Chapter 70

Stilinski stood in front of the small mirror propped on his desk, tugging nervously at his hair.

“Ohhh, I should’ve gotten a haircut,” he muttered, ruffling it again as if hoping it would magically arrange itself.

Stiles leaned on the edge of the desk. “Well, you know, someone your age should be happy you still have hair to cut.”

Before he could even smirk, Ren reached out and smacked Stiles lightly on the back of the head.
“Knock it off,” Ren said, then turned to the Sheriff with a warm smile. “I think you look great, Sheriff.”

Stilinski’s worried expression softened. “Thank you, Ren.”

Ren shot Stiles a smug look, and Stiles scrunched his face in betrayal.

The Sheriff’s eyes drifted from Ren to Silver — who was leaning against a filing cabinet, arms crossed, expression somewhere between bored and fond — and confusion finally caught up with him.

“Not that I mind,” he began slowly, “but… why exactly are the two of you here? I thought this was just Scott and Stiles’ errand.”

Silver shrugged, lifting a brow. “It was supposed to be date night. But if Scott gets to bring his best friend…” He gestured at Stiles dramatically.
“…then I get to bring mine.”

Ren placed a hand over his heart. “An honor, really.”

Stilinski groaned suddenly, tugging at his tie. “Oh, what the hell am I doing? This is a terrible idea. I should cancel.” He started loosening the tie until Stiles darted forward and slapped his hands away.

“What? Dad—Dad, stop. It’s one date. One!” Stiles said, throwing his hands up as if the tie in his father’s grip personally offended him. “The town of Beacon Hills won’t implode while you’re out with one woman. Or man!”

He tacked the last part on so fast it practically blurred.

Ren snorted before he could stop himself, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

And Stiles— made a subtle little gesture. A vague wave between Scott and Silver.

A shrug.

That tiny, awkward smile.

Silver’s good eye snapped toward him immediately, narrowing. “Oh my god,” he muttered, staring at Stiles. “Did… did you just gesture at us?”

Stiles froze mid-blink. “What? No. No. I wasn’t— I mean— I didn’t— That wasn’t—”

Ren leaned his elbow on the edge of the Sheriff’s desk, pointing without looking up. “Dude, you absolutely did.”

Scott dragged a hand over his face. “Stiles, man, why would you—”

“I was signaling… general acceptance!” Stiles blurted out.

Silver folded his arms. “You don’t give ‘silent approval’ with jazz hands.”

“I wasn’t jazz-handing!” Stiles protested, horrified. “It was subtle! It was classy!”

“No,” Ren said, deadpan. “It wasn’t.”

Stilinski gave them all a pointed look. “It’s a woman, Stiles.” Stiles blinked. “Okay… well, good for you then.” “A very beautiful woman,” the Sheriff said, straightening a little.

Silver snickered under his breath. Ren actually burst into a tiny laugh.

Stiles’ head whipped between them. “What beautiful woman? By the way?”

Stilinski’s eyes narrowed. “None of your business. Any of you.”

Silver lifted a hand to cover his grin, shoulders shaking. Ren didn’t bother hiding his smirk; he practically radiated smugness.

Stilinski sighed. “She told you two, didn’t she?”

Silver and Ren nodded in perfect sync.

Stiles looked personally offended. “Wh—why does everyone tell them and not me?”

Before Stilinski could reply, a shout cut through the station.

“STILINSKI!”

All four turned as Parrish and Deputy Clark dragged Donovan—handcuffed, furious, sweating—down the hallway. Tracy’s dad walked ahead of them, looking rattled.

“I’m going to kill you!” Donovan spat, eyes locked on Stilinski.

Silver and Ren both raised their eyebrows.

Stilinski stayed completely calm. “Donovan, if you think that shocks me, remember—it was well-documented in your Anger Expression Inventory. Deputies, escort the prisoner out.”

But Donovan pressed on, voice shaking with something darker.

“I’m not angry like ‘throw a brick through your window,'” Donovan growled. “I’m angry like—I’m going to find you. I’m going to get a knife. And I’m going to stab you with it until you’re dead. And when you look at me and ask, ‘Why?’ remember this moment. Because this is why.”

The room fell into a heavy, uncomfortable silence.

Stiles broke it with all the subtlety of a foghorn.

“Wow. That was awesome.”
Silver slapped a hand over his face and groaned.
Ren grabbed Stiles’ sleeve, whispering, “Dude. Shut. Up.”

