I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.

https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon

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Lucas's Perspective

The final bell rang, echoing through the hallways of Beacon Hills High, signaling the end of the school day. Most students poured out of classrooms with visible relief, already halfway into relaxing mode. But not me. Instead of feeling any kind of release or freedom, my nerves felt even more knotted than they had been that morning.

Beside me, Jenny practically bounced with energy, like she'd had three Red Bulls for lunch and mainlined pure chaos. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation as we walked out the building, sunlight warming the sidewalk under our feet.

"Come on," she said, practically skipping, "it's lacrosse tryouts. You can't not go. It's like… a Beacon Hills rite of passage. A tradition. A teenage obligation!"

I raised an eyebrow and adjusted my backpack strap. "I can. And I will." My voice was flat, but not unkind. "Sports aren't really my thing."

Jenny stopped walking for a second and tilted her head, giving me a suspicious look. "But how would you even know that if you've never actually watched a game? You might be denying yourself a deep spiritual awakening."

"I highly doubt it," I replied without missing a beat.

She narrowed her eyes playfully. "You're like a grumpy old man trapped in a teenager's body."

I smirked. "Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment."

Jenny rolled her eyes and peeled off, linking arms with a couple of her friends as they headed for the bleachers. Their laughter trailed behind them like ribbons in the wind.

Meanwhile, I turned in the opposite direction—away from the noise, away from the crowd, and toward something that felt far more urgent.

The library was nearly deserted. Cool, dim, and quiet, it felt like one of the few places on campus where I could think clearly. I slipped past the shelves and made my way to the bank of student-use computers near the back wall. No one else was there. Perfect.

I logged in. My inbox lit up.

One new message.

I clicked it open.

Immediately, files poured across the screen—PDFs, folders with innocuous names that promised much deeper truths underneath. One caught my eye: Beacon Hills: Current Supernatural Status.

I opened it.

At first glance, a lot of the data aligned with what I already knew—or rather, what I remembered from the show. Names, dates, species identifiers, classifications. Most of it fit the narrative. But not everything.

And it was the differences that mattered most.

The Hale family, according to the file, had been in Beacon Hills for generations. That wasn't new. Long-standing supernatural bloodlines, ancient roots in the town, all standard lore. But this report went deeper.

It focused on Talia Hale—the matriarch. Described as "one of the most respected and formidable Alphas of her time," Talia wasn't just powerful. She was wise. Revered. Feared, even. The report painted her as a leader who held the supernatural balance in the region with strength and fairness.

Six years ago, it said, she led her pack on a critical mission: a coordinated strike against an unidentified corrupted entity. A creature so dangerous, so deeply corrupted, its classification didn't exist in any known bestiary.

They won the battle—but just barely.

And the cost?

Devastating.

Talia. Her inner circle. Most of the pack—gone. Only three survivors: Laura, Derek, and Malia. They had been too young to participate in the hunt.

That tracked. But not with narrative of the tv show.

According to the show, the Hale house had burned down in a tragic fire—one supposedly set by Kate Argent. But this file? Not a single mention of that. No "house fire." No arson.

Instead, there were redacted lines and vague references to "unidentified chemical toxins," "non-human biological residues," and—most telling of all—extremely high concentrations of wolfsbane.

Which made sense.

You can't just burn down a house full of werewolves with a match and lighter fluid. Wolfsbane would have been necessary—if not to kill them, then to weaken them enough to finish the job.

But here, there was no fire. No explosion. No cover-up involving flames.

Only blood.

A massacre, not an accident.

That changed everything.

Because if someone wanted to wipe out the Hale pack—one of the oldest werewolf lineages in the country—they wouldn't just need stealth. They'd need a plan. A strategy.

And a lot of power.

The kind of power that comes from something darker.

I scrolled deeper and clicked into another folder: Argent Family Activity.

Here's where things really started to fracture.

In the show, the Argents had already been living in Beacon Hills for some time—embedded in the community, covertly monitoring the supernatural community. But the files told a different story.

According to this data, the Argents had never lived here before now.

Their operations had been rooted in Europe before, then occasionally shifting across the U.S. But Beacon Hills? It had never been on their radar—until recently.

Now, suddenly, they were here. Moving in. Establishing a base.

Why?

Was it because the Hales were almost gone? Because their territory was vulnerable? Or was there something deeper going on in Beacon Hills?

I didn't know. Not yet.

Next, I checked the updated Hale pack structure.

Laura Hale – Current Alpha. Quiet. Below the radar. No major supernatural presence in the last six years.

Derek Hale – Werewolf. Also keeping a low profile.

Malia Hale – Youngest. Only recently assimilated into normal society. Confirmed werewolf.

Even more curious: Peter Hale was not in this file.

He was listed as dead.

I leaned back in my chair, my brain buzzing with questions.

I logged out. Wiped the session. Cleared every trace.

The sun was lower in the sky when I stepped out of the library. Most students were still outside, gathered in clusters around the field, watching the lacrosse tryouts. I could hear the dull thud of feet on turf, the sharp call of a whistle, distant cheers.

But all of that faded beneath the noise in my own head.

Because one thing was clear.

This was still Hale territory.

And me? I was a stranger here.

A rogue werewolf.

An Alpha, stepping onto ground that wasn't mine. Uninvited.

That made me a threat—whether I wanted to be or not.

But the real question—the one that had sunk its claws into my thoughts—was darker than that.

What kind of creature could kill Talia Hale?

What kind of force could annihilate a pack like hers, and leave barely a trace behind?

Unless… there is more to this than what's on the surface.