Beacon Hills, California: Friday, September 2nd, 2011.
After last night, thank the goddess for Brightwake elixirs. It tasted like rosemary, mint, and a hint of something musky that tingled in my throat all morning, but after only a few hours of sleep, I've never felt so rested. Friday drags on with the same rhythm as the rest of the week. I ignore Scott in English, zone out during Algebra with Rose, and breeze through witty banter in Chemistry with Rose and Lydia, all while continuing my unspoken mission to avoid Scott. Lunch is the usual mix of light flirting with Danny, playful back-and-forth between Lydia and Rose, and Jackson sulking like someone stole his lacrosse stick.
Everything seems to be falling into place, even though the events of last night keep replaying in the back of my mind.
Rose hasn't said much about Allison's dad or Kate. But I don't need to ask. I know enough about the Argents to understand why she didn't step in. They're hunters—werewolf hunters. The name's a dead giveaway—Argent, meaning silver. I can't help but wonder if Scott has any idea how close he is to a family that could be a threat to him in ways he probably can't even imagine.
I push the thought aside as the afternoon drags on. Rose catches up with me after class, her expression still thoughtful. "We're not practicing today. After last night, we should lay low for a bit," she says. "At least until I find a more secluded spot to train."
I nod, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment. "I'm okay with that. I've got three assignments due, and I haven't started any of them. Speaking of which, what's the charm you use to get homework done so fast? I could really use it if you want me to keep playing this Sabrina role."
Rose smirks but doesn't respond as we part ways. I head to my locker, thinking about the mountain of work waiting for me, but my thoughts are interrupted by the sound of familiar voices approaching.
Lydia's sharp tone cuts through the noise, followed by a softer voice. I glance up, and there's Allison walking beside her, looking a little unsure. Great, this is just what I need.
They're chatting as I grab my books for the weekend, and it's impossible not to overhear.
"Scott's coming over? Tonight?" Lydia asks, her eyebrow raised knowingly.
Allison flushes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "We're just studying together."
Lydia's smirk is instant. "Just studying never ends with just studying. It's like getting into a hot tub—somebody eventually cops a feel."
I close my locker with a soft thud, trying to keep my tone neutral. "Studying, huh? Sounds riveting."
Lydia throws me a quick, amused glance. "Oh please, Adrian, don't pretend you're not invested." She turns back to Allison. "Just make sure he covers up."
Allison's eyes widen in surprise. "What? After one date?"
Lydia shrugs, her tone casual. "Don't be a total prude. You've got to give him a little taste."
Allison, clearly flustered, asks, "How much is a little taste?"
Lydia groans dramatically, rolling her eyes. "Oh God, you really like him, don't you?"
Allison hesitates, then nods, her expression softening. "Yeah, I do. There's just something different about him. When I got here, I promised myself no boyfriends until college. I move too much. But with Scott, it feels… different. I can't explain it."
I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to keep quiet. Of course, Scott's different.
Lydia waves a dismissive hand. "I can explain it. It's your brain flooding with phenylethylamine."
Allison blinks. "What?"
Lydia grins. "You know, the love chemical? Never mind. I'll tell you what to do." She pauses, raising an eyebrow. "When's he coming over?"
Allison's smile is small, but hopeful. "Right after school."
I glance up from my locker, trying to keep my tone light but unable to fully hide the twinge of jealousy. "Right after school? Wow, eager for more 'tutoring,' I guess."
Lydia's unimpressed glance says it all. "Don't act like you're not interested, Adrian. We know you love the drama."
I roll my eyes and turn back to my books, trying to shake off the mix of frustration and something deeper gnawing at me.
Allison's phone pings, and she glances down, her face lighting up. "I've got to go," she says, shoving her books into her bag. "My aunt's in town, and I need to get ready before Scott comes over."
Lydia raises an eyebrow. "Aunt Kate, huh? Have fun." Her tone is knowing, but she doesn't press it further. Allison flashes a quick smile and hurries off down the hall, leaving Lydia and me behind.
I stuff another textbook into my bag, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. Scott's going to be with Allison tonight, and as much as I tell myself I don't care, the knot in my chest says otherwise.
As soon as Allison's out of earshot, Lydia turns to me, arms crossed with that signature smirk of hers, the one that always makes me feel like she's three steps ahead in whatever game we're playing. "So," she says casually, leaning against the lockers. "How long have you been hung up on Scott?"
