That morning, Trevor was running along one of the trails in the Beacon Hills forest — for the past few days, he had been exploring the area, searching for any sign of the she-coyote, because from what little he remembered, she had a den somewhere near one of the trails, but he didn't know which one, and the only option left was to search them all. The day was beautiful, and there was something special about walking among the trees as the sun rose, feeling the cool freshness of the forest air, so much so that moments like that made even a fruitless search worthwhile.
Still, he wasn't alone, because between the trees, crouched near a bush, someone was watching him. Trevor had noticed a few minutes earlier but didn't react, keeping walking as if nothing were happening while calling himself an idiot in his mind — he hadn't brought the Vampire Killer, only a dagger hidden beneath his clothes, and aside from that he had nothing but a water bottle, his phone, and a pair of headphones. Without panicking, he pretended to be tired and stopped to take a drink, and as he raised the bottle to his lips, he cast a subtle glance from the corner of his eye. He saw a coyote with grayish-brown fur, a short snout, long alert ears, and brown eyes that didn't reassure him, because he knew that shapeshifters — werewolves and werecoyotes alike — could control when their eyes glowed.
Trevor sat down on a rock, leaning forward as if catching his breath after intense exertion, his intention clear: to appear vulnerable and create an opening for a possible attack, because if this was the one he was looking for, it would react. But the coyote didn't move — it simply remained there, watching him without looking away. After a few minutes, Trevor changed tactics, letting his phone fall as though by accident before continuing down the trail, and he walked for a while longer until he sensed he was no longer being watched, at which point he allowed himself a faint smile and returned to where he had dropped the device. It was gone.
Strangely satisfied at having "lost" his phone, he hurried home and went straight to his computer to open a tracking website, and within moments a location appeared — deep in the forest, slightly off the trail — giving him finally a precise point. Trevor had realized the coyote hadn't wanted to attack him, that there had been curiosity in its gaze, which made sense because if it attacked every human it encountered, it would already be dead, and by leaving the phone behind, he had exploited that curiosity — and the creature's greed — to obtain the location of its den. Satisfied with the progress he had made, he took a shower and left for school with Allison.
Halfway there came the surprise: "So today's your birthday?" Trevor asked, and Allison replied, "Yeah, but don't tell anyone. I don't want them to know I'm seventeen." Trevor asked, "What's wrong with being seventeen?" and she explained, "After switching schools so many times, I ended up repeating a year. People always make up crazy stories about it." Trevor promised, "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. Scout's honor," and Allison shot back with a grin, "You were a scout?" "No." They laughed and continued on to school, but just as Trevor was about to enter the classroom, Allison pulled him aside.
"Trevor, I need your help."
"Did something happen?"
"I need you to cover for me today. I'm going to celebrate my birthday with Scott."
"So you're skipping class?" he asked, and when she confirmed with a "Yeah," he answered, "Don't worry. I'll cover for you. Just remember to get to the parent-teacher meeting early." Allison smiled. "Okay. I owe you." Trevor nodded. "I know. I'll collect later."
The rest of the day dragged on, and without Allison nearby, the hours felt longer, especially as Stiles and Scott began distancing themselves whenever he approached, clearly avoiding conversation, while Lydia was absent and Jackson was acting strange — more than usual — until soon the rumor spread about a "mountain lion" attack. Trevor knew the truth: it was the Alpha's doing, and the time to act was drawing closer, until before he realized it, night had fallen and the parent-teacher meeting had begun. Since his grandfather was in another country, Trevor would attend alone, his report card being sent by email — nothing money and a few contacts couldn't handle.
He headed to Coach Finstock's classroom, where a stack of files covered nearly the entire desk, and as Trevor entered, the coach looked up and extended his hand, saying, "Come in, come in. What was your name again?" Trevor shook it firmly and replied, "Trevor Belmont, Coach." The coach remarked, "That's quite a handshake, kid. Let's see here…" searching through the piles until he found the right file and continuing, "Here it is. Your grades are excellent — the best in the class. Chemistry's average, but nothing concerning." He looked up at Trevor and added, "But you're not involved in any extracurricular activities. No sports," and Trevor explained, "I'm new here. When I arrived, lacrosse tryouts were already over." The coach waved it off. "Well, that's no problem. If you hold a stick as firmly as you shook my hand, you'll go far. How about a tryout tomorrow?" Trevor hesitated briefly, knowing he needed more intense training and that it could help him integrate better, before answering, "Alright. I'll come tomorrow." The coach grinned. "That's what I like to hear. I've got high expectations for you, kid."
At that moment, screams echoed from outside, followed by two gunshots. "My God," the coach muttered, ducking behind his desk. "What's happening?" Trevor ran outside without hesitation and into the parking lot, where he saw Chris, gun still raised, standing over the body of a mountain lion lying dead on the ground. Thanks to the events of that day, Scott and Allison had arrived earlier and avoided greater trouble, and Scott managed to stop the sheriff from being pushed by a car amid the chaos, so in the end everyone was unharmed — everyone except the mountain lion. Trevor observed the scene in silence, knowing it had been nothing more than a distraction orchestrated by the Alpha, a way to mislead the search, and the real threat was still out there, this far from over.