The drive home was silent. But not the comfortable silence of before.
It was a heavy silence.
I kept my eyes fixed on the winding road of Beacon Hills, watching the trees pass like black blurs in the window, but my mind was still trapped in the clearing. The image of that perfect blue cube crushing the distorted creature played on a loop in my head.
[25,000 MP]
I glanced at the dashboard. My own mana had recovered slightly, hovering near 1,300.
It felt like a joke. I was playing with string while my dad was controlling gravity. The difference between us wasn't just a matter of levels; it was a matter of dimensions. If that "Black Mage" showed up right now, I wouldn't be backup. I'd be a hostage.
Marcus seemed to sense my spiral of thoughts. He drummed his fingers on the armrest, restless, shooting quick glances in my direction at every curve.
The "General" was gone. The worried father was back.
"You've gone quiet," he said finally, his voice sounding too loud inside the closed cabin.
"I'm processing," I replied, without taking my eyes off the asphalt. "It's a lot of information for a Tuesday. Cubes, rotting meat monsters, my dad being a walking nuclear bomb... just the basics."
Marcus let out a long sigh. He ran a hand down his face, looking suddenly tired, as if maintaining that gigantic aura had finally taken its toll.
"I might have... overdone it," he admitted, looking out the window. "The intention was to show you what we mages face. Not to make you feel like getting there is impossible."
"It worked," I shrugged, gripping the steering wheel. "The showing part. And the fear part, too."
He remained silent for another mile. I could feel his mana oscillating slightly beside me—not aggressive, but thoughtful. He was calculating, the same way he calculated spells.
"Open the glove compartment," he said suddenly.
I frowned, slowing down a little. "What?"
"The glove compartment, Nathan. Open it."
I sighed, reached over, and pressed the button. The lid fell open. Inside, amidst car manuals and some insurance papers, was a keychain.
Not just any keychain.
It was a heavy, silver key with a matte black emblem.
I looked at the key, then at him.
"Is this..."
"It's a 2012 Dodge Charger," Marcus said, feigning disinterest while staring at the road, but I could see the corner of his mouth twitching into a contained smile. "Black. Light armor reinforced with protection runes on the bodywork. The engine has been... tuned to respond better in escape situations."
I took the key, feeling the cold metal in my palm.
"You said I wasn't getting a car," I reminded him, incredulous. "You said that this morning. Actually, you laughed in my face."
"I changed my mind," he retorted, defensive. "Considering what's prowling around this town... I prefer you have metal and speed around you if things get ugly."
He paused, and his voice softened. "Also... consider it an advance. For the rapid progress. And for handling the shock today."
I twirled the key between my fingers. Bribery. It was classic parental bribery to compensate for the trauma of watching a monster get magically shredded.
And I accepted it completely.
"Where is it?" I asked, trying not to smile but failing miserably.
"Arriving tomorrow morning. I had it brought from the old garage," he explained. "But don't think this gets you out of the school bus tomorrow. The insurance and paperwork haven't arrived yet."
"Details," I murmured, pocketing the key like it was treasure. "Thanks, Dad."
"Don't thank me yet. You're paying for the gas."
The atmosphere in the car became visibly lighter. The tension of imminent death was replaced by the teenage anticipation of owning a car. Marcus relaxed in his seat, satisfied with his own diplomatic maneuver.
A few minutes later, the lights of our house appeared through the trees.
As soon as I parked in the garage, I noticed the kitchen and living room lights were on, casting a welcoming glow onto the front lawn.
Marcus turned off the car but didn't open his door immediately. He turned to me, serious again.
"Nathan. Your mother knows we have enemies, but she doesn't know what Red Mana is..."
"I know," I interrupted. "Don't tell Mom."
"Your mother knows it's dangerous," he corrected. "But she doesn't need to know you were six feet away from a Black Magic Construct in your first week. Let's say it was field training. Applied theory."
"Applied theory," I repeated. "Got it."
We got out of the car. The night air was cold, but as we entered the house, warmth enveloped us.
The smell was incredible. Basil, tomato sauce, and roast.
Alice was in the dining room, finishing setting out the napkins.
The house, which this morning had looked like a furniture store display, now had life. Pictures were on the walls, rugs were in place, and there was a sense of home that magic couldn't replicate.
She looked up when we entered. Her gaze swept Marcus from top to bottom, looking for injuries, and then did the same to me.
