Bab 7: Episode 6
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL — NIGHT
The parking lot of the Glen Capri Motel was dimly lit by flickering lights, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. Scott, Stiles, and Blake stood just off to the side as the rest of the team shuffled around, some grumbling, others looking as uneasy as Lydia, who was standing near Allison, visibly uncomfortable.
Blake took in the sight of the rundown motel, raising an eyebrow. "This place looks like the set of every horror movie I've ever seen," he muttered, crossing his arms over his broad chest. His voice was low, calm, but there was an undercurrent of tension. He didn't like it either.
Scott, always the optimist, tried to brush it off. "I've seen worse."
Stiles turned to Scott, exasperated. "Where have you seen worse?" His arms flailed as if trying to prove a point. "We're staying in what looks like a haunted dump. If there's a serial killer in the next room, I won't be surprised."
Before anyone could respond, Coach Finstock's voice rang out, loud and sharp as he corralled the team. "Listen up!" he bellowed. "The meet's been pushed 'til tomorrow. This is the closest motel with the most vacancies and the least amount of good judgement when it comes to accepting a bunch of degenerates like yourselves! You'll be pairing up—choose wisely! And I'll have no sexual perversions perpetrated by you little deviants! Got that? Keep your dirty little hands to your dirty little selves!"
Blake couldn't help but smirk at the coach's announcement. "Gotta love his motivational speeches," he said dryly, glancing at Scott, who gave a half-hearted chuckle.
Allison, standing nearby with Lydia, glanced over at Blake. She was trying to make the best of it, but even she couldn't shake the unease. "Lydia...?" Allison began, her voice soft.
Lydia was tense, her eyes scanning the peeling paint and creaking signs of the motel. "I don't like this place," she murmured, her voice tight. She hugged her arms to her body, clearly on edge.
Allison chuckled lightly, though her smile didn't reach her eyes. "I don't think the people who own this place like this place."
Blake wandered closer to them, catching Lydia's words. "It's just for one night," he said, though even he knew it wasn't the most reassuring comment.
Lydia shot him a look, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. "A lot can happen in one night..." she said, her voice low and laced with meaning.
Blake met her gaze, his blue eyes catching the glint of challenge in hers. There was something unspoken between them, a tension that had been building since their last encounter. He held her gaze for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a teasing grin. "I guess we'll have to make it interesting, then."
Allison rolled her eyes playfully, sensing the flirtatious banter. "Let's just hope the most interesting thing that happens is we get some sleep."
Blake laughed softly but didn't take his eyes off Lydia. "Yeah... sleep," he repeated, though the way he said it made it clear that was the furthest thing from his mind.
Stiles, who had been eavesdropping on the conversation, looked between them and grinned. "Hey, if you guys want interesting, maybe you should pick your rooms wisely. I hear the ghost in Room 13 has a thing for Alphas." He waggled his eyebrows, clearly enjoying himself.
Blake shook his head, his grin widening. "Stiles, if there's a ghost in my room, it's gonna have to get in line."
The group laughed, but there was still an air of tension around them. Despite the jokes, they all felt it—the strange pull this place had, the sense that something was lurking just beyond the cracked walls.
"Let's just get through the night without anything weird happening," Scott said, trying to sound hopeful as they all began to head toward the lobby.
Blake, walking beside Lydia, glanced down at her, his voice low enough for only her to hear. "You think we can manage that?"
Lydia raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a playful smile. "We'll see."
The night at Glen Capri was just beginning, and something told Blake that Lydia was right. A lot could happen in one night.
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL — SCOTT & STILES AND BLAKE'S ROOM — NIGHT
The room was small, with only the dim light from the bedside lamp illuminating the cramped space. Scott sat on the edge of the bed, looking exhausted, while Stiles paced back and forth, muttering about suspects. Blake leaned against the wall, watching the two of them with a curious yet concerned expression. He was still trying to piece together the strange world they lived in, but something about the intensity of their conversation drew him in.
"I've got four suspects," Stiles announced, his tone making it sound like he was unveiling some grand mystery.
Scott looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Four? You've narrowed it down to four?"
Stiles nodded confidently. "Yeah, it was originally ten. Well, nine, technically—I had Derek on there twice."
Blake chuckled, shaking his head. "Derek? Twice? What, just to be safe?"
Stiles pointed at him. "Exactly! Gotta be thorough. But here's the thing—just because someone's missing doesn't mean they're dead."
Scott gave Stiles a skeptical look. "So, who's at the top of your list?"
"Harris," Stiles said, dead serious.
Blake frowned. "Harris? The chemistry teacher?" He was still wrapping his head around how Beacon Hills worked, and the idea of a high school teacher being involved in anything supernatural seemed bizarre.
"Yeah," Stiles confirmed. "Just because he's missing doesn't mean he's out of the picture. He could be involved in... I don't know, something shady."
Blake tilted his head, still not entirely convinced. "You really think Harris is secretly... what? Performing sacrifices?"
Stiles paused for a second before sighing. "Okay, when you say it out loud, it sounds insane."
Scott shrugged. "What if it's someone else from school? We didn't think Matt was killing people either." He glanced at Stiles for confirmation.
Blake blinked, confused. "Matt? Who's Matt?"
Stiles stopped pacing and gave Blake a look. "Oh right, new guy. You missed that one. Long story short—he went psycho and started killing people using a bunch of supernatural stuff. We didn't see it coming, but I totally called it from the start."
Blake smirked. "I bet you did."
Scott shook his head. "We didn't really think it was Matt until it was too late."
Stiles crossed his arms, clearly irritated. "I was serious from the beginning! No one listened to me."
Blake chuckled. "I believe you, man."
Trying to shift the conversation back to the list, Scott asked, "Who else do you have?"
Stiles took a deep breath. "Cora. Derek's sister. We don't know anything about her, and she's related to Derek, so—"
Blake frowned. "Wait, you're suspicious just because she's Derek's sister?"
Stiles shrugged. "It's a valid reason."
Blake exchanged a glance with Scott, not entirely sold on the reasoning.
"And next?" Scott asked, clearly hoping for something more solid.
"Your boss," Stiles said, looking at Scott. "Deaton."
Scott's eyebrows shot up. "Deaton? Why him?"
"I don't trust his whole wise mentor act," Stiles said, waving his hands around dramatically. "It's too calm. Like, too mysterious."
Blake laughed, shaking his head. "Deaton? Seriously? The guy barely talks. If he were hiding something, I feel like he'd have slipped by now."
Stiles pointed at Blake. "That's what he wants you to think."
Scott rolled his eyes. "We're not putting Deaton on the suspect list."
Stiles muttered under his breath, "Fine, but I'm telling you..."
Scott cut him off, knowing where this was going. "Who's the last one?"
Stiles sighed heavily. "Lydia."
Blake's brow furrowed at that. "Lydia? Why her?"
"She was controlled by Peter before," Stiles explained, his tone softening slightly. "And she didn't even know it."
Blake straightened, his expression hardening just a bit. "I don't think it's Lydia."
Scott nodded in agreement. "Yeah, me neither."
Stiles threw his hands up in frustration. "You guys can't just rule her out because you like her!"
Blake shrugged. "It's not just that. I've been around her enough to know when someone's hiding something. Lydia's got a lot going on, but murder isn't one of them."
