Ember's of Redemption

The room felt oppressively silent, anxiety thickening the air until it seemed almost difficult to breathe. Scott slowly let his eyes drift over his pack, absorbing their expressions—some faces tight with distress, others hardened by quiet determination. Yet his gaze inevitably returned to Stiles, lingering longer there, aching as he took in the weary ghost his boyfriend had become.
Dark circles carved deep shadows beneath Stiles' eyes, hollow and bruised from endless sleepless nights. His pale skin looked paper-thin, stretched fragile and translucent over hidden torment. Ever since that damn ritual to locate their parents, Scott had watched helplessly as something dark silently consumed Stiles from within.

Nightmares ravaged Stiles every night, ripping him from sleep with screams so raw and terrified they made Scott’s heart splinter each time. It took hours of whispered reassurances, soft murmurs pressed against trembling skin, and a firm, protective embrace to coax Stiles back to calm. Yet even worse were the blackouts—those empty stretches of time, utterly lost. Stiles would glance at the clock at eight, and in a blink, darkness would fall, leaving him shaking, disoriented, frightened by the absence of memory.
Scott's chest tightened painfully. Helplessness clawed at him, relentless and unforgiving. How was he supposed to protect Stiles from something he couldn't even identify? Every moment he'd spent obsessing over threats from the Alpha pack, from Jennifer Blake, now felt selfishly squandered. Precious seconds—minutes—he should've spent guarding Stiles, reassuring him, comforting him.
Guilt etched lines deep into Scott’s heart, heavy as stone, bitter as ashes.

Instinct drew him forward instinctively, closing the distance between them. Scott's hand rose gently, fingers threading through the familiar, soft strands of Stiles' short brown hair. Immediately, he felt Stiles relax into his touch, eyelids drifting shut in quiet relief. The faintest smile—fragile but genuine—fluttered across his boyfriend’s exhausted features, and Scott felt his heart ache with both love and sorrow.
“We need a plan,” Lydia’s voice broke in clearly, cutting cleanly through the tangled web of Scott’s worry.
Scott turned toward Lydia, noticing the quiet strength in her posture as she sat close beside Aiden—yet another complicated twist in their tangled lives. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that relationship. Both Aiden and his twin brother Ethan were now Omegas, their Alpha strength stripped away, their eyes no longer burning with arrogance, but hollowed by desperation. Scott wanted deeply to believe in second chances, but the memories of their past brutality and pride lingered stubbornly at the back of his mind, keeping him cautious. He couldn't help but wonder if their current humility was merely driven by survival rather than genuine remorse.
“I know,” Scott admitted softly, his voice gentle but tense, fingers still threading comfortingly through Stiles’ hair. The small, familiar motion grounded him. “I’m open to suggestions. This…this hit list is serious. The fact that our names are on it, marked as targets for hunters, is a huge problem.”

Lydia nodded gravely, her sharp gaze scanning the group around her, quietly assessing their state. Scott followed her eyes, briefly catching sight of Allison and Isaac. They sat together by the far wall, hands clasped firmly, drawing strength from each other’s presence. Derek and Peter lingered near the kitchen counter, their postures defensive, arms crossed tightly as they observed silently.
Ethan sat near Lydia and Aiden, positioned protectively beside their newest—and youngest—member, Liam Dunbar. Scott’s chest tightened in quiet sympathy as he took in Liam’s wide, anxious eyes. Fear radiated clearly from the freshman, open and unguarded. Liam had been a werewolf for barely a week. His first full moon had been terrifying enough; learning he was now actively hunted must have felt crushingly overwhelming for a fourteen-year-old. Scott wished he could reassure him, but words felt painfully inadequate.

“It’s not just hunters who'll be after us,” Peter interjected smoothly, his voice dripping with casual self-assurance. All eyes turned warily toward him as he examined his nails, enjoying the silence he’d created.
Scott frowned slightly, irritation flaring beneath his skin. Peter always had a knack for unsettling everyone with the simplest of gestures. “What do you mean, Peter?”
Peter sighed dramatically, clearly savoring the spotlight. “The man I encountered wasn't exactly a hunter—he introduced himself as an assassin, actually. And I assure you, he seemed annoyingly proud of the title. Unfortunately for us, his skills were far beyond what we typically see in hunters.”
An uneasy silence filled the room, heavy with worry as glances were exchanged—each member processing the new layer of danger Peter had just revealed.

“So, it’s not just hunters after us—now we have supernatural assassins?” Isaac’s voice was tight with disbelief, anxiety threaded heavily through his words.
Allison tensed immediately, the shift in her posture capturing everyone's attention. Her shoulders stiffened, eyes flickering momentarily with discomfort before she sighed softly, resigned to sharing what little she knew. "They exist," she admitted quietly. "I don't know much—" she added quickly, seeing eager eyes fixed expectantly on her, "but what I've heard isn't good. They're specialized hunters, a professional network calling themselves assassins. Their only job is hunting supernatural creatures, and they're far deadlier than ordinary hunters."
A suffocating silence fell over the room, broken only by Liam’s hesitant, frightened voice. "Then…how do we fight them? If they're professionals who want to kill us, what can we even do?"
Ethan glanced toward Liam, concern softening the normally guarded lines of his expression. He shifted closer, his movements gentle and careful, releasing a quiet, comforting rumble deep from his chest. Immediately, Liam's tense shoulders loosened, his anxious breathing steadying as he leaned gratefully into Ethan’s reassuring presence.

Scott watched this quietly, a protective flare briefly tightening his chest at another wolf comforting his beta. Yet Ethan’s concern seemed undeniably genuine, and the visible relief washing over Liam gradually soothed Scott’s instinctive reaction. Stepping closer, Scott gently threaded his fingers through Liam’s sandy-blond hair, providing the quiet reassurance his beta clearly needed.
Liam released a relieved sigh, shifting instinctively away from Ethan’s shoulder to rest gratefully against Scott’s leg. Scott met Ethan’s eyes briefly, gratitude softening his features. Ethan nodded subtly, respectfully stepping back to allow Scott the space to comfort his beta fully.

“We protect ourselves, Liam,” Scott said firmly, voice warm but resolute, fingers gently soothing through Liam’s hair. “We defend each other. We fight back if we're attacked.”
“That’s it?” Peter interrupted sharply, his voice edged with contempt. “Just keep playing defense? These assassins—these hunters—plan to slaughter your pack, Scott. And your brilliant strategy is to remain passive?”
Scott’s jaw tightened visibly, muscles flexing sharply beneath his skin as he faced Peter’s cold gaze directly. “What would you do, Peter? Just kill them?”
Peter’s smirk twisted coldly, eyes glittering with ruthless certainty. “Without hesitation. Any assassin who threatens my life—or Derek’s—isn't going to live long enough to make good on that threat. But go ahead, Scott. Let them slip away again. Next time, you might not be so lucky. Maybe someone you love will wind up dead instead.”
Anger flashed hot and fierce through Scott, his eyes igniting crimson at Peter’s cutting words. In instant response, Peter’s eyes flared vividly blue, a silent challenge blazing openly between Alpha and Beta. The room grew impossibly tense, each member holding their breath, bracing for the simmering confrontation to explode into something far worse.

A sudden, unfamiliar voice shattered the tense silence, cutting sharply through the escalating hostility.
“He’s not entirely wrong, little Alpha. Merely pushing them back will just encourage them to strike harder next time.”
Every head turned sharply toward the doorway, eyes widening with shock and confusion. Leaning casually against the doorframe stood a slender boy, no taller than five-four, his youthful features offset by an expression of calm amusement. Short, messy dark hair fell casually across his brow, framing knowing, playful brown eyes that seemed far too old and perceptive for the face that held them. His presence carried a strange, almost unnerving confidence that contradicted his otherwise innocent appearance.
“Oh, I love that look,” the boy chuckled lightly, clearly enjoying the group's stunned reactions. “‘Who is he? He’s just a kid. How did he get here?’” He rattled off their silent questions effortlessly, as if he’d answered them a thousand times before.
Scott frowned warily, glancing quickly at his packmates before cautiously turning his full attention to the newcomer. “Uh...yeah. Not to reinforce your point, but...who exactly are you? And how did you even get into my house?”
The boy smiled brightly, shrugging with exaggerated casualness. “Name’s Danny Ketch. As for how I got in—I simply walked through the front door. But you’re missing the bigger question, aren’t you?”
Scott tilted his head slightly, confusion evident on his face as he tried to decipher Danny’s meaning. Before he could respond, Stiles’ quiet, shaky voice broke the silence.
“Scott, he called you ‘little Alpha.’ He knows you're a werewolf.”

Danny’s grin widened appreciatively, eyes sparkling with delight. “Bingo! I love when there’s a smart one—it makes things much more entertaining.”
His gaze flickered sideways, drawn suddenly to the cans of soda scattered across the nearby table. “Mind if I grab one?” Danny asked casually, already moving forward. “I've been addicted to this stuff for about fifty, maybe sixty years now—give or take.” Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed a can, popping it open with a crisp hiss. The sound was absurdly loud in the tense silence, every eye fixed on him in stunned disbelief as he took a long, satisfied gulp.
“Fifty years?” Derek’s voice cut in skeptically, arms crossed tightly as he studied Danny carefully. “Kid, you don’t even look like you've hit puberty yet.”
Danny merely smirked, unfazed by Derek’s suspicion. “Not exactly my fault. I could change my appearance if I wanted to, but honestly, this way gets the best reactions. Way more entertaining.” He shrugged lightly, thoroughly enjoying the confusion radiating from everyone in the room.

His expression shifted subtly, a flicker of seriousness dimming the playful sparkle in his eyes as he took another thoughtful sip of his soda. “But seriously, your bloodthirsty zombie uncle over there was actually right about one thing: eliminating the assassins outright makes far more sense than merely scaring them off temporarily.”
Danny’s gaze hardened slightly, pinning Scott directly. “But that's not even your biggest problem, little Alpha. The real issue—the one you're ignoring—is how many threats you're juggling right now. You're drowning, and you can't face them all alone. You need allies.”