"You took your time," she said, her tone casual, but her eyes sharp. "Dinner has been ready for twenty minutes."
She walked up to Marcus and stopped, wrinkling her nose slightly.
"And you smell like burnt ozone, Marcus." She crossed her arms. "Again."
My father froze for a millisecond, but quickly flashed a tired smile and kissed her forehead.
"We had a small problem, but everything is resolved now," he lied with frightening naturalness. "I had to use a little... magical incentive on the whole thing."
Alice narrowed her eyes, skeptical. She looked at me.
"And you, son? How do you feel? Are you okay?"
I felt the weight of the Charger key in my pocket. The bribe had arrived at the perfect time.
"All good, Mom," I confirmed, putting on my best innocent face. "Dad just took the chance to teach me some things about this new world in general."
Alice stared at us for another second, deciding if it was worth pressing. Finally, she sighed and pointed to the table.
"Wash your hands. If I find soot on my new tablecloth, you both sleep in the yard."
As we went to the sink, Marcus winked at me discreetly.
We survived the monster. We survived Alice. And I had gotten a car.
Despite the Black Mage on the loose, the day's balance was positive.
Dinner proceeded with an almost disconcerting normality. While we ate the lasagna—which was divine, by the way—Alice spoke excitedly about plans for the winter garden and the color of the living room curtains, oblivious to the fact that, a few miles away, her husband had decimated a magical abomination.
Marcus played the role of the attentive husband to perfection, praising the food and agreeing with the beige curtains, but I saw the residual tension in his shoulders. Every time our eyes met across the table, there was a silent understanding: the war has begun.
As soon as I finished, I helped clear the table and went up to my sanctuary.
A hot shower was necessary to scrub off the smell of ozone and damp forest that seemed to have stuck to my skin. I let the water run for a long time, trying to wash away not just the dirt, but the image of that "glitch" of red meat thrashing inside my father's perfect cube.
When I left the bathroom, hair damp and wearing comfortable clothes, physical exhaustion hit. But my mind was far from shutting down.
I turned off the main light and lay down.
The room was dark, lit only by the moon and the faint glow of my phone screen. I tossed the Charger key into the air and caught it.
Snap. Up. Down.
My mind wasn't on the car. It was on the conversation from earlier.
I remembered Lydia Martin's perfect, calculating smile in the hallway, how she had decided that Allison and I would be the new "accessories" for her group. I remembered the invitation to the Friday party.
"Friday," I murmured to the ceiling. "The party where everything goes to hell."
In the series, it was just a teen party that turned into a horror movie set with an Alpha on the loose.
But now...
I gripped the key in my hand. The image of that rotting meat monster and its "invalid geometry" in the forest returned to my mind.
If that Construct was a "scout," like my father said, what stopped its creator from releasing something in the middle of a party full of drunk teenagers?
"Allison is at the party. Scott will be there. Stiles too," I listed mentally. "And now there's a Black Mage, an Alpha, and Hunters in town."
I sighed, turning onto my side. I couldn't skip it. The way Lydia said it, Allison would drag me there if I didn't show up, and my survival instinct said I needed to be there to monitor the auras.
And there was Jackson.
The guy who looked at me like I was furniture when we were introduced.
"Tomorrow," I decided, closing my eyes. "Tomorrow we change the hierarchy."
The next day began with the same routine, but my posture was different. Knowing there was an armored Dodge Charger in my garage (even if I was on the school bus) did wonders for self-esteem.
I arrived at school and went straight to the locker room. It was P.E., and the smell of liniment and testosterone was already in the air.
I kept [Magic Vision] at Level 1. Grey auras of sleepiness, orange auras of pre-workout agitation. Everything normal.
Until I heard the voice.
"...where are you getting the juice, McCall?"
I stopped at the entrance of the locker aisle.
Jackson Whittemore.
I walked silently until I had a clear view. The scene was classic: Jackson cornering Scott against the lockers, invading his personal space with that typical aggression of someone who thinks they own the world.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Jackson," Scott was saying, his voice tense, clutching his backpack to his chest.
"You don't?" Jackson slapped the metal beside Scott's head. "Suddenly you're the best on the field? The asthma disappeared? How much are you taking? Steroids?"
"I'm not using anything!"
"Then tell me the truth!"
I activated [Vision Level 2].
