Electric

I was sitting on top of the front steps of Beacon Hills High, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up my arms and a screw driver twirling between my fingers. Stiles was pacing, phone pressed tightly to his ear while muttering under his breath.

"He's gonna say no," I said, glancing at him. "You know that, right?"

"Have a little faith in me, Cass," he muttered. "It's Mischief Night. The spirit of chaos is in the air."

"It's the middle of the night and we're at school. This is beyond chaos. This is you and your inability to accept aging gracefully."

Before he could answer, Stiles stopped pacing and snapped into full-on interrogation mode.

"Get your ass down here now! We have a job to do!" he barked into the phone. I could hear Scott's groggy voice even from a few feet away.

Stiles held the phone slightly away from his ear and mouthed, "He's in bed."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course he is. Like a normal human being."

"And aren't we getting a little old for this...?" Scott was saying.

"We do this for Coach!" Stiles shot back, desperation creeping into his tone.

I could not help myself. I laughed. "Pretty sure we do this to Coach, not for him."

Scott's voice mirrored mine. "I thought we did this to Coach..."

"Whatever, okay? You know he needs this! He lives for this stuff. He loves it!" Stiles flailed a hand for dramatic effect.

"But it's the middle of the night," Scott reminded him.

Stiles was already walking toward the building entrance. "Which means it's after midnight and officially Mischief Night-slash-Day, and, by perfectly awesome coincidence, it also happens to be Coach's birthday. So, if you are not down here in five seconds, I will destroy you, okay? And I mean five, four, three, two—"

"—One," Scott cut in smugly.

"I hate you!" Stiles groaned, smacking the boy as he appeared in front of the school.

"You're aware you're going to owe me for this, right?" I said, looking over at my boyfriend.

"Yeah, yeah. A drink and a brownie or whatever your little heart desires."

-----☾-----

I was sitting at my locker, half-reading my notes and half-people-watching, when I saw Scott freeze up next to me. His gaze had landed on two very familiar, very unwelcome faces.

Ethan and Aiden.

Great. Just what I needed. More testosterone and bad intentions.

"You're back in school?" Scott asked, voice careful.

Ethan shrugged. "No. Just to talk."

Stiles snorted from behind me. "Oh, that's kind of a change of pace for you guys. Usually you're just hurting, maiming, and killing..."

"Such a charming reputation," I said dryly, standing up beside him. "You looking for extra credit in Villainy 101?"

Aiden didn't flinch. "You need a pack. We need an Alpha."

Stiles scoffed, arms folded. "Yeah, absolutely not! That's hilarious, though. Really."

"You came to us for help," Ethan added, calm and confident. "We helped."

I stepped forward. "You helped by breaking someone's nose and knocking out a molar. Forgive us if we don't want to braid friendship bracelets after that."

"You beat his face into a blood pulp," Stiles said incredulously. "That's not helping. That's assault. Actually, that's felony-level assault."

"Why would I say yes?" Scott asked, frowning.

"We'd add strength. We'd make you more powerful. There's no reason to say no," Aiden said.

Isaac walked up, eyebrows raised. "I can think of one. Like the two of you holding Derek's claws while Kali impaled Boyd."

His voice darkened. "In fact, I don't know why we're not impaling them right now."

Aiden growled low in his throat. "You want to try?"

"Please do," I said, stepping closer, every nerve in my body ready to strike. "I could use the stress relief."

"Sorry," Scott said, cutting through the tension. "They don't trust you. And neither do I."

A beat of silence passed. Aiden's jaw clenched. Ethan glanced down at the floor, and just like that, they turned and left.

"Well," Stiles said, breaking the silence. "That went better than I expected. No one got punched. Or maimed."

"Give it time," I muttered. "It's Beacon Hills. Maiming is always on the schedule."

Stiles turned to Scott, "Good decision, buddy. Good Alpha decision."

"I hope so..." Scott said, looking distant.

"You know so," Stiles insisted. "Then I can take—" He stopped mid-sentence, squinting at Scott. "What are you looking at?"

"Me?"

"You. You looking at her?"

"Her? Who her?"

"Her her, Kira. You like her?"

My interest perked up immediately. I turned my head just enough to watch Kira walk down the hall, awkwardly tucking her hair behind her ear. Scott was definitely staring.

Scott tried to backpedal. "No. I mean... Yeah. Yeah, she's okay. She's new."

"So ask her out," Stiles said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Now?"

"Yes, now."

"Right now?"

"Right now, Scott!"

I bit my lip to hold in my laugh. They were impossible.

