Chapter 20

Michael Heart sat quietly in the back of the classroom. Behind him, Lydia Martin was glaring at him, and he could feel her eyes. He turned around and waved at her.

Lydia scoffed. Michael’s attention then shifted as Scott and Stiles rushed into the room as the bell rang. His seat was one away from Scott, with Jackson sitting next to him.

“Hey testicle left and right,” Jackson said.

“What the hell is a kanima?” Jackson spat out, breaking the tension.

“All right, listen up. A quick warning before we begin our review. Some of you, like McCall, might want to start their own study groups, because tomorrow’s midterm is profoundly difficult,” Coach chuckled. “I’m not even too sure that I could pass it. Okay I need a volunteer at the board to answer the first question.”

“Derek and his freaking pack of psychopaths kidnapped me from the locker room last night and dropped some kind of drool in my mouth. He said I had to be tested to see if I was this creature, called a Kanima? I was paralyzed from the neck down. Do you have any idea what that feels like?” Jackson huffed, leaning close so the four of them could whisper.

“I’m familiar with the sensation,” Stiles said, shivering at the memory.

“Why would Derek test you?” Stiles focused back on Jackson. “Wait, what?” Jackson rolled his eyes. “Do they think it’s Lydia?” Stiles asked him. “I don’t know, all I heard was her name and something about chemistry.”

“Jackson! Do you have something you want to share with the rest of the class?” Coach yelled out, causing all four teens to turn around and face front.

“Um, just an undying admiration for my coach,” Jackson answered.

“That’s really kind of you. Now shut up! Shut it. Anyone else?” As soon as Coach walked away, Scott grabbed Stiles by the sweatshirt, pulling him down. “How do we know it’s not her?”

“Because I looked into the eyes of that thing, okay? And what I saw was pure evil. And, when I look into Lydia’s eyes, I only see fifty percent evil,” Stiles defended Lydia. Scott and Jackson both stared at Stiles in disbelief. “All right, maybe sixty. You know, but no more than forty on a good day!”

“Stiles, that’s not a very good argument…” Scott said.

“I’m aware of that, but I swear it’s not her. It can’t be, all right? Lydia’s fine,” Stiles told them.

“Lydia,” Coach called out for the girl crying standing by the board. Michael shot his head up. “Okay then, anybody else want to try answering? This time in English?” The whole class laughed as up on the board, Lydia was covered with a word.

Stiles quickly took a photo of it. “What is that, Greek?” Scott asked as Stiles flipped the photo. “No actually I think it is English.” Looking at the photo, they could see the words, ‘Someone Help Me.’

🦎

“Are you sure you heard Lydia’s name?” Silver asks as he quickly walks down the hall. “She wasn’t looking great in Economics.” Michael tells him, trying to catch up to Silver.

Silver stops in the middle of the hallway holding his breath as he notices everyone staring at him.

“Silver? What’s wrong?” Allison asks, noticing her brother frozen in place. “I’ll tell you on the way.” Michael sighs, reaching out to Silver. “Come on.” Michael whispers to him, “We need to go.” Michael grabs Silver’s arm, guiding him to Chemistry.

“Einstein once said, ‘Two things are infinite: The universe and human stupidity; and I’m not sure about the universe.’ I myself have encountered infinite stupidity.” Harris clamps his hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

“So to combat the plague of ignorance in my class, you’re going to combine efforts through a round of group experiments. Let’s see if two heads are indeed better than one. Or in Mr. Stilinski’s case, less than one.”

“Erica, you take the first station. You’ll start with-” All the hands of teenage boys shoot up. “I didn’t ask for volunteers. Put your hormonal little hands down.”

“You can start with Mr. McCall.”

🦎

“How are you doing with him being here?” Lydia asks, not even looking at Silver, just starting the chemistry experiment like it’s a casual conversation.

Silver doesn’t answer.

His shoulders tense, drawing in like he could make himself smaller, quieter. He stares at the bubbling beaker on their shared desk, but his mind is nowhere near the classroom. Everything feels tight. The air. His chest. The silence stretching between them.

Lydia watches him from the corner of her eye, noting the way his hand grips the counter just a little too hard.

But she doesn’t push.

Not yet.

“I mean… do you think he’s here for more than just school?” she asks lightly, voice coated in calm suspicion, like she’s testing a theory she already believes.