“That was great,” Stiles kept rambling, totally unfazed. “Can we get one more? Maybe try Christopher Walken next time? No? That’s fine. You’ll have plenty of time to perfect your impressions in your tiny, tiny cell. Forever.”

Silver whispered, “Stiles, please stop talking,” but it was already too late.

Scott slipped an arm around Silver’s waist, instinctively drawing him in.
Silver leaned against him—then froze.

His mark ignited. Not warm. Not aching.

His breath punched out of him as the world around him blurred. For a second everything in the station dimmed, the fluorescent lights flickering—

And then he saw it.

A Kanima—full, scaled, eyes glowing—sprinting straight at him down the hallway.

Fast. Too fast. Claws out. Mouth open. Coming for him.

Silver staggered, fingers gripping Scott’s jacket. His heart slammed painfully against his ribs—until he blinked hard and—

It was gone.

Before he could find his balance, Donovan suddenly lunged at Stiles. Parrish and Clark jerked him back instantly, boots scraping on the floor.

“Get him out of here!” Sheriff Stilinski barked.

Donovan kept shouting as they dragged him away, each threat echoing like a growl. Silver flinched at the sound—it hit too close to the phantom Kanima that had just charged at him.

Scott’s grip tightened around him. “Hey. Hey—are you okay?”

Silver forced in a shaky breath. “Yeah. My mark just—acted up.”

Scott stepped in front of him protectively, blocking him from the hallway like he expected something else to jump out.

Stiles, blissfully clueless, dusted off his jacket. “Some people do not appreciate feedback.”

Scott turned toward him, confused. “What the hell is an Anger Expression Inventory?”

“It’s a test you take when you’re applying to be a deputy,” Stiles answered casually.

Silver blinked. “That guy wanted to be a cop?”

Stiles shrugged. “Well, he’s definitely getting the law enforcement experience now.”

Silver managed a weak laugh, trying to shake off the image of the Kanima barreling toward him. The burn was finally fading, but his skin still prickled like something had brushed past him.

Scott studied him, worry etched across his face.

Silver made himself breathe evenly. “I’m fine,” he said softly.

And Scott nodded, even though the doubt was clear.

🎭

“Guys,” Stilinski called, waving over Scott, Stiles, Silver, and Ren. His expression was tense, the kind that made the air feel heavier. “Scott, you saw this kid, Donovan. He… he wasn’t like you, right?”

Scott shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so,” he said, glancing at Silver and Ren, who had fallen in step beside them.

Ren shrugged slightly. “Unless he knows how to hide his scent,” he added, voice quiet but alert.

Stiles nodded emphatically. “Exactly. Something about him doesn’t feel right.”

Stilinski rubbed his forehead. “Well, human or otherwise, this kid might have just murdered his lawyer and mortally wounded two officers. We’ve got an APB out on him. But… you think you can find him faster?”

Scott nodded. “I can try.” He took the walkie-talkie Stilinski handed him. “All right. Keep it on channel two,” Stilinski instructed, and Scott ducked into the trees, moving quickly but carefully.

Ren leaned close to Silver, voice low. “You think he’s hiding something? Or is he just scared?”

Silver glanced around, scanning the area. “Could be both. But he’s running, which usually means fear. But… something else too. I can feel it.”

Stiles tugged at his dad’s sleeve. “Dad, what if it wasn’t Donovan?”

Stilinski looked down at him, eyebrows raised. “I’m guessing you’ve already got a theory?”

Stiles nodded, frowning. “Yeah, I think I do…”

Before anyone could respond, Parrish’s radio crackled to life, breaking the tense silence. “Scott, is that you?”

“Yeah,” Scott’s voice came back through, steady but strained. “I found Donovan. He’s completely freaked out. He keeps saying some name.“

“What name?” Stilinski asked, leaning closer to the radio.

“Tracy. He keeps saying ‘Tracy,'” Scott replied.

Lydia sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes widening. Stilinski frowned. “Tracy who?”

“Stewart,” Lydia said, voice measured but urgent, making everyone pause. “Tracy Stewart.”

🎭

“Tracy wasn’t just having trouble sleeping… It was a real disorder,” Lydia explained as everyone stood around the Jeep in the school parking lot. “It was night terrors. It’s been going on for a while.”

