Chapter 63

Scott blinked, the words not sinking in at first. “What do you mean he was there?”

Silver swallowed, eyes fixed on the floor. “With Kate. In the morgue.”

Scott pushed himself up in bed, confusion twisting into disbelief. “Wait—Michael? I thought he was still missing?”

Silver nodded slowly, his breath unsteady. “Yeah I guess not.”

For a moment, Scott didn’t say anything. He just stared, trying to make sense of it, like maybe Silver was joking or he’d misheard.

“He had a gun,” Silver blurted out, the words tumbling over themselves now, too heavy to hold back any longer. “He pointed it at me.”

Scott froze. The shock hit him so hard it almost looked like the air had been punched out of his lungs. “What?” he whispered.

Silver’s hands were shaking. “Kate showed up first. She was taunting us, about how people always die around me—and then Michael stepped out from behind her.” His voice broke. “I thought I was seeing things, but it was him. He looked different, older—angry. He wasn’t just helping her, Scott. He got sent the list.”

Scott’s chest rose and fell, slow and tense. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t know how,” Silver said, his voice trembling but growing louder. “I didn’t even understand it myself. He aimed the gun at me, and for a second I thought he was going to pull the trigger. But Kate—she stopped him. She pulled him back, and they left.”

Scott sat there in stunned silence, staring at Silver like he was trying to piece together two versions of the same world. “You saw him,” he said finally. “You saw him, and you didn’t say anything.”

Silver looked up, guilt written across his face. “I wanted to, I swear I did. But after everything—after you—” He stopped, biting down on the rest of the sentence. “I just needed time to figure it out. To make sure I wasn’t wrong.”

Scott shook his head, standing up from the bed. “Time? Silver, he pointed a gun at you! You think that’s something I wouldn’t want to know?”

Silver stood too, frustration and shame spilling out all at once. “I was trying to protect you, Scott! I didn’t want you to go after him and get yourself killed!”

Scott stood too, eyes flashing, his control slipping. “You don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to lie to me and call it protection.”

“I wasn’t lying!” Silver snapped. “I was—”

“—Hiding it,” Scott cut in.

Silver’s voice dropped, heavy with exhaustion. “Yeah. I was hiding it.”

Scott shook his head slowly. “I just… I don’t get it.”

Silver opened his mouth to speak—but before he could, the door slammed open.

“Guys!” Ren’s voice cut through the tension like glass shattering. His hair was wind-tossed, his face pale. “Have either of you checked your phones?”

Scott turned sharply, still flushed from the argument. “Ren, not now—”

“Oh, trust me,” Ren cut in, “You’re gonna want to hear this.”

Silver’s chest tightened. Scott glanced at him, their fight forgotten in an instant, replaced by dread.

💰

Parrish stood in the middle of the loft, his shirt torn and streaked with soot, hands trembling but unburned. Silver, Ren, Scott, Lydia, and Derek stood in a half-circle around him, trying to make sense of what they’d just witnessed.

“He covered you in gasoline?” Derek asked, eyes narrowing as he studied Parrish’s hands. His tone was steady, but there was something uncertain behind it.

Parrish nodded, his voice rough. “Yeah. He poured it all over me. Then—lit the match.”

Lydia stepped closer, her head tilting slightly as she examined him. “It’s the hair and nails, isn’t it?” she said softly. “The parts of the body that are essentially dead.”

Parrish blinked at her. “They should be gone,” Lydia added, half to herself.

“I was set on fire! All of me should be gone,” Parrish snapped, frustration breaking through the shock.

“Not if you’re like us,” Scott said quietly.

Parrish turned to him, frowning. “Like you?”

“I don’t think he’s like us,” Derek interjected, shaking his head. He crossed his arms and glanced at Parrish again. “Then what could he possibly be?”

Scott looked to Derek, almost hopeful. “You’ve seen things before—Jackson, Kira—”

Derek sighed, the weight of too many strange experiences pulling at him. “This is a little out of my experience,” he admitted. “There might be something in the bestiary.” His gaze drifted to Silver. “Did you try your dad?”

Silver exhaled and shook his head. “He’s a little busy right now.”