Silver’s head snaps up. “What do you mean?”

His voice is sharp. Too fast. And laced with something just barely contained.

Lydia narrows her eyes, finally turning to face him. “Oh, little Argent,” she says, voice dipped in dry concern. “Please don’t be stupid right now.”

He flinches at the name again. Argent. It never fit. It belonged to Allison, to hunters, to rules written in blood and fire.

Not him.

“He’s not,” Silver mutters. “He’s not here for that.”

But the words taste like rust and doubt.

Because Michael…

The boy who always seemed to know when Silver couldn’t breathe.Even now, Michael didn’t say much. But the weight of his presence was enough. It always has been.

Michael was chaos, but he was Silver’s calm inside it.

And that’s what scares him most.

“Besides,” Silver mutters suddenly, bitterness slipping out like venom, “if he was here for someone… it would be Allison.”

The teacher calls, “Switch!”

Silver jolts, rising too fast. “Listen to me, okay? Don’t talk to Erica. Or Isaac,” he says quickly, the words low and urgent. His hand trembles at his side.

Lydia freezes, caught off guard by the shift. “Why?” she asks, tone careful now. “Silver?”

“Just trust me, Lydia. Please. I trust you.” His voice drops. It’s soft. Barely audible. But desperate.

“Let’s go. Next station.”

“Trust you?” she echoes gently, not accusing—just searching.

Silver nods, barely. But he’s not looking at her anymore.

His eyes drift across the room.

Michael is already standing, sauntering toward the next station, spinning a pencil between his fingers. And as he pulls out the chair beside Scott— he glances back.

His eyes find Silver’s and he smiles.

Not a smug grin.

The kind that makes him remember sitting behind the bleachers, trembling, and Michael kneeling down beside him.

Silver swallows hard.

He pulls his sleeves down, instinctively covering the faded scars no one else ever noticed.

And now, Michael is sitting beside Scott, like this is all just school.

“Hey, partner,” Michael says with a forced smile, sliding into the seat next to Scott.

Scott doesn’t move an inch. His gaze is locked straight ahead, slow, steady breaths. He’s not giving Michael the satisfaction.

Michael sighs dramatically, running a hand through his hair like he’s the one struggling to keep things civil. “We’re on the same team now, remember? You think the least you could do is look me in the eye.”

Scott’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t react. Not yet.

Michael’s smirk widens, like he’s enjoying the silence. He leans in a little, voice dropping to a mock-confidential tone. “You know, I grew up around this stuff. My family taught me how to spot a werewolf before I could even ride a bike.”

Still nothing. Not even a blink.

Michael shifts in his seat, glancing around the room like he’s some bored, indifferent student. Then he leans in closer, voice low and teasing. “You’re really committed to the silent treatment, huh?”

He leans just a fraction more, his voice carrying the faintest hint of amusement. “I get it. You’re probably still jealous.”

Scott’s fingers tighten around his pen, but his eyes never move.

Michael’s grin deepens. “Silver always went for the strong types. The dangerous ones. Guess that makes us… kinda alike.”

Scott’s gaze flicks to him—sharp, warning.

Michael sees it, leans in just a little more, pressing his advantage. “Silver wasn’t good at letting go. I know how he holds on. How he sounds when he wants someone, but can’t stand himself for it.”

His smile turns darker, more knowing. “Funny thing is, he never bothered to hide them with me.”

Scott’s eyes narrow, but still, he says nothing.

“And Allison,” Michael continues, his voice dropping to a softer, almost intimate tone. He watches Scott’s profile carefully, like he’s reading him. “She’s still around. Same fire. Same eyes. I bet, if you squint just right…”

He lets the words hang there, chuckling quietly under his breath.

Then, with a shift in his tone, quieter but more insidious, he finishes, “You can pretend you hate me. That you’re better than me. But I know things you don’t. I’ve done things you couldn’t stomach. And that’s why I get under your skin.”

Silver sat with his back straight, like tension was the only thing holding him together. His eyes flitted between lab stations — Lydia was still two tables over, all sharp angles and sharper words as she lectured Harley on atomic structure. She was fine. For now.

But the real danger wasn’t her.

It was Scott and Michael.

