Chapter 60

The abandoned lot was dead quiet except for the buzz of a flickering streetlight overhead. The concrete was cracked, littered with bullet casings and old bloodstains.

Kate Argent stepped out from behind a burnt-out car, boots crunching glass beneath her. Her smile was sharp, feral.

“Big fancy guns…” she said, kicking a rifle out of the assassin’s reach. “Coded death lists. So-called assassins…”

She crouched in front of him, tilting her head like a predator sizing up her prey. “And not one of you can answer the simplest question. Who’s paying the bills?”

The assassin winced, clutching his side. “I swear to God, I’ve never seen him. Never spoken to him-“

“I know,” Kate cut him off, pacing in front of him. “See, everybody says the same thing. They don’t know who he is, where he is…”

Her tone turned mocking, mimicking the same excuses she’d heard a hundred times.
“‘It’s all done electronically!’ ‘I can’t help you!’ ‘Please, I’m bleeding to death, stop, it hurts!'”

The assassin’s eyes darted to her claws, the faint blue glint of her eyes in the dark.

“Then what do you want with me?” he asked weakly.

Kate smiled. “It’s been a long time since someone made me a mixtape.”

She pulled a small metallic device from her jacket pocket, flicking it between her fingers. “You got one too, didn’t you?”

“No,” the assassin said quickly, “but I know who did. They look like kids- like teenagers. They’re called the Orphans.”

Kate paused, her grin sharpening. “The Orphans. Cute name.”

The assassin tried to push himself up. “Wait! Wait! I’ll tell you about them! I’ll tell you everything- just wait- “

A new voice came from the shadows, low and steady.

“No, you won’t.”

Kate turned sharply. Out of the dark, Michael stepped into view –  dressed in black, his jacket zipped up, a pistol loose at his side. His expression was calm, too calm.

“Well, well… look who crawled out of the grave.” Kate said, smirking.

“You’re one to talk.,” Michael replied.

“You used to be faster.” she shot back.

He gave her a dry, humorless smile. “You used to be dead.”

For a tense moment, they just stared at each other –  two predators, circling.

Kate cocked her head. “What’s this? You gonna shoot him before I do?”

“You’re making a mess,” Michael said evenly. “I’m here to clean it up.”

Kate laughed, a low, dangerous sound. “So you’re still taking orders.”

“I’m not taking orders anymore,” Michael said, stepping closer until they stood side by side. “I got the same list he did. The same names. The same price tags.”

He looked down at the terrified assassin, then back at her.

“I thought it was a joke at first,” Michael said, letting out a dry chuckle. He glanced at Kate, his expression unreadable for a moment. “You… you promised me I’d get back to the Argent twins.” He paused, letting the weight of the words hang in the air. “And then…” He shook his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I got my first paycheck. Another one. And then I saw a name I couldn’t ignore.”

Kate tilted her head. “Whose?”

Michael’s voice dropped, darkening with controlled anger. “Scott.” He let that word linger, sharp and precise.

Kate’s smile widened, intrigued. “So that’s what this is about.”

“He ruined everything,” Michael said quietly, almost to himself. His eyes flicked back to Kate. “He and Silver. You think I wouldn’t take the chance to… make that right?”

Kate studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly, approvingly. “Looks like we’re not so different after all.”

Michael leveled his gun at the assassin. “Then we understand each other.”

The shot echoed across the empty lot. The assassin slumped to the ground.

Kate didn’t flinch –  she just smiled, stepping over the body. “Just like your father.”

“I want to make him proud,” Michael said.

They walked off together, their silhouettes fading into the dark. The hum of the streetlight flickered one last time as Kate’s voice drifted back.

“I can see why they both fell for you. Welcome back, Michael Thomas Enger.”

💰

The gym buzzed with chaos –  deputies rushing in, students being herded away, and the fading echo of sirens outside.

Silver sat on the edge of a bench near the locker room doors, his head tilted slightly as a paramedic knelt before him.

“You said she slashed you on the left side?” the medic asked, shining a small penlight toward Silver’s face.

“Yeah,” Silver muttered, wincing as the light reflected off the cloudy gray of his blind eye. “It’s… old damage. She just reopened it.”

The medic nodded, gently cleaning the wound with gauze. “It’s shallow, but with scar tissue like this, it’s going to bleed more. You’ll need to take it easy –  no strain, no rough contact.”

