Malia can almost taste the desperation in the air. It radiates off of Scott, Lydia, Sheriff Stilinski, and even her. Especially her. As she runs, Malia tries to remember everything about Stiles: his voice, his laugh, the way he held her. Each memory seems to propel her forward with a speed she didn't know she had. But, eventually the group hits a dead end, a thick brick wall with no outlets. All of them stop, completely confused and frustrated.

Malia watches, breathing hard, as Scott searches the wall, his hands running up and down it. Lydia and Sheriff Stilinski haven't caught up to them quite yet, and their footsteps still echo down the tunnels. After realizing that there's nothing to find, Scott yells out and punches the wall. He sounds like a dying animal, his wail filled with rage and grief.

"Scott," Malia says, placing her hand gently on his arm. As he glances at her, Lydia and Sheriff Stilinski catch up to them. They look around, though Malia doesn't know what they expect to find. The maroon bricks are illuminated by a flashlight in Sheriff Stilinski's hand, no sign of Stiles anywhere on them. Dust floats in the closed off space, nearly suffocating Malia. But it's more than just dust that's making it hard to breath.

"Where is he?" she asks roughly. Scott just shakes his head and pounds the wall again. Sheriff Stilinski runs his hand through his hair, rocking back on his heels. Lydia walks slowly over to the wall and touches it softly, her face a mixture of pain and longing. Malia waits for her to say something, to tell them that she has a feeling or a premonition. But Lydia just lets out a small sob and rests her head against the wall.

"Lydia," Malia whispers, touching her friend's shoulder. "What is it?" Lydia gazes up at her, her eyes clouded over, like a person waking from a dream.

"He was here," Lydia announces. She meets the eyes of her companions. "When they took him." All of them are silent for a moment after this, allowing the fact to sink in.

"How?" Scott asks. "And how do you know?"

"I don't know how, exactly. I think it's some sort of trick or trap that the Horsemen use." Lydia pauses and Malia sees her swallow. "As for the other question, I know because I was there." A single tear falls from Lydia's left eye as her voice cracks. "I was with him." They all stand there, silently, shocked and confused.

"Why didn't you tell us this before?" Scott asks.

"At first I didn't remember, but then it came back to me and I…" Lydia trails off, glancing over a Malia. "I didn't think it mattered," she finishes with a shrug.

Malia can't help but notice the scent coming off of Lydia, the one she was too worried to sense before. But now Malia can smell it strongly, and it takes her breath away. There is loss, desperation, heartbreak, all in equal measure. Yet there's one scent that radiates off of her, practically consuming all the other emotions: love.

And, suddenly, everything clicks into place: Lydia's strangeness around her when they were searching the tunnels, her discomfort when Malia held his flannel, the fact that she kept her last memory of Stiles to herself. There's only one explanation for it all, for the furious beat of Lydia's heart. Malia should know; it's the same as her own.

Lydia is in love with Stiles.

"How did you not feel this?" Malia asked Stiles, picking a piece of glass out of the skin just below his left ear. They were alone in a room of the animal clinic, the rest of their friends attending to their own injuries. Malia had volunteered to help Stiles since the rest of the pack had their hands full. If she was being honest, though, she just wanted to spend time with Stiles.

"I guess I was too distracted at the time," he responded with a shrug. It was early in the morning, just hours after they had rescued Lydia from Eichen House, and light was beginning to seep into the room. This light illuminated Stiles' injuries, mostly cuts from the glass Lydia had broken with her scream. Malia smoothed her hand over his wounded skin.

"Lydia really did a number on you," she joked. But Stiles didn't laugh. In fact, he flinched slightly at her touch. He tried to play it off like he was stretching his shoulders, but Malia could tell that something was off.

"Yeah, well I'm just glad she's alive," he said. His voice was suspiciously closed off. Malia tried to catch his eyes with her own, but he wouldn't look at her.

"Me too," was all she could think to say. They were quiet for a few minutes as Malia cleaned his cuts and bandaged him up. As she was putting the last bandage on, her finger grazed his neck lightly, and she thought back to when she would kiss the skin there. Her mind was suddenly thrust back into memories of endless nights spent tangled up in his sheets, kissing and laughing and whispering secrets and stories. Back to the days when his love for her was as strong as, if not stronger than, her love for him.

Stiles cleared his throat after she placed the last bandage on, and Malia was forced to realize that those days were over. Yet that didn't mean that she could or would stop loving him, that she didn't want him to be happy. She may not have known much about being human until recently, but she had learned at least one thing about human love: it is selfless in a way that an animal cannot understand. Malia had not comprehended this at first, unable to compare it to anything she'd learned as a coyote. But when Stiles had stayed with her during the full moon, even though survival instinct and logic both should have deterred him, she finally got it.

Now something was becoming just as clear, as the morning light began to illuminate Stiles' features. Perhaps it was her inability to let Stiles go that had made her miss the fact that he was already gone. She could tell that he cared for her still, but that his affections had shifted elsewhere. The way he had fought for Lydia, the tone of voice in which he said her name, the way he looked at her; it was becoming impossible to deny the truth.

As Stiles got up to leave the room, Malia grabbed his arm. He stopped but he still wouldn't look at her.

"You love her, don't you?" she asked, already knowing the answer. There was a pause and Maia wondered if he wouldn't admit it. Finally, he sighed and gazed up at her, meeting her eyes for the first time.

"Yes," he admitted. Then he shook his head. "But it doesn't matter. She doesn't love me." In spite of it all, Malia laughed, a short, breath of a laugh.

"It matters, Stiles," she said, squeezing his arm slightly. "And I think she does."

"I don't know," he said with a shrug.

"I do," Malia responded. "How could she not?" He smiled at her then, a warm but sad smile, and she knew that this was how their story would end. Somehow, she was okay with it. Maybe she was beginning to understand being human after all.

"I'll always love you. You know that, right?" Stiles whispered. Malia nodded, unable to form the right words. But then, a second later, they came to her.

Even though it hurt, Malia kissed his cheek softly and said, "Goodbye, Stiles."

Malia can't help but be both heartbroken and happy. To know that Lydia returns Stiles' affections is exactly what she hoped for him, but it is also what will break her.

Just as Malia is about to go over to Lydia, a thunderous stomping sound overwhelms her eardrums. All of them look at each other, knowing that their fate has been decided. They don't even try to escape, though, if they did, there wouldn't be a way out anyway. No, Malia, Scott, Lydia and Sheriff Stilinski just gaze down the dark tunnel, awaiting the arrival of the echoing gallops.

"The Horsemen are coming," Scott says. Lydia shakes her head.

"No, the Horsemen are here," she says. Then it all goes black.