Chapter 42

Sunlight spilled across the kitchen table, casting a warm glow over the quiet chaos of the morning. Rachel sat across from Michael and Isaac. Michael was lazily eating cereal, his feet propped up on an empty chair, while Isaac clutched a mug of coffee with both hands, eyes still heavy with sleep.

Rachel’s voice broke the silence, low and steady. There was a tired edge to it, the kind that came from years of swallowing things unsaid.

“You know…” she began after a beat, “after everything we’ve been through-all the blood, the lies-I keep trying to tell you and live normally. Whatever that means.”

Michael glanced up but didn’t say anything, the spoon still halfway to his mouth.

“I never had my time,” Rachel continued, her words slower now. “I knew how to shoot. How to fight. But Thomas-he never let me hunt. Said it wasn’t my place. He did the important work. I stayed back.”

She looked down at her hands for a moment, fingers curled loosely around her mug.

“In our family… power didn’t come with birthright. You had to take it. And I was never allowed to.”

Michael rolled his eyes and dug back into his cereal with a mutter. “How normal can we get? We’re living with a werewolf-Dad would be rolling in his grave.”

Rachel’s gaze snapped to him, not angry, just firm. “Michael. Manners.”

She flicked a brief glance toward Isaac, softening. There was an apology in her smile, as if silently asking him to excuse her son’s mouth.

“Normal,” she added, more quietly now, “means finding something to care about. A hobby. A reason to wake up that isn’t soaked in blood.”

Michael didn’t respond, just let out a scoff and slumped lower in his chair.

Then the front door flung open.

Allison burst in like she’d run through a thunderstorm, her hair wild, her chest heaving, eyes wide with that look-like something had just reached out and touched her from the other side of the world.

Everyone froze.

Rachel stood immediately. Michael’s spoon clattered to the floor.

“Allison-what happened?” Rachel asked, alarm rising in her voice.

Allison blinked, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room. “Good morning,” she said breathlessly.

Isaac blinked at her, gesturing vaguely. “And this is normal?”

Before he could say anything else, Michael reached over and shoved Isaac’s chair with just enough force to tip him sideways.

🦊

Silver woke slowly, blinking into the pale morning light pouring through the window. For a moment, there was a quiet calm-warm sheets, the soft rhythm of Scott’s breathing beside him, and the distant hum of a world not quite awake yet. Then came the adjustment. Silver blinked again, trying to focus-but only his right eye responded. The left remained useless, blind and aching, as it always did.

He sighed, turning his head slightly. The familiar blur tilted the world unevenly, made it feel half-finished. He hated mornings like this-when he forgot for a second that something had been taken from him, only to remember all over again.

Carefully, Silver shifted out from under the covers, trying not to disturb Scott. But as he reached for his shirt, a hand shot out and caught his wrist.

“You’re not sneaky,” Scott murmured, eyes still closed.

Silver froze. “…Didn’t want to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Scott said, tugging gently until Silver gave up and sat back on the bed. “Just-stay. For a minute.”

Silver glanced down at him. His hair was a mess. His voice was soft. It would’ve been easy to stay there, wrapped in quiet warmth. But they weren’t together – Scott wasn’t his.

“I’ve got to get ready,” Silver said, brushing his fingers through his hair. “And you snore.”

“I do not,” Scott groaned, finally opening his eyes. “That’s slander.”

By the time they were dressed and heading toward the front door, Silver stood frozen in the hallway, sunglasses in hand. His fingers tightened around the frame. The lenses were dark, mirrored-just enough to hide the damage.

“They’ll look,” he muttered.

Scott was behind him, pulling on his jacket. “Probably. So what?”

“I don’t want to give them a reason to.”

“You’re not,” Scott said gently. “You’re just walking in. You’re just being you.”

Silver lifted his gaze to the hallway mirror. The reflection stared back at him-half-familiar, half-foreign. One sharp, dark eye. One cloudy and pale. Still, unmoving. No matter how many times he told himself it didn’t matter, it always felt like a flaw. A weakness that everyone could see before he even said a word.

“Your dad talked to the school,” Scott said. “You don’t have to take them off. No one’s going to force you.”

Silver didn’t respond right away. He just slid the sunglasses on.

🦊

Scott’s motor bike purred into the school parking lot, its engine slicing through the morning chatter. Silver held tight to Scott’s jacket, the wind doing little to steady the nerves still curling low in his stomach. He adjusted the sunglasses on his face with one hand, fingers twitching near the frame.

