𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋
returns to Beacon Hills,
expecting to continue her
junior year of high school
with her boyfriend and her
friends. However, a group
of mercenaries emerged
into the town, threatening
to murder all supernatural
crea...
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❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍! ❞ ✶· ༘ -͙˚ ༘ ⑅ season four, episode one ⑅· ༘ -͙˚ ༘✶ ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐂𝐎, three American teenagers—Lydia Martin, Jessica McCall, and Stiles Stilinski—could be seen navigating through the narrow, dirt-laden streets. Their destination was a popular nightclub that served a dual purpose: it was a lively spot for both locals and tourists but, more importantly, it was a covert base of operations for the infamous group of hunters known as the Calaveras.
This wasn't an ordinary social outing for the trio. As the most prominent human members of Scott McCall's pack, Lydia, Jessica, and Stiles were specifically chosen to conduct a high-stakes meeting that could determine the fate of their friend, Derek Hale, who had mysteriously disappeared months ago. Rumors pointed to the Calaveras as the key to uncovering Derek's whereabouts. However, securing an audience with Araya Calavera, the formidable matriarch of the hunter family, would be no easy task.
As they approached the nightclub, neon lights flickered against the darkening sky, casting eerie shadows on the dusty road. The thumping bass of music reverberated from inside, but the three teenagers showed no sign of hesitation as they stepped through the entrance. They weaved through the crowded dance floor, where locals and foreigners swayed to the rhythm of Latin music, making their way toward the bar—a focal point of the club and a place where the Calaveras often watched their prey.
Stiles, with his usual blend of nervous energy and determination, glanced around the room as Lydia and Jessica moved in beside him. The bartender approached, placing three shot glasses of vodka in front of them, a customary gesture for newcomers. Without missing a beat, Lydia pushed the glass aside, her eyes sharp and unyielding. Jessica and Stiles followed suit, signaling their refusal.
The bartender's expression shifted ever so slightly—a flash of surprise—but he didn't argue. Instead, his gaze lingered on them as he turned away. What the teenagers failed to notice, however, was that from the moment they stepped into the club, they had already caught someone's attention. A pair of watchful eyes tracked their every move from the darkened corners of the room.
A few minutes later, Stiles felt a firm grip on his shoulder, causing him to whirl around. Standing behind them was a muscular man, his eyes shadowed beneath the brim of a wide-brimmed hat. His stance radiated authority, and the insignia on his jacket left no doubt about his allegiance.
"Most American teenagers don't cross the border just to turn down a drink," the man, Severo, remarked coolly, his tone tinged with suspicion.
"We didn't come to drink," Lydia replied, her voice crisp and unwavering. With deliberate precision, she reached into her pocket, extracting a small, gleaming object—a bullet—and dropped it into one of the shot glasses in front of them.