“Well, now she is the night terror,” Stiles muttered. “Especially since no one can find her.”

Silver’s mark burned—a sharp, needling pulse. He slapped his hand over it with a hiss.

Ren leaned closer. “You glitching or something?”

Silver glared at his arm. “It’s… acting up.”

Ren grinned. “Maybe it wants attention. Dramatic little tattoo.”

Silver elbowed him.

Scott tried to redirect the group. “Okay, I know we’re all tired and miserable…” He paused, eyes landing on Mason. “Except for you.”

Mason was practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh—sorry. This is all just mind-blowing. You’re a Kitsune! I don’t even know what that is!”

Kira smiled awkwardly. “I’m still learning.”

Ren lifted his hand casually. “And I’m the brother. You know, the one Liam forgot to mention?”

Mason blinked. “Oh. Uh… should he have?”

Ren muttered, “I mean, I would’ve,” under his breath, then made a dramatic shrug like he wasn’t wounded at all—even though he absolutely was.

Stiles pointed accusingly at Liam. “We said you could tell him, not invite him into the inner circle!”

Mason’s face lit up. “I’m in the inner circle?”

“No,” Stiles and Liam said at the exact same time.

Scott cleared his throat loudly. “Guys—focus. Tracy. She’s just one lone wolf. We can find her.”

“One lone serial-killing wolf,” Silver corrected under his breath.

“What do we do when we catch her?” Stiles asked.

Malia didn’t hesitate. “I say we put her down.”

“Malia, no,” Silver sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re not allowed to do that.” Malia folded her arms. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

“Nope,” Ren replied immediately. “Not thinking that.”

Silver nodded. “Not even a little.”

“Intense,” Mason whispered, eyes darting between all of them like he was watching the world’s weirdest documentary.

Stiles clapped his hands once. “Okay! Guys—let’s concentrate on catching her first. We’ll figure out everything else after.”

Everyone nodded—even Mason, who looked like he was thrilled just to be included in the nodding.

Silver exhaled sharply, adjusting the strap of his bag with a muttered, “Cool. Great. Let’s go hunt the girl who attacks people in their sleep. Because that’s just… normal now.”

He started forward, Ren and Lydia trailing behind him.

Ren let out a loud, theatrical sigh—absolutely intentional.

Silver stopped walking.

“What?” he demanded without looking back.

Ren didn’t hesitate. “I swear, sometimes I just wish I could talk to someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”

Silver turned fully this time, brows lifting. “Do you want to make a stop at Eichen?”

Ren and Lydia shared a look—one thick with silent judgment, like they’d already had this conversation without him.

Then Ren stepped forward, finger raised like an accusing sibling. “I thought you stopped going to Michael before I left for New York.”

Silver’s stomach twisted. “I did. I did. I’m just saying—”

Lydia cut in, sharp as a blade. “Silver, seriously? Michael? After everything he’s done?”

Silver’s hands lifted, palms out. “I wasn’t saying I’m going back to him. It was just an idea—”

“Don’t ‘just’ this,” Lydia snapped. “You promised you were done with him.”

Ren scoffed—actually scoffed.
“You can’t run to that guy every time we hit a supernatural panic button.”

“I’m not running to anyone,” Silver bit out, voice rising.

“Oh please,” Ren said, throwing his hands up. “You said it like it was a Yelp review. ‘Hmm, maybe Michael knows something.’ NO. He doesn’t. He knows how to screw your life up—”

“Ren—” Lydia warned, but Ren kept going.

“He lied to you,” Ren said, stepping closer. “He cheated on you. He tried to kill you. And you want to use him as a resource?”

Silver’s breath hitched, rage and hurt twisting in his chest.
“I KNOW!” he shouted. “Okay? I KNOW what he did!”

Lydia flinched but didn’t back down.

Silver dragged a hand through his hair, voice raw.
“It was a thought. A stupid, throwaway thought. I wasn’t planning some secret reunion.”

Ren shook his head, disappointed. “You shouldn’t even think like that.”

“Oh my God—are you listening to yourselves?” Silver snapped. “I can’t even SAY a name without you two acting like I committed a felony.”

“Because you scare us when you talk like that,” Lydia shot back. “You don’t get it—Michael messed you up.”

“Yeah? And maybe you two should stop acting like I’m one bad decision away from falling apart!”

“That’s not what—” Lydia started.

Ren cut her off. “Actually, that is what we think.”