Scott leaned back, seeming more certain now. "We're not putting her on the list, Stiles."
Stiles let out an exaggerated sigh and dropped onto the bed. "Fine. I just hope you guys are right."
Blake crossed his arms again, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Whoever it is, we'll figure it out. And when we do, we'll handle it."
Stiles, still grumbling, shot Blake a quick look. "You better be right, Alpha."
Blake smirked. "I usually am."
The tension eased a little with that remark, but the mystery still lingered heavily over the room.
DEREK'S LOFT — NIGHT
Jennifer struggled to hold Derek's weight as she half-carried, half-dragged him into the loft. His body was heavy, and he was bleeding profusely. His skin was pale, and his breaths were shallow, coming in ragged gasps. Panic clawed at her, her heart pounding as she tried to get him somewhere safe. But even as she held him up, Jennifer could feel him slipping through her fingers.
"Oh God... This is a bad, very bad idea," she muttered, trying to keep her voice steady, though fear was evident. "I should be taking you to a hospital."
Derek's head lulled to the side, his voice barely a whisper. "No... no hospital..."
Jennifer groaned under his weight, her knees buckling slightly. "Derek, I can't— I can't hold you anymore!" She felt her muscles straining, her body trembling with effort.
The blood continued to seep from his wounds, and as she laid him down on the floor, she saw how much he had already lost. Her hands shook, stained red from trying to stop the bleeding, but it wasn't working. "I'm losing you!"
Derek's eyes fluttered open, barely hanging onto consciousness, but he wasn't responsive. He was slipping away, and Jennifer's panic rose. She knelt beside him, her voice frantic. "Derek? Derek, please!"
She pressed her hands over his wounds again, desperate to stop the bleeding, but she was no supernatural healer—she was just a teacher, and this was beyond anything she could handle alone. "Derek! Stay with me. Please!"
Jennifer's breath hitched as Derek's eyes finally closed. She grabbed his shoulders, shaking him gently. "Derek! Derek!"
Her voice echoed through the loft, but Derek didn't respond. His body lay still, motionless in her arms. Jennifer's heart pounded in her chest as she stared at his pale, lifeless face, tears blurring her vision.
She had no idea what to do next, but she refused to give up. Not yet.
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL – BOYS HOTEL ROOM
Scott stood in front of the mirror, his face pale and his expression distant. He felt an odd sensation building behind his eyes, a pressure that sent a chill down his spine. Leaning closer to the mirror, he tugged his lower eyelid down with his thumb, trying to get a better look. His breath hitched when, in an instant, his iris flashed a deep, bright crimson—the unmistakable glow of an Alpha's eyes.
"What the hell?" Scott muttered, stumbling back from the mirror, his heart pounding.
His reflection stared back at him, the red eyes fading back to his usual brown, but the shock remained. Scott swallowed hard, his mind racing. "Why are they red?" he whispered to himself, confusion and fear settling into his chest.
He shook his head, trying to dismiss the eerie sight. "I'm not an Alpha," he repeated softly. The words felt hollow, as if saying them out loud was supposed to make everything normal again. But nothing about this was normal.
Taking a deep breath, Scott ran a shaky hand through his hair. Something was happening to him, something he couldn't explain. And for the first time in a long time, he wasn't sure what to do next.
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL – LOBBY
Blake wandered through the dimly lit lobby of the motel, his eyes scanning the doors and hallways, trying to figure out where Lydia's room might be. The faint buzz of the old neon sign outside flickered against the worn carpet, casting shadows that twisted along the walls. There was something unsettling about this place, a feeling that crawled under Blake's skin, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
His thoughts were focused on Lydia, and he felt a slight grin tug at the corner of his mouth as he imagined what she might say when he finally found her room. But then, a cold sensation ran up his spine, and the edges of his vision blurred, like the world was slipping away.
"Blake..."
The voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a knife. His heart stopped, and he froze, turning slowly. He knew that voice. It was the voice of someone he hadn't heard in months but had haunted his dreams—Sarah.
There she was, standing in the far corner of the lobby, bathed in the pale, flickering light. Her blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders, her piercing green eyes staring right at him. She was exactly how he remembered her, wearing the same leather jacket she always wore when they used to sneak out at night, running through the woods, laughing like they didn't have a care in the world.
But this wasn't real. It couldn't be real.
"Sarah?" Blake whispered, his throat tightening.
She didn't respond, just stood there, staring at him with those intense eyes that once made him feel like the luckiest guy in the world. Slowly, she began to walk toward him, each step echoing through the empty lobby.
"Why did you leave me, Blake?" Her voice was soft but filled with sadness, each word hitting him harder than the last.
Blake blinked, trying to shake the vision. This was a hallucination—he knew that—but it felt so real. Too real. His chest tightened as memories of their time together flooded his mind—the late nights, the whispered promises, and that one day when everything changed.
"I didn't have a choice," Blake muttered, his voice barely audible, like he was trying to convince himself as much as her. He could still feel the sting of betrayal from when she had bitten him, changing his life forever, turning him into what he was now.
Sarah's lips curled into a sad smile, and she stepped closer, close enough that Blake could almost feel her warmth. "You said we'd always be together, that nothing would change us." Her eyes glistened, the pain in her voice undeniable.
Blake clenched his fists, his jaw tight as emotions he had buried deep within himself surfaced. "You bit me, Sarah. You turned me into this... into a werewolf, without asking me. You took away my choice."
Sarah's smile faded, and for a brief moment, she looked like the Sarah he had fallen in love with—the girl who had been his first in everything. First kiss, first love, first heartbreak. "I wanted to make you stronger, Blake. I didn't want to lose you."
He felt his throat constrict, the weight of their past pressing down on him. "You didn't lose me. You just didn't give me a choice."
Tears welled in Sarah's eyes, and she reached out, her fingers grazing his cheek. Blake flinched at the contact, though he knew it wasn't real. The warmth of her touch stirred memories of all the times they had spent together, but it was laced with a sense of finality.
"I'm sorry," Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible. "I never wanted to hurt you."
Blake swallowed hard, his vision blurring as the lobby around him seemed to close in. His heart ached with the weight of everything left unsaid between them. He had loved Sarah more than anything, but her betrayal had cut deep.
He blinked, and just like that, she was gone. The lobby was empty once again, the shadows stretching across the floor like nothing had happened. Blake exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair as he tried to steady himself. His heart was racing, and his mind was still reeling from seeing her again, even if it was just a hallucination.
"Get it together, man," he muttered to himself, rubbing his hands over his face. But he couldn't shake the feeling that seeing Sarah—imagining her—was a sign. Maybe he wasn't as over her as he'd thought. Maybe their past still had a hold on him, one he wasn't ready to face.
As Blake continued down the hall, his focus shifting back to finding Lydia's room, the image of Sarah lingered in the back of his mind, like a ghost from a past he couldn't fully escape.
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL - ALLISON & LYDIA'S ROOM
Allison stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, steam still trailing behind her. She called out, "Lydia, did you get the new towels?" There was no answer. The silence was unsettling.
"Lydia…?" she called again, her voice a little more uneasy this time. The room was quiet, too quiet.
Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Allison jumped slightly, expecting to see Lydia. But when she looked, it wasn't Lydia—it was Scott, standing in the doorway, his eyes locked on her with an intense, almost unnerving gaze.
"Scott?" Allison's heart raced as she clutched the towel tighter around herself. "What are you doing here?"
Scott took a slow step into the room, his gaze not leaving hers. "Looking for you," he replied, his voice unusually flat.
Allison let out a nervous laugh, trying to shake off the weirdness of the situation. "Well, you found me... in the shower, slightly naked, if you didn't notice."
Scott's eyes darkened as he took another step forward. "I've seen you naked before."
A chill ran down Allison's spine. Something about him was off—his demeanor, the way he was speaking. This wasn't the Scott she knew. "Okay, well..." Allison's voice wavered as she instinctively backed away. "Remember, we're kind of not together anymore?"
Scott's lips curved into a small, unsettling smile. "We're still friends, right?" His voice dropped to a lower, almost seductive tone. "We could just be closer friends."
Allison's pulse quickened. The distance between them was shrinking, and Scott's usual warmth and awkward charm were replaced by something darker, more unsettling.
"Maybe... it could even fix things between us," Scott said, stepping closer, his hand reaching out to brush her arm.
"Scott..." Allison's voice trembled slightly. "What are you doing? Are you okay?"
For a moment, Scott hesitated, his eyes flickering with something—confusion? Guilt? Then he blinked, his demeanor softening slightly, as if he was coming back to himself. "Yeah... I was..." He looked down, rubbing his forehead. "Um, sorry... I don't remember."
Allison took a deep breath, her body still tense. Something was very wrong here. She could see it in Scott's eyes—the flicker of something unnatural, something controlling him. She watched him struggle to piece together what had just happened, his earlier intensity fading.
"You're not yourself right now," Allison said softly, watching him closely. "Maybe you should go."
Scott blinked again, his brow furrowing as if he was trying to grasp what had just happened. He nodded slowly, backing away toward the door. "Yeah... maybe I should."
He turned and left the room without another word, leaving Allison standing there, her heart pounding in her chest. She quickly moved to lock the door behind him, her hands shaking slightly as she tried to process what had just happened.
Scott wasn't himself. Something—or someone—was affecting him, and whatever it was, it wasn't good.
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL-- RECEPTION OFFICE
Lydia tapped her nails on the counter, the dim lighting of the motel lobby making her feel even more uneasy. "Excuse me? The card on the dresser says we have a non-smoking room, but somehow..." she trailed off, shifting the towels in her arms. "All our towels reek of nicotine."
Before the receptionist could respond, Lydia felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist, startling her slightly. She turned her head quickly, only to see Blake smirking down at her, his eyes warm but with a hint of something deeper lingering beneath the surface.
"Gotcha," Blake murmured, his voice low and teasing as he hugged her from behind.
Lydia rolled her eyes, though she couldn't hide the smile creeping onto her lips. "Trying to scare me, Grey?"
Blake chuckled softly, but there was a heaviness to his laughter, like something was weighing on him. "Just trying to lighten the mood," he said, though Lydia could sense the shift in his energy.
Lydia leaned back slightly into his embrace, not minding the closeness but picking up on the subtle tension in his body. "You alright?" she asked quietly, turning her head enough to catch his expression. There was something off—like a shadow had crossed his usually relaxed demeanor.
Blake shrugged it off, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, I'm good," he muttered, though Lydia wasn't convinced. His mind seemed distant, maybe still lingering on something he didn't want to talk about. She could feel the tightness in his hold, like he was trying to ground himself, pushing away whatever was bothering him.
The receptionist, oblivious to the undercurrent between them, finally responded, her raspy voice cutting through the quiet moment. "Sorry about that, sweetheart."
Lydia glanced back at her, rolling her eyes at the half-hearted apology. "What's that?" she asked, pointing at the number displayed on the wall behind the receptionist.
Blake, still holding her but listening now, furrowed his brow as he noticed the same thing. "198? What's that about?"
The receptionist let out a soft, raspy laugh, her eyes gleaming with a morbid sense of humor. "It's kind of an inside thing for the motel. My husband insists on keeping it up."
Lydia arched an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. "What do you mean?"
The receptionist smirked, leaning forward as if to share a dark secret. "It's a little bit morbid, to be honest... You sure you want to know?"
"Tell me," Lydia demanded, her tone sharp with impatience.
Blake's arms around her tightened slightly, sensing the growing discomfort in the air. He was already on edge, and this place wasn't doing much to help.
The receptionist chuckled again, clearly enjoying the suspense. "We're not gonna make the top of anyone's list when it comes to customer satisfaction..."
Lydia huffed in annoyance. "Obviously."
"But," the receptionist continued, her voice dropping as if she was sharing a ghost story, "we are number one in California when it comes to one disturbing little detail—since opening, more than any other motel in California, we have the most guest suicides."
Lydia stiffened slightly, and Blake's grip around her tightened protectively.
"One hundred and ninety-eight?" Lydia asked, her voice quiet, the number now feeling a lot more sinister.
The receptionist's cackle sent a shiver down Lydia's spine. "And counting!" she added, her eyes gleaming with dark amusement.
Blake's mood darkened even further, the weight of the conversation mingling with whatever had been on his mind. He released Lydia from his embrace, stepping around her to face the receptionist more directly. "That's... twisted," he said, his tone more serious now. "You really just let that number climb like it's something to be proud of?"
The receptionist gave a casual shrug, unfazed by the tension in Blake's voice. "People make their choices, kid. We just count 'em."
Lydia noticed the shift in Blake's expression, the way his jaw clenched and his eyes darkened as if he was fighting something inside himself. She reached for his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Hey," she whispered, trying to pull him back to the present. "It's just some creepy number."
Blake exhaled slowly, his eyes meeting hers. For a moment, Lydia saw a flicker of vulnerability—a brief glimpse of something deeper, something connected to whatever had him so rattled earlier.
"I know," Blake muttered, forcing a smile as he tried to shake off the feeling. "Just... this place is getting under my skin."
"Yeah, well, you're not the only one," Lydia agreed, glancing back at the receptionist. "And we're still gonna need fresh towels."
Blake managed a chuckle at that, his mood lightening slightly. "And maybe some that don't smell like they've been in a smoking lounge."
The receptionist sighed, clearly not eager to deal with more complaints. "I'll see what I can do," she rasped, shuffling off to the back.
Lydia turned back to Blake, still sensing the unease in him. "You sure you're okay?" she asked softly, her eyes searching his.
Blake gave her a small smile, but there was something distant in his gaze. "Yeah," he said, though the slight tremor in his voice told her otherwise. "Just... long night."
Lydia didn't press further, but she knew something was up. Whatever was haunting Blake, it wasn't just the motel. There was more to it—something from his past that he wasn't ready to share yet.
"Let's get out of here," she suggested, pulling him gently toward the door. "This place is depressing me."
Blake nodded, following her lead, his thoughts drifted back to the hallucination he'd had earlier. Sarah. She was still there, somewhere in his mind, just like the memories he couldn't shake.
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL -ALLISON & LYDIA'S ROOM
Argent's voice came through the phone, steady and warm as always, but Allison could sense a bit of concern laced into his usual calm tone.