"I don't think you get it yet," Stiles continued. "You're an Alpha. You're the apex predator! Everyone wants you! You're like the hot girl that every guy wants."

"The hot girl?" Scott asked, bewildered.

"You are the hottest girl!" Stiles declared with a grin. I covered my mouth.

Isaac didn't miss a beat. "Yes, you are."

I lost it and doubled over laughing.

"You guys suck," Scott mumbled, his cheeks pink as he tried to retreat down the hallway.

"Just ask her out!" I called after him. "Before Stiles starts comparing you to Beyoncé!"

-----☾-----

We sat in econ, Stiles, Scott and I sharing small grins.

Coach stomped forward, pointing at all of us with wild eyes as he looked at the small box on his desk.

"That's all you've got? That's it?" He spun in a full circle, taking it all in. "Son of a bitch!"

There was a long beat of silence before he started up again.

"Mischief Night! Devil's Night! I don't care what you call it. You little punks are evil! You think it's funny? Every Halloween my house gets egged?"

"No, Coach," Stiles said. "We think it's hilarious."

Coach turned red. "A man's house is supposed to be his castle! Mine's a freaking omelet!" He chucked the present, and in turn started the cascade of our prank, everything breaking and falling off the walls.

That broke me. I turned around and buried my face in Stiles' hoodie to keep from cackling.

"Oh, this? We're gonna do this again? I don't think so!" he roared, grabbing the note from the present, which was not from us.

Coach picked up the card that had somehow survived the chaos. "'Happy birthday, love Greenberg.'"

There was a pause.

I leaned toward Lydia who was sitting. "Do you think Greenberg is real? Or like... an urban legend that Coach invented to deflect blame?"

She ignored me, swatting at the air.

Danny leaned over to Lydia and whispered, "What are you doing?"

Lydia swatted at the air. "There's a fly."

"Named Greenberg," I added. "Apparently he's responsible for every bad thing ever." She didn't laugh. "Lydia. There's nothing there." I said, and she finally turned to look at me.

Coach stormed off in a huff, muttering something about revenge and omelets.

-----☾-----

We were all clustered in the hallway near the admin wing, Stiles stood next to me, bouncing on his heels like a rubber band about to snap.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute!" he called, following after his dad. "The William Barrow? The Shrapnel Bomber? Spotted nearby?"

Sheriff Stilinski didn't even flinch. "A little closer than nearby, actually..."

That made my stomach turn.

Rafael McCall, in full Agent mode, stepped into view. "How do we get down to the basement? I need to know where every entrance is. I don't want anyone coming in or out of the school."

My eyes narrowed. The basement? Why did that word make me feel like ice had just crawled down my spine?

"Dad, what's really going on here?" Stiles asked, voice tight with worry.

I didn't hear the answer.

Because the world started tilting.

I blinked once, twice. Suddenly, I wasn't standing in the hallway anymore. My breath caught in my throat as I stumbled back into a vision.

The lights flickered above me. The hum of electricity buzzed, louder and louder, like a thousand angry flies inside my skull. The hallway was gone, replaced by the cracked, scorched floor of the boiler room. A shadow moved. I couldn't see his face, but I could feel his presence — Barrow. He was dragging something metal. A pipe. No, a live wire. The walls crackled. Sparks danced in the air like fireflies turned malevolent.

A sharp pain sliced through my head and I gasped, stumbling forward as the vision broke. The hallway returned like a slap to the face.

"Cassie?" Stiles was beside me, his hand on my arm. "Cass, hey, talk to me. What was that?"

I swallowed hard. My mouth felt dry. "He's here. He's in the school."

"What? How do you know?"

"The boiler room. He's down there, hiding where no one's looking. I saw it. I think he's waiting for something... or someone."

His eyes widened, but before he could say anything, Isaac came running up, talking fast.

"Barrow went after kids with glowing eyes? He said those exact words?"

"Yeah," Stiles replied quickly. "And no one knows how he woke up from anesthesia — just that when they opened him up, they found a tumor full of live flies, which in any other circumstance would be all kinds of awesome."

"Did you say flies?" Lydia's voice was too quiet. Too still.

"Uh-oh," I whispered, turning to look at her.

"Lydia?" Allison asked, stepping closer.

"All day, I have been hearing this sound. It's like this buzzing..."

"Like the sound of flies?" Allison asked, brow furrowed.

"Exactly like the sound of flies," Lydia answered, her eyes wide with fear.

"Sorry..." Scott appeared, breathless.

"Hey, dude, where the hell have you been?" Stiles snapped.

But Lydia wasn't listening. Her gaze darted to the windows. "The police are leaving. Why are they leaving?"

