Stiles's Arc

Chapter 16 of 20

Stiles stared at his empty palm. The coin was gone — thrown into the river in the vision, the only anchor he'd ever owned. Outside, the storm hammered the windows. Isaac's phone buzzed. Scott. On their way. Roads flooded. Hours, maybe. Then Lydia screamed his name. The ash line at the back hall was bleeding gray into a puddle. Water had crossed it. The Acheron was inside. "Gym," Stiles snapped. They grabbed what was left — a jar of ash, a beaker, a small burner from the chem cart — and ran. The gym doors slammed behind them. Stiles laid the gear on the wooden scorer's table like an altar. Beaker. Flame. Ash. No anchor. "I've got nothing," Stiles said. His voice cracked. "I threw it away." Isaac reached under his collar and pulled a thin chain over his head. A silver arrowhead swung from it. Allison's. He set it in the beaker without a word. Lydia's eyes filled. Stiles couldn't speak. Isaac just struck the burner. "It'll take time to burn," he said. Flame caught the silver. Lydia looked down. Puddles spread across the gym floor, joining, rising. The water was already here. Stiles met Isaac's eyes over the small blue flame. They were out of time.