Silver’s eyes narrowed. “Wow. Thanks. Awesome. Great to know what my best friends really think of me.”

Lydia’s voice softened, but her words didn’t.
“We’re worried about you, Silver. And you acting defensive doesn’t help.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I’m not handling being attacked with perfect emotional clarity.”

Ren let out another loud, frustrated sigh. “You know what? I’m done with this conversation.” He started backing up. “I’ll meet you guys later when everyone’s not acting insane.”

Ren stalked off, muttering under his breath, leaving Lydia and Silver standing in the echo of it.

The second Ren was gone, Lydia rounded on Silver.

“Silver,” she said, voice low, controlled—dangerous. “What the hell was that?”

Silver’s eyes snapped up, still wet around the edges from holding back too much emotion at once. “What was what?”

“Don’t,” Lydia warned. “Don’t pretend you didn’t just suggest going back to him like that was some casual option on the table.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion,” Silver shot back. “It was a thought.”

“A thought?” Lydia stepped closer, anger pushed into tight, precise edges. “A thought about the guy who tore your life apart? The guy who left you bruised for a month? The guy you swore to me—and I mean to me—you would never go back to?”

Silver’s fingers curled in his sleeves. “…I wasn’t actually going to.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she snapped. “You don’t get to drop his name like he’s some kind of supernatural hotline.”

Silver’s voice rose. “I didn’t drop his name. I didn’t say anything. Ren did.”

“Oh please,” Lydia said, crossing her arms. “You think I don’t recognize the look you get when you’re thinking about him? You think I haven’t watched you spiral because of him before?”

Silver flinched, anger flushing through him like heat. “I’m not spiraling.”

“Then what do you call this?” Lydia’s voice cracked—not with anger, but frustration, fear. “You scared me. You actually scared me, Silver. Because the second Ren said his name, you didn’t deny it. You didn’t shut it down. You hesitated.”

Silver’s chest tightened so painfully he almost doubled over.
“I’m trying my best,” he whispered, voice shaking with the kind of anger born from being hurt. “I’m trying to help. I’m trying to keep up. I’m trying to not be the weakest link—”

“You’re not the weakest link,” Lydia interrupted sharply.

Silver’s breathing went uneven, fury and hurt tangling in his throat.

“So what?” he said hoarsely. “You just… don’t trust me anymore?”

Lydia froze—because that landed like a punch.

“I trust you,” she whispered, but it didn’t sound convincing. “I just… don’t trust the part of you that still thinks he has answers.”

Silver looked away, jaw trembling with fury. “I’m not that person anymore. And it really sucks that you think I am.”

Lydia’s expression cracked—fear and guilt tangled deep.

“Silver—”

“No,” he cut her off, stepping back. “I get it. I’m the fragile one. The one you have to babysit. The one you can’t trust to make his own choices.”

“That’s not what I—”

“It’s exactly what you meant,” he said quietly.

Lydia looked down, her arms falling from their defensive cross—because she didn’t have an argument for that.

And Silver, still shaking with anger, brushed past her, leaving her standing alone with the echo of everything they didn’t say still hanging heavy between them.

🎭

Silver and Lydia sat close, bodies angled toward each other, the tension between them sharp enough to feel. Lydia didn’t bother pretending she wasn’t watching him.

“You swear you’re not seeing him?” she whispered, low and fierce.

Silver pulled his sleeves over his hands. “I’m not.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re being dodgy.”

“I’m being vague,” he murmured. “There’s a difference.”

Ms. Finch passed by, dropping tests, but Lydia didn’t let up.

“Silver. Look at me.”

He hesitated—then met her eyes.

Instant regret.

“You’re hiding something,” she said quietly. “And I can’t let you screw up like that again.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“Silver.”

His jaw tightened. Something finally cracked.

“Why do you care so much? Why does everything I do become a cross-examination?”

“Because I’m trying to help you,” Lydia hissed.

“It doesn’t feel like help. It feels like you don’t trust me. Like you think I’m breakable.”

“I don’t think that.”

“You do,” he whispered. “You always do.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, but he leaned in first.

“You want the truth? Fine. I still see him.”

Lydia inhaled sharply.

“And you know what really hurts?” Silver whispered. “I can’t have one secret. Not even one.”

“Silver—”

“I didn’t tell you because you don’t let me keep anything for myself.” His voice was steady now, quietly devastating. “And I regret thinking you would.”

