Evelyn's house never really felt like a house should have.
From the outside, it looked normal enough — a narrow beige home with peeling shutters and a tiny porch. But stepping inside was like crossing into a greenhouse someone had forgotten to stop growing. Ivy crawled over the ceiling beams like veins, fern fronds spilled from shelves, and pots of plants crowded every surface, reaching toward the light like curious eyes.
The air smelled of damp soil, sage, and a sweetness that never quite disappeared — like honey left on a warm altar.
Evelyn had never invited anyone over. One look at the living room and they'd think her family lived in a botanical crypt.
Her mother was kneeling barefoot on the rug, whispering to a vine that wrapped itself lovingly around her wrist. She stroked its leaves carefully, like one would pet a cat.
"You can reveal yourself only to an Alpha," her mother said without turning, voice soft but sharp as she inspected a new bud. "How many times have I told you that?"
"Hundreds," Evelyn muttered under her breath.
Her mother's head snapped up — quick, feline.
"What was that?"
"I know," Evelyn said louder, stepping closer and brushing a hanging tendril out of her mother's face. "But Derek Hale was dying from an ashwood bullet. What was I supposed to do?" She crossed her arms, bracing for the lecture.
"Is he an Alpha?" her mother asked.
Evelyn blinked, exasperated. "How was I supposed to know?! He was dying, so I helped."
Her mother stood, dusting soil from her hands. "We do not draw attention to ourselves. It is dangerous."
Evelyn forced herself not to roll her eyes.
"I'll be fine, Mom."
A skeptical brow lifted. "Do you predict the future now?"
Evelyn couldn't stop the curious spark that lit up inside her.
"Wait—can I do that?"
"No." Her mother didn't even look at her when she answered, instead turning back to stroke the vine affectionately. Evelyn sighed. Never once had this woman sugar-coated anything in her life.
People at school whispered that Mrs. Wood had lightning in her veins.
Some days, Evelyn agreed.
"You revealed yourself to two werewolves and a vampire," her mother continued, shivering slightly. "Vile things, vampires."
Well… she wasn't totally wrong. Vampires did kill people.
"Deaton told me she's part of the Hale pack," Evelyn said. She still remembered being forced to take a wooden stake to school the day her mother realized Scarlett wasn't human.
"Study the creatures. Never trust them," her mother recited, like a mantra carved into her bones.
"What a model Emissary you are," Evelyn muttered.
"I never wanted to be one," her mother answered calmly. "Keeping my distance keeps me from the fate of a Darach."
Evelyn groaned, frustrated. "I really don't care about that. Can I just go?"
Her mother lifted a hand — not to stop her, but in a gesture that said wait.
"Come here," she ordered.
With a dramatic sigh, Evelyn obeyed, stepping closer.
Her mother reached into the pocket of her long, earth-stained skirt and pulled out a small necklace — a thin silver chain holding a delicate glass ampoule, sealed with a metal cap. The glass shimmered faintly in the filtered, greenish light of the house.
"What is it?" Evelyn asked, cautious.
"A gift," her mother answered, lips curling into a strange little smirk.
"I can see that," Evelyn said, raising a brow. "But why?"
"Because your identity is known to too many," her mother replied, fastening the chain around Evelyn's neck with cold fingers. "And a dangerous Alpha stalks the night. I won't have my daughter torn apart by claws in the dark."
"Great," Evelyn said dryly. "Thanks for the nightmares."
She touched the ampoule, feeling its cool surface against her skin. It was… oddly comforting.
"For all they know," she muttered, "I'm as nerdy as Stiles Stilinski."
Her mother paused — then whispered to the nearest potted plant, delicately touching its leaves. "She doesn't listen, does she, Crystal?"
Evelyn rolled her eyes. "She can hear just fine. If you want to talk behind my back, at least wait until I leave the house."
The door creaked shut behind her as Evelyn stepped out of the greenhouse she called home. The morning air was crisp, heavy with the scent of oncoming rain. She slid into her car — a beat-up rust-colored Golf that somehow still clung to life — and slammed the door shut with a dull thud.
For a second, she just sat there, her fingers resting on the steering wheel, staring out at the street as a few early leaves swirled past the windshield.
She could still feel the ampoule against her chest — cold, smooth, and slightly humming, as if it remembered things she didn't yet know. Her mother's warnings echoed faintly in her mind, twisted up with old phrases and grim family rules that felt more like shackles than teachings.
"All that matters is tradition."
"An Emissary must always remain neutral."
"Know the supernatural. But never let it know you."
It had always been like that. Plants before parties. Sigils before sleepovers.
And yet, here she was — already tangled in something she hadn't asked for.
She turned the key in the ignition, and the engine grumbled to life like it hated the idea of movement. Evelyn backed out of the driveway, the tires crunching over gravel and scattered leaves.
The school wasn't far, but her thoughts drifted as she drove — not toward homework or math tests, but toward that night.
The hospital.
Evelyn bit the inside of her cheek, her fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel as she drove. She thought back to Derek and Scott, both scraped up and tense, standing in front of the glowing doors of Beacon Hills Memorial.