"Do you want me to come pick you up? I don't mind a late-night drive," Argent offered.
Allison glanced around her cramped motel room, eyes briefly landing on the flickering light in the corner. The Glen Capri was far from luxurious, but it was a roof over their heads for the night. She smiled to herself, knowing how protective her dad could be.
"No, no," Allison replied, trying to keep her voice light. "It's okay. We're at a motel."
"The school paid for that?" Argent asked, his voice slightly skeptical.
"Yeah," Allison said, looking around again with a small laugh. "It's not great, but it's just for a night."
Argent's pause on the other end made her wonder if he was trying to recall something. "What's it called?"
"The Glen Capri," she answered, a bit hesitantly. "Do you know it?"
"Yeah... it sounds familiar," Argent replied, his tone suddenly shifting. There was something in his voice—maybe it was unease.
Before Allison could dwell on it, her dad spoke again. "Listen, sweetheart, I'm gonna hop in the car and come get you guys."
Allison's eyes widened in surprise. "No, Dad—seriously, it's okay."
Her dad didn't respond right away. When he did, his voice was softer, more concerned. "If there's something you feel like you can't tell me, I just want you to know you can talk to me. We don't have to keep anything from each other."
Allison sighed, feeling the weight of his words settle over her. He was trying to protect her, as he always did. But she knew this was something she had to handle on her own, at least for tonight.
"I know," she whispered, her heart heavy but resolute.
DEREK'S LOFT
Jennifer knelt beside Derek, her hands trembling as they hovered over his wounds. "Oh, my God..." she muttered, her eyes widening in disbelief.
Derek's voice, weak but laced with his usual resilience, rasped out. "How bad?"
Jennifer glanced down at the black blood seeping from his injuries. Despite the severity of the situation, her gaze flickered for just a moment to his sculpted chest. She tried to keep the panic from creeping into her voice. "To be honest, the 'Oh, my God' would be for your unbelievable physique, if it weren't for the fact that you're bleeding black blood..."
She pressed her hands down harder, trying to staunch the flow, her voice growing more frantic. "Derek..."
His breaths were shallow, his eyes unfocused, and the sight made Jennifer's heart race with fear. "Oh, God—you're not dying, are you?"
She couldn't lose him. Not now.
"Derek, please don't die," Jennifer begged, her voice breaking as she shook him lightly, hoping for some response.
His silence was deafening, his body still, and Jennifer's heart clenched painfully in her chest. "Derek!" she shouted, shaking him more urgently now, willing him to wake up.
When he remained unresponsive, Jennifer let out a heavy sigh, her anxiety mixing with nervous laughter as she muttered under her breath. "Not exactly how I imagined our first date..."
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL—ALLISON & LYDIA'S ROOM
Blake followed Lydia closely as they entered her room, having walked with her from the reception after hearing the bizarre information about the motel's disturbingly high suicide count. He'd already felt uneasy about this place, but that number—198—kept nagging at him.
Allison, already seated on the bed, glanced up as they entered. "Did you get the new towels?" she asked casually, but when she saw Lydia's face, her expression changed to concern. "Lydia...?"
Lydia shook her head, clearly disturbed. "One hundred and ninety-eight."
Allison blinked, confused. "What?"
Blake, leaning against the dresser with his arms crossed, spoke up, his tone serious. "That's how many suicides have happened here since this place opened. And they've got it framed like it's something to be proud of."
Lydia nodded, pacing slightly, still unnerved. "Yes, and we're talking forty years. On average, that's... four-point-nine-five a year, which is... expected."
"Expected?" Allison asked, frowning. "That's crazy."
"But who commemorates that with a framed number?" Lydia asked, growing more agitated. "Who does that? Who?"
Allison sat up straighter, her expression darkening as she started to understand. "All suicides?"
"Yes—hanging, throat-cutting, pill-popping, both-barrels-of-a-shotgun-in-the-mouth suicides," Lydia replied, her voice tight with frustration.
Blake, standing nearby, tensed at the mention of all that darkness. He hadn't wanted to bring it up in front of Lydia, but the receptionist's morbid fascination with the statistic had left a sour feeling in his gut. "It's messed up, but I've seen worse."
Before either of them could respond, Lydia froze, her expression shifting into something far more haunted. She seemed to be hearing something no one else could.
Blake noticed immediately, moving closer. "Lydia?"
Her eyes darted around, wide with terror. "Did you hear that?" she asked, her voice shaky.
Blake frowned, looking around the empty room. "Hear what?"
Allison stood up from the bed, glancing between them. "What's going on?"
Lydia pressed her fingers to her temples, the panic rising in her chest. "A couple—they're in the other room. They're talking about… shooting each other."
Blake's eyes narrowed, his Alpha instincts flaring, though he didn't hear anything. "Lydia, what exactly did you hear?"
Her breath hitched as the voices continued in her mind.
"It's okay. Smaller's better. Less kick."
"They're counting down," Lydia whispered, her hands shaking.
"Lydia, there's no one else here," Allison said, trying to calm her.
Blake stepped closer to Lydia, gently touching her arm. "Lydia, focus. What are they saying?"
"I love you," the man's voice echoed in her head.
"I love you too."
Lydia gasped, her voice full of panic. "Oh my God, they're going to shoot each other! Right now!"
Blake placed both hands on her shoulders, his grip firm but reassuring. "Lydia, breathe. Look at me. You're safe."
She looked up at him, her breathing erratic, but Blake's calm presence helped ground her. He gently pulled her into a hug, holding her as she rested her head against his chest.
"They were in the next room," Lydia whispered, still shaken. "A guy and a girl. I heard them. They were about to... kill themselves."
Allison stepped forward, her voice soft but steady. "I believe you, Lydia. After everything we've seen, I believe you."
Blake nodded, his protective instincts kicking in. "I believe you too. We'll figure out what's going on here, but right now, we need to get out of this room."
Lydia exhaled slowly, still trembling slightly. "Thank you... I just... it felt so real."
Blake offered her a small, reassuring smile. "We'll keep an eye out for anything strange. But for now, let's regroup and figure this out together."
Lydia gave a small nod, feeling more at ease with Blake and Allison by her side, but the weight of what she'd heard still lingered, unsettling the air around them.
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL-- PARKING LOT
Boyd stepped cautiously through the dimly lit parking lot, his eyes scanning the shadows as if searching for something—or someone. His heart pounded in his chest, an uneasy feeling creeping up on him. Then, a voice, soft and haunting, echoed in his mind.
"Don't... Don't leave me."
Boyd froze, his breath catching in his throat. He knew that voice. He hadn't heard it in so long, but he could never forget it.
"You weren't supposed to leave me."
His throat tightened as he whispered, "Alicia?"
The voice continued, filled with sorrow. "Why did you leave me?"
Boyd's hands trembled slightly as he glanced around, his heart sinking. "Alicia?" he called again, his voice wavering, unsure if it was real or just a painful memory clawing its way back into his thoughts.
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL—ALLISON & LYDIA'S ROOM
Lydia paced the length of the room, her arms crossed, the unease clear on her face. "You know, there is something seriously wrong with this place."
Blake, leaning against the doorway, glanced over at her, the mention of the suicides still fresh in his mind after the conversation with the receptionist. His gaze flickered over to Allison, who sat on the edge of the bed, trying to make sense of Lydia's rising panic.