Danny’s penetrating gaze moved slowly across the group, lingering briefly on each face as if silently reading their hidden truths. Finally, he settled pointedly on Stiles. “A darkness within,” Danny remarked calmly, eyes glittering knowingly as Stiles visibly flinched, panic briefly widening his exhausted gaze.
Danny smoothly shifted his attention to Peter next, an amused smile curving his lips as he observed the older werewolf. “Hidden agendas. Deceptions. Betrayals.” Peter remained outwardly calm, but the subtle clench of his fists didn’t escape Danny’s notice—or amusement. Around them, the rest of the pack exchanged wary, bewildered glances.
Finally, Danny’s eyes rested squarely on Scott, his expression growing slightly more serious. “Still to come are creatures monstrous enough to shrug off an Alpha’s strength like it’s nothing,” he said quietly, voice edged with grim amusement. “Not to mention a particularly nasty hunter—one who refuses to stay dead, now driven solely by vengeance.”
He casually flicked his wrist, fire flaring briefly between his fingers, leaving behind a couple pieces, neatly folded paper. The action was smooth, effortless, disturbingly casual. Danny unfolded it with practiced ease, quickly scanning its contents before taking another thoughtful sip of his soda.

“And then, of course, there’s this,” Danny continued conversationally, extending the paper toward Scott, whose hesitation showed clearly on his troubled face. “A complete hit list—every supernatural creature in Beacon Hills and beyond. I believe it updates itself automatically, if I'm not mistaken.”
Scott slowly took the paper, his fingers trembling slightly as he unfolded it. His eyes widened in horror, recognizing immediately what it was. "This…this is the entire Deadpool?" he breathed shakily, disbelief heavy in his voice. "We only had a fragment before."
Danny’s smirk widened slightly, amusement brightening his eyes as he tilted his head toward Scott. “Consider it a gift. But you might want to take a closer look at the second page, near the bottom.”
Scott’s heart sank, dread pooling heavily in his stomach as his eyes fell on a familiar name. "Liam?" His voice broke slightly, panic rising sharply as he looked up, meeting Liam’s wide, frightened eyes. "But…how? You've barely been a werewolf a week."
Liam paled visibly, the color draining from his young face as fear gripped him. His voice shook softly, eyes filled with confusion and dread. "I'm on there? How?" His desperate question hung unanswered in the tense, uneasy silence, each member of the pack exchanging worried, stunned glances.

Scott shook his head slowly, distress tightening his voice. "I…I don’t know."
Danny hummed thoughtfully, an oddly knowing glance flickering briefly toward Peter, whose already guarded expression hardened subtly. "Yes, how indeed…" he murmured cryptically, watching Peter carefully from the corner of his eye.
Swallowing hard, Scott’s voice trembled slightly, yet determination and hope clearly shone through. "You said we need allies. Are you offering your help? There’s obviously more to you than meets the eye."
Danny’s mischievous grin returned instantly, eyes sparkling brightly with amusement. "No."
Scott’s shoulders sagged visibly with disappointment, a weary sigh escaping his lips—but Danny’s soft chuckle immediately recaptured his attention. "At least, not directly," Danny clarified gently, eyes twinkling playfully.
He finished off the soda noisily, drawing every eye in the room with the casual, almost irritatingly carefree gesture. Then, without any visible effort, he crushed the empty can in his hand, the metal instantly disintegrating into fine, silvery ash that sifted gently through his fingers to the floor, leaving stunned silence in its wake.

“I’m sending you my Rider,” Danny announced quietly, a sudden, icy seriousness slipping through his playful demeanor. The air seemed to chill, an unsettling shiver sliding collectively down everyone's spines. "He is precious to me, young Alpha. Look after him, and he'll guard you and your pack fiercely." Danny’s eyes shifted knowingly, lingering meaningfully on Liam and Ethan, his lips briefly curling into a teasing, reassuring wink.
Without another word, Danny laughed lightly, pivoting gracefully toward the nearest wall. “Until next time, little Alpha. I suspect we'll be seeing a lot more of each other—sooner rather than later.” With one final amused glance back, Danny stepped effortlessly through the solid wall and vanished, leaving only stunned, ringing silence behind.
"That…" Stiles’ voice broke the heavy quiet first, soft and shaky, "...is one scary kid."
No one argued.

"What are you going to do, Scott?" Lydia’s voice trembled slightly, barely louder than a whisper. Her normally confident eyes were wide, her fingers trembling subtly with anxiety as she stared, still shocked, at the spot where Danny had vanished. The encounter had visibly rattled her, peeling away her usual calm and leaving raw vulnerability clearly exposed.
Aiden noticed immediately, instinctively tightening a protective arm around her shoulders, gently drawing her closer. Lydia shivered slightly, pressing gratefully into his warmth—though even Aiden’s comfort couldn’t entirely banish the lingering chill Danny’s presence had left crawling along her spine.
"He felt…powerful, Scott," Lydia confessed softly, voice wavering slightly with open unease. "Dark. I've never felt anything quite like it." Her voice fractured gently on the last word, revealing just how deeply shaken she was.
Aiden’s grip instinctively tightened further, his expression darkening with protective concern as he glanced urgently toward Scott. Their eyes met briefly, the silent exchange clearly conveying Aiden’s anxiety and Scott’s quiet reassurance.
Scott nodded slightly, forcing confidence onto his weary features despite his own racing heart and the uneasy dread coiled tightly in his gut.
Scott looked down once more at the Deadpool—the full, ominous list now trembling slightly in his grip. The crisp paper felt impossibly heavy, as though each printed name pressed directly upon his heart. His gaze lingered painfully on Liam’s name, a sharp surge of protectiveness and dread twisting harshly in his chest.
Whoever—or whatever—Danny Ketch truly was, he wielded a power Scott had rarely felt before. It had rippled silently beneath the boy’s youthful appearance, dark and potent, radiating outward like heat from glowing embers. The air had grown colder, heavier, the moment Danny had appeared—and the effortless ease with which he'd conjured the list, then vanished without a trace, still sent a shiver down Scott’s spine.
“He said he was sending his ‘Rider’ to help us,” Stiles interjected quietly, his voice tense, anxiety clear in every syllable. He rubbed nervously at his arms, as though desperately trying to erase the lingering tension from his skin. “Wish he’d been clearer about who—or what—exactly that means. I mean, ‘Rider’? What kind of help is that?”
Scott exhaled slowly, carefully folding the Deadpool and slipping it securely into his pocket, forcing himself to calm the rapid beat of his heart. He felt the nervous tension radiating from Stiles beside him, palpable and raw, and instinctively reached out, gently squeezing Stiles’ shoulder. The familiar warmth of that simple touch grounded him immediately, a silent reminder that despite everything, they still had each other.
“For now,” Scott began softly, thoughtfully scanning the worried faces of his pack, “let’s stay alert. Watch carefully for anyone suspicious—or unusual. And keep an eye out for Danny, too. If he returns, maybe we can get clearer answers—figure out exactly what we’re dealing with.”
Quiet nods slowly passed around the room, anxiety still etched deeply into every face. Allison leaned subtly into Isaac, their fingers tightly intertwined, drawing quiet reassurance and strength from each other’s warmth. Derek’s brow furrowed deeply, his expression thoughtful yet wary, clearly wrestling with unanswered questions and unease. Even Peter, normally impossible to read, wore a subtle tension in his posture, the slightest tightening of his jaw hinting at his hidden concerns.

Scott’s gaze settled softly on Liam, heart tightening sympathetically as he saw the lingering fear etched openly across the younger boy’s face. Liam’s wide eyes still shone anxiously, clearly overwhelmed by the dangers suddenly looming so close. Beside him, Ethan hovered quietly, his presence subtle but reassuring, offering silent comfort simply by standing protectively close. Scott felt a quiet surge of gratitude toward Ethan for that gentle gesture, appreciating the steady calm Ethan was providing Liam without needing words.
“This…meeting didn’t exactly go how we’d planned,” Scott admitted softly, his voice heavy with the weariness of battles already fought, struggles still waiting on the horizon. His eyes drifted slowly across his pack, each face a familiar blend of resilience and quiet uncertainty. “But maybe…this time, something good actually came out of it. Maybe now we finally have an ally—someone powerful—on our side.”
His words hung quietly in the tense stillness, heavy with both cautious hope and uncertain promise. The pack stood silently for a long moment, exchanging wary, thoughtful glances, each absorbed in their own private worries and tentative hopes. The faint scent of ash and lingering sulfur still drifted subtly through the air, a stark reminder of Danny’s strange, powerful presence.
And as the silence stretched, Scott clung tightly to the fragile spark of hope Danny had left behind. After everything they'd faced—every threat, every loss, every desperate fight—perhaps finally things were beginning to shift. Maybe, just maybe, the tide was turning in their favor at last.

Danny appeared silently in his living room, a ripple of shadows whispering gently around him as his power quietly settled back into place. A small, satisfied smile curved his lips as he savored the lingering amusement from his recent encounter. It had been far too long since he'd indulged in entertainment quite this delightful. Already, he imagined the outrage and confusion brewing among the Benefactor and his little band of assassins. A soft, mischievous chuckle escaped him as he pictured their inevitable fury and disbelief.
“Welcome home, Dad. Did you finish those errands?”
Danny turned, his playful thoughts immediately melting into gentle warmth at the soft voice calling out to him. Lounging comfortably across their worn leather couch, textbooks and notes scattered haphazardly around him, was his seventeen-year-old son, Jace. A deep, familiar affection bloomed instantly in Danny’s chest, chasing away all lingering mischief and leaving only tenderness behind.
Jace’s tall frame stretched out easily, his feet propped casually on the coffee table, shoulders relaxed despite the chaos of study materials surrounding him. Even seated, his height was obvious—far surpassing Danny’s perpetually youthful, fourteen-year-old stature. Danny had always refused to alter his chosen youthful appearance, holding deeply sentimental attachments to the age when his life had irrevocably changed.
Danny’s gaze softened further as he absorbed the familiar yet uniquely distinct features of his son. Jace had inherited Danny’s short, tousled black hair, yet his own was softer somehow, constantly disheveled from nervous habits and anxious gestures. Unlike Danny’s wiry, youthful build, Jace possessed a lean, athletic body that radiated quiet strength beneath his natural shyness. But it was always Jace’s hazel eyes—bright, warm, vulnerable—that stole Danny’s breath, reflecting so clearly the gentle humanity that contrasted with the darker power simmering deep within them both.
“I did indeed,” Danny replied warmly, quietly crossing the room to stand beside the couch. Jace lifted his head slightly, his shy curiosity instantly capturing Danny’s heart all over again. “I gave them their warnings, handed over the full hit list, and told them I was sending my Rider to help.”

