The address where Peter Hale was supposed to live was a former factory building that had been converted into modern lofts. It seemed that the man liked to indulge in certain luxuries. Not that Harvey was one to talk, he had three bathrooms in his condo after all.

"Which apartment number was his?" Harvey asked his secretary who stood beside him.

"Eight," Donna answered without even bothering to look in her little notebook. Situations like this were why Harvey valued her so much. Other secretaries would have balked at all the things he demanded from them, but Donna didn't even roll her eyes.

"Then let´s stop wasting time," Harvey commented and they walked towards the building. The elevator´s doors looked like something had slashed through them like it was nothing more than paper. Yellow police tape was draped over the elevator´s door casing, some of it already torn down and laying on the ground. Apparently the police hadn't even bothered to put it down after they finished investigating whatever had happened in the building.

"The stairs it is, then," Harvey said.

"Doesn´t really look confidence inspiring, does it?" Donna commented as they made their way towards the stairs. "This whole town is just…weird." Harvey didn't reply at first, the only audible sound the clacking of Donna´s heels on the ground, but he had to agree with her. Something was definitely weird about Beacon Hills. Not just the cagey behaviour that Mike had adopted since they had entered the town. It was like something was watching them – nothing malicious, but nothing benevolent either – like the whole town was shrouded in otherworldliness. The sun was shining a little bit too bright, the colours were too colourful and the people looked at them like they were intruders; unwelcome.

He just nodded.

Finally, they were standing in front of the door to apartment number eight. Harvey was about to knock when the door was opened.

"Who are you?" The man standing in front of them had an impressive built, even Harvey had to admit that. His mint-green Henley clutched to his body and brought out his toned body. Yet the constant frown that marred the man´s face and the distrust that come off him in strong vibes lessened Harvey´s appreciation.

"Harvey Specter and Donna Paulsen from Pearson Specter Litt," he introduced and Donna to the man. "We are looking for Peter Hale." Even though Harvey thought it to be impossible, the frown on the man´s face deepened even more.

"Peter is…" the man started.

"…right here." Harvey and Donna turned around and saw another man slowly walking towards them, a bag filled with groceries in one hand while the other was tugged in his trousers. Harvey prided himself on his ability to read people and he instinctively knew that Peter Hale was a predator. Cunning, ruthless, Machiavellian. He grinned – a smile full of teeth – but it didn't reach his eyes. They stayed distrustful, watching, assessing.

"I´m Harvey Specter, this is…."

"…Donna Paulsen and you´re both from Pearson Specter Litt," Peter finished for him. He flashed Harvey another soulless grin. "Why don´t you come in? I´m very sorry for my nephew´s lacking manners." Said nephew looked like he wanted nothing more than to murder his uncle. Definitely some weird family dynamic.

If you had to describe the loft´s interior in one word, then Harvey would use 'empty'. 'Functional' would be a more flattering adjective, but Harvey wasn´t one to sugarcoat things – at least not to himself. The walls were neither painted nor hung with wallpapers, the living area consisted of only one couch garniture and a wooden table, there weren't any carpets. The big window that took the whole front of the loft was the only source of daylight, yet it also emphasized the emptiness of the whole room.

Harvey was sure that Donna had noticed as well, but neither he nor she would comment. He had seen more eccentric living choices in his career.

"I´d offer you something to drink, but I don´t think that you´ll be here long enough," Peter said casually as he closed the door behind them. "What does Jessica want from me?"

"She wants you to work for her," Harvey replied. If he judged Peter right – and he was nearly never wrong when it came to assessing people – then he wasn´t one who liked being on the receiving end of word plays.

"So, does she?" Peter said, raising one eyebrow. "Well, you can go back to her and tell her to kindly fuck off." If Harvey had been a lesser man his jaw would have dropped to the ground. So he just clenched his teeth, barely visible to anyone and let calmness wash over him. No matter what others said to you, you always had to keep the cool.

"That sounds pretty harsh," he said instead. Peter just grinned at him mirthlessly.

