Chapter 22: Chaos Rising.
The paramedics and police arrived at the scene. Stiles gently placed Hope on one of the benches and wiped the blood from her cheek, watching as the wound healed on its own. He was fussing over her again—and this time, Noah was there too.
"Are you alright? Hurt anywhere?" Noah asked, concern written all over his face.
"I'm perfectly fine," Hope assured him. "Stiles, stop pacing. You're making me dizzy."
He froze mid-step.
Noah went to speak with Chris Argent about the incident and checked on Allison, making sure she was okay.
Stiles called Scott, who told them to meet him at Derek's—without saying if he meant the old place or the new one. Stiles guessed the old one—and he was right.
The duo entered the burned-down house. Scott was sitting on a worn-down couch while Derek crouched in front of him, squinting with his alpha eyes, trying to make out something—probably the healed tattoo.
Derek rolled his eyes and stood. "Yeah, I see it. Two bands, right? What does it mean?"
"Oh…" Stiles trailed off. "It's about the tattoo?"
"You called us here because of a tattoo? There was a literal crow massacre at school," Hope pointed out, arms folded. Her sarcasm hung in the air, but the guys ignored it.
"I don't know," Scott said, frowning. "It's just something I kept tracing with my fingers." He began drawing two circles in the dust on the table.
"Why is this so important to you?" Derek asked, his brows furrowed.
"Do you know what the word 'tattoo' means?"
"To mark something," Stiles answered, cutting in with a wink at Derek.
Hope glanced between them, suppressing a smirk. She always thought they'd make a great couple—until she caught feelings for Stiles. Now he was hers. Wrapping her arms around his waist possessively, she leaned into him. Stiles didn't know where the sudden clinginess came from, but he wasn't about to complain.
"Well, that's what it means in Tahitian," Scott clarified. "In Samoan, it means 'open wound.' I always wanted a tattoo when I turned eighteen… but I decided to get it now, as a kind of reward."
"A reward for what?" Derek asked.
Scott hesitated. "For not calling or texting Allison all summer. Even when I really wanted to. Even when it hurt not to. I was trying to give her the space she wanted... and now, four months later, it still hurts. It still feels like a…"
"Like an open wound," Stiles said, nodding in understanding.
Derek picked up a torch. "I'm warning you," he said, locking eyes with Scott. "It's going to hurt."
"Oh, that's great," Stiles mumbled, swallowing hard.
"Do it," Scott said, resolute.
Derek ignited the blowtorch.
"Oh wow, that's… that's a lot for me," Stiles said, edging toward the door. "I'm just gonna take that as my cue and wait outside."
"Yeah, no problem," Hope said immediately. "My boyfriend is a fragile flower, and I respect that. I'll hold him down." She smiled teasingly as she moved toward Scott.
Stiles frowned. "If Hope can do it, so can I," he muttered. Not wanting to be outdone in front of his girlfriend, he changed his mind. "On second thought, I should hold him too. Moral support. Best friend privileges."
Hope nodded. "Fine by me. But if you faint, I'm not catching you."
She took a deep breath and stood behind Scott, resting a steady hand on his shoulder. Stiles stood on the other side, eyes wide but determined.
Derek brought the torch closer.
"Here we go," he said.
Scott screamed as the flame touched his skin. Stiles looked away instantly, refusing to watch. Hope reached out and gently rubbed circles on Stiles' back to soothe him.
"Almost over," she whispered, grounding them both.
___
Scott woke up with a loud gasp, sitting up quickly. He glanced down at his arm, a small smile spreading across his face when he saw the two black bands permanently burned into his skin.
"It worked," he breathed.
Hope and Stiles exchanged a look. While they had been waiting for Scott to wake up, the tribrid had noticed Isaac asleep on the couch. He looked injured, so she had quietly murmured a healing spell.
Scott grabbed his white long-sleeve shirt, quickly pulling it over his gray tank top, then rolled up the sleeve to admire the tattoo once more.
"Well, it looks damn permanent now," Stiles pointed out as they both approached.
"Yeah," Scott murmured, tugging the sleeve back down. "I needed something permanent. Everything that's happened to us... everything changes so fast. It's all so... ephemeral."
"Studying for the PSATs?" Hope asked with a playful smile.
"Yep."
"Nice."
Scott reached for the doorknob and pulled it open, only to pause when he noticed the front of the door. Instead of its usual burnt-brown, it was now painted bright red."You painted the door," he remarked. "Why?"