“Nice to see where your priorities are, Scott,” Ms. Finch announced as she placed the graded test on his desk.

Scott blinked at the big red 86 stamped across the top. He lifted it up showing Silver across the room.

Silver let out a tiny laugh under his breath, shoulders loosening.

“Well,” Ms. Finch continued, turning back toward the front, “since you clearly have such a good grasp of the material, how about you lead us in a review of last night’s reading?”

Scott’s smile died instantly.

“Uh… sure,” he said, flipping through his textbook. That’s when movement at the doorway caught Silver’s eye.

Liam stood there gesturing frantically. Scott looked up, saw Liam, and his eyes widened.

“Scott,” Ms. Finch said sharply, noticing his frantic page-flipping.

“Sorry—just, uh… looking for the page.”

“Scott.”

“One sec.”

“Scott.”

Liam mouthed again, more urgent this time:

SHE’S HERE.

Scott’s heartbeat tripped. He looked at Silver—full panic.

Silver looked at Liam—full understanding.

Then Silver made the call.

He casually adjusted his chair—

And then dramatically, tipped sideways, letting gravity absolutely body-slam him to the floor. The chair crashed loudly, echoing through the classroom.

Silver hit the ground on his left side, pain flaring sharply near his sensitive eye. A bright shock shot behind his eyelid, his breath catching.

The class collectively gasped.

Even Ms. Finch stumbled back in surprise.

“Oh my—Silver!”

He scrambled upright fast, cheeks burning, waving his hands like he could physically shoo away the embarrassment. For one disorienting heartbeat, the room spun and every pair of eyes locked on him. His chest tightened—too many eyes, too much focus.

“Sorry! I—I’m good—just… slipped,” Silver blurted, voice trembling. “I’m gonna step out. For air. Sorry.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He bolted.

Liam met him halfway down the hall.

“What happened?” Silver hissed, rubbing his head where he’d landed.

“She’s here,” Liam said quickly, breathless. “Tracy. She’s in my history class. Right now.”

Silver stared at him. “Of course she is,” he muttered.

He looked around—calculating, thinking fast. Then he reached up…

And yanked the nearest fire alarm.

Liam’s jaw dropped so hard it might’ve hit the floor. “Silver—!” Silver held up a finger. “Shh. I’m creating a distraction.”

A beat.

The fire alarm shrieked through the hallway and students poured out of classrooms. Back in AP biology, Scott jumped to his feet immediately. Lydia stood too, still shocked from Silver’s dramatic crash.

Silver and Liam pushed through the rushing crowd, guiding Scott toward Mr. Yukimura’s classroom—where the smell hit first. Fear. Sweat. Something metallic.

Inside, Tracy stood hunched over Hayden, claws buried into her wrist, holding her in place. Hayden whimpered, face screwed in pain.

Tracy’s breaths came out sharp and ragged, her eyes unfocused, wild.

Scott raised his hands, voice low and steady. “Tracy.”

Silver stepped in beside him, matching the calm, his tone softer. “Tracy… look at me. You don’t want to hurt her. Let go.”

Hayden whimpered again. Blood dripped steadily from her wrist, splattering onto the tile in dark, smudged drops.

“They’re coming,” Tracy whispered, voice shaking. “They’re coming for all of us.”

Her knees wobbled. Her chest heaved. She swayed like she was on the edge of collapsing.

“Tracy—” Silver began.

But her body gave out. She dropped to her knees, then forward onto her hands—and that’s when Silver saw it.

A flash of something metallic.

Silvery.

It slid from between her lips like mercury.

Silver’s eyes widened. His pulse kicked. “Scott—”

Scott was already moving. He surged forward, scooping Tracy up before the substance reached deeper into her lungs.

“Go!” Silver snapped, running right beside him as Stiles and Malia skidded around the corner.

🎭

Deaton crouched over Tracy, his eyes sharp and measured. “Pupils dilated. Heart rate is 250. Allogeneic skin graft on the right shoulder… but this—” His gaze flicked to the silver substance glinting at her lips. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Almost looks like mercury.”

Silver stepped closer, drawn to it without thinking. Something inside him stirred at the sight—the same metallic shimmer he had always been strangely sensitive to. His fingers twitched, reaching toward the silver as if it were calling him, pulling him along a thread he didn’t understand, a connection older than memory.