Scott hovered a few feet away, arms folded, trying to mask the anxiety written across his face. “Is he going to be okay?”

The medic gave a small nod. “He’ll be fine. Just some bleeding and irritation. Might sting for a few days.”

Silver smirked weakly. “Great. I’ll add it to the collection.”

Scott let out a quiet, almost exasperated laugh. “You’re impossible.”

Before Silver could respond, a sharp, familiar voice cut through the room.

“Silver!”

Chris Argent pushed through a line of deputies, his face pale but furious. He went straight to Silver, crouching to check the bandage, his hand trembling slightly as it brushed over Silver’s cheek.

“What the hell happened to you? Who did this?”

Silver sighed. “Dad, it’s fine. Just- just a scratch.”

Argent’s tone sharpened. “A scratch? You’re bleeding from your eye, Silver!”

Scott stepped forward. “Mr. Argent- “

“Don’t,” Argent snapped, eyes narrowing. “Every time something like this happens, you’re standing right there next to him.”

Scott froze. “I didn’t let it happen- “

“You didn’t stop it either!” Argent shot back, voice rising before he caught himself. He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “God, I can’t- “

“Excuse me,” a calm, measured voice interrupted.

They turned as Rafael McCall approached, badge clipped to his belt, expression taut with concern. “Agent Rafael McCall. FBI. Scott’s father.” He extended a hand, which Argent didn’t take.

“Dad, this is Scott’s dad. Mr. McCall, this is my father, Chris Argent,” Silver introduced, trying to defuse the tension.

Argent blinked, jaw tightening. “Of course you are.”

“Excuse me?” Rafael asked, eyebrows raised.

Argent’s tone sharpened with disbelief. “It just figures. Your son is always pulling mine into constant danger.”

Rafael’s composure cracked. “Your son is the one who got into a fight. Scott was just saving him.”

Argent scoffed. “If my son hadn’t interfered, your son would be the one in the ambulance.”

Rafael’s eyes narrowed. “And if your son hadn’t pushed him into danger in the first place, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Enough!” Silver snapped, stepping between them. “Both of you! I’m not an excuse to argue!”

The tension crackled –  two fathers, two protectors –  until, slowly, both looked away, the argument draining into uneasy silence.

Scott crouched beside Silver again. “You okay?”

Silver nodded faintly, voice hoarse. “She wasn’t kidding about the headache.”

Scott let out a short laugh. “Normal.”

The medic finished bandaging Silver’s temple and stood. “He’s good to go. Just rest, keep it clean, and avoid getting punched in the face again, okay?”

Silver gave a thumbs-up. “I’ll do my best.”

As the medic stepped away, Rafael turned to his son, voice softer now, still laced with guilt.

“Scott. Dad, really –  I’m okay.”

Rafael frowned. “I should’ve been here. I said I’d be at the games.”

Scott shook his head. “Well, I mean, this was just a pre-season scrimmage… I didn’t even tell you about it.”

“I promised your mom I’d be around so she could take double shifts at the hospital,” Rafael said quietly. “I should’ve been here.”

Scott smiled faintly, tired but warm. “You’re here now.”

Chris crossed his arms. “I’ll get the car. Then I’m taking you home.”

Silver didn’t argue as his father walked off, and Rafael headed to check on Violet.

Liam wandered over to the couple.

“Where’s Kira and Ren?” Silver asked.

“They took off,” Liam replied. “Ren told her about Lydia cracking the second part of the Deadpool.”

Scott muttered, “…Their mom is on it.”

“Everyone’s on it,” Liam added.

“You’re not,” Scott noted.

“Not yet,” Liam said. “There’s still another third, right?”

💰

Ren’s voice crackled through the phone, teasing yet slightly defensive. “You know what this means? You can’t make fun of me anymore for still not being able to work on my bo.”

Silver paced around his room, phone pressed to his ear, his gaze drifting to the window. The late afternoon light cast shadows across the hardwood floor. “The difference is, I have an actual excuse. You just get distracted every time Kira or I try to help you.”

Ren snorted, a laugh punctuating his words. “You’re one to talk. You get quiet whenever anyone tries to help you, little Argent.”

Silver groaned under his breath, rolling his eyes. “God… not you too.”

“I hate that you’re right,” Ren admitted, a sigh escaping him. “If people are going to come after my mom, I guess- “

“She’s going to be fine, you know,” Silver cut in, his voice steady. “She created the Noguistine. A few kids with guns are nothing for her. She’s stronger than anyone gives her credit for.”

