❝ WHO, WHO ARE YOU REALLY? AND WHERE ARE YOU GOING? ❞ ☓ 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘦𝘥.
★
trigger warning . . .
ⵌ this story contains - violence, explicit language, drug/alcohol us...
"You said they'd be here! That's why we're here, Stiles."
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i. the alpha 1945words.
The girl meandered through the dimly lit kitchen, her gaze falling on shards of broken glass scattered across the floor, the remnants of chaos. The silence was thick until two werewolves stepped into the room, their presence heavy with urgency.
"Storm," Derek's voice cut through the stillness, deep and commanding.
"Derek," she grumbled, turning to face both him and Scott.
"Storm...?" Scott repeated, confusion evident on his face as he exchanged looks with Derek.
"Did you actually get another werewolf to stalk me at school or something?" Scott accused Derek, his brows furrowing.
"Not you. Isaac," Derek clarified, his eyes sharp as he started toward the basement. "Now, you wanna learn? Let's start now."
"What's down there?" Scott asked, curiosity piquing despite the unease settling in his gut.
"Motive," Derek replied cryptically.
As they approached the stairs, Storm grabbed Scott's arm, pushing him ahead of her. "What am I looking for?" he asked, glancing back at her.
"You'll find it," Derek answered, his tone brooking no argument.
Scott hesitated at the top of the steps, peering into the darkness that awaited him. "What... happened down here?"
"The kind of thing that leaves an impression," Derek murmured, leading the way.
Storm's expression shifted as the weight of the past pressed down on her, sadness seeping into her bones. The memories of what had happened to the boy down there weighed heavily on her, threatening to crush her spirit.
"Can you feel it, the both of you?" Derek asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"Yeah. A little too much," Storm breathed, her eyes scanning the basement's shadows.
"Think about how the sound of screaming leaves tiny impressions in the wood. Sweat from fear. Saline from tears. In the walls, the floor..." Derek's voice trailed off as he gestured around them.
"Claw marks?" Scott asked, rubbing his hands over several scratches etched into the cement.
"Fingernails," Derek corrected him, his eyes narrowing as Storm noticed the freezer in the corner. She reached for the lid slowly, pausing to seek Derek's approval.
"Go ahead, both of you. Open it," Derek commanded, his tone steady. Together, they grabbed the edges of the freezer and pulled it open. Storm stepped back instinctively, only to be pushed forward gently by Derek.
