Chapter 64

Ren jogged over, a little out of breath but still composed. “Kira found Brett,” he said, voice low but urgent. “They’re okay — but we’ve got to go.”

Scott gave a tight nod, already moving. He headed down the stairs where Liam sat slumped against the wall, looking pale and rattled.

“More assassins?” Liam asked, pushing himself to his feet, legs shaky as he followed behind Scott.

“Maybe a lot more…” Scott replied grimly.

Liam slowed, confusion tightening his features. “Different than the ones who just tried to set us on fire?”

Scott huffed a humorless laugh. “I think so, yeah.”

Suddenly, Liam stopped completely and set the helmet Scott had handed him earlier on the floor. Scott and Silver turned immediately.

Silver stepped closer, gentle but firm. “How about we take you home?” he suggested quietly, his voice carrying the kind of softness reserved for someone who’s been through too much, too fast.

Liam shook his head, his voice thick. “I’m not like you.”

Scott frowned. “Not yet—”

Liam cut him off, lifting his chin. “I don’t mean I’m not strong. Or that I won’t learn to control this… whatever this is.” His voice wavered, just enough to notice. “I mean everything else. You and your friends — you try to protect everyone.”

He stared at them, eyes wide yet darkened with something deeper. “Have you been doing this the whole time? I mean… how are you all still alive?”

Silver went still.

The question tangled in his chest, pulling at every tangled knot of memory. He felt his jaw tense, a cold rush of exhaustion closing in. He wanted to snap, to spit out the litany of faces they’d lost and the weight they all still carried.

But he looked at Liam — just a scared kid in a world he never asked for.

Silver finally answered, voice steady but somber. “Not all of us are.”

Liam’s face crumpled a little.

Silver softened his tone as he gently nudged the helmet closer again. “Let us at least take you home. Ren can drive. It’s safer if we stick together.”

Liam hesitated, swallowing his fear — then nodded.

Ren, a few feet away with his arms crossed and keys dangling in one hand, raised a brow. “Wasn’t planning on being everyone’s taxi,” he muttered — but there was no real bite to it. He clicked the key and jerked his head toward the exit. “…but fine.”

💰

Scott, Silver, and Ren rushed into the animal clinic just as Kira emerged from the back, her clothes marked with dirt and blood, but her eyes sharp and alert.

“Is Mom—?” Ren started, out of breath.

Kira stepped forward and pulled her brother into a quick, firm hug. “She’s okay. Healing,” she said, her voice steady despite everything.

Ren nodded, relieved — but his eyes lingered on her face, worried. “And you?” he asked quietly. “Are you okay?”

Kira blinked, then smiled softly, her shoulders slumping just a little. “Right now? Very.”

Scott stepped in, urgency returning. “Did you find Brett?”

Kira looked at him, and for the first time, Scott noticed a slight tremble in her hands. She nodded. “Actually… I think I found all of them.”

She led them into the back room of the clinic. The space was dimly lit, filled with the scent of antiseptic and wet fur. Satomi Ito stood surrounded by her pack — bruised, bloodied, exhausted, but alive. Brett and his sister Lori were huddled close together, their eyes unreadable.

“Satomi, this is Ren, Scott, and Silver,” Kira introduced.

Satomi nodded to Scott, her expression respectful. “I know who Scott McCall is,” she said. Her gaze shifted, landing on Silver — and lingering. Her eyes moved slightly toward the thin scar over his eye.

“But you…” she said quietly, voice clipped and cautious. “I’ve only heard pieces. I don’t know who you really are.”

Scott stepped closer to Silver, one arm instinctively brushing his back, a quiet reinforcement at Silver’s side. Silver stayed still, unreadable, but he didn’t pull away.

A shaky voice cut through the tension — Lori’s. “Are we safe here?”

Scott looked around the room at the faces staring back — some filled with trust, others dread. He took a breath.

“We’re gonna need help,” he admitted, looking from Satomi to Silver. “A lot of help.”

Silver stepped forward, a spark of certainty lighting his eyes. “I think I know a place we can go.”

💰

“Brett!” Silver’s voice rang out as he and the others rushed toward the young wolf, who was snarling and holding a defensive stance, teeth bared toward a stranger with a raised gun.

