Chapter 23: The Body Count
The ER at Beacon Hills Memorial is chaos.
Three victims in the last twenty-four hours. All with identical injuries—claw marks across the chest, deep but not fatal. Precision strikes designed to terrorize, not kill.
Rebecca and Melissa work side by side, stitching wounds that shouldn't exist outside of horror movies.
"This is the third one this week," Rebecca says, cleaning a gash on a construction worker's arm. "Same pattern. Same claw radius."
Melissa nods, focused on her own patient. "The paramedics say they all worked on the Hale property demolition six years ago."
"That's not a coincidence."
"No. It's not."
They work in silence for a while. Then Rebecca sets down her instruments.
"My son knows something about this."
Melissa looks up. "So does mine."
"And they're not telling us."
"Because they think we can't handle it."
Rebecca pulls off her gloves. "After this shift, we talk. Really talk. No more dancing around this."
Melissa's expression hardens with resolve. "Agreed."
School without Adam feels off-balance.
Stiles is at his locker when Lydia Martin appears beside him. She's not smiling.
"Where's Greenburg?"
"Sick."
"He's never sick."
"Everyone gets sick eventually."
Lydia pulls out a folder. Opens it. Charts and graphs spill out—statistical analysis, correlation maps, timelines.
"Animal attacks correlating with your group's activities. Scott's sudden athletic prowess. Jackson's breakdown. Adam's unexplained absences." She taps the data. "What's really happening?"
Stiles' mouth goes dry. "You made... a chart?"
"I made seventeen charts."
"That's... thorough."
"What's happening, Stiles?"
"You wouldn't believe me."
"I'm a straight-A student with a 167 IQ. Try me."
Stiles looks around the hallway. Lowers his voice. "If I tell you, you can't tell anyone. And you have to promise not to freak out."
"I don't make promises I can't keep."
"Fair." He takes a breath. "There's a werewolf. Actually, multiple werewolves. One's killing people. One's trying to stop him. And we're caught in the middle."
Lydia stares at him. "Jackson saw something. The night he ended up in the hospital. He won't tell me what, but he's been having nightmares."
"Yeah. He saw Scott shift."
"And Adam? What's his role in this?"
"Honestly? We're still figuring that out."
Lydia closes her folder. "I want in."
"What?"
"Whatever you're doing—I want to help. I'm smarter than all of you combined, and you clearly need adult supervision."
Despite everything, Stiles smiles. "You're terrifying."
"I know."
I wake up to find words carved into Derek's wall.
THE ALPHA WANTS A PACK. JOIN OR BURN.
The letters are deep. Precise. Cut with claws while we slept.
Derek is standing in front of the message, fists clenched. Scott and Stiles are on the couch, staring in horror.
"He was here," Scott says.
"While we were sleeping," Derek adds. "He could've killed us. All of us. But he chose not to."
I extend my Haki, searching for residual emotional imprints. The presence lingers like smoke—Peter's rage, cold and calculated. But underneath it, something else.
Loneliness.
"He wants family," I say.
Everyone turns to look at me.
"Peter doesn't just want revenge. He wants a pack. People who understand him. People who won't abandon him."
"So he's killing people to build a family?" Stiles asks. "That's the worst recruitment strategy ever."
"He's insane," Derek says quietly. "The fire broke him. He's not rational anymore."
"Then we stop him," Scott says. "Before he hurts anyone else."
"Or before Kate does it first," I add. "And then comes for us."
Derek's expression darkens. "We have seventy-two hours. After that, either Peter makes his move or Kate does. We need to be ready."
My phone buzzes. Then Scott's. Then Stiles'.
Multiple texts, all variations of the same message: Family meeting. Tonight. No excuses.
The parents know. Or suspect enough to demand answers.
"We're screwed," Stiles mutters.
"Maybe not," I say. "Maybe it's time to tell them the truth."
"The whole truth?"
"Enough of it."
The Stilinski house feels smaller with all the parents inside.