The question hits like a sucker punch, but I shrug it off, slamming my locker shut. "I'm not," I say, a little too quickly. "You're imagining things."
She rolls her eyes, clearly not buying it. "Please. You've been dodging Danny all week, and you're not exactly subtle. Thankfully, Allison's too oblivious to notice you brooding every time Scott's name comes up."
I hesitate, then sigh. "Is it that obvious?"
Lydia's smirk softens just a bit, her teasing tone still there but gentler. "Only to people paying attention."
I lean against the locker, the weight of it all pressing down on me. "Since your party," I admit finally. "It's been eating at me ever since then."
She raises an eyebrow, her surprise genuine. "You do realize Scott's straight, right?"
I can't help but laugh, though it's a bitter sound. "Yeah, well, the number of times we made out last weekend would suggest otherwise."
Lydia's jaw practically drops. "Excuse me, what?" She stares at me like I've just told her the earth is flat. "You're telling me you and Scott—"
"Yep," I cut in, not really wanting to relive the specifics. "And he went on a date with Allison right after. In front of me."
Her eyes widen, and for once, Lydia Martin is stunned. "Holy shit," she breathes. "That's low, even for a guy."
I nod, pushing down the frustration that rises every time I think about it. "Tell me about it."
Lydia leans against the lockers next to me, her usual snark tempered by something softer. "Well, look, I can't promise I have the clearest advice on this, but…" She hesitates, then offers a small shrug. "Guys suck. But you already know that."
A slight laugh escapes me, and I appreciate the attempt, even if it's not exactly helpful. "Yeah, you're not wrong."
Her smirk returns, sharper this time. "I could always cheer you up by convincing Jackson to take his shirt off. That usually works for half the girls in this school."
I roll my eyes, the sarcasm back in full force. "Please. Jackson's ego already takes up more space than this hallway. I don't need to feed it."
She chuckles, giving me a knowing look. "Okay, fine. But you know what they say—the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else." She raises an eyebrow meaningfully, clearly hinting at Danny.
I shake my head, though a smile tugs at my lips. "I'll keep that in mind."
Lydia gives me a playful nudge before heading down the hall. "See you later, Sinclair. Don't brood too much."
I watch her walk away, her parting words still echoing in my mind. Getting over Scott isn't as easy as Lydia makes it sound, but maybe she's onto something. Maybe it's time to stop letting him take up so much space in my head and focus on someone—or something—that might actually be good for me. Easier said than done, but the idea lingers as I shove my hands into my pockets and head down the now-empty hall.
The further I go, the heavier the air feels, like it's soaked in something raw—pain, agitation, a bitterness I can almost taste. I try to shake it off, but a prickling sensation crawls up the back of my neck, familiar and unsettling.
And then, rounding the corner, I see him—the werewolf from last night.
He looks even worse than before—pale, gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes and blood-soaked bandages peeking out from his jacket sleeve. His eyes lock onto mine, burning with the same intensity as they did at the factory. He strides toward me, his steps heavy but full of purpose.
"Hey, witch," he growls, his voice rough and gravelly. "Where's Scott McCall?"
I don't flinch, meeting his glare. "You've been enough of a pain in my side," I reply coolly. "Do you have a name, or should I start calling you 'grumpy werewolf?'"
He sneers, clearly not in the mood for jokes. "Derek."
"Good," I nod, keeping my tone level. "Now, call me Adrian, because the way you say 'witch' is a bit demeaning."
His lip curls into a snarl, and he steps closer, his eyes narrowing. "Where is he?"
"Why should I tell you?" I challenge, crossing my arms.
"Because I asked you politely. And I only do that once."
I raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Sounds like a personal problem, Derek."
His patience wears thin, and he steps forward, looking ready to make this a lot less polite. But before he can get any closer, I flick my hand, summoning a quick pulse of magic that sends him crashing into the lockers. He winces as his injured arm slams into the metal.
A low, dangerous growl rumbles from his chest, but I don't back down. My fingers hover over my phone, sending a quick text to Rose to meet me at her car. We've got a problem.
Derek looks like he's barely hanging on—he might collapse at any second. I sigh, glancing around to make sure no one's watching. "Look," I mutter, "you're not exactly blending in here. Come on, follow me before someone calls the cops on an adult lurking around a high school."
He glares, clearly annoyed, but he's too tired to argue. Begrudgingly, he follows as the halls start to fill with students leaving for the day. We weave through the crowd, moving quickly, until we reach the parking lot and Rose's BMW.
