The house was too quiet.
Evelyn stood in the middle of the living room, hands on her hips, staring at the empty shelf where the mountain ash jars used to sit. Gone. Every single one. The dried bundles of herbs carefully labeled. The ashwood shavings sealed in glass. The emergency vials hidden behind the old encyclopedias because her mother "never touched the classics." All gone.
"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, already dropping to her knees to check under the cabinet.
Even there, there was nothing.
Her pulse ticked faster.
She moved to the kitchen. Opened drawers. Slammed them shut. Checked the high cupboard above the fridge—the one she'd needed a chair to reach when she was twelve.
Empty.
"She's got to be kidding me!"
She stormed down the hallway and into her mother's room, yanking open the wardrobe doors as if the ashwood might be casually hanging between cardigans.
Nothing.
"I can't believe her," Evelyn whispered to herself, but the whisper didn't sound convinced. She should have known her mother was absolutely serious when she told her that her studies were over. She had already told Deaton she would not work with him anymore. Evelyn still remembered the volume of their argument, the way her mother's voice had gone sharp enough to cut. But she would have never thought she'd go this far. She would have never thought she'd get rid of her precious jars and vials like they were trash.
Evelyn let out a short, incredulous laugh. "That's crazy," she muttered. "She's crazy."
She turned in a slow circle, scanning the room like the ashwood might reappear if she glared hard enough.
What could she do now?
She needed mountain ash. Scott had been unstable all day; once the moon climbed, it would only get worse. Scarlett could keep him under control if things got out of hand, but Scott could not leave that house. He was too dangerous.
"Okay," Evelyn told herself firmly. "Don't panic."
She checked one last place—the small wooden box beneath the stairs where her mother used to store emergency supplies.
Again, empty.
Evelyn straightened slowly, jaw tightening until it hurt. "Alright," she whispered, like she was speaking directly to her mother through the walls. "That's how you want to play?"
She grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair, shoved her feet into her boots, and stormed out of the house with the kind of determination that usually got her grounded.
The drive to the clinic felt shorter than it should have. The sky had that bruised, late-evening color, the air outside cold enough to sting through the glass when she rolled the window down halfway to breathe. Her hands gripped the steering wheel too hard, knuckles pale, mind sprinting ahead of the car. She hoped that Deaton was not there. If he wasn't, she could get what she needed and leave before anyone had the chance to stop her. It wasn't stealing if it was technically for not dying. That was how morality worked.
Probably.
When she pulled into the lot, she saw it immediately. The lights didn't seem to be on. And for a second her chest eased.
I can do it, she thought, stepping out and shutting the car door with more care than usual.
The air was cold enough to make her eyes sting. The gravel crunched under her boots as she crossed to the back entrance, moving like she belonged there even though she absolutely did not. Her gaze flicked once to the street, then to the neighboring buildings, then back to the clinic door.
She crouched by the large ceramic pot near the step, fingers sliding beneath the rim where she knew the key would be.
Her nails scraped stone, then metal. She exhaled as the key pressed into her palm.
"Sorry," she murmured without meaning to, though she wasn't sure if she was apologizing to Deaton or to herself.
The lock turned with a soft click. Evelyn slipped inside and shut the door behind her, letting the darkness swallow her until her eyes adjusted. The clinic smelled the way it always did—clean fur, antiseptic, a faint trace of hay and dog treats—and that familiarity almost made her throat tighten.
She moved fast, past the exam room and the shelves stacked with supplies until she reached the small back office. The one Deaton didn't technically call an office. Just a storage space. Evelyn reached for the light switch, hesitated, then didn't. Light would make her visible through the front windows.
Instead she opened drawers by touch, hands searching for glass, for labels, for anything that felt like an answer. Her fingers found paper packets first—dried herbs, bundled and tied—and she pushed past them with growing irritation. Not that. Not that. Not—
Then her hand closed around a small jar, smooth glass and a metal lid. She pulled it out and held it up toward the faint spill of moonlight coming through the doorway crack. Fine gray powder clung to the sides.
