Chapter 16: Imitator populus.
Stiles had been obsessively piecing together the kanima's puzzle. The thing had hissed something strange—something about being murdered or more specifically, that the person controlling him had been murdered. It didn't make any sense, and that just made it worse.
Meanwhile, Jackson's body was halfway transforming again—scaly skin, snake-like eyes, and claws twitching dangerously.
"Okay, ketamine. The man needs more ketamine!" Stiles shouted, not tearing his eyes away from the creature.
"We don't have any more!" Isaac replied, shaking the empty bottle.
"You used all of it?" Stiles snatched the bottle, shaking it like it might magically refill. "Great. That's just—fantastic."
Erica tapped Stiles' shoulder, her eyes wide with fear. He followed her gaze, and his heart dropped.
The kanima was no longer writhing on the ground.
It was standing.
"Um… Out. Everybody out!" Stiles shouted.
No one argued. They bolted, slamming the shed door shut behind them and pressing against it in an attempt to keep the creature inside.
Bad plan.
A second later, the kanima burst through the wall like it was paper.
But before anyone could scream, Hope appeared, calm and composed, her eyes glowing faintly. She raised her hand.
"Imitator populus."
The kanima froze mid-lunge, standing eerily still, mimicking her every movement.
Stiles gaped. "What the hell did you just do?"
"Mirror spell," Hope replied smugly. She demonstrated by covering her mouth with her palms.
The kanima mirrored her, claws over its scaled mouth.
"I've been dying to use this spell," she grinned. The kanima tried to grin too, which came off weird and... almost comical.
Stiles blinked. "Okay, creepy but also kind of amazing."
"Stiles, be a darling and take his blood for me," Hope said sweetly, handing him a small vial and a knife. The kanima mimicked the motion, extending a clawed hand like it, too, was handing over something invisible.
Stiles took the vial but didn't move immediately. Instead, he frowned at her.
"Where the hell have you been all day?"
Hope raised a brow. "Excuse me?"
"You disappeared! No calls, no texts—nothing. I thought you were kidnapped by witches or something!"
"I was a little busy not dying, thank you very much," she said, crossing her arms.
Stiles rolled his eyes and grumbled, "You could've said that."
"Stiles," she warned, "blood."
"Right, right." He carefully approached the frozen kanima, still watching Hope like a reflection in glass. "Please don't claw my face off," he muttered as he pressed the vial to the creature's scaly arm where he made the cut and carefully collected the blood.
When he finally secured the cork and stepped back, Hope smiled in approval.
"Nice work, partner."
But then she heard it—a guttural, pained roar echoing through the woods.
Her smile dropped. Her breath caught.
"That's Scott," she whispered.
Without waiting, Hope turned and ran.
"Wait, where are you—" Stiles started, but she was already gone.
The kanima, still under her spell, turned and bolted in the opposite direction, disappearing into the trees.
Stiles stood there holding the vial. "Yeah. Sure. I'll just... hold this. Great."
Outside, Derek and Boyd were pacing near the entrance of the building, frustration simmering beneath the surface. The mountain ash encircled the building in a perfect, cruel line—keeping them out no matter how hard they tried.
Boyd exhaled sharply, trying again to step across it. Nothing. "How the hell did she even get in?"
"I don't know," Derek muttered, fists clenched. His voice was low, tense. "But if she's in there with the kanima—"
Suddenly, the air shifted.
The door slammed open with a fierce gust of wind, and a sudden torrent of swirling magic blew across the ground, scattering the mountain ash like dust under a storm.
Hope stepped out, framed by the rush of air like something out of a dream—or a nightmare. Her hair whipped around her face, her eyes glowing faintly with power, and her expression was all sharp urgency.
"Scott's in danger."
Derek and Boyd didn't hesitate. They ran in after her.
But before they could follow too far, Hope turned sharply, placing a hand on Boyd's chest to stop him.
"Boyd, you can't come in."
"What? Why—"
"There's wolfsbane in the air. It'll kill you if you breathe too much of it," she said firmly. "Stay out. Please."
He paused, clearly wanting to argue, but the serious look on her face convinced him. He nodded and stayed back.
