Chapter 25

Silver paces the Stilinski living room, phone clutched tight.The call rings—once, twice—then voicemail. He sighs, hangs up.

He tries again. Same result. No answer.

He swipes through his contacts: Mom, Dad, Michael, Allison. Each call meets the same silence.

His head was pounding, his body was sore. He was tired.

Suddenly, Scott appeared at the top of the stairs. He froze, taking in Silver’s bruised face and the tears slipping down his cheeks.

Scott wished Silver could see himself through his eyes—strong, brave, and deeply loved.

“You don’t have to go,” Scott said softly, stepping down the stairs. “You could just go home.”

Silver shook his head, voice barely steady. “No one’s answering. I doubt they’re even there. But… maybe that would make things easier.”

Scott’s gaze softened. “Maybe. But I need you.”

🦎

The deputy glanced at his watch and said quietly, “It’s two in the morning…” Stilinski sighed and replied apologetically, “Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t extremely important.” Stiles lowered his voice, “We look at the hospital stuff first, okay?” Scott nodded and asked softly, “Why?”

“Because all the murders were committed by Jackson, except for one. You remember?” Stiles explained. Scott nodded again. “The pregnant girl, Jessica.”

Stiles continued, “Yeah, since Matt had to kill her himself, somebody from the hospital could’ve seen him.” At that moment, Silver spoke quietly, his tone tense, “Someone had to have noticed something… someone who wasn’t afraid.” Stilinski looked over at Silver and said, “Thank you.” Then turning back to the group, he added simply, “Boys…”

🦎

Stilinski rubbed his temples and said, “I don’t know, guys. I mean, look at this—there was a six-car pile-up that night. The hospital was jammed.” Stiles nodded and urged, “All right, just keep going.” Silver stood nearby, tense but alert, adding quietly, “If Matt was moving around that hospital, someone had to have caught a glimpse.”

Stiles pointed at the screen, “Look, he had to have passed one of the cameras on that floor to get to Jessica, okay? He’s gotta be on the footage somewhere.” Scott leaned forward, eyes sharp. “Oh, hold on! Stop! Did you see that? Scroll back.”

“That’s him! That’s Matt!” Stiles exclaimed. Stilinski squinted at the screen. “…All I can see is the back of someone’s head.”

“Matt’s head, yeah! I sit behind him in history. He’s got a very distinct cranium! It’s weird,” Stiles said, frustrated. Stilinski shook his head. “Are you crazy?”

Stiles sighed, “All right, fine. Then look at his jacket, huh? How many people do you know who wear black leather jackets?”

“Millions! Literally!” Stilinski replied, unimpressed.

Scott clicked through the footage. “Okay, can we scroll forward? There’s gotta be a shot of him coming at one of the cameras…”

Stiles stopped the video again. “Right there! Stop, stop! See, there he is again.”

Stilinski muttered, “You mean there’s the back of his head again…”

Stiles pointed excitedly. “Okay, but look—he’s talking to someone.”

Scott’s voice dropped. “He’s talking to my mom.”

🦎

Melissa’s voice came over the phone. “Scott, you know how many people I deal with in a day?”

Scott answered, “This one’s sixteen, he’s got dark hair, looks like a normal teenager…”

Stiles shouted from the side, “Yeah, he looks evil!”

Melissa sighed on the phone. “Scott, I already talked to the police about this.”

“Okay, Mom, I’m gonna take a picture and send it to you,” Scott said. “Did you get it?”

“Yeah,” Melissa confirmed.

“Do you recognize him? Do you remember him?”

Melissa hesitated. “Yeah, I did. I mean, I remember I stopped him because he was tracking mud in the hall… Scott, what’s going on?”

Scott hurried, “It’s—it’s nothing, Mom. I’ll explain later. I gotta go.”

Stilinski shifted the conversation. “We’ve got shoe prints alongside the tire tracks at the trailer site.”

Stiles nodded. “And, if they match, that puts Matt at the scene of three murders—the trailer, the hospital, and the rave.”

“Actually, four,” Stilinski corrected. “A credit card receipt for an oil change was signed by Matt at the garage where the mechanic was killed.”

