The morning light slipped through the curtains in thin, pale ribbons, soft and almost innocent against the memory of the night before. Evelyn woke slowly, with the lingering sensation of something vast still humming faintly beneath her skin. For a suspended moment she lay still in her bed, staring at the ceiling.
There was still a trace of it inside her, like warmth resting low in her chest, and despite everything her mother had said, despite the warning threaded into her silence, Evelyn felt a flicker of something dangerously close to euphoria.
But it didn't last long...
Maybe that was what her mother feared? That sensation... that feeling...
The warmth inside her didn't vanish, but it cooled into something more thoughtful, more cautious. Maybe she should have told Deaton. Maybe she he could help her understand what she had done... and how and why she felt like that after.
Her phone vibrated softly on the nightstand. She rolled onto her side and glanced at the screen. Clara. Several messages stacked one after the other, probably about the Winter Formal, probably about Michael, probably about something loud and normal and harmless. But this time Evelyn didn't open them.
She pushed the blankets back and slid out of bed, pulling a loose sweater over her sleep shirt before heading downstairs. The house was quiet in that early-morning way that made everything feel suspended. She slowed slightly as she reached the living room, eyes immediately finding the couch.
Derek was still there, where they had layed him down the night before. And he was still asleep.
He lay on his back, one arm fallen loosely at his side, breathing deeper than it had been the night before. The color in his face had improved.
She stepped closer, careful to not make too much noise. The memory of the wound flashed through her mind—the four puncture stopping in it's bleeding after what she did.
Evelyn crouched slightly beside the couch, reaching toward the hem of his shirt, intending to lift it just enough to see whether the flesh had continued to knit overnight. She really wished to know...
Her fingers had barely brushed the fabric when his hand shot up and clamped around her wrist. The movement was fast and instinctive. His grip wasn't full strength, but it was firm against her skin.
And his eyes were open, glaring at her.
"You can relax," Evelyn said evenly, though her pulse had jumped at the suddenness of his grip. "I was just checking your wounds."
Derek didn't release her immediately. He just watched her, green eyes alert despite the remnants of sleep, his jaw tight in that permanently guarded way he seemed to wear like armor. There was tension in his hand, not quite threatening though.
"Can you please let me go?" she added, lifting her brows slightly. "So we can be quick about it."
They held each other's gaze another second, something unspoken passing between them—mistrust on his side, stubborn patience on hers—before his fingers loosened and dropped away.
She exhaled quietly, flexing her wrist once before focusing back on what she had intended to do. Derek Hale was, she had decided, an exceptionally strange person. Always coiled, always braced for impact. But then again, she couldn't entirely blame him. Six years ago his entire family had burned. He had been barely more than a boy. A life like that didn't exactly cultivate trust.
She lifted the hem of his shirt carefully.
The wounds that had been deep, brutal punctures the night before were no longer gaping. The flesh had pulled itself together in thin, dark lines that looked more like aggressive scratches than near-fatal injuries. But they were closed.
Practically healed.
Her breath caught faintly.
Before she could say anything, the house phone began to ring from the kitchen. The sound cut sharply through the quiet room. She glanced toward it instinctively, then back at Derek.
He was observing her, silently but intentively. "What are you?" he asked.
Evelyn didn't divert her gaze, "I told you," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "I'm just a student."
"A student that was able to heal an Alpha's wound?" he pressed.
The phone ringed again, persistent, shrill, and she deliberately refused to move toward it. Instead she tilted her head slightly, studying him the way one might study a particularly difficult equation.
"I should have at least two more days before I could fully heal something like that," he continued. "How did you do it?"
She hesitated. The truth hovered on her tongue, tangled in roots and whispered words and something far older than either of them.
"Just…" she began, then shook her head lightly. "What's important is that you're healing." She let the shirt fall back into place. "Why does the Alpha want you gone anyway? He must have been very angry to hurt you like that."
His expression darkened immediately.
"You don't answer my questions. I should answer yours?" he shot back.