Scott stepped forward, palms out. “This is his place,” he said calmly, voice even and sure. “He’s allowed to protect it.”

Brett let out one last low growl, then backed away, returning to his shaken pack. The tension in the air thinned barely — no one fully relaxed.

The stranger, lowering his weapon, stepped forward. “If you’re bringing guests, you could’ve called,” Chris Argent muttered, eyeing Scott and Silver both as if measuring their judgment.

Scott sighed. “We didn’t have another safe place,” he admitted.

Argent turned to his son then, raising a brow. “You didn’t think to text?”

Silver shrugged weakly. “I did. You didn’t answer.”

“For once, I was in the shower,” Argent replied dryly, before shifting his attention — and his concern — to the room full of frightened faces behind Brett.

Satomi approached, her calm presence commanding quiet. “I know this man,” she said, looking at Argent. “He may not remember, but we’ve met before. You trust him.”

Scott nodded. “He’s on our side.”

Her gaze shifted—first to Silver, then back to Argent. “You’re his son,” Satomi said softly, realization dawning. The air grew tense. “An Argent.”

Silver met her eyes, steady but wary. “Yeah. I am.”

Her tone cooled. “Hunters have spilled our blood for generations.”

Scott stepped closer to Silver. “He’s not like them.”

Satomi studied Silver for a long moment, then inclined her head slightly. “How do we know they are not like the others?”

“The others?” Argent frowned.

Kira stepped forward, holding something out — an arrow snapped clean in half. “Last night, they came for them,” she said. “Crossbows. High-tech gear. No hesitation.”

Scott’s jaw set. “Hunters?”

Argent shook his head. “Not if they’re killing for money. Not if someone’s paying them.”

Lori, Brett’s sister, spoke, trembling. “Can they find us here?”

“They might already know you’re here,” Argent replied grimly. “Maybe they’re waiting for dark.”

Satomi’s voice broke the silence. “We’re not safe anywhere. We’ve tried leaving for days. Every time we run, someone new is waiting to kill us.”

The weight of it dropped like stone. Silver and Scott locked eyes. Silver felt dread coil in his chest, wrapping tight around his ribs.

“If they’re hunting them,” Silver said low, “they’re coming for you too.”

Scott gave a slow nod, his voice quiet. “I know. Lydia’s working on it. Meredith has the answers — we just need more time.”

Argent gave a single nod. “Then that’s what she’ll get.”

Silver’s breathing hitched — a flicker of panic rising sharp and fast. “Scott—”

Scott turned, stepping closer. “Hey,” he said gently, resting his hand on Silver’s shoulder. “We’re not alone. We don’t run. We protect them. That’s who we are.”

Silver swallowed hard, trying to breathe through the rising tension in his spine.

“They’ll be okay,” Scott repeated, giving him a firm, warm look before turning to Derek. “We just need help.”

“They’ve got claws and fangs,” Derek said as he joined them, “but they’re not fighters.”

“That’s why I called you,” Scott said.

Derek cracked a humorless half-smile. “Try to remember I don’t have claws and fangs anymore, either.”

Braeden stepped in beside him, cocking her gun with practiced ease. “And that’s why he called me,” she said.

Ren stared at her coolly. “Okay, yeah. Fair enough.”

💰

“Am I the only one still hoping this is a false alarm?” Kira asked, glancing between them all. “I mean, it’s possible we could wait here all night and nothing happens… right?”

Ren gave a short laugh, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “At least someone here still has their optimism,” he said, nudging her shoulder lightly. “I’ll give you that, sis.”

Silver stood near the window beside Scott, watching the fog gather outside the warehouse lights. His thumb drummed anxiously against the handle of his knife. “If it’s a false alarm,” he muttered, “then it’s the loudest one we’ve ever had.”

Braeden turned toward Scott, her gun already loaded. “You heard anything from Stiles or Lydia yet?”

Scott shook his head, worry etching deep lines into his face. “Lydia’s still with Meredith—trying to get answers. Stiles and Malia went to the lake house. They think they can stop it.”

“What if there is no stopping it?” Brett spoke up from the corner, voice rough, tired. Everyone turned toward him. “What if this doesn’t end until we’re all dead?”