“When?” Stiles asked.

“A couple hours before you got there,” Stilinski said.

Stiles looked at his dad. “All right, Dad—if one’s an incident, two’s a coincidence, and three’s a pattern, what’s four?”

“Four’s enough for a warrant,” Stilinski said firmly.

He looked over at Scott. “Scott, call your mom back. See how quick she can get here. If I can get an official ID, I can get a search warrant.”

Then turning to Stiles, he added, “Stiles, go to the front desk. Tell them to let Scott’s mom in when she gets here.”

“On it,” Stiles said, picking up the phone.

Silver stayed quiet, but his eyes were locked on the screen, his fists clenched tightly. The tension was thick, and even though he didn’t say much, the weight of what they were uncovering pressed on him heavily.

Scott’s eyes flicked to the bruises darkening Silver’s arms, barely hidden under his sleeves. “Silver, what happened? You don’t have to keep it bottled up,” Scott said gently, stepping closer.

Silver glanced away, voice low and rough. “It’s nothing. I’m just… tired. Tired of fighting.”

Scott didn’t press further, but the concern didn’t leave his eyes. He turned back to the group. “She’s on her way.”

“Matt? It’s Matt, right?” Scott kept his eyes on Silver, who stood close by, visibly shaken but trying to stay composed. Silver gave a small, silent nod.

“Matt, whatever this is, I promise there’s a way out that doesn’t involve guns or hurting anyone,” Stilinski said calmly, his eyes flicking between Matt and Silver, who clung to Scott’s side.

Matt’s smile was cold. “Funny you say that. I don’t think you understand just how right you are.”

Stilinski stepped forward, voice steady. “I know you don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Matt’s eyes darkened. “Actually, I want to hurt a lot of people. You four? You weren’t on my list.”

Silver’s voice was low but fierce. “You’re the monster here.”

Matt sneered. “Says the one who’s been hiding behind others.”

He moved closer to Silver, as if trying to break through his defenses. “But I can be persuaded. Especially if someone tries to make a call—like McCall’s doing right now.” Matt glanced toward Scott’s pocket, where his hand gripped a phone tightly.

Silver’s eyes widened in alarm as he looked at Scott.

“That could get someone hurt,” Matt warned sharply. “Everyone—phones on the desk. Now.”

Reluctantly, the teens placed their phones down, the weight of Matt’s threat hanging heavy in the air.

🦎

“Tighter.” Matt calls to Stiles as he puts a handcuff on his father’s arm, attaching it the wall. “Do what he says Stiles.”

As soon as Stiles is done, Matt follows everyone out of the cells,

The four teens walk out, as they stop by a hallway seeing a pile of dead cops.

“What are you going to kill everyone in here?” Scott asks looking back at Matt.

“No, that’s what Jackson is for. I just think about killing them and he does it.”

“Deleted. And we’re done.” Stiles muttered, tossing the camera aside. He and Silver glanced over to Scott. “All right, so Matt, since all the people you brutally murdered deserved it because they killed you first—whatever that means—I think we’re good here, right?”

Everyone stared at Matt. Stiles kept going, sarcasm sharp and fearless. “So I’ll just get my dad, and we’ll go. You can continue your whole vengeance tour. Enjoy the Kanima.”

Silver’s breath caught as headlights flared through the windows, cutting across the office floor. His voice was barely above a whisper. “That’s your mom.”

Matt’s smile sharpened. “Sounds like your mom’s here, McCall.”

“Matt, don’t do this,” Scott pleaded. “When she comes to the door, I’ll tell her to leave. I’ll tell her we didn’t find anything. Please, Matt—”

“If you don’t move, now?” Matt raised the gun. “I’m gonna kill Stiles first. Then Silver. Then your mom.”

Silver flinched, his jaw clenching. He didn’t move, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed how close he was to snapping.

“Open it,” Matt ordered.

“Please,” Scott whispered.

“Open the door.”

Silver stood frozen. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t look away. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if debating whether to reach for something—or someone. He watched as Scott slowly turned the handle.