"Go home, guys," Derek warned, tension in his voice.
Hope's eyes narrowed. Her gut told her this had something to do with the strange behavior of animals around town.
"Why only one side?" Scott added. He extended his claws and dragged one across the red paint, chipping it to reveal a thick black line underneath. He kept scratching until large chips of paint flew off, unveiling a black symbol beneath.
"Scott—" Derek began, rushing toward him—but it was too late.
A black triangle with three jagged lines extending outward was now fully exposed.
Hope tilted her head, eyes locked on the symbol.
"The birds at school, Lydia's dog..."
"And the deer last night," Scott added, realization dawning. "Just like the night I was trampled—before I got bit by the Alpha." He turned toward Derek. "How many are there?"
Derek exhaled heavily. "A pack of them. An Alpha pack."
"All of them? How does that even work?" Stiles asked, clearly baffled.
"I've heard there's a leader," Derek replied. "He's called Deucalion. We know they have Boyd and Erica. Peter, Isaac, and I have been looking for them for the past four months."
"Erica and Boyd are missing? Why didn't I know that?" Hope demanded in disbelief.
"I didn't want you getting involved in something so dangerous," Derek said firmly.
Hope's expression darkened."Danger? Derek, I am the danger."
She took a step forward."You've wasted four months trying to do this alone when you could've just asked for help. When are you going to get it through your thick skull—you're not alone. I shouldn't have to keep reminding you of that."
"Hope, you're just a kid!" Derek snapped.
Her voice turned icy."Call me a kid one more time, and I'll blast you into another universe."
Derek opened his mouth, but Scott quickly stepped between them."Let's say you do find them—how do you deal with an Alpha pack?"
Derek hesitated, casting a glance at the still-glaring Hope, then sighed."With all the help I can get."
Suddenly, a voice broke through the tension.
"Where is she?" Isaac asked, sitting up groggily.
Everyone turned to look at him.
"Where's the girl?"
They all exchanged confused glances. Derek frowned.
"What girl?"
___
Stiles dragged a very reluctant Hope and a very mopey Scott toward the front door of the party, practically herding them like sheep.
He had two reasons for this forced social outing:
One—Hope was losing her mind over her first-ever spell failure.
Two—Scott needed to move on from Allison before he sent her a tragic "you up?" text at 2 a.m.
"I can't believe this," Hope hissed at Stiles, pacing in tight circles on the porch. "Boyd and Erica are missing—missing—and we're going to a birthday party? With balloons?! People are playing beer pong while werewolves are probably being tortured somewhere in a basement!"
Scott blinked. "Uh…"
"Don't you 'uh' me, Scott. I failed a locator spell! I never fail locator spells. Do you know what that does to my credibility?!" She slapped a hand to her chest like a dying actress in a soap opera. "I'm a tribrid! People expect results! My ancestors are probably looking down at me like, 'Wow. Way to flop, Hope.'"
Stiles didn't miss the word tribrid, but chose to ignore it—for now.
"Hope, breathe," he said gently, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. "We're going to find them. You're not a failure. You're a magical badass who's just having a really off day."
Hope looked up at him, eyes wide and glassy. "I'm going to cry. I never cry."
Stiles chuckled softly. "It's okay if things don't work out sometimes. We'll find another way, Hope. We always do. But right now, I want you to enjoy the party. Let loose. Get drunk. Dance on a table—just don't think it's all your responsibility. We're in this together. We're a pack. I'd hate to see you cry. You're kind of the love of my life right now."
Hope blinked. "You just said 'kind of.'"
"Right. My bad. Definitely the love of my life. Better?"
She smiled weakly. "Better. But I still hate balloons."
"If this is how you're going to make me move on," Scott muttered from behind them, "please don't try. Your PDA has already emotionally drained me. I feel miserable."
"Come on, Scott," Stiles said, clapping a hand on his shoulder while the other stayed wrapped around Hope's waist. Balance, baby. "I think you'll find an amazing girl at this party. I'll be your wingman."
The music thumped through the walls as they walked inside, lights flashing and the unmistakable scent of too much body spray lingering in the air. Hope squinted like a vampire exposed to sunlight.
"Why is it already sticky in here?" she whispered, visibly horrified.
"Ah, the sweet aroma of teenage desperation," Stiles grinned, throwing his arms around both of them. "Let's mingle!"