The two of them were paired at the front, some cruel joke by fate or the seating chart. Scott looked like he was counting breaths to stay calm. Michael, on the other hand, looked perfectly relaxed — that smug lean, that twirl of the stir rod like he could kill a man with it if he got bored enough.

Silver could feel the fight simmering from across the room.

He didn’t realize he was staring until a voice broke the tension beside him.

“You good, buddy?” Stiles asked, pulling on a pair of safety goggles and immediately smudging them with his fingers. Silver blinked, snapped slightly out of his thoughts. “I’m fine.”

Stiles raised both brows. “That’s definitely the tone of someone who is not fine. That’s like… fine with a silent asterisk. What’s the asterisk? Emotional instability? Mild homicidal thoughts?”

Silver stared at him.

“…That’s fair,” Stiles muttered, adjusting the goggles again. “Anyway, since you’re all dialed into the Scott-Michael death match over there, I figured I should ask this – why are you trusting him?”

Silver’s gaze flicked back to the other table, to the subtle tension in Scott’s jaw. To the amused tilt of Michael’s mouth.

“I know,” he said. “I’m watching.”

“I figured,” Stiles said, shrugging. “You look like a raccoon who hasn’t slept since he got here.”

“I haven’t.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Stiles paused, lips pursed. “I mean, I’d trust Scott to keep his claws to himself, but Michael’s got that whole ‘suspiciously charming and possibly unhinged’ vibe going on.”

Silver didn’t argue.

He couldn’t.

Because part of him was still remembering a time when Michael wasn’t a threat.

Stiles noticed the silence and leaned closer. “Okay, well, just in case this turns into a full-on disaster movie —”

“Look, I’ve got like ten backup plans. An exit strategy. And a taser that’s… possibly illegal. I’m not saying it definitely was meant for wildlife, but…”

Silver glanced at him, a little wary.

“You named the taser, didn’t you?”

Stiles looked almost offended. “No. I was saving that for a bonding moment. Do you want to name the taser?”

Despite everything, Silver let out a faint snort. It was short-lived, but it softened something tight in his chest.

🦎

Michael quickly slid into the seat between Allison and Silver, the chair creaking under his weight.

“So what’s the deal when someone’s in danger here?” Michael asked nonchalantly, twirling his pencil between his fingers as he leaned back in his seat.

Allison barely glanced over at him, her tone sharp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Michael smirked. “Just curious. I’m getting the feeling you guys have a whole different way of dealing with things here.”

Silver stayed silent, still watching Lydia. There was something about her today, the sunlight framing her like she was in another world. For a second, it felt like nothing else mattered.Lydia had been the first person to truly listen. He’d never had that before, and it hit him harder than he wanted to admit.

“Are you mad you didn’t find out earlier?”

“Uh, yeah,” Allison snapped, her eyes flashing with irritation. “We’ve been walking around blind. And now we’re supposed to just trust you?”

“If it’s to save Lydia or let Derek kill her,” Silver says, letting his words hang in the air. “Thanks.” Michael reaches up and grabs Silver’s shoulder. Silver let out staggered breath as Michael’s hand drifted down his arm.

Before Silver can even react Harris rings a bell, “Time. If you’ve catalyzed the reaction correctly, you should now be looking at a crystal. Now for the part of that last experiment I’m sure you’ll all enjoy. You can eat it.”

Silver and Allison both look over to Lydia as they spot the Kanima venom on the crystal, but they aren’t the only ones. “Lydia!” Scott yells, “What?” Scott looks back to Stiles and Silver as he sits down “Nothing.”

Everyone sits and watches as Lydia takes a bite of the crystal, with no reaction.

“That can’t be good.” Michael mutters under his breath, the twins looking at him.

🦎

The five teens slip into Coach’s office, the air instantly thick with unspoken tension. Michael lingers at the back, silent and watchful, closing the door behind him.

When he turns around, every pair of eyes in the room is on him.

“Why is he here?” Stiles asks sharply, not even trying to hide his distrust.

Michael doesn’t bother answering. He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, gaze unreadable, fixed on nothing—and yet somehow on everything.

Scott steps forward, trying to redirect the group’s attention. “Derek’s outside. He’s waiting for Lydia.”

“Waiting to kill her?” Stiles snaps, voice rising with alarm.Scott hesitates. “If he thinks she’s the Kanima… then yeah.”