The door creaked open. Behind it stood Derek.

“Oh, thank god,” Scott breathed. Silver echoed him, barely audible.

Derek stumbled forward and collapsed. Silver instinctively stepped back, startled.

“Derek!” Scott shouted.

Behind him, Jackson stood with blank eyes, expressionless.

“Spoke too soon,” Silver muttered, eyes narrowing.

Derek looked up at Matt, dazed. “This is the one controlling him? This kid?”

Matt leaned closer with a twisted grin. “Well, Derek, not everyone’s lucky enough to be a big, bad werewolf.”

He turned his attention to the rest of the room. “Oh yeah, that’s right—I’ve learned a few things lately. Werewolves, hunters, Kanimas… It’s like a frickin’ Halloween party every full moon.”

He pointed at Stiles. “Except for you, Stiles. What do you turn into?”

Stiles scoffed. “Abominable snowman. But, uh, it’s more of a wintertime thing. Seasonal.”

Silver let out a quiet breath of amusement—but it vanished as Jackson suddenly lashed out, slicing the back of Stiles’ neck. Stiles yelped and collapsed against Derek.

“Hey!” Scott shouted.

“You bitch,” Stiles wheezed, barely staying upright.

“Get him off me,” Derek growled.

Matt was beaming. “Oh, I don’t know, Derek. I think you two make a pretty good pair. It must kinda suck, though, to have all that power taken away with just a little cut. I bet you’re not used to feeling this helpless.”

Derek sneered. “Still got some teeth. Why don’t you get down here a little closer? We’ll see how helpless I am.”

“Yeah. Bitch,” Stiles added, grinning through the pain.

“Stiles, maybe not the time,” Silver muttered through clenched teeth. His eyes hadn’t left Matt since the gun came out.

Another car approached.

“Is that her?” Matt asked, his voice too calm.

“Do what I tell you,” he said darkly, “and I won’t hurt her.” His gaze slid to Silver, then to Jackson. “I won’t even let Jackson near her.”

“Scott, don’t trust him!” Stiles cried out.

Matt grabbed Stiles’ flannel, flipping him roughly onto the floor. “This work better for you?” he asked, stepping down on Stiles’ chest with deliberate pressure.

Silver moved instinctively toward them. “Matt, let him go,” he said, voice cold, firm. “You don’t have to do this.”

Matt didn’t move the gun, just shifted it toward Silver. “Take another step and I’ll blow your spine out.”

“Then what?” Silver said quietly, trembling now. “You gonna shoot everyone in this room just so you can feel powerful again?”

The room filled with shouting—Scott, Stiles, even Derek trying to distract Matt. Finally, Matt snapped, “Then do what I tell you to!”

Scott’s hands raised in surrender. “Okay. All right. Stop!”

Matt stepped off of Stiles. Both Scott and Silver exhaled at once.

Matt pointed. “Jackson—take them in there.” Then he turned to the others. “You. And you.” He jabbed a finger at Scott… then Silver. “With me.”

Silver swallowed. He could still feel the tremble in his hands, but he stepped forward without hesitation.

“Mom?” Scott called out as Melissa stepped through the doors of the station.

“You scared me—where is every—” she began, then froze when her eyes locked on Matt, who had a gun trained on Scott and Silver.

“Mom,” Scott said quickly, “just do what he says. He promised he wouldn’t hurt you.”

Silver slowly let go of Scott’s hand and turned to face Matt. “He’s right,” Silver said, voice tight.

That’s when the gun fired.

The shot rang out like thunder in the confined space. Melissa screamed. Silver did too, dropping to his knees as Scott crumpled to the floor, blood blooming across his shirt.

Silver didn’t hear him. His breath was coming in sharp, fast gasps. His hands were shaking, covered in blood. “You’re okay—you’re okay, just—just look at me, Scott, okay?” His voice broke. “I can’t lose you. I can’t—I can’t do this again—”

Matt’s shadow loomed above them. “But I didn’t say I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Silver didn’t look up. He couldn’t. He was too focused on Scott’s wide, scared eyes, on the blood soaking through his fingers. “Just keep looking at me,” he whispered. His voice cracked. “Stay awake, okay?”