It didn’t matter that Argent had cleared it with the school. It didn’t matter that no one had said anything yet. Silver could still feel their eyes. The stares. The unspoken questions.

Scott cut the engine and swung off, offering his hand out of habit. Silver hesitated before taking it, his own movements stiff under the weight of being watched-even if no one was watching yet.

“You okay?” Scott asked, voice quiet.

Silver nodded once. “Yeah.”

He wasn’t.

Scott gave him a quick, reassuring smile-then stopped dead.

Silver blinked behind the tinted lenses, noticing Scott’s change instantly. His posture straightened, shoulders locking. He was staring at the pavement like he’d seen a ghost.

“What?” Silver asked, stepping closer.

Scott didn’t answer.

Silver followed his gaze-just the asphalt, the edge of the sidewalk… and a shadow. Their shadows Except-Scott’s wasn’t right.

It stretched across the pavement, long and unnatural. A massive silhouette of a snarling wolf stood next to Silver’s shadow.

Silver noticed it immediately-Scott’s posture going rigid, his eyes locked onto the pavement. His breath hitched like he’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to. Silver followed his gaze… but there was nothing.

Nothing except Scott’s shadow.

Scott kept trying to blink it away, have it disappear but it didn’t. He panicked and ran, running away from the shadow.

“Scott!”

Silver started after him-but didn’t make it far.

He collided hard with someone rounding the corner. Silver staggered back, steadying himself before he could fall flat. A hand reached out quickly, catching his elbow.

“Whoa,” the guy said, calm and amused. “You okay?”

Silver looked up, blinking through the brief disorientation. The stranger had dark, layered hair, a quiet smirk, and sharp eyes that flicked instantly to Silver’s face… and then lingered.

He wasn’t like anyone Silver had seen around school before-definitely new.

“I’m fine,” Silver muttered, brushing himself off. “Wasn’t looking.”

“Neither was I,” the guy admitted, stepping back with a slight shrug. “Ren. Ren Yukimura.”

Silver straightened a little. “Silver. Argent.”

“Cool name,” Ren said, still watching him a little too closely.

“You always this friendly with people you run into?” Silver asked, adjusting his sunglasses again.

Ren gave a lazy shrug. “Only when they almost flatten me in the parking lot.”

Silver smirked slightly, despite himself. But before he could say more, his eyes caught on movement across the lot-Scott talking to Stiles in a rush, hands moving, face pale.

“I should go,” Silver said quickly, stepping back.

Ren nodded once. “Catch you later, Silver.”

Silver gave a tight nod and jogged off toward Scott, sunglasses still firmly in place. He didn’t look back, but he could feel it-Ren’s eyes on him. Not in a judging way. Just… watching. Noticing.

Up ahead, Scott stood near the edge of the parking lot with Stiles, talking quickly and visibly rattled. His hands kept fidgeting, and his eyes darted around like he was expecting the ground to split open beneath them.

Silver slowed as he approached, concern tightening in his chest. “Are you okay?”

Scott turned to face him, breath still uneven. “I’m okay,” he said, though his voice wavered, and he didn’t move to reach out. He just stood there, uncertain-like he wanted to close the space between them but was too afraid of what might happen if he did.

“No,” Stiles cut in, sharp and sure. He looked between them, then straight at Scott. “You’re not. It’s happening to you too, isn’t it? You’re seeing things.”

Scott blinked, caught off guard. “How did you know?”

Before Stiles could answer, footsteps echoed behind them.

Lydia. Michael. Allison.

All three walked up as if they already knew what the conversation was. Lydia was the one who answered, voice calm and edged with something heavier.

“Because it’s happening to all three of you.”

🦊

“Well, well, look who’s no longer the crazy one,” Lydia said as they walked through the school doors, her heels clicking with every confident step.

“We’re not crazy,” Allison muttered, brushing her hair behind her ear like the motion could hide the exhaustion carved beneath her eyes. Michael kept his arm around her, fingers light at her waist, as if holding her together.

Lydia gave a theatrical hum, her lips tugging into a smirk. “Hallucinations? Sleep paralysis? Waking up screaming in the middle of the night? Yeah, sounds super healthy.”

“We did technically die and come back,” Scott said, trying to sound casual but failing. He glanced toward Silver, who walked beside him, quiet but alert.

“That’s gotta have some side effects, right?”