The moment his skin brushed the substance, the world snapped inward.

A high, metallic ringing cut through his mind—sharp, penetrating, vibrating through every nerve. He felt small. Fragile. Exposed.

Looking down, everything was warped and low to the ground, edges blurred, soft. Cold, clinical air pressed against tiny lungs that refused to fill.

He couldn’t breathe.
He. Couldn’t. Breathe.

Panic surged—raw, instinctual. Not the panic of a teenager, but the primal fear of a newborn fighting for life.

Shadows shifted above him. Shapes. Gloves. Machines.

And then—

A flash.

Men in masks, standing silently at the edge of the incubator. Their eyes hidden, forms glinting with the same silvery sheen as the substance he had just touched. They didn’t move. They didn’t speak. They were only… there, imprinted into the sterile metal of the room, as though the very compound itself had left a trace of them.

Another flash, and they vanished.

Suddenly, he saw the oxygen tube lowered onto the tiny baby’s face. Hands moved with precise care, adjusting dials. Silver vapor curled into the mask, curling like smoke, and he felt it—the warmth, the pressure, the slow, miraculous expansion of lungs that had refused air only moments ago.

His body convulsed. One gasp. Two. Then full, steady air filled his chest.

A faint whine escaped him. Thin. Weak. Alive.

The vision brightened, suffused with warmth and life, a sense of safety that had never existed for him before. And just as suddenly, it collapsed. He was back on the cold clinic floor.

Silver stumbled backward, knees scraping the tile. He gasped as though he had been submerged for minutes. The metallic ringing faded, but the images lingered—the baby turning blue, the masked men, the silver vapor curling to life—all of it clinging to his mind like smoke.

Hands gripped his shoulders—warm, grounding, shaking.

“Silver! Look at me! Focus on me!”

Scott pulled him into his chest, arms wrapping tight as if he could hold him together with sheer will. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. You’re here. Just breathe with me.”

Silver tried, but each inhale was shallow and stuttered. His fingers scraped at the tile, unsteady, caught between past and present.

Scott pressed his forehead to Silver’s. “It’s okay. You’re alive. I’m right here.”

Malia muttered under her breath, tense and sharp. “What the hell just happened?”

Stiles flailed, wide-eyed. “He touched it, and then he froze. Totally still. Dude… you weren’t breathing!”

Deaton moved closer, calm in the chaos, eyes flicking from Silver’s trembling hand to Tracy’s pale body on the table. “It reacted to him… or he reacted to it. Either way, this is significant.”

Silver’s mind remained flooded with the vision—his newborn self, the Dread Doctors flickering in and out like ghosts, the first breath he’d ever taken.

Scott’s hands tightened on him, thumb brushing nervously behind his ear. “You stopped breathing. Don’t ever do that again. Please.”

“I… I saw something,” Silver rasped, leaning into Scott, seeking the comfort he didn’t even know he needed.

“What did you see?” Scott demanded, voice taut with fear.

“A baby… me. I wasn’t breathing.”

Scott pulled him closer, holding him as if he could shield him from the memory itself. “You’re here now. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Across the room, Tracy’s body remained still. The Modified Mercury glinted faintly under the fluorescent lights, watching, waiting—an echo of Silver’s own memory.

Stiles’s voice broke through the tension. “I’m telling my dad she’s here.”

Deaton nodded, calm as ever. “Agreed. And while I don’t support euthanasia, a little extra security won’t hurt.”

He grabbed a jar of mountain ash and tossed it across the doorway, forming a protective line that shimmered faintly under the harsh clinic lights.

“Don’t worry, Stiles—Tracy won’t be able to cross a line of mountain ash. She’s not going anywhere,” Deaton said, noticing Stiles staring intently at the faint, glowing barrier.

“Yeah… that’s kind of what I’m afraid of,” Stiles muttered, glancing nervously at him.

Silver stayed pressed against Scott, still trembling, eyes wide and unsteady. Scott’s arms wrapped around him, grounding him. “You’re okay,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to Silver’s. “I’ve got you.”

“Well, you and I can move freely in here. No problem,” Deaton continued, then looked at Malia and Scott. “You two? Not so much.”

Malia stepped toward the doorway, curiosity flickering across her face. She held her hand out—and immediately stopped. The invisible barrier pressed against her palm like water. She jerked it back. “Weird,” she muttered.