“Back! Back!” Matt barked at Melissa, waving the gun.

“Mom—Mom…” Scott groaned, barely conscious.

“I said get back!” Matt snapped.

Melissa stared in horror at the two boys, both smeared with blood, her son struggling to breathe.

“Everybody shut the hell up!” Matt yelled, turning toward Stilinski. “Now get up—or I’ll shoot her next!”

Silver’s eyes flicked toward Melissa, then to Matt. He was shaking. He wasn’t sure if it was fear, adrenaline, or the pain he was draining from Scott’s body.

“Silver,” Scott croaked weakly, grabbing his wrist. “Back up. I got it.”

“No—” Silver whispered.

“I got it,” Scott insisted, more firmly. “I’m not leaving you. Not yet.”

Silver swallowed hard. His hands didn’t move from Scott’s chest.

Not yet.

🦎

Scott leaned heavily against Silver, one arm slung around his shoulders as he tried to stay upright. Silver’s hands were stained with blood, still trembling as Matt shoved Melissa into a holding cell.

“Please,” Melissa pleaded, turning back to him. “He needs to see a doctor—he’s losing blood.”

Matt cocked his head, squinting with a mocking smirk. “You think so?”

“Hey!” Stilinski’s voice boomed from the corner. “Hey, you listen to me!”

“Sheriff! Sheriff!” Silver shouted over the chaos, trying to get his attention. His voice cracked from panic, desperation. He tightened his grip on Scott, steadying him as best he could. “He’s gonna be okay,” Silver muttered, half to Scott, half to himself. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

Scott managed a faint nod, his skin pale and lips trembling. “I’m okay,” he murmured to Melissa, to Silver—trying to keep them calm, even as the pain deepened.

“No, honey,” Melissa said, eyes glassy with fear. “You’re not okay.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Scott insisted, shaking his head weakly.

“That’s the adrenaline, okay?” Melissa said, stepping forward. “Please—let me just take a look at him. I can stop the bleeding—”

Matt scoffed. “They really have no idea, do they?” he said, casting a dark glance toward Scott. “How helpless you are.”

Scott turned slightly toward Silver, his voice lowering. “I need to tell you something,” he whispered. “Silver—”

“Back to the front, McCall,” Matt barked over his shoulder.

Silver’s head snapped toward him as Matt added with a crooked grin, “After you… Arthur.”

Silver’s breath caught. The sound of that name—his real name, a name his mom picked – sent a jolt through him, sharp and cold.

He froze for just a second too long.

Scott’s fingers brushed his wrist. “Hey,” he whispered. “Stay with me.”

Silver nodded tightly, jaw clenched, fury brewing just beneath the surface. “I’ve got you,” he whispered back. “I’ve got you.”

🦎

“The evidence is gone, Matt,” Silver said, voice hoarse from panic and fury. “It’s over. Just leave before you make this any worse.”

Matt turned to him slowly, that same eerie calm flickering in his eyes. “You… you think the evidence mattered that much, huh?”

Everyone exchanged nervous glances. Scott shifted where he sat, still bleeding, while Stiles instinctively placed a hand on his shoulder.

“No,” Matt said, voice tightening. “No. I want the book.”

“What book?” Scott asked.

“The Bestiary.”

Silver’s stomach dropped. His eyes flicked down to Scott, who looked just as confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Not just a few pages,” Matt continued, eyes darting between them. “I want the entire thing.”

“I don’t have it,” Scott said. “It’s Gerard’s. What do you want it for, anyway?”

Matt’s jaw clenched, his voice suddenly lower. “I need answers.”

Silver stepped forward, anger edging into fear. “Answers to what?”

Matt didn’t answer at first—just reached down and slowly lifted the hem of his shirt. Silver’s breath caught in his throat.

His skin was changing.

Scales, dark and slick, crept along his ribs and stomach like rot.

“To this,” Matt said quietly.

