Derek feels blind when entering the school. Naked. His instincts tells him to lift his chin and take a sharp intake of breath, trying to catch one of the teenagers’ scent, but there’s nothing. He can’t smell them. He can’t hear their heartbeats. It hurts, knowing he’s just as helpless as the assassin running around looking for the same thing he is.
It’s like a weight is lifted off his shoulders when he picks up the faint sound of Stiles’ voice, too far away to make out the words but close enough to recognize. Derek lets out a heavy breath, heading for coach’s office where it came from. The door is ajar, and he’s just about to rip the door open and call out Stiles’ name, when there’s a second voice.
"I’m going to count to three, and then I’m going to kill you."
Derek freezes, mind racing. He looks down on his bare right hand, free from claws and strength that he otherwise would be able to snap neck’s with. Swallowing, he adjusts the grip on the gun in his left hand, safety already off, recalling the look on the sheriff’s face when giving it to him on his way in.
Find them. Find my son.