A tense silence followed. Even the hum of the lights sounded distant.

Then Derek stepped forward, eyes cold but steady. “Then we send a message,” he said. “Make it clear to anyone still holding that list—it doesn’t matter if they’re assassins, hunters, or someone who just picked up a gun for cash.” He lifted his weapon slightly, voice darkening. “Anyone who thinks they can hunt and kill us for money ends up on another list. Our list. They’ll be names on our Deadpool.”

The room went still.

Scott’s gaze flicked to Silver, and he reached for his hand. “Would you listen,” he murmured quietly, “if I told you to be careful?”

Silver blinked, startled by how soft his voice was amid all the tension. He looked at him for a long moment before replying, “If you’re asking me to stay behind, it’s not happening.”

Scott managed a small, tired smile. “Didn’t think so.”

Before either could say more, a sharp, rhythmic beeping echoed through the building. Every head turned. Argent’s hand went to his gun instantly. “They’re coming,” he said.

The sound of shattering glass exploded through the air as smoke grenades burst through the clinic’s windows, flooding the room with thick, hissing clouds. The sharp stench of chemicals filled their lungs, burning their throats.

“Get back!” Braeden shouted, firing off warning shots as shadows flickered through the haze. The sound of bullets and shattering metal filled the room, chaos rising in waves.

Scott yanked Silver down behind the counter, just as another shot shattered a cabinet above their heads. Ren dove beside them, coughing and shielding his eyes. “Please tell me this is the false alarm,” he rasped, blinking through the gray.

Shapes began to emerge through the smoke—dark, armored figures moving with soldier precision. Scott’s eyes flicked toward the far side of the room. A single figure stepped into view.

“Scott,” Silver said quietly, following his gaze.

Michael.

The sight hit like a gut punch. He stood calm amid the chaos, gun steady, eyes cold. “You’ve gotten sloppy,” Michael called out, voice echoing through the smoke. “Didn’t think you’d make it this easy for me.”

Scott tensed, eyes narrowing. “Michael—”

Michael smirked. “You were supposed to be the leader, right? Beacon Hills’ golden boy?” His tone sharpened, venom cutting through every word. “But all you’ve done is get people killed. You can’t even protect your own.”

Scott’s snarl was low, dangerous. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I do.” Michael shifted his aim—past Scott, straight to Silver. “And you. You think saving everyone will make you less of what you are?” His smile twisted. “You’re still an Argent. A hunter pretending to be something better.”

Silver froze, knife tight in his grip, jaw locking. “Say that again.”

Michael tilted his head. “You heard me.”

A gunshot cracked through the air. Scott moved instantly, knocking the weapon away and slamming Michael into a wall. The table beside them shattered on impact. The fight was fast, brutal—claws, fists, fury.

Michael countered every move, his strikes precise, efficient. He kicked Scott’s knee, slammed an elbow into his jaw, and reached for his fallen gun. Scott’s roar echoed through the clinic as he clawed the weapon across the floor, eyes flashing red.

Silver shoved Lori behind a table, heart pounding as he watched Scott lose control. The air around him vibrated with power, with anger. Scott’s face shifted—eyes glowing, veins black beneath the skin.

“Scott!” Silver shouted. “Stop!”

No response. Scott drove Michael down again, claws raised, the red glow burning bright.

“Scott!” Silver’s voice cracked this time, desperate. “That’s enough!”

The sound cut through like lightning. Scott froze, claws trembling midair, chest heaving. He stared down at Michael—blood on his hands, fury fading into shock. Slowly, his eyes dimmed back to brown.

Silver took a step forward, knife ready, but before he could move — the power flickered. The lights cut out.

When they came back a second later, the smoke had thinned. The gun was still on the floor. Blood smeared the wall. But Michael was gone.

No footsteps. No sound. Just… gone.

Scott and Silver stood there in the sudden silence, hearts pounding. Then the faint buzz of phones began — one by one. Every downed hunter’s pocket lit up, screens glowing in the dim light.

Scott stooped, still shaking, and picked one up. The message was short, cold, and final.

ALL CONTRACTS TERMINATED.