🦎

The house feels colder than usual, heavy with silence that no one dares to break. Argent stands by the window, his eyes distant and unreadable. Allison paces restlessly, her face pale but hardening with resolve. Gerard leans calmly against the fireplace, watching them both. Argent breaks the silence quietly, “He wants the Bestiary?”

Allison shakes her head, her voice sharp, “That text wasn’t from Silver. He wouldn’t have messaged me like that. And he definitely wouldn’t have mentioned Derek.” Argent flinches slightly, then turns to meet her eyes. Gerard remains unmoved.

“The Sheriff’s station?” Gerard asks calmly.

Argent’s jaw tightens. “If Derek’s there, it’s not willingly.”

Allison’s voice drops to a tense whisper. “You think Jackson’s there too?”

Argent nods slowly. “Maybe. Maybe him and the one controlling him.”

Gerard shrugs, “How many do they keep on a night shift?”

Argent rubs his jaw wearily. “With the recent budget cuts? Four, maybe five tops. Odds are… they’re either dead or paralyzed by now.”

A heavy silence hangs in the room until Gerard finally breaks it, voice low and calculating, “This might just be the confluence of events we’ve been hoping for.”

Argent replies darkly, “Confluence? Or conflagration?”

Gerard shrugs again, “I’m open to both.”

Allison stops pacing, eyes burning with determination, jaw clenched tight. “What do we do now?”

Gerard looks at her expectantly. “Maybe you should tell us. That authority falls on you now.”

Argent shakes his head, tired. “Not at her age.”

“She’s nearly eighteen,” Gerard says sharply. “She understands the difference between revenge and retribution. Don’t you, Allison?”

He steps forward, voice softer. “Make the decision from a place of strategy — not grief. And we’ll follow your lead.”

Allison swallows hard, voice steady but firm. “I want Derek dead.”

Argent frowns. “What about Scott?”

Allison’s tone turns cold. “Scott didn’t force her hand… but he didn’t stop her either.”

“He’s not innocent, but he’s not the enemy,” Argent says carefully.

“But I can prioritize,” Allison interrupts. “And right now, the priority is Derek.”

Argent’s fists clench, voice tight. “What about the others? Derek’s pack?”

“If they try to protect him… then we kill them. All of them,” Allison states without hesitation.

A long silence falls before Gerard’s voice cuts through, cool and casual. “And Silver?”

Argent closes his eyes briefly at the mention of his son. Allison hesitates before answering, voice strained. “He’s not part of this.”

“He should be,” Gerard counters, “Bruised and quiet as he’s been lately… something tells me he knows more than he’s saying. He’s just too scared to show it.”

Argent snaps sharply, “He’s grieving.”

Gerard murmurs, “He’s crumbling.”

The weight of those words lands hard.

“And when boys break, they do it quietly. Unless someone stronger shows them how to stand.”

Allison looks away, arms crossed tightly. Her voice barely a whisper. “He didn’t come to the hospital.”

Argent’s voice falters, “I don’t think he could.”

“Or he didn’t want to. He hated her when she walked out that door, didn’t he?” Gerard’s tone turns cold.

Argent says nothing.

“Are you really going to let that boy shape himself alone? He needs a sword in his hand, not a pillow under his head.”

Argent’s eyes flash with unshed fury. “He’s my son.”

“Then act like it. Before someone else turns him into something he can’t come back from.”

🦎

Matt leads Silver and Scott out of the room, gun still raised, tension thick in the air. Scott stumbles slightly, and Silver steadies him with a hand pressed to his side.

“You’re healing, right?” Silver whispers, gently brushing his fingers along the wound. It was already starting to close. Scott nods, trying to reassure him.

Matt’s voice cuts through the moment. “You know, I actually feel sorry for you, McCall,” he says, his words laced with something bitter. “Right now, you’re thinking, ‘how am I gonna explain this when it heals?’ And you don’t even realize how incredible it is that you actually are healing. ‘Cause you know what happens to everyone else when they get shot?”

He glances between them, jaw clenched. “They die.”

Silver helps Scott sit on the edge of a desk. He exhales and looks up at Matt.

“Is that what happened to you?” Silver asks softly.

Matt scoffs. That alone answers the question.

