"Iván! Iván!"
His name was shouted, but he didn't respond. His eyes were hollow, distant—like he wasn't really there anymore. His body moved only because his mother guided him, and then Derek picked him up, carrying him like he was weightless.
He wasn't okay.
His father was dead.
And that was the final straw.
So much had happened in less than a month. Too much.
Derek laid Iván down gently in one of the empty rooms, frowning. "What happened to him?"
"I told him the truth," his mother said quietly. "I told him what happened to his father."
Iván heard her voice, the words registering somewhere deep in his mind, but he didn't look at her. He turned away, staring out the window at the pale moon hanging in the sky.
Still a few days until it was full.
Dad…
Memories flooded in. His father's rough laugh, the way he used to hit him playfully on the arm, the way his little sister would giggle at his awful dad jokes.
Tears kept falling, but Iván didn't try to stop them.
On the other side of the school, two girls were hiding in a darkened classroom—Allison and her friend, Lydia Martin. They had heard the howl echo through the building, sharp and unnatural. Panic had hit them like a wave, and in their scramble to stay hidden, they'd accidentally slammed into a locker.
The crash echoed through the empty hallways like a gunshot.
Meanwhile, the source of the chaos—Scott and Stiles, the ones responsible for the reckless mistake—were sprinting down the halls. Their footsteps pounded against the tiles as they rounded a corner and nearly collided with Derek… and Iván's mom, who stood armed and already furious.
"What the hell was that, Scott? This was supposed to be a trap—set only when we were ready," Derek snapped.
"Yeah, it wasn't really a smart idea," Scott admitted, glancing over. His eyes landed on Iván, who looked pale, tears glistening in his eyes. Scott wanted to ask if he was okay, but the words caught in his throat.
"Not only that," Derek continued, voice low and tense, "there are two girls hiding somewhere nearby. If it comes here, we need to lure it away."
Daniela cut in sharply, "If it does come, I'll shoot it with my pistols. The bullets are coated with poison—enough to slow its healing factor. That'll give you an edge."
Suddenly, Stiles' eyes snapped wide open. "Wait—where's Rowan?" he blurted, his voice tight with alarm.
They all froze, realizing one person was missing.
In the gym, a young teenager lay on the floor, his head pounding from frustration. Those fucking idiots… he thought bitterly. I should've killed them from the start.
He opened his eyes, staring at the half-finished magic circle—meant to be a barrier to trap the Alpha—but now, that plan was shattered.
Before he could think further, a cold chill crawled down his spine. He slowly turned his head toward the exit, goosebumps prickling every hair.
Fuck me, he whispered, backing away cautiously.
Then, a massive black figure tore through the brick wall. Red eyes scanned the room, and with a deep, guttural growl, the creature lifted its head and howled.
The entire school had become its hunting ground.
It loomed over Rowan, eyes burning with rage as it took in the half-finished barrier on the floor—recognizing it. That recognition sparked fury. The beast grew, muscles swelling, darker and more massive than any Hale had ever been. It lunged forward, ready to rip Rowan apart—
But then it paused.
It sniffed the air, catching a different scent. Something…else.
That hesitation was all Rowan needed.
He bolted, heart pounding, breath sharp and panicked as he dove into the shadows to hide. His mind reeled, and unwanted memories clawed their way back—memories he had tried to bury long ago.
He clutched his head, trembling.
Mom… tears welled up in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks as the memory hit him. He had been powerless—frozen—as she was lifted into the air right before him. Her scream still echoed in his mind.
And then, her heart was torn out.
Right in front of him.
Hatred burned in his chest—toward all of them. The supernatural. Monsters. They were the reason his mother was gone.
He sank to the ground, defeated. Powerless. Just like he had been as a child, so long ago. Weak then. Still weak now.
Back with Iván, things were changing.
He lay motionless, his body still—but the moon pendant around his neck glowed brighter than it ever had before, pulsing with an otherworldly light.
Derek's eyes widened in shock.
He could feel it—power building in the air, raw and untamed. It wasn't just the pendant.
Iván was changing.
"No… it can't be," Derek muttered, a chill crawling down his spine.
He turned toward the window, eyes locking on the glowing moon.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"It's starting."
Iván's mother, Daniela, heard Derek's words—and froze.
Iván never told her about the pendant glowing. Not once. Her Heart was pounding, she followed Derek's gaze and looked outside, eyes lifting to the night sky.
The moon was changing—swelling unnaturally fast into a full, glowing orb.
Something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
"No… not now," she breathed.
Across North America, every creature of the night turned their gaze skyward—and shivered.
And not so far away, two vampires walked through falling snow. One of them, a silver-haired girl, narrowed her eyes at the glowing moon above.
"Tell the others to hide in the cave," she said coldly. "I'll stand guard."
—
Back at Beacon Hills, Iván didn't understand what was happening. He could barely think, barely breathe. But he saw Scott collapse beside him, shaking his head—fighting something deep inside.
His mother leaned down and kissed his forehead, gently pulling Stiles with her as they moved to safety.
Iván looked up again. The moon stared back—bright, whole, and full.
"Huh," he muttered. "When did that happen?"
He closed his eyes—then screamed at the top of his lungs.
Derek shouted over the chaos, barking orders, trying to control the situation. But Iván wasn't listening. He couldn't. He wasn't in the right state of mind anymore.
His arms cracked. His legs broke and reshaped. Ribs twisted beneath his skin. His mouth contorted, elongating. Every inch of him was burning from the inside out.
He screamed again—louder, rawer—as his skin split apart, peeling away to reveal thick fur beneath.
He slammed into the wall behind him, leaving a deep crack. Then he stumbled, pacing erratically around the classroom as his body grew, expanding with every passing second.
Derek took a cautious step back, grabbing Scott—who was already struggling to control himself under the full moon.
Iván kept growing, muscles ripping, bones stretching. He struck the ceiling, his mind consumed by the rush of transformation.
And then—everything went silent.
The moonlight poured through the windows, like liquid silver coursing through his veins.
He opened his eyes.
They weren't gold anymore—they were a blazing fire-orange.
His fur shimmered with the color of sunlight, radiant and unnatural.
A coat no werewolf had ever worn before.