𝐖𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐨 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠
Riley Winters thought nothing good would come from looking for a dead body with her friends that night. But now she realised just how much that on...
She finally forgave him, and then he left, and these chapters are making me emotional.
Question of the Chapter: Do you think that Liam could have become a True Alpha one day?
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♧♤♢♡ ✧*:･ﾟStiles･ﾟ:*✧
I was rushing through the school, making my way back towards where everybody was being quarantined. I could feel the sweat coating my face as I stumbled into the room in search of Kira's father.
When I got to the room though, I didn't see him. Instead, I found Ms. Martin. Figuring that she may know where he is, I made my way over to her.
"Stiles, you're not looking so good, maybe you ought to lie down," she suggested.
I wasn't feeling good either, but I needed to find a way to save my friends. "It's okay, have you seen Mr. Yukimura?"
"Yeah, he's fine, he's helping the other students."
"Okay," I breathed, turning to leave, when I spotted Coach in one of the quarantine isolation rooms. But why was he in there? So far, it had only been students. "Is Coach the only adult who got sick today?"
"As far as I know," Ms. Martin told me, giving me a confused look.
"Why is he. . ." I mumbled, thinking out loud.
"Stiles? I think you should lie down."
When she touched a hand to my arm, I snapped to my senses. "Yeah, no, it's okay. I'll be back, I'll be right back."
I ran out of the room, the question of Coach being sick still on my mind. Why was he the only adult who had gotten sick? It made no sense.
There had to be a clue somewhere; something that could tell me what was causing this. And maybe if I found that, I'd know how to save them all.
Searching the whole room, I was throwing things everywhere. I didn't have time to be careful with Coach's belongings. I'd come back and clean up my mess later.
I went to his desk and began to rifle through its contents. I wasn't entirely sure what I was looking for, all I knew was that the illness had originated at the school and Coach was patient zero. Which meant, hopefully, that there was still something here that tells me what happened.
Slamming the drawer shut, I rested back in his chair for a moment, trying to think. What else was there?
My eyes drifted down to his desk, where there were permission slips that had been stamped recently. Picking them up, I began to go through them one by one.
Each red stamp of approval began to fade, the ink running out as Coach used it. And then suddenly, the approval stamp was different.
Instead of an alarming red, it was a solid black. The rest of them were all done in black ink.
