Void (The Youngest, Book 3.B.)

Chapter 十五 (B)

Scott hopped off his bike and pulled off his helmet, making his way over to Stiles and the Sheriff. He didn't even try to hide the frustration in his voice as he spoke, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because we wanted to avoid something like this," the Sheriff answered, his expression torn between worry and guilt.

Stiles gave a half-hearted shrug. "It's only for 72 hours," he muttered, trying to downplay the gravity of the situation. He glanced around, then asked, "You're not with Ky?"

Scott shook his head, the weight of everything hanging heavy between them. "She's sleeping, recovering more like," he explained, and Stiles nodded, though a hint of sadness flickered across his face.

Scott shifted his gaze to the building looming behind them, his jaw tight. "This is the same place where Barrow came from. The guy who had a tumor filled with flies." He turned to Stiles' dad, desperation seeping into his tone. "You don't know everything yet."

The Sheriff met Scott's eyes, his expression resolute, though his voice betrayed the anxiety beneath it. "I know enough. Nogitsunes, Kitsunes, Oni, or whatever they're called."

Stiles arched a brow. "Wow, that was actually all surprisingly correct," he said, his attempt at humor landing flat.

The Sheriff wasn't done. "Scott, I saw an MRI that looked exactly like my wife's... and it terrifies me," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm heading down to L.A. tomorrow to talk to a specialist."

Scott's heart sank. "Then why are you putting him in here?" he asked, his voice tight, nearly breaking.

"He's not," Stiles interjected, his voice firm. "It was my decision."

Scott took a step forward, trying to catch his friend's eye. "Stiles, I can't help you if you're in here."

"Yeah, and I can't hurt you," Stiles retorted, his eyes locking with Scott's in a moment of raw honesty. "And what about Kylie in all of this? You saw what happened to her."

Scott hesitated, knowing Stiles had a point but unwilling to just let him give up. "Deaton's got some ideas. Argent's calling people," Scott said, his voice a mix of hope and desperation. "We'll find something. And, if we can't—" He stopped, not wanting to say it, the unspoken threat hanging in the air between them.

But Stiles held his gaze, his expression hardening. "If you can't, then you have to do something for me, okay?" His voice wavered for the briefest second before his resolve solidified. "Make sure that I never get out."

Scott's heart twisted painfully at Stiles' words, the finality of them. He could see the resignation in his friend's eyes, the acceptance of what might have to be done, and it broke something inside him.

Stiles pulled away, his gaze shifting to his father, who gave Scott a somber look before nodding to his son. Together, they turned and walked towards the entrance, each step pulling Stiles further away from Scott, from his friends, from any hope Scott clung to.

Scott stood there, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, helplessness tightening around his chest like a vice. He watched until Stiles disappeared through the front door of Eichen House, swallowed by the shadows of the place. The weight of everything pressed down on him—the feeling that he was losing his best friend, that no matter how much he fought, it might not be enough.

He swallowed hard, turning back to his bike. He had to do something, anything. He wouldn't just let Stiles go like this—not without exhausting every possible option. He kicked up the stand, his mind racing with determination as he rode off to Deaton's. They still had time, and Scott was going to find a way to save his best friend, no matter what it took.