Scott’s jaw tightened. He glanced at Malia, then at Deaton, tension coiling through his chest.

“Scott… would you mind holding her down? I’m going to try a few more invasive tests,” Deaton said, raising a scalpel. Silver nodded, allowing Scott to release him. Scott gave him a reassuring squeeze before moving forward to help.

Scott and Malia exchanged a quick glance, then moved into position. Scott gripped Tracy’s shoulders firmly, while Malia steadied her legs.

Deaton brought the scalpel down slowly along Tracy’s arm—but it didn’t even break the skin before the top snapped off with a soft ping.

He frowned, examining the broken tip. “I think you’re going to need a bigger blade…”

Silver shivered, still recovering from the lingering shock of his vision, but his attention never left Tracy.

After a few minutes, Deaton moved Tracy’s head to the side. “Now, this is interesting…” He looked down, making Malia step closer. Under Tracy’s skin, a lump wriggled, moving just beneath the surface.

Deaton touched it, and it shifted instantly. “Help me turn her over, please,” he said. Malia nodded, carefully assisting him.

“I think I know what she is,” Stiles muttered, voice tight. Everyone’s eyes flicked to him, tense.

“Care to enlighten the rest of us?” Deaton asked, frowning. “Because this… doesn’t look good.”

Gently, they lifted Tracy’s shirt. Movement wriggled beneath her skin, first appearing like her spine shifting unnaturally—but then a tail shot out with terrifying speed, slicing Stiles’s arm and grazing Deaton, sending both crashing to the floor.

Tracy sprang up, roaring. Her tail whipped violently, cutting Malia’s wrist. She spun, swiping at Scott, forcing him down, then lunged toward another, toppling them.

Silver’s heart pounded as he pressed forward, ducking and twisting to avoid Tracy’s snapping tail. He rolled low, narrowly avoiding each strike, eyes sharp, instincts guided by the lingering pull of the silver substance he had touched.

Tracy leapt from the table, hissing as she charged past the mountain ash barrier, breaking the line. Chaos filled the room as everyone else found themselves paralyzed, frozen in place.

“It wasn’t a Werewolf!” Stiles shouted, straining against the paralysis. He gasped, “Kanima!”

Scott’s gaze hardened, sharp with urgency. “You have to go after her!”

Silver’s stomach tightened. He looked back at the frozen pack, chest heaving, heart racing.

“I can’t just leave you guys like this!” he said, panic threading his voice.

“You have to,” Scott snapped, urgency cutting through his fear. “She’s going to kill someone. You go after her—now. We’ll hold it here as long as we can.”

Silver hesitated, glancing between them, fear and responsibility warring in his chest. He swallowed hard, then nodded.

When Silver got outside, he scanned the area, searching for any sign of Tracy—but the street was empty. He let out a frustrated sigh, chest still tight from the adrenaline.

Suddenly, his phone rang. He pulled it out and saw Lydia calling.

“Is Tracy still at the animal clinic?” Lydia asked the moment he answered.

“No,” Silver said, his voice tight. “She just turned into a Kanima, paralyzed Stiles, Scott, Malia, and Deaton, then ran straight past a mountain ash barrier.”

Lydia cursed under her breath, panic threading through her words. “I think I know where she’s headed.”

“Okay… where?” Silver asked, his stomach tightening.

“The station. Kira, Ren, and I are on our way there now. I think she’s going after my mom.”

Silver frowned, confusion and alarm mixing. “Your mom? Why would she go after your mom?”

“Because she killed her dad and her psychiatrist. Both of them were trying to help her… and so was my mom,” Lydia explained.

“That means not only is your mom in danger,” Silver added, voice sharp, “but everyone else at the station is too.”

🎭

“Mom! She’s coming! Tracy’s coming for you!” Lydia yelled as she barreled into the station, Kira, Silver and Ren right behind her. Natalie looked up, confused. “What? What do you mean, ‘for me?'”

A low, menacing hiss echoed from above. They looked up just in time to see Tracy crouched on the ceiling, eyes wild, tail flicking, teeth bared.

Stilinski pulled out his gun as Tracy dropped down, firing a few shots at her—but the bullets didn’t even faze her. She lunged forward, knocking the gun from his hand and paralyzing him in place.

Tracy hissed, turning on Natalie, who sighed and readied herself. Tracy swung, but Natalie’s reflexes were sharp—she grabbed Tracy’s arm, twisting it and flipping her.

