Chapter 20: I hope tomorrow doesn't kill us.
"You know why I haven't killed you yet?" Her voice was calm—too calm—as her footsteps echoed like a countdown. Each one brought her closer, slow and deliberate, like a predator circling wounded prey.
Gerard's breath hitched. For the first time in a long while, the man who'd orchestrated chaos with a smile felt something unfamiliar creeping down his spine—fear.
She stopped just inches from him, tilting her head. Her eyes burned with fury restrained only by the promise of vengeance.
"It's because I wanted to see the look on your face when you realized... you lost," she whispered, her tone sharper than any blade. "To watch you unravel, piece by piece, as everything you built falls apart."
She crouched slightly, her voice softening—mockingly tender.
"And now that I've seen it, now that I've watched you bleed, beg, and break... I won't kill you. Not anymore."
A ripple passed through the room. Silence thickened. No one dared breathe.
"I want you to suffer," she hissed, her expression twisting with a kind of cruel satisfaction. "To rot in the body you tried to transcend. I want you to wake up every day with pain in your bones and the taste of failure in your mouth. To feel death creeping closer, but never fast enough."
She leaned in, her lips near his ear, and whispered the final blow.
"You don't deserve death. You deserve consequences."
Then she pulled back, her smile cold, victorious. Around them, no one moved. No one dared to interrupt the execution she delivered with nothing but words.
Gerard said nothing. He couldn't. The weight of his defeat pressed against him harder than any wound. And for the first time, he knew what it felt like to be truly powerless.
Hope walked over to Lydia, gently placing a hand on her shoulder before turning her to face the Kanima.
"That's Jackson," she whispered softly into her ear, her tone both comforting and resolute. "Now it's in your hands… save the one you love."
Lydia took a trembling breath, stepping forward and locking eyes with the Kanima.
"Jackson," she said firmly, her voice cracking with emotion. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, silver key—the one that once meant everything between them.
The Kanima blinked, confused at first… then something shifted in his expression. Recognition. Understanding. The memory of who he was.
Everyone stood frozen as the Kanima began to change—scales retracting slowly, painfully—until Jackson stood before them. Half-human, half-creature, but unmistakably him. His pale blue eyes met Lydia's, filled with confusion and pain.
He reached out slowly, fingers brushing against hers as he took the key. Then he began to stumble back, his body trembling from the shift.
Hope gave a subtle nod to Derek, and without hesitation, he struck—his claws plunging into Jackson's front. At the same moment, Peter moved behind him and did the same.
Jackson gasped, collapsing—only to be caught by Lydia before he could hit the ground.
"Do you? Do you still—" he tried to ask, voice raw and broken.
"I do," Lydia interrupted quickly, tears running freely. "I do still love you. I do, Jackson, I still love you." She repeated it again and again, clutching him tightly.
Stiles, overcome with emotion, reached out and took Hope's hand in his. Her cold, composed exterior shattered at the touch. She looked up at him—and smiled. It was small, but real. The first in a long time.
Together, they watched as Jackson's remaining scales disappeared from his skin, like they had never been there to begin with.
"Where's Gerard?" Allison's voice broke the moment, quiet but sharp.
They all turned. Where Gerard's body had once been was now just a large puddle of thick, black ooze.
"He can't be far," Chris answered, swallowing hard.
Their attention turned back as Lydia rose, still crying, stepping away from Jackson's body to rejoin the others. But before she could reach them, a harsh scraping noise echoed—claws against concrete.
Everyone's eyes widened as Jackson's body began to rise again, back arching unnaturally, his head thrown back as he released a deep, bone-rattling roar.
It wasn't the cry of a Kanima.
It was a werewolf's howl.
His eyes—cold steel blue. The claws began to retreat, the monster slipping beneath the surface, leaving only Jackson behind.
Without hesitation, Lydia ran into his arms, both of them holding onto each other like they might disappear.
Off to the side, Hope leaned in toward Stiles and muttered, "Why is Jackson's junk always the first thing on display like it's some grand reveal?"
Stiles burst into laughter, doubling over dramatically. "It's not funny!" Hope insisted, trying to sound serious, but her own laughter betrayed her. "It's traumatizing!"
His laughter only got louder, and she found herself laughing with him—freely, unguarded. It was the kind of joy they hadn't felt in a long time.
And in that moment, for just a little while, it felt like maybe… things were going to be okay.
________
The next day at late afternoon sun bathed the school courtyard in a warm, honey-colored glow, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. Hope sat beneath the old oak tree, her back straight, a book lying open in her lap though her eyes hadn't moved across the page in minutes. Her fingers idly traced the paper, like she was trying to find calm in the quiet rustle of its edges.
She heard the footsteps before she saw her.