Ren, who had been leaning against the railing, muttered under his breath, “Yeah, like pretending this town isn’t cursed.”

Silver shot him a look, but Ren only shrugged, his expression unreadable.

“Okay, hold on- what’s a bestiary? Actually, that’s not even my first question. Just… Just tell me one thing. Are all of you like Lydia?” Parrish asked, making them look at him confused, “Are you all psychic?” Parrish asked, making Derek look at him crazy while  Silver and Lydia glanced at each other in amusement.

“Not exactly.”

“Okay then what are you?” He asked.

Everyone turned to Scott. Even Silver and Ren went quiet. Scott hesitated, then slowly closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his irises glowed a deep, burning red.

💰

Parrish sat on the edge of the couch, still trying to make sense of everything he’d just seen. “What’s a Kanima?” he asked suddenly.

Ren let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t wanna open that box tonight.”

Silver smirked faintly but said nothing, watching Parrish from where he leaned against one of the support beams.

Scott glanced at both of them before answering. “We’ll get back to that,” he said carefully. “Just know that everyone like us—everyone with some kind of supernatural ability—is on the Deadpool.”

Parrish frowned. “But I don’t even know what I am.”

“Pretty sure they don’t care,” Silver muttered, his tone sharp but tired. His arms were crossed, and he wasn’t looking at anyone in particular.

Parrish’s gaze drifted to him, brow furrowing. “How many professional assassins are we talking about here?”

Lydia exhaled, rubbing her temple. “We’re starting to lose count.”

Scott leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “But is it still just professionals?”

Parrish hesitated. “I don’t think Haigh’s ever tried anything like this before. He was taking a chance.”

Ren shifted uneasily, exchanging a glance with Silver. “Which means anyone with the Deadpool could take a chance,” he said quietly, the words heavy in the air.

Silver’s jaw tensed. “And if Haigh had it? How easy is it to get this thing now?” he asked, voice low.

💰

“Meredith was only at my grandmother’s lakehouse once… But I think once was enough.” Lydia said as she sat down on the bed. “How did your grandmother know her?” Derek asked and Lydia looked at him and shook her head.

“She didn’t. She found her. Because of another woman named Maddy.” She said, showing a picture of two women, “The woman she loved.” She continued, standing up to hand the picture to Scott. “I never met her, but I saw her name everywhere. She used to be part of a yacht racing team. There were plaques and trophies in the lake house from all the regattas she’d won.”

“How did she die?” Parrish asked.

“How’s not the story… It’s what happened right before. My grandmother, Lorraine, used to work in San Francisco for IBM.” She explained then started to walk back and forth. “She was there on a weekend, catching up on work. She started hearing this sound, like rain. But, when she looked out the windows..All she saw was blue sky.”

“But she kept hearing the rain?” Scott asked and Lydia nodded slightly, “And it just kept getting louder. Rain and thunder, cracking like gunshots in her head… so loud, she finally just… screamed.” She said and Silver odded slowly, “Like a Banshee.” He said and Lydia nodded. “She called Maddy, who was planning on taking one of the boats out on the lake… But Maddy said that the sun was shining there, too… So, Lorraine didn’t say anything.”

“There was an accident?” Ren asked.

“It took them four days to find Maddy’s body… and then it took decades to figure out how Lorraine knew. She started with parapsychologists- like the Ph.D in their name made it more scientific. They built the study in the lake house according to every pseudoscientific theory they could find. None of it worked. So then, she started going to more extreme occult-things like mediums and psychics, all of them failures… Until she found Meredith. They found her in Eichen House… this fragile girl who didn’t understand the things she heard. They brought her to the study… and they almost killed her. She was hospitalized for over a year. She… never really recovered.”

“My grandmother drove her insane. I drove her to suicide. And all she ever wanted to do was help. My grandmother created the code for the Deadpool. They think she’s the Banshee who put the names out in the first place. She left me this message in the same code.” Lydia said, sliding over a piece of paper.

“But she didn’t leave a cipher key, did she?” Scott asked and Lydia sighed and shook her head.

