𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀 | ❝ There are so many threats happening all at once and no one trusts anyone. People are dying and we don't know why or how or who's going to be next. And we can't protect anyone if we can't trust each other. ❞
The supernatu...
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My dad took a bite of his burger while I opened the lid to my salad. He was having a late night at the office, so, Stiles and I offered to bring him his dinner and eat with him. So, here we were with take-out and piles of reports on my father's desk.
His face contorted into disgust after the first bite, "Ah, what the hell is this?" he huffed with a full mouth.
"Veggie burger," Stiles answered, putting my plastic cup of root beer in front of me.
"Stiles, I asked for a hamburger," he complained.
"Well, veggie is healthier, Dad," I mused, gesturing to mine and Stiles' salads. "We're being healthy."
He sighed and opened up his other container, groaning when he saw the celery and carrots. I laughed as he complained again, "Ah, hell, why are you two trying to ruin my life?"
"We're trying to extend your life, okay? Could you just eat it, please?" Stiles argued back, making me giggle at their banter. "And tell us what you found."
"I'm not sharing confidential police work with a teenager," our dad argued back.
I leaned up against his desk and bat my eyelashes, "What about with a law student?" I asked him innocently.
But, my dad was just chuckled and shook his head. "Nice try, sweetheart."
I snapped my fingers in defeat, "Damn," I huffed with a snap of my fingers, making him laugh. "Worth a shot."
"Is that it on the board behind you?" Stiles asked nosily.
I cast my eyes upward and gazed over the board quickly. I saw faces of victims and other pieces of evidence, everything trying to linked to each other to find the pattern.
"Don't look at that," he told us even though we kept looking. "Avert your eyes."
"Okay," Stiles muttered, still trying to see.
"Hey!"
"It's just—"
"Avert—"
"I see arrows pointing at pictures."
"Okay, okay, stop. Fine." The two of us turned back to him, "I found something." That peaked our interest, both of us sitting up straighter in our chairs. "The mechanic, and couple that were murdered, they all had something in common."
"All three?" Stiles asked.
"Yeah. You two know what I always say: one's an incident, two's a coincidence..."
"Three's a pattern," Stiles and I answered in unison.
"The mechanic, the husband, the wife," Dad counted off, "All the same age, all 24."