Scott’s face hardened as he read it. Silver felt his stomach twist.

Ren ran up, coughing through the haze, eyes wide and wild. “Where did he go? Is it over?” he asked, voice breaking between breaths.

Scott didn’t answer right away. He was still staring at the phone, its faint light flickering against the smoke. “It’s over.” he finally said,

Silver exhaled shakily, heart still pounding. He turned toward Lori, crouching to meet her eyes. “You alright?”

She nodded, tears streaking her face.

“Lori!” Brett shouted, appearing from around the corner. Relief washed over him when he saw his sister safe. He rushed forward, pulling her into his arms. “Thank you,” he murmured to Silver, who just nodded and stepped back.

Scott was still staring at his bloodied claws, his breathing uneven. “I almost killed him,” he said quietly, his voice trembling with disbelief.

Silver took a careful step closer, his tone soft but unwavering. “You didn’t,” he said. “You stopped yourself before you did. That’s what matters.”

Scott’s eyes stayed on his hands, red streaks glinting under the dim light. “He came here to kill us,” Scott murmured, shaking his head.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt heavy, filled with the echoes of gunfire and the memory of Michael’s voice.

Finally, Scott exhaled, steady but strained. “He’s changed. Whatever he’s doing, it’s not just about money or survival anymore. It’s personal.”

Silver’s gaze met his. “It always was.”

Scott’s shoulders eased slightly, though the tension never fully left his frame. He stepped closer, wrapping an arm around Silver and pressing a quick, grounding kiss to his temple.

“Thanks,” Scott murmured.

Silver gave a faint smile, resting a hand against Scott’s chest.

💰

The tunnel reeked of damp concrete and oil; Kate lounged against a rusted pillar, one boot hooked over the other, watching Peter with the slow, hungry focus of a predator sizing up a mark. Her grin was easy, predatory—pleasure braided with contempt.

“You look nervous,” she said, voice soft and dangerous, the kind of compliment that meant she’d already decided how she wanted to hurt him.

Peter forced a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nervous? No. Rattled. I don’t like being rattled.” He rubbed the back of his neck, the motion small and restless. The tension sat on him like an ill-fitting coat; his fingers tapped a staccato against his thigh.

Kate shrugged, unmoved. “It’s over, Peter. The Deadpool’s done. Everything’s folding into place.” She stepped closer so her shadow cut across his boots, every movement deliberate. “Maybe a few pieces moved differently than you expected—so what? They still moved where they needed to.”

Peter’s jaw worked, the corner of his mouth tightening. “Not exactly my way,” he replied, the words blunt.

“So you gonna bail?” Kate’s tone was teasing—too pleasant by half.

“Of course not!” he snapped, then cut himself off as a new voice threaded through the tunnel. Michael stepped out from a darker corridor, hands shoved into his jacket, the light catching the hard line of his face.

He looked quieter than usual, but there was something like ice under his skin. “Not when I’m this close…” he said, voice low, deliberate. He inclined his head toward Peter. “Not when I’m this close to killing Scott McCall.”

Kate’s smile sharpened. “Good. That’s the feeling I like to hear.” She folded her arms, eyes flicking between the two men as if savoring the game’s next shift.

Peter regarded Michael with a complicated expression—approval at the edge of calculation. “You sure you want to pull the trigger yourself?” he asked, practical even in menace. “Some things get messy.”

Michael’s mouth flattened. For a heartbeat his gaze skated away, a small, private thing passing over his features—memory, grief, hunger. When he spoke again his voice was low and brittle. “I don’t want the power.” The words landed with the weight of confession. “You can do the final kill if you need it. I just want him gone.”

There was something between them then that wasn’t simply strategy: an old hurt remapped as resolve. Kate’s eyes shone with approval; Peter’s nod was a calculation folding into acceptance. Michael stood a little straighter, the single line of his intent clear as a blade—no theatrics, no grandstanding, only the terrible economy of someone who’d decided a certain debt must be paid.

Michael remained for a beat, staring down the corridor where light pooled and darkness waited; then, with the same quiet motion that had announced him, he slipped back into shadow, leaving the two to their schemes and the faint echo of the promise that he would see Scott McCall erased.