💰

“Try Maddy. It’s got to be Maddy,” Stiles said, standing behind Lydia as she sat at his desk, fingers flying across the keyboard.

“Doesn’t Maddy feel a little obvious as a cipher key?” Lydia asked.

Stiles shook his head confidently. “I guarantee it’s Maddy.”

Lydia exhaled, typed in MADDY, and hit enter. The screen blinked, then flashed Error.

Stiles’s jaw tightened turning toward Silver and Ren sprawled across his bed. “You two gonna actually help, or are we just doing the emotional support thing today?”

Ren raised a brow. “Oh, we’re helping. Just not with the code.” He turned to Silver, smirking faintly. “Besides, you kinda dropped a nuke earlier.”

Silver blinked at him. “What?”

Ren shrugged. “You know—’Hey, remember my ex who started dating my sister, who then died, who vanished, and now he’s back and tried to shoot me.'” He paused, gesturing vaguely. “Not exactly breakfast conversation material.”

Silver sighed, leaning back against the headboard, eyes unfocused. “I know. I just thought if I waited… maybe it would make more sense.” His voice softened. “But the way he looked at me—like I’d betrayed him—it was worse than him yelling.”

The room went quiet for a beat, only the faint hum of Lydia’s computer filling the space. Ren exchanged a glance with Stiles, who—looked almost sympathetic.

Ren tilted his head. “He’s not mad because you saw Michael. He’s mad because you didn’t tell him. Congratulations, you’re both terrible at communication.”

“Okay, your name. She left the code for you, right? So, it’s got to be your name.” Stiles said and Lydia started typing in her name. Error. “Your mom’s name?” Stiles asked and Lydia typed in her mom’s name which also came up as error.

“Do you have any beloved family pets?” Stiles asked Lydia, making her pinch the bridge of her nose while  Silver covered his face and groaned.

Silver rubbed at his temple. “I was trying to protect him, Ren. He already blames himself for too much. I didn’t want to add Michael to that.”

Ren’s tone softened. “You were protecting him from the truth. That never ends well, dude.”

Silver looked over, surprised by the rare crack of seriousness in Ren’s voice. “So what do I do now?”

“The ashes were left for you. The code was left for you. You’re supposed to be able to figure this out.” Stiles said making Lydia sigh.

“But no one else is… which is why she made it hard.” Lydia said.

Ren shrugged. “Give him space. He’ll come around. Scott always does.” Then, after a beat, his grin returned. “Isn’t the bonfire tonight? Why don’t we go and cheer you up?”

Lydia’s voice chimed in. “You really think drinking is going to help him?”

Ren waved a hand dismissively. “Not only that, but our boy is handsome, right? Maybe we get Scott a little jealous.”

Ren squinted in annoyance before turning to Stiles as his printer beeped for the hundredth time. “That printer is gonna go down your throat if you dont turn it off.” he said, making Stiles instantly walk over and grab a stack of paper, shoving it into the printer.

Silver looked at Lydia for a minute before realizing something, “You… “No one else.” No one else but you…” he trailed off making Lydia look at him confused, “What?” She asked, making  Silver sit up.

“Our guesses- they’re all about Lorraine, right? We keep trying to guess a word that has something to do with her. So, maybe we should be trying to guess one that’s about you.”  Silver said and Stiles caught on to what he was saying.

“Me? What about me?”

“What do you remember doing with your grandmother? You know, what was you guys’, like, special thing? Did you go to the beach? You know, did you like ice cream, or…?” Stiles trailed off and Lydia pursed her lips, “We read.” She said and Stiles nodded.

“Okay. What did you read?” Ren asked, “The Little Mermaid.” Lydia said, making Stiles squint slightly. “You read that movie?” He asked and  Ren glanced at him, “It was a book first. Hans Christian Andersen.” He said and Lydia nodded in agreement.

“Type it in. “Little Mermaid.” Stiles said and Lydia sighed before typing it in. ERROR. She tried “Mermaid” next but that also came up as ERROR. “We read it every night. I got so obsessed with it, for three months I wouldn’t respond to anything but “Ariel.” It drove my parents crazy, but …Grandma thought it was adorable.” Lydia said then started trying in “Ariel.”