She's already leaning against her car, arms crossed, and not looking particularly pleased. "What the hell is he doing here?" she asks, her sharp gaze cutting straight through Derek.
"He's looking for Scott," I explain, though I'm not sure that fully covers what's going on.
Her eyes narrow even more. "He has ten seconds to explain himself before I turn him into a teapot."
I blink, thrown off. "You can do that?"
Ignoring Rose's threat, Derek limps past her, focusing entirely on something else. He heads straight for Stiles' Jeep without a word.
Rose and I exchange glances as we watch Stiles hop into his Jeep, oblivious to what's happening. Derek steps right in front of the car just as Stiles starts to pull out, forcing him to slam on the brakes. The sudden stop causes a chain reaction, and all the cars behind him screech to a halt, horns blaring in the parking lot.
That's when Scott comes running, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. Just as he reaches Derek, the werewolf's body gives out, and he collapses right in front of Stiles' Jeep.
Stiles jumps out of the driver's seat in a panic, his eyes wide as he rushes over to Derek. "What the hell is going on?!" he half-yells, his voice barely under control.
Scott kneels beside Derek, murmuring something low that I can't catch. Stiles, looking more frazzled than usual, makes his way over to Rose and me, his hands gesturing wildly, clearly out of his depth.
I cross my arms, arching an eyebrow at him. "Your friend's got terrible manners, you know that?"
Stiles lets out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Yeah, well, Derek's not exactly a people person. But hey, once you get to know him... still not great, but manageable."
As if on cue, Derek lets out a deep, guttural growl. His body trembles violently as he fights to keep control, and the primal sound sends a chill down my spine. I can practically feel the tension radiating off him. The longer this goes on, the more I know he's about to lose it.
Stiles tries to make light of it, his nervous laugh echoing between us. "And, uh... he's got terrible IBS."
I glance at Rose, my anxiety climbing fast. "So, what do we do?" I mutter, keeping my voice low but urgent. Derek's teetering on the edge, and if we don't act soon, things are going to get a lot worse—and very public.
Rose doesn't respond immediately, her sharp gaze locked on Derek, assessing the situation with the precision of someone who knows just how bad this could get. Around us, students are starting to take notice, their curious whispers rising into murmurs. Cars honk impatiently behind Stiles' Jeep, drivers wondering why everything's coming to a standstill.
"He's going to blow our cover," I whisper, dread sinking in as more people start paying attention.
Rose's jaw tightens, her mind clearly racing. Without warning, she grabs my hand, her fingers gripping tightly as she meets my eyes. "Adrian, we need to move fast. Think of something loud—a blaring horn."
I blink at her, the urgency in her voice snapping me into focus. "Loud? Got it."
"Repeat after me," she orders, her voice steady but urgent.
We both take a deep breath, and together, we chant, "Lituus."
The result is immediate. Every car alarm in the lot springs to life, wailing in unison. The fire alarms in the school join the chorus, creating an ear-splitting cacophony that reverberates through the air, drowning out everything else. The sound is so intense it's almost disorienting, making my head throb.
Stiles freezes, his mouth dropping open as he gawks at us. "Did you two just…?"
Rose, completely unfazed, ignores him. Her eyes remain on Derek. "Get your friend to a hospital," she commands, her tone leaving no room for debate.
Scott doesn't waste time. He and Stiles scramble to get Derek into the Jeep, their movements frantic but focused. As they manage to drag Derek into the back seat, I catch Scott's eye for a brief moment. There's a silent understanding between us—we helped them, even if they don't fully know how.
Rose tugs me toward her car, not waiting for any more drama to unfold. We jump inside, and she floors it, the tires screeching as we peel out of the lot, leaving behind a mess of alarms and chaos.
I sink back into the passenger seat, exhaling heavily, my heart still racing from the adrenaline. My head buzzes with everything that just happened, but I can't shake the tension sitting in my chest.
Rose's knuckles are white as she grips the steering wheel, her jaw clenched tight. The shriek of alarms fades into the background as we speed away, but the weight of the moment lingers between us.
"That was too close," I muttered, running a hand through my hair.
Rose finally glances at me, her expression softening just a fraction. "Way too close."
As we drive in silence, the tension in the air still thick from everything that just happened, Rose finally speaks up, breaking the quiet.
"That guy's dangerous," she says, her voice steady but sharp.
I glance over at her, feigning confusion. "Who, Derek?"