Jace nodded slowly, brows drawing together thoughtfully as he glanced back toward his textbooks, his voice softening with anxious uncertainty. “So…they know I'll be going to school with them?” The quiet anxiety in Jace’s voice tugged at Danny’s heart, the slight tension in his son's shoulders immediately noticeable to his careful eyes.
Danny smiled softly, crossing the short distance and reaching out gently, carefully threading his fingers through Jace’s messy dark hair. Immediately, he felt some of the lingering tension drain from Jace’s posture, the quiet sigh of relief his son released warming Danny’s chest with deep satisfaction.
“Of course not,” Danny murmured reassuringly, continuing the slow, comforting motion through his son’s hair. His voice was gentle, soothing, deliberately calming. “Where’s the fun in giving them all the answers right away? You'll be able to meet them on your own terms, Jace. You don't have to reveal yourself until you're completely comfortable—I promise.”
The remaining tension visibly eased from Jace’s shoulders, his entire frame relaxing gratefully beneath his father's gentle reassurance. Jace closed his eyes briefly, subtly leaning into Danny’s comforting touch, the quiet vulnerability in his posture softening Danny’s heart further.

“Thank you, Dad,” Jace whispered softly, genuine gratitude evident in his voice.
Danny chuckled gently, eyes warm and affectionate as he gazed lovingly at his son. “Always, love. Anything for you.”
Yet beneath his soft smile, a sharp pang of guilt twisted briefly in Danny’s chest. He knew all too clearly that Jace’s deep struggles with social anxiety were ultimately his doing. Danny had isolated him, choosing to shield him obsessively from the outside world—always safe, always close, but desperately alone. It had always just been the three of them—Danny, Jace, and Johnny Blaze—through those formative, isolated years. Johnny had often teased Danny for being an overly protective helicopter parent, always hovering, fiercely guarding his son’s every move.
But could anyone truly blame him?
He’d gone to immense lengths—borderline impossible—for Jace’s very existence. Seducing Jace’s mother had been easy enough; ensuring the pregnancy happened immediately afterward had been infinitely trickier. Carefully manipulating everyone’s memories, meticulously orchestrating the illusion of a flawless pregnancy and birth, had drained him to near exhaustion. Danny had never experienced stress quite like that before, nor since.
Yet every single moment of struggle became instantly worth it the moment he first cradled his tiny, fragile son in his arms. Jace had arrived a month early, the result of his mother’s desperate attempt to terminate her pregnancy. Danny’s blood still boiled at the mere memory—if Jace hadn’t survived, he would have ended her life without hesitation or remorse.

But his precious child had lived, tiny and delicate, fighting desperately for his first breaths. Danny had spent countless sleepless months nurturing Jace carefully back to health, pouring every ounce of his immense demonic strength into ensuring his son not only survived but thrived. His love had grown fiercely protective, often stifling and overly cautious, but always genuine, always unconditional, and always absolute.
Danny had never neglected Jace’s education. Teachers and tutors had frequently arrived at their doorstep, minds carefully manipulated, memories neatly erased afterward. As a result, Jace had grown incredibly intelligent, deeply knowledgeable, and insightful beyond his years. But social skills had never been part of that carefully controlled curriculum, leaving him anxious and uncertain about meeting Scott McCall’s pack and the daunting prospect of attending a crowded school filled with countless teenagers.
Danny’s gaze softened tenderly once more, his voice gently reassuring as he reached out again, lightly resting a comforting hand on Jace’s shoulder. “You'll be fine, Jace. I promise. Just be yourself, and everything will fall into place.”
Jace hesitated, eyes shyly lifting to search his father’s face for reassurance. His voice emerged softly, hopeful yet deeply vulnerable. “Do you think…do you think I'll be able to make friends, Dad?”
Danny’s heart squeezed gently at the earnest uncertainty in Jace’s voice, and he leaned forward instinctively, pressing a gentle, comforting kiss against his son’s forehead. “Of course, love,” he murmured warmly, sincerity resonating clearly in every word. “That’s the entire reason we’re doing this, remember? I've already told you—two very special boys are waiting for you. Your happiness, your future—that’s the only reason I'm even bothering with all this. You're my everything.”
A shy, rare smile slowly blossomed across Jace’s lips—soft, genuine, and undeniably beautiful. Warmth bloomed instantly in Danny’s chest at the sight, affection flooding through him as he watched his son quietly return his attention to the textbooks scattered before him. “Thanks, Dad,” Jace murmured softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Love you.”
Danny smiled warmly, pressing another gentle kiss to Jace’s head, his own voice thick with tenderness. “I love you too, son. Always.”
The living room settled comfortably into a quiet, peaceful silence. Danny stood there a moment longer, silently savoring the gentle companionship he cherished so deeply with Jace.
Yet beneath the peace lay awareness of the difficult road ahead. In the coming days, Danny would guide Jace toward confronting the dark kitsune currently haunting the Stilinski boy. That confrontation would truly mark the beginning—the first real step toward Jace embracing his destiny fully. After that, Danny planned to quietly step back, giving his son space and freedom to find his own path, to discover the strength and courage he knew lay within him.
And though he’d allow Jace to fight his battles—though he'd never interfere unnecessarily—Danny vowed silently, fiercely, that he would always remain by his son's side. He wouldn’t intervene, not that he’d need to. After all, there was very little the Ghost Rider couldn’t handle.

Stiles paced restlessly back and forth across his living room, his anxious steps wearing a shallow path into the worn carpet. His heart beat erratically, anxiety coiling tighter around him like a suffocating blanket. Dark shadows lined his weary eyes, his pale face drawn thin by exhaustion. Sleep had become a bitter enemy—no longer restful, only ever bringing nightmares that were vivid, relentless, and increasingly terrifying.
No matter how many hours he slept, no matter how deeply exhaustion dragged him under, he woke each time drained and hollow, as if sleep itself had betrayed him. Frustration simmered hotly beneath his skin, making him rub harshly at his tired eyes. He felt Scott’s worry keenly, saw it clearly reflected in his boyfriend’s anxious glances, lingering protectively but helplessly. Scott wanted to fix it, desperately wished to chase away the darkness that haunted Stiles' nights—but how could anyone fight dreams? Worse, Scott rarely had time these days. Between supernatural chaos, hired assassins, and cryptic warnings from unsettling, powerful strangers, their lives had become a relentless spiral of turmoil.
Stiles abruptly stopped pacing, shoulders slumping heavily as he stared blankly at the floor. It was maddening, the constant threats and relentless pressure crashing endlessly around them. The warnings from that strange, unsettling boy echoed ominously in his mind, dark promises of trouble looming ahead.

"What else could possibly go wrong?" Stiles whispered bitterly, voice raw with exhausted defeat.
As if answering his grim question, the distant, sharp whine of a motorbike suddenly sliced through the evening silence, making Stiles tense sharply. His gaze darted toward the window, confusion deepening his anxious frown. The engine grew louder, approaching rapidly, then abruptly fell silent just outside his house. A cold unease prickled sharply down his spine. Scott wasn't supposed to be coming over tonight—no one was.
Before he could move toward the window, the door exploded inward, crashing violently against the wall and splintering into jagged shards across the floor. Stiles jerked back instinctively, adrenaline instantly flooding his veins like liquid ice, his heart slamming violently against his ribs.
"What the hell—?!" The words choked off abruptly as a towering figure surged through the shattered doorway, moving impossibly fast. Before Stiles could fully process the threat, powerful hands clamped onto his shoulders, fingers digging painfully into his flesh with relentless, iron strength.
"I WAS KIDDING!" Stiles shouted desperately, panic igniting fiercely in his chest as he fought wildly against the overwhelming grip. Twisting and jerking uselessly, his breath came in ragged, frantic gasps, raw fear scorching his throat.
Whoever—whatever—this intruder was, they were strong. Terrifyingly, impossibly strong.

"This might hurt," murmured a deep, quiet voice—calm yet chillingly certain. "But you'll thank me for it later."
"Wait—wait! Stop—!" Panic surged violently in Stiles’ chest, strangling his voice as the stranger's eyes flooded impossibly dark—then erupted in flame, irises burning fiercely with unnatural fire. Stiles’ desperate plea died instantly in his throat.
"I have come to deliver your penance, demon," the figure intoned solemnly, voice deepening into something ancient, otherworldly, terrifyingly inhuman. "None can escape my vengeance."
Stiles tried frantically to protest, to plead innocence, but suddenly a white-hot fire ignited within him, stealing every ounce of breath from his lungs. He screamed helplessly, agony unimaginable, as if molten metal surged through his veins, scorching him relentlessly from the inside out.

Time became meaningless, seconds stretching into endless eternities of pain, each heartbeat a fresh torment, until finally—mercifully—the fire receded. His knees buckled instantly as the iron grip holding him abruptly vanished.
He collapsed, barely aware of hitting the floor before violent convulsions wracked his body. Black sludge poured thickly, foul and choking, from his mouth, each spasm tearing brutally through his throat, leaving it raw and scorched. Finally, his exhausted body stilled, utterly drained and trembling uncontrollably.

He sagged weakly against the wall, eyelids fluttering heavily, awareness dim and fragmented. Distant footsteps echoed faintly in the background. Cabinet doors opened quietly, water ran briefly. Then the figure returned, a gentle touch suddenly resting softly against the back of Stiles’ neck, guiding something blissfully cool to his cracked, trembling lips.
"Drink," came the quiet instruction, voice transformed—soft and kind, wholly different from the terrifying authority from moments before. "It’ll help soothe the burn."
Stiles wanted instinctively to recoil, to push away the stranger's help, but the cool water was irresistible—sweet, soothing, washing blessedly down his damaged throat. He drank desperately, relief so profound it nearly brought tears to his eyes.
After a few precious moments, the cup was gently pulled away. "Easy," the stranger murmured softly. "Too much, too fast, will only make you sick again."
Stiles felt himself carefully guided back, body limp and trembling, slumped weakly against the wall. The footsteps moved away once more, water ran again softly. Another cup was placed carefully by his side, the gentle voice speaking again, patient and tender now. "Drink again when you've rested."