Her eyes widened in disbelief before she rolled them, pushing herself upright. "What—are you twelve?" she muttered, heading toward the kitchen as the phone rang again. "There's no reason to be mean. I was just trying to understand—"
"He knows I'm hunting him." She stopped immediately and turned back as he spoke.
Derek was sitting up now despite the injury, shoulders rigid, anger tightening his voice. "He knows I'll find him soon enough."
She studied him in silence for a moment. Beneath the anger there was something else—grief sharpened into purpose.
"Why are you searching for him?" she asked more softly.
"He killed my sister," Derek said, avoiding her eyes.
Something in her chest tightened. She stepped closer again and sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of him, lowering herself to his level. She knew the story. Everyone in town did. Laura Hale had been found buried on the burnt property and the police had suspected Derek. But since there was nothing that could prove his involvemnt they had released him short after the arrest.
She hoped he hadn't been the one to find her.
"And I'm going to stop him," he added, voice steady in a way that felt dangerous.
"You know he's a man?" she asked carefully. Knowing that alone narrowed the field.
"I know more than that." His gaze lifted to hers. "I think he's your boss."
Her eyes widened. "What?!"
"Last night I captured him—"
"You captured Deaton?" She pushed to her feet so abruptly the table shifted. "Are you out of your mind?" Instinct overrode caution and she shoved him lightly in the shoulder.
"Hey—"
"Oh, sorry!" she blurted automatically—then blinked. "No, not sorry! You captured Deaton? What is wrong with you?!"
"He was lying when I asked him for information," Derek said, as if that were explanation enough.
She stared at him, incredulous. The sheer absurdity of it almost made her laugh.
"Have you ever thought," she asked tightly, "that maybe it's your demeanor? You're not exactly the type of guy people feel comfortable confiding in."
He glared, but she ignored him. She planted her hands on her hips. "Where is he now?"
"He escaped. Then the Alpha attacked me," Derek said, as though presenting final evidence. "Still not believing it's not him?"
That must have been a coincidence. He must have found a way to free himself, just before the Alpha showed up and attack Derek.
"Well it's not Deaton," she added firmly.
Derek's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
The question hung between them. She could not explain why she was so sure Deaton was innocent. An emissary should always keep a low profile. Watching from afar. Evelyn was realising that she was very bad at keeping a law profile.
"He's just not," she said instead.
He gave her a long, unimpressed look. "As I'm supposed to believe you're just a student?"
Evelyn let out a frustrated breath. "You came to me, alright?" she shot back. Then something clicked suddenly. "Wait... How did you know where I live?"
The way he held her gaze told her everything.
Her stomach dropped. The memory of feeling watched over the past few days sharpened in her mind.
"You followed me?" she asked a shocked frown appearing on her face as she looked at him.
His jaw tense for a moment, before he answered. "I had to make sure you weren't a threat." She let out a dry and sarcastic chuckle.
"What? Was I the Alpha then?"
He stood now, closing the space between them despite the lingering stiffness in his movement. "You are unnerving," he said bluntly.
She blinked. "Look who's talking!" She exclaimed in his face. She couldn't believe that he had followed her even until she was at home. She had hated that feeling and now he was there not even saying sorry. "God, that's excatly what she said--"
"She?" His tone shifted instantly. Sharper and tense, "Who's she?"
Evelyn closed her eyes briefly. She really should be more careful about the words that left her mouth.
She tried to turn away, but he caught her wrist—not roughly, but firmly enough to stop her and make her turn to look at him.
"Who's she?"
She took a breath. "A woman called Kate Argent," she said finally. "She came to warn me that I was being watched."
Derek's confusion flickered across his face. "She came for you?"
Before she could answer, the phone rang again, louder now in the quiet house. For some reason, she realized only now how close the two of them were now. So Evelyn slipped her wrist from his grasp and stepped back and with a last look, she turned to cross the living room and pushing a branch on ivy aside, the girl picked up.