"The police?" Scott asked, confused.

"They must have cleared the building and grounds," Stiles said, "which means he's not here."

"Who? What are you guys—"

"He has to be here," Lydia interrupted. Her voice shook. "That sound... that buzzing I've been hearing? It's getting louder."

"I saw him Stiles. My visions have yet to be wrong." My voice was insistent.

Stiles leaned in, voice dropping. "How loud?"

Before she could answer, Stiles spotted his dad again.

"Dad. Dad!"

Sheriff Stilinski turned around. "Yeah?"

"You can't leave yet."

"We got an eyewitness that puts Barrow by the train station," the Sheriff said, already halfway out the door.

Rafael barked, "Let's go, Stilinski!"

Stiles stepped forward quickly. "Whoa, whoa, Dad! Please, just, Lydia said that he's still here."

"Did she see him?"

"Not exactly, no... Well, not at all, actually. But she has a feeling" his voice got softer, "a supernatural feeling."

Sheriff Stilinski groaned. "Lydia wasn't on the chessboard."

"She is now."

"Kanima?"

"Banshee."

"Oh God..." The Sheriff rubbed his forehead like this was a migraine made of teenagers.

"I know, I know how it sounds," Stiles said quickly. "But basically, it means she can sense when someone's close to death."

"Can she sense that I'm about to kill you?" Stilinski snapped.

"I don't know..." Stiles shrugged helplessly.

I stepped forward, my voice firm. "She's not the only one who had a feeling, Sheriff. I saw something too. And I'm not wrong."

His eyes flicked to me. He looked tired. He looked like he wanted to believe us, but couldn't afford to.

"All right, look - I'm not saying I don't believe. But right now, I'm going with 'eyewitness' over 'Banshee' or... whatever you are, Cassie."

"Guardian" I mumbled, knowing it didn't matter.

He sighed, turning away. "We're leaving a few deputies here. The school's on lockdown until three o'clock. Nobody comes in, nobody comes out."

He paused, glancing back at his son. "Buddy, that's the best I've got right now. That's the best I can give you, Stiles—"

"You're leaving me here???" Stiles's voice cracked. "That's not — that's the worst."

I stepped up beside him, still rattled from the vision. "He's in the school, Stiles. I saw it clear as day. If they won't stop him... we have to."

His eyes met mine. He nodded once.

-----☾-----

Scott leaned against the lockers, hands clenched, his eyes flicking between me and Lydia.

"Lydia and Cass think that he's still here," Scott said. "Even though the cops searched the whole school... But they didn't have one thing, our sense of smell."

I gave him a look. "Thanks for the reminder that Lyd and I don't have a super-powered nose."

"You've got visions," Lydia said, and for once, her voice wasn't teasing. It was serious. "That's more than enough."

Scott nodded. "Which means we check the places the cops didn't. We find him before he does whatever the hell he's planning."

"The bestiary is literally a thousand pages long," Allison muttered. "If I'm going to find anything about flies coming out of people's bodies, it could take me all night."

"Remember," Lydia added, standing beside her. "The word in archaic Latin for 'fly' is musca."

"Got it," Allison said, jotting it down.

"Where do we start?" Lydia asked, already walking.

"Upstairs," Stiles said quickly. "We gotta go."

Scott and Isaac split off without a word, heading down toward the basement. We walked for a while, before Lydia spoke.

Lydia turned to Stiles, voice low. "Scott and Isaac are in the basement, right?"

"Yeah," he replied. "With Ethan and Aiden. The plan is they meet in the middle in the boiler room."

"The boiler room?" I echoed. "That's where I saw Barrow in my vision."

Stiles stopped mid-step. "...Oh my God."

I could practically see the gears turning in his brain.

"An engineer could use a boiler room to blow up the whole school," he whispered. "We have to get them out of there."

"No," Lydia said quickly. "We have to get everyone out."

Stiles looked at me, then the fire alarm, and then pulled it. What he did not see was Finstock standing behind him

"Wow!" he shouted. "Pulling a fire alarm on Mischief Night is one thing—doing it when there's a mass murderer spotted nearby is insane! If I was four years younger, I'd punch you!"

"What?" Stiles appeared behind me, panting. "Coach, that doesn't make any sense..."

"Oh, well it does to me!" Coach snapped.

I grabbed Stiles' arm, pulling him forward. "No time for Coach logic. Move."

We skidded into the hallway where the others had regrouped. Ethan and Aiden emerged first, followed closely by Isaac.

"We didn't find anything," Aiden reported, brushing dust from his jacket.

