Lydia lay in the hospital bed, wind whipping debris past her window as she stared out, but she didn't see any of it. Her mind was otherwise occupied.
Her mother and father had both been in to see her and gone again; not together of course, but still they'd both came. Her father had muttered about lawsuits and her mother had mentioned stringing up whoever had hurt her, but both were empty platitudes meant to make the right sort of noise in case anyone important was listening.
She ignored the nurses who fussed and tutted, and the streaks of lightening and the wild, wild wind. She didn't think about Jackson or Aiden or even Stiles. Her mind was working. Processing and cross referencing anything in any of the books they'd read. She was mentally re-translating the relevant section of the Argent bestiary from memory; contemplating each word and being more precise this time about conjugation and proper word choice.
After a very very long time, she squared her shoulders, and held her head up. She fixed her make-up and then demanded her release papers. Once again back in control of herself and her future, she prepared to dive back into the battle that was her life.
She was totally going to rock this banshee thing.