She pressed enter and names started popping up. But none of them had numbers next to them like the other lists. “You recognize any of these?” Stiles asked and Lydia shook her head, “Just my grandmother.” She said.

Stiles looked over at his printer which had been printing thing and pull out one of the papers. “Guys? We need to call Scott.” Stiles said and handed Silver the paper. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he read it over, it was the deadpool but it was different. Liam was now worth eighteen million instead of three, but that wasn’t it. Derek wasn’t on the list anymore.

💰

Ren found himself stuck in a half-hearted conversation with a random junior girl. She was laughing at something he’d barely said, clearly flirting—or at least trying to—but his mind wasn’t in it. He forced a polite smile, the exchange feeling like more of a chore than a choice.

With a quiet sigh, he finally offered, “How about I get us some drinks?” It was more an excuse to escape than an actual invitation. Without waiting for her reply, Ren wove through the crowd toward the fire, his eyes scanning until they landed on Silver. Silver was awkwardly cornered by the lacrosse team, looking out of place and clearly uncomfortable in the small talk.

“Silver!” Ren called, waving him over. Relief washed over Silver’s face as he made his way toward Ren.

“Thank god,” Silver muttered under his breath. “If one more person asks me if this is a glass eye, I was going to lose it.”

Ren smirked. “Yeah, yeah, scary Argent.”

They started walking together, moving around the fire while their conversation grew lighter, punctuated with laughter and teasing. The warmth from the flames contrasted the stress of the night, making their steps feel almost carefree.

Silver’s gaze flicked toward a corner of the yard. “Is that Malia?” he asked.

Ren followed his line of sight, catching a glimpse of movement near the edge of the crowd. Malia was twirling, a flask in hand, laughing loudly as she leaned back against a tree. “Great,” Ren muttered, shaking his head with a half-smile. “Perfect. Why not?”

They approached her, Ren gently catching her arm to get her attention. “Hey!” he called out. Malia turned, flushed and grinning, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him.

“What are you doing here?” Ren asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Getting drunk!” she announced proudly, taking another swig from her flask. “What about you?”

Ren glanced at Silver. “Watching him,” he said, nodding toward Silver. “He’s… dealing with stuff.”

“That sounds fun too,” Malia said with a shrug, holding the flask out toward Silver.

Neither boy moved.

“Hey!”

The voice came from behind them—Scott. He stepped forward, reaching out to gently catch Malia’s arm and turn her toward him.

“What are you doing here?” Scott asked, his tone mirroring Ren’s earlier question.

“Getting drunk!” she said again, completely unbothered.

Scott let out a long sigh. “I hate to be that person who ruins your night or anything,” He crossed his arms, adding, “but… you can’t get drunk.”

Malia blinked, incredulous. “What?”

“You heal too fast,” Scott explained, his expression serious. “Trust me—you’re not gonna feel anything.”

She nodded slowly, then tilted her head to glance over Scott’s shoulder. “Maybe you should tell him that.”

Scott followed her gaze and immediately spotted Liam at the edge of the fire, clearly pouring alcohol into a soda bottle. He groaned, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

Before he could confront Liam, Scott turned back and caught sight of Silver. Their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them. Silver gave a small, tense nod, and Scott gestured for him to step aside.

Ren started to follow, but before he could say anything, Malia began to sway again, moving with the rhythm of the music.

“I just want to talk,” Ren said, trying to sound patient.

Malia laughed, spinning away from him. “Well, I just want to dance.”

Ren sighed. “They had their reasons. From whatI know of Peter, we didn’t tell you about Peter—”

“To protect me,” Malia interrupted, rolling her eyes. “That’s what Peter said you’d say.”

She took another step back, her tone sharper now. “And guess what he said next?”

Ren frowned. “What?”

“That you were right.”

“Does that surprise you?” Malia asked and Ren chuckled, “No, but knowing his history, it makes me wonder what he wants.” Ren said.

The bonfire crackled beneath the night sky, the flames throwing streaks of orange and gold across the field. Sparks drifted upward, swallowed by the dark. Students laughed and shouted somewhere near the center, their voices muffled by the crackle of the fire and the pounding of music.

