Chapter 18: Recovery and Revelations
Two days pass in a blur of forced rest.
Coach brings food every three hours—protein-heavy meals that Rebecca prescribed. Chicken. Eggs. Pasta. He watches me eat, then leaves without comment.
Rebecca checks my vitals twice a day. Monitors my sleep schedule. Confiscates my phone at night to prevent late-night research binges.
I sleep sixteen hours the first day. Fourteen the second.
When I finally wake up clear-headed, my phone has thirty-seven notifications.
Scott: Are you okay? Coach won't let anyone visit.
Stiles: Dude. Seriously. Are you dying? Because if you're dying, I need to know so I can panic appropriately.
Derek: Confirmed Peter's identity. We need to talk.
I scroll through them all, guilt twisting in my gut. They were worried. And I was too stubborn to admit I needed rest.
I text back: I'm fine. Just needed sleep. Catch me up?
Stiles responds immediately: GROUP MEETING. My house. Tonight. Be there or I'm dragging you out myself.
I'll be there.
Coach appears in my doorway. "You look less like death."
"Thanks."
"Your mom cleared you for light activity. Emphasis on LIGHT. That means no supernatural bullshit for at least a week."
"Coach—"
"Non-negotiable." He sets down a plate. More food. "Now eat. And then we're going to have a conversation about healthy boundaries."
The garage that evening is cool and quiet.
Coach said no supernatural activities. He didn't say no training.
Semantic difference. Important distinction.
I stand in the center of the concrete floor, hands outstretched. Focus on the tingling sensation—my aura, leaking constantly.
Control it. Shape it. Don't force it.
The shimmer appears around my hands. Faint. Barely visible. But there.
I hold it. Ten seconds. Fifteen.
The fatigue hits, but it's manageable. Not the crushing exhaustion from before. Just the normal cost of using Nen.
Twenty seconds. The shimmer holds.
At twenty-five, it flickers out. I lower my hands, breathing hard but satisfied.
Progress.
"What IS that?"
I turn. Coach is standing in the doorway, arms crossed.
"Energy manipulation," I say. "Kind of."
"That's not a real answer."
"It's the best one I have."
He studies me. "That's what's been exhausting you. Using whatever... that is."
"Partly."
"And you can't stop using it."
"People need me to."
Coach sighs. Walks over. Sets down water and a granola bar on the workbench.
"Pace yourself, kid. Whatever you're fighting, it's not worth dying over."
"They're my friends."
"And you're my kid." He heads back toward the door. Pauses. "That means something. To me. To your mother. Remember that."
He leaves. I sit down, legs shaking from the Nen practice.
My kid.
He keeps saying it. Like he's trying to convince himself. Or me.
Maybe both.
Stiles' house is chaos.
Scott is pacing. Derek is on Skype, camera angled so we can see his scowl but not much else. Stiles is surrounded by papers, energy drink in hand.
"Okay," Stiles says. "Let's review. Peter Hale is the Alpha. Confirmed?"
"Confirmed," Derek says through the laptop speakers.
"And he's been awake—conscious and aware—for at least a year."
"Based on Adam's abilities, yes."
Stiles turns to me. "How sure are you?"
"One hundred percent. The emotional signature was unmistakable."
Scott stops pacing. "So what's his endgame?"
"Revenge," Derek says. "Against Kate. Against everyone who let the fire happen."
"That's a lot of people," Stiles mutters.
"Which is why he's building a pack. He needs soldiers."
"And Scott is his primary target."
Derek nods grimly. "New wolves are easier to manipulate. Especially ones without guidance."
Scott's face goes pale. "So he's been hunting me this whole time."
"Not hunting. Recruiting. The attacks, the full moon visit—all of it was designed to isolate you. Make you desperate enough to accept his offer."
"Which I'm not going to do."
"Good. Because if you did, he'd use you to kill Kate. Then dispose of you."
The room goes quiet.
"We need to stop him," I say. "Before he hurts anyone else."
"Easier said than done," Derek says. "Peter's powerful. Experienced. And insane."
"Then we stack the odds."
Stiles pulls up hospital records on his laptop. "Look at this. Peter's 'miraculous recovery' started exactly one year ago. His doctors called it impossible—brain activity returning, motor function improving. But it wasn't a miracle. It was the Alpha healing."
"He bit himself," Scott says slowly. "Became the Alpha while comatose."
"Probably killed his previous Alpha first," Derek adds. "Absorbed the power. Then spent months healing enough to move."
"That's horrifying."
"That's Peter."
My phone buzzes. Unknown number.
I'm watching. -K
Kate.
I show the screen to the group.
"She's surveilling us," Derek says. "Probably has been for weeks."
"Why?"
"Because she knows something's happening. And she's trying to figure out who the Alpha is before we do."
Stiles groans. "So we're racing against a psychotic hunter to stop a psychotic werewolf from committing mass murder. Great. This is fine."
"We need proof," I say. "Something concrete that ties Peter to the attacks."
"Or we set a trap," Derek suggests.
"And risk getting killed?"
"It's better than waiting for him to kill someone else."
School the next day feels different.
Jackson corners me and Scott in the parking lot, phone in hand.
"What are you two hiding?"
He shoves the phone at us. Photos. Dozens of them. Scott and me at the Hale house. In the preserve. Talking to Derek.
My Haki reads him—jealousy, desperation, confusion. He's been following us. Trying to understand why Scott suddenly matters when he doesn't.
"Delete those," I say quietly.
"Or what?"
Scott steps forward. His eyes flash gold.
Jackson freezes. The phone slips from his hand.
"What—"
He stumbles back. Terrified. Runs.
"Shit," Scott mutters. "He saw."
"Yeah."
Across the parking lot, Kate Argent is sitting in her car. Watching.
She saw too.
Bigger problem.
I pull Scott toward my car. "We need to tell Derek. Now."
"This is bad, right?"
"This is very bad."
We drive away. Kate follows at a distance.
The trap is closing. And we're running out of time.
That night, Coach finds me staring at the ceiling.
"Can't sleep?"
"Not really."
He sits on the edge of my bed. "You want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
"Fair enough." He pats my shoulder. "Just... remember what I said. Pace yourself. The world can end tomorrow."
"What if it does?"
Coach smiles. "Then at least you'll be rested."
It's absurd enough to make me laugh.
He leaves. I close my eyes.
Tomorrow, we confront Peter. Stop the Alpha. Save everyone.
Or die trying.
But tonight, I sleep.
And for once, the nightmares stay away.
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