They'd barely taken two steps when a girl in a cute white dress zeroed in on them. Heather—the birthday girl. Eyes wide, smile wider, and confidence off the charts.
"Stiles, hiiii!" she sang as she practically skipped over—and leaned in for a kiss.
She nearly made contact before a perfectly manicured hand intercepted her lips mid-air like a magical brick wall.
"Denied," Hope said sweetly, her palm still raised like an anti-flirt shield.
Heather blinked. "Uh… excuse me?"
"Nope. Excuse you," Hope replied, stepping between them like a spell-wielding bodyguard. "This one's on emotional babysitting duty tonight. No birthday kisses. Go dance. Touch grass. Or glitter. Something."
Stiles blinked, both surprised and impressed.
"Okay, wow. That was… that was a block so smooth I think I got whiplash."
"You're welcome," Hope smirked, then grabbed a red cup of punch and took a sip—only to choke instantly. "Who spiked this with disappointment?!"
Scott, now slightly smiling, looked around. "Okay… this might've actually been a good idea."
"Of course it was," Stiles said proudly. "Now if only I could get you two to dance without Hope hexing the speakers—"
"No promises!" Hope called, already making her way toward the stereo with suspicious intent.
Heather, still recovering, looked between Stiles and Hope. "Who is she?"
"Oh, that's my very hot, very possessive girlfriend," Stiles said proudly. "Hope! Can you believe it? I have a girlfriend. Me! Like—yes. That's my girlfriend."
Heather looked over at Hope, visibly impressed. "Yeah… if she were single, I'd totally bang her."
Stiles stood there, stunned. "What do you mean… WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!"
He shouted after her, already panicking about unexpected competition.
___
Many things happened after the party. The birthday girl, Heather, went missing. Allison and Lydia got strange marks on their arms from a mysterious woman—marks they believe will help them find Erica and Boyd. They managed to convince Derek to let them help. He was, of course, unconvinced—but a little coaxing from Scott and a few death glares from Hope did the trick.
While Lydia and Allison were off trying to trace the mark, Derek, Isaac, and the trio were at Deaton's clinic, standing around a tub of freezing water. Isaac would soon be submerged in it. According to Deaton, the process would put him in a trance-like state—half-transformed, able to access his subconscious.
"How slow does his heart rate need to be?" Hope asked.
"Very slow."
"Okay, well—how slow is 'very slow'?" Derek asked, resting his hand on the rim of the tub.
"Nearly dead."
"Yeah, that's not exactly comforting. Are you sure I can't try getting inside his head?" Hope asked.
"Peter tried. This is the safest method. I'd rather not have you burn the clinic down, thanks." Derek replied.
"Whatever." Hope rolled her eyes.
A snap echoed through the room. Everyone turned to see Stiles, who was fiddling with a latex glove, wearing only one because he couldn't stop fidgeting.
"What?" he asked innocently.
Hope found it adorable. No one else did. Especially not Derek, who just raised a brow. Stiles huffed and yanked off the glove in frustration.
Isaac took a deep breath, gripping the collar of his shirt before pulling it off. He looked at the tub, placed one foot in, then the other.
The second Stiles noticed the shirt coming off, he reached over and covered Hope's eyes. "What are you doing?" she snapped.
"Saving you from trauma, obviously. That's a lot of abs. Highly inappropriate."
She peeled his hands off her face, glaring. "I've seen abs before, Stilinski. Calm down."
Stiles made a grumbling noise and crossed his arms, suddenly fascinated by the floor. He didn't know why, but the thought of Hope looking at a shirtless guy was irrationally irritating.
Scott shrugged off his jacket, both he and Derek rolling up their sleeves as Isaac sat fully in the tub, shaking with shallow breaths. Each placed a steadying hand on Isaac's shoulders.
"Before you go under," Hope said cheerily, "just know—I'll write you the most dramatic eulogy ever."
Isaac didn't get the chance to respond before Derek and Scott dunked him into the icy water. Ice and water splashed out of the tub violently as Isaac's body sprang up, fangs bared and eyes glowing gold.
"Get him back under," Deaton instructed quickly. "Hold him down!"
"We're trying!" Derek barked.
"I'll help!" Hope rushed forward and shoved Isaac's chest, pushing him back under.
After a few more thrashes, his body stilled. Silence returned.
Derek and Scott exchanged a glance before releasing their grip on his shoulders. Hope slowly took her hand off his chest as well.
Isaac's body floated, and the moment his mouth broke the surface, a faint puff of breath escaped his lips.