Mountain ash.
Her shoulders dropped, and she let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh.
"Finally," she whispered, like the jar had done something heroic.
She grabbed two more without thinking, because one was never enough and she was done being unprepared, and she'd just shoved them into the pocket of her jacket when the sound of a key in the front door froze her whole body.
The lock turned.
A familiar set of footsteps crossed the clinic floor—unhurried, steady, like whoever was walking had never once feared anything in his life.
Evelyn's stomach dropped straight through the floor.
She didn't move. Didn't breathe. Just stood there in the half-dark, heart hammering, listening as the footsteps approached the back hall. The doorframe filled with a shape a second later.
Deaton paused.
His gaze landed on her immediately, like he'd known exactly what he would find the moment he turned the key.
For a beat, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched and sharpened.
"Evelyn." Her name sounded like a warning.
Evelyn straightened her shoulders even though she felt caught. Even though she was caught. "Hi."
He stepped into the office turning on the light, and that alone somehow made it worse.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said quietly.
"I know," she replied, then added too fast, "Maybe you should change spot of the key."
Deaton didn't smile. His expression stayed calm, but the calm was heavier than anger.
"What are you doing here?"
"I needed something," she explained just before she felt something flare in her chest—frustration, hurt, disbelief. "But my mom took everything away. Everything." Words spilling out before she could filter them. "All the ash, all the herbs, all my notes."
Deaton watched her for a moment. In the dim light, his eyes looked darker, older. "Your mother has reasons."
"Yeah, yeah, I've heard this tale all my life." Evelyn snapped, then immediately softened, because snapping at Deaton felt wrong. "I'm not saying she doesn't have reasons. But she's acting like I did something unforgivable." Her fingers tightened around the edge of her jacket pocket, the glass pressing into her knuckles. "I helped someone who was hurt that's all."
"You did far more than that, do you realize that?" Deaton said, and there was a warning threaded into the words now.
"Because Derek knows who I am?" Evelyn shot back.
Deaton's gaze sharpened slightly, and Evelyn hated how much she wanted him to just… be on her side. To look at her and say you did the right thing. I trust you.
Instead he said, "The power that you've channeled, that is not some usual Emissary's work, Evelyn. And your mother believes you felt something when you used it."
Evelyn's throat tightened. She looked away for half a second, then forced herself to look back at him. "I know. I know what my family can do," she admitted, quieter. "And it's true, I felt it and I enjoyed it. But feeling something doesn't mean I'm out of control. I'm just not scared about it."
Deaton held her gaze. "It should."
The words landed hard, not because they were cruel, but because they were honest.
Evelyn's eyes stung with sudden, stupid emotion. "So that's it?" she asked, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice and failing anyway. "You're going to agree with her? You're going to tell me I'm done?"
Deaton didn't answer immediately. He looked past her, at the shelves, at the space where the jars used to sit, like he could see the shape of the absence. Then he said softly, "I'm not your mother."
"That's not an answer," Evelyn said, and she hated how small her voice sounded.
Deaton stepped closer, not threatening, but steady. "I guided you the way I did because I thought you were ready," he said. "Because I thought you understood what restraint means. What boundaries mean."
"I do," Evelyn insisted. "I'm trying to use it for good."
"Good intentions don't protect you from consequences," he replied, and now there was something firmer in his tone. "This world doesn't care what you meant. It cares what you become."
Evelyn's jaw tightened. She blinked hard, forcing the emotion back down where it belonged. "So what," she said, voice flatter now, "you don't trust me."
Deaton's eyes softened, but it didn't help. "I trust you to care," he said.
Evelyn stared at him, chest tight. For a moment she couldn't find words that didn't sound childish. She hated that. She hated feeling like a child in a conversation about her own life.
"You never wanted this life, Evelyn," Deaton said softer this time. "Maybe you were right about it."
That was true, she never wanted it. But now it was changing. Things like those never happened to Beacon Hills, and knowing that she could do something to help had changed her view on all of that situation. For how long could they stay hidden? For how long could they be neutral?