She hadn't gone in. She stayed in the car, pretending to answer a text on her phone while watching them disappear inside.
But she knew.
Or at least, she thought she did.
Peter Hale. The Alpha who never woke up. Deaton had told her he was there, catatonic, alive but not living — a ghost made of flesh. Evelyn had nodded like it was just another fact about the supernatural, like it didn't make her skin crawl.
She didn't want to be part of that world.
Not really.
Dragged into all this even before the first day of school, she thought bitterly.
Her mother's side of the family had always been full of whispers and rituals. The women were all Emissaries, going back generations — some powerful, some turned dark and forever forgotten.
For years, Evelyn had thought it was all folklore. Herbs and prayers. Moon phases and protection jars. Strange words written in plant ink.
Then Deaton showed up. And with him, a world she couldn't ignore.
Her mother hated that world.
"Everyone who gets too close to it ends up consumed," she would say, over and over.
And yet, she listened to Deaton. She followed his advice.
"Family tradition is what matters," Evelyn thought, pulling up to the school curb. "A curse dressed as a legacy."
She was turning off the ignition when the most dangerous thought crept in:
But if you hate it so much, why are you still so drawn to it?
She didn't want to be part of that world. She didn't want to memorize every deadly herb, or know the names of wolf packs, or understand the runes carved in mountain ash.
But every time she learned something new, every time she peeked behind the curtain — something inside her lit up.
A spark she couldn't smother.
"For now, I study. The rest can wait," she whispered to herself, fingers brushing the cool glass of the ampoule around her neck.
She stepped out of the car, slinging her backpack over one shoulder. Her hair still smelled faintly of sage and moss. The school loomed ahead, ordinary and gray — but this was Beacon Hills.
And here, the line between normal and supernatural was as thin as morning mist.
And Evelyn walked right along its edge.
The fluorescent lights of Room 104 buzzed faintly above Evelyn's head, washing the walls in a pale, sterile glow. The whiteboard was covered in red and blue markers, a chaotic tangle of grammar rules and half-finished sentence diagrams.
English Lit.
Of course it had to be English Lit.
Mr. Baer was droning on about the symbolism of fire in Fahrenheit 451, but Evelyn wasn't listening.
She was staring out the window, her pen idle in her hand, letting the familiar hum of classroom life wash over her. The steady scratching of pencils. The occasional cough. And—
"Did you hear? It was a mountain lion."
The words pulled her back into the room.
"Yeah, Lydia and Jackson almost got ripped apart."
"I've heard it was bigger than a car."
Evelyn didn't look at them. She didn't need to. The group two rows behind her — loud, excited, whispering like they were retelling the plot of a horror movie — had no idea what they were talking about.
Mountain lion.
Sure.
Just like the bus driver had been attacked by a mountain lion.
Just like the clerk at the DVD store.
Now Jackson and Lydia too...
Evelyn's jaw tightened.
You know that's not what it was.
Clara would've said something sarcastic if she were there, but she hadn't come to school that morning. Evelyn had seen the unread message from her around 7 a.m.
Too freaked out. Staying home. Sorry.
And maybe she did the right thing. The situation was getting crazier.
Stay out of it, she told herself. But was it possible? Or maybe the Alpha would come and get everyone one day.
What was it looking for, by the way? Why killing so many people? He must have been very angry, because wolf packs usually minded their own business, most of the time...
Stay out of it! she yelled at herself. She needed to stop thinking about this situation.
"I'm sorry, sir," she said, raising her hand.
"Yes, Evelyn?" Mr. Baer asked, turning from the board.
"Can I go to the bathroom?" The professor didn't bother her at all, and he let her go.
Evelyn really needed to have some time to herself. She needed to stop her mind from spiraling in her own thoughts. It was just that all of that situation with the Alpha was piquing her curiosity. That was not usual Alpha behavior, and where was its pack?
But also, this Alpha wasn't very smart, getting so much attention with all those Argents around. Didn't it know them? Was it a new Alpha?
That does not make any sense, she said to herself, before the sound of steps made her look toward the stairs. Her eyes widened in wonder, seeing Derek Hale just standing there. Always with his leather jacket, and hard stare.
"What are you doing here?" Evelyn asked, crossing her arms as she curiously looked at him.
Derek flashed a clear fake smile. "I'm just leaving," he said, but as he moved, she put herself in front of him.
"Were you looking for someone?" she asked, tilting her head to the side. "Is it about the Alpha? Is it about Scott?" His fake smile disappeared, and in its place appeared a hard stare.
"What are you?" he asked, stepping closer. His tone was low, rough — the kind of sound that made her think he might growl any second.
"I'm just a student," she answered, keeping her gaze locked on his. "You should sense that I'm not lying."
She knew he could. And he did. The faint flicker of surprise in his eyes gave him away, though the sharp suspicion didn't leave his face. His jaw stayed tight, the muscle ticking as he studied her.
"Whatever you are," he said finally, his voice dropping lower, "I don't trust you."