With an effort that felt nearly impossible, Stiles forced his gaze upward, desperately fighting the blur of tears and exhaustion. All he could clearly make out were two gentle hazel eyes, unexpectedly kind now, briefly meeting his own before quickly looking away. The footsteps retreated quietly, pausing only briefly as the door lock clicked gently into place. Then the door closed softly, leaving silence behind.
The silence felt painfully empty, stretching endlessly until it was abruptly shattered by the distant, roaring rumble of a motorcycle engine—powerful, confident, racing away down the street. Then silence settled once again, oppressive and complete.
Darkness pressed heavily, insistently upon him, pulling him relentlessly under. Only one confused, exhausted question echoed through his mind before sleep finally claimed him:
'Who the FUCK was that'?

Lydia gasped sharply, a jolt of terror slicing through her like shards of ice. Her phone slipped from suddenly numb fingers, clattering sharply against the hardwood floor, the sound echoing horribly loud in the abrupt silence. Her heartbeat thundered violently in her ears, drowning out everything else, leaving only a single, desperate thought:
Oh my god—Stiles!
Aiden was at her side instantly, his strong hands gripping her trembling shoulders gently yet firmly, offering steady reassurance despite his own alarm. His eyes searched hers anxiously, urgency etched starkly onto his features. "Lydia? What is it—what happened?"
She turned to him, eyes wide and glassy with panic, her voice barely more than a strained whisper, trembling with raw dread. "I saw him—Stiles. He’s hurt, badly hurt. I—I think he might be dying."
Aiden’s expression hardened immediately, determination washing over him, erasing any hesitation. Without wasting a moment, he swiftly grabbed his keys from the nearby table, his voice calm yet firm, resolute despite the anxiety vibrating through his entire frame. "Let’s go."

Lydia nodded shakily, her breath hitching painfully as she bent down quickly, scooping up her phone with trembling fingers. She fumbled slightly, hastily dialing Scott’s number, her heart hammering painfully as the ringing seemed to stretch into eternity. Scott answered almost instantly, confusion quickly sharpening into fear and desperation as Lydia frantically explained her vision.
Through the crackle of panic in her voice, Lydia could practically feel Scott’s heart break on the other end of the line, a muffled curse of raw anguish escaping before he managed to choke out a hoarse, desperate promise—he was already on his way.
The call disconnected abruptly, leaving Lydia breathless, cold dread pooling like ice in her stomach. Without another word, she and Aiden sprinted from the house, the front door slamming behind them with a startling crash. Seconds later, they leaped into Lydia’s car, the tires squealing sharply as they peeled away from the curb, the streetlights blurring past in a dizzying rush.

Lydia’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles whitened, fear and desperation churning painfully inside her chest. Her thoughts raced chaotically, her frantic, silent plea echoing inside her mind like a broken prayer:
Please, she begged desperately, silently calling out to whatever higher power might be listening. Please don’t let us be too late.
Just imagining losing Stiles sent a sharp, wrenching ache straight through her heart. It wasn't just Scott who would shatter—Stiles was the glue that held them all together. His humor and wit sliced through their darkest moments, his fierce loyalty and gentle kindness wrapped protectively around each of them. Without him, their fragile world would fracture beyond repair.
Her vision blurred briefly with the hot, insistent threat of tears, but she blinked them away stubbornly, pressing the gas pedal down harder, her heart pounding furiously, relentlessly in her chest.
They couldn’t lose him. They simply couldn’t.

Scott reached Stiles’ house first, heart pounding painfully as he burst through the shattered doorway.
"Stiles!" he shouted desperately, his voice raw with fear, echoing hollowly in the eerie silence.
Scott froze in his tracks, eyes widening in horrified shock at the sight of Stiles slumped weakly against the wall, unconscious. A pool of foul-smelling black sludge lay ominously at his feet, a single cup of water innocently resting nearby.
"Oh God," Scott breathed, lunging forward and dropping instantly to his knees beside his boyfriend. His trembling fingers pressed frantically to Stiles' neck, a sob of relief wrenching free when he felt the steady beat beneath his fingertips. Tears blurred Scott’s vision, overwhelming gratitude rushing through him, nearly drowning out his earlier panic.
Gently, reverently, he pressed a soft kiss to Stiles’ temple, breathing deeply, desperately calming his racing heart. "Stiles," he murmured, his voice cracking softly. "I’m here, baby. You're okay now. I promise."

Lydia and Aiden crashed into the house moments later, skidding abruptly to a halt at the startling scene. Lydia’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide in shock and fear. "Is he—?"
"He’s alive," Scott whispered hoarsely, relief thickening every syllable.
Lydia’s eyes narrowed, confusion clouding her worried expression. "But I screamed—I saw him die."
Aiden stepped carefully around her, inhaling deeply as his gaze fell sharply to the black sludge on the floor. His voice came quietly, tension evident. "No one else is here now. Just Stiles. Whoever did this is already gone."
Lydia edged cautiously closer, staring warily at the sludge. "What is that?"
Both she and Aiden jumped sharply when a weak, rasping voice answered softly, "Pretty sure that's what’s left of whatever was inside me."
Scott’s head whipped around instantly, eyes widening in startled relief. "Stiles! Oh God, are you okay?"
Stiles offered a shaky smile, voice hoarse, raw as sandpaper. "Peachy, babe. Absolutely perfect—just had the worst experience of my life, swallowed some hot coals, definitely scarred forever. But alive."
Scott laughed softly, relief flooding him completely as he leaned forward, gently cupping Stiles’ face and pressing a tender, loving kiss to his lips.
Stiles’ gaze slowly shifted to the cup of water, confusion suddenly flickering across his tired face. Scott followed his glance, carefully reaching out and handing him the glass. Stiles hesitated, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as if trying to piece together scattered fragments of memory.

"Baby, what’s wrong?" Scott asked softly, worry evident in his gentle tone.
Stiles shook his head slowly, voice distant, distracted. "He wasn’t a dream. He was real... The cup’s right here."
Lydia knelt carefully beside him, her expression deeply confused yet concerned. "Who, Stiles?"
Stiles closed his eyes briefly, shuddering at the vivid, still-fresh memory, voice trembling slightly as he whispered, "I don’t know. He had these… hazel eyes. But before that—before the gentle stuff—he terrified me. He kicked down the door, grabbed me, pinned me to the wall..." His voice cracked faintly, eyes haunted as he reopened them, looking at Scott with lingering fear. "His eyes turned pitch-black, then fire—actual fire. It felt like he was burning me alive, from the inside out."
Scott’s arms tightened protectively around Stiles, drawing him gently against his chest, pressing soothing kisses softly into his hair. "You're safe now, Stiles. I've got you," he promised fiercely, holding him close as if afraid to ever let go again.
Stiles leaned into Scott’s warmth, his voice growing softer, almost distant as he tried to piece together the baffling fragments of memory. "Then suddenly…it stopped. Everything just stopped. He stayed, helped me drink water. He told me to rest, locked the door behind him when he left. It was…gentle. Almost kind. Completely confusing."

Lydia frowned deeply, visibly troubled, her voice tinged with cautious skepticism. "If he attacked you, why would he help afterward?"
Stiles sighed heavily, exhaustion clearly etched into every feature. "Honestly, Lydia, I have no idea. Right now, therapy sounds pretty damn good."
Scott chuckled softly despite the tension still lingering in the room, pulling Stiles protectively closer, gently stroking his back. "You're safe now. I promise I won't let anything else hurt you."
Stiles managed a small, genuine smile, squeezing Scott’s arm reassuringly, comforted by his boyfriend’s warm, familiar presence. "Actually…I'm better than okay. For the first time in weeks, things feel clear—really clear."
Scott fell quiet, eyes shifting thoughtfully back toward the ominous black sludge on the floor. A single troubling thought repeated insistently in his mind, refusing to fade:
Whoever that guy was…what exactly had he done to Stiles? And why show such gentleness afterward?

Jace quietly closed the front door behind him, the soft click of the lock echoing reassuringly in the comforting stillness of his home. He carefully placed his keys into the small green candy dish resting neatly on the hallway table, the gentle clink of metal on ceramic soothingly ordinary as he shrugged out of his leather jacket.
“Dad? I'm home,” Jace called softly, his voice barely above a whisper, the comforting familiarity of home instantly easing the lingering tension from his shoulders.
The peaceful silence shattered abruptly, replaced by the sudden sharp crash of breaking glass echoing sharply from the kitchen, immediately followed by muffled curses from his father.
Concern creased Jace’s brow as he moved swiftly toward the sound, stopping cautiously just shy of the kitchen doorway. Inside, Danny was hunched over, broom in hand, meticulously sweeping up the scattered shards of shattered glass covering the tile floor. His father’s normally calm expression was twisted into a frustrated scowl, movements careful yet visibly annoyed.
Danny’s eyes snapped upward sharply as he sensed Jace’s approach, concern instantly replacing irritation in his warm gaze. “No, wait—don’t come in yet, bud,” Danny quickly warned, holding out one protective hand. “There's broken glass everywhere. I don't want you to get hurt.”

Jace paused obediently, tilting his head slightly, mild confusion crossing his gentle features before glancing briefly down at his sock-covered feet. He knew perfectly well ordinary glass posed no threat to him, but his father's protective instincts ran deep—far too deep to argue against. Accepting the familiar routine without complaint, Jace patiently remained outside the doorway, quietly waiting for the signal that everything was safe.
Danny swiftly finished cleaning up the mess, the soft rustle of glass fragments brushing into the dustpan soon replaced by the dull thunk of the trash bin lid securely closing. Turning back to Jace, Danny’s expression softened completely, annoyance melting instantly into gentle affection.
“Alright, love,” Danny said warmly, spreading his arms wide, inviting Jace forward with a soft, comforting smile. “Now you can come in and give me a proper hug. How did everything go?”
Relief and warmth surged through Jace as he stepped quickly into the kitchen, immediately wrapping his arms tightly around his father. Danny’s embrace closed firmly around him, secure and grounding, a comforting squeeze instantly easing away any remaining tension.

