Derek stood at the window of Malik's apartment, arms crossed, looking out at the flickering streetlight just outside. The moon was only partially visible, cast in a veil of clouds, but he was still restless. Behind him, Malik emerged from the kitchen, tossing him a bottle of water.
"No beer this time?" Derek asked, catching it mid-air.
Malik sat down on the edge of his couch and took a long sip from his own. "Not when we're about to go Alpha hunting."
Derek smirked. "That's why I'm here."
Malik raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess. You want me to sniff him out again."
"You're a better tracker than I am," Derek admitted with a grumble, hating the words even as he said them.
Malik gave him a slow, smug grin. "Didn't quite catch that. Say it louder?"
Derek's expression didn't change. "Don't push it."
Malik stretched his arms over his head and then folded them behind his head with a sigh. "Alright, alright. I'll help. But first—we're going to talk about your living situation."
Derek blinked. "What?"
"The Hale house, man," Malik said, voice incredulous. "That place is a condemned funeral waiting to happen. It smells like smoke and regret. You're still sleeping on broken floorboards?"
Derek's eyes narrowed slightly, but his tone was measured. "It's my family's home."
"Yeah," Malik said, softer now. "But your family's gone. Don't you think it's time to start building something new?"
A pause. Then Derek looked away again. "Maybe. But not until this Alpha is dead."
There was silence between them for a moment, then Malik broke it. "So what's the plan? You want me to track him down, you jump him, and we pray he's not playing games?"
"I want to kill him," Derek replied firmly. "But we'll need backup. Scott—he's unpredictable, but strong. If we can get him on our side…"
Malik scoffed. "That kid doesn't even know how to endure pain yet, let alone fight through it. He loses his mind every time the moon peeks out."
"He's learning," Derek said.
"Barely," Malik muttered, shaking his head. "Still… if we're going up against that thing again, we'll need all the claws and fangs we can get."
The next morning.
At the Argent house, sunlight streamed into the kitchen as Kate Argent sipped coffee, leaning casually against the counter. Allison walked in, surprised to see her aunt up so early.
Kate smiled warmly. "Happy birthday, sweetheart."
Allison blinked. "How did you…?"
"Please. Your mom keeps the calendar on the fridge like it's sacred scripture."
Allison laughed as Kate reached into her jacket and pulled out a small, silver box. "I figured I'd give you something special. It's… a family heirloom."
Allison opened the box, revealing a silver medallion. The engraving was clear—a snarling wolf, fangs bared, eyes hollowed out in polished obsidian. It was both beautiful and haunting.
"It's been passed down from Argent to Argent," Kate said softly. "Your mom didn't want you to have it yet, but… I think you're ready."
Allison's fingers traced the grooves of the pendant. "It's… intense."
Kate grinned. "You should look into the family history sometime. I think you'll find it enlightening."
Beacon Hills High – Later That Morning
Scott paused at his locker, spotting something bright tucked into the vents of Allison's locker a few down from his.
As she opened it, balloons and streamers fell out with a burst of color. Lydia stood behind her, smiling like a cat that caught the canary.
"Happy birthday!" Lydia said. "And before you ask, yes, I told them to go easy on the glitter. You're welcome."
Allison gave her a sheepish smile. "You know I hate attention."
Scott overheard, brows raising. "Wait, it's your birthday?"
Allison nodded, clearly embarrassed. "Seventeen. I got held back a year when we moved around a lot."
Scott tilted his head, gently touching her arm. "You want to ditch?"
Her eyes widened. "What?"
"Let's skip school," he said, smiling. "Birthday rule. You get one spontaneous act of rebellion."
She looked over at Lydia, then back at him. "…Okay. Let's go."
Across the hallway, Malik had just retrieved his chemistry textbook from his locker. He glanced over, watching Scott lead Allison out the front doors like some knight in shining flannel.
He shook his head, muttering under his breath, "Simp."
Later – Chemistry Class
Stiles was busy interrogating Danny, who was seated beside him.
"So, you and Jackson—you guys are tight, right?" Stiles asked.
Danny shrugged. "We play on the same team."
"Lacrosse team or metaphorical team?" Stiles said quickly.
Danny gave him a look. "Lacrosse."
Stiles blinked, trying to recover. "Right, cool. So what'd he say about the video store incident?"
Danny frowned. "Nothing. He hasn't said a word about it. And believe me, I've asked."
Stiles tilted his head. "Is he scared?"
"He's something," Danny replied.
"Okay, real quick—scale of one to ten, how attractive am I?" Stiles asked.
Danny blinked. "What?"
Stiles lost his balance and toppled out of his chair.
A soft chuckle came from behind them. Malik, seated two rows back, smirked without even looking up from his notes.
Locker Room – Beacon Hills High
Steam curled from the showers as Jackson peeled off his jersey, muscles taut with post-game adrenaline. He caught his reflection in the locker mirror and frowned—he looked fine, but something still felt… off.
He slammed the locker shut.
"Nice game," came a deep, even voice behind him.
Jackson turned, startled to see Malik standing there—lean, calm, eyes unreadable.
Jackson straightened his spine. "You spying on me now?"
Malik took a step closer, casual but purposeful. "Just making sure we're clear."
Jackson snorted. "Clear about what?"
"What you saw at the video store," Malik said quietly. "Or didn't."
Jackson's bravado cracked slightly. He crossed his arms, defensive. "I didn't see anything."
Malik raised an eyebrow. "Try again."
There was a pause. Then Jackson muttered, "Something was there. Big. Fast. Thing jumped through the window before I could even breathe."
Malik tilted his head. "And?"
"It… it looked at me," Jackson admitted, quieter now. "Could've killed me. Didn't."
Malik nodded once. "Smart thing to remember."
Jackson gave a small, nervous laugh. "So what—what was it? You guys gonna tell me it was a coyote on steroids?"
Malik smirked faintly. "Wouldn't make you feel better if I did."
Jackson stepped forward, tension returning to his frame. "What the hell is going on in this town?"
Malik leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "That's the wrong question."
Jackson frowned.
Malik's gaze burned into him. "The right question is… why didn't it kill you?"
They locked eyes for a long moment. Jackson couldn't find a response.
"Be careful what you stick your nose in," Malik added, stepping back. "Beacon Hills doesn't seem to treat curious people kindly."
And just like that, Malik turned and walked out, the door hissing shut behind him.
Jackson stood frozen for a moment, skin prickling, as if he'd just brushed too close to a live wire.
Elsewhere – That Night
Back at Malik's apartment, Derek nursed another beer and stood near the open window again.
"We need to act soon," he said. "The Alpha's moving faster now. More kills. More risks."
Malik sat on the armrest of the couch, flipping through the old bestiary. "Which means he's getting desperate. Or reckless. Or both."
"We're gonna need Scott."
"I know," Malik said. "But before we throw him into the ring, he needs to learn something first."
Derek tilted his head.
Malik looked up, his eyes glowing briefly in the dim light.
"He needs to learn how to feel pain—and still stay in control."