"Hello?" Evelyn said, still half-turned toward the living room.
"Finally!" Clara's voice burst through the receiver, high and frantic. "Where the hell were you? Everyone is going crazy in town."
"Hey, hey—slow down," Evelyn replied automatically, already straightening. "What on earth is going on?"
"Have you even watched the TV?"
Evelyn frowned in confusion, but she turned, her gaze snapping toward Derek. He was already watching her, suspicious and tense, reading the shift in her expression. Without breaking eye contact with him, she gestured toward the television.
He hesitated only a second before reaching for the remote.
The screen flickered to life mid-broadcast. A reporter stood in front of Beacon Hills High, police tape fluttering in the background. The caption at the bottom read: Local Man Considered Armed and Dangerous.
"…students report being chased inside the school by Derek Hale," the reporter was saying, voice grave and urgent. "Authorities are currently searching for Hale, who fled the scene and is believed to be connected to multiple recent deaths in Beacon Hills."
Evelyn felt the air leave her lungs and she noticed Derek's body going very stiff. He seemed to felt her staring, because at some point they looked at each other.
"Evelyn? Are you there?" Clara's voice pressed anxiously through the phone.
"Yeah," Evelyn said, barely hearing herself. "Yeah, I'm here."
"This is insane! They're saying the school is closed for a week. My mom is freaking out."
"That is crazy…" Evelyn murmured, though her eyes were fixed on Derek. The broadcast cut to a grainy photo of him, framed like a mugshot.
"I heard they suspect he's the killer for all those deaths in town," Clara continued, voice lowering conspiratorially. "I always thought he was strange. Incredibly hot, but strange."
Oh God...
Derek had been bleeding out on her couch last night. He could barely stand. He had not been chasing anyone through a school hallway.
"Clara, can I—can I call you back?" Evelyn said quickly.
"Yeah, sure. I have to call Angela anyway. This is like—insane."
Evelyn hung up without another word and stepped closer to Derek just as the Sheriff himself appeared on screen, jaw tight, voice controlled. "We will do everything in our power to locate Derek Hale and ensure the safety of this town."
Derek's breathing had changed.
"I have to go," he said, already moving.
"Derek, the entire city is looking for you. You can't just walk out there," she argued, stepping in front of him without thinking. "We could—I could go to Mr. Stilinski. Tell him you were here."
"And tell him what?" Derek shot back. "That you healed me after I got mauled by a mountain lion?"
"Better that than them believing you're a killer."
He stared at her, something like surprise cutting through his agitation. "You don't doubt me?"
She tilted her head slightly, almost offended. "Should I?"
She knew about the Alpha. She knew something else was happening in this town. Derek was rough and unnerving and perpetually angry, but murderer didn't fit. Not like that.
"Listen," she continued, lowering her voice, stepping closer again. "We can say you were here all night."
Before he could answer, her mother's voice descended from the staircase.
"We are not doing anything of the sort."
Evelyn turned sharply. Her mother stood halfway down the stairs, composed, already opening one of the living room windows to let in cold air before her eyes settled firmly on Derek.
"I want you out of my house."
"Mom—"
"Shut up, Evelyn." The sharpness of it made her flinch. Her mother crossed the remaining distance, stopping a few feet from Derek. "For him, you have already done far more than you ever should have. Nothing else will happen under this roof. Now get out."
Derek looked between them, jaw tightening again, pride warring with circumstance. For a fraction of a second his eyes met Evelyn's. There was something there—frustration, warning, maybe even reluctant gratitude. But then he turned, crossed the room, and left, the door shutting behind him.
"What the hell are you doing?" Evelyn demanded, spinning toward her mother.
"You're done with your studies."
The words landed harder than she expected.
"What?" Evelyn exclaimed.
"What you did last night for that boy was far beyond what you should have ever attempted," her mother said, already moving toward the cabinet where they kept the herbs. She began gathering the plants she had used—carefully dried leaves, wrapped roots, bundles of sage—and placing them aside. "And I have been very clear with Alan about it."
