like he was already planning his exit strategy. His eyes darted over the loft—ceiling beams, dark corners, every line of sight—like he half-expected something to drop on him. He didn’t say anything, just shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the air around him tight with the kind of silence that didn’t want to be noticed.

Michael followed him in, gaze locked on Peter like he was studying the first move of a chess game. Silver trailed behind them both, expression neutral but posture just tense enough to make it clear he didn’t trust a single thing about this meeting.

“They go,” Peter said after a couple minutes, nodding toward Ren, Michael, and Silver.

Ren blinked, caught between relief and offense. “I mean—yeah, I can totally—”

“They stay,” Lydia interrupted without missing a beat, her eyes hard on Peter.

Ren shut his mouth quickly, scratching the back of his neck as if he’d never spoken.

“The last time I was alone with you,” Lydia continued, “I almost bled out on a lacrosse field. They stay.”

Peter tilted his head slightly, eyebrows arching. “Do you actually think I was trying to kill you when I bit you? You were my backup plan, remember? Not to mention, the Bite is what brought out your nascent abilities. You think power like that was going to come out on its own? I’m the spark that lit your fire, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t ask for it,” Lydia said flatly.

“But you’re embracing it now, aren’t you?” he pressed, smirking when her gaze dipped for just a moment.

Michael crossed his arms, his voice even but edged. “You know, usually when someone starts a sentence with sweetheartin that tone, it’s not because they have your best interests at heart.”

“How about the fact that you brainwashed her and used her to bring yourself back to life?” Allison cut in, her voice sharp.

“So that I could be here today to help her master her abilities!” Peter countered, almost jovial. “Isn’t it amazing how things come full circle?”

Ren let out a short, awkward laugh—too loud for the moment—then winced slightly at himself. “Yeah… something tells me you didn’t have her resurrect you just so you could help. More like you just needed another pawn.” He glanced away immediately, rubbing the heel of his hand against his thigh like he wanted to erase the words.

“Anyways,” Allison said, turning to Lydia, “he’s insane. We’re leaving.”

They were about to head for the door when Peter’s voice cut through the air.

“You want the truth, Lydia?”

Lydia froze mid-step, her back to him.

“It’s not the scream that gives you power,” Peter said, his tone low and deliberate. “All the scream does is help drown out the noise, allowing you to hear what you really need to. I can help you focus your hearing.”

“You want something in return,” Silver said before Lydia could speak, his eyes narrowing on Peter.

Peter scoffed. “No, I’m dedicating my life to helping narcissistic teenage girls—of course I want something in return.”

He walked over to a table, picked up a wooden jar, and removed the lid. Then, with a faintly theatrical motion, he dumped a set of claws onto the surface.

“These,” he said, “are Talia’s claws. Derek’s mother. My sister. Before she died, she stole a memory from me—something only a very powerful Alpha can do. That memory is locked inside those claws.”

Lydia and Allison moved closer, their eyes drawn to the glinting shapes.

Ren stayed a step back, wedged awkwardly between the door and the nearest wall, like he wasn’t sure if moving closer meant showing interest or volunteering for something dangerous. His gaze flicked from Peter to the claws and back again, jaw tight but feet planted as if he might bolt if either one twitched.

Michael stood off to the side, focus locked on Peter’s every shift, while Silver’s hand hovered near the hilt of his knife, the distrust practically radiating off him.

“Why would your sister want to steal a memory from you?” Lydia asked, raising her eyebrows at Peter.

“Well, if I remembered the memory, I might be able to tell you,” Peter replied smoothly.

Lydia sighed softly, glancing at the claws on the table. “So… what am I supposed to do?”

Peter stepped forward, but Silver’s gaze tracked him like a shadow. “Focus on the energy of the claws and your Banshee side,” Peter continued. “Talia’s spirit will come through to you, most likely in whispers. When that happens, shift your focus onto Talia and me. It’s tricky. It might take a while.”

Ren shifted his weight, arms folded tight across his chest like he was bracing against a cold wind only he could feel. “Sounds like a convenient excuse if it doesn’t work,” he muttered, the words coming out sharper than he intended.

Michael didn’t look away from Peter. “Or a great way to keep her distracted while you get whatever it is you really want.”

Ren’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t add anything, glancing sideways at Lydia to check if she’d heard him. She ignored them both, nodding once before picking up the claws.

“Focus,” Peter said after a beat, his voice already carrying that brittle impatience.

“I am focusing!” Lydia shot back, her frustration audible.

“You’re not!” Peter countered, stepping closer. “I can see the wheels spinning behind your eyes. Your hearing is attuned to a level of the universe no one else can hear—but only if you’re listening.”

Peter’s smirk sharpened into something predatory. “Try harder.”

Lydia exhaled slowly, turning back toward the claws. “I’m trying.”

“Try harder,” Peter growled, rising from his chair and stalking forward.