Silver shifted, fingers curling around his cup. The alcohol he’d had earlier was long gone; all that was left now was the heavy knot in his chest. “Scott…” he began, his voice low and steady, though it trembled at the edges. “I need to tell you why I didn’t say anything about Michael.”

Scott blinked, his eyes narrowing, frustration bleeding into disbelief. “Yeah? Because I’d really like to know. He pointed a gun at you, Silver. And you didn’t say a word!”

Silver flinched, but didn’t back down. “I know how it looks. But it wasn’t about lying to you. I didn’t want you to go after him. You’d have jumped in without thinking, and it could’ve been worse — for you, for me… for everyone.”

Scott’s jaw tensed, his voice hardening. “So you decided for me? You thought keeping a secret would protect me?”

Silver shook his head, his tone almost pleading now. “No. It’s not that simple. I needed to process it first. Seeing him there, with Kate, armed — it threw me off. I didn’t even understand what was happening. I didn’t want to tell you until I knew what it meant.”

Scott dragged a hand through his hair, a quiet, frustrated breath leaving him. “I would’ve figured it out anyway. Keeping it from me… it feels like you don’t trust me.”

Silver stepped closer, the firelight flickering across his face. “I do trust you,” he said softly, the words breaking as they left his mouth. “I trust you more than anyone. But I was scared. Scared that Michael could hurt you — or that I wouldn’t be able to stop it.”

Scott’s expression faltered, the anger in his eyes dimming to something weary. “So why now?” he asked, quieter this time.

Silver swallowed, voice rough. “Because you deserve to know. You always have. I just… didn’t know how to tell you.”

Silver’s eyes flickered, wet in the glow of the fire. “I’ve seen Michael angry before, and I’ve seen him scared,” he said quietly. “But this was different. He had this look in his eyes, Scott — all that anger, all that pain — it wasn’t just hate. It was grief. From losing Allison.”

He paused, his throat tightening. “And I don’t want to go through that again, Scott. I can’t lose you like that. So if keeping quiet meant you’d stay safe, even for a little while… then I thought it was worth it.”

Scott didn’t answer right away. He just looked at him — the fire between them reflecting in both their eyes.

Silver looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know you don’t… totally forgive me,” he admitted, voice quiet and raw. “And I don’t blame you. I just needed you to understand why.”

Scott’s eyes narrowed, a mixture of frustration and longing in his gaze. “Understand? Sure… but that doesn’t mean I like it, Silver. You hid something from me — something dangerous. You don’t get to make those calls for me.”

Silver swallowed, stepping closer, the warmth of the fire brushing over them. “I know. I messed up. But I was scared, Scott. Scared that Michael could hurt you… scared I wouldn’t stop it in time. I kept it from you because I wanted to protect you… even if it hurt.”

Scott let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders softening slightly. “Protect me… or protect yourself from having to deal with my reaction?”

Silver’s lips quirked into a small, nervous smile. “Maybe a little of both,” he admitted. Then, with a teasing glint, he added, “But mostly for you. Always for you.”

Scott let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“I try,” Silver said, stepping closer, closing the space between them. “But you love it, admit it.”

Scott’s smirk softened, but his eyes sparkled with playful exasperation. “Maybe I do… just enough to keep you in line.”

Silver grinned, brushing a strand of hair from Scott’s forehead. “We should go back before Malia scares Ren.”

They stood there for a moment, the distant laughter and cheering from the bonfire contrasting sharply with the heaviness of their conversation. Scott interlaced his fingers with Silver’s before starting back toward Ren and Malia.

Ren frowned as he watched Malia sway dangerously close to the firelight, her flask dangling from her fingers. “She’s not listening to me,” he muttered. “She seems to really like the idea of Peter.”

Scott stopped mid-step. “What did you say to her?”

Ren shot him a deadpan look. “I welcomed her to the Daddy Issues Club. She didn’t take the membership well. Aren’t you supposed to be the alpha? Do something.”

Scott groaned under his breath, rubbing his face. “That’s not how this works.”

“Clearly,” Ren said, crossing his arms as Malia stumbled again.

