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The first sign that something was wrong was the silence.
Beacon Hills High School was never silent between classes. Even with the students gone for the day, there was usually some kind of noise echoing through the halls... basketballs bouncing in the gym, lockers slamming as teachers packed up, the distant whine of a vacuum cleaner, or Coach Finstock yelling at someone who probably wasn't even there.
Today, however, Bobby Finstock stepped out of the boys' locker room and immediately narrowed his eyes. "Absolutely not."
Scott McCall, walking behind him with a clipboard tucked beneath his arm, nearly ran into his back. "What?"
"I don't know yet."
"Then why are you saying absolutely not?"
"Because I've lived in Beacon Hills longer than you've had chest hair, McCall. Silence is suspicious."
Scott opened his mouth. Stiles Stilinski appeared from the gym carrying a mesh bag full of lacrosse balls. "He's right."
"Thank you, Bilinski."
"Statistically speaking, weird silence in this school has about a seventy-percent chance of ending in bloodshed."
Scott sighed. "You made that statistic up."
"Obviously. But did it feel wrong?"
Scott couldn't argue with that. A fourth figure emerged from the counseling office farther down the hall. Isaac Lahey had his messenger bag slung over one shoulder and several folders tucked against his chest. "Why are you three standing in the hallway like you're waiting for a demon to appear?"
Finstock pointed at him. "Don't say demon."
Isaac stopped. "Why?"
"Because then one appears."
"That's not how demons work."
"How do you know?"
Isaac stared at him. Finstock stared back.
"Right," Isaac finally said. "Beacon Hills."
"Exactly."
The art room door opened behind Isaac, and River Ronan stepped into the hall with a streak of blue paint across one cheek. "Isaac, you forgot—"
River stopped. Four men were staring down the hallway. River slowly looked in the same direction. "What are we looking at?"
"Nothing," Scott said.
"Potentially a demon," Stiles added.
"No demon!" Finstock snapped.
Isaac rubbed a hand over his face. "I hate all of you."
River grinned and handed him the travel mug he'd apparently forgotten in the art room. "And yet you keep showing up."
"I'm paid to show up."
"Part of your job is being Finstock's assistant."
Isaac's expression became haunted. "Don't remind me."
"Hey!" Finstock protested. "Working with me is an honor."
"It's a cry for help," Stiles said.
Finstock spun toward him. "You are an assistant's assistant."
"I'm Scott's assistant."
"Exactly. McCall is my co-coach. Therefore, by the sacred hierarchy of lacrosse, you're beneath everybody."
Stiles frowned. "That's not how employment works."
"That's how lacrosse works."
Before Stiles could respond, Scott's head suddenly turned. His expression changed. Isaac noticed immediately. "What?"
Scott raised one finger. Everyone fell quiet. There it was. A faint scratching sound. Coming from farther down the hall. Finstock's eyes widened. Stiles whispered, "Okay. That's creepy."
"Why are you whispering?" River whispered back.
"I don't know. It feels appropriate."
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Finstock slowly reached into the pocket of his jacket. Scott looked at him. "What are you doing?"
Finstock pulled out a whistle. Stiles stared. "You're going to fight the supernatural with a whistle?"
"It works on you idiots."
"Fair."
They moved down the hallway together. Scott took the lead, because apparently being a True Alpha also meant automatically becoming the person everyone shoved toward suspicious noises. Isaac followed beside him, while Stiles remained close behind. River walked next to Isaac, still holding a handful of paintbrushes like improvised weapons. Finstock brought up the rear.
"This is ridiculous," Isaac muttered.
Scratch.
Everyone stopped. The noise was coming from a locker. Number 216.
Stiles pointed. "See? This is how horror movies start."
"No," Finstock said. "Horror movies start because attractive teenagers make terrible decisions."
River glanced around at the group. "Good thing we're all adults."
Finstock considered that. "We're doomed."
Scott approached the locker. Isaac sniffed cautiously. Scott glanced at him. Isaac frowned. "Don't look at me like that."
"What do you smell?"
"Dust. Metal. Finstock's cologne."
"That's called Victory Musk."
"That's called a health-code violation," Stiles said.
Scott reached for the locker handle.
"Wait," Stiles said.