Ren laughed softly, the sound carrying a mix of relief and exasperation. “I hate you, pirate boy.”

“Let me know if you need anything,” Silver replied, his tone gentler now, hiding the worry he felt behind a veneer of calm.

He hung up, tugging his backpack over one shoulder. As he moved toward the stairs, he spotted his father, Chris Argent, still muttering into his phone, glancing nervously at an envelope Rachel had left on the counter. The moment Argent noticed him, he ended the call and slid the envelope into a drawer with a faint clatter.

“How’s Ren holding up?” Argent asked, concern sharpening his tone.

“He’s scared,” Silver admitted quietly, feeling the weight of the situation press against his chest.

Argent’s jaw tightened. “I can go help them out for a while today. Set up some actual protection.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll let him know,” Silver said, trying to sound casual though his heart thumped with unease.

Argent studied him for a moment, eyes lingering on his son’s frame. “Are you sure about going to school? You don’t want to stay home and rest?”

Silver gave a small shrug, forcing a grin he didn’t feel. “At least this injury wasn’t from a werewolf.”

Argent’s frown softened, but worry lingered behind it. “Just… be careful, alright?”

Silver nodded, hoisting his backpack higher. As he stepped toward the front door, he paused, glancing back at his father. “I will. “

💰

Silver slid into the seat next to Malia just as the bell rang, the room still buzzing with the low murmur of students settling in. This morning, he’d walked in with Scott, but the tension of the previous night lingered like a shadow in his mind –  the memory of Garrett, the chaos in the locker room, and the way he had kept Garrett’s money hidden like a ticking reminder of everything that had happened.

“Has anyone seen Stiles, Lydia, Ren, or Kira today?” Ms. Fleming asked, her tone clipped but curious as she scanned the classroom. “Malia… Arthur… any idea where your friends are?”

Silver and Malia exchanged a brief glance. Both shook their heads.

“I could try catching their scent,” Malia offered, her voice low, almost hesitant.

Silver smirked faintly, glancing toward the teacher. “Right,” he muttered, hiding a small chuckle.

“Or… how about I just mark them down as absent?” Ms. Fleming suggested, waving a hand toward her attendance sheet.

Silver gave a small nod. “Works for me.”

“Okay, everyone, let’s begin with last night’s homework,” she continued.

Silver’s attention drifted, though, as he noticed Malia shifting in her seat, eyes darting around the classroom frantically. “Malia?” he whispered, leaning slightly toward her.

No answer came.

Before he could press further, Malia stood abruptly, slinging her bag over her

“Malia. Do you need to be excused from class?” Ms. Fleming asked. Malia nodded, “Yeah.” She said before she walked away.

“Oh my god.” Silver muttered as he grabbed his bag and books before he chased after Malia. “Arthur.” Silver turned around as he shrugged, “I gotta-I gotta go.” Silver quickly rushed out as he saw Malia standing in the hallway staring at a familiar face.

He pushed open the classroom door and entered the hallway, spotting Malia standing frozen in front of a familiar figure.

“Derek, what the hell? What are you doing here?” Silver asked, hurrying to close the distance.

Derek’s eyes flicked toward him, concern etched in the sharp lines of his face. “What happened to you?”

Silver let out a dry laugh, though it held no real humor. “A girl tried to decapitate me in the locker room.”

Derek’s gaze hardened. “And why are you here, Silver?”

Silver glanced at Malia, then back to Derek. “Why are you here, Derek?”

“Brett’s still out of it,” Derek explained, his voice clipped. “I need to find his pack and warn them about the Deadpool.”

Malia stepped forward. “So… what do you need me for?”

Derek’s expression softened slightly, acknowledging her presence. “I know a little something about this pack. They have a kind of secret meeting place in the woods.”

Silver arched an eyebrow, watching as Derek turned to Malia. “No one’s spent more time in the woods of Beacon Hills than you. This is Brett’s territory. Breathe it in.”

Derek tossed her a jersey, which Malia shook her head at firmly. “I’m not good at that yet,” she admitted.

“Try it,” Derek urged. “I’ll teach you. Focus on the different scents. Some are tied to identity… others give off an emotion. You’ll know who’s who if you pay attention.”

💰

After Malia left with Derek, Silver tore down the halls to find Scott. He spotted him and Mason standing outside Coach’s office, faces tense.