"I'm asking you," she said finally, quieter, controlled, "to let me keep training. With you. Properly. If you're worried, then be there. Teach me how to do it safely. Don't… don't just shut the door and expect me to be fine with it."
Deaton was silent for a long beat. Then he said, "I'm not sure."
Evelyn's heart sank, sharp and immediate.
"Sure...," she echoed, bitterness creeping in despite her effort to stop it. "Right. Because the monsters are going to pause and wait for you to feel comfortable."
Deaton's gaze held hers, steady. "Evelyn."
She exhaled through her nose, a frustrated, shaky sound, then nodded like she accepted it even though she didn't. "Fine," she said, too brisk. "Think about it. Do what you want."
She shifted toward the door. Deaton didn't stop her, but his voice followed her anyway, softer. "Put the jars back."
Evelyn's hand paused on the doorknob.
She didn't turn around. "I can't," she said quietly. "Not tonight."
And then she walked out before he could say anything else, because if she stayed one more second she might actually cry, and that would be humiliating, and also unfair, because she hadn't done anything wrong.
Outside, the cold air hit her face like a slap. The parking lot was still empty, the town still quiet, the clinic still dark behind her. Evelyn walked faster toward her car, keys already in her hand, trying to focus on the simple steps of leaving. Get in. Drive. Fix this. Help Scott. Don't think about her mother. Don't think about Deaton.
A shadow shifted near her car.
Evelyn stopped so abruptly her boots scraped. Her heart slammed once, loud enough that it felt like it echoed off the empty buildings.
Someone stepped out of the darker slice between two parked cars, close enough that she could see the outline of shoulders, the pale flash of eyes.
"Ah—!" The sound ripped out of her before she could swallow it. "Derek! What the hell are you doing here?"
He didn't flinch. Of course he didn't. He just stood there with his hands half in his pockets like he'd been waiting for a bus instead of hiding from an entire town and every patrol car in it. His face looked sharper than she remembered, like the week had carved more angles into him.
Evelyn's shock turned into something else almost immediately—realization sliding cold down her spine. She hadn't seen him since the broadcast, since his face on the news, since the sheriff's voice promising to find him.
"Oh God." Evelyn stepped closer without thinking, eyes scanning him with quick, frantic assessment. "Derek—are you alright?"
"I wouldn't say that," he answered, and the dryness of it almost sounded like humor if his eyes hadn't been so tired.
"Why are you here?" she demanded, then softened without wanting to. "You can't be here. They're looking for you everywhere."
"It's not like I can stay too much in one place, can I?" His gaze flicked to the clinic door, then back to her. "How's Scott?"
The name hit like a shove.
Evelyn's eyes widened. "Scott—shit, I have to go."
Derek's expression tightened immediately. "Why. What happened?"
Derek's whole body went subtly still at that, like the sentence had threaded itself beneath his skin and pulled something taut.
"Can you help?" she asked, and it came out more vulnerable than she intended, because she needed the answer to be yes and she didn't have time for pride.
He didn't answer with words. He just looked at her for a beat, but then his gaze some how got softer as he nodded.
She jerked her chin toward the passenger side. "Get in the car."
He moved immediately, fast and quiet. Evelyn unlocked the doors, slid behind the wheel, and the second Derek shut the passenger door the world shrank into the tight, enclosed space of the car. Her hands gripping hard the wheel as she started the engine.
They pulled out of the lot without the headlights on for the first few seconds, then Evelyn clicked them on as they hit the main road, trying to look like any other car in Beacon Hills, any other person going somewhere normal.
Derek stared straight ahead, jaw set. "What happened?" he asked again, voice lower now.
"Scott's been on edge all day," Evelyn said, gripping the steering wheel too hard. "And apparently, his anchor doesn't want to be around him anymore."
"And you were at the clinic why?" Derek asked, and there was a suspicion threaded into it despite the urgency, like he couldn't help himself.
"Oh you're asking me?" Evelyn glanced at him, incredulous, but he only glared. "I needed to take something." She said finally.