“It went well, Dad,” Jace murmured quietly, face pressed gently against his father’s shoulder. “The dark kitsune is gone now. Stiles should start feeling much better in the next few days.”
Danny gently patted his son’s back, quiet pride radiating clearly through the simple, affectionate gesture. As they pulled apart slightly, Danny’s warm eyes shone with genuine pride, a tender smile softening his face.
“Good job, sweetheart,” he praised sincerely, voice brimming warmly with affectionate pride. “Now all that’s left is for you to go to school tomorrow, start meeting the others, and making some friends. After what you’ve done for Stiles, you’ll definitely be in their good graces.”
Jace shifted uncomfortably, eyes dropping nervously to the floor as anxiety fluttered restlessly inside his chest. Danny instantly caught the change—the gentle pride in his eyes softening into a curious, questioning gaze.
“What did you do, son?” Danny asked softly, voice entirely free of accusation, carrying instead quiet understanding and a hint of concern.
Jace winced slightly at the gentle question, swallowing nervously as he stared resolutely down at his feet, voice barely above a whisper. "When I burned out the fox…I also took away Stiles’ memory of seeing my face. He won't know it was me who helped him." He hesitated, carefully gathering his thoughts, anxiety clearly threading through his uncertain words. "Dad, he didn't even realize he was possessed. He just knew something was wrong, something terrifying, but not what. To him, it just looked like I attacked and hurt him. I…I didn't want their first impression of me to be that—to see how dangerous I can be."
Danny exhaled softly, understanding and compassion immediately clear in his warm, dark eyes. Gently reaching out, his fingertips carefully lifted Jace’s chin until their eyes met directly. Danny’s expression was serious, yet tender, filled with gentle reassurance and unconditional love.

"I understand, love," Danny murmured warmly, voice gentle yet firm with support. "You were protecting him, even if he didn't understand that protection at the time. This is your life, Jace, and you're allowed to handle this your own way. You're smart, you're strong, and I trust you'll figure out how to approach them when you feel ready. I have absolute faith in you."
Warm relief flooded instantly through Jace, melting away the tension he’d carried tightly since leaving Stiles’ home. A soft, shy smile tugged at his lips, gratitude and love evident as he stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around his father once again, drawing comfort from Danny’s unwavering support.
"Thank you, Dad," Jace whispered quietly against his father’s shoulder, lingering uncertainty softening into quiet hopefulness. "I'm sorry if I disappointed you."
Danny shook his head firmly, gently pulling back just enough to look deeply into his son’s earnest, hazel eyes. "You could never disappoint me, love," he said firmly, sincerity resonating deeply within each gentle word. "Never."
He smiled softly then, stepping back and nodding gently toward the table. "Now, come on—dinner’s ready, and you need some rest. Tomorrow is a big day for you."
Jace nodded obediently, taking his usual seat at the table. Danny quickly joined him, placing two steaming plates piled generously with hot, comforting food down before them. As they began to eat quietly, a mix of nervous anticipation and quiet excitement stirred within Jace’s chest. Tomorrow was significant—it represented a chance, finally, to begin reaching out, to form friendships on his own terms.
He wasn't entirely sure how to start, or what to say, but one thing was unmistakably clear: he had never wanted anything more in his entire life.

The next day at school-

The double doors swung open slowly, revealing a silhouette framed briefly by blinding sunlight. The hallway grew eerily quiet, idle chatter dying abruptly into hushed, curious whispers. Every eye turned instinctively toward the calm yet commanding figure stepping gracefully into Beacon High, his presence resonating clearly in the sudden silence.

' I can't escape this hell
So many times I've tried
But I'm still caged inside
Somebody get me through this nightmare
I can't control myself '

Jace paused just inside the doorway, drawing in a deep, steadying breath as his heartbeat thrummed a careful rhythm beneath his ribs. To everyone else, he appeared as nothing more than another new student—tall, effortlessly striking, his short black hair tousled casually, and his lean, athletic frame wrapped in dark, understated clothing. His features radiated calm composure, an effortless confidence masking the turmoil lurking beneath his skin.
They couldn't possibly see the darkness quietly simmering inside him.
Taking his first deliberate steps forward, his shoes clicked softly against the polished tile floors, echoing clearly amidst the tense silence. A sudden wave of whispers surged around him—idle gossip, curious speculation, hushed flirtations—all harmless, ordinary teenage chatter.
Yet beneath these innocent murmurs surged something darker, hidden, and unsettlingly clear. Each passing glance toward a student sharpened faint, sinister whispers into vivid clarity, secrets spoken in voices only Jace could hear:
“She cheated on every test this year...”
“He stole money from his father’s wallet...”
“She spread rumors that nearly destroyed a friendship...”
The words echoed quietly yet relentlessly inside his mind—a silent, insistent condemnation, each revelation a weight pressing heavily upon him. His jaw clenched subtly, a tightening tension rippling faintly through his muscles. His skin prickled uncomfortably, a wave of heat building ominously beneath its surface, barely restrained. He fought to hold control, a brief, involuntary shiver slipping visibly through his frame.
Then, in an instant, his vision shifted violently—

' So what if you can see the darkest side of me
No one will ever change this animal I have become
Help me believe it's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal
(This animal, this animal) '

Suddenly, the bright, bustling hallway drained entirely of color, stark monochrome washing over everything around him. Shadows stretched, growing deeper and longer, figures frozen mid-step, outlined sharply in unsettling shades of gray. In that chilling heartbeat, Jace’s human facade burned swiftly away, replaced immediately by a skeletal form wreathed in white-hot flames. Hollow, blackened eye sockets stared relentlessly into the frozen, shadowy faces around him, flames flickering silently, whispers of judgment and vengeance dancing within each ember’s hypnotic glow.
In that stark moment of clarity, he knew one truth without question—this was his purpose, his burden, his unending struggle. He alone held back the wildfire, the judgment, the hunger that burned mercilessly within.
And for now, only he knew the danger hidden behind his gentle, hazel eyes.
“Punish them,” whispered the burning voice of vengeance deep inside Jace’s mind, chains flashing eagerly around his wrists, straining urgently for release, desperate to deliver judgment. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, his jaw clenching painfully as he forced the roaring flames back down.
“They’re just children,” he reminded himself sharply, fiercely, every word a strained promise. “Misguided, foolish, yes—but not deserving…not yet.”

' I can't escape myself
(I can't escape myself)
So many times I've lied
(So many times I've lied)
But there's still rage inside
Somebody get me through this nightmare
I can't control myself '

Color flooded back abruptly with a sharp, desperate breath, instantly restoring vibrant life to the bustling hallway. Laughter, idle chatter, and echoing footsteps crashed back into his senses, grounding him firmly in reality once more. Jace exhaled slowly, carefully, heart still thrumming furiously from the internal struggle raging beneath his carefully calm facade. Throughout it all, his expression had never betrayed him—neutral, composed, deceptively serene.
He moved forward slowly, the whispers around him shifting quickly from idle curiosity into something deeper: quiet admiration and hopeful attraction. Girls subtly smoothed their hair, exchanged sparkling glances filled with interest, wondering silently if he'd notice them. Boys adjusted their stances, sizing him up with cautious envy and grudging respect. None of them, however, saw even a glimpse of the supernatural fury simmering quietly within—the truth of who and what he truly was.

' So what if you can see the darkest side of me
No one will ever change this animal I have become
Help me believe it's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal I have become
Help me believe it's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal '

Upon reaching the main office door, Jace paused briefly, his hand resting on the cold metal handle, grounding himself in its cool reality. Suddenly, another voice pierced through nearby, boastful and cruel, callous laughter punctuating every harsh, mocking word. Anger surged sharply again, flames flickering vividly in Jace’s vision, the hallway draining once more into stark, ghostly monochrome. Chains trembled violently around his wrists, desperately tugging him toward that hateful laughter.
His jaw tightened painfully, the fiery skeletal form beneath his skin clawing fiercely, dangerously close to erupting outward completely. Flames blazed brighter than ever before, their crackling whispers seductive, relentless in his ears.
Jace whispered harshly, desperately clinging to the humanity within himself:
"Control it, Jace. They’re ignorant kids. Not yet. They don’t deserve vengeance. Not yet..."

' So what if you can see the darkest side of me
No one will ever change this animal I have become
Help me believe it's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal I have become
Help me believe it's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal '

With tremendous, agonizing effort, he forced the fury back down again, flames flickering quietly into nothingness, returning him abruptly to the form of a normal, composed teenager standing calmly outside the office door. The world around him remained blissfully unaware—nothing had changed outwardly, the hall filled with oblivious laughter, unknowing of how close they'd come to unspeakable horror.
"Is this how it’s always going to be?" Jace wondered silently, dread and exhaustion settling heavily within him, the weight of his constant struggle pressing down like lead.
With carefully composed calm, he pushed open the office door, stepping smoothly inside as if nothing unusual had occurred. His polite expression revealed nothing of the turmoil he'd just endured. Yet, beneath his carefully neutral exterior, flames still whispered softly, sin tugging gently at the edges of his consciousness.
But unlike those who had come before him—those who had feared losing themselves completely—Jace felt no such fear. His soul had been entwined permanently, irrevocably, with Vengeance itself since birth. He felt every impulse sharply, intensely—but the control, the final choice, remained always fully in his grasp.
He alone decided when judgment would fall.
No one else.

As class began, Jace slowly settled into his seat, carefully placing his books down onto the polished wooden desk. Around him, the classroom hummed gently with idle chatter, soft rustling of papers, and the warm glow of sunlight filtering lazily through half-open blinds. For everyone else, it was an ordinary first day of classes.
For Jace, it was anything but ordinary.

The whispers began instantly, quiet murmurs reaching his ears as clearly as if they'd shouted aloud. He felt them vividly—petty lies, hidden betrayals, secret cruelties—all buzzing sharply against his senses like a relentless swarm of wasps. His jaw tightened subtly, his eyes squeezing shut for the briefest heartbeat, fighting the surge of darkness rising fiercely within him.
Control it, he reminded himself fiercely, the internal voice firm but strained. You’re here to protect—not to punish.
He reopened his eyes slowly, desperately forcing himself back into composure. But in that single breath, the world shifted violently. All color drained away instantly, leaving the classroom stark and colorless, shades of black, white, and endless hollow gray stretching hauntingly around him. Sound ceased entirely, reality suspended in perfect, eerie stillness between one heartbeat and the next.
Then his gaze locked onto Aiden.

Aiden sat beside Lydia, laughter frozen silently on his lips, his expression carefree and utterly unaware of the intense scrutiny bearing down on him. Jace’s vision shifted deeper, reality peeling away like burnt paper, revealing the flickering, shadowy echoes of every darkness Aiden had ever committed—sins of violence, cruelty, and hidden brutality. Ghostly figures swirled menacingly around the oblivious teen, whispering harsh, relentless accusations into Jace’s consciousness, demanding judgment, justice, punishment.
Jace’s features flickered sharply, instinctively. His skin burned swiftly away, flame devouring flesh in an instant, revealing the skeletal visage beneath. White-hot fire blazed vividly from hollow sockets, flames erupting violently, hungrily around his jaw, his mouth yawning impossibly wide—dark, endless, ready to devour every sin that screamed clearly around Aiden.