“You drowned,” Scott says quietly.

Matt’s jaw tightens. “He shouldn’t have let them drink.”

“What?” Silver asks, eyebrows pulling together. “Who—Matt, what do you mean?”

“Lahey!” Matt snaps. “He shouldn’t have let them drink.”

“The swim team?” Scott asks, confused.

Matt starts pacing, the floodgates opening. “I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know they had just won state, and Lahey—he’s letting his favorites drink to celebrate. Who cares if they’re seventeen, right?”

“You were there that night,” Silver says, realization dawning. “At Isaac’s. He invited you over.”

Matt nods grimly. “He said he had a first edition Spider-Man, or Batman, whatever. We were gonna trade. But I get there and I hear music and laughter. Everyone’s having a good time. And then I see Sean throw Jessica in the pool… Bennett goes in after her…”

“Bennett?” Scott cuts in. “The hunter?”

“Then Camden. Isaac’s brother. He grabs me. Laughing like it’s a joke. I tell them I can’t swim.” Matt’s voice breaks. “Nobody listens.”

Silver’s heart pounds. “They threw you in,” he says quietly.

Matt nods. “I yell, I panic, I go under. I swallow water and I see all of them, under the surface. Jessica all over Sean, Tucker grabbing Kara. I’m drowning and they’re laughing.”

Silver sways, his hand curling into a fist. If he’d gone over that night, if things had been different… would Matt still be here? Would someone have listened?

“I woke up on the deck,” Matt says. “Lahey’s standing over me, and he says, ‘You tell no one. This is your fault.’ Like it was my fault for almost dying. ‘You say nothing.'”

Scott and Silver both freeze. Silver feels cold rush through him.

“For weeks I’d wake up gasping for air. My parents thought I had asthma. They gave me an inhaler.” Matt lets out a dry laugh. “They didn’t know I was still drowning every time I closed my eyes.”

Silver’s eyes burn. “Matt…” he whispers. “That wasn’t your fault.”

Matt doesn’t hear him.

“Then the Argent funeral happened. I was taking pictures. I catch Lahey in one. I look at him, and it’s like something inside me breaks. All I see is red.”

“And the next day, he was dead,” Silver finishes softly.

“And it felt good,” Matt says. “Einstein said imagination’s more important than knowledge. I imagined him dying—and Jackson made it real. Like some kind of Fury, out of Greek myth.”

Silver’s brow furrows. “The Furies punished the guilty,” he says. “But they were ruthless.”

“They had snakes for hair,” Matt mutters. “They wept tears of blood. Jackson is my Fury.”

“You were just a kid,” Silver says quietly. “You wanted justice, but this… this isn’t justice. It’s revenge.”

Matt ignores him, lost in his own unraveling. “I saw Tucker at his garage. Paid for an oil change. He didn’t even recognize me. So I took his picture.” Matt smiles, almost sadly. “And that night, he was gone.”

Scott shifts uncomfortably. “So all you have to do is take their picture?”

Matt nods. “And Jackson does the rest.”

The lights flicker. The building groans.

“Scott?” Silver whispers.

Suddenly, gunfire rips through the station. The windows explode, raining glass. Silver yanks Scott down behind the desk, shielding him with his own body.

The sound fades. The silence is deafening.

Silver doesn’t move. He just breathes—shallow, panicked breaths—his fingers still pressed against Scott’s side like he can protect him with touch alone.

The emergency lights flicker red against the walls, casting long shadows in the empty hallway. Alarms still echo faintly somewhere in the distance, but the corridor is eerily silent. Silver rounds the corner, breathless, the bruises on his face still fresh from days before. At the far end, Allison stands like a statue, crossbow in hand, her eyes stormy and unreadable.

He steps forward cautiously.

“Allison… don’t move,” Silver says quietly.

She doesn’t flinch, only staring straight ahead.

Softening, he adds, “You know what I mean. Just—don’t go looking for him.”

Allison slowly turns toward him, her voice cold as steel.

“Where’s Derek?”

She lifts her bow, aiming it at Silver.

Confused, he asks, “What? Allison, what are you doing?”