Michael’s stance shifted instantly, hand brushing the hilt of his knife. Allison tensed, weight forward, ready to intercept. Ren hesitated—half a step in, half a step back—before his body decided for him and he moved to stand between Lydia and Peter. His shoulders were tight, his head angled just enough that it wasn’t clear if he was glaring or waiting for someone else to take over.

Before Peter could close the distance, Silver’s arm shot out, the crackle of a stun baton filling the air as she held it an inch from his throat.

Peter chuckled, unfazed, his claws sliding free. “Protective, aren’t we?” he murmured, his gaze moving from Silver’s steady arm to Michael’s measured suspicion—then pausing on Ren just long enough to make the back of his neck prickle—before finally settling back on Lydia.

“Your aunt had one of those… Auntie Kate?” Peter taunted, his smirk curling as Lydia turned back toward the claws. “Stop it. Both of you,” she said firmly, glancing between Peter and Silver.

“Didn’t do her much good as I ripped her throat out, did it?” Peter added, eyes glinting.

Allison’s brows shot up. “She didn’t shove it up your—”

“STOP IT!” Lydia’s voice cracked like a whip, cutting her off. The claws in her hand went flying, embedding into a wooden pillar with a heavy thunk.

The entire group froze. Ren’s gaze darted between Peter and the claws, his jaw tightening. Michael stepped closer to Lydia instinctively, scanning her face for any sign of distress, while Silver’s attention stayed locked on Peter, eyes narrowed like he was waiting for an excuse to act.

Lydia tilted her head slightly, her steps slow and deliberate as she walked toward the pillar.

“Lydia? Lydia, did you hear something?” Peter’s voice lost some of its smugness, turning almost eager. “What is it? What are they saying? Is it the memory? What did Talia take from me?”

Michael took a half step forward, his tone low and warning. “Back off.”

Peter ignored him completely. “Tell me what she knew!” he demanded, his voice sharp.

Lydia’s hand brushed against the pillar as she turned around, her gaze locking on Peter’s. Her voice was quiet, almost reverent.

“You’re not just an uncle…”

Peter’s eyes widened—shock flickering across his face.

“I said I don’t know. I don’t know its name, if it’s a boy, or a girl, or if it’s some mutated wolf baby,” Lydia said after a beat, her voice firm but her steps backing her away as Peter stalked toward her.

“You’re lying,” Peter growled, closing the gap. “Tell me what you know! Tell me! Tell—”

He didn’t get to finish. Michael stepped in fast, grabbing Peter’s shoulder and shoving him backward while Silver swept a foot into the back of Peter’s knees, forcing him down to the floor with a thud.

“Now we’re leaving,” Allison said coldly, stun baton still in hand as she stepped over Peter’s crouched form.

Michael stayed between Lydia and Peter as he guided her toward the door, Ren backing out slowly so his eyes never left Peter. Silver was the last to step out, his gaze lingering for one last measuring look before the loft door shut on Peter’s furious yells.

They piled into Allison’s car, the air thick with everything unsaid. For a few seconds, no one spoke—just the sound of phones being pulled out and unlocked.

Allison broke the silence. “I got mine. Did you find yours?”

“Yeah,” Lydia replied quietly.

They each held their phones out—side-by-side images filling the space with unspoken weight: one of Peter, the other of Malia.

“Peter and Malia?” Allison asked, brow furrowed.

Lydia nodded, almost reluctant. “Father and daughter…” she said, the words dropping like a stone into the silence.

Just as the weight of it settled, Ren’s phone buzzed—once, twice, then again in rapid succession. He glanced down, and his whole demeanor changed. “It’s Kira. SOS.

“We’ve gotta go. Now,” Ren said, already opening his door.

“Go,” Michael told them without hesitation. “We’ll handle things here.”

Silver gave one last nod before the two of them slipped out into the night, their footsteps quick and deliberate as they disappeared down the street.

🦊

Ren and Silver pulled up to the clinic, windshield wipers smearing streaks of rain across the glass. The moment the car stopped, they bolted out, hoods up, water soaking through their clothes in seconds. They were halfway to the back door when Scott froze mid-step, making both of them stop short.

Through the curtain of rain, shadowy forms began to materialize — tall, faceless figures moving in eerie, synchronized strides. The Oni. Their swords caught the occasional flash of lightning, glinting like ice.

“Stiles! Get inside!” Scott barked, tossing him the keys without looking back. Then he turned toward the approaching threat, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

The Oni charged, two veering for Scott, two angling toward Silver.

Silver raised his hands, ready — but his left side lagged a beat too slow. One blade cut toward him from his blind side, and he barely caught the movement in time, jerking back with a grunt. The sword’s tip grazed his jacket, leaving a thin tear.

He spun, catching the Oni’s forearm with both hands and shoving hard. The move was clumsy but forceful enough to knock it off balance. Before he could reset, the second Oni lunged at him from the other side, its blade slicing through the rain toward his ribs. Silver shifted too late, taking a glancing blow along his arm. He hissed in pain, stumbling back.