"Not as harsh as what she did to me," he simply stated. "Now, if you have nothing more to say, you may leave now." It was worded like a suggestion, but Harvey knew a command when he heard one and there was nothing left to gain by staying. He nodded politely at Peter and his nephew, turned around and walked out of the apartment, Donna following closely behind him.

"You´ll come back, won´t you?" Donna asked Harvey as they made their way downstairs.

"Of course," Harvey answered. "But first, Jessica and I will have a serious talk about disclosing important information."

Back in the apartment a delighted grin spread over Peter Hale´s face.

Mike didn't return back to their hotel until late evening. He roamed Beacon Hills, discovering its streets and its people. For a normal person the town may not look that different from thousand other American towns, but Mike wasn't normal by any sense of the word, so he could see behind the veneer. He could feel power flowing through the town – many different currents – that all coalesced somewhere in the Preserve that cut the town off from the outside world. Something terrible had to have happened there for even miles away Mike could feel malice oozing from the forest, like purulence from an infected wound. But it was old and slowly fading. Someone had taken care of it no so long ago.

The people that walked past him nodded and smiled. A small child – a girl of maybe four years – even walked up to him and shyly told him that he shone beautiful which made her mother splutter in embarrassment. Mike didn't mind, though. Some perceptive children were able to sense, sometimes even see, his magic and because Mike did not dabble in the darker aspect of the craft, to them it must look like some shiny light. Almost all adults had long lost their faith in magic, but they could still sense something from Mike which made them trust him more easily. And every now and then there were people who saw more.

Mike, though, nodded back politely and continued his walk through the city. Everything to not go back to their hotel and face the Harvey Inquisition, capital letter rightfully placed there. He just couldn't tell Harvey. The secret was too big – to alien, to deep-integrated into Mike´s life, too shattering – to just tell him. It was second nature for Mike to hide this part of him from the world and not even Harvey could so easily destroy what had been so deeply integrated in Mike´s life since childhood.

Not even Harvey.

"Where have you been?" That were the first words out of Harvey´s mouth when Mike did finally come back and entered the anteroom that connected their respective rooms. Donna sat next to him on the red couch, idly browsing through some magazine.

"Looking around town," Mike shrugged and hung up his coat.

"For five hours?" Harvey questioned. Mike sighed.

"Look, Harvey," he started. "Even if you believe different, I´m indeed a grown-up man and I´m not beholden to you when it comes to matters of my private life." Mike rubbed his temples. Fighting with Harvey was always very frustrating and deeply hurtful and he just couldn't deal with it right now. "I´m going to bed. Tomorrow I´m going back to help Deaton."

He walked over to his room´s door and was about to close it when – barely above a whisper – Harvey said: "You used to tell me everything."

Mike closed the door and tried to ignore the deep ache in his chest that felt like it was trying to make him explode. Harvey had sounded so small, so fragile – so broken and defeated – and Mike hated himself for being the one who had done that to Harvey.

Ignorance is a bliss, he chanted in his head.

Yet, as Mike laid in his bed, surrounded by darkness, staring at the blank ceiling, he couldn't bring himself to believe it.

Trees passing by in front of the window.

"What did you learn this week?"

The moon shining bright on the sky. The stars illuminating the night. No clouds.

Serenity.

"We can´t give in, James."

The cone of light illuminating the street in front of them. Tiny hands holding on to nothing. Road signs passing by.

Wilderness. Solitude.

Something on the street. A man. He didn't move.

"Watch out, James!"

A roar.

Crash. Shatter. Screams. Blood. He couldn't see anything. No light but the moon.

Something was stamping around the car. He could feel the vibrations.

Empty eyes staring at him.

Devoid.

Strands of hair, clumped with blood.

The thing kneeled down next to him. Red eyes. Compassionless. Pitiless. He could feel its breath ghosting over his tear soaked skin. Revulsion. He shuddered.

"A warning." Then it opened its mouth full of fangs and lunged at him.

Scream. Pain.