Chains burst silently into existence, heavy metal dripping with molten fire, coiled tightly around Jace’s wrists, desperate, eager, trembling with anticipation to deliver long-overdue justice.
No, Jace whispered harshly inside his burning mind, desperation clawing at his frayed control. Not here—not like this. Not yet.
But the flames surged stronger, brighter, defiant in their fury.
'He hurt so many. Caused so much pain. He deserves it…'
The thought pressed forward hungrily, relentless vengeance roaring eagerly inside his mind, fueled by righteous fury demanding swift, brutal satisfaction.
Yet beneath that fiery voice came another, softer yet infinitely stronger: 'He’s trying to change. Let him.'
Jace fought desperately against the raging beast within, chains trembling violently around his wrists, metal clinking softly, straining, eager for release. The flames around him quivered, wavering uncertainly between furious judgment and reluctant mercy. His form flickered rapidly—one heartbeat skeletal and burning, the next human and vulnerable—as he struggled fiercely for dominance over the spirit within.

Finally, with immense effort, he tore his gaze away from Aiden, breaking the consuming connection with a sharp, shuddering breath.
In a single, blink-fast heartbeat, color flooded back vividly into the world. The soft chatter of classmates, gentle rustling of papers, and distant melodic birdsong rushed sharply into Jace’s senses, reality snapping back into clarity with sudden, startling normalcy. He was human again—just Jace Ketch, quiet, calm, an unassuming student in the sea of ordinary teenagers.

Across the room, Aiden jerked sharply, his smile fading instantly, laughter choking off abruptly in his throat. A sudden surge of primal fear gripped him, adrenaline crashing through his veins, his pulse racing uncontrollably. Every muscle in his body tightened painfully, instincts screaming desperately to run, to fight, to escape whatever unseen threat had suddenly targeted him.
His head snapped around quickly, eyes darting anxiously, searching the classroom in confusion and panic until finally locking onto the quiet, new boy seated calmly near the back—Jace, expression utterly blank, calmly unreadable.
Their eyes met for only a single, frozen second—Jace’s calm, hazel gaze infinitely deep and enigmatic; Aiden’s wide, filled with panic, confusion, and a dread he couldn’t even begin to understand.
Lydia turned sharply toward Aiden, sensing the sudden tension radiating from him, chills prickling coldly across her skin.
“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly, her voice strained with genuine concern.
“I…I don’t know,” Aiden whispered shakily, voice raw with unspoken fear, still staring helplessly at Jace. He swallowed roughly, voice dropping even softer, barely audible, terrified. “But something’s not right about him.”
Jace slowly turned away, deliberately forcing his focus back forward. He exhaled carefully, steadying himself, heart heavy but determined. He felt the flames recede quietly within him, chains softly whispering away into the shadows of his soul.
'Control it', he reminded himself again, the words ringing firmly inside his mind, weighed down by heavy, quiet resolve.
'You have to control it.'

The cafeteria buzzed loudly with the overlapping chatter and bright laughter of Beacon Hills High students, the sound echoing off polished floors and high ceilings. Trays and silverware clattered loudly, blending into the chaotic symphony of teenage life. To everyone else, the noise was comfortably routine—familiar and safe.
For Jace, it was overwhelming.

His expression remained carefully neutral, perfectly composed, betraying nothing outwardly. Yet beneath his calm exterior, anxiety rippled quietly through his chest, a subtle, relentless pulse beating nervously at the base of his throat. His heart tapped out a restless, anxious rhythm, his fingers tightening subtly on the edges of his plastic lunch tray, knuckles whitening slightly with tension. He tilted his head downward slightly, gently bobbing it in a quiet rhythm only he could feel, desperately seeking calm amid the overwhelming rush of sensory input pressing in on him.
Inhaling slowly, deliberately, he grounded himself momentarily, forcing calm into his frayed nerves. Quietly and deliberately, Jace moved toward an empty corner table, each step measured, controlled, maintaining his carefully composed facade. He never noticed the curious eyes following his every movement from another table nearby.
Scott, Stiles, Lydia, and Aiden observed him openly, curiosity sparking quietly between exchanged glances. Ethan and Liam sat beside Isaac and Allison, their whispers soft yet intense, stealing quick, intrigued glances toward the mysterious new student they'd heard so many rumors about already.

Jace, oblivious to their focused attention, set his tray down gently, sinking gracefully into his seat. Carefully, methodically, he began unwrapping his sandwich, movements precise and controlled. But just as he lifted the sandwich toward his mouth, an unexpected presence suddenly interrupted him, halting his movement midair.
“Hey,” came a sweet, confident voice, brightly cheerful and inviting.
He glanced upward, startled slightly, eyes landing on the pretty blonde standing confidently beside his table. Her bright blue eyes sparkled playfully, framed perfectly by soft blonde hair that cascaded gently around her smiling face. She stood with casual grace, cheerleader badge displayed proudly, her posture exuding easy confidence and an effortless charm born from being admired and noticed often.
“Hello,” Jace replied softly, voice neutral and politely composed, sandwich still hovering uncertainly midair between tray and mouth.
The girl’s smile widened, eyes sparkling confidently as she lightly placed a delicate hand on his shoulder, leaning in just a little closer. Her voice dropped to a softer, flirtatious tone, dripping effortlessly with charm. “You’re the new guy, right? Mind if I join you?”
Jace stared blankly at her for a heartbeat, eyes carefully unreadable. Then, his gaze shifted slowly, curiously down to her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, brow furrowing slightly in mild confusion. Without even a hint of hesitation or embarrassment, he blurted out bluntly:
“Is this flirting?”
The girl blinked, caught entirely off guard, momentarily stunned speechless. Then a coy laugh bubbled from her lips, surprise swiftly giving way to amusement, her eyes dancing playfully. “Well…yes,” she admitted sweetly, voice dripping warmly with playful confidence. “You’re pretty attractive, you know.”
Jace tilted his head slightly, calmly processing her words for a moment. Then, with perfectly serene, unapologetic bluntness, he replied:
“Oh. I'm not interested in having sex with you.”
An immediate, stunned silence radiated outward like a shockwave, laughter and chatter abruptly dying at surrounding tables. Scott, Stiles, Lydia, and Aiden exchanged quick, wide-eyed glances—initial shock swiftly melting into barely-contained amusement. Ethan’s mouth fell open, and Liam openly gaped beside him, speechless. Isaac choked slightly on his soda, coughing helplessly as Allison pressed a hand quickly over her mouth, desperately biting back laughter.
The girl’s eyes widened dramatically, jaw dropping open, a deep mortified flush of crimson flooding swiftly into her cheeks. She snatched her hand back instantly as though burned, embarrassment transforming rapidly into furious indignation.
“Wha—I wasn’t—I…that’s—ugh!” she sputtered angrily, voice pitching higher with each embarrassed syllable, dignity utterly shattered. With a final humiliated huff, she spun sharply on her heel, storming furiously away, footsteps echoing sharply against the polished floor. Whispers, giggles, and amused murmurs rippled rapidly outward from her dramatic departure, filling the cafeteria once more.
Jace remained calmly seated, sandwich still half-raised, entirely unbothered as quiet laughter and astonishment buzzed around him, unaware he'd just become instantly legendary within Beacon Hills High.
Jace stared after the retreating girl calmly, blinking slowly, utterly unfazed by the dramatic scene he had inadvertently caused. He shrugged lightly, completely unconcerned, as if nothing particularly unusual had happened. Quietly, he returned his attention to the sandwich in his hands, taking a calm, carefully measured bite.

At the nearby table, laughter burst forth suddenly, uncontrollably. Scott quickly pressed a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking helplessly with amused delight. Stiles was practically doubled over, desperately trying and failing to stifle delighted snorts of laughter behind his hand, eyes gleaming mischievously. Lydia shook her head slowly, lips curled into a faintly amused smirk, eyes bright with intrigue. Even Aiden, normally so composed, chuckled softly to himself, a quiet laugh escaping despite his attempt to hide it, eyes darting with wary curiosity toward Jace.
“Oh my God,” Stiles gasped out finally, breathless between fits of helpless laughter. “That was brutal.”
“Honest, though,” Scott pointed out warmly, laughter still bubbling softly beneath his words. His gaze lingered thoughtfully on Jace, eyes twinkling with newfound respect and open curiosity. “I kind of respect it.”
Nearby, Ethan and Liam exchanged deeply impressed, curious glances, silently intrigued and unable to pull their eyes away from the quietly composed newcomer. Jace had effortlessly—and completely unintentionally—shaken up the delicate social balance of Beacon High’s cafeteria, becoming instantly legendary in the process.
Jace himself remained quietly focused, calmly chewing his sandwich, either completely oblivious or utterly uncaring of the amused, fascinated attention now fixed firmly upon him. Beneath that carefully neutral exterior, however, relief gently washed through him. At least now, he was alone again, the chaotic, uncomfortable encounter finally over.
“Teenagers,” he thought mildly to himself, shaking his head internally with quiet confusion. “Is it always going to be like this?”
Yet despite his confusion, a small part of him felt strangely content—perhaps even quietly proud. He’d successfully navigated his first real social encounter, even if he still didn't entirely understand it.
Quietly, calmly, Jace continued eating his sandwich, eyes downcast, lost once more in his own peaceful, solitary bubble amidst the buzz of lingering curiosity and quiet laughter around him.

Across the cafeteria, Liam shifted uneasily in his seat. A strange, uncomfortable itch spread sharply across his skin, raising goosebumps and prompting him to glance once again toward the quiet new kid sitting alone.
Instantly, Liam’s senses were overwhelmed, assaulted fiercely by an intense, unmistakable scent—sharp sulfur, burning embers, and scorching fire, thick and choking in his throat. Liam coughed harshly, eyes watering as the overpowering scent seared painfully through him, his heart suddenly hammering wildly against his ribs.