Allison furrowed her brows. "But they were suicides, not murders, and it's not like this place is haunted, right?"
Lydia's eyes widened, her voice tinged with a mix of dread and frustration. "Maybe it is?" She waved her hand toward the walls, the unsettling atmosphere in the room seeming to close in. "You know, I bet that couple made their suicide pact in this very room! Maybe that's why they're renovating—maybe they've been scraping brain matter off the wood paneling."
Blake straightened up, stepping closer to the girls, his protective instincts flaring up. He tried to keep his voice calm, though he couldn't shake off the weird vibe either. "We don't need to stay here and find out," he suggested, his deep voice cutting through the tension. "If you're feeling off about this, maybe we should just go."
Allison tilted her head, considering Lydia's words for a moment before standing up. "Maybe we should find out," she said, her determination growing. She walked over to the door, glancing between Blake and Lydia, waiting for a reaction.
Blake exchanged a look with Lydia, silently communicating his concern.
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL—BOYD & ISAAC'S ROOM
Isaac stepped into the dimly lit room, the door creaking behind him. "Boyd?" he called out, glancing around, but the room was empty. A heavy sense of unease settled over him, making the small space feel even more confined.
His father's voice echoed suddenly, creeping in from the recesses of his mind. "Hand me the seven-sixteenths wrench." Isaac's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't heard that voice in years. He turned instinctively, as if expecting to see his father standing there.
"What the hell? This is the nine-sixteenths, you moron! You know what the difference between a seven and a nine is, dumbass?" The voice grew harsher, louder. Isaac clenched his fists, trying to push it away, but the words bore into him.
He muttered under his breath, "You know what the difference between a seven and a nine is? It's a stripped bolt!" His voice cracked, repeating the words he had heard so many times. "A stripped bolt!"
Isaac's heart raced as his father's voice snarled back at him. "I want you to shut up!" Isaac flinched, whispering to himself, "I want you to shut up. Shut up. Shut up!"
He paced the room, his thoughts spiraling. What can I do? I can't fix this. I can't fix this now… His breathing quickened as the weight of everything crashed down on him. "I can't fix it. I can't fix it."
His father's voice boomed again, colder than before. "I can't even keep it closed. Grab the chains."
Isaac stopped in his tracks, the chill in the air suffocating him. His voice trembled. "What?"
"Grab the chains. Get in." His father's command cut through him like a blade.
Isaac backed up, shaking his head. "No…"
"Get in!" The voice roared again, insistent and cruel.
Isaac's body tensed, memories flooding back of nights locked in that freezer. His father's rage, the cold, the fear—it all consumed him in this moment. He stumbled back, pressing his hands to his ears, desperately trying to drown out the voice.
"Are you not hearing me, son? Get in the damn freezer! Get in!"
Isaac's knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, panting, the weight of his past crushing him. He was trapped, the motel room closing in around him as the echoes of his father's torment haunted him relentlessly.
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL—RECEPTION OFFICE
Lydia stood at the reception counter, glaring at the neon sign outside. Her eyes darted between the numbers, still in disbelief. Blake was right beside her, his presence steady and alert, keeping an eye on everything.
"Well, there goes that..." Lydia muttered, her frustration evident.
Allison looked up, frowning as she recalled what Lydia had said earlier. "Didn't you say the sign said one-ninety-eight?"
Lydia nodded, turning to them both. "It was one-ninety-eight. I swear it."
Blake stepped forward, his eyes narrowing at the sign outside. "She's right. It was one-ninety-eight. Now it's two-oh-one. That means something's changed... or it's about to."
Allison's eyes widened, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "So... three more suicides? Or three more are about to happen?"
Lydia glanced at Blake, who gave a slow nod, backing her up without hesitation. "Exactly," he said firmly. "Whatever's happening here... it's not over."
Lydia shifted, clearly unsettled. "This place has a history. Something is off, and that number changing... it's a warning."
Blake turned to Allison, his voice firm. "We need to be ready. If this place is as dangerous as it seems, we're not letting it claim anyone else."
Lydia, though visibly shaken, found comfort in Blake's unwavering stance. She looked to him, appreciating how he backed her without question. "We need to warn the others. Make sure they're aware of what's happening," Lydia added.
Blake nodded, locking eyes with her. "Let's move. Time's running out."
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL—SCOTT & STILES AND BLAKE'S ROOM
Scott stood frozen, the phone pressed against his ear as his mother's trembling voice echoed through the line. "Mom? What's wrong?" His heart pounded in his chest as he heard her panicked breaths.
"I'm sorry... He just came into the house... I tried to stop him... I'm sorry," Melissa's voice shook.
"Who, Mom? Who's there?" Scott's voice grew more urgent. "Mom, where are you?"
"I'm outside. Look outside," Melissa whispered, fear palpable in her voice.
Scott's blood ran cold as another voice cut through the silence. Deucalion.
"Scott... Can you hear me?" The calm, chilling voice of the Alpha Pack leader pierced through the line.
Scott gripped the phone tighter. "What do you want?" he demanded, his voice low, trying to hold back the panic rising within him.
"Isn't it obvious?" Deucalion's tone was almost mocking. "You're an Alpha now, Scott."
Scott's breath hitched. "I'm not... I'm not. Derek—Derek could still be alive. He could—"
Deucalion interrupted, his voice smooth but menacing. "He's dead. You know he is. So now, I'm coming for you. You, and everyone you love—I'm coming for you."
Scott's hands shook as he pulled the phone away from his ear, Deucalion's threat echoing in his mind.
Stiles, noticing the change in Scott's expression, stepped closer. "Hey, Scott, you okay?"
Scott didn't answer right away, his gaze distant as the weight of Deucalion's words settled in.
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL—DANNY & ETHAN'S ROOM
Ethan stood by the bed, fidgeting slightly. "Sorry," he muttered, his gaze shifting awkwardly.
Danny chuckled lightly, glancing at the books he had spread out on the bed. "It's just books."
Ethan raised an eyebrow, surprised. "You brought homework?" His tone turned playful as he added, "Well, should I let you get back to it?"
Danny smiled, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Hell no."
Ethan's attention was caught by something on Danny's chest, and he leaned in slightly. "What's that?" he asked curiously, nodding toward the faint scars.
Danny glanced down, his fingers brushing the faint lines. "I have two of them from a surgery I had to correct misshapen cartilage I was born with," he explained. "I had a bar put in when I was fourteen—it stayed there for two years to support my sternum so my heart and lungs wouldn't be crushed."
Ethan's expression softened as he listened. "What if there was a way you could make them disappear?" he asked quietly, his voice almost tentative.
Danny shook his head, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips. "I don't really want them to. They make me feel like a survivor."
For a moment, Ethan was silent, his face thoughtful. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he responded, "I really hope you are."
Danny frowned slightly, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "What? What's wrong?"
Ethan quickly shook his head, trying to brush it off. "Nothing."
But Danny wasn't convinced. "What?"
Ethan glanced away, his jaw tightening. "Just give me a second..."
Concern now clear in Danny's eyes, he asked softly, "Ethan, you okay?"
