Stiles's Arc

Chapter 13 of 20

Stiles drove home from the loft with Malik's words still ringing. Let go. Cut the anchor. He fell into bed without changing clothes. Sleep grabbed him fast. He was in the school library again. The long shelves stretched too far. Footsteps echoed behind him. The Nogitsune walked between the stacks, small and wrapped in dirty bandages, red eyes burning through the gauze. It carried a coil of black thread in one gloved hand. Stiles knew the other end was tied to his chest. He ran. The thread pulled tight. He sprinted down the hall and his foot caught on a tree branch lying across the tile. He went down hard. He woke gasping. Wet mud soaked his back. No bedroom. No ceiling. Pines stood black against a sick gray sky. A river slid past him, slow and almost black. A small wooden dinghy rocked against the bank, half full of dark water. Two white eyes opened in the river. The water rose. It pulled itself up into a tall shape of dripping sludge, shoulders hunched, long clawed hands reaching. The Acheron. It did not move closer. It only watched. Stiles felt the black thread from the dream still tugging inside his ribs, and understood. The thing was waiting for him to keep holding on. Stiles dug in his pocket and found the jackal coin he always carried. His hand shook. He threw it into the river. The Acheron flinched, hissed, and sank back into the current. Not dead. Wounded. Stiles stood up, mud cold on his legs, and started walking toward the road. He would tell Scott in the morning. All of it. No more thread.