Lydia Martin hesitated at the edge of the courtyard, shifting her weight nervously, her green eyes scanning the bench. Hope didn't look up, didn't need to. She knew Lydia's presence as easily as she knew her own heartbeat.
"Hey," Lydia said softly.
Hope's eyes lifted, calm but unreadable. "Hey."
An awkward beat followed. The space between them felt heavier than it used to, filled with words neither of them had said.
"Mind if I sit?" Lydia asked.
Hope gave a slight shrug, eyes flicking back to her book. "It's a free country."
Lydia sat slowly beside her, keeping a careful inch of distance. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, picking at the threads of her sleeve.
"I've been meaning to talk to you," Lydia started. "But I thought maybe… you didn't want me to."
Hope didn't look at her. "Why would you think that?"
"Because after the birthday party" Lydia said, her voice cracking just slightly, "you looked at me like I'd disappointed you. Like I crossed some invisible line. And maybe I did. I don't know. I'm not the best at… this stuff. Feelings and whatever. But I felt it—this… wall."
Hope closed her book gently, letting the silence linger a moment before she turned her head to look at her. "You didn't disappoint me," she said. "I just needed space."
"Was it because of Jackson?" Lydia asked. "Or Matt?"
Hope shook her head. "It wasn't about them. It was about trust."
The words hit Lydia like a slap. She blinked, trying to smile, but it faltered.
"So you don't trust me?"
Hope's gaze softened, and she turned fully to face her. "I trust you with my life. But sometimes I feel like you don't trust me. Like you still see me as… fragile. Like I'm something you have to tiptoe around."
Lydia looked down, guilt carving itself into the lines of her face. "I didn't mean to do that. I guess I just—" She paused, biting her lip. "I've always looked up to you. Maybe too much. And sometimes that comes out wrong. I thought I was protecting you."
"I never needed protection," Hope said quietly. "I needed a friend. Someone who'd stand next to me when things got bad, not ahead of me trying to take the hit."
Lydia's eyes shimmered. "I'm sorry."
Hope nodded slowly. "I know."
Lydia reached into her jacket pocket, hesitating before pulling out a crumpled, folded note. "I wrote this two nights after the party. I didn't have the guts to give it to you. It's messy and weird and full of rambling thoughts, but… it's yours. If you want it."
Hope took the note, running her fingers over the folded paper, but didn't open it yet. She looked at Lydia, really looked at her, and her expression softened.
"Thank you," she said. "For trying."
Lydia gave a crooked smile. "I miss us."
Hope smiled, faint but real. "Then stop avoiding me. Just be honest with me, Lydia. That's all I want."
Lydia let out a breath that sounded like it had been held for weeks. "Okay. Real talk? I'm still terrified of the polite smile. You know the one."
Hope tilted her head with mock innocence. "This one?"
She gave her the infamous closed-lip, passive-aggressive smile—the one Lydia always said felt like staring into death.
Lydia groaned. "Ugh. Yes. That one. You're terrifying."
Hope laughed. It was quiet, unforced, and for the first time in days, it reached her eyes.
"No more lies," Hope said. "No more fake smiles."
"Agreed," Lydia nodded. "And maybe a movie night?"
Hope raised an eyebrow. "Only if you're bringing snacks."
"I'm not a monster, Hope."
They both laughed then, the awkwardness melting into something familiar. The sun dipped lower behind the trees as two girls sat beneath an old oak, healing something that mattered.
Not everything had to be dramatic.
Sometimes, a note and a smile were enough to start again.
____________
Hope sat on the edge of the roof, knees pulled to her chest as she stared out at the slowly darkening sky. The sun was setting behind the trees, painting the clouds in orange and lavender. It should have been beautiful. Peaceful, even.
But her mind was anything but.
Her thoughts kept racing, circling back to the same gnawing fear she had been suppressing for weeks.
This is as far as I remember.
Season 2. Gerard's downfall. Jackson turning human. The Kanima gone.
But now… everything past this point was a blank slate. She didn't know what was coming.
And for someone who had built her survival around knowledge—about predicting moves before they happened, guiding people with careful nudges from behind the curtain—this? This was terrifying.
What if something worse was coming? What if she couldn't stop it? What if her presence had changed everything already—and the future she once knew no longer existed?
She hadn't slept properly in days. Not since the victory that should have felt like relief but only made the silence more deafening.
Behind her, inside the Hale loft, Lydia was whispering urgently to someone. Stiles. Hope didn't need to eavesdrop to know. She could feel the buzz of excitement barely being contained.
And yet she stayed outside.
It wasn't because she didn't want to be near them.
It was because a part of her felt like she didn't belong.
They think I know everything. That I can protect them. But I can't see past this moment anymore.
