𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐥 | 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢

chapter 30

STILES

Scott's living room is in complete chaos.

It looks like a tornado hit it. Bookshelves, once neat and organized, stand empty, their contents strewn across the floor. The coffee table is buried under papers, both ripped-out pages from books we've destroyed and hastily scribbled notes we had yet to find a place for. Furniture has been shoved aside and overturned. Cabinets have been left open. It was starting to look like a robbery gone wrong, but the only crime here is that we still haven't found what we need.

The one thing we need to save Rowan.

I'm starting to get relentless. I flip through stacks of book, shoving them aside when they don't contain the familiar leather cover of Rowan's journal. My breathing is ragged, my hands are shaking, my heart is pounding so hard in my chest I'm surprised it hasn't cracked open already, spilling out what little emotion I have left.

"Stiles, slow down. We'll find it," Scott's voice rang through my ears, his attempts to steady me failing.

I don't slow down. I don't even acknowledge Scott's words. My mind is running a thousand miles per hour, thoughts colliding with each other, forming a tangled, suffocating mess of fear and determination.

Malia huffs from the kitchen, "Why do humans always hide things in the worst places?"

"You think it would just be sitting out in the open..." Liam mumbles, going through his own stack of books.

"In case you haven't noticed, not all people are able to keep little dens with their sacred momentos," I shot a look at Malia who glared at me in return.

"Guys, just... keep looking," I could tell Scott's stress was rising with the way he was trying to keep us all under control. He's had this problem very little throughout our friendship as a pack, and I knew he didn't like it when we fall apart like this.

"Fighting isn't going to help you find it faster," Derek muses, doing his best to keep the space neat as we all tossed books onto the ground in an unorganized fashion.

"What would help us is if it was never lost in the first place," I said under my breath.

"Stiles," Scott warns, "I understand you're upset, but this is starting to get out of hand."

I pressed my lips together, "Well–"

"She wouldn't want this," Scott cuts me off, reminding me of the truth.

I huff, picking up another stack of books all before a gasp from Lydia breaks the tension. We all freeze, our eyes trailing to her as she held up Rowan's mother's journal in her hand like a trophy she just won at the supernatural rally.

My heart stopped, seeing the familiar leather cover in her hands. Other than her necklace, it served as another reminder that Rowan is real, another reminder that we might be able to bring her back home.

Lydia opens the book and I rush to her side, but the minute she begins touching the pages, it's evident something is very wrong. When her fingertips make contact with the ink, it begins to ripple and come to life like water is bubbling in the fibers of the paper.

"Oh my god," Lydia says in a hushed whisper.

She walks past me, clearing a spot on the coffee table and placing it down before us. We all crowd around it, the pages splayed open in front of us. We are able to see glimpses of Rowan's mother's scrawled notes and sigils. Lydia goes through the journal quickly searching, flipping through pages, scanning for something, anything that might help.

As I look over her shoulder, a sickening realization settles into me quickly. I've seen this all before, we all have. We've gone through this journal cover to cover so many times I practically have it memorized. This was our last ditch effort and now we hit another dead end.