Hope and Derek hurried inside—and her world stopped.
Scott was lying on the floor, motionless. Unmoving.
He was lying in the center of the room, unnaturally still. His chest wasn't moving. His face was pale. Lifeless.
Victoria Argent was gone—no body, no trace, no sign she had even been there.
Hope stopped cold.
It felt like the world tilted on its axis.
Her ears rang. Her breath hitched. She couldn't move.
Her magic sparked violently beneath her skin, but her body was frozen in place. Her heart thundered so loud in her chest it hurt.
This isn't how it was supposed to go.
He was supposed to survive. He's a main character. A hero. I saved someone who was supposed to die and—
Is this the price?
Did I ruin the story? Did I ruin everything?
The pressure in her chest grew tighter, heavier, unbearable.
A scream built in her throat, but it didn't come out.
Derek rushed past her, immediately scooping Scott up in his arms. "Hope!" he barked. "Snap out of it! MOVE!"
His voice finally shattered her stillness.
She dropped to her knees beside Scott as Derek set him down, and she barely noticed the burning sting of wolfsbane in the air. Her hands trembled as she placed them on his chest.
Her voice cracked. "Anima reparo… vita redono…"
A soft glow emitted from her palms, dancing over his chest. She poured every ounce of her magic into him, into the spell, into hope itself. But he didn't stir.
Her lip quivered. Her breaths turned shallow.
"Come on," she whispered. "Please… please, Scott, you're supposed to be okay—this isn't how it's meant to go—"
Still nothing.
And then it all came crashing down on her.
She sucked in a sharp breath and broke.
"This is all my fault," she whispered.
Derek froze, watching her.
"I ruined everything. I wasn't supposed to be here. I changed the story. I saved someone who was supposed to die and now—now he's dead because of me."
Her voice shook as her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms. Her magic pulsed dangerously, wild and unstable. For a second, it looked like she was going to turn it on herself.
"I'm not supposed to exist here," she choked. "I'm an abomination. I don't belong. I'm a mistake—"
"Hope!" Derek caught her wrists before she could harm herself, gripping them tightly. "Look at me. You're not a mistake. You saved him."
"No, I didn't—he's not waking up!"
"Hope. Look."
Her tear-filled eyes followed his gaze.
And then she saw it.
The faint twitch of Scott's fingers.
A shuddering inhale.
And then—his chest rose.
A single breath.
Then another.
And then, his lashes fluttered ever so slightly.
Hope let out a sound between a sob and a gasp, tears spilling freely as she threw her arms around him. Her shoulders shook as she clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder like she never wanted to let go again. He was like a brother she never had or if she did, She couldn't remember.
Derek let out a breath of relief and crouched beside her, his hand gentle on her back.
"He's alive," he said softly. "You did it. You saved him"
She didn't say anything.
She couldn't.
Her world was crashing and healing at the same time.
For a moment, she just held onto the warmth of Scott's body, the proof that he was still there.
Still breathing.
Still alive.
There had been another murder. Cara Simmons was already dead the moment Hope chose to save Scott. The spell had broken, and the Kanima struck.
Noah Stilinski stood silently over the lifeless body lying in a pool of her own blood.
"You really think it's a good idea being here?" the Sheriff asked, glancing at Noah.
"I just want to know her name," Noah replied quietly.
"It's Cara. Cara Simmons," the Sheriff said with a sigh.
Noah pulled out a crumpled list of names from his pocket, his fingers trembling slightly as he unfolded it. His eyes scanned the paper.
"She's not here," he muttered. "Her name's not on the list."
He rolled the paper in his hand in frustration, jaw clenched, eyes lingering on the girl no one had expected to die.
Hope refused to leave Scott's side, her hand still trembling as she supported his head gently. "We need to take him to Deaton. Now." Her voice was steady despite the chaos still dancing in her wide eyes.
Derek gave a firm nod and lifted Scott without hesitation. Boyd opened the passenger door of Derek's car, and soon they were speeding through the night, the air thick with tension.
At the clinic, Deaton was waiting—Stiles had called ahead. As Derek carefully set Scott down, Hope hovered like a shadow, her knuckles white from gripping too tightly. Deaton's eyes landed on her and lingered, curiosity sparking behind his calm demeanor.