Silver gave a small nod. His eyes-well, eye-flicked toward the floor. “At this point, I’d be more worried if things didn’tfeel off.”

The bell rang overhead, sharp and jarring. Stiles jumped slightly, hand clenching his backpack strap like it might offer emotional support.

“Alright,” he said, turning back to face the group with all the seriousness of someone trying to herd unstable explosives. “We keep an eye on each other, got it? No going off alone, no dramatic hero stunts-looking at you, Scott. And Lydia-maybe stop enjoying this so much?”

Lydia batted her lashes innocently. “No promises.”

Silver actually let out a laugh-quick, dry, but real. “Of course not.”

🦊

The room buzzed with quiet conversation, the low murmur of tired students trying to pretend Monday wasn’t happening. Silver sat beside Scott near the center of the room, slouched back in his chair, arms crossed and sunglasses still firmly in place. He could feel the mild hum of anxiety in his chest-it never really went away, especially not in crowded rooms full of people trying not to look directly at him.

Behind them, Stiles fidgeted with his pencil like it had personally offended him. Michael leaned back in his chair with his hood up, already halfway checked out.

The door opened, and the class gradually fell into silence as a tall man in a blazer stepped up to the whiteboard. His posture was straight, his tone calm but commanding as he began.

“Good morning, everyone,” he said. “My name is Mr. Yukimura. I’ll be taking over for your previous history teacher. My family and I moved here three weeks ago.”Mr. Yukimura placed his books down and turned to face the room with a faint smile. “. I’m sure by now, some of you have met my daughter, Kira-” he motioned toward the back, “-and my son, Ren.”

Every head in the room shifted toward the last row.

“Or, you might not,” he added, glancing at Kira with an amused smile, “since neither of them never actually mentioned anyone from school…”

A few students chuckled.

“Or brought a friend home, for that matter…”

Kira visibly cringed. Ren looked unfazed.

“Either way, there they are!” Mr. Yukimura concluded cheerfully. “And now… let’s begin with American history at the turn of the twentieth century.”

Kira’s head made a loud thud as she dropped it in embarrassment. Ren, on the other hand, smiled and lifted his hand in a casual wave.

Straight at Silver.

Surprised, Silver blinked behind the sunglasses-then lifted his hand in return, a small wave back before he could stop himself.

Ren tilted his head slightly and shot him a look-playful, but curious. He pointed subtly to his own face, mimicking sunglasses, then raised an eyebrow in silent question.

Silver’s hand fell back to his desk. His shoulders tensed. Next to him, Scott’s eyes slid to the side, catching the exchange. His expression shifted-small, but noticeable.

Michael, sitting behind them, leaned forward just enough to tap Silver’s chair with the toe of his shoe.

Silver shot him a warning glance over his shoulder. “Shut up.”

🦊

The bell rang, releasing a wave of chaos into the hall. Silver slipped out of History without a word, his shoulders hunched slightly, his sunglasses still firmly in place. He didn’t wait for Scott or Stiles-he needed a moment alone to reset. To breathe.

He made his way to his locker-top row, second from the end-and started spinning the dial with practiced ease. His fingers worked automatically, but his mind was still tangled in the look Ren had given him during class. Not judgmental. Just… curious.

He’d barely opened the locker when he felt a presence come up beside him-on his left side.

The blind side.

Silver stiffened. The hallway noise dulled around him for a second as he instinctively leaned away, back straightening.

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Ren’s voice-low, calm-cut through the noise.

“You didn’t sneak,” Silver said quietly. “You just picked the wrong side.”

Ren tilted his head. “Want me to switch?”

Silver shut his locker with a dull clang, the sound sharper than he intended. “What do you want?”

Ren shrugged, completely unbothered. “Nothing. Just figured it was polite to say hi after waving at you in class. You waved back. That felt like an invitation.”

Silver exhaled slowly through his nose. “It wasn’t.”

Silver studied him for a second. Same relaxed posture. Same steady eyes. No real tension-just observation. Like he wasn’t looking for weakness, but wasn’t pretending not to see it either.

Ren glanced once more at the sunglasses. “You gonna tell me what’s up with those?”

Silver shut his locker, leaning back against it. “Probably not.”

Ren raised his eyebrows, amused. “Mysterious type?”

“No,” Silver said, mouth twitching, “just not great at small talk.”

