It was morning, and 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. From what little he remembered, she had a den somewhere near one of the trails, but he didn't know which one. The only option left was to search them all.
The day was beautiful. There was something special about walking among the trees as the sun rose, feeling the cool freshness of the forest air. To be honest, moments like that made even a fruitless search worthwhile.
Still, he wasn't alone.
Between the trees, crouched near a bush, someone was watching him.
Trevor had noticed a few minutes earlier but didn't react. He kept walking as if nothing were happening. In his mind, he called himself an idiot. He hadn't brought the Vampire Killer—only a dagger hidden beneath his clothes. 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. As he raised the bottle to his lips, he cast a subtle glance from the corner of his eye.
He saw a coyote. Its fur was grayish-brown, its snout short, its ears long and alert. Its eyes were brown.
That didn't reassure him. 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 was clear: appear vulnerable and create an opening for a possible attack. If it was the one he was looking for, it would react.
But the coyote didn't move. It remained there, watching him without looking away.
After a few minutes, Trevor changed tactics. He let his phone fall as though by accident and continued down the trail. He walked for a while longer until he sensed he was no longer being watched.
With a faint smile, he returned to where he had dropped the device. It was gone.
Strangely satisfied at having "lost" his phone, he hurried home. He went straight to his computer and opened a tracking website. Within moments, a location appeared—deep in the forest, slightly off the trail.
He finally had a precise point.
Trevor had realized the coyote hadn't wanted to attack him. There had been curiosity in its gaze. It made sense. If it attacked every human it encountered, it would already be dead. 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?"
"Yeah, but don't tell anyone. I don't want them to know I'm seventeen."
"What's wrong with being seventeen?"
"After switching schools so many times, I ended up repeating a year. People always make up crazy stories about it."
"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. Scout's honor."
"You were a scout?"
"No."
They laughed and continued on to school.
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?"
"Yeah."
"Don't worry. I'll cover for you. Just remember to get to the parent-teacher meeting early."
"Okay. I owe you."
"I know. I'll collect later."
The rest of the day dragged on. Without Allison nearby, the hours felt longer. Stiles and Scott began distancing themselves whenever he approached, clearly avoiding conversation. Lydia was absent, and Jackson was acting strange—more than usual. Soon the rumor spread about a "mountain lion" attack.
Trevor knew the truth. It was the Alpha's doing. And he knew the time to act was drawing closer.
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 would be sent by email.
Nothing money and a few contacts couldn't handle.
He headed to Coach Finstock's classroom. A stack of files covered nearly the entire desk. As Trevor entered, the coach looked up and extended his hand.
"Come in, come in. What was your name again?"
"Trevor Belmont, Coach."
"That's quite a handshake, kid. Let's see here…"
He searched through the piles until he found the right file.
"Here it is. Your grades are excellent—the best in the class. Chemistry's average, but nothing concerning."
The coach looked up at him.
"But you're not involved in any extracurricular activities. No sports."
"I'm new here. When I arrived, lacrosse tryouts were already over."
"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. He needed more intense training, and it could help him integrate better.
"Alright. I'll come tomorrow."
"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.
In the parking lot, 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. Scott managed to stop the sheriff from being pushed by a car amid the chaos. In the end, everyone was unharmed.
Everyone except the mountain lion.
Trevor observed the scene in silence. It had been nothing more than a distraction orchestrated by the Alpha—a way to mislead the search.
He knew the real threat was still out there.
And this was far from over.