Sunday dragged on with that grey lethargy typical of cloudy days in Beacon Hills.
I was in my room, lying on the bed, tossing a tennis ball against the ceiling and catching it in mid-air with a lazy flick of telekinesis.
Up.
Stop.
Down.
Catch.
It was a fine-control exercise, but my mind was elsewhere.
It was in the forest, on the purple trail, in the shadow of the wolf looming over Scott.
My body was still protesting against yesterday morning's "Vacuum Field" training; my muscles felt like they were made of lead, and my mana reserves, though full, felt dense—like murky water after a storm.
Suddenly, the tennis ball stopped in mid-air.
It wasn't me.
It froze at the peak of the throw, enveloped by a geometric blue glow that wasn't mine.
A small rune made of solid light spun around the ball and exploded with a soft pop, like a bursting soap bubble.
"Formal wear. Come down in twenty minutes. Be presentable."
My father's voice didn't come from the door, nor the hallway.
It came from the very vibration of the air in the room, magically projected. A simple Messenger trick, but one that always got on my nerves due to its military efficiency.
The ball dropped right onto my face.
"Ow," I grunted, rubbing my nose. "Great way to invite someone, Dad."
I stood up, confused.
Formal wear? On a Sunday night?
I went to the closet, ignoring the urge to stay in my sweats.
If Marcus Salt said "formal wear," he didn't mean jeans and a polo. He meant a "diplomacy uniform."
I opted for black tailored trousers and a charcoal grey dress shirt.
I rolled the sleeves to the elbow so I wouldn't look like I was heading to a wedding, but I kept the collar sharp.
I slid the Reserve Ring onto my right index finger; the raw sapphire looked almost black in the room's dim light.
I headed downstairs, smelling expensive perfume mixed with that electric tension I was learning to identify as "my parents plotting something."
I found my mother in the living room.
Alice Salt was standing in front of the sideboard mirror, but she wasn't admiring herself.
She was nervous.
She wore an elegant navy blue dress, but her fingers drummed incessantly on the wood of the furniture, and she was biting her lower lip—a tic I hadn't seen since I almost failed math in ninth grade.
She walked to the window, peered out, and returned to the mirror.
"Mom?" I called out, stopping on the last step of the stairs.
She turned with a start, her hand going to her chest.
"Oh, Nathan. You're ready. Good."
She came over to me and began smoothing the shoulders of my shirt, adjusting an invisible crease.
"You look handsome. Really. That's good. We need to look serious."
"Mom, what's going on?" I held her hands gently to make her stop. "Dad sent a warning spell. You're pacing in circles. Who died?"
"No one died, Nathan. Yet."
She let out a shaky sigh.
"We're going out for dinner."
"Out for dinner? With all this tension? Where are we eating, in hell?"
"Close enough," Marcus's deep voice answered.
He stepped into the room from the study.
He looked impeccable in a custom black suit, no tie, giving him an air of modern danger.
He held the keys to the family's armored sedan, not my Charger.
"We're having dinner at the Argents'," Marcus dropped the bombshell.
My eyes widened.
"The Argents? Like... Allison's family? The hunters?"
"Exactly," Marcus confirmed, checking his wristwatch.
"Chris called an hour ago. The invitation was... insistent. Officially, it's a welcome dinner for the 'new family in town' and for his daughter's new friend. Unofficially, it's a war summit."
"I thought we were going to stay off their radar," I argued, feeling a pit in my stomach.
"Dining with them is literally walking into the lion's den. Or the hunter's, in this case."
"The situation changed when the Halloway entered the board," Marcus said, walking toward the door.
"Chris Argent isn't stupid. He saw your car. He knows there's something different about us. If we don't define ourselves as 'neutrals' or 'allies' now, he'll classify us as a 'threat.' And I don't want to be dodging wolfsbane bullets while hunting a Black Mage."
Alice grabbed her purse, her expression hardening.
She assumed the posture of a matriarch.
"Chris wants something in return, Nathan," she warned, walking to the door.
"He's desperate. There's an Alpha killing people and he can't track it. He's going to want to use our gifts."
"What gifts?"
"Our Sight," Marcus explained, opening the door for us.