"You can't be serious!"
"You should never have learned how to use that kind of power," her mother continued, "You should never have known that you carry it."
Evelyn could not believe her mother, "I just helped him." She said with wide eyes. "He just needed--"
"Tell me you didn't feel it." Her mother stopped and looked at her directly now. "That rush. That euphoric surge when something ancient moves through you."
Evelyn's throat tightened. She could not deny it; she had felt it. And she had liked how it felt. How she felt. And her mother knew that.
"That is not what I asked of Alan," her mother said quietly, disappointment seeping into her tone. "Your studies are over."
Evelyn stared at her, stunned. In the women of her family, sensitivity to nature wasn't a casuality, it was a heritage. Bone-deep and difficoult not to notice. Deaton knew that, and all he ever tried to do was trying to understand and guide her as best and safely as possible.
"You wanted me to study," she said weakly. "You wanted me to understand it."
"I wanted you safe." Her mother said firmly, her eyes glistening, "And what you are leading to... that is not safe."
Evelyn didn't answer. She couldn't. Anger rose too fast.
She turned and went upstairs, the door to her bedroom slamming harder than she intended.
For several minutes she just stood there, breathing, hands shaking in frustration. She had helped Derek. She had done something good. And somehow that had turned into something forbidden, dangerous and to fear.
Her gaze drifted to the window. Her mind drifting to Derek. The fact that he was out there alone somewhere and hunted settled heavy in her chest.
This is not fair...
Her phone kept buzzing over and over on the bed. The sound was annying her and she turn to grab it this time, scrolling through the flood of messages she had recieved. People were going crazy over what was happening. Someone shared rumors, other screenshots, while others were in pure panic. But at some point, one name was mentioned in more than one message and made her stomach drop.
Scott McCall.
Apparently he was one of the students chased at the school the night before.
Evelyn moved to her closet and dressed quickly. She pulled on a skirt, a sweather and put on her usual boots. She was fast to grab her jacket, and headed for the door, her mind already racing ahead of her steps.
It was barely a five-minute run, but by the time Evelyn reached the McCall house her lungs were burning slightly and her pulse was racing for reasons that had very little to do with exertion. The skirt swayed with each quick step, boots striking pavement in a steady rhythm as she turned the final corner. She was worried at the thought of knowing Sco
If Scott had been at the school, then Stiles had been there too. Of course he had. The thought tightened something uncomfortable in her chest, and she pushed it aside as she climbed the short walkway to the front door.
Evelyn didn't slow once she reached the end of her street. The five-minute walk felt shorter at a near run, her boots striking the pavement quickly, breath coming a little faster not just from the pace but from the thoughts racing ahead of her. If Scott had really been at the school, then Stiles had probably been there too. The idea of them both in the school tightened something low in her chest.
She reached the McCall house and slowed only at the front steps, drawing in a steadying breath just as the door swung open.
Melissa McCall stood there with her purse over her shoulder and car keys in hand, clearly on her way out.
"Evelyn, sweetie," Melissa said warmly despite the worry lining her face. "What are you doing here?"
"I…" Evelyn offered a small, controlled smile. "I heard what happened at school."
Melissa's expression shifted, concern overtaking politeness. "Yeah…"
By the expression the rumor must have been truth.
"Are you both alright?" Evelyn asked, stepping closer.
"He keeps saying he's fine, but…" Melissa shook her head faintly. "I'm worried. I really am. I'm trying not to show it too much in front of him, but it was a scary night."
"I'm so sorry," Evelyn said softly. She meant it. She had known Melissa since she was little; she had always been warmth and steady kindness. Seeing that fear in her felt wrong.
"You can go inside if you want," Melissa added gently. "I think he needs to see a friendly face."
"How so?"
"I think he had an argument with Allison," she whispered, leaning in slightly. "He's a bit shaken up." Then she reached up and brushed Evelyn's cheek with maternal affection. "I'm glad you're here."