Scott moved toward her quickly. “Malia, we need to stay together. You, me, Silver, Stiles—”

“I don’t wanna talk about Stiles!” Malia snapped, slurring her words slightly. She laughed instead, spinning once before nearly losing her balance. “I just wanna dance… and get drunk.”

Ren stepped in fast, steadying her by the arm. “Careful there.”

“You’re drunk,” he said, raising an eyebrow as she giggled against his shoulder.

“Yep!” she said brightly, flashing him a wild, mischievous grin.

Silver glanced at Scott, worry creasing his brow. Something was off.

“But you can’t be…” Scott started, frowning. His gaze drifted to Liam, who was also stumbling, his face pale under the firelight.

“Is this what drunk feels like?” Malia mumbled, holding tighter onto Ren’s arm. “It doesn’t feel as good as I hoped.”

Ren frowned. “Something tells me it’s not supposed to.”

Malia blinked slowly, swaying again. Ren gently pulled the flask from her hand, uncapping it to sniff. The sharp scent of vodka hit his nose — clean, ordinary. Nothing unusual. “Malia… what else did you drink?”

“Just vodka,” she said with a lazy shrug, her words slurring.

Scott leaned in close to Silver, his breath low and tense. “There’s a security guard looking directly at us.”

Silver looked up, spotting the man in uniform near the edge of the firelight — eyes fixed on their group. He sighed under his breath. “We should move.”

He looped an arm around Malia’s shoulder, steering her toward where Liam and Mason were standing off to the side. Scott followed behind, grabbing a few water bottles from a nearby cooler.

Ren crouched beside Malia once she sat down, handing her one. “Hey. Drink this. Slowly.”

Scott turned toward Liam, his expression tightening. “How much has he had to drink?”

“Not enough to get him like this,” Mason said, his voice uneasy. “Something’s wrong.”

Silver’s stomach twisted. “Something’s happening,” he said, scanning the crowd. “We need to get them out of here.”

Scott nodded weakly — but his words came out slurred, almost dreamlike. “I think we’re gonna have to… um…”

Mason blinked, startled. “Wait—how much did you drink?”

Silver shook his head, his tone sharp. “He didn’t drink anything.”

Scott stumbled slightly, leaning into Silver’s chest. Silver’s hands caught him immediately, gripping his shoulders tight. “Hey, hey, hey. Stay awake, sleepyhead,” he murmured, voice low but urgent.

Scott’s gaze drifted over Silver’s shoulder toward the bonfire, eyes unfocused. “It’s not the drinks…” he whispered, the words almost lost under the music. “It’s the music…”

Silver froze, confusion flashing through him. Then his expression hardened. “Ren!” he called, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Ren shoved through the crowd, heart pounding, until he spotted Silver kneeling beside Scott. The alpha looked half-conscious, his head lolling as Silver tried to steady him.

Silver leaned close, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s the music,” he muttered.

Ren frowned. “The music?” He glanced over his shoulder toward the DJ booth, the bass thudding through the speakers. “Yeah, well, the DJ’s not that great, man.”

Silver shot him a sharp look. “No, Ren. The music—it’s doing something to them.”

Ren’s smirk faded instantly. “Okay… that’s worse.”

Silver stood, his expression tight. He turned to Mason, who was still trying to keep Liam and Malia upright. “Don’t let them out of your sight,” Silver ordered.

Mason nodded, wide-eyed, and Silver grabbed Ren’s arm, pulling him into the crowd. The two of them pushed through the throng of students, the pounding rhythm feeling heavier now, more distorted.

Ren leaned close to shout over the noise. “So what, you think someone’s controlling the music?”

“I just don’t know who.” Silver muttered.

They stopped halfway through the crowd, both instinctively scanning the faces around them. The air suddenly felt thick, the hairs on the back of Silver’s neck standing up.

“I think someone’s watching us,” Silver whispered.

Ren turned sharply. “Who?”

“I don’t know, Ren.”

Ren nodded, about to follow—then stopped, his brows furrowed. The space where Scott and the others had been was empty now.

“Wait…” Ren muttered, stepping back. “Where the hell did they go?”

Silver turned, scanning the field. “What?”