Jackson's aura was spiked, lime-green and yellow, full of envy and structured arrogance. But Scott's... it was a chaos of red and gold trying to swallow the boy's blue. The wolf was reacting to the threat.
Scott looked up, desperate.
"I hear things!" Scott blurted out, almost in a shouted whisper. "I hear things I shouldn't hear. I smell things I shouldn't smell. I don't know what's happening, okay?!"
Jackson recoiled a millimeter, confused, but his aura was still aggressive. He was going to keep pressing.
I decided I'd seen enough.
I took a step forward, stepping out of the shadows.
"Interesting chat," I spoke, projecting my voice with a drop of mana so it cut through the locker room air. "But I think the Coach prefers you guys on the field, not making out against the lockers."
Jackson whipped his head around, irritated by the interruption. His eyes landed on me and, for a second, I saw recognition. "Lydia's new guy." The guy he solemnly ignored when we were introduced in the hallway.
"You again," Jackson sneered, turning his whole body toward me. His aura tried to expand in my direction, intimidating. "This isn't your problem, newbie."
He took a step toward me, expecting me to back down, expecting me to lower my head like everyone else did.
I didn't back down.
Instead, I remembered the cardboard box in the living room. Structure. Mass.
I didn't use [Impact]. I just condensed my aura. Made it heavy.
The air around me grew dense. The temperature dropped two degrees.
I looked Jackson in the eyes.
"And hasn't anyone taught you that steroids shrink your balls, Jackson?" I asked, calm, with a smirk. "Because with this whole obsession with Scott, people are going to start talking."
The locker room went silent. Some guys from the team stopped dressing to watch.
Jackson's face went red. His aura vibrated with rage, but when he tried to take another step, he hesitated. His instinct—that animal instinct every human has—screamed that there was something wrong with me. That I wasn't "furniture."
He huffed, adjusting his backpack violently.
"You're an idiot," he spat, trying to recover his dignity. He looked at Scott one last time. "This isn't over, McCall."
He walked past me, bumping his shoulder into mine on purpose.
I was supposed to stumble.
But I was anchored with mana. It was as if he had bumped into a concrete column.
Jackson tripped over his own step upon impact, recovering his balance clumsily. He looked at me, shocked, but said nothing. He just left, slamming the door.
The air returned to normal.
Scott let out a breath, sliding down the locker a bit.
"Damn," he said, looking at me with wide eyes. "You... you really pissed him off."
"Someone had to do it," I shrugged, relaxing my posture. "All bark, no bite."
"I don't know about that," Scott laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair. "Thanks, Nate. Seriously."
"No problem."
Scott started to grab his things, but stopped suddenly. He wrinkled his nose, inhaling the air near me.
His expression changed from gratitude to confusion.
"You..." he began.
"Me?"
"Your scent," Scott said, hesitant. "It's different."
I smiled internally. There it is.
"Different good or different bad?" I teased.
"Different like..." Scott searched for the word, staring at nothing. "Like rain? When a thunderstorm is about to hit?"
Ozone. The mark of pure mana.
"Must be my new deodorant," I lied, smoothly. "'Refreshing Storm,' or something like that."
Scott stared at me, not quite convinced, but too confused with his own life to question it.
"Yeah... must be," he murmured.
Still a bit suspicious, Scott closed his locker, but teenage anxiety seemed to be screaming louder than supernatural instinct. He looked around, ensuring the rest of the team had already gone to the field, and took a wavering step toward me.
"Hey man... can I ask you something? Kinda weird?"
I arched an eyebrow, staring at the new wolf. "I don't have any money, McCall."
"No, not that." Scott shook his head quickly. "It's about the party. Friday. I... heard in the hallway."
I stopped what I was doing. I knew he had heard. I knew he had heard every word from Lydia, from Allison, and even Jackson's low growl, even from far away.
In fact, if Allison had whispered yesterday in any corner of the school, Scott would have heard.
"Heard, did you?" I rolled my eyes. "Top-tier hearing you got there, huh, McCall?"
Scott froze for a millisecond, eyes wide, before disguising it with a dry cough.
"Yeah... the hallway echoes a lot. Anyway, I heard Allison say she'd only go if you went. That Lydia kinda made it a condition for her not to bail on the invite."
The shadow of the wolf around him agitated, spectral ears turned toward me, awaiting the sentence.
"So?" I retorted.