Evelyn smiled faintly.
Melissa checked the time and gave her a final reassuring nod before stepping past her toward the car.
Evelyn watched her go for a moment. She was almost certain Melissa had no idea what truly moved through Beacon Hills at night. To her, this was chaos without context. Fear without explanation. And her son was in the center of it.
She felt for the woman.
The McCall house had always felt like comfort. She could almost see the ghosts of younger versions of themselves—tea parties she had insisted Scott attend, Stiles pretending to be an offended aristocrat, afternoons in the backyard that had once felt endless. There had been a time when they were inseparable.
They had grown and things had shifted. She started to have other friends and their friendship got less tight. It never broke, but she was sad now to think how many things had changed in those years.
She climbed the stairs quietly and knocked on Scott's door. He was sitting at his desk when he turned, noticing her.
"Eve," he said with a small, tired smile, gesturing her in.
"I've heard some crazy stories, Scott," she said, sitting on the edge of his bed facing him. "Are you alright? After last night?"
He inhaled slowly, hands clasping together as if bracing himself against the memory. "It was terrifying."
"What happened?"
"The Alpha was there," he began, and then the words seemed to spill out. "We called him. It was Derek's idea. But then someone lured Allison to the school and he almost made me kill everybody. And… Allison asked for a break."
Evelyn's eyes widened. "Lured Allison?"
"Yeah. She was with Lydia and Jackson, so they got dragged into it too. And Scarlett sensed Stiles' fear so she came."
Evelyn frowned slightly. "What do you mean she sensed his fear?"
"Months ago, Stiles was attacked by the Alpha," Scott explained.
"Stiles got bitten?"
"No. He was badly injured. Scarlett healed him with her blood."
Evelyn went very still for a second. She knew exactly what that meant. When a human drank vampire blood created a bond. Subtle. Complicated. Dangerous in the wrong hands. Once it was believed that the human would belong to the creature. But she found it far more curious that the Alpha had chosen claws instead of a bite. A bite would have changed everything. He would have had another werewolf to his pack. But it was true that the Alpha was killing many people, so perhaps Stiles had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Unlike Scarlett.
"Allison and the others kept asking questions, and I didn't know what to say," Scott continued, voice tightening. "And since the Alpha killed Derek—"
"The Alpha did not kill Derek."
Scott shot to his feet. "What?!"
"He didn't," she repeated firmly. "He was hurt and came to my house."
"Oh God," Scott breathed. "I blamed him. I told the sheriff he was the one killing everyone."
Evelyn's eyes grew larger, "You blamed him?" Her voice sharpened.
"Everyone was asking questions and I—" He stopped abruptly. "Wait. What do you mean he was at your house?"
"We're not talking about me," she cut in, hands on her hips. "We are talking about you, what the hell were you thinking?"
Scott let out a frustrated groan, "I was in panic!" then he sank back to his bed. "This is a nightmare. He'll surely kill me!"
"Who? The Alpha?" Stiles' voice from the doorway made both of them turn sharply, letting out little gasps. Evelyn's hand even went to her chest. Even Stiles had let out a gasp not expecting their reaction.
"No, Derek," Scott clarified quickly. "He's not dead."
"What?!" Stiles' eyes widened, the shock flashing across his face.
"He's not dead, and now he's in trouble because of him," Evelyn said, her gaze cutting sharply toward Scott.
"Well, I... I backed him up," Stiles added quickly, almost defensively, as if bracing for impact as he glanced at Evelyn.
Evelyn turned that look on him too, one brow arching in quiet disbelief. "That's not the point." She said, before shifting her gaze from between them, "Is there anything we can do?"
The question softer but more urgent, her hands crossing over her chest as if containing something restless beneath her ribs.
Stiles shook his head, jaw tight. "We can't take it back. We told Jackson, Lydia, Allison—"
"God, Allison…" Scott groaned, dragging a hand over his face. "She hates me. She's going to hate me forever."