Her eyes flick toward me briefly, a brow raised in mild surprise. "Derek? Oh, so we're on a first-name basis now?"
I scoff, crossing my arms. "Yeah, we're best friends. We braid each other's hair on weekends." The sarcasm rolls off my tongue easily.
She shakes her head but smirks despite herself. "Seriously, Adrian. He could've been the one who killed that bus driver."
I pause for a second, remembering the story about the bus driver and the rumors circulating around town. But something deep inside me knows it wasn't Derek. "It wasn't him."
Rose's eyes narrow slightly. "And how do you know that?"
"I'm not sure," I admit, thinking back to last night and Derek's presence. "There's something different about him. He didn't smell like… ash."
Rose turns to me, genuinely intrigued. "Wait, you can pick up scents now? Since when?"
"Only with werewolves, apparently," I reply with a half-shrug, still processing that particular development myself.
Rose purses her lips, clearly pondering. "Magical detection falls under Pisces," she muses. "It's something we'll have to explore later." She glances over at me again, that thoughtful expression lingering. "But for now, let's focus on keeping you from getting mauled."
As we pull up in front of my house, she puts the car in park and looks at me with a bit more ease. "If you want to do something normal later, I'm down for a movie marathon. Might be good to take a break from, you know, everything supernatural."
I grin, grateful for the offer. "I'd love to, but I've got hexes to cast, demons to vanquish, you know, the usual."
For a split second, Rose's eyes widened in genuine concern until I let out a small laugh. "Kidding, obviously," I add, though there's a bit of doubt in my voice. "But seriously, with everything I've seen, is anything I haven't seen in the movies still just fiction?"
She pauses, her expression thoughtful, then finally says, "I guess we'll find out." With that, she offers a small smile and drives off.
I push open the door to my empty house, the familiar quiet greeting me. With all the "animal attacks" lately, my mom's been working double shifts. She says it's good money and she's getting extra PTO, but I know it's taking a toll on her. She barely has time to rest these days, let alone check in on me.
I drop my bag on the living room couch and sink into it, pulling out my chemistry homework and English assignments. The hours pass by in a blur of half-hearted study sessions. I contemplate texting Rose, maybe even Danny, but my focus is too scattered. Besides, I've been putting these assignments off for too long.
By the time I finished my second assignment, the sky outside had darkened. My stomach growls in protest, reminding me I haven't eaten since lunch. I rummage through the cupboards, finding them as empty as I expected. With a sigh, I grabbed my phone and order pizza, thankful for the convenience.
Just as I settle back onto the couch, I hear a knock at the door. Surprised, I glanced at my phone—no way the pizza delivery is here that fast. Curiosity piqued, I headed to the door and swung it open, only to be met with a familiar yet unwelcome sight.
Stiles is standing there, looking sheepish, with Derek—looking even worse for wear—leaning heavily against him. Blood stains Derek's clothes, and he's pale, like he's barely holding on.
Stiles flashes me a strained grin. "Hey! Adrian, mind helping us out? We, uh, had some terrible car trouble. Jeep trouble," He gestures vaguely toward Derek.
I stare at them for a moment, not sure whether to laugh or slam the door shut. But instead, I just sigh. "Of course you did."
Against my better judgment, I step aside and let them in. Derek limps past me, leaving a faint trail of blood on the floor, while Stiles awkwardly fumbles for an excuse.
"Uh, yeah, Derek's got, uh, terrible food poisoning," Stiles says, glancing around like he's expecting someone to call him out.
I raise an eyebrow. "Food poisoning doesn't cause bullet holes, Stiles."
Stiles doesn't miss a beat, shrugging. "Depends on which drive-thru you hit up."
Derek growls low from his spot on the couch, clearly not in the mood for jokes. Stiles just shakes his head and mutters, "Man, we really gotta get that IBS checked out."
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms as I take a seat across from them. Stiles, ever restless, starts pacing by the window, occasionally glancing outside like he's waiting for something—or someone—to jump out.
"So, why are you two here?" I ask, eyes flicking between Derek, slumped on my couch, and Stiles, who looks like he's about to start chewing his nails.
Derek doesn't waste time. His voice is low, strained. "I need you to heal me."
I blink, taken aback. "I'm not a doctor."
Derek doesn't even flinch. "You're not, but magic healing is stronger than anything I can take right now. And I don't have time for painkillers."