Ren didn’t press, but he didn’t back off either. “Well, if you ever decide to trade sunglasses for eye contact, let me know.”

Silver tilted his head, intrigued despite himself. “You always this forward?”

“Only when I feel like it’s worth it.”

That made Silver pause. He didn’t look away, but he didn’t respond either. It was too early to call it flirting-but something about the way Ren said it stuck under his skin like static.

From farther down the hall, Silver saw Stiles usher Scott into a classroom. Ren followed his gaze. “Boyfriend?”

Silver hesitated. “…Complicated.”

Ren just nodded like that was enough.

He stepped back slowly, giving Silver space again. “Anyway. You ever feel like picking a better side to stand on-let me know.”

Silver didn’t answer, but his lips curved into something faint and unreadable.

As Ren disappeared into the crowd, Silver stood there a moment longer, hand resting on the cool metal of the locker. He adjusted his sunglasses and finally turned toward Scott.

Still watching.

Still trying to figure out what just happened.

🦊

“Do you really think this is going to help?” Allison asked, glancing over her shoulder as Lydia walked back from the tree where she had just pinned a target.

“I know that if you think it won’t help, it definitely won’t,” Lydia replied, brushing invisible dirt from her jacket. “So get your head into it. Shoot a few, see what happens.”

Allison picked up her bow, fingers trembling as she pulled back the string. She let the arrow fly-only for it to fall embarrassingly short, landing with a thud in the grass next to the tree.

Michael winced slightly. “Ouch.”

Silver leaned against a tree nearby, arms folded, one brow raised. “Not your best.”

Allison groaned, picking up another arrow and trying again. The result was the same-another sad thud at the base of the tree.

“Maybe hold the string differently?” Lydia suggested. “Try the Mongolian draw.”

Allison blinked. Michael looked over at her with a slow turn of his head. “The what?”

Silver gave Lydia a look. “Are you serious?”

“What? I read,” Lydia defended. “Just try it!”

Allison sighed, flipped the bow sideways, and attempted again. This time, the arrow hit a bush and bounced off. She shut her eyes and took a slow breath before opening them-only to freeze.

Her eyes went wide. “Did you see that?”

Michael straightened, eyes scanning the trees. “See what?”

Silver stood up a little straighter, frowning. “What did you see?”

Without answering, Allison crouched to scoop up her arrows and slung them over her shoulder. “Wait here.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lydia said, watching her go.

“I’ll be right back,” Allison promised over her shoulder as she disappeared into the woods.

“She did not just say that,” Lydia said, scandalized.

Lydia folded her arms as Michael trailed behind them, his usual brooding cloud following like a shadow.

“You know,” she said, not bothering to look at him, “for someone who claims to be helping, you’re doing a spectacular impression of dead weight.”

Michael scoffed, “Wow, must be exhausting being this charming all the time.”

Silver groaned and stepped between them, separating them. “Okay. Can we not do this right now?”

Lydia blinked innocently, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “Fine. I’ll play nice.”

Michael smirked, adding quietly, “For now.”

Silver caught Lydia’s glare aimed at Michael and stepped between them, pulling her back just as Michael warned, “Watch out!”

Suddenly, an arrow zipped past them, cutting through the air dangerously close. Allison’s eyes flew wide open, panic flooding her voice. “Oh my god. Oh my god, Lydia, Silver!”

Silver looked up, pain flashing across his face-not just from the near miss, but from the reminder of his vulnerability. Tears welled in his good eye, spilling over as he quietly began to cry.

Allison dropped to her knees beside him, reaching out to soothe, to help, but Silver recoiled slightly. His silence spoke volumes-there was no fixing this. His blind side wasn’t just a weakness; it was a dangerous gap that put everyone at risk, and that terrified him more than anything else.

🦊

The room was quiet, dimly lit by a single lamp that cast long, soft shadows along the walls. Silver sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, eyes unfocused and distant. His sunglasses lay discarded on the nightstand, revealing the blind, clouded eye he usually kept hidden. It caught the light awkwardly, a visible mark of everything he tried not to feel.

The door creaked open behind him.

Argent stepped inside, moving slowly, as if not to disturb the fragile stillness. He closed the door gently and stood for a moment, just watching his son sit motionless in the quiet.

“Silver,” he said, voice low and careful.

Silver didn’t look up. His words came flat, choked with guilt. “I almost got Lydia killed today.”

Argent’s expression shifted-not angry, but pained. He moved closer, his voice rough. “No. That wasn’t your fault.”