“Sorry, guys –  Liam skipped class,” Coach offered with a weak sniffle, trying to make light of it. “Maybe he’s sick. Like me.”

Mason frowned. “He didn’t look sick on our run,” he said, glancing down the empty corridor. “He was fine.”

“He’s not answering any of my texts,” Silver said, thumb hovering over his phone.

“Mine either,” Mason added.

The bell clanged overhead. Mason gave a half-shrug.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll find him.” Scott said, voice clipped. “Text me if you see him.”

“All right,” Mason said and walked off.

Scott and Silver started down the hall when Scott’s phone buzzed. The screen lit up: Liam.

“Liam?” Scott said, flipping the phone to his ear. Silver closed the gap, trying to catch the call too.

Instead of Liam, a cold, familiar voice answered. “Sounds like you already know the answer to that, McCall.” Garrett was mocking, dangerous.

Silver reached for the phone, pulling it between them. “Where is he?” he demanded.

Garrett  laughed. “C’mon. Like I’m actually going to tell you that.”

Scott’s jaw tightened. “I’ll give you the money,” he said, desperation peeking through the calm.

“Yeah, you will,” Garrett said, slow and amused. “But that won’t get Liam back. You’re going to have to put in a little more effort than that.”

“What do you want?” Scott asked, low and controlled.

There was a pause –  a threat like a blade. “I want the money. And Violet. Or you never see Liam again.”

💰

Silver fell into step beside Scott as they walked across the cracked asphalt of the school parking lot. Two yellow buses idled nearby; Garrett waited between them, hands in his pockets and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Okay,” Scott said, stopping a few feet away. “What do you want? You want me to go to Stilinski? We can do that. Or I can talk to my father- he’s an FBI agent.”

Garrett scoffed. “You think I want you talking to anyone with a badge? I’m not getting help from a werewolf because I want him to make a phone call.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Silver demanded, anger tightening his voice.

Garrett’s smile went colder. “They’re transferring Violet to a federal facility. You and Silver aren’t going to let that happen.”

“How?” Scott asked, eyes narrowing.

Garrett shrugged, casual and cruel. “They put her in a car. We follow the car. We get ahead of it. You stop it.”

“You want him to attack a car?” Silver said, incredulous.

“He’s an alpha,” Garrett snapped, dismissive.

“If you can’t stop one little car,” Garrett continued, producing a lacrosse stick wrapped with a dirty cloth and tapping it against his palm, “then one little beta is going to die.” He met Scott’s stare. “I stabbed your friend with a blade dipped in wolfsbane. Once that poison reaches the heart, it’s not pretty.”

💰

“We’re taking her now,” Agent McCall said, his voice flat and final as Scott and Silver fell in step behind him through the fluorescent-lit corridors of the sheriff’s station.

“Dad –  isn’t that a little dangerous?” Scott asked, trying to keep his voice level. “Garrett’s still out there. Maybe someone else should- “

Rafael cut him off with a look that stopped Scott mid-sentence. “I appreciate the concern,” he said quietly, “but after what happened with Katashi”- Silver’s body tightened; the memory of that night flashed through him, sharp and unwanted- “and losing evidence off an armored truck, I’m not letting this out of my sight. Not again.”

Scott opened his mouth, then closed it. “We’ll go with you,” Silver said before he could stop himself, because staying on the sidelines felt worse than any patrol. Rafael glanced at him, and for a beat there was only the hum of the building and the distant radio chatter.

“If you’re still worried,” Rafael added, “you should know I’ve got Beacon Hills’ finest coming with us.” His tone left no room for argument –  a line drawn.

They turned a corner and Silver’s steps faltered. Through the glass doors of the interview room, he saw Stilinski walking out, arm tight around Violet’s elbow as she was escorted past. Violet’s eyes locked with theirs, and she smirked –  small, practiced, and full of the kind of calm that landed like a dare.

💰

“This isn’t going to work,” Scott muttered, his eyes fixed on Garrett as he opened a case, revealing the gun inside.

“All you have to do is stop the car,” Garrett said, his voice calm but sharp. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

Silver and Scott exchanged a tense glance, then all three of them moved to the windows. The car carrying Violet rolled slowly past the station, its dark windows reflecting the fading afternoon light.

Scott tugged his hood over his head instinctively, tension coiling in his shoulders. Silver reached out, gripping Scott’s arm firmly, forcing him to take a deep breath.