Sheriff Stilinski sits at the head of the dining table, arms crossed. Melissa is beside him, looking exhausted. Rebecca and Coach flank the other side.
We're standing. Like defendants awaiting sentencing.
"Sit," the Sheriff says.
We sit.
Long silence. The adults exchange glances—some pre-planned signal.
"We've compared notes," the Sheriff begins. "The lies. The injuries. The timing with these attacks. We're not stupid."
Rebecca turns to me. "The healing, Adam. I'm a doctor. I know what's medically possible. What you're doing isn't."
Coach leans forward. "I've been covering for you for weeks. Lying to your mother. Lying to my colleagues. I need to know what I'm covering for."
More silence. We exchange glances.
Stiles breaks first. "You're going to think we're insane."
"Try us," Melissa says.
Scott takes a breath. Stands. His eyes flash gold.
Melissa gasps. Her hand goes to her mouth. But she doesn't run. Doesn't scream.
"I'm a werewolf," Scott says quietly. "I got bitten. I didn't choose this. But it's real. And there's an Alpha killing people. We're trying to stop him."
The Sheriff looks at Stiles. "And you?"
"Human. Just criminally involved with supernatural drama."
Rebecca turns to me. "Adam?"
"Not a werewolf. Something else." I pause. Choose my words carefully. "I heal fast. Sense things. It has to do with my biological father. With what happened to him."
Rebecca's face crumbles. Tears form. "Your father—"
"Something supernatural killed him. Or changed him. I inherited it."
Coach laughs. It's borderline hysterical. "So when you said you were helping a friend with a medical condition—"
"I meant a werewolf with anger management issues."
"Of course. OF COURSE."
Silence settles again. The parents process. The Sheriff rubs his face. Melissa is crying quietly. Rebecca stares at her hands.
Then Melissa asks the only question that matters: "Are you in danger?"
"Yes," Scott says.
"From what?"
"An Alpha werewolf. Peter Hale. He's killing people connected to his family's death. And he wants to force me into his pack."
"That's a police matter—" the Sheriff starts.
"Dad. You can't arrest a werewolf."
Long pause.
"Valid point."
Rebecca stands. Walks over to me. Pulls me into a hug so tight I can barely breathe.
"What do you need?" she asks. "From us?"
"Alibis. Medical care. Trust."
The parents exchange looks. Some unspoken communication.
Coach stands. "I'm already in. These kids are idiots, but they're our idiots."
"I'm not losing my son," Melissa says.
"Or mine," Rebecca adds.
The Sheriff sighs. "This is insane. But... I'm in. Officially off-the-record in."
Relief crashes over me. They know. They believe us. And they're helping.
The alliance is forged.
Walking home, Coach and I move in comfortable silence.
Then he asks: "Your real dad. What really happened to him?"
I choose my words carefully. "Something supernatural. I don't know exactly what. But whatever touched him, it changed him. And I inherited it."
"You could've told me sooner."
"I didn't know how."
Coach stops. Puts a hand on my shoulder. "You're my kid. Biological, supernatural, whatever. You're mine. And I protect what's mine."
My throat tightens. "Thanks, Coach."
"Don't thank me. Just don't die."
"I'll try."
"Try harder."
Rebecca is waiting at home with food, medical supplies, and tears.
She hugs me again. Longer this time.
"I should've seen it," she says. "The healing. The injuries. I'm a doctor. I should've known."
"You knew something was wrong. That's enough."
"Is it?"
"Yeah."
She pulls back. Studies my face. "Your father. I think he knew. Before he died. He told me once that something was watching him. Following him. I thought it was paranoia. But it was real, wasn't it?"
"Probably."
"And now it's your burden."
"I'm handling it."
"Are you?"
"I'm trying."
She cups my face. "Then let us help. All of us. You don't have to carry this alone."
For the first time since waking up in this universe, I feel like maybe I don't have to.
Maybe I have a family after all.
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