Tracy growled and jumped up, spinning to charge again. Silver and Ren pressed close behind Lydia, watching, alert, as Natalie had to step back to avoid the snapping tail. Tracy lashed at her again, but Natalie’s grip was firm. With a sharp twist and an elbow into Tracy’s back, she sent the Kanima stumbling.

Tracy spun, eyes blazing, hissing again, swiping at Natalie—but this time, Natalie’s eyes flashed a smoky grey-silver. Tracy cried out in pain. Natalie lifted her leg, kicking Tracy squarely in the stomach, sending her flying back into a wall.

Kira stepped forward as Tracy scrambled back up. The Kanima’s attention shifted to her, and they circled, sizing each other up. Kira’s sword spun in her hands, her fox aura flaring visibly, orange flames shimmering at the edges. Tracy growled, snapping at her strikes, but Kira dodged each one with precision, keeping the Kanima on edge.

“Mom! Run! Run!” Lydia screamed again. Natalie bolted toward the office, but Tracy’s tail whipped out, cutting deeply into Lydia’s side.

Silver’s chest tightened, stomach dropping as panic surged through him. “Lydia!” he shouted, voice cracking, and he ran forward, Ren close behind. The sight of her injured, blood staining her side, made his heart hammer in terror.

He knelt beside her, hands pressed desperately against the wound. Trembling, tears streaking his face, he whispered, voice raw, “Stay with me, Lydia… you’re going to be okay. I promise… I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Ren crouched at Silver’s other side, his own worry etched deep across his face. He reached out, taking Lydia’s hand gently in his. “It’s okay, Lydia,” he said softly, squeezing her hand. “Breathe. Focus on us. You’re going to be fine.”

Silver shook his head, tears spilling freely. “I… I can’t… I can’t lose you,” he rasped, pressing harder against her side. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

Lydia groaned, wincing, but her voice was soft and weak. “Little Argent… it’s okay,” she whispered, attempting a reassuring smile despite the pain.

Silver swallowed against the lump in his throat, still sobbing, and nodded shakily. “Yes… okay… you’re going to be okay. Just hold on, please,” he murmured, pressing his forehead gently to hers.

Lydia groaned, pain etched across her face, while Silver’s gaze flicked toward Kira and Tracy.. Kira’s katana flashed, striking Tracy with pinpoint accuracy. One well-aimed swing severed the tail. Tracy shrieked and bolted, disappearing from sight. Kira stood still for a moment, embracing the flare of her power, eyes glowing fiery orange—Silver and Lydia’s eyes widened at the sight.

Ren lunged forward, grabbing Kira by the shoulders. “Kira! Snap out of it!”

Her eyes flickered, glowing fiercely, but for a heartbeat she didn’t respond.

“You’re stronger than this! Look at me!” Ren’s voice cut through the chaos like a whip.

Kira blinked rapidly, focus snapping back as if a switch had flipped. The wild glow in her eyes steadied, her grip on the katana firm and controlled.

“Ren…” she breathed, fully present again.

“That’s it. Stay with me,” he said sharply, releasing her as they both watched Tracy vanish down a hallway.

Minutes later, Malia burst into the station, taking in the trail of blood and the paralyzed Stilinski.

“Malia,” Silver said, panic edging his voice, turning her attention to Lydia on the floor, blood staining Silver’s hands.

“Lydia?” Malia asked, rushing forward.

“It’s… okay,” Lydia murmured weakly, forcing a reassuring smile. “It’s not as bad as it looks…”

“Malia, listen,” Lydia gasped, struggling to make herself heard. Malia leaned in.

“Tracy—she thinks she’s asleep. She thinks she’s dreaming. It’s a night terror,” Lydia explained. Malia’s eyes went wide, disbelief and fear mixing.

“I-I don’t know what that—” Malia started.

“She’s not dreaming. She’s not asleep,” Lydia said, voice shaking but urgent. “You need to get her to understand.”

Malia glanced at Stilinski, who was still immobilized, and then back at Silver.

“Basement,” Stilinski rasped, finally managing to speak. “They’re in the basement.”

“They?” Malia asked, confused.

“Tracy and Natalie,” Silver clarified, voice tight. “They’re in the basement. You have to go down there and get Tracy to understand what’s real.”

Malia nodded slightly, determination setting in. Without another word, she turned and ran.