She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out the jars and small vials, the glass catching the dashboard light for a split second. Fine gray powder clung to the sides.
Derek's head snapped toward her. His eyes widened, the surprise real enough that it cut through his guardedness.
"Mountain ash?" she just nodded at his question.
He looked at the vials again, then at her. "Will you tell me at some point what you are?"
Evelyn kept her eyes on the road, but she could feel his stare like heat against her cheek. "Told you, I'm a student," she replied, glancing at him with a little teasing smile. "But you refuse to believe me."
The neighborhoods blurred past, streetlights painting the windshield in quick, pale flashes. And then the McCall house came into view.
They barely had the engine off before Evelyn was out of the car.
"Head down," she muttered to Derek, though he was already pulling the hood of his jacket a little lower as they moved toward the McCall house. The porch light glowed too brightly, the quiet street feeling suddenly exposed, like every window might be watching.
Evelyn rang the bell once, sharp and quick, then stepped half a pace closer to Derek without meaning to. They both scanned the street in opposite directions, the instinct immediate and shared.
The door opened.
Scarlett stood there, hair slightly disheveled, jaw tight. "Finally," she said, relief flashing across her face before her eyes widened when she noticed who stood beside Evelyn. "What are you doing here?"
"I came for help," Derek replied evenly.
Evelyn stepped forward. "Is he alright?"
Scarlett shook her head. "Stiles managed to handcuff him, but he's been trying to make us set him free. He's been shouting for fifteen minutes now." Then her gaze soften as she glance at the stairs, "Stiles is very worried about him."
Then something shifted.
Scarlett's posture stiffened. Her eyes sharpened and her fangs slid down.
Evelyn gasped before she could stop herself, the sound small but loud enough in the tight space of the doorway. Derek moved instantly, stepping in front of her on pure reflex, shoulders squared, body tense—then he paused, head tilting slightly.
"Can you smell it?" Scarlett asked him quietly.
Derek inhaled once, slow and deliberate. His jaw tightened. "Yeah," he said. "That's blood."
All three of them looked at each other.
"Stiles!" Scarlett called, already turning and running inside.
Evelyn didn't wait. She followed, boots hitting the floor hard, Derek right behind her. The silent in the house felt wrong in the second they crossed the threshold.
Scott's bedroom door was open.
"Stiles!" Scarlett reached it first.
Evelyn came up just behind her and froze.
The room was empty.
The radiator pipe jutted from the wall, one cuff still hanging from it, twisted metal warped and bent. The other lay broken on the floor, streaked dark.
Blood.
Not a lot—but enough.
A thin line of it trailed across the hardwood, smeared and uneven, leading toward the window.
The curtain hung half-torn, fabric ripped where something had forced its way through. The window itself was open, night air pouring in.
"Are you alright?" She heard Scarlett ask to Stiles.
"I couldn' hear him anymore and when I opened he wasn't in the room anymore," Stiles said, staring at the broken cuffs in his hands like they'd personally betrayed him. "We have to find him—" He turned—and stopped short, a small gasp left his lips when he saw Derek. "What is he doing here?"
"He's helping," Evelyn said quickly, moving to the window and leaning out just enough to scan the yard. The air outside was colder than before, sharper. "He can't have been gone too far."
Scarlett was standing close to Stiles, when her eyes glanced at Derek, meeting his eyes with something fierce and focused. "We can catch him."
"Alright," Stiles said, already shifting into problem-solving mode, even though tension still clung to him like static. "Let's divide, alright? Scar, you come with me. Evelyn, you go with Derek. We'll cover more ground like that."
They all moved at once, the kind of unspoken coordination that only came from shared panic. Down the stairs. Out the front door. Scarlett and Stiles veered toward the blue Jeep, the engine roaring to life a second later.
Evelyn slid into the driver's seat of her car, Derek already pulling the passenger door shut.
"Go right," Derek said immediately, nose lifting slightly as he inhaled.
Evelyn didn't argue. She turned the wheel hard and accelerated down the street, headlights cutting across quiet houses and empty sidewalks. Her pulse thudded in her ears, but her hands stayed steady on the wheel.