With a scream tearing itself from his throat, Mike woke up, instantly bolting upright while breathing harshly. He looked around, still halfway caught between dream and reality and waited for the fangs to descend upon him.

Yet, as his eyes slowly got used to the half-darkness around him, there was no monster waiting to devour him. Just a standard hotel room, shrouded in grey, only the street lights outside that shone through the gaps in the shutters illuminating the room. It was eerily silent, as if time had been halted for everything except himself. Mike imagined himself wandering through a world where time no longer moved and shuddered. Not a pleasant thought, for sure.

When his heart rate had come down, he just let himself fall back and closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep again. But the leaden tiredness that had tormented him yesterday just wouldn't come, instead he was hyperaware of everything around him. Now that he listened more closely he could hear that there was no absolute silence around him. In the distance was a car passing by, someone was hushing down the hallway and the air conditioning for the room bordering his was apparently in use, even though it wasn't that warm.

There was no true silence to be found amongst humanity.

But it was to these sounds that Mike finally fell asleep only a few minutes later.

Empty offices. It was night and the only source of light illuminating the hallways, cubicles and the empty receptionist desk came from the surrounding buildings. But there was one office where the light was still on, which only made the rest of the floor appearing even more desolate.

A phone was ringing. Once. Twice. Thri…

Someone picked up, their hand tightly griped around the small plastic body. "Hello?"

"We need to have a talk, Jessica."

"I don´t want to go," Stiles complained to his friends as they sat on the bleachers and let the sun shine on them. Well, Allison and Lydia were sunbathing, Scott was just here because of Allison and Isaac, Erica and Boyd were with them because they enjoyed Stiles' suffering. He was sure of it.

"If you can come up with a better alternative, feel free to share it with us," Lydia replied haughtily without even bothering to look at Stiles.

"You don´t wanna learn awesome magic from a not so awesome, prejudiced asshole?" Erica summarized his whole dilemma without looking that sympathizing with his plight. Stiles just nodded.

"That sucks," Isaac commented. "Like royally." Stiles just glared at him.

"Don´t you have to go if you want to make it in time?" Allison quipped up from behind her Ray Beans.

"Yeah," Stiles mumbled. "But I don´t really wanna."

"Look, Stiles," Allison said. "You could work together with my father in the beginning when he was still like 'All werewolves are raging mutts that should be put down on sight'. If you survived that over months, you will survive a mage who´s gonna teach you magic for a few weeks." She smiled at him in her innocent, angelic way and Stiles knew that he was beaten.

He glared at Scott.

"Your girlfriend is the devil in disguise," he said, pointing accusingly at said girl who had returned back to just letting the sun shine on her. Scott just smiled stupidly and sighed.

Stiles gave up.

"Don´t forget that you have to tell us everything afterwards!" Erica shouted after him while he walked across the lacrosse field. "Maybe even before Derek kidnaps you into his lair to check if his precious Stiles has been harmed by the evil mage." She cackled. Stiles just flipped her his finger and was glad that they couldn't see the blush spreading on his cheeks.

The mage was already waiting for him when Stiles entered Deaton´s clinic. Stiles' mood instantly turned sour when he saw the blonde leaning on the operation table while he talked with Deaton. He hadn't forgot what had been said yesterday and if Stiles was anything then it was resentful when somebody dared to say something against his friends.

"Ah, Stiles, you´re here," Deaton stated the obvious.

"Yes, I´m here. Can we get started now?" Stiles cut in. He may have agreed to be here – more like being forced by the imminent threat of dying – but that didn't mean that he had to be nice about it. "For the matter, why is he the one who has to teach me? Aren´t there other mages who could do the job without the unfounded bigotry?"

"Mages don´t just grow on trees," the blonde – Mike, Stiles' brain whispered to him – gritted out. "There aren´t that many in the States. Our kind is more common in Europe, India or East Asia."

"Who taught you then?" Stiles wanted to know. "If mages really are that rare around here?"

"It was a woman from California," Mike answered. "Claudia Stilinski was her name."

Stiles stopped breathing.