"So," he said slowly, gaze flicking between Scott and Hope, "you're the one who stabilized his heart."
Hope merely nodded.
"I've never seen a healing spell like that," he mused, checking Scott's vitals. "You're not a druid, though. You don't carry the markers. So what are you?"
Hope met his eyes, the candlelight reflecting in her tired but defiant stare. "Different."
Derek stood beside her, arms crossed. "She saved him," he said, tone unusually soft. "Thank you for checking on him."
But Deaton shook his head. "Don't thank me. I didn't save Scott. She did."
Derek turned to Hope, frown deepening when he noticed the dried blood on her palm. "You hurt yourself again?" he asked like a dad scolding a reckless child.
Hope lifted her hand nonchalantly. "It's fine. My werewolf gene will heal it."
Deaton blinked, now genuinely intrigued. "Werewolf gene?"
She sighed and held up her hand, letting the wound glow faintly with silver light before it faded. "I'm not like Derek. I wasn't bitten. I was born… different. There's a wolf in me, but it's laced with something else. Something ancient."
Deaton leaned back slightly, awe flickering across his features. "You're… a hybrid?"
Hybrid? She was a Tribrid but they didn't need to know. She doesn't plan on dying soon.
Hope shrugged. "That's the lazy word for it. I just know I'm not supposed to exist in this world." She was done telling lies. She will tell them everything except that she is not the real Hope and this universe was a TV show in her world.
Derek glanced at her sharply, catching the shift in her tone. But she forced a smile and added, "But I'm here. So I might as well help while I can."
Scott stirred slightly on the table, groaning softly. Relief flooded her so hard her knees nearly buckled. Derek moved closer instinctively, ready to catch her if she fell.
"You're not alone, Hope," he said under his breath.
And this time, she didn't pretend not to hear it. She had found her people, they are family.
She belonged with them with that thought she fell asleep in exhaustion on the chair she was occupying. As Scott laid on the table, while everyone else present in the room was standing.
Lydia's scream echoed in the empty, eerie stadium.
She stood on the cold metal floor, surrounded by fog that clung to her like a second skin. The bleachers loomed around her like hollowed ghosts, and the buzzing of broken lights hummed above her head.
Suddenly, a flicker of movement.
A shadow.
And then—him.
Peter Hale stood at the far end of the field, barefoot, skin half-burned, and with that haunting grin stretched across his face.
"No," Lydia whispered, frozen in place. "You're dead."
"I was dead," Peter said calmly, voice smooth and low. "But you brought me back, remember?"
"I didn't mean to," she trembled, stepping back, but the stadium seemed to grow around her, twisting into something more confined, a trap.
Peter took a step closer. "You screamed me into existence. Your nightmares? They're memories. You saw my death as if it happened to you. Because it did."
Lydia's hands shook. "Why are you still here?"
Peter tilted his head. "Because I'm not finished. And neither are you."
The fog thickened. The sound of a heartbeat thumped in her ears. Peter circled her like a vulture. "The full moon is coming. And I need someone—clever, capable, and frightened enough—to help me with what's next."
"I'm not helping you," Lydia spat.
Peter's eyes gleamed, a sick amusement dancing in them. "Are you sure about that?"
He reached into the fog, and it parted to reveal a vision—Hope, unconscious, blood running from her temple, lying at the center of a ritual circle.
Lydia's heart stopped. "Hope—"
"She's powerful, yes," Peter said softly, walking behind Lydia now, whispering into her ear. "But power doesn't make you invincible. A little blood magic. A certain spell. A circle cast on the full moon… she can bleed like anyone else."
Lydia turned toward him, her breath shallow. "Don't touch her."
"Then help me. Or she dies." His voice turned cold. "I know she's your weakness. You love her like a sister, don't you? And if you don't cooperate—well, I've died before. I don't fear dying again. But her? She still fears loss. And pain. And watching everyone she loves fall because she couldn't save them."
Lydia's throat tightened. "You're lying."
Peter leaned in, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Am I?"
The stadium twisted again—Hope's scream echoed this time.
