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𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐃.
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"DEREK!" A loud voice yelled out, as footsteps thundered against the metallic stairs leading to the underground station Derek and I were temporarily situated at, "Derek!" It screamed again, getting louder as the person drew closer.
Suddenly, a blond boy —whom I am sure I have seen before— barged into the wagon. He halted in his steps when his eyes landed on me, eyebrows scrunching ever so slightly.
"What's wrong?" Derek asked, making the boy's attention return to him.
"My dad." He panted, walking closer, "I think he's dead."
"He sure seems devastated." I muttered under my breath as I looked at the grumpy adult by my side.
"What did you do?" He asked sternly, ignoring me and walking out of the shadows.
"That's the thing." The boy's eyes widened even more as he strangled go catch his breath still. His eyes wandered downwards, the cogwheels visibly spinning behind his frightened gaze, "It wasn't me."
Derek and I shared a worried look, before looking back at the boy in front of us. His mouth had ran dry and tears glistened behind his eyelids that opened and closed repeatedly in desperate attempts to hold them in.
"What exactly happened?" Derek asked, folding his arms in front of his chest as the boy began to explain the course of the evening.
He began his narration from dinner with his father who got mad about a set of his grades at school. The man threw things and yelled when a shard of glass reached just below his son's cheek, which miraculously healed.
At that I stole a glance up at Derek, realising that his plan to recruit more young werewolves for the pack was already in motion, despite my continuous attempts to change his mind and explain how stupid and unnecessary it was.
