Chapter 53

Silver and Michael sat side by side on the worn steps outside the apartment, the night heavy around them. The silence stretched between them—too vast for words, yet too full of things left unsaid.

Michael broke the quiet first, his voice rough and low. “I keep thinking about how none of this should have happened. Allison… she didn’t deserve any of it.”

Silver’s jaw tightened, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. “Yeah. She was the strongest person I knew. Stronger than all of us combined.”

Michael glanced at his brother, eyes dark with grief. “You know… My mom always said she never wanted this life for us. For me, for you. She wanted normal. A life without all this fighting.”

Silver swallowed hard, the raw pain pressing close beneath his skin. “I wish I could give her that. Wish I could’ve protected her.”

Michael’s voice cracked. “Sometimes I wish Dad was still here. Maybe if he was… none of this would have happened. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so damn alone.”

Silver’s gaze dropped, his chest tightening with guilt and helplessness. “I know. Me too. But we’re still here, Mike. We have to keep going—for her. For us.”

Michael exhaled slowly, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I’m scared. I don’t know how to be this… without her.”

Silver reached over, gripping Michael’s shoulder firmly, a silent promise in that touch. “We’ll figure it out. Together. You’re not alone. Not now. Not ever.”

Michael’s voice shook with desperation as he said, “I don’t know how to do this without Allison. How to even be here in Beacon Hills. I don’t belong here – I never did.”

Silver’s jaw tightened, his eyes dark with pain. “I don’t know how either. But leaving isn’t the answer. We can’t just walk away.”

Michael’s frustration boiled over. “Why not? Why do we have to stay and keep fighting? What am I even fighting for anymore?”

Silver’s voice grew firm, almost pleading. “Because if we run, what happens to everyone else? To the people who need us? Allison didn’t disappear to give up—she fought for us. We owe it to her to stay and keep going, no matter how hard it gets.”

Michael shook his head, tears shining in his eyes. “I’m scared, Silver. I’m scared of what this place does to people.”

Silver took a shaky breath, his hand finding Michael’s shoulder. “But running isn’t the way. After everything we’ve been through together, the three of us- ”

“Exactly!” Michael shouts, “The three of us, Silver. She’s gone and she was the only one keeping us together.”

🦊

Silver sat quietly at the foot of Allison’s bed, the late afternoon light spilling through the blinds and casting soft shadows across the room. In his hands, one of her daggers—its edge worn smooth in places from years of training—rested like something sacred. His thumb moved along the cool metal, slow and deliberate, as though afraid the memory it carried might vanish if he didn’t hold on tightly enough.

Across the room, Argent stood with his arms folded loosely, his gaze fixed on his son. There was no judgment in his eyes—only a deep, steady watchfulness, the kind that came from knowing exactly how heavy grief could be. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice low but warm.

“Careful with that,” he said gently, taking a slow step closer.

Silver’s head lifted, his eyes meeting his father’s. The air between them was heavy with unspoken thoughts, as if both of them were speaking in a language made entirely of loss and memory.

“She was relentless,” Silver whispered, almost as if he were afraid saying it too loud would break the moment. “When we trained, her fingers bled from these blades. But she didn’t care. She wouldn’t stop until she got it right.”

Argent’s expression softened, and for the briefest second, something like pride flickered through his grief. “I see that same fire in you, son.”

Silver’s throat tightened, and he swallowed hard, his voice shaking on the next words. “I just want to be strong enough… like she was. After everything—after all we went through—why am I the one still standing? Why not her?”

Argent stepped forward then, placing a firm but gentle hand on Silver’s shoulder. “Because you’re stronger than you realize. Because you carry her with you—in your heart, in the way you fight, in the way you protect people. She’s still here, in you. You’re not alone. I’m here. We’ll face this together. Always.”

Silver’s breath caught at the weight of his father’s words. His hands tightened around the dagger, almost as if drawing courage from its familiar feel. “I’m scared, Dad,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “She got me through things I didn’t think I’d survive before. When we were making the silver arrowhead…”

He trailed off, something flickering in his expression—a dawning realization that shifted the grief just enough to make room for something else. Slowly, his gaze sharpened, as if the memory was suddenly clearer.