Scott froze. Stiles stepped forward and carefully examined the door. "There's something taped to it."
A folded piece of notebook paper had been wedged beneath the handle. Across the front, written in thick black marker, were three words.
COACH FINSTOCK ONLY.
Everyone turned toward Coach. Finstock blinked. "Nope."
Scott frowned. "Coach."
"No."
"It's addressed to you."
"Exactly why I'm not touching it."
Stiles plucked the note free.
"Stilinski!"
"What? I'm your assistant's assistant. Apparently I'm expendable."
"Finally, you're learning."
Stiles unfolded the paper. His eyebrows rose. Then he looked at Finstock.
"What?"
Stiles' mouth twitched.
"What does it say?"
Scott leaned over his shoulder. Immediately, Scott started laughing.
"Oh, screw both of you." Finstock snatched the paper away.
He read it. His face went completely blank. Isaac leaned closer. "Well?"
Finstock silently turned the paper around. Written in enormous letters was:
COACH FINSTOCK,
YOU LEFT YOUR CAR LIGHTS ON.
AGAIN.
—JANITOR
There was a long silence. River bit their lip. Isaac looked toward the ceiling. Scott was already losing the battle not to laugh. Stiles didn't bother trying.
"Oh my God," Stiles wheezed. "We just formed a supernatural investigation team because you left your headlights on."
"I did not form anything!"
"You made us walk down the hall like Scooby-Doo characters!"
"I was protecting school property!"
Scratch.
Every trace of laughter vanished. All five of them slowly turned toward locker 216. Finstock's face paled.
"That," he whispered, "wasn't the note."
Scott moved forward and yanked the locker open. Something exploded out. River shouted. Isaac stumbled backward. Stiles grabbed Scott. Finstock blew his whistle.
A gray squirrel launched itself onto the floor, scrambled between Finstock's legs, raced down the hallway and disappeared around the corner.
Silence.
Isaac stared after it. Scott blinked. River lowered the paintbrush they'd been preparing to stab something with. Stiles slowly released Scott's shoulders. Finstock still had the whistle between his lips. Isaac finally turned toward him. "You blew your whistle at a squirrel."
Finstock removed it. "It ran away, didn't it?"
River burst out laughing. Scott followed. Even Isaac cracked, ducking his head as he laughed into his hand. Stiles pointed down the hallway. "You scared it off! Coach, your whistle actually defeated the threat!"
"You're damn right it did."
Finstock straightened his jacket with what remained of his dignity and began marching toward the exit. Scott called after him, "Where are you going?"
"Parking lot."
Stiles grinned. "Because your lights are on?"
Finstock stopped. Slowly, he turned around. "McCall?"
Scott immediately recognized that tone. "Yeah?"
"Tomorrow morning. Six a.m. Conditioning."
Scott's smile vanished.
"Isaac?"
"No."
"I didn't ask anything yet."
"I know where this is going."
"Six a.m."
Isaac groaned.
Finstock pointed at Stiles. "Stilinski."
Stiles backed away. "I'm not technically a coach."
"Six."
"That's abuse of power."
Then Finstock looked at River. River raised both hands. "Art teacher. Completely separate department."
Finstock narrowed his eyes. River smiled sweetly. "You can't make me run."
Finstock considered this before turning toward Isaac. "Control your significant other."
Isaac slipped an arm around River's waist. "Absolutely not."
River leaned comfortably against him. "Good answer."
Finstock muttered something under his breath and started walking again. Stiles watched him go. Then he looked at Scott. "So... we're not actually showing up at six, right?"
Scott sighed. Isaac sighed. From halfway down the hall, Finstock shouted without turning around. "I CAN STILL HEAR YOU, BILINSKI!"
Stiles stared after him. "Do you think he's supernatural?"
Scott picked up the abandoned bag of lacrosse balls. "No."
Isaac took River's hand as they started toward the exit. "Something worse."
River glanced at him. "What's worse than supernatural?"
Isaac looked toward Finstock disappearing through the doors. "Tenure."
From outside came an outraged shout. "LAHEY!"
River dissolved into laughter.
And just like that, the halls of Beacon Hills High were no longer silent. Which, as far as everyone was concerned, was probably safer.