"You can actually smell him?" she asked, trying not to sound impressed.
"Yes."
"Of course you can," she muttered.
They took the next corner fast. The trees grew thicker toward the edge of the neighborhood, shadows stretching longer between streetlights. Evelyn's jaw tightened.
"He could find people," she said, galncing quickly at Derek, "Or hunters."
"We'll find him first," Derek replied, already leaning forward slightly, his eyes fixed on the road.
She followed his directions without arguing. Left. Slower. No—faster. The trees thickened along the roadside, shadows knitting together under the rising moon. The light had shifted; it wasn't fully night yet, but it wasn't evening anymore either. It was that strange suspended hour where everything felt like it was holding its breath.
"Turn. Now."
Evelyn didn't question it. She jerked the wheel hard and the car swerved into an empty parking lot she barely recognized. The tires squealed before catching. She slammed the brakes and followed Derek's line of sight.
There.
A black car sat crooked under a broken streetlamp, its metal reflecting just enough moonlight to gleam faintly. And on top of it—
"Oh my God," Evelyn breathed.
Scott crouched on the roof, body coiled, eyes glowing faintly gold in the dark. He wasn't looking at them. He was staring at a silver car just few feet from where he was. And there were people inside. Was he about to attack?
"Stay in the car," Derek said, already opening the door.
"Are you—" she started, but he was gone.
Really? she thought, heart slamming into her ribs as Scott leapt.
He moved faster than she'd ever seen him, launching himself off the roof with a feral snarl. The sound ripped through the parking lot and straight through her spine. He landed on the silver car, ready to attack. But luckly Derek hit him before he could do anything.
They crashed onto the asphalt in a violent tangle of limbs and claws, momentum carrying them toward the edge of the lot. Scott snarled, teeth bared, fighting without recognition. Derek didn't hesitate—he shoved him hard, redirecting him toward the tree line.
Evelyn threw the car into gear and rolled it forward just enough to clear space, then killed the engine and bolted after them. The woods swallowed sound differently; everything felt closer and farther at the same time. Branches snapped under her boots as she ran downhill toward the noise.
She saw them below, silhouettes colliding in flashes of motion.
They were fighting for real.
Scott slashed, claws catching bark when Derek dodged. Derek blocked, redirected, tried to contain. "Stop, Scott. Stop!" he growled, but Scott only roared louder, the sound raw and cracked with something that wasn't just rage.
Evelyn stopped at the edge of the slope, breath caught somewhere in her throat. She felt useless.
Scott broke free again and charged, claws raised. Derek pivoted, grabbed him by the arm, twisted, and drove him into the ground. Dirt scattered. Scott thrashed, nearly throwing him off.
Then Derek did something different; he grabbed Scott by the shoulders, pinned him hard, and roared.
The sound was monstrous.
It tore through the trees, deep and commanding, vibrating in Evelyn's bones. She physically flinched, a sharp gasp leaving her before she could stop it. The ground felt like it trembled under her boots.
Scott froze, and crowled back to put some distance between him and Derek.
His eyes flickered, gold faltering. His breath came in ragged pulls. Derek held his gaze, not backing down, but he was not attacking.
Scott stayed on the ground, breathing hard, confusion flooding back into his face. Finally seeming getting back to be himself.
Evelyn stepped down the hill carefully now, heart still racing.
"What is happening to me?" Scott asked, voice rough, still caught between wolf and boy.
"Exactly what he wants to happen," Derek answered, jaw tight.
Evelyn reached them, ignoring the way her pulse hadn't fully steadied yet. "Scott," called, stopping to stand next to Derek. "Are you alright?"
Scott's eyes lifted to her. "Eve…"
Derek shifted towards her. "I told you to stay in the car."
"Yeah, I heard you the first time," she shot back, not intimidated at all. Then her focus went back on Scott. The change was already receding. His features softened, bones settling back into place. The glow in his eyes dimmed until it was just brown again.