“Come on,” Silver said sharply, already moving toward the door.

Argent looked up from where he was standing, his brow furrowed. “Silver? Where are you going?”

But his son didn’t stop—he was already halfway down the hall, the quick, pounding rhythm of his footsteps echoing off the walls. Argent followed, confusion tightening in his chest, until they reached the basement.

Michael was already there, crouched near the far table, his hands moving over a dust-covered tarp. “My mom and I… we talked about doing this,” Michael said without looking up. His voice was quiet, almost distracted. “We never got around to it. But Allison… she mentioned it.”

Silver joined him, and together they pulled the tarp back.

A few minutes later, Argent entered and flicked on the light. The harsh glow filled the armory, revealing racks of weapons and, on the workbench before them, four gleaming silver arrowheads.

Argent stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he picked one up. “Why would she make four of these?”

“She didn’t,” Silver said, shaking his head slowly. “She made five. The first one… that’s the one she used to kill one of the Oni. We saw her do it. She figured it out.”

Argent’s gaze sharpened. “How?”

“The same way you almost did,” Michael said, standing up now, his tone edged with urgency. “Do you remember that gun deal with the Yakuza?”

Argent’s expression shifted, a shadow crossing his face. “That meeting wasn’t one of my first deals…” He paused, the memory catching on his voice. “It was my first deal.”

Silver frowned. “The bullet you used on the Oni… was it silver?”

“Yes,” Argent admitted, his eyes distant. “But it didn’t kill him. Just shattered his mask.”

Silver leaned forward, mind racing. “Probably because it went straight through. It didn’t stay in him.”

Michael caught on instantly, his eyes locking with Silver’s. “What if silver’s like a poison to them? What if it needs to stay in the body?”

Silver nodded, the pieces clicking together in his mind. “What if she knew? What if that’s what she was trying to tell me—that she’d figured it out.”

Argent looked down at the arrowheads in his hand, his voice low. “These four… they’d still have been here when you two went to meet Scott.”

Michael’s voice dropped to a whisper, but the weight behind it was undeniable. “We could stop them.”

Silver reached out, his fingers curling around one of the arrowheads, its cold weight grounding him. His voice was steady now, but fierce.

“No… we can kill them.”

🦊

Derek fought against an Oni when all of the sudden the Oni froze before flying back slightly to where Silver stood, arrow in hand. The arrow embedded into the back of the Oni and a glowing yellow-green lightly shined around the arrow. “For Allison.” Silver whispered before he stepped to the side.

Derek glanced back to see Argent holding up a cross bow before Isaac and Michael jumped down onto the stairs. The Oni ripped out the arrow before suddenly exploding in a puff of black smoke. “What was that?” Ethan asked, looking up at Argent, “Silver.”

“Michael, Isaac, Silver, the box!” Derek called out, making Michael, Isaac  and Silver run over to get the triskele box that once held Talia Hale’s claws.

“We’re okay. We’re-” Scott said but was suddenly cut off by getting thrown into the lockers making them all turn around to see Void, punch Ren. Lydia quickly wrapped Stiles’ arm around her shoulders and silver quickly stood in front of them as Void looked up at them. “This was my game. You think you can beat me at my game?” He asked, walking towards them making them gently start to walk back.

“Divine move… Divine move? You think you have any moves at all? You can kill the Oni, but me? Me? I’m a thousand years old, you can’t kill me!” He yelled while the three of them quickly walked back. “But we can change you!” Lydia yelled, making him stop and look at them curiously, “What?” He asked. “You forgot about the scroll.” Stiles said and Michael  smirked, “The Shugendo scroll.”

“Change the host.” Void whispered and silver held her hand up making Void freeze. “You can’t be a fox and a wolf.” Stiles said and immediately after Scott bit down on Void’s arm while digging his claw into him making Void scream. When Scott let go,, making Void stumble back before the blade of a katana goes right through him as the lights flicker.

He falls to the ground gasping until a fly slowly flies out of his mouth and Isaac comes out of nowhere, trapping it into the Triskele Box. Void starts to convulse before cracking like stone and falling, turning into nothing but dust.

Everyone looks up right as Stiles starts to sway before falling, making Lydia hold on to him before slowly setting him down. Everyone ran over and they waited in silence for a couple minutes before Stiles woke up making everyone breathe out in relief.