Ethan gave him a strained smile. "I'll be back in a minute," he said, before turning and walking out of the room, leaving Danny standing there, confused and worried.
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL—ALLISON & LYDIA'S ROOM
Allison sat on the edge of the bed, nervously tapping her fingers together. "The last time I saw Scott act like that was during the full moon."
Stiles, pacing around the room, nodded quickly. "Yeah, I know... He was definitely off with me too. But it was Boyd who was really losing it—I saw him punch through a vending machine."
Lydia crossed her arms. "See? It is the motel! Either we need to get out of here right now, or... someone needs to figure out what's wrong before the werewolves go crazy and kill us."
Blake stood by the door, glancing between them, the tension rising in his chest. "There's something off here. It's not just a random coincidence."
Stiles raised a hand, trying to make sense of everything. "Okay, hold on. What if it's not just the motel? Remember that number on the sign at reception? It went up by three."
Allison's eyes widened as she connected the dots. "Three more sacrifices?"
Blake's expression darkened as the realization hit him. "Three wolves—Scott, Isaac, and Boyd..."
Stiles' eyes widened as he spoke slowly. "Maybe we were meant to come here."
Lydia, growing more panicked, blurted out, "Exactly! So, can we get the hell out of here now? Please?"
Blake stepped forward, shaking his head. "We need to act, but we have to be smart about it. If we rush out now, we could leave Scott, Isaac, and Boyd at the mercy of this place."
Stiles scrolled through his phone, glancing at an article he pulled up. "Wait, hang on... 'Twenty-eight-year-old man hangs himself at the infamous Glen Capri.'"
Lydia peered over his shoulder. "Oh no... Look at these two. They both mention room two-seventeen. These are probably all the suicides that happened in this room."
Allison's gaze hardened. "So, if every room has a Bible..."
Lydia nodded, biting her lip. "There could be articles about the deaths in all the rooms."
Blake's jaw tightened. "This place is a magnet for death. It's feeding off of it—on us."
Stiles threw his hands up in frustration. "That's just great! Most places leave a mint under the pillow—this one leaves a list of all the terrible deaths that happened."
Lydia glanced toward the next room, her nerves on edge. "What if the room next door has the one about the couple?"
As she moved toward the door, her hand hesitated. "Wait... that door wasn't locked before..."
Allison grabbed Lydia's wrist, stopping her. "Forget it. We need to get Scott, Isaac, and Boyd out of here before something else happens."
Before anyone could respond, a loud, mechanical buzzing noise echoed through the hallway.
Lydia's eyes shot toward Blake. "You heard that, right?"
Allison's face paled. "It sounds like... like someone turned on a handsaw."
Stiles turned, his face twisted in panic. "Handsaw? What the hell? Who's messing with a handsaw?"
Without hesitation, Blake's eyes flashed with intensity. "Stay here."
Rushing out of the room, Stiles, Allison, and Lydia quickly followed, the noise growing louder with every step. They raced down the hallway, stopping in front of the room where the noise was coming from.
Blake kicked the door open and froze—Ethan was standing in the middle of the room, holding a handsaw, aiming it at his own stomach.
"NO!" Blake shouted, rushing forward before anyone else could react.
Stiles gasped in horror. "Ethan, stop!"
Blake, moving faster than anyone could follow, grabbed Ethan's arm, yanking the saw out of his hand and throwing it across the room. The handsaw clattered to the floor, and Ethan collapsed, gasping and trembling.
Allison knelt beside him, her voice urgent but soothing. "Ethan, what happened? Why would you do that?"
Ethan, still shaking, whispered, "I... I couldn't control it. I didn't want to, but... something made me."
Blake stood over them, his eyes cold and calculating as he pieced it together. "This place... it's manipulating us. It's not just about making us see things—it's making us do things."
Stiles glanced at Blake, his voice trembling. "Then how do we stop it before it gets any worse?"
Blake's eyes flickered with determination. "We get Scott, Isaac, and Boyd out of here. Now."
DEREK'S LOFT
Jennifer hovered nearby as Derek painfully pulled himself to his feet, wincing at every movement.
"Are you sure you want to do that?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.
Derek gritted his teeth. "I have to find the others. They think I'm dead."
Jennifer stepped closer, placing a tentative hand on his arm to steady him. "Well, maybe that's a good thing..." Her voice softened as she tried to reason with him. "Do you know how many characters in literature use a false death to their advantage? You ever read Les Misérables? Tale of Two Cities? ...Romeo and Juliet?"
Derek glanced at her, the intensity in his eyes dimmed slightly by the pain he was trying to push through. "They need to know."
Jennifer sighed, shaking her head. "Do you have any idea how bad you look? You're like one giant open wound. I'm not entirely sure you aren't really dead."
Derek let out a faint, humorless chuckle, but the resolve in his eyes didn't waver. "It doesn't matter. I can't leave them in the dark. Not now."
Jennifer watched him for a moment, her concern deepening. She knew Derek wouldn't stop until he got to his pack, but seeing him in this state made her heart ache. She reluctantly stepped back, knowing there was no convincing him otherwise.
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL — PARKING LOT
Ethan leaned heavily against the side of the bus, his face pale and drenched in sweat. "Didn't you hear what I just said? I don't know how I got there, or what I was doing."
Stiles, irritated but trying to keep his composure, shot back, "Okay, you could be a little more helpful, you know? We did just save your life."
Ethan's eyes darkened, guilt evident. "And you probably shouldn't have."
Blake, standing nearby, clenched his jaw as the weight of what was happening hit him. He had seen strange things since arriving at Beacon Hills, but this motel? It was twisting everyone's minds, feeding off something deeper. His eyes flicked over to Lydia, catching her worried expression, and then to Ethan, who seemed completely out of control.
Lydia stepped forward, looking at Blake as if searching for reassurance. "What now?"
Blake hesitated, his mind racing. Something about this place wasn't right, and he wasn't going to stand by while it tore his friends apart. "We need to figure this out fast," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Something is feeding off us—off our memories, maybe. It's like it's bringing our worst fears or regrets to life."
Lydia's brow furrowed, and she glanced at Stiles, who was looking down, deep in thought. "What do you mean?" Lydia asked, her voice a little shaky.
Before Blake could respond, Allison interjected, "I'll find Scott—you guys grab Isaac and Boyd. The best thing we can do is get them out of this place."
Lydia looked back at Blake, concern in her eyes. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
Stiles sighed, his voice filled with the kind of frustration that only came with dealing with the supernatural on a regular basis. "Oh, no, I w—"
"Stiles…" Lydia's tone was firm now, sensing he wasn't telling her something.
Finally, Stiles relented, glancing at Blake for a moment before turning back to Lydia. "All right, Lydia. I didn't want to say anything, but this? Everything we're going through? We've kind of been through something like this before."
Lydia's eyes widened in disbelief. "What do you mean? When?"
Stiles swallowed, looking almost ashamed. "Your birthday party... the night you poisoned everyone with wolfsbane."
Blake furrowed his brow, catching onto the severity of what Stiles was implying. "Wait," he interrupted, "you mean this place is... messing with us in the same way?"
Stiles nodded grimly. "It's like it's feeding off of us, off our past, and making us see things that aren't real. It's pulling memories, traumas, whatever it can to make us fall apart."