“I’ll be here waiting for you when you’re done,” Silver whispered, his voice low but steady, grounding Scott as Garrett slid into the driver’s seat and the engine roared to life.

💰

“There’s a stop sign half a mile ahead,” Garrett said, his eyes fixed on the road.

“So… I take out the tires with my claws?” Scott asked, his voice tense.

Garrett groaned, running a hand over his face. “Teeth, claws, heat vision –  whatever. Just stop them. You ready?”

Silver’s eyes widened as he suddenly spotted the car turned on its side, a figure sprawled on the edge of the road. “Stop! Stop the car!” he shouted. Garrett slammed on the brakes, and the vehicle skidded to a halt. Silver and Scott leapt out, adrenaline pumping.

“Sheriff!” Silver screamed, dropping to his knees beside Stilinski’s prone body.

“Dad!” Scott yelled, spotting his father unconscious just a few feet away.

“Scott… Silver…” Stilinski gasped faintly.

“Sheriff, are you okay? You’re bleeding!” Silver pressed both hands against the sheriff’s wounds, trying desperately to staunch the flow. “We need an ambulance. Now!”

“She’s not in the car… Violet’s gone,” Scott shouted at Garrett, scanning the wreckage.

“Silver, listen to me. Listen,” Stilinski rasped, grabbing Silver’s wrist. “They’re still here… they’re still here.”

“What? What do you mean?”

Silver and Scott froze as a low growl echoed from the trees. A familiar figure emerged –  a Berserker, teeth bared and muscles coiled to strike.

“You want me?” Garrett yelled at the creature, spinning his lacrosse stick defensively. “Come on! Come and get me!”

Silver moved instinctively, pulling Scott back by the hand to keep him from charging forward.

“Yeah, that’s right! You’re not so big!” Garrett taunted the Berserker, circling cautiously. “You’re not so b- “

Before he could finish, another Berserker burst from the side, slamming a jagged bone into Garrett’s chest. He coughed violently, collapsing to the ground. Scott instinctively wrapped his arms around Silver as the boy’s body shook from the impact.

“Stay here,” Scott whispered urgently, letting go of Silver for just a moment as he ran toward Garrett.

“Scott!” Silver yelled, panic cracking his voice, along with Stilinski’s strained cry.

Another Berserker lunged at Scott, knocking him to the ground. Silver’s last sight before he was momentarily overwhelmed by fear was Scott pinned beneath the monstrous figure, and all he could do was call out, “Scott! No!”

💰

Silver paced anxiously behind Deaton as Scott lay on the exam table, his body still trembling from the impact of the last fight. The clinic smelled faintly of antiseptic, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded.

“Hey there,” Deaton said softly as Scott’s eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding his gaze. “I was actually hoping you’d be out for a few more minutes.”

Scott’s eyes immediately went to his chest, lingering on the jagged piece of bone still lodged in his side. He groaned, a shudder running through him.

“Scott.” Argent’s voice cut through the tension as he stepped closer. His hands moved with careful precision, gripping the bone. Slowly, he pushed it out of Scott’s body. A sharp, stifled groan escaped Scott’s lips, pain etched across his features.

Silver rushed forward instinctively, trying to help Scott sit up, but he quickly clutched him again, keeping him steady. “Hold on… don’t move too fast,” he murmured, eyes wide with concern.

“You alright?” Argent asked, his tone tight but measured.

Scott groaned again, his voice strained. “Where’s my dad… and the sheriff?”

“They’re at the hospital. Both fine,” Silver said softly, trying to keep his own panic at bay.

Deaton handed Scott a bandage. “Hold this,” he instructed, pressing it firmly against the wound. Scott winced but complied, gripping it tightly as he tried to steady his breathing.

“It was Kate… it was her and the Berserkers,” Scott rasped, pain lacing his words.

“I told them,” Silver said quietly, looking down, guilt tugging at his chest.

Scott’s eyes met his, a brief flicker of understanding passing between them. “But they move fast… and they don’t leave much in the way of tracks,” Argent added, shaking his head slightly.

“We have to find her,” Scott said, determination cutting through the pain. “She’s got Violet. I think Violet knows where Liam is.”

Deaton held up the piece of bone, examining it carefully. “Then, as much as this hurts, it could also help,” he said gently. “Can you get a scent?”