They all sighed in relief and turned to Deaton.
"Now remember, only I speak to him," Deaton said firmly, pointing to each of them. "Too many voices will confuse him."
Everyone nodded.
"Isaac? Can you hear me?"
"Yes, I can hear you," Isaac replied, his voice trembling from the cold.
"This is Dr. Deaton. I want to ask you a few questions. Is that alright?"
"Yes."
"I want to ask you about the night you found Erica and Boyd," Deaton began as thunder cracked outside, the room briefly illuminated by lightning. "Try to remember it clearly. Like you're there again."
Hope watched quietly. Her sarcasm had dimmed, though not entirely gone—Stiles rubbing soft circles on her wrist gave her away. She wasn't hiding her worry quite as well as she thought.
"I-I don't wanna do that," Isaac whimpered. The lights flickered. He began to thrash again. "I don't wanna do that. I don't wanna do that!"
"Isaac, it's alright," Deaton said calmly. "They're just memories. They can't hurt you."
"I don't wanna do that!"
"Relax."
"I don't wanna do that!" Isaac screamed, his voice cracking.
Hope stepped in, murmuring a calming spell under her breath, her hands glowing faintly as Deaton tried to ease Isaac through the panic.
"Good. Now, let's go back to that night. Where were you when you saw them? Was there a building?"
"It's not a house… it's stone. I think marble," Isaac said, trembling.
"That's good. Any other details?"
"It's dusty…empty."
"Like an abandoned building?" Deaton prompted.
The lights flickered again, and Isaac's body twitched.
He suddenly latched onto Scott's arm. "No, no. Someone's here."
"Isaac, relax."
"No, no!" he shouted. "They see me!"
Hope helped Stiles hold him down again as the panic surged. After a few calming repetitions from Deaton, Isaac eventually stilled once more.
"Good. Now tell us what you see. Everything."
"I hear Boyd. He's talking about the full moon. About losing control when it rises."
Scott and Derek exchanged a confused look. Deaton kept questioning.
"Is he talking to Erica?"
"I think so. I can't… I can't see her. I can't see either of them."
"Can you hear anything else?"
Isaac paused. "They're scared. Scared of what they'll do. Someone mentions a ring. Death."
Hope's head snapped up. The rings. They shouldn't have lost control—not with the rings she gave them.
Derek picked up on it too, looking sharply at the others. "If they're locked in together during the full moon, they'll tear each other apart."
"Isaac," Deaton said urgently. "We need to find them. Now. Can you see them?"
Hope bit her lip hard. She didn't always get along with Erica, but she had grown on her. And Boyd? He didn't deserve any of this.
"No."
"Any kind of room? A marker? A sign?"
The lights buzzed louder as Isaac's body jerked up again.
"They're here. They see me. They found me!" he shouted.
"It's alright—"
"No!" Isaac screamed. The thunder outside shook the entire clinic.
"Just tell us—"
"They see me! They're here!"
"This isn't working," Derek growled. "Isaac! Where are you?"
"Derek," Hope warned under her breath.
"I can't see them—it's too dark!"
"Isaac, tell me where you are!"
Isaac's mouth moved soundlessly, his face contorted in panic—then suddenly he shouted, "It's a vault! A bank vault! But something's wrong. It's a room… it's big. There's a body. It's—it's Erica."
The rush of memory jolted Isaac awake. He burst from the water, gasping.
"I saw it! I saw the name!" he choked, trying to climb out. Hope grabbed his arms to help. "It's… Beacon Hills First National Bank. It's abandoned. They're keeping them locked inside the vault!"
Everyone froze.
"What?" Isaac asked, looking between them. "Why are you all staring?"
"You don't remember what you said right before you woke up, do you?" Stiles asked, licking his lips.
Isaac shook his head. "No… What did I say?"
"You said when they dragged you in, there was a body," Stiles replied quietly. "And you said the name."
Isaac stared, confused. "What body?"
Hope stepped forward, face unreadable, her voice even and low. "You said… Erica. You saw Erica's body."
___
After searching the whole internet, they finally got the map from Noah. The trio was at Derek's loft, the map spread across the table as Stiles pointed out the route.
"You see this?" Stiles said, circling a spot with a pen. "This is how they got in. Rooftop air conditioning vent. Leads right into the wall of the vault—right here."
Scott leaned over the map, frowning. "And one of the robbers was lowered into this?"