“Scott. Mason. Malia. They were right there.” Ren pointed through the crowd. “Now they’re not.”

They broke into a run, pushing through the last of the students before reaching the darkened field between the bonfire and the school building. The pounding music muffled behind them as they neared the doors.

“Wait, wait—” Ren panted, grabbing Silver’s arm before they went inside. “We don’t have anything to defend ourselves with.”

Silver’s hand slipped behind him, pulling a small combat knife from his back pocket. The blade caught the moonlight.

Ren blinked. “You just carry that around?”

“Habit.”

“Well, good for you. I don’t have my staff.”

Silver scanned their surroundings and spotted a mop propped against the janitor’s cart near the doorway. He grabbed it, snapped off the handle, and handed the broken wooden shaft to Ren.

“Here.”

Ren took it, spinning it experimentally. “Not bad. Improvised but effective. I like it.”

They slipped inside the empty school, their footsteps echoing faintly against the tile floors. The air was colder, the faint hum of the speakers distant now. The lights flickered overhead.

Ren’s nose wrinkled. “Do you smell that?”

Silver stopped, lowering his voice. “Gasoline.”

Down the hall, faint movement caught Silver’s eye—a shadow near the stairwell.

Perfect — here’s the expanded and rewritten version with Silver and Ren actually arriving mid-fight to help Derek and Braeden, adding tension, teamwork, and the quick, snappy tone between them all:

The echo of shouting drew Silver and Ren toward the gym. The smell hit them first—gasoline, sharp and burning in the air.

Ren grimaced. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

Silver didn’t answer. He picked up speed, knife already drawn.

They rounded the corner just in time to see Scott on the floor, a security guard standing over him with a red container.

“What is that? What are you doing?” Scott’s voice was hoarse.

“It’s gasoline,” the man said flatly. “Haigh says we gotta burn you.”

He tipped the container, dousing Scott’s shirt. Scott tried to move, but the man shoved him down and flicked open a lighter.

Silver’s eyes widened. “Hey!”

The guard turned his head just as Silver lunged. The lighter dropped to the floor, clattering as Silver slammed into the man and knocked him sideways. The two hit the tile hard, the smell of gasoline choking the air.

The man twisted, punching Silver across the jaw. Silver grunted, blocking the next swing and driving his knee into the guard’s ribs.

“Ren—!” Silver shouted.

Ren was already moving, swinging his broken mop handle like a staff. It cracked across the guard’s shoulder, staggering him long enough for Silver to twist his wrist and send the lighter skidding across the floor.

Then the music outside cut off.

Scott’s breathing steadied, the dizziness clearing from his eyes. When he looked up, his irises burned red. In one smooth motion, he grabbed the guard’s arm and slammed him down with enough force to rattle the lockers.

Another guard came sprinting around the corner, baton raised—only to be intercepted by Derek Hale, who crashed into him like a freight train. The man hit the lockers with a clang, and Derek’s follow-up punch sent him sliding to the ground.

“You’re late to the party,” Ren said, catching his breath.

Braeden stepped out from the opposite hall, her gun raised. “Not that late,” she said, firing a clean shot into the ceiling to make the last two guards flinch.

Silver ducked under a swing from another guard, blocking with his forearm before shoving the man back into the wall. Derek joined in, grabbing the guy by the collar and tossing him like he weighed nothing.

The last guard lunged for Braeden, but Ren swung his mop handle low, tripping him. Braeden stepped forward and drove the butt of her gun into his temple, dropping him instantly.

The hall went still—except for the dripping gasoline.

Scott stood, steady now, but soaked. “What happened to the gun?” he asked, blinking at Braeden.

Derek crossed his arms. “You’re covered in gasoline.”

Scott looked down. “Oh… right.”

Ren snorted. “Yeah, maybe don’t add sparks to that look.”

Braeden shook her head, lowering her weapon. “You okay?” she asked, crouching beside Silver.

He wiped a smear of blood from his jaw and nodded. “Define okay.”

Ren leaned against the wall, mop handle still in hand. “If ‘covered in gas and nearly set on fire’ counts, then yeah—we’re great.”