Evelyn took a relieved and moved closer to drop to her knees in front of him. Her eyes searching for anything that could be wrong on his body, but she didn't spot anything.
"I'm so glad you're alright," she said, and meant it. Scott nodded faintly, exhaustion washing over him now that the adrenaline was gone.He tried to stand on his own and failed halfway.
Then she glanced up at Derek. "Help me get him to the car."
Derek stepped in without comment, taking most of the weight on one side. Evelyn slipped under Scott's other arm.
"We'll bring you home, alright?" she said gently.
"Yeah," Scott muttered, still dazed.
They walked slowly back up the hill, Scott stumbling once before Derek tightened his grip. The parking lot looked ordinary again, almost offensively calm. The silver car was empty. Whoever had been inside was long gone.
The drive back was quiet. Scott leaned back against the seat, eyes half-closed. Evelyn kept glancing at him in the rearview mirror, making sure he was still breathing evenly. Derek stared straight ahead, posture rigid but not hostile.
When they reached the McCall house, the porch light was still on. No other cars in the driveway.
That was good. She had no idea how could she have explained Scott's conditions to Melissa.
They got him upstairs without incident. Scott collapsed onto the edge of his bed the second they let go. He looked pale now, hair damp at the temples.
Evelyn gave him a small, reassuring smile before stepping back. Then she turned to Derek.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
He held her gaze for a second, then nodded once.
He cast one last look at Scott and turned toward the door.
"Wait!" Scott's voice stopped him.
Derek paused and looked back.
"I can't do this," Scott said, and there was nothing feral in him now. Just fear. "I can't be this and be with Allison."
Evelyn felt something twist in her chest. She glanced at Derek and saw it there too—something like reluctant understanding.
"You need to tell me the truth," Scott continued, almost pleading. "Is there a cure?"
"A cure?" Evelyn echoed, frowning. "To the bite? Is that even possible?" She looked at Derek quickly. She had never heard of one.
"In this case…" Derek inhaled slowly. "I've heard of one. I don't know if it's true."
Evelyn straightened slightly, listening hard.
"Well, what is it?" Scott pressed.
Derek's jaw tensed. "You have to kill the one who bit you."
Silence filled the room.
Evelyn's eyes widened as Scott exclaimed, "Kill the Alpha?" It looked like the air had been punched out of him. And Derek only nodded.
It made a twisted kind of sense. Break the link. End the source. But the Alpha wasn't just a source. He was power. And he was stronger than both of them.
"Scott," he said, voice lower now, almost controlled. "If you'll help me find him, I'll help you kill him."
Evelyn's head snapped between them.
"Alright, let's hold on a minute," she cut in, stepping forward. "Last time you almost died," she said to Derek.
"He attacked me without me knowing."
"Same result," she shot back. Then she turned to Scott. "And he called you against your will. What if it happens again? What if he uses you to get to someone else?"
Scott seemed to think about it for a moment, but then he looked up at her. "Eve…" Scott said, swallowing hard. "I have to try. I don't want to live like this anymore."
Her hands curled at her sides. Part of her wanted to say no. But it was not decision to make.
She looked at Derek. He was serious and focused. No matter what Scott decided he wanted to kill the Alpha.
He killed my sister, his words echoed in her head.
Then she looked back at Scott. He was thinking about Allison and about his life. He wanted a normal life and she knew how it felt. All her life she had felt like that. For so much time she had just wished to be a normal teenager. Ans she could not blame Scott for wishig to being able to wake up without wondering who he might hurt next.
Evelyn let out a slow breath.
"Then we do it smart," she said finally, voice steady even if her stomach felt like it was dropping. "No charging in. No lone wolf hero complexes. We figure out what he wants. We make a plan. And if there's even a chance this cure is real, we don't waste it."
Scott nodded weakly and Derek didn't argue.
The room felt smaller now, heavier with something that wasn't fear exactly—but inevitability.
Evelyn crossed her arms, trying to look more confident than she felt. "Okay," she muttered, half to herself. "Cool. We're killing an Alpha then."