"Yeah. That shaft is so narrow it took him nearly twelve hours to drill through the wall—which, by the way, is solid stone. Then, they siphoned the cash up to the roof through that tiny space. Whole operation took all night. Clean. Precise. Boom."
Scott glanced between the floor plan and Stiles. "Could we fit in there?"
"We can, barely," Stiles replied. "But we'll need a drill—maybe a diamond bit or something."
"Forget the drill," Derek cut in, arms crossed.
Stiles blinked. "Sorry?"
"If I go in first, how much space do I have?" Derek asked.
"What—are you planning to punch through solid concrete?" Stiles snorted.
"Yes," Derek said with complete seriousness. "I am."
Stiles rolled his eyes. "Okay, big guy. Let's see the magic. Make a fist. Come on, don't be shy, big bad wolf." He grabbed Derek's wrist, holding it up next to his own hand. "You've got maybe three inches of space to build up force. Not enough to punch through con—"
Derek interrupted by suddenly punching Stiles' hand.
But to everyone's surprise, Derek hissed in pain while Stiles looked at his hand in awe. "I'm Batman."
Derek groaned and glanced at Hope, who simply shrugged.
"You'll heal. He won't," she said.
Irritated, Derek swung again—this time with his good hand—and successfully made Stiles yelp.
"Ow—okay! He could do it," Stiles admitted, shaking out his hand.
"I'll get through the wall," Derek said. "Who's following me down?"
"I will," Hope stepped forward, gently checking Stiles' hand. She glanced at Derek's skeptical expression. "Don't look at me like that. I'm the strongest one here."
Before Derek could argue, she added, "I'm going. End of story."
"Me too," Scott said, standing beside her.
___
They stood before the thick concrete wall. Before Derek could test his strength, Hope stepped forward and muttered a quick incantation. With a burst of light and force, the entire section of the wall blasted open.
She stepped inside.
And suddenly, something felt wrong.
Behind her, Derek and Scott were unable to cross the threshold. Scott's phone buzzed—it was Stiles.
"Stiles, now is really not the time."
"Scott! Listen to me. The vault—it's lined with a mineral called hecatolite. It scatters moonlight!"
Hope turned, eyes narrowing. Derek was pushing against an invisible barrier, struggling.
"There's mountain ash," Scott muttered. "We can't go in."
Hope turned around—and froze.
A low growl echoed through the vault. She tried conjuring a light spell—nothing. Her magic was gone. Something in the air was killing it.
She squinted into the shadows—and then saw them.
Boyd, and a girl she didn't recognize. Snarling. Eyes glowing. Fangs bared.
"Get out!" the girl growled. "Get out of here now!"
Hope's heart dropped. She didn't need anyone to tell her—they were feral. Out of control.
Derek's voice rang out behind her. "Cora?"
The girl's eyes flicked to the barrier—recognizing her brother.
"Hope! Get out of there now!" Derek roared.
Hope didn't move. Her jaw clenched as the girl stepped forward."Too late for that, Derek," Hope said, ready to fight. She can't get out without her magic.
Cora snarled, a wicked grin stretching across her face. "You're trapped. And I haven't had fun in a long, long time."
Hope narrowed her eyes. "Cute. I was thinking the same thing."
Boyd let out a deafening roar and charged.
Hope barely dodged, flipping to the side as his claws scraped sparks off the floor. She threw her hand out, trying again to summon fire—but nothing.
"You're not getting out until I put you down," Hope muttered, pulling out a silver blade from her boot. "Fine. Let's do it your way."
Boyd lunged again, but this time Hope ducked low, sweeping his legs from beneath him. He hit the ground hard, but before she could follow through, Cora tackled her from behind. They crashed into the vault wall with a sickening thud.
Cora was fast. Savage. Claws slashed across Hope's shoulder. She cried out, kicking Cora off, only to be caught by Boyd slamming her into the ground.
Hope rolled, breathing hard, blood dripping from her arm. Her magic was dead, her friends were outside, and she was completely alone.
"I warned you," Cora growled, eyes glowing bright yellow. "I can't control it. I'll kill you."
Hope pushed herself up, spitting blood. "Then I'll make sure you don't get the chance."
Boyd charged again. This time, Hope didn't dodge—she met him head-on, ducking under his arms and ramming her elbow into his ribs hard enough to hear something crack. As he stumbled back, she twisted and kicked him in the knee, dropping him to one leg.
