Chapter 5: Breaking Point

It was Friday, the day of the scrimmage. I woke up without any bad dreams—no wolves, thank God. After going through my usual routine—bathroom, toiletries—I went to wake up Hope.

"Hope, time to get up," I said, shaking her shoulder.

She groaned, pulling the covers over her head. "Five more minutes."

"You say that every day," I laughed. "I swear, you'll sleep through life without me here to drag you out of bed."

She cracked a sleepy smile. "Guess you'll have to call me every morning when we're at different colleges."

"Deal," I said, half-joking. She'd better figure out an alarm system that actually works.

I got dressed in a tight-fitting red shirt and blue jeans, then we headed to the car. On the way to school, we chatted casually.

"You better do well at lacrosse practice today," Hope said, her tone mock-serious. "I'll be watching, and I expect nothing less than perfection."

"Alright, Mom," I joked, rolling my eyes. Her words made me smile. It was nice knowing she cared.

At school, we grabbed our stuff from our lockers and went our separate ways. I caught up with Allison in the hallway.

"Hey, how's it going?" I asked.

"Pretty good," she replied. "I ran into Scott at the vet clinic yesterday. I accidentally hit a dog with my car."

I winced. "Ouch. Is the dog okay?"

"Yeah, it was just a scratch, but I felt awful," she said, frowning.

"Good thing it wasn't worse. I'm a sucker for animals," I said. "Cats, dogs—love them both. I hate seeing them hurt."

After classes, I headed to the locker room to change into my lacrosse gear. Jackson and Danny were already there, gearing up.

"Hey, man," Jackson said, offering a fist bump.

"Ready to crush it today?" Danny asked with a grin.

"Always," I replied, returning their fist bumps. I laced up my cleats, appreciating the camaraderie. These guys had my back on and off the field, and I didn't take that for granted.

With that thought in mind, I headed out to the field, ready to give it my all.

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3rd POV

Hope made her way to the bleachers and noticed a heated exchange between Jackson and Scott.

"Alright, little man. Spill it. Where're you getting your juice?" Jackson's tone was cold.

Scott looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

Jackson stepped closer. "Where. Are. You. Getting. Your. Juice?"

Scott shook his head. "My mom does all the grocery shopping."

Jackson's frustration bubbled over. "Cut the crap, McCall. You're out there killing it on the field, doing things you couldn't dream of last season. There's no way you're pulling that off without some kind of boost."

Scott's confusion shifted to reluctant understanding. "Oh, you think I'm on steroids?"

Jackson's gaze was unyielding. "Are you?"

Frustration flashed in Scott's eyes. "What the hell is going on with you, McCall?"

Scott's patience snapped. "You really wanna know? Because I've been asking myself the same thing. I'm seeing things, hearing things, smelling things that shouldn't be possible. I'm doing things that should be impossible. I'm sleepwalking miles into the woods, and I feel like I'm losing my mind!"

Hope stood frozen, a mix of intrigue and concern flooding her as the argument unfolded. The tension was thick, but underneath it all was something deeper.

Determined to break the tension, Hope stepped forward and cleared her throat. "Hey, you guys okay over here?"

Scott sighed, his shoulders sagging as he turned to her. "Yeah, just... dealing with some stuff."

Jackson, still eyeing Scott, shrugged. "Just making sure our star player isn't doping."

Hope forced a smile, trying to defuse the situation. "Well, whatever's going on, maybe save the drama for after practice?"

Jackson and Scott exchanged a look, the tension easing slightly. Hope walked away, but a nagging suspicion about Scott lingered in her mind.

As Scott turned to head back to the field, Stiles came rushing over, nearly colliding with him.

"Scott! Scott, wait up!" Stiles called.

"Stiles, I'm in the middle of the first elimination. Can this wait?" Scott tried to keep his focus on the game.

Stiles grabbed Scott's shoulders, his eyes intense. "Just hold on, okay? I overheard my dad on the phone. The fiber analysis from L.A. came back. They found animal hairs on the body from the woods!"

Scott tried to push past him. "Stiles, I need to go."

"Wait! Scott, you won't believe what kind of animal it was!" Stiles shouted after him, but Scott was already jogging to the field.

Stiles watched Scott go, frustration evident. He muttered under his breath, "...It was a wolf."

On the field, Coach Finstock's voice cut through the noise. "Alright, let's go! Gather round!"

Hope settled into the bleachers, watching Scott exchange a wave with Allison. A twinge of something—jealousy, maybe—flashed through her as she glanced over at Lucian, chatting with Danny on the field. Coach Finstock's sharp eyes caught Scott's distracted demeanor.

"Got a question, McCall?" Coach Finstock barked.