Allison groans under her breath. Beside her, Silver exhales sharply through his nose.

“Especially after what happened at the pool,” Scott mutters, the memory clearly weighing on him.

“It’s not Lydia,” Stiles insists. “It can’t be her.”

“Stiles, she didn’t pass the test,” Scott says quietly. “It doesn’t matter,” Michael cuts in. “Derek thinks it’s her.”

Silver’s voice cuts through next, firm and steady. “Then either we convince him he’s wrong, or we figure out a way to protect her.” He steps up beside Scott. “Can we?”

Scott hesitates. “I really don’t think he’ll do anything here. Not at school.”

“I don’t think that matters to him, Scott,” Michael says flatly from the back, arms still crossed. His eyes lock onto Scott’s. “This is Derek Hale we’re talking about.”

“What about after school?” Allison looks around the room, then speaks softly. “We’ve got until three,” she adds. “That’s our deadline.”

“There might be something in the bestiary,” Scott offers.

“Oh, you mean the nine-hundred-page book written in Archaic Latin that none of us can read?” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Good luck with that.”

“I might know someone who can translate it,” Allison says, trying to keep things moving forward.

“And I can talk to Derek. Maybe buy us some time.” Scott nods, but his focus drifts to Silver. His expression softens, tinged with worry. “But if anything happens, you have to let me handle it. Okay?”

Silver frowns. “What does that mean?” “You can’t heal like I can,” Scott says gently. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Before Silver can respond, Michael’s voice breaks in again. “He won’t.” Everyone turns to look at him. The smirk on his face doesn’t go unnoticed.

Silver straightens, jaw set. “I can protect myself. There’s a bow in my bag.” He turns to his bag, unzips it, and pulls out a sleek black bow. With steady hands, he places it on Coach’s desk behind Scott. “Scott opens his mouth, but Stiles cuts in, glancing at his watch. “Scott, you’ve got less than ten minutes. You need to go.”

Scott nods, then steps toward Silver and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. No one says anything—though Michael’s jaw tightens as he stares at the floor.

Scott turns and heads for the door. But just as sudden he spins around just in time, catching an arrow inches from his face.

Michael blinks. Then chuckles under his breath.

Across the room, Stiles stands frozen, holding Silver’s crossbow with wide eyes. “Ah,sorry,” Stiles says, raising a hand. “There is a very sensitive trigger on that.”

🦎

SIlver pulls Lydia out of the library with everyone following, Lydia rips her arm out of Silver’s grip, “If we’re doing a study group, why don’t we just stay in the library?”

“Because we’re meeting up with someone else.” Silver tells her, putting his hand on her back, “Hmm, well, why don’t they just meet us in the library?” Lydia asks. “Oh, that would’ve been a great idea. Too late.” Stiles quickly answers Lydia’s question.

“Okay, hold on-”

“Lydia, shut up and walk.” Jackson grabs Lydia as they both walk in front of the group.

🦎

“Do you remember how to load that thing?” Michael asked, glancing sideways from the driver’s seat as Silver adjusted the crossbow under the low dashboard light.

Silver didn’t answer at first. His hands moved with precision, but his fingers trembled just enough to give him away. He wasn’t just nervous — he was thinking.

Michael’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Is it like riding a bike?” he asked again, trying to sound lighter. “Because honestly, I doubt you can ride one.”

Still nothing.

Michael tapped the steering wheel. “You’re not gonna be much help if you freeze up,” he muttered.

Silver finally spoke, voice low and distant. “I’m not worried about me.” Silver rolls up his sleeves, the scars littering his arms, “I can handle myself.” He mutters.

Michael’s gaze flicked to the marks. He reached over without thinking, fingers brushing Silver’s arm before tightening slightly.

“This put you in the hospital, Silver,” he said, low and tense. “You almost didn’t come back.”

Silver looked away, shoulders pulling inward — just for a second.

Michael let go. His voice softened. “You don’t have to forgive me. But I meant what I said. I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

Silver was already out the door before the car fully stopped. Michael sighed through his nose, and followed.

“If we’re studying at Scott’s house, then where’s Scott?”

“He’s meeting us here,” Silver answers, rushing up to behind Lydia, “I think.” He mutters under his breath.