"Liam?" Scott immediately asked, leaning forward in alarm, concern sharpening his eyes as he carefully searched his beta’s distressed face. "You okay?"
Liam struggled to catch a shaky breath, unable to immediately form a coherent response. "The smell," he rasped weakly, voice strained and barely audible, panic fluttering faintly in his throat. He lowered his head quickly, resting his forehead heavily against the cool, comforting surface of the cafeteria table, desperately trying to clear his senses.

Curiosity instantly sparked among Scott, Isaac, Ethan, and Aiden. In unison, their heads tilted subtly upward, carefully inhaling the air, senses alert and focused. Scott’s brows furrowed deeply in confusion, Isaac’s nose wrinkled slightly, perplexed, and Aiden exchanged puzzled glances with them. Yes, it was odd—an undeniable hint of sulfur and distant burning—but nothing intense enough to explain Liam’s dramatic reaction.
Before anyone could question further, a low, menacing growl erupted suddenly from Ethan’s throat, vibrating fiercely through the air. The entire table whipped sharply around to stare at him, stunned into sudden silence by the aggressive, animalistic sound from their typically composed companion. Ethan’s eyes flashed dangerously, vividly blue, his muscles instantly coiled tight and tense beneath his skin, ready to spring forward in defense.
"Ethan?" Aiden called cautiously, worry and confusion threading clearly through his usually calm voice. Isaac and Scott both instinctively reached out, ready to calm their suddenly agitated friend, but Ethan only growled louder, deeper, his agitation building visibly, chest heaving with harsh, rapid breaths.

"Hey, Ethan, calm down!" Scott urged gently, clearly sensing the mounting panic hidden beneath Ethan’s aggressive posture. He extended his hand cautiously, slowly, hoping to defuse the sudden tension radiating powerfully through their group.
Yet Ethan remained defiantly tense, eyes darting anxiously between Jace and his packmates, wild panic mixed deeply with fierce protectiveness. It wasn't until Liam finally lifted his head, drawing a careful, calming breath, and placed a gentle, steadying hand firmly onto Ethan’s arm that the distressed werewolf began to ease.
Slowly, Ethan’s breathing steadied, gradually receding, tense muscles relaxing visibly beneath Liam’s reassuring touch. The others watched quietly, both amazed and slightly
alarmed, as Liam’s simple gesture effortlessly anchored Ethan’s aggression, restoring calm and clarity.
Silence lingered heavily for a moment as everyone carefully processed what had just happened. Quiet questions, deeper mysteries, and an unspoken unease settled clearly over the pack.
"It's his scent," Ethan finally explained, his voice rough, strained, eyes still locked unwaveringly on Jace across the room. "It's… overwhelming."
The rest of the group exchanged uneasy, confused glances, their concern and curiosity deepening sharply.
"I mean, yeah," Isaac offered slowly, cautious and clearly uncertain. He shifted uncomfortably, brows furrowed in quiet confusion. "It smells pretty potent and definitely weird—but I wouldn't say overwhelming."
Stiles leaned forward slightly, worry flickering visibly across his expressive features. "If it's really bothering you that much, maybe just…stay away from him?" he suggested hesitantly, voice trailing into uncertainty.
Immediately, Liam and Ethan reacted together, soft, low growls rumbling instinctively in their throats, startling everyone at the table into immediate silence. Liam quickly drew in a shaky breath, embarrassment tinting his cheeks a faint pink, fingers tightening reassuringly on Ethan’s arm, clearly seeking comfort and calm.

"No," Liam clarified shakily, voice barely above a whisper, his gaze carefully lowered, cheeks flushing more deeply now. "It's…overwhelming in a good way. Like—intoxicating."
The group fell silent again, eyes wide with surprise, clearly uncertain how to process Liam’s unexpected admission. But understanding flickered sharply in Aiden’s eyes, realization dawning quickly and visibly. His confusion instantly shifted into deep, alarmed clarity, his eyes snapping immediately to Ethan. A silent question passed clearly between them—one only twins could fully understand.
Ethan met Aiden’s worried gaze firmly and nodded tightly, tension etched deeply into every muscle, his jaw clenched visibly. Then, subtly but unmistakably, Ethan shifted his eyes slightly toward Liam, a faint, confirming nod given once more. Aiden’s eyes widened dramatically, realization fully hitting him like a wave.

Aiden exhaled sharply, breath shaky, voice stunned and quiet with sudden understanding. "Two?"
Ethan nodded again, expression grimly tense, shoulders rigid under the sudden weight of revelation. "Fuck," Aiden breathed softly, the gravity and complexity of their shared realization clearly dawning on him.
Stiles glanced rapidly between the twins, his brow knitting into clear annoyance and confusion at the cryptic exchange he couldn’t follow. "Uh, for those of us who don’t speak twin," he muttered pointedly, voice laced with typical sarcastic impatience.
Ethan sighed quietly, slowly shaking his head with evident uncertainty. "Not yet, Stiles," he murmured softly, tension clearly visible beneath his careful composure. "I…I need to figure this out. We need to."
He turned his gaze softly toward Liam, who lifted his head once more, meeting Ethan’s eyes directly, quiet determination shining clearly through his gaze. A small, reassuring smile curved gently onto Liam’s lips, warmth radiating subtly in the quiet moment between them.

Scott, his protective instincts sharply unsettled, leaned forward gently, voice careful but deeply concerned. "Liam, what's going on? Are you okay?"
Liam met Scott’s worried eyes directly, clearly drawing quiet strength from Ethan’s supportive presence. A calm, reassuring smile formed naturally, genuinely filling Liam’s expression with newfound resolve. "Sorry, Alpha," Liam said quietly yet confidently, the respectful title slipping out effortlessly for the first time, instantly catching everyone's full attention. "But I need to figure this out myself. Ethan’s going to help me. Trust me, please."
Scott hesitated only briefly, clearly sensing the deep importance and sincerity in Liam’s quiet words. He gazed deeply into his beta’s eyes, carefully assessing Liam’s newfound resolve, before slowly shifting his gaze toward Ethan. Ethan met Scott’s eyes calmly, a small, earnest nod offering silent reassurance. Scott’s expression finally softened visibly, understanding clearly filling his quiet voice.
"We’ll talk about it when you’re both ready," Scott promised gently, warmth and trust evident in his tone. "Just…keep us in the loop, okay?"
Ethan’s relief was immediate, visibly relaxing tension from his taut shoulders. Liam’s grip on Ethan’s arm softened into gentle comfort, his touch grounding and reassuring. "Thanks, Alpha," Liam murmured quietly, genuine gratitude radiating warmly through his soft words.

Scott nodded slightly, easily accepting Liam’s sincere thanks. His thoughtful gaze drifted once more toward the quiet new kid still calmly eating lunch, entirely unaware of the subtle turmoil he’d unwittingly ignited. "Can you at least tell me if we’re going to be seeing more of him?" Scott asked quietly, curiosity and cautious anticipation coloring his voice.
Liam followed Scott’s gaze slowly, lips gently twitching upward into a soft, uncertain smile. His shoulders lifted slightly in a casual, hopeful shrug, anticipation and quiet warmth clearly flickering within his gentle eyes.
"Maybe," Liam said softly, clearly intrigued, a hint of gentle excitement lighting subtly beneath his quiet, thoughtful expression.

The bell rang sharply, a jarring intrusion scattering conversations and signaling the abrupt end of lunch. Jace lingered quietly at his table for a moment, carefully waiting out the chaotic initial rush of teenagers surging noisily toward the trash bins. When he finally rose to his feet, his movements were slow, cautious, deliberately controlled, careful not to attract unwanted attention.
The hallway was immediately overwhelming—a crushing press of bodies, a dizzying blur of faces and backpacks, the relentless chatter and laughter echoing painfully loud off metal lockers and polished tile floors. Jace’s heart thudded heavily, an uneven rhythm surging anxiously upward into his throat. With unsteady fingers, he tugged the wrinkled schedule from his pocket, squinting desperately at letters that blurred and danced across the crumpled paper.
Just breathe, he reminded himself firmly, forcing down a tight swallow. You've got this.

But a sudden shove from behind jolted him sharply, shattering his fragile concentration in an instant. He managed not to stumble, yet the shove left him painfully tense, intensely aware of his own vulnerability. Frozen in place, chest tightening sharply, anxiety buzzed fiercely beneath his skin, crawling uncomfortably across raw nerves. The relentless noise closed around him from every side, crushing and suffocating, leaving him momentarily paralyzed.
He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, desperately trying to block out the chaotic hallway, his head nodding subtly, rhythmically, to a calming beat he summoned from somewhere deep inside—a quiet, reassuring hum, a steady internal pulse he'd taught himself to rely on. But even as he sought comfort within, the cruel whispers slipped through his defenses, sharp and mocking:

"What’s wrong with him?"
"Why’s he just standing there?"
"Is he retarded?"

Jace flinched subtly with each cutting remark, shoulders stiffening painfully, shame prickling hotly beneath his skin. The world around him was drowning in noise, sin, chaos—a sensory assault he was utterly unprepared for. Until now, his life had been simple and solitary: just him, his dad, and Johnny, wrapped comfortably in silence. Here, he felt as if he were drowning, submerged beneath the relentless cacophony of careless teenage cruelty and whispered sins, each secret scraping raw against his hypersensitive nerves, echoing like fingernails dragged over fresh wounds.
For the first time, he truly wondered if he was strong enough for this.
“Hey, you okay?” A voice broke gently through the overwhelming noise—soft, hesitant, careful not to intrude.
Jace slowly opened his eyes, instantly meeting a warm, careful gaze, gentle brown eyes filled unmistakably with genuine, quiet concern. He recognized that gaze immediately, the one he’d silently labeled in his mind as Worried Brown.
He blinked slowly, momentarily uncertain how to respond. Finally, he settled simply for honesty, his voice small and vulnerable, even to his own ears.
“No,” Jace admitted quietly.