💰

Silver sat tensely in his dad’s car, the engine humming softly as Chris navigated the industrial streets of Beacon Hills. The smell of oil and damp concrete hung in the air. Scott had already taken off on foot, insisting he could catch a scent faster that way. Silver’s chest tightened as he watched the alley swallow his friend’s figure.

“I’m not scared of her,” Silver muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Argent.

“Neither am I,” Chris replied, eyes fixed on the road.

Silver pressed his jaw, recalling every harsh word Kate had ever thrown his way. “I was always a mess-up in her mind. So if it means saving Liam—saving Scott…” He didn’t finish the thought, but the weight of it pressed down on him anyway.

The car came to a stop in front of a worn warehouse. The metal siding was rusted, windows dirty and cracked.

“Argent… you’ve been here before?” Scott called over his shoulder.

Chris’s gaze swept the building, sharp and calculating. “I worked here,” he said. “Used to own it. Part of the business.”

Scott’s expression hardened. “I’ve fought these things before. They’re strong. Really strong.”

“That’s why I brought this.” Argent moved to the trunk and pulled out a heavy, military-grade rifle, the steel catching the light.

Silver leaned forward slightly, a flicker of hesitation in his voice. “I’m… I’m good with that. Scott?” Scott gave a small, firm nod, and Silver exhaled slowly, forcing his nerves into submission.

Argent opened the door first, the hinges creaking as cold air swept out from the dark warehouse. He stepped inside cautiously, motioning for Scott and Silver to follow.

“You going to be okay?” Scott asked quietly, glancing at Silver as they moved through the shadows.

Silver adjusted his bow and quiver, forcing steadiness into his voice. “Yeah. I can take care of myself.”

Scott stopped just short of the doorway, his eyes catching Silver’s. “I know you can. I just mean… you saw what these things can do.”

Silver’s laugh came out short and sharp. “I’ve handled Kate before—before I even knew what she was capable of.”

Scott frowned, wanting to say more, but Silver’s tone cut the conversation short. “I’ve got to learn to handle things on my own, Scott.”

Scott gave a reluctant nod as Argent pushed the doors open wider. Inside, the warehouse was swallowed in half-darkness—dust hanging in the air, the faint hum of machinery somewhere deep in the building.

“You shouldn’t have come,” a familiar voice echoed through the cavernous space.

Kate stepped out from the shadows, her half-shifted face illuminated by the faint light. “I’m here for Violet. I need to talk to her,” Scott called, his voice steady but wary.

“I knew you’d find me,” Kate replied, her tone softening, “but I hoped I’d have more time.”

“For what?” Argent asked sharply, stepping forward, eyes scanning the dark corners where two Berserkers loomed behind her.

Kate’s gaze swept the room, calm but dangerous. “To learn control. Lower the gun,” she said, taking a step forward. “Walk away, and no one has to get hurt.”

Silver stepped forward from behind Scott, eyes fixed on her. “Where’s Violet?” he demanded, voice low but shaking with anger.

Kate’s head tilted, her expression flickering with recognition before that sharp, cruel smirk spread across her face. “Arthur…” she purred, his name rolling off her tongue like poison disguised as honey. “Well, look at you. The surviving Argent twin.”

Her gaze lingered on his face, her eyes glittering with dark amusement. “But that eye…” she lifted a clawed finger and made a slow circle in the air, mocking him. “Did you lose it trying to play the big hero again?”

Silver didn’t answer, though his jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck taut.

“I remember the look in your eyes back then. You wanted to save me. You actually thought you could.” She let out a mocking laugh. “Now look at you—half the person you were.”

Scott instinctively stepped in front of him, body tense, his growl low in his throat.

Kate tilted her head, eyes flashing gold. “Tell me, Scott, does he cry when you leave him behind? Or do you hold his hand until the monsters go away?”

Silver’s voice cracked as he muttered, “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Put the gun down, Chris,” she repeated, not even sparing Argent a glance this time.

Before Argent could answer, Kate gestured, and the Berserkers surged forward. Scott screamed as Argent fired at them, only for Kate to disarm him with a swift motion, punching him across the room.

Scott lunged forward, trying to shield Silver, but the ground shook as a Berserker crashed toward them. Silver barely had time to react before he shoved Scott out of the way, taking the full brunt of the creature’s charge.

Pain exploded through Silver as the creature slammed him against a wall, sending him flying into another room. Through the haze, Silver thought he saw someone—Michael.