Silver’s fingers clenched together. “I have a blind spot, Dad. A huge one I’m just supposed to work around now.” His voice cracked as he went on. “I can’t be a hunter like this. I can’t do any of it. I’m dangerous.”

Argent shook his head, stepping in front of him. “You think that’s what makes you dangerous?” He gestured to Silver’s face-at the scars, at the eye that never fully healed. “This? No. What makes you dangerous is the fight in you. The part that refuses to quit. That’s what matters.”

Finally, Silver lifted his gaze. His cheeks were streaked with quiet tears. “But what if that fight isn’t enough anymore?” he whispered. “What if I can’t protect anyone? I can’t even see what’s coming.”

He hesitated, voice breaking. “Maybe Mom was right. Maybe I’ll always need someone to protect me.”

Without a moment’s pause, Argent knelt in front of him, resting his hands firmly on Silver’s shoulders-anchoring him.

“You’re not broken,” he said. “You’re scarred. And those scars? They mean you lived. You fought. And you’re still here.”

His voice lowered, fierce and unwavering. “And if there’s anyone who can fight with one eye, who can still stand up when everything’s stacked against him-it’s you. You’re my son. That means something.”

Silver blinked hard, his breath catching in his throat. “I’m scared, Dad.”

Argent didn’t flinch. He nodded once, firm. “Good. Be scared. Just don’t stop moving. You don’t have to be fearless-you just have to keep going. And I’ll remind anyone who doubts you exactly who you are. Every damn day.”

Silver didn’t answer. He just leaned forward, resting his forehead against his father’s shoulder. The tears didn’t stop, but they came easier now, not strangled by shame. For the first time in a long time, the weight he carried felt just a little bit lighter.

And in that moment-quiet, fragile, and painfully real-Silver felt like a little kid again. Just a boy crying in his father’s arms, like he had on all those nights long before the world fell apart.

🦊

The classroom buzzed with a low hum of boredom, papers shuffling and pencils tapping against desks. At the back of the room, Stiles jolted upright as the coach’s voice cracked through the silence like a whip.

“STILINSKI!”

Stiles blinked, disoriented. “Uh-huh?”

Coach glared at him from the front of the room. “I asked you a question!”

Stiles rubbed his face, still half in a daze. “Uh… sorry, Coach. What was it again?”

“It was, ‘Stilinski, are you paying attention back there?'” Coach snapped.

Stiles gave a half-shrug. “Oh. Well, I am now…”

Coach muttered something under his breath, then threw his arms up. “Stilinski, stop reminding me why I drink-every night.”

The class chuckled quietly, used to the routine, but the energy stayed heavy.

“Does anyone else want to try the question on the board?” Coach asked, looking around like he already knew the answer.

“I’m okay,” Stiles said quickly, waving it off. “I just… fell asleep for a second.”

Michael, sitting one row over, turned toward him with a furrowed brow. “Dude,” he said under his breath, “you weren’t asleep.”

Scott glanced over too, his expression tight with worry. He didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes said it all – something wasn’t right.

🦊

They were scattered around the outdoor lunch table, doing their best to pretend everything was fine. The sun was shining like it didn’t know the world had shifted beneath their feet, casting long shadows across their lunches and bottled drinks. But no one was really eating.

Scott leaned forward, his voice casual but his eyes sharp. “So… what happens to someone who has a near-death experience and comes back seeing things?” He looked around the table, searching for someone to say it first. “Like… they can’t tell what’s real or not?”

Allison crossed her arms, voice a touch more bitter. “And they’re haunted by creepy visions of dead relatives?”

Isaac, deadpan as always, muttered, “They get locked up. Because they’re insane.”

Everyone stared at him.

“Can you not for five seconds?” Stiles snapped, glaring across the table.

Isaac gave a half-hearted shrug, unapologetic. “What? I spent half my childhood locked in a freezer. Being helpful is still kind of… new for me.”

Michael rolled his eyes, poking at a half-eaten sandwich. “Here we go.”

Silver let out a slow sigh, arms folded, leaning back against the bench like the whole conversation was one long headache. His sunglasses reflected the sunlight, shielding his expression.

Stiles turned toward Isaac again, raising an eyebrow. “Are you still milking that freezer thing?”

Isaac didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah. Maybe I am still milking that.”

Before anyone else could jump in, a voice called from the end of the table.

