Chapter 6: The Morning After
First period is a disaster.
Scott walks in looking like he hasn't slept. Probably because he hasn't. His hair is a mess, shirt wrinkled, eyes bloodshot. But underneath the exhaustion, there's something else. A manic energy that makes him fidget in his seat, fingers drumming against the desk.
I watch from three rows back, Haki extended just enough to read him.
Fear. Confusion. And underneath it all, something primal.
The transformation is already starting. His body is rewiring itself, instincts sharpening, senses amplifying. He doesn't know it yet—or maybe he does and refuses to believe it.
A pen drops.
The sound is quiet—barely audible over the teacher's droning lecture. But Scott's head snaps toward it like a gunshot went off. His eyes are too wide, pupils dilated. He's breathing hard.
Stiles leans over from the next desk. "Dude, you okay?"
"Yeah. Fine."
"You don't look fine. You look like you drank ten Red Bulls and chased them with espresso."
"I'm fine."
Stiles doesn't look convinced, but he drops it. Instead, he starts rambling about the body search—how they almost got caught, how the Sheriff is furious, how the whole thing was "totally worth it even though we didn't find anything."
Scott isn't listening. He's staring at his hands, flexing his fingers like they're foreign objects.
My Haki picks up the edges of his thoughts. Not words—I'm not a telepath—but feelings. Panic. Denial. The creeping realization that something is wrong.
You know what bit you, Scott. You just don't want to admit it.
The bell rings. Students flood the hallways. Scott moves through them like a ghost, shoulders hunched, avoiding eye contact. Stiles follows, still talking, oblivious to the crisis unfolding beside him.
I hang back. Give them space.
But I keep my Haki locked on Scott's emotional signature, tracking him through the chaos.
Lunch period brings a new complication.
The cafeteria is packed. Noise bounces off the walls—laughter, shouting, the clatter of trays. My Haki hums with overlapping presences, but I've learned to filter it. Focus on the individuals that matter.
Scott and Stiles sit at their usual table. I'm two tables over, close enough to monitor without being obvious.
Then she walks in.
Allison Argent.
My Haki pings her before I consciously register her presence. New. Unfamiliar. A bright, nervous energy that cuts through the cafeteria's chaos like a beacon.
She's holding a tray, scanning the room for an empty seat. Dark hair. Brown eyes. Smile that's equal parts confident and uncertain.
And underneath it all—something I can't name. A presence that feels wrong. Not malicious. Just... layered. Like there's more beneath the surface than she's showing.
Her family.
The thought surfaces from my meta-knowledge, fragmented and incomplete. Hunters. The Argents are hunters. But she doesn't know. Not yet.
She spots an empty seat near Scott's table and heads toward it.
I watch, Haki locked on both of them.
Three steps from the table, she trips.
Her tray tilts. Food slides. Gravity takes over.
Scott moves.
It's not human. One second he's sitting, the next he's on his feet, hand shooting out to catch the tray before it hits the ground. The movement is too fast. Too precise.
The cafeteria goes quiet.
Allison stares at him. "Oh my God. Thank you."
Scott stares at the tray in his hand like he doesn't know how it got there. "Uh. No problem."
Stiles is gaping. So is half the cafeteria.
I mutter under my breath. "Oh no."
The guy next to me—Danny, I think—glances over. "What?"
"Nothing."
But it's not nothing. Scott just imprinted. I can feel it through my Haki—the shift in his emotional signature. Loneliness giving way to something sharper. Obsession. Fixation.
Allison Argent just became the center of his world.
Nothing good.
Stiles leans over, whispering something to Scott. Probably asking how he moved that fast. Scott shakes his head, looking lost.
Allison sits down at their table, smiling. Scott sits across from her, frozen.
This is it. The moment everything accelerates.
After school, Scott corners me in the parking lot.
I'm halfway to my car when I sense him approaching—anxiety and determination radiating from his Haki signature. I stop, leaning against the driver's side door, and wait.
He stops three feet away, arms crossed. "We need to talk."
"Okay."
"How did you know to be there last night?"
Straight to the point. No preamble.
"I didn't," I say. "Wrong place, wrong time."
"Or the right place."
"Maybe."
His jaw tightens. "What bit me?"
"You know what bit you, Scott."
"I don't—"
"You've been flinching at every sound all day. You caught Allison's tray without thinking. Your wound healed overnight." I meet his eyes. "You know."
His face crumbles. Fear and denial warring for dominance. "That's impossible."
"And yet."
He looks away, hands clenching into fists. "This can't be real."
"It is."
"How are you so calm?"
"I'm really, really not."
The honesty surprises him. His Haki flares—confusion, but also relief. Like he's glad someone else knows. Like he's not alone in this nightmare.
"What do I do?" he asks quietly.
"We figure it out. Together."
"How?"
"I don't know yet. But you're not alone, Scott. I promise."
He nods slowly. The tension in his shoulders eases, just slightly.
"Thanks," he says. "For last night. For not freaking out."
"Yeah."
He turns to leave, then stops. "Stiles is going to ask questions. He already thinks something's weird."
"Let him ask. Just don't give him answers. Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because the more people who know, the more danger they're in."
Scott studies me. "You sound like you've done this before."
If only you knew.
"Just a guess," I say.
He doesn't look convinced, but he lets it go. "See you tomorrow."
"Yeah."
He walks away, climbing into Stiles' Jeep. I watch them drive off, then get in my car.
My hands are shaking again. Not from fear this time—from exhaustion. The past twenty-four hours have drained me in ways I didn't think possible.
I drive home on autopilot.
That night, I sit at my desk, laptop open, pretending to research werewolf lore.
Full moon transformations. Silver bullets. Wolfsbane. The myths are mostly wrong, but I type them into the search bar anyway. Create a digital trail that makes sense. A curious teenager looking for answers.
Not a transmigrator who already knows the truth.
Three weeks to the full moon. Scott needs to learn control. Needs an anchor to keep him human.
In the show, that anchor was Allison.
But what if it's not enough? What if I'm supposed to do more?
You can't change everything. You don't even remember everything.
The thought is bitter. True.
I close the laptop and stare at the calendar. The full moon date glares back at me, circled in red beneath the crossed-out ink.
Scott's transformation is inevitable. The Alpha is still out there. And somewhere in the shadows, Derek Hale is watching.
I don't know what comes next. Only that it's going to get worse before it gets better.
If it gets better at all.
I turn off the light and lie in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, I'll figure out the next step. Tomorrow, I'll start preparing Scott for what's coming.
But tonight, I'm just tired.
And terrified.
And hoping I don't get everyone killed.
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