Cora struck from the side, but Hope pivoted just in time. The two exchanged a brutal flurry of blows—claws clashing against steel, fists meeting flesh. Hope's breath came in sharp gasps, her body bruised and bleeding, but her resolve unshaken.
Finally, she slammed Cora into the wall with enough force to shake the vault.
"Stay down!" Hope shouted.
But neither of them did.
Boyd rose again. Cora wiped blood from her lip, grinning like a predator.
Hope stood, surrounded, bloodied, and breathing heavily. "You want to test your strength?" she said, holding her blade ready, eyes cold. "Then come on."
Before they could lunge at her again, a familiar voice rang out—firm and clear.
"Hey! You're free."
Hope turned just in time to see Allison breaking the mountain ash line, allowing the two berserk werewolves to rush past the threshold.
Hope let out a groan, wiping the blood trickling from her nose and the corner of her lips. "Seriously? I was handling them just fine."
"You look half-dead," came another voice from behind Allison.
Hope's gaze shifted—and she smirked.
"And you look very much alive," she said, blood staining her teeth as she flashed a grin at Erica, bruised but standing.
"Let's cut this reunion short—we need to catch them," Derek said, glancing over at Hope. "You should get some rest."
Hope scoffed, narrowing her eyes. "Excuse me? Mr. Big Bad Broody, that's borderline offensive. I could kick your ass right now and still look good doing it."
She looked genuinely affronted, and Derek gave an exaggerated eye roll—though a small smirk tugged at his lips.
"Good to see you alive," he muttered to Erica as an afterthought.
___
They all split up to track the two rogue werewolves. Hope never came across them, but Scott and Isaac had. When she finally caught up to the group, she found them mid-discussion, tension thick in the air.
"This doesn't make any sense. The public pool is on the other side of the woods. We haven't tracked them anywhere near there," Derek said, frustration etched on his face.
"What's wrong?" Hope asked, breathless from running. Her wounds still ached—thanks to the vault's lingering toxic air, likely laced with witchbane or hazel.
"They killed someone," Scott answered, his voice heavy with guilt.
Just minutes earlier, Stiles had called, informing them Lydia had found a body at the pool—his throat torn open.
"Derek, they killed someone," Scott repeated, shaking his head.
"That's not possible," Hope said firmly. "There's got to be someone else involved—maybe even using Boyd and Cora as bait. We've been trailing them since they broke loose. There's no way they could've done this unnoticed."
Derek gave her a look of agreement—or maybe he was just trying to convince himself.
"How are they even moving that fast?" he muttered.
"Derek!"
"They can't be that fast on foot!" Derek snapped.
"They killed someone!" Scott nearly shouted. "Some totally innocent kid is dead… and it's our fault."
Hope's eyes narrowed. "Can you stop thinking with your emotions for five seconds and use your damn brain, Scott? It's not them. And I'm going to prove it."
She pulled out her phone and started dialing.
"Who are you calling?" Scott asked, but she ignored him.
"Evie, sweetheart," she said into the phone. "Do me a favor. Talk to the boy who just died at the pool, will you?" And with that, she hung up.
Derek blinked. "Okay, what? How is she going to talk to a dead boy? And who the hell is Evie?"
Hope shrugged. "Just a girl I broke out of Eichen House. Necromancer tendencies. Long story. Now less talking, more hunting. We need to catch them before someone else actually ends up dead."
___
The echo of dripping water filled the empty pool deck, the air cold and still as if even time was holding its breath. Evelyn Graves walked barefoot across the wet concrete, her black coat trailing behind her like a shadow with a heartbeat. Her pale fingers brushed against the steel railings as she approached the bloodstained edge of the pool.
She stopped.
The body was already gone—bagged and taken—but the soul?
Still here.
She crouched slowly, pressing her hand against the tiles still faintly warm with memory. Her breath stilled.
And then—the world shifted.
A flicker of static. The light overhead buzzed.
Her eyes turned from silver-blue to ghost-white, glazed over, as the echo arrived.
He stood there.
A teenage boy, maybe sixteen. Jeans, hoodie, soaked in red. His eyes wide with confusion, panic still etched into his transparent face.
"I—I was just…" He looked around. "Why can't I… where is everyone?"
Evie rose to her feet slowly, her voice soft but firm. "Hey there, I'm Evelyn. You're… in between, right now. I need to ask you some questions. Can you tell me what happened?"
The boy clutched his throat. "There was something… I thought it was a person, but it wasn't."