“Hi.”

They all turned. Ren stood there with his hands in his jacket pockets, Kira just behind him, glancing between the group like they weren’t sure if they were interrupting something or walking into it. Which, to be fair, they were doing both.

“Sorry,” Ren said, eyes scanning the table. “We couldn’t help overhearing. I think we might know what you’re talking about.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow, voice dripping with dry sarcasm. “And what do they call you?”

Before Ren could answer, Silver cut in, quick and neutral. “Ren. He’s in our history class.”

Ren smirked, gaze flicking to Silver’s face. “Nice sunglasses.”

Scott shifted, subtle but noticeable, and casually slung an arm around the back of Silver’s seat. A quiet territorial move.

Kira stepped forward, her voice soft but confident. “There’s a Tibetan word for it. Bardo. It means ‘in-between state.’ Like the space between life and death.”

Ren slid into the seat beside Silver without asking, nudging him lightly. Silver shifted from the bump, unintentionally pressing closer to Scott on his other side.

Silver looked at the two of them, suspicion flickering in his tone. “So you’re saying this is… normal?”

“Not normal,” Kira said gently, “but not unheard of. In Bardo, people experience stages-hallucinations, visions, voices. Some peaceful. Some… not.”

Ren added with a slight grin, “Wrathful deities.”

Isaac looked up, brow raised. “Wrathful what now?”

“Demons,” Kira clarified, almost apologetically.

A silence settled over the table like a fog.

“Great,” Stiles muttered, dragging a hand over his face. “Demons. Why not? What’s next, zombie lacrosse players?”

Allison leaned in, her voice tighter now. “If there are stages… what’s the last one?”

Kira hesitated, then answered quietly, “Death. You die.”

🦊

Michael let out a frustrated breath as they trudged along the dusty road behind the Tate ranch. His boots kicked up clouds of dry dirt with every step, shoulders tense and hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket.
“I don’t understand why you dragged me here,” he muttered, casting a sideways glance at Silver.

Silver didn’t answer right away. His eyes were locked ahead, scanning the distant tree line with sharp, quiet intensity.
“If this does turn out to be something,” he said, “they’re gonna need you.”

Michael scoffed. “Scott’s an alpha. I think he can handle himself. And Stiles? That guy’s… something.”

Silver rolled his eyes, the dry crunch of grass under their boots filling the silence between them. Michael caught the eye-roll and smirked.
Michael laughed, shaking his head. “I mean, a please would be nice too.”

“Michael,” Silver said, finally turning to look at him, voice dripping with sarcasm, “can you please watch Scott and Stiles’ backs during this? I would, but I can’t see out of an eye.”

Michael smiled, patting Silver’s arm. “Sure thing, buddy.”

Silver just shook his head and kept walking, jaw clenched. He didn’t respond-he didn’t need to. They both knew Michael would follow.

🦊

Slowly, Scott, Stiles, Silver, and Michael crept up to Mr. Tate’s back door-the one leading straight into Malia’s old room. Stiles reached for the knob and turned it, but the old hinges betrayed them with a loud creak. He froze mid-motion while the rest winced.

“Why do horror movie doors always sound like that?” Michael muttered under his breath.

“Shh,” Silver hissed, nudging him.

Stiles carefully pushed the door open all the way, wincing as it let out one last high-pitched squeal. The four slipped inside.

Without missing a beat, Stiles started grabbing random stuffed animals off a dusty shelf, tossing them toward Scott and Silver. “See if you can pick up anything,” he whispered.

Scott lifted one plushie to his nose and sniffed. Silver did the same with a ratty-looking bunny.

“All I’m getting is animal smell,” Scott said.

“What kind of animal?” Stiles asked, but before he could get an answer, a low, guttural growl rumbled across the room. They all froze, heads slowly turning toward the sound.

A large rottweiler stood in the doorway, teeth bared.

“Dog,” Michael whispered, stepping back cautiously. “Big dog,” he added.

“Hi, puppy,” Scott whispered nervously.

“Get rid of it,” Stiles hissed.

“Me?”

“Yes, you! Glow your eyes at it! Be intimidating! Alpha it or something!”

“I can’t-I don’t have control yet,” Scott whispered, panic rising.

Michael groaned, already reaching for something nearby-maybe a couch cushion shield.

The growling intensified. Scott slowly extended a hand, trying his best.

“Nice doggy…” he said, and the rest squinted at the weak attempt.