The night outside was cold.
"Hunters have tech toys and instinct, but they don't see the soul of things. You do. Chris wants us to identify the werewolves for him. He wants us to be his bloodhounds."
"And what do we want?" I asked, following them to the car.
Marcus stopped by the driver's side and looked at me over the roof of the car.
His eyes shone with a calculating coldness.
"We want them to stay out of our way. If we find the Maestro Negro, Elias... I need a guarantee that the Argents won't try to 'arrest' him or interfere. Sonic Magic against conventional bullets is a massacre. I need Chris to understand that this fight is ours."
"And there's one more thing," Alice added, getting into the passenger seat.
"His sister is in town. Kate Argent."
Marcus clenched his jaw.
"The arsonist," he muttered.
"If she's at the table, Nathan... do not provoke her. Chris follows a code. From your father's research, she does not."
I got into the back seat, feeling the weight of those words.
The drive to the Argent mansion was silent.
The sedan glided over the asphalt like a shark in dark waters.
Marcus drove with an irritating calm, while Alice stared out the window, watching the trees pass by.
I kept thinking about Allison.
Did she know the dinner was a diplomatic trap? Or did she think it was just an awkward parent meetup?
Probably the latter.
And that made me feel a bit guilty.
I was going to her house as a spy, armed with magic and secrets.
"We're arriving," Marcus warned.
The car slowed down before a wrought-iron gate, high and imposing.
A security camera swiveled silently toward us.
The gate opened automatically.
We drove up the long driveway.
The Argent house wasn't just a house.
It was a statement.
I activated Level 1 Magic Sight, just enough to see the outlines of things.
"Man..." I whispered.
It wasn't just cameras.
There were pressure sensors under the gravel of the driveway.
There were ultrasound emitters in the corners of the garden—likely to ward off or irritate werewolves.
The whole house had a slight electric static, indicating a military-grade security system.
"Turn off the Sight, Nathan," Alice whispered, without looking back.
"They might have active mana detectors. Just be a normal boy."
"Understood."
I blinked and the magic vanished.
The world went back to being just shadows and porch lights.
Marcus parked the car next to Chris's massive black SUV.
Our car's engine died, and the silence of the property fell over us.
"Remember," Marcus said, looking at me through the rearview mirror one last time.
"You are their daughter's friend. You are polite. You are harmless. Leave the arrogance to me."
"I can do that," I replied, opening the door.
We stepped out of the car.
The air smelled of pine and old money.
We climbed the porch steps.
Before Marcus could ring the bell, the heavy wooden door opened.
Chris Argent was there.
He wore a beige sweater that tried to soften his image, but it failed miserably.
His eyes were cold, analytical, sweeping over the three of us in a second.
They lingered on me for a moment longer than necessary.
"Marcus," Chris said, his voice controlled.
"Alice."
"Chris," my father replied, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"And this must be Nathan," Chris focused on me again.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Argent," I extended my hand.
His grip was firm.
Calloused.
The hands of someone who shoots.
"Come in," he said, stepping aside.
"Victoria and Kate are waiting in the living room."
Hearing the name "Kate," I felt my mother stiffen beside me.
We entered the mansion.
The interior of the Argent mansion was as intimidating as the exterior, but in a different way.
Everything was too clean, too organized.
There was no clutter, not a shoe out of place.
It looked like a house ready to be photographed for a magazine, or abandoned in five minutes in case of an emergency.
Victoria Argent was waiting for us in the foyer.
She stood with her hands crossed in front of her body, posture rigid, a polished smile on her face that didn't reach her cold eyes.
"Alice. Marcus."
She greeted them with a regal nod.
"It's a pleasure to finally host you."
"The pleasure is ours, Victoria," my mother replied, in the same tone. "You have a lovely home."
"Functional," Victoria corrected smoothly, before turning her eyes to me.
Her gaze was like an airport scanner.
"And you must be Nathan. Allison speaks highly of you."
"I hope it's good things," I replied, trying my best "harmless boy" smile.
"She mentioned you are... helpful," Victoria said the word as if it were a suspicious trait.
"Dinner is served," Chris interrupted, gesturing toward the adjacent dining room.
We walked over.
