The next morning, the hallways of Beacon Hills High buzzed with chatter and lockers slamming. Asher adjusted his backpack, trying to shake off the lingering shock from last night.
Scott… His eyes locked on the familiar figure walking casually with Stiles, no hint of injury, his arm perfectly fine. Asher's mind raced. That was him—the one whose forearm had been pierced by an arrow, the same figure that had jumped on his car.
Questions swirled in his head. Why was Scott shirtless, moving like that in the forest? Why were men trying to kill him? What was really going on?
Asher let out a slow breath, trying to calm himself. Maybe it was better to stay out of it, focus on his own life. But curiosity gnawed at him, sharp and relentless. He needed to know.
He walked toward his locker, still lost in thought, when suddenly a wave of murmurs and gasps rippled through the hall. Asher turned, instinctively.
And then he saw her.
Erica.
But she wasn't the same Erica he knew. Gone was the shy, innocent girl who had trembled in front of Madison and the others. Now she moved with the kind of confidence that made heads turn. Every step was deliberate, every glance commanding. She was… fierce, undeniably sexy, like a predator aware of her power.
Asher's jaw fell. What… happened? Where did my… little Erica go?
He pushed through the crowd, determined. "Hey, Erica—"
But before he could reach her, she brushed past him, her hand pushing against his chest as if he were nothing more than a nuisance. She didn't break stride, didn't even glance back.
What… Asher's mind reeled. Shock, confusion, and hurt collided inside him. Everything had been fine yesterday. Everything had been… perfect. Was it because he had cancelled the date? Had he ruined everything?
"Sable…"
The familiar drawl of Jackson's voice cut through Asher's thoughts. Jackson leaned against the locker next to him, smirking. "Move from my locker."
"Ah… sorry…" Asher muttered, stepping aside, cheeks burning with embarrassment. He had no fight left in him for Jackson's small insults.
As he walked away, the whispers followed him. The students' eyes lingered, some curious, some amused. The new hottest guy in school—the one everyone had started noticing yesterday—had just been shut down.
Jackson chuckled under his breath. "Loser…"
Asher kept his head down, heart pounding. But deep inside, one thought refused to leave him: Erica… what did I do?
...
The lacrosse changing room was loud with shouts, sneakers squeaking on the floor, and the occasional clang of sticks against lockers. Asher pulled on his uniform, his movements automatic. His mind, however, was clouded with thoughts of Erica. He still couldn't understand why she had pushed him away before.
What happened to her?
A sharp whistle cut through the chatter.
Training's starting…
...
The team filed onto the field, the crisp air smelling faintly of freshly cut grass. Today's drill was 1v1—one charged at the goal, the other defended in front of the net. The players lined up, anticipation and competitiveness crackling in the air.
Asher's turn to attack came quickly.
Whistle!
He sprinted toward the goal, mind racing with thoughts of Erica, of last night, of confusion. Jackson stood in front of the net.
Asher charged—and Jackson met him head-on, pushing him to the ground.
Asher hit the turf and barely flinched. His mind wasn't on the drill anymore. Erica…
"Sable! What are you doing?!" Coach Finstock bellowed. "I swear even my grandma could have done better! And she's dead!"
"Sorry, coach…" Asher muttered, rising slowly.
"Where are you going?! Try again—" Coach Finstock shouted, but Jackson interrupted, a smug grin on his face. "Let him be, Coach. He's a little girl that cries when his girlfriend doesn't want him anymore…"
As Asher returned to the line, his fist tightened. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth.
Stiles, standing nearby and waiting for his turn, eyed Asher with suspicion. He's acting… weird. Stiles' curiosity about Asher's strange behavior deepened.
...
"McCall!" Coach Finstock barked suddenly, pointing toward Jackson. "I said go!"
Scott snapped to reality. He gripped the stick tightly, eyes fixed on Jackson.
Whistle!
He charged—and, just like Asher, Jackson sent him sprawling to the ground.
"Sure you want to stay in the first team?" Jackson sneered.
"Seriously, what's happening today?! Why does everyone run like a little girl!" Coach Finstock shouted in frustration.
Scott got to his feet.
"McCall! Are you a little girl?!" the coach demanded.
"No, coach," Scott muttered, head lowered.
"Do you think you can run faster than my paralyzed cousin?" the coach pressed.
"Yes, coach…" Scott's voice trembled with rage. His eyes flickered golden, subtle but undeniable.
"I can't hear you!" Finstock barked.
"Yes, coach!" Scott's voice rang louder, eyes shining bright gold.
"Okay, then…" The coach motioned. "Do it again."
Scott clenched his fists and retrieved the ball from the net, positioning himself. The anger radiating off him made the hairs on Asher's neck stand.
"McCall tries it again! McCall tries it again!" the coach shouted, voice cracking with excitement and disbelief.
Whistle!
Scott bolted. As Jackson moved to block him, Scott executed a precise, forceful tackle, sending Jackson flying backward to the ground. Pain shot through Jackson's shoulder.
Scott immediately collapsed to his knees, clutching his head.
Stiles bolted forward, concern etched across his face, rushing to Scott's side. The team surrounded Jackson, whose shoulder hung awkwardly from the tackle.
Asher's eyes narrowed. Stiles was getting Scott somewhere.
Quietly, without drawing attention, Asher slipped away from the chaos and began following Stiles and Scott. Curiosity gnawed at him, sharp and relentless.
To be continued...
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How was this chapter? Liked it?
Also, I've decided I don't wanna focus only on the MC, I'll be focusing on more characters, deepening their stories, making them stronger (already got a couple of good ideas). Also, I'll be making some new arcs, so if you have any mythological creature you would like in this fic, I'll be more than happy to hear it out.