Suddenly, the dog barked loudly, making them all jump.

“Apollo! Shut up!”

They flinched. The dog immediately stopped barking, lowered its tail, and obediently turned to walk away.

“Okay… that worked,” Silver said, blinking.

Michael didn’t wait. “We should go.”

🦊

Scott, Stiles, Silver, and Michael hopped out of the Jeep after pulling over somewhere away from Tate’s house to talk to Stilinski. The mood was quiet, uneasy.

“I’m sorry,” Scott said, stepping forward. “We tried as hard as we could. If it wasn’t so long ago, we might’ve been able to do it.”

Stilinski gave a tired nod, his gaze distant.
“It’s okay. It was a long shot. In fact, it was a pretty terrible idea. I think I just ripped a wound open in that poor man. I never should’ve brought you guys here. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He gave a small, genuine look to the group.
“Thanks for trying, all right?”

Scott nodded. Stilinski patted his arm and then looked at Silver and Michael, giving them both a faint nod.

“See you at home,” Stilinski said, glancing back at Stiles before climbing into his car and driving away.

The boys stood there in silence, the weight of what had just happened lingering.

“Aren’t there a lot of cases that go unsolved?” Scott asked softly.

Stiles gave a slight shrug.
“Yeah. I just think this is one he felt like he could’ve figured out… now.”

Michael scoffed quietly.
“Why now, though? What’s the rush?”

Silver glanced over at Stiles, already putting it together.
“Stiles?”

Stiles sighed and looked down for a moment before speaking.
“He wants to be able to solve one more… while he’s still Sheriff.”

Scott’s eyes widened.
“What do you mean, ‘still Sheriff’?”

🦊

Silver leaned against the porch railing, the cool night air brushing against his skin. His arms were crossed tightly, eyes scanning the dark street, though his mind wasn’t really on the world outside. From inside the house, he could hear the rising tension-voices raised, the unmistakable sound of an argument between Scott and Rafael. He swallowed hard, trying to steady the knot tightening in his chest. Scott was hurting, and Silver wished he could do more than just wait.

“Silver? What are you doing out here?” Melissa’s voice broke through the quiet night.

Silver only glanced back toward the house, where the voices were growing louder. He didn’t answer.

Melissa urged, “Come on.”

Without another word, the two hurried inside.

Melissa stepped into the room, exasperation clear in her voice. “Can somebody tell me what the hell is going on?”

Scott’s voice was sharp, accusing. “He’s trying to get Stiles’ dad fired.”

Rafael was quick to respond, “No, that’s not true-“

“What are you doing?” Melissa cut in.

Sighing, Rafael admitted, “Conducting a case for impeachment…”

“That sounds a lot like getting him fired,” Melissa said bluntly.

Rafael’s irritation showed. “The lack of resolution and ability to close cases is what’s going to get him fired. My job is just to collect the information. It’s the job my superiors gave me.”

Melissa shook her head. “Your job sucks.”

Her tone softened as she looked toward Scott. “Scott…”

But Scott only shook his head, eyes glossy with emotion, chest rising and falling rapidly, too overwhelmed to speak.

Silver, standing quietly nearby, suddenly caught a flash of something – Scott’s eyes flickered red for a heartbeat, a quick, fierce glow that vanished as fast as it came. His jaw clenched tight.

Silver stepped forward quietly. “Scott, come with me.”

Scott hesitated for a moment, then allowed Silver to lead him away from the confrontation. Silver’s hand rested steady on Scott’s back as they moved down the hallway.

Rafael watched them leave, then turned toward Melissa, raising a brow. “Who is that? The kid with him?”

Melissa crossed her arms, her gaze following Scott and Silver until they disappeared from sight. “That’s Silver. He’s… a friend.”

“Just a friend?” Rafael pressed.

Melissa gave him a sharp look. “They’ve been through a lot together.”

Rafael shrugged slightly. “He seems close to Scott.”

“He is. Like I said… they’ve been through a lot. You’d know that if you were around more.”

Rafael said nothing. The silence stretched awkwardly between them as the distant footsteps faded down the hall.

🦊

The room was dim, bathed in the amber glow of a single desk lamp. Books, weapons, and half-crumpled notes were scattered across every surface. Silver sat on the edge of his bed, sunglasses still on, posture stiff but composed. Allison leaned against the desk, Lydia twirled a pen by the window, and Michael sprawled in a chair, one leg hooked over the armrest, eyes always watching.