Just as she was spiraling, the loft doors creaked open behind her.
"Hope?" Stiles called out gently. "You should come in."
She glanced over her shoulder, hesitating.
"It's nothing fancy," he added quickly, reading her pause. "Just… you know, maybe come in?"
She sighed and stood up, brushing off her jeans. She followed him inside slowly—and then stopped dead in her tracks.
The loft was dim, but glowing with fairy lights. There were balloons taped lazily to the wall, a makeshift banner that read Happy Birthday, Hope! in Lydia's impossibly perfect handwriting, and a small cake sitting on the table with sparklers flickering.
"Surprise!" Lydia grinned, holding a party hat in one hand and a red Solo cup in the other. "You thought we forgot, didn't you?"
Stiles beamed. "Second of May. I marked it in my brain. Permanently."
Hope blinked, taken aback. Her mouth opened but no words came out.
"I know you don't like big parties," Lydia said, walking over. "So we kept it small. Just us. The people who love you."
Hope's smile was soft, grateful—but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
Because they weren't all there.
Her gaze swept the room and the absence felt loud. Erica's laugh. Boyd's quiet steadiness.
Hope stayed in the corner of the loft, watching as Lydia buzzed around the cake with intense precision. Stiles was pretending to help but mostly just eating frosting off his fingers. The fairy lights above gave everything a warm golden glow, and the little party shimmered with affection—imperfect, spontaneous affection.
She didn't notice Derek watching her from the staircase.
"You didn't give her the gift?" Lydia whispered, suddenly appearing next to him.
"She doesn't need to know it's from me," Derek muttered, arms crossed, jaw locked tight.
Lydia raised an unimpressed brow. "You carved that pendant yourself, Hale. With actual sentimental effort. You even wrapped it."
"Badly," Stiles piped in from across the room, mouth full of cake. "It looked like a drunk wolf tried origami."
"I'm not giving it to her," Derek growled, stepping away.
But he didn't realize Lydia had already slipped the small velvet box into the pile of gifts labeled For Hope.
Meanwhile, Allison hovered awkwardly near the couch, her fingers tightening around the straps of her jacket.
"I need to talk to you," she said, stepping toward Hope. "Just… one minute."
Hope tilted her head, then nodded, leading her toward the balcony.
"I wanted to say I'm sorry," Allison began, voice barely above a whisper. "For everything I did. What I believed. What I helped Gerard do. I was stupid and I was scared and—"
"I forgive you," Hope said simply, cutting her off.
Allison blinked. "That's it?"
Hope shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. "You'll carry the guilt longer than I ever could. So yeah, I forgive you. For your sake."
Allison exhaled shakily, and Hope gently touched her arm before walking away, leaving Allison alone with her own remorse.
Back inside, Lydia dragged Hope toward the gift pile. "Come on, Birthday Girl. Time to unwrap questionable things."
Hope narrowed her eyes. "Did you wrap a murder weapon?"
"Technically, it's a multi-purpose dagger," Lydia grinned.
Hope tore through the gifts—funny, chaotic, heartwarming things: a glitter bomb card from Jackson and a car key (Rich snob), a cursed-looking candle from Peter (with a note that just said 'Happy Birthday. Don't die.'), and a genuine charm bracelet from Lydia that made her heart swell. A crossbow from Allison and Chris and Chocolates from Isaac (He had no idea what to give her).
Scott's gift was in a box wrapped clumsily in Star Wars paper. Inside was a worn leather journal with wolf engravings on the cover.
"It was Deaton's," Scott explained, rubbing the back of his neck. "He used it to write about the supernatural stuff he learned. I figured… if anyone needed a record of things, it was you."
Hope blinked, touched. "Scott…"
"There's even a page labeled 'What Not To Do Around a Werewolf.' Spoiler alert: poking them is on the list."
Melissa's gift was practical, sweet, and absolutely her—an emergency med kit packed into a sleek black bag with Hope's initials embroidered on the front.
"It's not flashy, I know," Melissa said with a gentle smile. "But I want you to have something that keeps you safe when I can't be there."
"Honestly, this is the best thing I've gotten," Hope said, hugging the bag to her chest. "Right behind cupcakes and mild sarcasm."
Noah Stilinski's gift came with a heartfelt card and a very sturdy, very secure set of lockpicks disguised as hairpins.
"I feel like I shouldn't be encouraging felonies," he said. "But since you're probably going to do them anyway… at least do them quietly."
Hope laughed, tears in her eyes. "You're the best almost-dad." She hugged him.
Then came the box with no name.
She opened it and paused.
Inside was a hand-carved obsidian pendant, shaped like a half crescent moon. Smooth, precise, and beautiful. And underneath, a note in neat handwriting:
"Protection, in case I'm not there."