"She won't hate you forever," Stiles said, though the reassurance came out with a thin tone of annoyace, lacking its usual rhythm of certainty.
"He mentioned a break," Evelyn added quietly, watching Scott closely.
"We didn't break up," Scott snapped, pushing himself to his feet as if sitting made it worse. "We're on a break."
Evelyn and Stiles shared a look, the one that clearly said that they did not believe him.
"Yeah," Stiles muttered dryly, "that's tragic."
But then his expression shifted, the humor draining. He turned back to Evelyn. "Did he tell you he almost killed us? Because of the Alpha?"
"Roughly," she replied, glancing at Scott, who was pacing now in short, agitated steps. "In between what I'd describe as a panic spiral. What happened?"
Scott stopped moving. His hands curled into fists at his sides before he forced them to unclench. "I don't know," he admitted, voice unsteady. "I was fighting him—or running. Mostly running. And then he jumped over me. I thought he was going to kill me. But he roared."
The word seemed to hang in the room.
"We heard it from the classroom," Stiles said quietly, eyes unfocused for a moment as if replaying it. "It wasn't just loud. It was scary."
Scott swallowed. "And then I shifted. I didn't choose to. It just happened. And I wanted to kill all of them."
Evelyn's arms folded more tightly across herself as she processed it, her mind moving through what she knew. "He was using pack instinct," she said after a moment, voice steadier than she felt. "An Alpha's roar isn't just a sound. It calls the pack. It pulls at something primal. You respond before you think. Before you remember who you are."
Stiles frowned faintly, suddenly silent as his mind was rushing. She could see it from his gaze. But there was something that seemed to bother him a little.
"You okay?" she asked him. His head snapped to her, his eyes big.
"Yeah… yeah." He said with a little shake of his head. "Just—something happened in the classroom. Can someone react to a scratch?"
"A scratch?" Evelyn repeated, attention sharpening.
"When the Alpha roared, both Jackson and Scarlett yelled," Stiles explained. "Scarlett had been wounded by him."
"Is she alright?" Scott asked immediately, guilt flickering across his face.
"Yeah," Stiles answered. "I called her this morning. The stitches helped her heal faster, but she'll need some more days to fully recover."
Evelyn nodded slowly. Surviving an Alpha's claws was no small thing. A bite would have been final for a vampire. The fact that Scarlett was healing at all meant that she was no weak vampire.
"But I saw something on Jackson's neck," Stiles added, voice lower now.
Evelyn hesitated, she knew nothing of something like that. Of course what made it a little bit logic was that they both were hurt. "If they were injured by him, maybe the roar triggered something connected to that." She decide to say, but she didn't know. "Usually roar is linked to the pack." Stiles frowned a little lowering his gaze for a moment.
Scott let out a sharp, humorless breath and dragged his hands through his hair again, pacing once more. "This thing is ruining my life!"
His voice cracked slightly on the last word.
Stiles and Evelyn exchanged another look, this one heavier.
Evelyn watched Scott—not as a friend watching another friend spiral, but as someone seeing the fracture lines forming beneath him. The fear in his eyes wasn't just about danger. It was about loss. About control slipping. About not recognizing himself in the mirror anymore.
She had been warned about this world. How it didn't just threaten you—it changed you. Pulled you deeper, reshaped your choices, demanded pieces of you in exchange for survival. It was terrifying.
But standing there, watching Scott unravel under the weight of something he hadn't chosen, she felt another truth pressing quietly against her thoughts.
Turning away didn't undo it.
Pretending it wasn't happening didn't protect anyone.
And if you had the ability to understand it—if you had even the slightest power to intervene—walking away started to look less like self-preservation and more like surrender.
Evelyn wasn't sure she could live with that.
"Scott," she said kneeling in front of him, making sure that he looked at her. "We'll find a way."
Scott frowned a little, "We?"
And Evelyn's lips turned up in a small smile. "You seem in need of some help."