Just for a second, he was certain of it.
Michael stood at the edge of the room, pale, haunted, running from Violet—her body slumped in a chair, blood pooling beneath her.

Argent’s voice echoed somewhere in the distance, apologizing, while Scott’s face twisted with despair over Liam. But Silver’s resolve hardened- he wasn’t giving up.

“Silver? Are you okay?” Scott’s voice cut through his fogged senses.

Silver blinked, pain flashing across his features. “Son of a- ” He reached behind him and pulled his hand away, slick with blood.

His eyes scanned the room. Argent leaned against a wall, battered but alive. Kate was gone.

“We can find him. There’s still time. Scott, we- we have to find him,” Silver said, voice strained but determined.

Scott knelt beside him, gently brushing hair and dirt from Silver’s face. “Hey, hey… you’re pretty hurt.”

“I’m fine,” Silver lied, his tone rough but stubborn.

Scott’s expression softened, that familiar mix of frustration and care. “You always say that.”

Silver let out a shaky breath and managed a weak smile, “Yeah… and I’m usually right.”

💰

Silver followed close behind Scott, the crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot barely audible over the pounding of his own heart.

Silver’s chest tightened, relief and dread mingling. “”Can you… smell him?”

Scott didn’t answer immediately, concentrating, before finally nodding. “Yeah. He’s close by.”

They pushed through the underbrush until they came to a gaping hole in the ground. A faint, wet noise echoed from within, and Silver froze. “Scott…” he whispered, peering inside.

Down below, Liam’s small form struggled, slick with mud and water, trying to climb out. His hands slipped against the slippery earth, and he let out a pained grunt.

Scott immediately sprang into action, breaking the wooden planks that partially blocked the opening. “Hold on, Liam!” he called, reaching down just as the boy’s grip faltered.

Silver lunged, grabbing Liam’s other arm. Together, the two teens pulled him up, grit and mud coating their hands. Liam finally cleared the edge, and Scott eased him down against a large rock, his body shivering and trembling from the cold and fear.

“Liam…” Silver’s voice wavered, his hand still gripping the boy’s wrist. He knelt, brushing mud from his hair.

Scott wrapped Liam in a careful, tight embrace, murmuring again and again. “You’re okay, Liam… you’re okay.” His breaths were shaky but reassuring, a tether of calm in the chaos.

💰

Deaton moved with quiet, methodical hands, opening Liam’s shirt and gently parting the soaked fabric. He worked with a small blade, careful and efficient, and when he peeled back the torn skin a thin, sulfurous yellow smoke slipped out and curled into the air like a living thing.

Scott and Silver watched, breath caught. The scent was sharp, medicinal and wrong, and it hung between them as if the world had gone momentarily still.

“I don’t want to keep watching people die,” Scott said finally, his voice raw. He looked at Silver, at Liam, at the fragile stillness of the boy on the table. “I can’t- “

Argent’s answer was blunt and tired. “I’m not sure you have much choice about that.”

Scott swallowed, jaw working. He stared at Deaton’s steady hands and then back at Silver. “Maybe I do.”

Deaton didn’t look up. “That’s a heavy burden to carry, Scott.” His tone was gentle, not unkind.

Scott shook his head, muscles hardening into resolve. “I don’t care.” He met their eyes like a challenge. “No one else dies. Not from that deadpool. Not from whatever’s on that list. Wendigos, werewolves, assassins –  it doesn’t matter. I’m going to save everyone.”

Silver turned, and for a beat his breath hitched. He smiled at Scott, small and fierce, because he believed him

💰

Scott’s room was dimly lit, the soft hum of the desk lamp casting a warm glow across the space. Silver sat on the edge of the bed, his shirt discarded, a towel pressed against the side of his ribs.

Scott knelt in front of him, carefully cleaning the gash on his shoulder. “You know,” Scott said, voice low but teasing, “for someone who says he can take care of himself, you’re single-handedly keeping my medical skills sharp.”

Silver hissed softly at the sting of disinfectant. “Well, you are a vet,” he muttered through a wince. “Might as well get some practice on something that talks back.”

Scott chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, but I usually work on things that don’t argue with me.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The quiet felt heavy but safe — a rare calm after everything that had happened. Silver’s eyes flicked toward the window, remembering what he’d seen in the warehouse — Michael’s face. It had been real. He knew it had. The urge to tell Scott sat heavy in his chest.