"Male or female?"
"I don't know—it moved too fast. But it wasn't like the others. It wasn't… them."
"Boyd and Cora?"
He blinked. "What?"
Evie nodded to herself. "Okay, not them."
The boy stepped closer, confused. "Why are you here? Am I… dead?"
Her voice cracked just slightly. "Yeah. I'm sorry."
His lip trembled. "Is my mom gonna be okay? She doesn't even know I snuck out to do a late shift."
"I'll make sure she knows you didn't suffer. And that you didn't die for nothing." She inhaled deeply, a shimmer of blue light weaving around her fingers like silk threads. "I can help you move on… if you're ready."
He hesitated. "Will it hurt?"
"No," she whispered, placing her palm gently over his chest where the slash had been. "It'll feel like going home."
The ghost's form flickered, softening. Tears welled in his eyes. "Thank you."
Evie closed her eyes, speaking the ritual in Latin under her breath, her voice echoing slightly as the energy pulled at her core. Blue light encased him, spiraling upward.
And then he was gone.
Gone—but the blood memory remained. She gasped, clutching the pool edge for balance as the spiritual echo hit her.
She saw it.
Not Boyd. Not Cora.
A dark figure watching from the trees. Tall. Unfamiliar. Not a werewolf. Something colder. Something dark.
___
Later that night, Chris Argent joined the group, giving his special lecture on tracking and trapping werewolves. Someone suggested the idea of luring them into the boiler room—it was a good plan, though Hope couldn't remember who said it. The witchbane was still fogging her head, but she hid it well. There was no Stiles here to see through her mask.
They set the trap and managed to corner the rogue wolves in the boiler room.
But when they stopped to listen—three heartbeats echoed from within.
Someone else was inside.
Derek took a step forward, eyes darkening.
"I'm going in," he said.
Hope followed immediately, slipping through the door before anyone could stop her.
"Hope!" Derek hissed. "What are you doing?"
"Helping you, obviously. We're the Broody Gang, remember? Can't let you mope in here by yourself."
"This isn't the time for jokes!"
"And yet, you still love me."
Before Derek could roll his eyes, Cora and Boyd emerged from the shadows—feral, snarling, wild. The third heartbeat was a rabbit, trembling in the corner.
Boyd lunged first. Derek intercepted him mid-air, the impact shaking the pipes. Hope moved fast, ducking a swipe from Cora before slamming her elbow into her ribs. But Cora didn't budge, her strength magnified by the full moon's haze.
"I forgot how much your sister hits like a truck," Hope grunted, dodging another strike.
"She gets it from our uncle," Derek growled, kicking Boyd across the room.
Cora spun, claws out, catching Hope across the shoulder.
"Okay! That's enough family love for today," Hope snapped, flipping back and launching a roundhouse that staggered Cora.
Derek grabbed Boyd from behind and slammed him into the wall. "A little help?!"
"Hold him still!" Hope yelled.
She ran up the pipes, leapt off a ledge, and slammed into Boyd's chest with both feet, knocking the wind out of him.
Derek gave a grunt of approval. "Nice."
"Team Broody's got moves," she panted.
Cora lunged at Derek, but Hope intercepted, tackling her to the ground. They rolled across the floor, exchanging blows, grunts, and growls.
Derek helped pin her down. Together, they managed to subdue both Cora and Boyd—just as Scott and Isaac burst through the door with restraints.
"Wow," Scott said, looking around at the chaos. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."
Hope, now slumped against the wall and panting, smirked. "Too late."
Derek, crouching beside her, looked at her bloody face and bruised knuckles. "You okay?"
"I'm alive," she muttered.
"Fair," Derek replied, offering her a hand. She took it.
Then, as the adrenaline finally gave out, her knees buckled beneath her.
Before she could hit the ground, strong arms caught her.
Derek.
"Isaac and Erica help Boyd and Cora, Scott you convince the English teacher while I take Hope to Deaton." Derek said, picking Hope protectively trying not to touch her wounds.
_____
Introducing my OC "Evelyn Graves" played by Sabrina Carpenter. Evelyn is an original character that belongs to me, She was not in the show. I made her.
If anyone confused (Which you people always are) this is Act two, Season 3A of Teenwolf.
This is a very Long Chapter, almost 6k words. To Show your appreciation and Support, you can Vote. And Please leave a review, So that I know what you think about this book and improve my writing accordingly.
Thank you for choosing to read this till the end.
-TZ