The table was long, dark wood, set for seven people, but only five chairs were initially occupied.
Allison hadn't come down yet.
"Sorry I'm late!"
Her voice came from the top of the stairs.
I looked up.
Allison was hurrying down, finishing putting on an earring.
She wore a simple but elegant black dress and looked relieved to see me—until she noticed the tension in the air.
"Hi," she said, stopping beside her mother. "You're here."
"We're here," I smiled at her, and I saw her shoulders relax a bit.
"Well, now that Cinderella has joined us..."
A raspy female voice came from the doorway leading to the kitchen.
We all turned.
Kate Argent walked into the room.
She didn't walk; she paraded.
Blonde, wearing a leather jacket over a tight dress that accentuated dangerous curves, she held a glass of red wine as if it were a scepter.
Her energy was electric, chaotic, and vibrant—the polar opposite of Victoria's coldness.
"Aunt Kate," Allison sighed, already anticipating trouble.
Kate ignored her niece and stopped in front of me, invading my personal space without the slightest ceremony.
Her scent was strong—expensive perfume and gunpowder.
She looked me up and down, lingering on my shoulders and face, with a predatory smile like she'd just found an interesting prey.
"So this is the new boy," Kate murmured, taking a sip of wine without taking her eyes off me.
"Wow. Allison, you forgot to mention he doesn't look like a freshman."
I felt my face heat up slightly, but I maintained eye contact.
"I'm Nathan. Nice to meet you."
"The pleasure is all mine, sweetheart," she winked, extending her free hand.
I shook her hand.
Her skin was soft, but the grip was strong, testing my reaction.
"Kate Argent. The fun aunt. And apparently the only person at this table who knows how to have fun."
"Kate, please," Chris said, pulling out the head chair. "Let's sit."
Dinner began with the clinking sound of silverware on fine china.
The dish was a pot roast with potatoes—classic, heavy, and ironically appropriate for a table full of predators.
Marcus and Chris sat at opposite ends.
I sat across from Allison.
Kate sat next to her, which meant she was across from me, with a prime view to analyze me.
"So, Nathan," Victoria began, cutting the meat with surgical precision.
"Your parents mentioned you moved from San Francisco. Why Beacon Hills? It's a drastic change of pace."
"My father wanted a quieter place to work on his projects," I replied, using the cover story we rehearsed.
"And my mother wanted a bigger garden."
"Quiet," Kate let out a short laugh, drinking more wine.
"Beacon Hills is many things, handsome. Quiet isn't one of them."
"We find the city's charm... invigorating," Alice intervened, smiling sweetly at Kate.
Kate smiled back, showing teeth that were a bit too perfect.
"And you, Nathan?"
Kate leaned over the table, propping her chin on her hand.
"What do you do for fun in this dull town? Besides distracting my niece from her studies?"
Allison choked on her water.
"Aunt Kate!" she hissed, her face turning red.
"He helped me with History. That's it."
"History," Kate rolled her eyes, amused.
"Right. In my day, we called that 'making out in the library,' but whatever. Terminology changes."
"We just studied," I insisted, trying not to look at Allison's neckline or Kate's mischievous smile.
"Seriously."
"A shame," Kate teased, biting into a potato while looking at me.
"Because with those eyes... you must be breaking hearts at school. Or you will. There's an intensity there. I like it."
She lightly kicked my foot under the table.
It wasn't aggressive; it was a touch.
"Kate, stop embarrassing the children," Chris said, his voice hard but without raising his tone.
"Oh, Chris, stop being such a drag. The boy can take it. Can't you, Nathan?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"You don't look like the type who scares easily. Which is good. Scared men are so... uninteresting."
"I try not to be scared," I replied, keeping my voice steady.
"But I respect danger when I see it."
Kate broke into a wide smile, genuinely impressed.
"Good answer," she toasted with her glass in my direction.
"I like him, Allison. Approved. If you get tired of him, let me know. I like fixer-upper projects."
"My God," Allison covered her face with her hands, mortified.
"Mom, make her stop."
Victoria just continued eating, ignoring her sister.
"Changing the subject," Chris said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin.
His gaze focused on me, serious.