“Oh, God… I fainted, didn’t I?” Stiles asked, making them all laugh softly and nod, “We’re alive? We’re all alive?” He asked and Scott nodded, “Yeah. We’re okay.” He said. They all smiled at each other before Lydia slowly stood up, looking off in the distance with a distant look.

Lydia ran out the doors of the school with everyone else following behind her. She froze at the top of the stairs seeing Aiden in his crying brother’s arms making her gasp quietly as tears welled up in her eyes. She let out a shaky breath before spinning around and burrowing her face into Stiles’s shoulder as Stiles instantly wrapped her arms around her.

🦊

Everyone was silent, their grief hanging in the air like a heavy fog. Allison’s absence was a sharp, unyielding ache that clung to each of them, and none more so than Silver. The boy had lost so much, yet everyone hesitated to approach him—afraid that even a word might shatter what little composure he had left. At the edge of the grass, by her car, Lydia stood in a black dress, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She wasn’t alone; beside her were Stiles, Ren, Kira, and Scott, each dressed in black suits and dresses, a somber reflection of the day. The weight of loss pressed down on them all, but it was Silver who carried the heaviest burden.

Ren shifted uneasily, glancing down toward the gravestone. “Should we… check on him?” he asked softly, his voice barely cutting through the hush. No one answered immediately. Lydia shook her head and muttered, “He needs more time. He’ll come to us when he’s ready. This is his moment to say goodbye. We’re here to support him. If that means standing back, that’s what we do.” Their eyes followed her gaze down the cemetery path, landing on Silver. He stood perfectly still above Allison’s gravestone, suit sharp, tie straight, but his posture rigid, his hands clenched at his sides. His silence was absolute, and the stillness was almost suffocating.

Ren frowned, worry etched across his face. “He hasn’t moved… he’s just… standing there,” he said, voice tinged with unease. Lydia, standing a few feet away, muttered under her breath with a wry, almost bitter tone, “Lydia’s gaze flicked toward Ren, and she muttered under her breath, loud enough for him to hear, “Try not to overthink it, Ren. I know it’s hard for someone with your attention span.”

Silver knelt at Allison’s grave, the cold morning air pressing against him. He let the silence stretch, then spoke softly, as if she could hear him.

“Things got really quiet after… after everything,” he began. “The next day, Michael left a letter. I saw Rachel reading it, her hands trembling. He… he didn’t see any reason to stay in town. You wee gone, and he hated that he couldn’t do the one thing he promised you. Protect you.”

He swallowed, the memory sharp. “He deleted his number… didn’t tell anyone where he was going. All Rachel had left of him were the few things he couldn’t fit into that bag. She decided to leave town, take Isaac with her… not to replace him, but to give herself a chance to see her son again. They left for France shortly after.”

Silver’s hands trembled as he remembered another moment—standing in the hallway as Rachel slid an envelope under Dad’s door. “She left something for Dad… documents she said he’d never need to use. Told him to… rebuild what family he had left. She didn’t hand it to him directly—she slid it under the door while I was standing there. I remember her voice through the crack, firm but quiet, telling him everything.”

His chest tightened thinking of Argent. “Dad hasn’t left his room. He lost Mom, and he lost you. I’ve been making sure he eats, making sure he’s… okay. Sometimes it’s just coffee for breakfast, but I make sure he’s taken care of. It’s my turn now. It’s my turn to take care of him.”

Another flashback surfaced—him carrying a tray into Argent’s room, trying not to let his own grief show, watching his dad silently sip coffee, shoulders heavy with loss.

Silver’s eyes filled as he looked at Allison’s grave. “I saw all of this… Michael leaving, Rachel leaving, Dad struggling… and I hated that none of it made sense without you here. I’m keeping everyone together, like you would’ve wanted. I’m… doing my best.”

He let the words hang in the cold air, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I just… I wish things could’ve been different. I wish you didn’t have to go.”

Silver’s own heart felt like it was ripping in half. Tears trickled down his left eye, the scar there raw and unhealed—a permanent reminder of pain, of Allison, of everything he had lost. The sting was sharp, unrelenting, and he whispered to her gravestone with a humor that hurt more than it helped.