"What?" Scott looked up, bewildered.

"You raised your hand. You have a question?" Coach's tone was impatient.

"Oh, no. I was just..." Scott faltered, dropping the subject as Coach's glare intensified.

"Nothing. Sorry," Scott muttered quickly.

"Okay. Here's the deal. If you don't make the cut, you're on the bench for the rest of the season. You make the cut? You play. Your parents are proud. Your girlfriend loves ya. Everything else is... cream cheese."

Coach Finstock's smirk was met with cheers from the players, who scattered to their positions.

"Oi, Lucas, stay back a little. I want to see how the current team handles things without you and see if there are any potentially good players," Coach said.

"Coach, it's Lucian. And why am I specifically benched?" Lucian asked.

"Well, looking at you, it's obvious some of the players are gonna be intimidated and won't perform well. If you went up against someone like you, you'd be scared too, wouldn't you?" Coach asked, a hint of a challenge in his voice.

"Fine," Lucian answered, though there was a hint of frustration in his tone.

"Good man," Coach said, clapping Lucian on the shoulder.

"Let's go! Let's go!" Jackson's voice rang out, and practice kicked off.

Scott bounced on his feet, ready for the drill. The ball came his way, and he caught it with an ease that felt almost unnatural. As he dashed down the field, his movements were fluid and graceful—almost too smooth. He evaded tackles with an effortless spin, leaped over players, and scored with a stunning display of agility.

The other players surged around him, clapping and cheering, while Allison stood up in the stands, applauding. Coach Finstock's face shifted from surprise to irritation.

"McCall! Get over here!" Coach Finstock's shout cut through the cheers.

Scott jogged over, pulling off his helmet. "What in God's name was that? This is a lacrosse field, not a gymnastics arena."

Scott shook his head, struggling to explain. "I don't know. I was just trying to make the shot."

"Yeah, well, you made the shot. And guess what?" Coach Finstock slapped Scott on the back. "You're starting, buddy."

Coach squeezed Scott's shoulders, his smile broad. "You made first line. Come on!"

Scott's excitement was palpable. He bounced on his heels, and the players clapped enthusiastically. Stiles stood on the sidelines, his expression troubled. Hope observed from the bleachers, sensing an undercurrent of tension she couldn't fully understand.

As the whistle blew, Scott felt a sharp sting in his mind, like an electric shock. His senses flared, the world around him suddenly too bright, too loud. For a split second, he saw everything with startling clarity—the individual blades of grass beneath his feet, the sweat dripping from Jackson's brow, the pulse beating in Lucian's neck as he bolted past.

Lucian moved like a freight train, his massive frame barreling down the field. Scott's vision blurred, his heart pounding with a mixture of adrenaline and something darker, something more primal. His fingers twitched, his nails sharpening into points as his anger rose.

What's happening to me? Scott thought. He clenched his teeth, feeling them elongate, the sharp points grazing his lips.

In that moment, all he wanted was to stop Lucian, to prove he was still in control. He surged forward, faster than he'd ever run before, the world around him slowing as he closed in on Lucian. But Lucian was ready.

Lucian's eyes flicked back to Scott, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something in his gaze—curiosity, maybe even a hint of suspicion. But he didn't slow down. Instead, he leaped into the air, his massive body twisting in an impossible display of agility. Scott lunged, but Lucian was already gone, leaving him to crash into the dirt.

The impact jarred Scott back to reality. He looked up, spitting out dirt, his breath coming in ragged gasps. What the hell was that? His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he watched Lucian sprint toward the goal and fire off a shot that sailed into the net. The bleachers erupted in cheers, players and spectators alike marveling at his display.

Hope's cheers reached a new pitch as Lucian scored a stunning goal. She leaped from her seat on the bleachers, her excitement palpable as she clapped and shouted. "Yes! That's how it's done, Lucian!"

Allison and Lydia, still trying to manage the noise, approached Hope again. "Hope, seriously," Allison said, trying to be heard over the din, "you're going to make yourself hoarse."

Lydia added, a touch of amusement in her voice, "And maybe get us all kicked out if you keep this up."

Hope, still bubbling with enthusiasm, glanced at them with a wide grin. "Sorry, but you should've seen that shot! Lucian's amazing!"

Despite their efforts to calm her, Hope's energy was unstoppable. She kept cheering loudly.

"I knew you were good, Lucas! You're definitely in the starting lineup," Coach yelled, his voice barely carrying over the noise.

"You got it, Coach," Lucian replied, grinning as practice continued. As the drills went on, it became clear that Scott and Lucian were the stars, their skills drawing admiration from the team. But in the shadows of the cheers and applause, Jackson's jealousy simmered, a storm waiting to break.

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