Lydia looks over to Silver, raising her eyebrows as Stiles securely locks the front door. “There’ve been a few break-ins around the neighborhood.” Stiles offers quickly, filling the silence as he drags a chair over and wedges it under the doorknob.

“And a murder,” he adds as an afterthought.

“Lydia, follow me. I need to talk to you for a minute.” Everyone turns as Jackson grabs Lydia’s arm and pulls her aside. The rest of them stand frozen for a beat, tension thick in the air.

🦎

Michael stared down at his phone, a dull ache spreading in his chest. His father’s name glowed across the screen like a threat. He didn’t answer.

Instead, his eyes drifted to the others — teenagers armed with makeshift plans and crossbows, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the middle of a war.

Silver was already moving, grabbing his crossbow from his bag with sharp, practiced motion.

“Allison?” Michael whispers, motioning for Allison to follow him to the other room. “My dad is trying to call me.” He whispers, pulling the girl closer to him. “Don’t answer!” Allison whispers back.

“My dad wants this thing dead, Liss.”

The nickname shocks both of them as it slips from Michael’s tongue so easily. But Allison doesn’t correct him. Her cheeks are flushed, her heartbeat spiking slightly. Michael notices.

“He’ll be out hunting tonight, if you thought he was bad before – you haven’t seen him with a gun.”

“What if we call our dad?” Allison suggets, Her voice is sharper now, serious.

Before Michael can answer, she’s already moving — rushing back to the others. Silver and Stiles are by the window, eyes locked on Derek’s pack gathered across the street. She quickly rushes back to Silver and Stiles both staring out the windows, staring at Derek’s pack across the street.

“I think I need to call our dad.” Allison says. Silver turns slowly, his eyes hard. “What are we supposed to do? They’re not here to scare us. Arthur… they’re here to kill Lydia.”

“We don’t need Dad,” Silver says coldly. “We have Michael.”  He doesn’t look at Michael — he watches Allison.

“Right?” Silver finally asks, turning to him.

Michael didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, took the crossbow from Silver’s hands.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m here.”

“We told Scott we could protect ourselves, so let’s do it. Or at least give it a shot, right?” Stiles asks. “Look, they don’t think we’re gonna fight, so if one of them gets hit, I guarantee they’ll take off. So just shoot one of ’em.” Stiles tells her.

“Which one?” Allison asks them, “Uh,” Stiles and Allison both look out the window, “Derek. Yeah, shoot him preferably in the head.”

“If Scott can catch an arrow, I think Derek definitely can.” Michael mutters. “Okay, okay,” Stiles huffs. “Just shoot one of the other three.”

“You mean two,” Allison says.

Silver stiffens.

“No, I mean three.”

“Stiles,” Silver says. “She means two.”

“…Where the hell is Isaac?”

Michael aims his crossbow out of the window as Isaac crashes through the side window, slamming Michael to the floor. The crossbow skids across the room. Stiles is thrown back into a table.

Silver moves, but Isaac’s already on him, shoving him into the wall hard enough to crack the drywall. Silver stumbles forward, trying to punch back, but Isaac claws across his chest and knocks him down.

“Go get Lydia!” Michael shouts to Allison, pointing up the stairs.

Michael rolls and grabs the fallen crossbow, but drops it again as he sees Isaac go for Silver. Rage sharpens in his eyes.

Michael lunges.

He slams into Isaac, dragging him off Silver. They crash to the floor, grappling, fists flying.

“Stiles, Silver, Mikey, it’s here!” Michael hears Allison scream.

It’s quick how Scott comes to the rescue and pulls Isaac off of Michael. He tears Isaac away from Michael, shoving him back hard enough to knock over furniture.

Michael is already beside Silver, pulling him up gently. “You okay?” he asks, voice low.

Silver nods shakily. “I’m okay.”  But his eyes are on Scott.

Scott grabs Isaac and Erica and throws them into the street in front of Derek, leading the five of them out of his house.

“I think I’m finally getting why you keep refusing me, Scott. You’re not an omega. You’re already an alpha of your own pack.” Derek tells Scott, “But you know you can’t beat me.” Derek tells the teens.

“I can hold you off till the cops get here.” Scott says as the sirens approach.

A hiss is heard on the top of the McCall house, Michael runs over to see the Kanima now on the roof.

“Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Lydia screams walking out of the house.

“It’s Jackson.” Silver whispers telling Michael.