"I saw your car at the school entrance the other day. A '70 Charger, correct?"
"Yes, sir."
"A powerful engine," Chris commented.
"Loud. It draws attention."
"It's a classic," Marcus answered for me, his voice calm.
"It requires constant maintenance. Fine-tuning. Nathan has a talent for understanding how things work from the inside."
"Mechanics is a useful skill," Chris agreed, his eyes cold.
"As long as you know how to control the power. A car like that, in the wrong hands, is a weapon. In the hands of an inexperienced driver... it's an accident waiting to happen."
There was a silence at the table.
The metaphor didn't go unnoticed by anyone.
He wasn't talking about the car.
He was talking about magic.
About me.
"I drive carefully, Mr. Argent," I said, holding his gaze.
"I know what I have in my hands."
"I hope so," Chris said, and took a sip of wine.
The atmosphere at the table weighed tons.
Allison looked from her father to me, sensing the veiled hostility.
Alice stopped eating.
Marcus placed his silverware on his plate with a definitive sound.
"The dinner was excellent, Victoria," my father said, with the tone of someone ending a meeting.
"But I believe the social formalities have been fulfilled."
He looked at Chris.
"We have business matters to discuss. Matters of... architecture and urban zoning. Boring stuff."
Chris nodded slowly.
"I agree."
Marcus turned to me.
"Nathan, why don't you go see... I don't know, Allison's photos? Or history books? I'm sure you have homework."
I looked at Allison.
She was already standing up, anxious to escape that table.
"Come on, Nate," she said quickly.
"I'll show you... uh... my notes."
I stood up, mentally thanking God and my father for the strategic exit.
"Excuse me. Dinner was great, Mrs. Argent."
"It was a pleasure, handsome," Kate winked at me as I passed her.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do up there. Which, let's be honest, leaves the options pretty wide open."
Allison grabbed my arm and practically dragged me out of the dining room, toward the stairs.
We climbed the steps in silence, feeling the weight of the five adults' stares on our backs until we vanished into the second-floor hallway.
As soon as we entered her room and she closed the door, the sound of the latch clicking felt like the loudest noise in the house.
Allison leaned her back against the door and let out a long sigh, sliding down to the floor dramatically.
"I'm so sorry," she groaned, covering her eyes.
"My family is a circus. An armed and dangerous circus, but a circus."
I smiled, feeling the tension in my shoulders begin to dissipate now that we were away from the "war zone."
"Hey, it's okay," I said, approaching and reaching out my hand to help her up.
"My family isn't exactly normal either. I think the dinner was... instructive."
She took my hand and stood up.
Her touch was warm.
"Instructive?" she laughed nervously.
"My aunt hit on you in front of my parents. My father threatened you with car metaphors. And my mother looked at you like she was dissecting a frog."
"Yeah," I agreed, chuckling softly.
"The Aunt Kate part was... peculiar."
Allison shook her head, going to sit on the edge of the bed.
"She likes to provoke. Don't mind her. She does it to test people."
I walked around the room, taking in the details.
It was a normal room, except for the total absence of childhood personality.
There were no teddy bears, no band posters.
There were books, a laptop, and, leaning in the corner, half-covered by a scarf, the compound bow I had seen before.
Downstairs, silence fell.
We knew what that meant.
The theater was over.
The real meeting was beginning.
"They aren't going to talk about urban zoning, are they?" Allison asked, her voice small.
I looked at her.
She knew something was happening, but she didn't know what.
"No," I admitted, looking at the closed door, "I don't think so."
Downstairs, the sound of Allison's bedroom door closing was the trigger.
The air in the dining room changed instantly.
Victoria's forced cordiality vanished, replaced by a vigilant coldness.
Kate, who had previously been flirting with danger, was now spinning a steak knife between her fingers with lethal dexterity.
Chris Argent was the first to move.
He poured himself more wine, but his eyes never left Marcus.
"Chris," Marcus began, his voice now laden with the timbre of authority that Nathan rarely saw at home.
"Let's skip the protocol. You didn't invite us to evaluate my son's taste in girls or my skill in restoring engines."
Chris leaned back in his chair, staring at the man across from him.
He knew exactly who he was dealing with.