Before I can respond, Derek pulls up the sleeve of his jacket, exposing the gunshot wound in his forearm. The bleeding has stopped, but the veins around the wound are dark and twisted, like black vines creeping up toward his elbow. The sight of it makes my stomach turn.
"That looks… infected," I mutter, leaning forward slightly.
Stiles, pacing nervously by the window, freezes at the sight. "Uh, is that contagious? Because I've been stuck in a jeep with him for hours."
Derek glares at Stiles with a look that could melt steel before turning his attention back to me. His face is pale, the veins crawling higher up his arm, but his voice is steady. He points to his wound. "Magic bullet," then points at me. "Magic user. You're Plan B. Plan C is chopping off my arm."
I swallow hard, glancing from the wound back to Derek's face. "I… don't know what to do. Why should I even help you?"
Derek's eyes darken, his jaw clenched in frustration. "Because if you help me, you'll be helping Scott."
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, my defenses instantly going up. I glare at him, the tension in the room palpable. "What makes you think I give a damn about Scott?"
Derek doesn't hesitate, locking eyes with me in that unnerving, knowing way he has. "Because if you didn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation. You wouldn't even be thinking about it."
I open my mouth to fire back, but the words get stuck in my throat. He's not wrong. Damn it, he's not wrong. My mind races, and the frustration I've been bottling up all week starts to surface.
Stiles, sensing the shift in the room, stops pacing and looks between us nervously. "Okay, so, no pressure, but Derek kinda needs to not die. So… are we doing this, or are we going with Plan C, which, for the record, sounds really messy?"
I stand up slowly, running a hand through my hair. "Fine. But I don't promise anything."
Derek relaxes slightly, though he's still watching me with that piercing intensity. I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts, feeling the magic hum beneath my skin, waiting. I've never done anything like this before, but I can't let that stop me now.
"Alright," I say, looking down at Derek's arm. "Let's hope this works."
I take a deep breath, stepping closer to Derek, feeling the weight of what I'm about to do settle in. Healing wasn't something I'd exactly practiced—at least, not on someone who looked like they were on death's doorstep. But as I lay my hand over the wound, I can sense something dark lurking beneath the surface. It's not just a bullet wound; it feels poisonous, like the magic in the bullet is alive, trying to spread and consume him.
"This is going to hurt," I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.
Derek looks at me with those intense eyes, his jaw set. "Just do it."
Without any more hesitation, I place my hand over the wound, trying to remember how Rose repaired my burns the other night. The heat of the magic builds in my palm as I murmur the incantation. "Sana."
For a second, it feels like the wound is knitting itself together, the flesh beginning to mend under my touch.
Stiles, standing by the window, winces. "How long have you been able to do that?" he asks, his voice tinged with nervous humor. "Because I could've used a little of that magic after lacrosse practice."
I don't take my eyes off Derek, but I manage a dry response. "Yeah, well, my magic can't fix a bruised ego."
Stiles opens his mouth, probably to make another sarcastic remark, but Derek's pained growl cuts through the room, silencing him. The veins around the wound are climbing higher, and I feel the magic struggling to hold it at bay. My heart races as I pull my hand back. "This isn't good. I'm texting Rose. She'll know what to do about this."
Pale and shaky, Derek manages a weak, sarcastic, dry laugh. "She'll probably just say they should've put the bullet in my head instead."
Ignoring him, I quickly shoot Rose a message, explaining the situation. I watch the screen anxiously, waiting for the telltale three dots of a response. Nothing. She's read the message, but there's no reply. Great. That's a solid indicator that I'm in over my head.
Before I can even begin to worry about what to do next, Stiles' phone rings. He fumbles it out of his pocket, glancing at Derek before answering. "It's Scott," he mutters, putting the call on speaker.
"Where are you guys?" Scott's voice comes through, filled with urgency.
Stiles glances at Derek, then at me, clearly unsure of how to explain this. "Uh, we made a pit stop at Adrian's. Derek thought—"
Scott cuts him off, sounding more panicked now. "What are you doing there!? I told you I don't want him involved in this!"
I roll my eyes, the irony not lost on me. I glance down at my phone again, still no response from Rose. Perfect.
Stiles shifts uncomfortably. "Uh… well, yeah, but Derek's kinda dying, so…"
Scott's voice crackles through the speaker again, this time more focused. "Take him to the animal clinic."
"The animal clinic?" Stiles asks, incredulous. "What about your boss?"
"He's gone by now. There's a spare key in a box behind the dumpster," Scott replies, his tone clipped.