“Scott…” Silver began, voice almost a whisper.

Scott looked up at him immediately, eyes full of concern. “What is it?”

Silver hesitated. He could tell him about Michael — about the blood, about Violet, about the way it didn’t make sense. But as he looked at Scott’s face — the exhaustion, the bruises, the quiet strength that never seemed to falter — the words died on his tongue.

Instead, Silver just exhaled, a shaky breath that ended in a laugh. “Nothing. Just… thanks. For not giving up back there.”

Scott gave him that small, familiar smile — the one that made the rest of the world go quiet. “You don’t have to thank me.”

Silver’s lips curved into a grin that didn’t last long, because Scott was suddenly closer — their knees brushed, their breathing matched, and all the unsaid things between them felt like they were pressing against the air itself.

Scott’s hand lingered at Silver’s jaw, thumb brushing gently against his cheek. “You sure you’re okay?” he murmured.

Silver didn’t answer. He leaned forward, closing the space between them, and kissed him.

It was soft at first — careful, hesitant — then it deepened, turning into something warm and desperate. Scott’s hand slid into Silver’s hair as Silver shifted closer, his fingers curling in Scott’s shirt. For a moment, everything else — the blood, the fear, the chaos — faded into nothing.

And then—

The front door slammed open downstairs.

“Scott? Silver?” Stiles’ voice echoed through the house, quick and panicked.

They broke apart instantly, breathless. Silver’s face flushed as Scott groaned, dropping his forehead against Silver’s shoulder.

“Of course,” Scott muttered. “Perfect timing. Always.”

The bedroom door burst open, and Stiles stumbled in, out of breath. “Scott? Silver?” His eyes darted between them — the messy hair, the proximity — and widened. “Jesus, what happened to you?”

Silver cleared his throat, tugging his shirt on. “My aunt still hates me.”

Scott just sighed. “You have no idea.”

Scott bent down and yanked Garrett’s red bag from the counter, letting it thud onto the floor. The teens gathered around it instinctively, their eyes widening as stacks of cash spilled out across the carpet.

Stiles crouched to inspect the money. “You counted it yet?”

“Nope,” Scott said, shaking his head. “We probably should.”

Silver nudged the bag to the side, letting the bills scatter even more. Beneath the cash, a small cassette tape caught his eye. He picked it up, holding it between his fingers, reading the label aloud: “Play me.”

💰

The tunnels under Beacon Hills smelled of damp concrete and old secrets. Fluorescent bulbs hummed overhead, throwing long, wavering shadows over puddles and rusted grates.

“Is he totally blind in that eye?”

Michael’s expression darkened, and for a moment he just stared at her, letting the weight of the truth settle. Then he spoke, voice low and controlled, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “It was Deucalion… at the beginning of the year. He did this to Silver.”

Kate’s eyes widened slightly, then a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “Ah, the famous Deucalion. Nothing like a bit of childhood trauma to spice up your life.” She chuckled softly, though her eyes stayed sharp. “I guess that makes him a very polite little psychopath.”

From the shadows, Peter leaned lazily against a pillar, his grin slow, deliberate. His eyes followed Kate like a predator examining a potential ally, amused by her fury and intrigued by the storm brewing between the two younger fighters.

“Delightful,” Peter murmured to himself, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Absolutely delightful.”

“I suppose you’re hiding down here because it’ll cover your scent,” Peter said, voice silky. “But I can smell a rat.” He took a slow step forward. “It’s getting worse, isn’t it? The surges of anger, the loss of control… You know, as a kid I used to break my own toys in fits of rage. Then I asked myself, ‘Why break your own toys… when you can break someone else’s?'”

Kate’s jaw tightened. “Stop preaching and tell me what you want.”

Peter tilted his head, amused. “Obviously, we’re in a position of mutually‑assured destruction—”

Kate cut him off, smirking. “Oh, I’m not so sure the scales are that balanced…”

He shrugged, honest for once. “Probably true. But you want the family back together — the return of the Argents to their glorious power. Am I right?”

Kate’s eyes flashed. “Don’t flatter me.”

Peter nodded. “You can’t go back unless you can show absolute, total control. I can offer control. I can teach you.”

Kate’s laugh was cold. “So you’d teach me in order to get what you want. And what is that, exactly?”

Peter’s grin widened. “Money, of course. But money only gets you so far.” His voice softened, hunger threading through it. “What I want is what I’ve always wanted — power.”