"And I need you to go," Scott blurted out, voice heavy with urgency. "Please, man. If you don't go, she won't go. And if she doesn't go..."
He stopped, looking desolate. I crossed my arms, feeling the weight of [Magic Vision] showing just how 'imprinted' this kid was on her.
"Why all this interest in Argent, Scott? We just met in Harris's class," I asked. "Are you telling me it's love at first sight?"
"It wasn't just in class," he confessed, lowering his voice. "We met yesterday."
Ah yes, the accident.
"Yesterday?" I repeated, feigning surprise.
"Yeah, her car hit a dog," Scott explained, gesturing. "I was there, I helped calm the animal down." He gave a half-smile—that typical teen series protagonist smile. "We talked for a short time but... I felt something. For real."
I looked at Scott. His aura was a mess. The wolf wanted the mate, the teenager wanted the new girl, and both were pinning all their hopes on my answer. If I said no, I'd break the main romance timeline and, honestly, I didn't care much.
The part of magic that brought me to this supernatural and hormonal plot had already broken the timeline, and I was more worried about my progress in that part than the original plot.
"So let me get this straight," I started. "You want me to go to a party full of people I don't know—including Jackson who clearly doesn't like me, or you, or anyone really—just to serve as 'social bait' for Allison to show up?"
Scott made a face, but nodded. "Basically... Yeah. Do me a solid?"
"You're not very smart, are you?" I arched an eyebrow. "Did it ever cross your mind that I might like her?"
The reaction was instantaneous.
Scott's face lost its color. He stopped breathing for a second, and I could see—without needing [Magic Vision]—insecurity exploding in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Primal jealousy, turbocharged by new supernatural hormones, made his fists clench at his sides.
I kept a serious expression for three more seconds, just to see how far the pressure would go, before letting out a short laugh and shaking my head.
"Breathe, McCall. You're gonna pass out like that."
Scott blinked, confused, air returning to his lungs irregularly.
"What...?"
"I'm kidding," I said, pushing off the locker. "Relax. The girl is pretty, but I'm not interested."
Scott's shoulders slumped in relief, but he still looked at me with suspicion.
"Dude... don't do that. Seriously. I'm already nervous enough."
"I can tell," I replied, adjusting my backpack. "But now, let's use a little logic, how about it? Because this story isn't making any sense."
I took a step forward, lowering my voice to something more analytical.
"Think with me, Scott. I met Allison yesterday. Exactly the same time as you. I spoke, what? Two sentences to her in the classroom?"
Scott nodded slowly, still a bit dazed.
"So," I continued, gesturing, "if the condition for her to go to a party to be with you is the presence of a random guy she barely knows the name of... I have bad news for you, buddy. That means she's not that into you."
The reality of the sentence hit Scott. He frowned, looking offended and worried at the same time.
"No, that's not it," he protested quickly, waving his hands. "She wants to go. I know she wants to. The problem isn't her, it's Lydia."
"Martin?"
"Yeah. Lydia kind of... adopted Allison. And Lydia fixated on you," Scott explained, seeming to find it as absurd as I did. "She told Allison the group needed 'new blood' and that if you didn't go, the party would be a bore and she'd rather go to the mall. Allison doesn't want to let Lydia down, get it? It's a girl thing, I don't know."
Ah.
Now it made sense.
Lydia Martin. The queen bee collecting drones. She must have sensed my indifference in the hallway and taken it as a personal challenge.
"I get it," I sighed. "So I'm not the love interest, I'm Lydia's new toy to decorate the living room."
"Basically," Scott agreed, with a sheepish smile of apology. "But look, if you go, I owe you one. A big one."
I stayed silent for a moment, pretending to ponder.
I was going to the party anyway—I'm a teenager after all, and I suspected the so-called Black Mage might be there too, I needed to keep an eye on everyone.
And having a future True Alpha owing me one isn't bad either.
"Alright," I conceded, as if I were doing a monumental favor.
Scott's face lit up.
"Seriously?" Scott laughed, relieved, already grabbing his phone.
"See you there, McCall," I confirmed.
He gave me a fist bump on the shoulder—too strong for a normal human, I noted—and hurried down the hallway, typing furiously, probably to deliver the good news.
I stood alone in the empty hallway.
"Great," I murmured, feeling the weight of the invisible grimoire in my inventory. "Teenage party on Friday. The perfect setting for something to go horribly wrong."