“I’m so sorry,” he admitted softly. “You should be the one alive. You had a life to live… a future… love… friends… family. I never thought about life without you. I—” His voice caught, choked off by grief. Even when they were at their worst, even when the world had broken him, he loved her fiercely, painfully.

After a long, tense pause, Scott finally took a careful step forward. “Silver…” he called gently, his voice shaking slightly despite his effort to sound steady. He was scared, of course—afraid of breaking Silver’s fragile composure—but he loved him too fiercely to stand idly by. “I… I want to be here for you.”

Silver didn’t respond at first, his gaze fixed on the gravestone, his expression unreadable. Scott’s hand hovered near him, unsure whether to touch or wait. “You don’t have to do this alone,” Scott said again, quieter this time, almost a whisper carried by the wind. The words were tender, filled with care and fear, and finally, slowly, Silver turned his head just enough to meet Scott’s eyes.

He gently wrapped his arm around Silver’s shoulder, on his right side that Silver dropped any walls he had and cried into Scott’s shoulder.

🦊

The Yukimura backyard was dimly lit, lanterns strung across the fence casting soft pools of gold. The grass still held the heat of the day, and the night air buzzed faintly with cicadas. Silver set his worn duffel bag down with a heavy thud, unzipping it to reveal the glint of steel and polished wood.

Ren folded his arms, eyebrows raised. “Do we really have to do this?”

Silver just laughed, the sound sharp but not unkind, and pulled out a sleek crossbow, laying it carefully on the patio table. “You can fight. I know that. But this—” he gestured at the weapons, spreading them out like cards in a deck, “—this is the supernatural world, Ren. You don’t get the luxury of fighting fair.”

Ren hesitated, gaze flicking between the weapons and Silver’s steady expression. “I’ve done okay so far.”

“Yeah,” Silver said, pulling out a collapsible fighting stick and flicking it open with a snap that echoed across the yard. “But ‘okay’ gets you killed out here.”

He handed the stick to Ren, grip-first. “Try.”

Ren took it awkwardly, testing the weight. Silver circled him, sharp-eyed but patient. “Keep your shoulders loose. It’s not about brute force—it’s about precision. Hit, retract, move. Like breathing.”

Ren swung once, clumsy but strong, and Silver stepped in quickly, catching his wrist and redirecting the strike before it could throw him off balance. Their eyes met—Ren’s frustrated, Silver’s calm.

“Again,” Silver said simply.

Ren tried again. Smoother.

Silver’s grin flickered. “Better. See? You don’t need to be a tank. You just need to be faster than what’s trying to rip your head off.”

He picked up one of the throwing knives next, spinning it between his fingers before holding it out to Ren, handle-first. “Your turn. Don’t overthink it. Just stand, aim and shoot.”

“What were your instructions? Just stand, aim and shoot?”

Silver quickly looked down to see a red scar peeking out on his left wrist. His thumb brushed over it for half a second before he caught himself, shaking it off.

Ren noticed but didn’t press, just raised the knife with a dramatic flourish. “Alright. Stand, aim, shoot. How hard can it be?”

He hurled it.

The knife flew wide, bounced off the fence, ricocheted off a lantern post, and clattered harmlessly onto the patio.

Silver stared at the fallen blade. Then at Ren.

Ren shrugged. “Uh… that was a warning shot.”

Silver burst out laughing, doubling over. “Oh my god, you’re hopeless.”

Ren jabbed a finger at him. “Hey! It was strategy. Now the raccoons know I mean business.”

Silver wiped at his eyes, still chuckling. “Yeah, if you’re trying to scare them into laughing themselves to death.”

Before he could say more, Ren grabbed one of the collapsible sticks, flicked it open—and immediately whacked himself in the shin.

He yelped, hopping on one foot while clutching his leg. “Ow! God—why does it hurt so much more when you give it to me?”

Silver nearly dropped to the grass laughing, clutching his stomach. “Because the universe knows you’re an idiot!”

Ren hobbled toward him, stick raised threateningly. “I swear, if you don’t shut up—”

Silver dodged, still laughing, and the two of them dissolved into a ridiculous mock fight under the lantern light, their laughter carrying into the warm summer night.