“If you’re not going to tell me, then get out of my way,” she says firmly.

Silver pleads, “Allison, please. What happened? Just talk to me—”

Suddenly furious, she steps forward.

“Where is he?”

Staggered, Silver shakes his head.

“Derek? Allison, I don’t know—”

Her voice cuts through him like a knife.

“You should know. You always know. Isn’t that your thing? Always watching, always getting between me and my happiness.”

Silver’s face crumbles. He hears his mother’s voice in her cold contempt. Gently, he tries again.

“I’m not the enemy here. I’m your brother.”

But Allison’s tone is sharp and bitter.

“No. You’re the reminder. Of everything that went wrong.”

He flinches. She breathes hard, eyes blazing.

“You think you’re helping but you’re just… in the way.”

Before Silver can answer, heavy footsteps pound around the corner. Michael barrels in, wide-eyed.

“Liss—hey! Are you okay?”

He reaches for Allison’s arm instinctively. She lets him, leaning into his touch.

Silver’s voice catches.

“Wait…”

Michael freezes, but doesn’t let go.

“What is this?” Silver asks quietly.

Allison glares.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

Silver’s voice breaks, raw with pain.

“You said you still loved me,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. “Said he still wanted me.”

He presses his fist against his mouth to stop it trembling.

“And I wanted to believe him so badly I let myself be lied to again.”

Michael finally speaks, but his words are hollow. He looks down, jaw tightening.

“Silver, I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

Silver laughs sharply, bitterly.

“You mean the part where you lied to me? Or the part where you made me think you still loved me?”

“I do,” Michael says quickly. “I didn’t stop—”

“You can’t love me and sleep with my sister,” Silver cuts him off coldly. “Pick one.”

His hands tremble. His voice drops, strangled and small.

“I defended you. To everyone. To my dad. To myself.”

He looks at Allison now.

“I trusted you.”

A shriek echoes down the hallway—the Kanima.

Michael turns sharply toward the noise, eyes hardening—but Silver doesn’t flinch at the sound. Only at the weight of the truth he’s finally spoken.

Silver shakes his head, backing up.

“Don’t worry. I’m done getting in the way of whatever this is.”

Gunfire and shouting explode behind him.

He turns and walks away, shoulders tense, wiping his eyes as he disappears around the corner.

Silver bursts through the station’s back exit, heart pounding, desperate to find Scott or his father. The night air is sharp, biting. Sirens wail distantly, gunfire still echoes inside.

As Silver rounds the corner near the parking lot, he stops cold—his breath catches in his throat.

There, in the shadowed alley beside the station, Thomas Heart is choking Matt—brutal, relentless. The water from a nearby puddle splashes as Thomas pushes Matt’s face beneath the surface, drowning him slowly.

Silver’s eyes widen in horror.

Suddenly, the station’s front doors burst open.

Gerard Argent storms out, his expression icy but controlled, taking command of the chaos like a predator surveying his territory.

Silver doesn’t move. He watches Gerard approach, and when the moment comes, Silver steps forward, voice trembling but loud enough to cut through the noise.

“You knew what Thomas was doing,” Silver says, voice shaking with rage and disbelief. “You let him.”

Gerard’s eyes narrow as he steps closer to Silver, his voice low and sharp. “If Thomas finishes what needs to be done, it’s not my concern. Sometimes, the family has to cut out the rot before it spreads.””

Silver recoils, disbelief flashing across his face. “You would kill your own grandson?”

Gerard’s lips curl into a dark, cruel smile — the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You’re not my grandson. An ugly secret no Argent wants whispered aloud. You’ve needed help since the moment you were born. Named after a king… and yet you let them turn you into a joke.”

“Silver!”

Argent’s voice called from outside, urgent and echoing through the night. “Silver!”

Gerard leaned closer, his voice cold and cutting like a blade.”But remember this—kings fall hard, Arthur. And when they do, they destroy everything in their path. Especially those arrogant enough to believe they were born to rule.”

“Silver?”

Silver brushes past his father, fleeing into the darkness, leaving questions and broken trust hanging in the night air.