"Not even a scent," Scott added, looking frustrated and winded.

"It's three o'clock," Stiles said, checking his phone. "So school's over. If there was a bomb, wouldn't he have set it off by now?"

Aiden looked around. "Does that mean everybody's safe?"

Lydia's expression was grim. "I don't know... I just don't know..."

And I hated that answer. Because the buzzing was gone. The static. The heat in my chest. Everything was silent now, and that wasn't comforting, it was terrifying.

"Guys," I said, voice low. "Sometimes silence is worse.."

Coach's voice rang out again over the chaos.

"How loud are you playing that thing? Let's go!" he yelled, waving his arms at the students streaming past him. "Get the hell out of here!"

"Barrow isn't finished," I said. "He's just waiting for the right moment."

-----☾-----

The glow from Stiles' bedroom lamp painted everything in soft gold. The red string board took up nearly half the wall, a chaotic web of photographs, pins, and printouts that looked like something straight out of a conspiracy documentary. I stood in front of it, arms folded, pretending to focus.

But really, I was watching him out of the corner of my eye.

"What do the different colored strings mean?" I asked, tilting my head like I hadn't been memorizing his handwriting all week as I slept here.

"Different stages of the investigation," he answered from the bed, barely glancing up. "Green is solved. Yellow is to be determined. Blue's just pretty."

"And red?"

"Unsolved."

I took a slow step back and looked at the whole board again. "...You only have red on the board."

There was a pause. "Yes," he said, exasperated. "I'm aware, thank you."

I smiled and finally turned to face him fully. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed in his flannel pajama pants and Beacon Hills lacrosse hoodie, hair messy like he'd run his hands through it one too many times. He looked exhausted. And beautiful.

"Did you get detention for pulling the fire alarm?"

"Yep. Every day this week."

My smile faded a little. "Stiles-"

"It's fine," he cut in quickly. "We were onto something. Worth it."

"Even though we couldn't find any proof of Barrow being there?"

He sighed and leaned back against the wall. I stayed silent, my brow creased as I chewed on my lip

"Hey," he said, his voice softer now. "Cass, you've been right every time something like this has happened. Okay? Don't start doubting yourself now."

I sat down next to him, our knees touching. His leg was warm against mine as I rested my head on his arm.

"No scent. No bomb. And I got you in trouble."

He looked over at me, his eyes full of something deeper than frustration — something I wasn't quite brave enough to name yet.

"Okay, look," he said, his voice low, steady. "Barrow was there. You knew it. You felt it. And I trust you. Completely."

That did something to me. Like his words crawled into my chest and settled under my ribs, a warmth that wouldn't fade.

"And if you wanted to," he continued, his eyes locked on mine, "I'd go back to that school right now and search all night just to prove it. I don't care how crazy it sounds. I'd follow you."

I blinked, "You would?"

He smiled, slow and certain. "In a heartbeat."

We were quiet for a moment. I could hear the faint ticking of the clock on his wall, the rain outside tapping softly at the window.

I leaned in and kissed him.

Just a gentle brush of my lips against his, like punctuation to a promise we hadn't spoken aloud yet.

He kissed me back immediately, no hesitation, just warmth and trust and that wild, reckless loyalty he never seemed to run out of.

When we pulled apart, he was grinning like an idiot.

"So..." he said, already standing. "Get up. Get up now. We're going to the school."

I laughed, heart racing. "You're absolutely insane."

"And you," he said, offering me his hand, "are absolutely worth it."

-----☾-----

The school at night was a whole different animal. Empty hallways stretched like shadows across the floors, lockers standing like silent sentinels.

Stiles held my hand as we slipped through the side entrance, his flashlight flickering just ahead of us. Neither of us had said much since we left his room, but the silence between us wasn't awkward. We were here because I felt something. And because he believed me.

"So," I whispered, my voice echoing faintly off the lockers, "what exactly are we looking for?"

"Honestly?" he said, glancing around. "Anything. Evidence. Weird chemicals. Or just... something that screams Barrow was here."

I nodded, and we kept moving.

We passed a janitor's closet that looked just a little too ajar.

I stopped, reaching for the door. "That was supposed to be locked."

"Yeah," Stiles said, stepping up beside me. "I know."

The door creaked open, and the smell hit me first, sharp and sterile. I scrunched my nose up is distaste.

"Notice anything else?" he asked.

I took a slow breath. "It smells like chemicals. Cleaning agents, maybe something else... They wouldn't have been able to catch his scent in here."

He glanced around the small room, flashlight sweeping across the shelves, the floor, and finally to a dark, reddish stain near the drain.

