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The car rolled to a stop in the rear parking lot of the Beacon Hills Animal Clinic, tires crunching softly over gravel as the last golden slivers of daylight slipped beneath the horizon. Dusk stretched long shadows across the ground, swallowing the remaining warmth of the day in creeping darkness. Lucas sat still for a beat, the engine idling low before he turned the key and shut it off. Silence settled heavily around them.
In the backseat, the two hunters remained motionless, their bodies slumped and breathing shallow—steady but dulled by the lingering effects of the tranquilizers.
Lucas glanced over his shoulder once to confirm they hadn't stirred, then looked to Malia in the passenger seat. "Come on," he said quietly.
Malia nodded, her eyes flicking once toward the unconscious men before she followed him inside.
The clinic was dim, quiet save for the soft hum of fluorescent lights. Deaton was already waiting in one of the treatment rooms, sleeves rolled up, his face, as always, bore that practiced calm—but there was a weight behind his eyes tonight.
Beside him stood Laura, tall and composed, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her expression was as sharp and contained, but not without emotion. There was tension in her jaw, the kind that only comes from being both responsible and afraid.
Lucas stepped forward and reached into his jacket pocket, producing the three vials. The glass clinked softly in his hand as he held them out.
"Found these in the hunter's trunk," he said. "Pretty sure this one is the right strain, but we brought all three."
Deaton's eyes sharpened as he took them. "Good. This gives us a chance. I'll confirm which it is and begin the treatment immediately." Without wasting another word, he turned and moved to his equipment, already setting the vials down with meticulous care.
Laura's gaze snapped to Lucas. "How did you—"
Before she could finish, Malia spoke up. "Lucas intercepted two hunters at the school. They were planning to use me to track Derek. He took them out before they could do it. They're outside, in the car, one of them was Edward."
Laura's brow furrowed. "You brought hunters here?"
"Unconscious. They're not going anywhere." Malia answered flatly.
Laura's mouth pressed into a hard line. For a heartbeat, she looked torn—caught between alarm and a flicker of gratitude. Then, slowly, her posture shifted. The tension began to drain from her shoulders, and she looked back at Lucas.
"Thank you," she said, and this time the edge was gone. The words were soft, but sincere—honest in a way that cut through the stress and urgency. "You may have just saved Derek's life."
Lucas shrugged, trying not to meet her eyes. "It's no big deal. Besides…" He glanced at Malia, his tone lighter. "She's been a great help training Isaac. Couldn't let her be their target."
Laura's lips twitched, just shy of a smile, before she masked it again. She gave a single nod, then moved toward Deaton to check on Derek's condition.
Lucas leaned against the wall, and exhaled slowly.
Deaton's hands moved with steady precision, selecting one of the three vials and setting the others aside. He held the chosen one up against the light, his gaze sharp as if weighing its very essence. Then he nodded once.
It didn't take him long to craft the antidote—mixing, diluting, preparing with practiced ease. A faint herbal scent filled the treatment room, bitter and metallic all at once.
On the table, Derek lay shirtless, pale and sweating. The wound on his side was ugly, raw, veins of black spreading like roots outward from the cut. It pulsed faintly under his skin, each throb a reminder of the poison eating at him.
Deaton approached, holding a small glass with the liquid cure. "This will burn going down. But if it works, his body will do the rest."
He tipped the glass carefully into Derek's mouth. For a moment Derek stirred faintly, his throat working to swallow. Then the room fell into silence.
At first nothing happened. Then the black veins began to recede, the angry lines shrinking back toward the wound. His flesh knit together, muscle pulling tight, skin sealing smooth. In minutes it was over, as though the injury had never been there at all.
Derek's eyes flew open, glowing bright golden for an instant before dimming again. He groaned, tried to push himself up, but collapsed back onto the table. Weak, but alive.
Malia rushed to his side. Laura stepped closer, her hand hovering above Derek's shoulder before settling there. Deaton checked his pulse, his expression calm but satisfied.
Lucas stood a few paces back, watching the relief ripple through the Hale siblings. After ensuring Derek was healed, he slipped quietly out of the treatment room and into the cool night air.
For a few minutes he simply stood there in the dark, listening to the quiet hum of the town beyond, grounding him.
The door creaked open. Laura stepped out, her arms folded, but the lines of strain on her face had softened. She came to stand beside him, silent for a moment, before finally speaking.
"You didn't need to involve yourself in this," she said, her voice low. "But I'm grateful that you did." Tʜe source of this ᴄontent ɪs novel⁂fire.net
Lucas shook his head. "There's someone out there trying to start a war. They've already killed once to push it forward. I can't just stand by and let it happen. Like it or not, I'm involved."
Laura studied him for a long beat, her sharp gaze softened by something almost like relief. "After what happened six years ago, trusting anyone doesn't come easy. Especially when it comes to my family." She paused. "But I trust you. And frankly… we could use all the help we can get."
Lucas nodded once. Laura mirrored it, their silent agreement hanging in the cool night air.