In the files of the Order of Hunters, the name Marcus Salt wasn't associated with "architecture."
He was listed under the category of Major Ruptures.
Marcus was a pure-blood War Mage, a "Mana Demolisher" whose name was whispered in fear from magical circles in Europe to the West Coast.
He was famous for having decimated entire cells of Black Mages and corrupted creatures before "retiring" to raise his son in anonymity.
"You settled down, Salt," Chris said, his voice raspy.
"For ten years, the world thought you had lost your taste for blood. Marriage and fatherhood make a man... cautious."
"They make a man selective about who he kills," Marcus corrected, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"I haven't lost my power, Argent. I just found something more important to do with it than clean up other people's messes."
Kate let out a dry laugh, her eyes shining with excitement.
"The great War Mage himself, at a suburban dinner table. What a waste of potential."
Alice Salt looked at Kate, and the table creaked under the pressure of the matriarch's invisible mana.
"Do not mistake our choice of peace for weakness, Kate," Alice warned.
"We are here for diplomacy. Do not force us to change our strategy."
Chris Argent cleared his throat, regaining control of the table.
"I know your family's reputation. 'Visual Mages.' The architects of destruction. You see the geometry of reality and you break it."
"And that is why I need you. We have a problem in Beacon Hills. An Alpha. He's smart, violent, and he's building a pack. My men can't track him."
Chris leaned forward, his hands flat on the table.
"You have the Sight. You see the auras. You see the wolf beneath the skin."
"I want you to point out the targets. In exchange, the Salt family has full protection and immunity under the Hunter's Code."
Marcus let out a short, disdainful laugh.
"Protection?"
"You are offering protection to the man who brought down the Walls of Lyon?"
Marcus shook his head.
"Listen well, Chris. My son is not a hound. He's not going to enter your war against teenage werewolves and an Alpha with a God complex. Wolves are animals of instinct; they are predictable."
Marcus stood up, resting his hands on the table, and the crack he had made earlier expanded a few inches.
"I accepted this dinner to warn you of something your cameras and heat sensors don't catch."
"There is a Black Mage in Beacon Hills. A Maestro of the Halloway bloodline. Elias Halloway."
The name made Kate frown, but Chris remained motionless.
"Black Mages aren't our priority unless they break the Code," Victoria intervened, her voice icy.
"He uses sound," Marcus explained. "He can make an army kill themselves before you can even draw your weapon, Kate. He can make your daughter slit her own throat thinking it's the right thing to do."
The silence at the table was absolute. The mention of Allison shifted Chris's posture.
Chris exchanged a heavy look with Victoria.
They knew the danger of a mage out of control, but the scale Marcus described was apocalyptic.
"What do you want, Salt?" Chris asked at last.
"Distance," Marcus decreed. "I am going to hunt Elias. It is a family matter. It is a matter of bloodline."
"If you find the purple trail or hear a frequency that shouldn't be there, get out of the way."
"Do not interfere."
"My methods are not... surgical."
"If your hunters try to surround a location where I am operating, they will be considered collateral damage."
Chris Argent felt the weight of the threat.
He knew that Marcus Salt, the War Mage, did not bluff.
"If your Black Mage is the threat you say he is... we will not interfere in your cleanup," Chris conceded.
"But the deal goes both ways. If your son gets involved with the wolves I am hunting... the Code will have no mercy."
"Nathan knows how to take care of himself," Marcus said, walking toward the exit of the dining room. "And he has me to ensure no one touches him."
Marcus stopped in the hall and looked upstairs toward where his son was.
"Let's go, Alice. We've given the necessary warnings."
The official Beacon Hills dinner was over.
There were no handshakes upon departure.
Only the silent recognition that, on the board of that city, there was now a piece far too powerful to be ignored, and far too dangerous to be controlled.
As the Salts' car pulled away, Chris Argent stood on the porch, watching the red lights vanish into the fog.
"Is he as dangerous as they say?" Kate asked, appearing behind her brother.
"Worse," Chris replied. "Marcus Salt doesn't fight to win. He fights so that there is nothing left of the opponent to tell the story. If the son is half of what the father is... Beacon Hills just got very small for all of us."