Lydia broke the silence first. “So, Silver… broody silence? That your new personality now?”

Silver let out a tired, dry laugh. “It’s always been my personality. You’re just late to the party.”

Allison’s voice softened as she asked, “How are the nightmares?”

Silver shrugged, trying to play it off, but a weariness slipped through his tone. “They don’t stop. And school feels like it’s just one big waiting room for the next disaster.”

Michael shifted lazily in his chair, stretching, but then froze. His gaze dropped to the side of Silver’s neck where a faint, reddish bruise peeked out from under his collar. A slow, sharp smirk spread across Michael’s face.

“Well, well… what do we have here?”

Silver stiffened instantly. “Don’t start.”

Michael grinned, leaning forward. “I’m not starting anything. Just… admiring the craftsmanship. That from our local alpha?”

Silver said nothing, but his ears pinked slightly.

Lydia snorted. “Oh my god, it is from Scott, isn’t it?”

Silver bristled defensively. “It was just a moment. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Michael chuckled. “That doesn’t look like ‘nothing’.

Silver glared, about to fire back, but Allison was quicker-she tossed a pencil right at Michael’s head.

“Be nice jerk.”

Michael chuckled, rubbing his temple. “Love you too.” Michael rolled his eyes but said no more. He and Allison headed for the door.

“Come on, Liss. I need to borrow your notes if I don’t want to flunk chem again.”

Allison gave Silver a small smile. “Ignore him. He’s a brat. But we’re both here if you need us.”

They left the door half open behind them. Lydia wandered closer to Silver and, without asking, gently took off his sunglasses. He let her.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

Silver hesitated. The wall he kept up around everyone else softened just a little.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. With Scott. With any of this.”

Lydia’s voice was gentle. “You don’t have to know. You just have to stop pretending it doesn’t matter.”

They sat together in the quiet for a moment. For once, no sarcasm, no sharp edges-just Lydia being Lydia, and Silver letting himself be seen.

🦊

The room was a strange blend of two worlds-her father’s apartment merged with a sunlit flat in Paris. A soft breeze drifted through open windows that shouldn’t exist, carrying the scent of lavender mixed with a faint trace of gunpowder.

Michael stood before her, bathed in golden light, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

“So, what now?” he asked softly, teasing. “We’re really doing this?”

Allison smiled, nervous but certain. “Yeah. I think we are. No more pretending.”

He reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. The moment felt impossibly perfect-until the light dimmed and her smile faltered.

The apartment flickered. The Parisian sunshine vanished, replaced by the familiar walls of her father’s real living room. The air grew heavy, thick with something wrong.

A voice slithered in from behind her, smooth and dark like smoke.

“Let’s do him, Allison. Let’s do him together,” Kate whispered, laughing cruelly.

Allison spun around. Kate leaned casually against the wall, eyes glinting like a devil’s, locked on someone behind Allison.

Silver knelt there-bloodied, barely conscious. A ragged bruise bloomed across his cheek, and his wrists were bound tight.

Allison jolted upright in bed, her breath ragged and uneven. Sweat clung to her skin, and the image of Silver’s broken expression haunted her mind, lingering stubbornly behind her closed eyes.

Beside her, Michael stirred, his voice soft but alert in the quiet room.
“Are you okay? Why are you up?” he asked groggily.

Allison wiped her palms against the sheets, trying to steady her voice.
“I’m fine. Just… need some water.”

Before he could press further, she swung her legs off the bed and slipped quietly into the dark hallway, not looking back.

Barefoot, Allison padded softly down the hall. The house was still, the only sound her own shallow breathing breaking the silence.

She slowed outside her brother’s door, hesitating. The door was slightly ajar. Curiosity and concern nudged her forward as she peeked inside.

Silver’s room was a comforting mess-books and open notebooks scattered across the bed like a chaotic battle plan. Lydia lay curled on one side, an arm draped lazily across a book, her shoes still on.

Silver was on the other side, one hand resting loosely on his chest, the other clutching a pencil even in sleep. A faint furrow marked his brow, betraying unrest even in slumber.

The lamp beside the bed cast a soft amber glow over them both.

Allison watched silently, the sight unbearably tender. Beneath that tenderness was something else she couldn’t quite name-maybe a pang of guilt, or longing. Perhaps both.

Carefully, she stepped back, closing the door without a sound.