Lydia gasped awake, drenched in sweat, heart pounding, the echo of Peter's voice still lingering in her head.
"The full moon, Lydia. Choose carefully."
Hope woke up with a groan, her back aching as she shifted on the hard surface beneath her. Blinking against the dim light, she recognized the setting immediately—Derek's hideout, inside that creepy, abandoned train car.
"Sleep well?" Scott's voice called out. He looked way too healthy for someone who had nearly died the night before.
Hope sighed in relief at the sight of him. "Not at all. I feel like I got run over by a dump truck. On fire."
She sat up slowly, wincing. "Enough about me. How are you feeling? And more importantly—who the hell was trying to kill you?"
Scott's expression darkened. "Well… as you can see, I'm good as new—thanks to you. And it was Victoria Argent. Allison's mom."
Hope's eyebrows shot up. "Ah, the Argents.
The delightfully unhinged family of werewolf-hating psychos. I'd expect nothing less." Her voice grew sharper. "I bet they'll twist it around, say you were the monster. That it had to be done. You know, conveniently ignoring the fact that she was trying to murder a sixteen-year-old boy in cold blood."
Scott didn't respond. He didn't defend them. He couldn't. The thought of what could've happened to his mom if he'd died made him sick to his stomach.
"Where's Derek?" Hope asked.
Right on cue, something flew through the air. She caught it instinctively—a protein bar.
"You're welcome," came Derek's monotone voice from the shadows.
"Thanks. Just what I needed," she grinned, unwrapping it like it was a five-star meal.
Scott looked between them. "So… what do we do now?"
"We need a new plan," Derek said bluntly, arms crossed like always.
"Because next time," he added, "one of us won't be able to heal fast enough."
"I get it," Scott muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "We can't save Jackson."
Hope didn't comment. She just munched quietly on the protein bar, though her mind was racing. Jackson will be saved, she knew that much. And apparently, so would Victoria—who hadn't been bitten by Derek this time and mysteriously vanished when she was supposed to fight him. Something had changed. Something big.
"We can't seem to kill him either," Derek said grimly. "I've seen a lot of things—but nothing like this. And every full moon? He just gets stronger."
Scott shifted uncomfortably. "So what, we just wait for him to go Godzilla on the town?"
"I don't know how to stop him," Derek admitted. His eyes flicked to Hope, and for a split second, something unspoken passed between them. It didn't go unnoticed by Scott.
"Okay, what was that?" Scott demanded, eyebrows furrowing. "What aren't you telling me?"
Derek narrowed his eyes. "Why do you always think I'm hiding something?"
"Because you are hiding something," Scott shot back.
Derek bit down a sarcastic retort and exhaled instead. "Maybe I do it to protect you."
Scott crossed his arms. "Doesn't being in your pack mean no secrets?"
Derek stared at him. "Go home, Scott. Sleep. Heal. Make sure everyone else is safe. Because the full moon's coming—and something tells me it's gonna be a hell of a night."
Scott looked between the two of them again, clearly not convinced, then finally turned and left.
The second he was out of earshot, Derek turned to Hope with a mocking grin. "So… where's the guy you kidnapped?" knowing very well that she failed at kidnapping him but what he didn't know was that the boy made a sudden confession and the worst part was the unexpected assault. She shudders in disgust even thinking about it.
The most powerful tribrid harassed by a weak kid, her ancestors will laugh at her.
"You're insufferable. And broke. Honestly, I pity you," she said with a roll of her eyes, putting all the negative thoughts at the back of her head.
"That doesn't explain why I don't see Matt tied up somewhere."
"Kinky," she said dryly. "But don't worry—I've got a Plan B. There's always a backup plan."
Derek folded his arms, unimpressed. "And what would that be?"
"The smartest man in the whole pack is at your service, my lady," a voice said as Stiles popped out from behind a rusted pillar, holding up a vial of blood like it was a trophy.
Derek blinked. "Seriously?"
Hope smirked and whispered so that only he could hear it. "You really thought I'd leave my favorite person out?"
Stiles winked at Derek, who leaned closer to Hope and whispered, "Kill me now."
"Gladly," Hope muttered.