Her eyes lifted to the shadows on the stairs. Derek was gone.
Hope smiled to herself. She wouldn't say anything. Not tonight.
And then came Stiles' gift.
She opened the neatly wrapped box (he had tried, you could tell by the extra tape and wonky bow), revealing a snow globe with tiny pine trees and a lone fox curled up beneath them.
At first glance, it was simple. But when she shook it, a recorded message echoed softly:
"This world's kind of a mess. But I'd still choose to live in it—if it meant I could live it with you."
Inside the globe, hidden in the base, was a tiny photo of the two of them asleep on the couch—Hope tucked under his arm, drooling slightly.
She couldn't even be mad.
Hope launched into his arms and kissed him square on the mouth, to which Jackson muttered somewhere in the background, "Gross."
Later that night, when the others had drifted home and the loft had quieted, Stiles found her on the roof again.
"You've been quiet," he said, sitting beside her.
"I'm scared," she admitted. "Not of anything specific. Just… not knowing what comes next."
"You think I've ever known what I'm doing?" he laughed. "Hope, I once fought a lizard monster with a baseball bat and puberty."
She laughed softly, shaking her head. "You're a terrible hero."
"I'm not the hero," he said, turning serious. "You are."
Her breath hitched slightly at his words. Then he leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against her cheek. "I've been dying to do this since the cake," he murmured.
Hope turned her head and kissed him—slow at first, but quickly deeper, hotter. Like they were both clinging to something real, something solid amidst the chaos.
Stiles tangled his fingers in her hair as she pressed closer, her body warm against his. The weight of the night, the fear of tomorrow, melted beneath the heat of his touch.
They moved together in perfect rhythm, like they had always known how this moment would go. Clothes slipped away. Whispers turned to gasps. Laughter faded into moans against skin, as the city lights flickered far below and only the stars bore witness to them.
When it was over, they lay tangled in blankets and each other, the night air cool against flushed skin.
"I hope tomorrow doesn't kill us," Stiles whispered.
Hope smiled into his chest. "If it does… at least we went out hot."
_____________
Eichen House, Beacon Hills.
The sound of her heels echoed through the sterile white halls—sharp and steady like a ticking clock in a room that had long forgotten the concept of time.
Hope didn't flinch at the screams. Or the sobbing. Or the way the air always felt like it clung to your skin here. She'd gotten used to that kind of quiet madness.
Her ID badge swung against her chest with each step:
Hope Mikaelson — Consultant.
She wasn't exactly a doctor. Not officially. But after everything Beacon Hills had thrown at her, Eichen House was a different kind of battlefield. One where monsters didn't always have claws—sometimes they wore patient gowns and whispered prophecies through the cracks of reality.
Hope stopped outside a locked observation room. Her green-blue eyes softened just slightly as she looked in.
A young girl around the age of 18 sat on the bed, humming tunelessly. Doodles covered the walls—strange symbols, sharp spirals, kanji she shouldn't know. There were claw marks too. Deep ones.
"She doesn't speak to anyone," the nurse beside Hope muttered, "but she asked for you. By name."
"Of course she did," Hope whispered.
She walked in slowly, ignoring the way the temperature seemed to drop. The girl didn't look at her, still drawing.
"I know what you are," the girl finally said, voice dreamy. "You don't belong here."
Hope sat on the edge of the bed, her expression unreadable. "Neither do you."
The girl looked up now, locking eyes with her. "It's coming. The fire, the shadow, the devourer. And the ones you love—one of them will die."
Hope didn't move, but her heart skipped.
"I've seen it, They told me" the girl whispered, "The scream, the blood, and the sound of your name being the last thing they say."
Silence.
Hope stood.
"Get some rest," she said softly, placing a small totem—wooden, carved with an ancient sigil—on the bedside table.
As she left the room, her posture was perfect, her steps firm. But her hands were cold.
Outside, thunder rolled over Beacon Hills. The first raindrop fell just as Hope Mikaelson stepped into the storm.
And the war drums began to stir once again.
___________
This is the ending of act one, I can't believe I completed something (all the books I have ever written are never completed or rushed for some reason) But this one was good, I can tell.
Let's meet again in act two, You will feel very single after reading that act. I'm so excited to publish it, I changed many things, there will be new characters (hot characters). I hope it won't disappoint you.
For now how do you find Hope and Stiles chemistry? (I ask questions so I could get answers, please answer this one)
I don't write smut, It's not like I don't want to. I just can't, it's so embarrassing for me personally. You can only use your imagination.
I didn't know what TFTC was after using all of my brain cells I'm assuming it's full form for "Thanks for the chapter." Correct me if I am wrong and you're welcome. Please consider giving me power stones if you like the story and thank you so much for all the support.
TZ