“Silver!” Ren shouted, stepping in with a swift kick that forced the Oni back a few steps. It wasn’t down, but it bought a moment.

Silver grit his teeth, refocusing. He muttered under his breath, feeling a pulse of power ripple through his palm. The first Oni was ripped backward into the darkness as though yanked by an unseen hook.

Nearby, Kira caught an Oni’s wrist and threw it clean over her shoulder. Silver managed a short, breathless laugh. “Not bad,” he called, though his voice was tight, his good eye scanning for the next swing.

That’s when he saw it — from the corner of his vision, an Oni’s blade sinking deep into Scott’s side.

“Scott!” Silver roared. His injured arm flared with pain as he thrust it forward, releasing a concussive blast that hurled the Oni into the wall.

Ren was already running toward them but slowed as Silver hooked Scott’s arm over his own shoulders. “All right, come on! Get him inside! Get him inside!” Stiles yelled from the doorway.

Silver half-dragged, half-carried Scott toward the clinic, his wet boots slipping on the tile as they stumbled inside. Behind them, the Oni regrouped in the shadows, their faceless heads tilting in perfect unison.

Silver and Ren half-dragged, half-guided Scott into the examination room, the Alpha’s weight pulling both of them off balance. They eased him against the cold metal table, rain still dripping from their hair and clothes, forming small puddles on the floor.

the slickness of rain and blood making it hard to get a solid grip. “This is gonna hurt like hell,” he warned.

Scott gave a tight nod, jaw clenching as he braced himself.

Ren hovered just behind, movements jittery with adrenaline. His eyes kept darting between Scott’s wound and the door — but also to the hallway beyond, where his sister had disappeared minutes ago. His shoulders were tense, ready to run if anything happened to her. “I’ll hold him steady,” he offered, stepping in close to brace Scott’s shoulders.

Silver tightened his stance, ready to pull—

A heavy thud shook the room. Both their heads snapped toward the sound in time to see Kira crumple to the floor, her sword clattering beside her.

Ren’s voice caught. “Ki! ” He started to move, but froze when Stiles stepped into the doorway.

Silver’s stomach twisted. He turned back to yank the sword free — but before he could, Stiles was there. Fingers like iron clamped around Silver’s wrist, squeezing until pain shot up his arm. Silver twisted to break the hold, but his blind side betrayed him. He never saw the other hand coming until it slammed Ren hard into the wall. The thud knocked the air out of him.

Ren gasped, pushing up on shaky legs. His eyes flicked desperately toward the hallway again, as if Kira might still be in danger.

Then Stiles’ grip shifted, tangling in Silver’s hair. A violent jerk slammed his head against the table’s edge. Pain detonated in his skull, and his legs gave way. He hit the floor, vision swimming.

Through the haze, Silver heard Scott’s strangled cry. He forced his good eye open and realized, with a cold twist in his gut, that the fox had struck him from the one side he couldn’t defend — deliberately. The bastard had gone for his weakness first.

Scott’s cry turned sharp, and Silver saw why. Stiles stood over him, fingers wrapped around the sword’s hilt — not pulling, but twisting. Slow. Cruel.

“Does it hurt?” Stiles asked, voice low and teasing. He leaned in close, eyes black as tar. “Hey… look at me.”

Scott’s gaze flicked up, and the Nogitsune’s smile widened. “You should’ve done your reading, Scott. A Nogitsune feeds off chaos, strife, pain. This morning you took it from Isaac. Then from Coach. Then from a dying deputy. All that pain… you took it all.”

He pressed a hand against Scott’s head — then glanced toward Silver, a new smile creeping over his face.”And you… oh, you’re even better.” His voice dripped with mock affection. “The little one-eyed guard dog, still trying to prove he’s worth keeping around. Tell me — do they let you fight because you’re good at it, or because they feel sorry for you? No, don’t answer. I already know.”

Silver’s jaw clenched.

The Nogitsune chuckled, turning his attention back to Scott. “Now… give it to me.”

Black veins began to crawl from Scott’s skin into Stiles’ hand. Scott’s body locked up, breath hitching. The Nogitsune’s expression twisted into something disturbingly close to pleasure.

When it ended, Stiles stepped back, letting the sword hang in place, his chuckle low and mocking. “You really need to learn, Scott. You can’t trust a fox. Know why? ‘Cause they’re tricksters. They’ll fool you. They’ll fool everyone.”

“Not everyone,” Deaton’s voice cut in, steady and sharp.

Stiles’ head snapped toward him — too late. Deaton stepped forward in a single, fluid motion and drove a syringe into his neck. The Nogitsune hissed, clutching at the injection site, then crumpled to the floor.

Deaton didn’t waste a second. He positioned himself in front of Scott, his hands precise as he yanked the sword free. Scott’s groan echoed in the small room.

Scott’s breathing was ragged. “What was that? Was that a cure? Is he okay?”

“The fox is poisoned,” Deaton said grimly, eyes flicking toward the unconscious body. “But it’s not dead. Not yet.”