I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
Patréon.com/emperordragon
________________________________________
Laura's Perspective
The way back to the clinic felt longer than the one to the Argent house. Laura's hands were clenched, her knuckles pale in the moonlight. Every word Chris had said still echoed in her head.
By the time she returned to the clinic, the adrenaline had drained away, leaving only the steady throb of frustration and worry. She paused just outside the door, stood in the silence for a moment, and let herself breathe. Then she pushed it open and stepped inside.
The familiar sterile smell of antiseptic and herbs hit her as she entered the dimly lit clinic. Malia was sitting on a bench, arms crossed, eyes sharp the moment Laura walked in.
"Well?" Malia asked, her tone laced with suspicion.
Laura shook her head, voice flat. "Chris Argent doesn't believe us. He wants to hear it from Derek himself."
Malia's face twisted in disgust. "So he can put a bullet in him the second he gets the chance?"
Laura didn't answer. She didn't need to.
In the treatment room, Deaton stood by Derek's side, watching over him as he slept off the strain of both the wolfsbane and the cure. Derek's chest rose and fell steadily now, the color back in his skin, but the healing process had drained him.
Deaton glanced up at Laura. "How did it go?"
Laura forced her voice steady. "As expected. He's not backing down. Derek is still their prime suspect."
Deaton's gaze lingered on her for a moment, quietly measuring the weight she carried before returning to Derek.
Malia moved to Derek's bedside, her hand hovering just above his arm without quite touching. "We should just get him out of here," she said. "Pack up, leave Beacon Hills before this gets worse."
"No," Laura said, sharper than she meant. Both Deaton and Malia looked at her, but she didn't waver. "Running won't solve anything. Whoever set this up—they'll just follow. And the Argents will chase us anyway. The only way this ends is if we find out who's behind it."
Silence settled thick in the room, broken only by the steady rhythm of Derek's breathing.
Malia finally looked up at her sister. "Then what's the plan?"
Laura didn't answer right away. She moved closer to Derek, looking down at his sleeping face. For just a moment, the hardness slipped, replaced by something raw and unguarded.
"The plan," she said quietly, more to herself than to them, "is to make sure no one else in this family ends up on a morgue table."
Malia's jaw tightened, but she nodded. Deaton said nothing, though his expression carried the same unspoken question that burned in Laura's mind: Can we hold this line, or is it already too late?
The next morning.
Lucas's Perspective
The school was steeped in that rare, almost sacred silence that only existed in the early hours—before the bells, before the chatter, before the collective heartbeat of hundreds of students surged through the corridors. It was a stillness particular to schools, both eerie and comforting, like the building itself was holding its breath.
Lucas walked those hushed halls alone, his footsteps muffled by the aging tiles beneath his sneakers. His backpack hung loosely over one shoulder.
Classes weren't on his mind. Not even close. His thoughts were elsewhere. He turned a corner and made his way directly to the library without hesitation, as if he'd done this a hundred times before. The heavy wooden door creaked as he pushed it open, but the space beyond remained undisturbed.
Inside, the library was dimly lit, the morning sun filtering through tall windows and throwing long beams across the carpeted floor. He moved through the aisles of books with practiced ease, ignoring the empty tables in the center of the room and seeking out a quiet corner tucked between two tall shelves. There, wrapped in soft shadows and the faint scent of old paper, he took a seat.
He pulled out his phone. One short text: We have to talk. Meet me in the library.
Then came the waiting. Ten minutes stretched longer than they should have. He drummed his fingers against the table, staring at the entrance. Finally, Lydia appeared.
Lydia entered with her usual confidence, her stride unhurried, her presence magnetic. She spotted him almost immediately, and a playful smile flickered across her face, familiar and flirtatious. She moved toward him without hesitation, her heels making soft clicks against the floor like punctuation marks in an otherwise quiet sentence.
"Well," she said as she approached, her voice low and teasing. "Fooling around in the library? How delightfully cliché." She leaned closer, close enough that her perfume—sweet, sharp, unmistakably her—hit him before her body did. "But I'm game. Let's see where it leads."
Her perfume hit before she did, sweet and sharp, but Lucas didn't move to meet her. Instead, he raised a hand, gently stopping her advance.
"We have to talk," he said, voice low but firm.
She blinked, confusion flashing across her face. "Couldn't this wait? I mean, really, Lucas—you kind of just killed the mood."
He shook his head slowly. "No. It couldn't wait."
"Us getting involved was never a good idea," Lucas began, choosing each word with care, "But I figured—I'm young. This is the time to make a few mistakes, have some reckless fun." He exhaled, the weight of the last night pressing down on him. "But things have changed."
For a moment, confusion flickered across Lydia's face. Then it clicked. The color drained, and she masked it quickly with a sardonic tilt of her head.
"Things have changed," she echoed. "How wonderfully vague."
Lucas could see through the mask, though. The rejection stung her more than she wanted him to know. She recovered quickly, the sharp gleam in her eyes returning.
"Well," she said, flipping her hair back with a graceful motion. "What a shame. We could've had fun. But hey—plenty of other cute boys wandering these halls."
Lucas nodded—not mockingly, not defensively. Just quietly, earnestly. "I hope you find what you're looking for."
Lydia let out a sharp, dismissive snort and turned on her heel. Her heels clicked softly against the library floor as she left without looking back.
Lucas sat there a moment longer, phone still in his hand, staring at the door she disappeared through. The quiet returned, but it didn't feel the same.