Brown Eyes nodded slowly, clearly understanding without needing more explanation. Without another word, the boy shifted subtly, carefully positioning himself in front of Jace, creating a gentle, protective barrier that shielded him discreetly from the curious glances and hushed whispers swirling around them.
“What’s wrong?” he asked gently, voice soft and patient.
Jace closed his eyes briefly again, tilting his head slightly as he instinctively reached outward, searching quietly for the whispered secrets and hidden guilt usually flooding his senses. To his surprise, he found only quiet calm radiating steadily from this boy—a refreshing stillness, free of heavy sins or nagging whispers of guilt.
A soft sigh of relief slipped from Jace, the tension easing visibly from his shoulders. “It’s loud. A lot of people,” he admitted softly, genuine vulnerability coloring his words. “I'm just…not used to this kind of noise. Or being around so many people at once.”
When he opened his eyes again, he found gentle, warm understanding clearly reflected back at him. Softness replaced the worry in Brown Eyes’ expression, creating a comforting reassurance that instantly calmed Jace’s nerves.
“I get that,” the boy said kindly, genuine empathy clearly in his voice. “I'm sorry it’s causing you so much distress. Do you want help finding your next class? You’re new, right? All this must be pretty confusing.”
Jace studied him quietly for a heartbeat, noticing small, comforting details he’d missed earlier amidst the overwhelming rush—the short, gently tousled black hair, the kindness and sincerity lighting his expression, and the lean, athletic build evident beneath a snug red shirt. His presence felt reassuring, grounding, calm seeping quietly back into Jace’s anxious chest.

“Yes, please,” Jace finally said softly, quiet gratitude evident in his voice, relief gently softening his eyes. “You're quiet. It's…a nice change.”
The boy smiled warmly, nodding with gentle understanding. "Can I see your class list? That way, I can make sure you're headed the right way."
Jace handed over the slightly crumpled paper, warmth blooming softly in his cheeks as embarrassment tinged his features. He noticed the gentle amusement dancing quietly in the boy’s eyes as he carefully smoothed out the wrinkled schedule, handling the creased paper delicately, almost as if it were something precious rather than a visible sign of Jace’s anxiety. The gesture felt unexpectedly comforting, easing Jace’s tension just a little more.
"Okay, looks like you have History next. It's upstairs, second floor," the boy explained warmly, voice casual and reassuring. His expression brightened thoughtfully. "Actually, my friend Ethan’s in that class. I'll ask him to keep an eye on you. He's a good guy…" His voice dropped slightly, a playful edge mingling warmly with genuine sincerity. "Or he's trying to be, anyway."
Jace tilted his head slightly, eyes curious yet trusting, carefully processing the offered kindness. "Thank you," he murmured softly.
"No problem," the boy replied warmly, smile widening easily into genuine reassurance. "Come on, I'll walk you there. I'm Scott McCall, by the way. What's your name?"
Scott started moving gently toward the stairs, glancing back when he noticed Jace hesitated briefly. The thoughtful tilt of the taller boy’s head was unexpectedly endearing—innocence clearly peeking through Jace’s carefully guarded expression, sparking a quiet surge of protective warmth in Scott’s chest.

"Jace," he answered softly, voice quiet but clearly sincere. "Jace Ketch."
Scott froze momentarily mid-step, his shoulders instinctively tensing at the name "Ketch." For a heartbeat, memories flashed vividly through his mind—a familiar face, mischievous brown eyes, Danny Ketch's cryptic, unsettling presence. Questions and mild panic churned sharply within Scott, causing his pulse to skip uneasily. Were they related somehow? How closely? Why was Jace here now?
But Scott quickly forced himself to relax, his expression carefully neutral, despite the storm of curiosity and unease swirling inside him. Answers would have to wait. Right now, this boy clearly needed him—needed comfort, protection. Scott’s protective instincts surged fully to life, washing away his earlier confusion as swiftly as it had arisen.

Scott glanced back briefly, concern tightening his chest at the memory of Jace’s quiet struggle. The taller boy had seemed incredibly young, vulnerable, and painfully lost in the chaotic hallway earlier—head bowed, eyes tightly shut as if desperately fighting back panic or tears. The vivid image tugged sharply at Scott’s heart, strengthening his resolve to help.
“Nice to meet you, Jace,” Scott repeated gently, offering another reassuring smile as he guided Jace carefully down the hall. “Welcome to Beacon Hills.”
Jace nodded softly, quietly following close behind, grateful for Scott’s comforting presence. Scott kept their conversation simple and gentle, carefully choosing calm questions Jace could easily answer in short, reassuring responses. Gradually, he felt the taller boy’s tension ease slightly, sensed Jace’s breathing steadying now that he had something—someone—to anchor himself to amid the overwhelming chaos.
By the time they reached the classroom, Jace’s anxious heartbeat had settled into a gentler, more comfortable rhythm. Scott peered through the open door, a warm smile lighting up his face when he immediately spotted Ethan sitting quietly near the back.
“Hey, Ethan!” Scott called softly, voice bright and inviting, effortlessly capturing the other boy’s attention. “I brought you the new guy—take care of him, okay?”
Scott turned gently back toward Jace, softly gesturing inside toward Ethan’s reassuring presence. Jace followed Scott’s gaze hesitantly, eyes carefully landing on the quiet boy sitting calmly near the back.
“That’s Ethan,” Scott explained warmly, voice filled with gentle encouragement and reassurance. “He'll look after you. If you need anything at all, just ask him, okay?”
Jace glanced back at Scott slowly, gratitude and quiet relief clearly flickering softly behind his reserved expression. Scott offered an encouraging nod, genuine warmth clearly reflected in his eyes.
“I gotta get to class. It was nice meeting you, Jace—I hope things get easier from here,” Scott said gently, sincerity evident in his voice.

Jace tilted his head slightly again, his guarded expression softening noticeably with quiet gratitude. “Thank you for helping me,” he said softly, genuinely appreciative. “Nice meeting you too.”
Scott grinned warmly, offering a gentle wave before quickly disappearing down the bustling hallway.
Jace took a slow, steadying breath as he stepped quietly into the classroom. Scott's gentle reassurance still lingered warmly, anchoring him briefly against the relentless anxiety that tightened in his chest. His eyes quickly found Ethan at the back, and cautiously, he began making his way toward him.

Ethan glanced up, offering a hesitant, careful smile, uncertainty clearly flickering behind his guarded expression. The moment their eyes met, reality fractured violently around Jace. Color drained away, replaced instantly by stark shades of black and white. Shadows lengthened, stretching ominously, wrapping around Ethan as whispers of cruelty surged relentlessly into Jace’s mind.
Death. Pain. Brutality.
Visions assailed Jace vividly—violent deeds Ethan had committed, atrocities that echoed loudly in the Ghost Rider's senses. The weight of Ethan's past sins pressed heavily upon him, dark and suffocating, chains rattling softly beneath Jace's flesh, the fire inside him flaring aggressively at the injustice and agony crying out for vengeance. Ethan had allowed power to corrupt him completely, and every instinct in Jace screamed out for retribution.
He continued moving forward deliberately, each step slow, measured, ominous. Shadows deepened further around him, flames flickering beneath his skin, burning brighter and hotter, chains trembling restlessly, eager to deliver judgment. Ethan felt it suddenly—the cold rush of impending death crawling sharply up his spine. His breath quickened, pulse racing uncontrollably as primal terror surged instinctively within him. Every nerve screamed at him to run, to flee desperately from the danger that was rapidly approaching—but vengeance allowed no escape.

Jace’s flesh vanished momentarily in a silent burst of flame, revealing the blazing skeletal form of the Ghost Rider, jaw opening slowly, inexorably, ready to devour Ethan's soul in an instant. He stood directly before Ethan’s desk now, chains swirling silently, fire burning brilliantly in empty sockets, ready to deliver the justice Ethan’s victims deserved.
Ethan stared up, utterly petrified, eyes wide with sheer, uncontrollable panic, sweat glistening on his forehead, breath coming in short, frantic gasps. Just as Jace’s wrath prepared to unleash fully, a sudden wave of emotion struck him—deep, wrenching remorse. Guilt. Genuine anguish and sincere, relentless desire to atone.

Memories surged again, but this time different ones—Ethan fighting alongside Scott, risking himself to protect others. Ethan’s gentle interactions with Liam, quiet kindness in his touches and gestures, the unmistakable warmth of genuine care glowing softly between them. Hope. Ethan genuinely believed, perhaps for the first time, that something good and pure could finally belong to him.
Slowly, the flames dimmed. The raging hunger for vengeance softened into quiet understanding. Chains ceased their restless rattling, gently retreating, allowing Jace's humanity to reclaim him once more.
No. Jace lowered his head slightly, flames subsiding quietly beneath his skin. Ethan’s soul bore deep scars from the deeds he'd committed, yes—but scars meant wounds were healing. Ethan desperately wanted to change, to find redemption. And Jace would grant him that chance.

But if Ethan stumbled—if he fell again into cruelty—there would be no second chances.
For the briefest instant, Jace’s eyes flared once more with burning intensity, and Ethan paled visibly, breath hitching sharply. The silent message resonated deeply between them—fail again, and vengeance would be swift, merciless, absolute.
Then, as suddenly as it began, reality snapped back into vibrant color, noise flooding Jace's ears once more. He stood quietly in front of Ethan’s desk, his expression perfectly calm, composed, and human once again.
Ethan gasped softly for breath, still shaken deeply, his chest heaving rapidly as sweat trickled down his temple. His eyes stared up into Jace’s serene hazel gaze, confusion and lingering terror mingling vividly behind his widened eyes. He felt certain, deep within himself, that he'd just brushed dangerously close to death—but all the new kid had done was walk toward him.
Jace tilted his head curiously, regarding Ethan with quiet, careful neutrality. "Hello," he said softly, voice calm, polite, as though nothing unusual had just occurred. "Scott said you would help me. I'm new."
Ethan swallowed hard, breath trembling slightly. His eyes met Jace’s hesitantly, still deeply unsettled, but he nodded shakily in response.
"May I sit next to you?" Jace asked gently, tilting his head slightly again, eyes never leaving Ethan’s.

Ethan nodded once more, shaky and uncertain, clearly trying to gather his composure. Without another word, Jace carefully slid into the seat beside Ethan, just as the teacher stood and began class. Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.
Throughout the lesson, Ethan found himself glancing furtively toward Jace, anxiety prickling sharply beneath his skin every time those calm hazel eyes caught him staring. The strange, budding sense of rightness he'd felt around Jace earlier was still there, but right now, all Ethan could truly focus on was the overwhelming fear lingering in his bones. He couldn't understand it, couldn't reconcile these conflicting feelings—drawn and terrified, connected yet shaken.
He sighed deeply, running a trembling hand through his short hair, tension coiling tightly in his chest. After class, he needed to find Liam, needed reassurance and answers. They were connected, somehow—he, Liam, and now Jace. But right now, Ethan’s only clear thought was that being near this boy filled him with genuine terror—and he had no idea how to fix it.