Evelyn tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "I've never asked you to."
That earned her a blink — and the faintest frown. He wasn't used to people talking back to him. She stepped past him, her shoulder brushing his arm just enough to make him stiffen. "But don't hurt my friend, Derek."
He didn't reply, but she could feel the weight of his stare on her back.
"What do you know about the Alpha?" His voice stopped her mid-step — sharp, cutting through the empty hall.
What did she know?
Evelyn turned slowly. "Nothing," she said. Her tone was calm, but her pulse quickened when she heard his footsteps close in — heavy, purposeful, like a predator closing distance.
Her fingers went to the small ampoule around her neck. In one smooth motion, she uncorked it. The faint smell of sorb ash filled the air.
Derek halted instantly, his nostrils flaring. His eyes dropped to the vial.
"That is—"
"Ashwood," she interrupted softly. "I know creatures like you don't like it very much."
He bared his teeth in something that wasn't quite a smile. A low growl rumbled in his chest — deep, warning — and then his eyes flashed.
Not golden. Not red.
Blue.
Evelyn froze. For a heartbeat, she forgot to breathe.
She had read about wolves with glowing eyes — the color tied to power, to rank — but never blue. The shade was cold and electric, too human and too broken all at once.
"Stay out of this. You're just going to hurt yourself," he said, his voice rough with something that wasn't anger.
"I'll take my chances," she whispered, her hand still steady around the ampoule, but her mind racing.
He watched her a second longer, then turned away without another word — leaving her standing there, heart pounding, the image of those blue eyes burning behind her eyelids.
And she kept thinking about those eyes for the entire day. A werewolf with blue eyes. What did it mean?
With these thoughts the last bell rang, sharp and final, echoing down the empty halls like a sigh of relief.
She slung her bag over her shoulder, tucking her notebook away without bothering to organize the rest. She needed air — and maybe something stronger than herbal tea tonight. As she stepped into the hallway, fluorescent lights hummed overhead, the building slowly emptying around her like it was exhaling students one by one.
Her boots echoed on the tile as she moved toward the front entrance.
She almost reached the doors when a voice — fast, familiar, and slightly out of breath — caught her attention.
"Hey! Evelyn—wait up!"
She turned, surprised.
Stiles jogged toward her, his bag bouncing on his shoulder, a few papers nearly spilling from an unzipped folder. His usual chaotic energy trailed behind him like static.
Evelyn blinked.
"Hey, is everything alright?" she asked, but he shook his head.
"No, nothing is alright," he answered with exasperation. "The mess with the mountain lion thing. Lydia disappeared, Jackson looks like he's been hit by a truck, Scarlett didn't come to school, and Scott hangs up on me like nothing is happening!"
"And what can I do for you?" she asked, confused.
"Oh, come on!" he exclaimed. "You know something, and don't think I'll let your 'I just know about creatures of the night' explanation slide."
"I've told you all I know," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
"'I just like movies and books'? And you expect me to believe that?" he asked, eyes wide.
"Well," she shrugged, "how did you come to know about those things?"
He blinked for a few seconds. "From… movies and books."
She smiled. "See?"
But he shook his head.
"I don't see anything!" Stiles argued. "But now I've got other things to do. Can you help me?" Evelyn frowned, confused.
"What should I do?"
Stiles let out a frustrated breath.
"Have you all been hit by a brick today? God!" he said, before walking past her toward the exit.
She felt a little bad about it, but she really didn't want to get involved in all of that.
Just as Stiles disappeared through the doors, a loud thud echoed from the end of the hallway — the unmistakable crash of books hitting the floor.
Evelyn turned instinctively.
A few members of the lacrosse team were laughing as they walked away, not even bothering to glance back. On the ground, half-buried under a pile of notebooks and scattered pages, knelt a girl Evelyn vaguely recognized.
She didn't remember her name, but maybe it was Irene.
She was the kind of girl people didn't really see. Always at the edge of things, always quiet — like background noise you only noticed when it stopped.
Her dark hair hung like a curtain over her face as she scrambled to gather her books, fingers trembling slightly.
Evelyn frowned and walked toward her without thinking. "Hey," she said softly, crouching down to help. "You okay?"
Irene didn't answer at first. Her hands kept moving, eyes darting around as if trying to piece together something more important than fallen textbooks.
"Thanks," she whispered eventually, her voice barely audible.
They worked in silence for a few seconds. Then, just as Evelyn handed over the last notebook, Irene's fingers closed over it — and stilled.
"There's more than one," Irene murmured. Her voice was flatter, distant, as if she were speaking in a dream. "The cleansing... The fire it all starts from the fire."
Evelyn froze.
"What?"
Irene blinked. Her gaze sharpened like she was waking up. "What?" she echoed, confused, one of her hands went to her forehead.
Evelyn opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Irene stood, hugging her books to her chest. "I-- I should go," she said quietly, and without another word, she turned and hurried down the corridor.
Evelyn watched her disappear around the corner, unease twisting in her stomach.