Before Stiles can answer, I pipe up. "I could just unlock the door, you know." My tone is light, but I wonder why he hasn't thought of that.
Stiles deadpans, "Right. Magic. Of course." He's starting to look even more frazzled, pacing around like he's trying to outrun the stress.
As Derek groans on the couch, I head to the kitchen, grabbing a cold rag and a water bottle. When I return, I gently wipe the blood from Derek's arm, handing him the water. He drinks it gratefully, though I can see in his eyes that it's not helping much. He's clearly in pain, and as much as I hate to admit it, I can't help but feel conflicted about helping him. My mom raised me to help people in need, but I'm not sure where the line is drawn when it comes to werewolves.
Scott's voice echoes through Stiles' phone again. "How the hell am I supposed to find a single bullet in here? They have a million. This house is like a freaking Walmart of guns."
Derek's voice is strained, but he responds through gritted teeth. "If you don't find it… I'm dead."
There's a pause before Scott's voice comes back, quieter but laced with frustration. "I'm starting to think that wouldn't be a bad idea."
Derek's eyes darken. "Then think about this… the Alpha called you out against your will. He's going to do it again. And next time, you'll either kill with him or get killed. And all your friends? They'll be dead too. Find the bullet."
The silence after Scott hangs up is like a ticking time bomb. Derek's in pain, and I can feel it radiating off him like waves of heat. His arm is getting worse—the black veins crawling closer to his shoulder, and I can't ignore the sense of urgency pounding in my chest.
"I can try again," I offer, though I'm not exactly confident. "But… I don't know if it's going to work. I'm still figuring this out."
Derek's eyes lock on mine, and despite the pain, his voice is hard. "Do it."
I kneel beside him, touching the wound, feeling the magic stir inside me. But this time, it feels off—like the energy is fighting me. I push forward anyway, muttering, "Sana."
For a second, it works. His skin starts to heal, but then the magic hits the bullet, and everything goes wrong. The veins start spreading faster, dark and twisted, and Derek lets out a sharp groan, his body tensing from the pain.
"Shit," I mutter, pulling my hand back. This isn't working. The bullet's the problem, and we're running out of time.
I pull out my phone, shooting a quick text to Rose. Still no reply. Great. She's read the message, but she's not responding. Anxiety is clawing at me now.
"We need to get him out of here," I say, standing up and looking at Stiles. "Where's the clinic?"
Stiles blinks, looking frazzled. "Uh, it's not far. A few minutes."
I ignore Derek's attempts to stand on his own and help him up. He grunts in pain but doesn't stop me. "We're going now."
"Wait, why the clinic?" Stiles asks, still trying to catch up.
"Because my mom's going to be home soon, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't want to find a bleeding werewolf in the living room," I snap, my frustration bubbling over.
Stiles doesn't argue, just nods. "Alright, alright. Clinic it is."
The drive feels like it takes forever. Stiles is tearing down the road like we're being chased, and Derek's in the backseat looking like death warmed over. The infection is spreading faster than I thought, and the knot in my stomach is getting worse by the second. I keep glancing back at him, half-expecting him to pass out before we even get there.
When we finally pull up to the Beacon Hills Animal Clinic, something feels off. There's this weird energy in the air, like a pressure pushing against my senses. I don't like it, but we don't have a choice. Stiles grabs the spare key from behind the dumpster, and as soon as we're inside, the animals go nuts—barking, hissing, like they can feel the darkness coming off Derek.
Derek stumbles into the exam room, ripping off his shirt to show the full extent of the damage. The veins are creeping up his chest now, and the infection is spreading fast.
"This is bad," I say, my voice tight as I take in the sight.
Stiles, ever the comic relief, just shakes his head. "Yeah, that's something a Band-Aid and Gatorade aren't gonna fix."
Derek's glare could freeze fire. "If this reaches my heart, I'm dead."
Stiles raises his hands defensively. "Well, not like we're drowning in positivity here."
Derek digs around in one of the drawers and pulls out a bone saw. The sight of it turns my stomach. "If Scott doesn't get here in time, you'll have to cut it off," he says, holding up the saw.
Stiles' face goes pale. "Oh, no, no, no. Cutting off limbs is not in my skill set, dude."
He looks at me, wide-eyed. "Please tell me you have a Plan D."
I stared at the bone saw, my mind racing. "We just need to hold on until Scott gets here. Nobody's cutting anything today."
