Teen Wolf: Second Howl

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Malia's Perspective

Lucas stepped out of the animal clinic, the door clicking shut behind him with a sound that felt far too loud in the sudden stillness.

And then… silence.

The kind that settles thick in your chest, almost like fog—clinging to the air long after the storm has passed. The kind that dares you to break it, but punishes you the moment you do.

We remained frozen, all of us. Still. Watchful. Every heartbeat stretched long and slow. The only sign he'd even been there was his scent—lingering, faint but distinct. An Alpha's scent should've felt overwhelming, like thunder rolling beneath the skin. But Lucas's? It was... contained. Measured. Like someone who had learned too well how to keep his fire on a leash.

That made me more uneasy than if he'd roared his dominance from the rooftops.

Then Derek shattered the stillness like a rock through glass.

"I don't trust him."

His voice was sharp. Blunt. Not meant to spark debate—just a simple declaration of fact.

Laura didn't so much as blink. Her expression didn't shift, except for the faintest curve at the corner of her lips—a smile with no warmth behind it.

"You've made that very clear," she said calmly.

Derek folded his arms across his chest, body tense, jaw set. "Even if he is an Alpha, he's alone. If it comes down to it, the three of us could take him."

There was no bravado in his words, no boast. Just cold calculation. A predator weighing risk.

Laura finally turned to face him fully. Her gaze—cool, unyielding, and edged like winter glass—met his.

"Are you forgetting who his mother is?"

That stopped me. My brows drew together. The name Susan Lockwood wasn't one tossed around lightly.

"She's the one who's helped us," Laura continued, voice calm but pointed. "For the past six years. Back when we were just trying to survive. Still in school. Still grieving. Susan was the one who stepped up when no one else did. With lawyers, with the Hale family trust, with everything. She looked after us when we couldn't even look after ourselves."

Derek's jaw tightened, and for just a heartbeat, his whole body stiffened like he'd been struck. It was in his eyes—the flicker of guilt. Pain. Maybe even shame.

"He could be working with the Argents for all we know." he said roughly. "Don't forget what happened six years ago. Gerard Argent came to our mother, asking for help. And what happened after that?"

His voice rose, laced with venom. Grief barely buried beneath the surface.

"Most of our family ended up dead."

His words hit like a slap. No, more like a blade. Cold, brutal, and sharp enough to cut through bone. For a moment, it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. I could almost hear the past echoing back to us. Ghosts screaming in the walls.

Laura didn't respond immediately. She just… looked at him. Eyes full of shadows and the weight of too many nights spent remembering. She was quiet for so long, I thought she might not answer at all.

"Maybe Gerard was involved," she said softly, finally. "But he died that night. Just like so many others. We never found out the full truth. No answers. Just graves and silence. Unless you're sitting on some kind of new revelation, we're no closer to understanding now than we were then."

Derek's head turned away, his jaw grinding in frustration. But he didn't speak.

Didn't argue.

Laura took a single step toward him. Not aggressive. Just… steady.

"I get it, Derek," she said, voice low. "I feel it too. That itch under the skin when something doesn't add up. But ask yourself this—are you really ready to start a war with the Argents? When we're all that's left of our family?"

I watched the tension drain from Derek's posture, just a fraction. He wasn't any less angry. The suspicion still burned behind his eyes. But something in Laura's words had reached him. A reminder, maybe. Of everything they'd already lost.

"No," he muttered after a moment. The word fell heavy, like it cost him something to say.

"Good," Laura replied simply. "Because right now? Survival comes first."

She turned her attention to Deaton, who had remained a quiet presence through it all—still, solid, like a mountain carved from calm. He hadn't spoken a word, but he'd been listening. Watching.

When Laura addressed him, her voice softened. Just a touch.

"What do you think about Lucas?"

Deaton exhaled, slow and deliberate. Then lifted his eyes to meet hers.

"We don't know much about him," he said carefully. "But from what I've seen… he acted when someone was in danger. He didn't hesitate. He came to you willingly, didn't posture, didn't demand. And most importantly, he told the truth. At least, as far as I could tell."

He let that hang in the air. A warning and a reassurance at the same time.

"For now," he finished, "I think we can trust him."

Laura gave a small, thoughtful nod. Nothing more.

I didn't say anything. Just stood there, my thoughts agreeing with Deaton.

Then I started thinking about Isaac.

He always looked so… tired at school. Like someone who hadn't smiled in years.

Maybe I could help.

Even if Lucas was still a mystery.