Blake clenched his fists, a wave of unease washing over him. He thought back to his earlier hallucination of Sarah, the one he still couldn't shake. It was more than a memory—it was like she was really there, haunting him, reminding him of what they had, and how it all fell apart. He wasn't ready to reveal what he had seen, not yet, but he couldn't ignore the signs anymore.
"I had one too," Blake admitted, his voice tight. "A hallucination. Something personal. I don't know what's going on, but whatever this place is doing, it's targeting us."
Lydia looked up at him, her face softening with concern. "Blake... what did you see?"
Blake shook his head, his jaw tightening as he avoided her gaze. "It doesn't matter. What matters is getting everyone out of here before this place gets the better of us."
Allison, her urgency growing, nodded. "I'm getting Scott. Meet me at the bus. We're leaving." She turned and ran toward the motel, her focus unshaken.
Blake stepped closer to Lydia and Stiles, his voice low and determined. "Let's go. The longer we stay here, the more this place is going to keep messing with us."
Stiles gave a nod, and the trio turned toward the motel, prepared to get their friends and leave before the Glen Capri took anyone else.
DEREK'S LOFT
Jennifer paced around the loft, her hands shaking as she frantically searched for anything that could help. "You don't have any bandages or any kind of first aid anywhere—I looked," she said, her voice laced with frustration and worry.
Derek sat slumped against the wall, his breathing labored. "I usually don't need 'em," he muttered, his eyes barely meeting hers.
Jennifer sighed, kneeling beside him. "How do we fix you up, then?"
"Time," Derek replied, his tone devoid of hope.
Jennifer shook her head, clearly not satisfied with that answer. "You shouldn't be here," Derek continued, his voice barely audible.
"Why's that?" Jennifer challenged, her eyes searching his face for an answer.
Derek exhaled deeply, leaning his head back against the cold wall. "Because you don't know me. You don't know anything about me."
"Maybe I have a feeling about you," Jennifer said softly, her gaze unwavering. She wasn't going to back down from him.
Derek's eyes darkened with regret. "It shouldn't be a good one," he said quietly. "Everyone around me... Everyone gets hurt."
Jennifer's voice was barely a whisper as she replied, "I've been hurt before."
"Not like this," Derek muttered, his expression pained. The weight of his words hung in the air, a warning he couldn't shake, no matter how much he wished he could.
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL – HALLWAY
Allison pushed open another door, her voice tense with worry. "Scott? Are you in here?"
Blake followed behind, catching the tension in her tone. He could see how worried she was, and with a sly grin, he leaned closer. "You know, with all this running around, I'm starting to feel like your personal bodyguard. Should I be charging by the hour?"
Allison raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching in amusement despite the seriousness of the situation. "You think you're that good?"
Blake smirked. "Well, I've got a pretty good track record so far. Lydia didn't have any complaints last night."
Allison laughed lightly, rolling her eyes. "Oh, I remember. Lydia wouldn't shut up about it." She shot him a look, teasing. "But if you think you can handle both of us, you might be overestimating your... stamina."
Blake chuckled, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. "Trust me, I can handle more than you think."
Allison shook her head with a grin, the moment easing some of the tension between them. But her smile quickly faded as she refocused, glancing around the empty hallway. "We need to find Scott."
Blake nodded, his expression turning more serious. "We will, don't worry. We're not letting him go that easily."
The light banter had done its job for a moment, but the seriousness of the situation lingered as they continued their search for Scott, side by side.
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL – LYDIA & STILES
Stiles paced anxiously, running his hands through his hair. The tension in the air was palpable. "Lydia, I'm sorry, okay? Look, I didn't mean to say that you're trying to kill people. I just meant, maybe... maybe you're somehow involved in getting people to kill themselves, you know?"
Lydia shot him a look of pure disbelief. Stiles winced, realizing how awful it sounded. "Which, now that I say that out loud, it just sounds really terrible, so I'm just going to stop talking."
Suddenly, Lydia's demeanor shifted. Her brow furrowed as she stood still, her focus elsewhere. "Stiles… do you hear that?"
He blinked, confused. "Hear what?"
Her face drained of color, her voice trembling slightly. "A baby crying."
Stiles turned around in the room, his confusion deepening. "A baby? Here?"
In the eerie silence, Lydia seemed to hone in on something only she could hear.
"Water running..." she whispered, her hand tightening around Stiles' arm. Panic filled her eyes as her voice pitched higher. "She's drowning the baby! Someone's drowning!"
Stiles moved quickly, darting into the bathroom and frantically looking around. "He blocked the drain with something. I can't get to it."
Lydia's panic escalated. "What do we do?"
Stiles gritted his teeth, trying to figure out a way to help. He looked around in frustration. "Help me—"
Lydia's voice wavered. "Is he dead? How long can a werewolf stay underwater?"
Stiles glanced at her, bewildered. "You think I know that?"
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his hand as he accidentally brushed against the heater. He winced, pulling back. "Ow! Wait a sec..."
His mind raced, putting pieces together. "The heater. Ethan came out of it when he touched the heater."
Lydia stared at him. "What?"
"It's the heat!" Stiles exclaimed, his face lighting up. "Heat, fire... that's what snaps them out of it. We need something... we need fire."
Lydia looked at him, her voice rising. "He's underwater, Stiles!"
Stiles rubbed his hand, trying to ignore the pain. "Yeah, I'm aware of that."
Lydia's eyes suddenly lit up with realization. "Wait, the bus! They'll have emergency road flares on the bus. Flares have oxidizers. They can burn underwater!"
Stiles' eyes widened. "You serious?"
"Yes!" Lydia shouted, her voice sharp with urgency. "Go, now!"
Without wasting another second, Stiles bolted from the room, racing toward the bus.
MOMENTS LATER – INSIDE THE MOTEL ROOM
Stiles burst back into the room, flares clutched tightly in his hands. His breath was ragged from the sprint. "I got them," he gasped, rushing to Lydia's side. "What do I do? How do I light this?"
"The cap," Lydia said urgently, "it's like a match. Strike it like a match."
Stiles' hands shook as he fumbled with the flare, the weight of the moment pressing on him. "Yeah, I'm trying..."
Finally, the flare hissed to life with a bright spark, casting an orange glow across the dim room. "Ooh," he muttered, marveling at the intensity.
Rushing to Boyd, who lay submerged and still, Stiles brought the flare close to the water's surface. The flames hissed and sizzled as they met the liquid, but the flare stayed lit.
"Hey, Boyd..." Stiles murmured, his voice filled with hope. "I got something for you."
The heat radiated from the flare, and as it neared Boyd's body, something shifted. Lydia watched anxiously, her heart pounding as Boyd's chest began to move. His muscles twitched as if the spell was breaking, and slowly, he began to surface from the water, gasping for air.
Lydia let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, her eyes wide with relief. Stiles crouched by Boyd, watching as the werewolf slowly came back to his senses, his body no longer gripped by the hallucinations that had nearly claimed him.
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL - ALLISON & BLAKE RETURN
Allison and Blake rushed back to where Lydia and Stiles were standing, the tension in the air thickening as Allison's voice cracked with worry. "I can't find Scott anywhere."
Stiles' eyes widened in alarm. "It's happening to him too, isn't it?"