But the infection spreads fast, and Derek looks worse by the second. Just when I'm about to lose it, the door swings open, and Rose storms in, looking pissed.
"What the hell is going on here?"
Stiles tries to laugh it off, glancing between Derek's wound and Rose. "Oh, you know… just a game of Operation gone horribly wrong."
Rose glares at him. "Cut the crap, Stiles." She turns to me, her voice firm. "Come on, Adrian. We're leaving."
I clench my jaw, shaking my head. "No. They came to me for help, and I'm seeing this through."
She gives me that look—the one that means I'm pushing my luck. "You signed the contract, remember? We don't get involved with night creatures. This isn't our problem."
"Fuck the contract!" I snap, surprising even myself. "I don't care about that right now. I'm staying."
Rose's eyes narrow, and for a second, I think she's going to argue. Instead, she just sighed, frustration clear on her face as she glanced at Derek's arm.
"If that's wolfsbane, he's dead anyway. It's a magical poison. We can't cure it without the source."
Stiles, clearly unimpressed with the doom and gloom, rolls his eyes. "Wow, Rose. You're really the glass-half-full type, huh?"
Rose steps closer to me, her voice quieter now. "We can't get involved, Adrian. We've already done too much. You know what happens if we cross the line."
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," I reply, glancing at Derek. "The hunters won't stop until both our kinds are wiped out. Is that what you want?"
Rose hesitates, clearly torn. "Our job is to preserve the balance. It's not our place to interfere."
I gestured to Derek, who's tying a tourniquet around his arm, desperate to slow the infection. "Is this balance? Being hunted?"
She lowers her eyes, her voice quieter. "It's always been this way."
"Then maybe it's time for a change," I say, feeling my anger rising. "Because standing by and letting people get hunted down is just as bad as pulling the trigger."
Rose sighs, rubbing her temples like she's trying to fight off a headache. "If Aurora finds out—"
"She won't," I cut her off.
Rose lets out a bitter laugh. "She always finds out."
Just then, Derek shoves the bone saw into Stiles' hands, and for a second, he just stares at it like it's a bomb about to go off.
"What if you bleed to death?" Stiles asks, his voice shaky.
"It'll heal if it works," Derek grits out, wincing as he grips the edge of the exam table. "Plus, we've got two witches here. I'm sure they can manage something."
Rose immediately shot that down. "No can do."
Frustration boiled up inside me, and I stepped forward. "Rose, seriously—"
She cut me off, her voice sharp. "There's something wrong with this place. I couldn't even unlock the door with magic."
I blinked, realizing she was right. Now that she mentioned it, the usual buzz of magic was... gone. No energy, no emotions, nothing. The clinic felt like a dead zone. I shot her a look, and she crossed her arms.
"Magic's off the table," she said firmly. "Unless you want to do this outside where everyone can watch."
Stiles, still holding the bone saw like it might bite him, swallowed nervously. "I don't think I can do this."
Derek's patience was already thin. "Why not?"
Stiles flailed his arms, clearly panicking. "The cutting through flesh, the sawing through bone, the blood! Not exactly my thing."
I raised an eyebrow. "You faint at the sight of blood?"
Stiles shook his head, though he didn't seem too sure. "No… but I might faint at the sight of a chopped-off arm."
Derek growled, his voice low and threatening. "Either you cut off my arm, or I rip off your head."
Stiles' eyes widened. "Yeah, I'm not buying your threats anymore."
Derek, not in the mood for jokes, grabbed Stiles by the collar, lifting him a few inches off the ground. Before things could get any worse, Rose sighed heavily and stepped in, grabbing the saw from Stiles.
"Geez, give it here. I'll do it," she muttered.
Derek glared at her. "You're just a girl."
Rose's eyes narrowed, her voice cool and dangerous. "I'm 90 years old, pup. This isn't my first rodeo."
Just as she was about to start, Derek's body jerked violently. He started coughing and choking, his face twisting in pain.
"Oh, that can't be good," Stiles whispered, his voice trembling.
Instead of vomiting, inky black liquid spilled out of Derek's mouth, splattering across the table. His eyes were glowing bright blue, locked onto Rose.
"My body's trying to heal," Derek rasped, struggling to stay conscious.
Rose, clearly unimpressed, braced his arm on the table. "Yeah, doing a bang-up job at that," she muttered. "We need to do this now."
Stiles practically cowered next to me, muttering under his breath, "I don't think I'm ready for this."