"He was here," I said. "Performing surgery. On himself."

Stiles looked at me, his voice soft but sure. "You were right."

I should've felt some sense of victory. Instead, dread settled in my veins like cold water.

"Then why don't I feel good about this?"

He didn't answer right away. He just looked at me the way he always did when I was unraveling inside, with steady calm and too much concern.

"Probably because he was here to kill somebody."

I swallowed hard. "But who?"

"That's what we gotta figure out," he said. "We could split up, start looking for... anything."

He stopped suddenly, eyes locked on the wall behind me.

"Cass," he said, stepping closer. "What are those?"

I turned around and saw them, chalky symbols scratched on the chalkboard in the neighboring classroom. Atomic numbers.

"Atomic numbers," I murmured, brushing my fingertips across the markings. "Nineteen is potassium. These first two... they make potassium iodide."

"Potassium is 'K'?" Stiles asked, squinting.

"From kalium," I explained. "Scientific neo-Latin. Old chemistry."

He pointed at the next one. "What's radium?"

"R-A."

There was a pause. Something passed between us. My stomach dropped.

"Kira," I breathed.

Stiles went pale. "He's targeting Kira."

His hand found mine again, fast, tight.

Without another word, we turned and ran.

-----☾-----

The second we reached Kira's house, my veins felt like they were pulsing with energy.

"We have to think of something," Scott said, pacing the driveway. "He's going to kill her."

"I knew he was there," I said quietly. "Back at the school. I knew it. But how did I know that?"

"The vision, right?" Stiles asked, his eyes locked on mine.

"What else did you see?" Scott asked gently.

"Nothing!" I snapped, the frustration bubbling over. "Nothing that makes sense. It's like there was something else, something important- hell, I said it to Stiles, but now I can't place it."

Stiles' brow furrowed. "Electricity. Wires. You said something about..."

"Substation," I breathed. The word hit me like a memory.

Stiles stood upright. "Barrow was an electrical engineer. He worked at a power substation."

Scott's head snapped around. "What substation?"

-----☾-----

The substation loomed ahead of us like a skeleton of metal and sparks. My boots hit the gravel too loudly, every nerve in my body on high alert. The place practically crackled with static. I could feel it in my bones, Barrow was here.

Stiles gripped the baseball bat with both hands, his knuckles white.

"Okay, wait here, all right?" he said, turning to me with that expression that made me want to kiss and slap him at the same time. "Just wait for the cops to come."

"Me?" I raised my eyebrows. "Wait, why?"

He hesitated. "I only got one bat..."

"No way in hell," I said, already pushing past him. "We go together."

We stepped into the darkness, the hum of electricity pulsing louder with every step. Somewhere inside, I could hear the low hiss of wires.

Barrow lunged from the shadows. Everything exploded into motion.

Scott was the first to charge, but Barrow was faster than I expected. He moved like he was being pulled by the wires themselves, swinging a length of live cable like a weapon. Sparks flew, lighting up the room in brief flashes of white-hot chaos.

Scott tackled him, but Barrow slipped out of his grip and swung the cable. "Scott!" Kira yelled from behind me, chained to the fence near the fuse box. "No! Look out!"

Scott wasn't fast enough. Electricity surged. Scott screamed and dropped to the floor, convulsing. Barrow turned toward Kira.

"Don't!" Scott groaned, barely conscious. "She's not—she's not the one you want!"

I looked, trying to think of something, anything I could do to help as he continued to advance.

"NO!" Scott yelled again. "Stop! No!"

Something snapped inside me. I moved without thinking.

I threw myself between my friends and Barrow just as he lashed out again. Sparks grazed my arm, hot and biting, but I didn't stop. I grabbed the metal rod nearby and jammed it into the side wall, redirecting the arc away from Kira and Stiles. The shock raced up my arm, but I grounded it in the panel, panting.

Barrow reeled backward, disoriented. I turned to face him, breath ragged, every inch of my body still vibrating from the energy. My hands were scorched, shaking.

He lunged again, but this time Kira was between us, redirecting the energy. I screamed, but it did not seem to affect her. She redirected it effortlessly back to him and he collapsed.

Kira raced to Scott's side, gently touching his face as he groaned, still breathing, still alive.

Stiles rushed back to me.

"Are you-" He stopped when he saw my arms. His voice cracked. "Cass."

"I'm okay," I said, the pain was much less than most of my other injuries. He pulled me into him anyway, wrapping his arms around me like I might disappear.

"You keep doing this," he whispered against my hair. "Jumping in front of things meant to kill you."

I buried my face in his shoulder.

"And you keep following me anyway."