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Alex didn't go to school the next day.
Instead, he stood at the edge of the preserve, staring into the trees as the morning fog curled around the trunks like ghostly fingers. The forest still whispered to him, but not like before. This time, it didn't call him forward—it warned him.
They're watching again.
He tightened the strap on his backpack and stepped inside anyway. He needed answers. The hunters weren't targeting just any supernatural creature—they were after him. Which meant someone knew what he was. What he had been.
And there was only one place in Beacon Hills where that kind of memory lingered.
The Hale House ruins.
It took him an hour to reach the scorched remains, tucked deep in the woods where sunlight barely filtered through. Moss had grown over the broken stone, and rusted nails jutted from half-collapsed beams. The air here was thick with grief and ashes.
But beneath that—something deeper.
Pack memory.
Alex knelt near the fireplace, brushing aside a layer of leaves. He closed his eyes. For a moment, everything was still.
Then came the flashes.
A boy's voice, laughing.
A woman's scent, wild and warm.
A full moon above a rooftop.
Red eyes staring into firelight.
And then—the screams.
The entire pack—burned. Betrayed.
His chest tightened. His hand clenched into the earth. It wasn't his memory, not exactly. But it was real. The wolves who lived here had mourned, raged, and remembered. Some small echo of them lingered in the bones of this place.
He was about to stand when he heard it: a soft crunch of leaves behind him.
Alex turned—claws half-drawn—only to stop mid-motion.
Derek Hale stood at the edge of the ruins.
Silent. Watching.
"I was wondering how long it'd take before you came here," Derek said, voice low and even.
"You knew?" Alex asked.
"I didn't know who you were. But I felt the power come back with you. The forest did too."
Alex studied him. Derek looked wary, but not afraid. Curious. Calculating.
"You're not a born wolf," Derek continued. "But you're not a turned one either. So… what are you?"
Alex stood slowly. "I think I was one of you. A long time ago. Before I died."
Derek's eyes flicked to the glowing mark on Alex's wrist. "That's ancient magic. Not something you find in a high schooler."
Alex's voice dropped. "I think someone brought me back. And I think they made sure I didn't remember why."
Derek stepped closer. "Then you're going to need help."
Alex met his eyes. "Are you offering?"
"I'm offering the truth," Derek said. "About Beacon Hills. About the Hales. About the hunters. And about you."
For the first time since his return, Alex felt something click into place—not just instinct, not just power. A connection.
The pack hadn't forgotten him.
Not entirely.
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Chapter 8: Bloodlines?