Just as Rose raised the saw, the tension in the room snapped as Scott's voice broke through. "Stiles?"
Stiles nearly collapsed in relief. "Oh, thank God!" He ran to Scott, his face lighting up like he'd been rescued from certain death. "You just saved me from a lifetime of nightmares."
Derek, looking worse for wear, glanced at Scott. "Do you have the bullet?"
Rose tossed the saw aside, stepping back as Scott reached into his pocket, pulling out the bullet. He moved to hand it to Derek, but Derek's strength gave out, and he collapsed. The bullet slipped from his hand and rolled straight into a drain.
"You've gotta be kidding me," Stiles groaned, dropping to his knees next to Derek. "Derek? Derek, wake up! Scott, what the hell are we gonna do?"
Scott knelt beside the drain, digging his fingers into the metal grate. "I can't reach it."
Stiles' voice rose, the panic setting in. "I think he's dying!"
Scott clenched his teeth, forcing his claws to extend. It looked painful, but it gave him the reach he needed to grab the bullet from the drain. "I got it!" he said, pulling it free.
Stiles, desperate, slapped Derek lightly. "Please don't kill me for this."
And then he punched Derek square in the face. Derek's eyes snapped open as Stiles winced, cradling his hand.
"Give me the bullet," Derek groaned.
Scott handed it over, watching as Derek cracked it open, dumping the contents onto the table. He pulled out a lighter, setting the wolfsbane on fire before grinding the smoldering ashes into his wound.
The infection burned away with a gut-wrenching howl from Derek as the clinic echoed with the sounds of animals barking and howling in response. The black veins receded, and his wound healed right before our eyes.
"That... was... awesome," Stiles said, wide-eyed.
Scott knelt beside Derek, worry still etched on his face. "You okay?"
"Except for the agonizing pain," Derek muttered, his voice rough.
Stiles smirked. "Well, if you're using sarcasm, that's gotta be a good sign."
Derek pushed himself off the floor, wiping the sweat from his face as he grabbed his shirt. Scott, however, had his eyes on me, and I could already tell what was coming.
"What the hell, Stiles? Why'd you get him involved?" he asked, the edge in his voice clear but not furious.
Stiles threw up his hands defensively. "Not my idea, man! Look at big and angry over there," he said, pointing to Derek like it explained everything.
Derek, completely unfazed by the tension, shrugged off Scott's glare. "Magic versus magic. Seemed like a good idea at the time," he said, glancing my way. "Too bad our little witch here is just a novice."
Before I could react, Rose stepped before me, her eyes blazing as she stared Derek down. "This one isn't," she shot back, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.
Scott, still not done, turned his attention back to me. "Why are you here?" he asked, his tone serious but more exasperated than angry.
I crossed my arms, feeling a mix of frustration and confusion. "They came to me. I was just trying to help," I said, keeping my tone calm.
Scott shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "Well, we saved Derek's life, which means he's leaving us alone now, right?" He turned to Derek, his eyes narrowing. "You got that? Or I'll go straight to Allison's dad and tell him everything."
Derek let out a scoff, completely unbothered by the threat. "You really think the Argents are going to help you? You think you can trust them?"
Scott took a step forward, his frustration simmering just below the surface. "Why not? They're a lot nicer than you."
That's when Rose cut in, her voice cold and steady. "The only good hunter is a dead one."
Derek smirked, giving her a nod of approval. "See? She gets it."
Scott's jaw clenched as he looked between them. "I'm not hurting them."
Rose's expression didn't soften. "Not on purpose. But if they find out about Adrian or me, I won't hesitate to take both of you down."
I could see this was heading into dangerous territory, so I stepped in, my voice firm. "Rose, that's enough. Let's go. We've done what we came for."
She crossed her arms, still glaring at Scott and Derek. "You three have a lot to figure out. Leave us out of it."
Scott turned back to me, his voice softening. "Adrian, wait—"
I glanced between Rose and Derek, feeling the weight of Scott's words. "I said I'd help Derek. That's as far as I go."
Without another word, I followed Rose out the door. Our tension felt almost palpable as soon as we were in the car. Rose gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white.
"Promise me," she said quietly but with a firm edge, "that we're not getting involved in whatever mess they're in."
I nodded, though the guilt gnawed at me. Rose was right—we couldn't get dragged into something like this.
"I promise," I muttered, staring out the window as we pulled away. The clinic faded into the distance, but the feeling of abandoning my friends stayed with me, heavy and hard to ignore.