Lydia bit her lip, her eyes darting between Stiles and Allison. "It has to be."
Blake frowned, stepping closer to the group, sensing the gravity of the situation. "If Scott's under the same influence as Boyd and Isaac... this isn't good."
Lydia looked at Stiles, urgency in her voice. "Didn't you say there was another flare on the bus?"
Stiles nodded, determination setting in. "Yeah, I'll get it."
Without another word, the group moved quickly, heading outside toward the bus. They hurried through the dimly lit parking lot, hearts pounding, when suddenly they stopped in their tracks.
There, in the distance, they spotted Scott standing in the middle of a large gasoline puddle, a flare in his hand, its fiery glow illuminating his pale face.
The sight was enough to steal the breath from every one of them.
Stiles, Blake, Allison, and Lydia froze, the horrifying realization settling in. Scott wasn't himself. And whatever was happening... they were running out of time.
The flare burned brighter in Scott's grip, dangerously close to igniting the gasoline beneath his feet.
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL – PARKING LOT
Allison stepped forward, her voice soft yet desperate. "Scott..."
Scott stood there, gripping the flare tightly, his eyes hollow, his spirit seemingly crushed. "There's no hope," he murmured in defeat.
Allison's heart clenched at the sight of him. "What do you mean, Scott? There's always hope."
Scott shook his head, his voice breaking with guilt and sorrow. "Not for me... not for Derek..."
"Scott," Allison urged, stepping closer, "Derek wasn't your fault. You know Derek wasn't your fault."
Scott's hands trembled, the flare still burning dangerously close to the gasoline at his feet. "Every time I try to fight back, it just gets worse. People keep getting hurt. People keep getting killed."
Stiles' voice broke through, laced with urgency. "Scott, listen to me, okay? This isn't you. This is someone inside your head, telling you to do this. Okay?"
Scott's eyes flickered with uncertainty, but then his shoulders sagged. "What if it isn't? What if it's just me?" His voice cracked with emotion, the weight of everything he had endured threatening to break him. "What if doing this is actually the best thing I can do for everyone? It all started that night—the night I got bitten. You remember how it was before that? We were... we were nothing. We weren't popular. We weren't good at lacrosse. We weren't important. We were no one. Maybe I should just be no one again—no one at all."
Stiles took a deep breath, his eyes filled with determination. "Scott, just listen to me. You're not no one. You're someone. You're my best friend, okay? And I need you. You're my brother, Scott. So... if you're gonna do this, then..."
Stiles stepped forward, his heart pounding, knowing what was at stake. "I think you're just gonna have to take me with you, then."
The flare in Scott's hand hovered dangerously above the gasoline. Time seemed to slow down as the flare slipped from his fingers, plummeting toward the ground.
"NO!" Lydia shrieked, her voice piercing the air.
Before the flare could hit the gasoline, Blake's instincts kicked in. With a surge of Alpha strength, he lunged forward, grabbing Scott and Stiles and tossing them out of harm's way just as the flare hit the gasoline.
BOOM!
The explosion roared through the night, flames erupting skyward. Blake shielded the group as the fire blazed, but miraculously, no one was hurt. The flames flickered, but they were all safe, shaken but alive.
Scott lay on the ground, breathing heavily, his mind slowly clearing. Stiles, dazed but unharmed, glanced at Blake with wide eyes.
Blake stood tall, his breath steady as he looked at Scott. "You're not alone in this, Scott. You're stronger than this. You just need to remember that."
GLEN CAPRI MOTEL – PARKING LOT
The group moved sluggishly toward the bus, weighed down by the events of the previous night. The early morning light didn't do much to lighten the mood. Coach tried his best to keep things in order as everyone packed their things.
"I don't want to know. I really don't want to know," Coach grumbled, shaking his head. "But in case you missed the announcement, the meet's canceled. We're heading home. Pack it in! Pack it in!"
As the group gathered around, Ethan approached Stiles, his voice heavy. "I don't know what happened last night, but I'm pretty sure you saved my life."
Stiles, never missing an opportunity for a correction, raised his hand. "Actually, Blake saved your life. I was just here for the witty commentary."
Blake, standing a few steps away, gave a slight nod, but he was quieter than usual. The events of last night still lingered in his mind, especially the hallucination of Sarah. He wasn't about to talk about it, but it had shaken him. His blue eyes met Ethan's for a brief moment, and Ethan nodded back, showing his respect.
"We're pretty sure Derek's still alive," Ethan continued. "But he killed one of ours. So that means either he joins our pack—"
"—And kills his own," Scott cut in.
"Or Kali goes after him, and we kill him," Ethan said flatly. "That's the way it works."
Stiles sighed. "You know, your little code of ethics is kind of barbaric. Just saying."
Before anyone could say more, Coach butted in again. "Hey, Ethan, I wanted to—"
Lydia, who had been eyeing Coach's whistle, interrupted sharply. "Coach, can I see your whistle for a second?"
Coach looked puzzled but handed it over. Lydia brought the whistle to her nose, sniffing it. Her eyes widened. "Wolfsbane."
Blake's expression darkened, now connecting the dots about why he'd felt so off during the night. He clenched his jaw, remembering his hallucination and how vulnerable he'd been. Stiles and Scott turned toward him, noticing his reaction.
"So that's why you were affected too," Stiles said, now realizing Blake hadn't been immune to what was happening. "We should've figured it was the wolfsbane all along."
Stiles added aloud to the group, "So every time Coach blew the whistle, Scott, Isaac, Boyd—"
"—And Blake," Lydia finished for him.
Blake nodded slightly, not willing to reveal the full extent of his hallucinations. "Yeah, it hit me too. Worse than I thought it would."
Scott, rubbing the back of his neck, frowned. "We all inhaled it. That's why we were so out of it."
Allison looked from one werewolf to the next. "You were all poisoned by it."
Stiles sighed in frustration, putting it together. "That's how the Darach got into their heads. That's how he did it."
Coach, oblivious as always, muttered to himself. "Hey, Stilinski! I'm gonna need that whistle back."
While the others continued piecing together the clues, Blake pulled Lydia aside, away from the group's intense conversation. His hand slid to her waist, his touch familiar and comforting. His face softened as he leaned in, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Since I didn't get to finish what I started last night," he whispered teasingly, his voice low and playful. "I think I need to recharge with some Lydia energy."
Lydia raised an eyebrow, her usual playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Is that your subtle way of saying you missed me?"
Blake didn't bother with words. Instead, he cupped her face, pulling her into a deep, lingering kiss. For a moment, the chaos of the motel disappeared, leaving just the two of them. Lydia's breath caught, but she quickly relaxed into the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck.
"Think anyone's noticing?" Lydia asked, breathless as they broke apart.
Blake chuckled softly. "Doesn't matter. Besides, I needed that after last night."
Lydia gave him a playful nudge before glancing back at the group. "You're trouble, Blake Grey."
"And you love it," he shot back with a wink, stealing one last kiss before the group called for them.
As they rejoined the others, Blake's expression grew more serious. The night had taken its toll on all of them, but they'd survived. For now.
PERTIMBANGAN PENCIPTA 
Gangnem
Gangnem A bit late again, my bad. It was also hard to write because it’s a boring episode.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone