Clairvoyant || Stilinski [1]

Sixty-Eight || Portail du Mort

|| Portail du Mort

Beacon Hills had fallen eerily quiet in the hours following the destruction of the deadpool.

Some found it comforting; easy to fall asleep in.

Jacy, however, didn't agree.

Time slugged by, but she remained with open eyes in the darkness of her bedroom.

It could've been that Stiles wasn't next to her or even that she'd grown accustom to the constant panic surrounding the town.

Either way, she remained wide awake.

Jacy, laid out on her back in the middle of the bed, rolled over to her left. The red glow of her alarm clock bounced back against her soft face, the current time less than desirable.

The wolf let out a struggled sigh, it engulfing the room as she swung her legs over the edge of her bed. Bare legs ignored the chill; black shorts and a Michigan football jersey enough to suffice for her.

Jacy ran a hand along Aaron's back, the ever-growing lab happily curled at the end of her sheets. "Sleep tight, booger." Tying up her hair loosely, she made her way out into the hallway.

When she was younger, walking sometimes helped her sleep. She knew the layout in Michigan that she could do it in the dark well without her new built in night lights.

Jacy kept off her thermal vision, wanting to feel normal even if only for a moment. She made her way down the hall and past her mother's room, not disturbing the sleeping doctor as she reached the stairs.

For the slightest moment, everything felt okay.

Jacy stopped on the last step, hesitant to get off. She quietly went forward, trying not to sketch herself out.

Scratching came distantly, not even quite scratching. Ticking. Metallic ringing that echoed eerily from the den.

Jacy's vision flared up, violet overtaking the darkness.

However, nothing was different.

Sofa, tv, askew books, dog toys. Everything was in its place.

Jacy seemed to be the only one out of place.

Still, the ticking continued, like a frequency being thrown off the grids.

"Condition promising."

Jacy let out a scream, lurching up from below the safety of her sheets.

The sun peered in through the window, shedding warm light onto Jacy's profile.

Her heart slammed in her chest, the purple and blue hues leaving her eyes as she steadied her breathing. She turned her head, the clock reading only enough time for her to get ready and meet her grandmother halfway between Beacon and San Francisco.

Jacy swore, climbing out of bed and starting to hastily change.

She tried to ignore the words, but they clicked with metalic essence in the back of her mind.

Condition promising

||

Jacy, dressed in a loose white top under a black leather jacket and a pair of skinny jeans, sat in her parked Honda in dead silence. She ran a hand along her jaw, nervous for no reason. Reaching into her bag, she removed a dark red lipstick and applied another coat before climbing out of the car.

Honey, an aged image of Olivia, sat at a booth with a newspaper coveting her attention and a cup of coffee next to her.

The diner, rested on the highway between Devenford and the coast, was quaint and half full.  Couples and small families ate in a comfortable aroma, everything about the restaurant welcoming.