Lydia sits on her purple comforter leaning back against the headboard of her bed with her legs crossed as she holds the vial of blue dust up to the lights. It sparkles under the yellow glow of her overhead light. She always found it strange how beautiful wolfsbane could be in any form. Delicate purple and blue flowers that peak out from under hoods made of petals, giving the appearance of a frightened, yet inquisitive child. From the side, the flowers remind her of moth wings - the petals curled at such an angle that flight seems inevitable. As if it's by chance that she ever happens to spy them resting on the stems. Lydia's always had a soft spot for beautifully dangerous things. Her cup of poison tea sits cooling on the nightstand next to her. She turns to look at it, her stomach already knotting into itself. Deaton had explained in depth what she would be facing, and Lydia knows her own mind well enough to be afraid. Especially since his last words had been so encouraging (not). "If you're not back within four hours, I'm sending someone in after you," had been the last thing the Druid said to her.

He'd described three separate levels, or planes of existence (Lydia isn't sure how literal Deaton meant his description to be). The first is more like a dream than the other two. It will hold her emotions - good and bad. What she'll encounter there could be version of the truth or a memory, but Deaton warned her not to trust what she sees in this first state. It will prey on her fears. The more power she gives to the experience, the stronger her fear becomes. If you don't return from you mind, chances are you never made it past your fears in the first plane.

The second state is more of wandering place. You'll meet the people you keep in your heart, and again, it'll be both good and bad. But this plane is less about emotion, and more about understanding. It's a trickster existence. She'll encounter both dreams and memories on the path, and each will try to convince her that it is the truth that she seeks. Making the decision to call the wrong one her truth could also leave her trapped.

The third state can only be reached if you successfully identity your truth in the second plane. Everything in the third existence is real. It's where the imprinted memories will be if you'd like to think of it in a biological manner. Like a vault where the soul stores all it's important documents. Character defining moments and situations that shaped you into who you are today and who you'll be tomorrow. This is where Lydia has to go. She must get there if she ever wants control over her mind again. To say the task is daunting doesn't quite capture the appropriate level of panic raging beneath her skin. But if she can do this, if she pulls it off - she'll be able to hear Allison again. She'll be able to hear Meredith. She'll be able to help people instead of just finding their bodies.

She could help Scott. She doesn't know what's happening to him, but it doesn't sound good. She almost regrets not telling Deaton about the Alpha's new teeth, but there wasn't enough time. It's up to her now. Lydia can, and will, do this. For her. For Allison. For Scott. For everyone.

She will solve this and save them all.

She picks up the warm mug, and downs the entire contents in two gulps. It has a flowery sweet taste with an acidic residue that burns slightly when it hits her stomach. She doesn't know how long it will take to kick in, so she texts Deaton immediately saying "Start your fours hours now." She lies down on her bed but keeps her eyes open. Now it's a waiting game to feel the Monkshood's effects. Just as she begins to worry that it won't work on banshees, Lydia notices her hands and feet are starting to tingle. Her last thought is the muddled realization that Deaton never explained how she'd know if she'd moved through a level.

Lydia opens her eyes to bright lights. She's lying on a hard uneven surface. She sits up and looks around at her surroundings. She's in the white room again. That means the hard surface she's sitting can only be the stump of the nemeton. She looks down and sees the endless rings of the dead tree stretch out around her. She's careful not to get a splinter as she climbs down. The room is larger than she remembers. It looks like she could walk for hours without reaching any one of the four walls. There are two sets of grand doors on opposite walls. Neither one feels particularly inviting, but she hears mumbled voices coming from only one of them. Lydia decides that is the door she must go through.

She runs as fast as she can towards it, trying not to panic when the door seems to be getting further away with every step she takes. She pauses to catch her breath then breaks out into a run once more. She has to be getting closer even if it looks like the door is the same distance off because the nemeton is getting further away. She turns around to check the stumps location when she stops to breath again. It's much further away that it was in the beginning, but when she looks at the set of doors, they seem even farther away too.

She has an idea.

Lydia stays facing the nemeton and walks backwards. She doesn't look behind her to check her progress. She only watches the nemeton get further and further away. She's so focused on the stomp that she almost misses the movement on the far side of the room behind it. Someone else is in the room with her, but she can't tell who. She walks a little faster just in case it's someone she doesn't want to see. She can tell they're walking towards her but they seem to be having the same problem that she was. She increases her pace again. She's not prepared for the roar that echos across the almost empty room. It hurts her ears, and makes her vision blur for a second.

That was Scott's roar.

Lydia can't see him clearly, but she knows it's Scott on the other side of the room. She's a little surprised that she's encountering him before Peter. This was supposed to be her emotions and fears right? Was she really that scared of Scott? She doesn't feel scared right now, but she also doesn't want to stop before she reaches the set of doors. He's making better use of his time and energy than she did. In fact, he's already reached the nemeton. She sees him a little clearer now. From what she can make out, he's untransformed (she hadn't been sure at first because of the roar) but his eyes are the dark red of an Alpha. Lydia's back hits a solid surface, and she uses her hands to confirm it's the door without turning around.

She tries to open it, but it feels jammed. She watches Scott's disturbingly fast progress through the white room. He's about half way between the nemeton and the door she's pressed up against. She pushes with her back as hard as she can against the door, but it doesn't budge. She's beginning to get scared now. Especially since Scott's gotten close enough for her to see specks of blood across his face. She ignores the red dripping off his hands, and starts throwing her back against the door as hard as she can. The door gives a little, but not enough to comfort her.

"It's not real," she says as she intensifies her efforts with the door, "It's not real, it's not real, it's not real."

She screams when Scott collides right into her. The extra force blows the doors wide open behind her, and she tumbles backwards through them.

Lydia lands hard on her back, her head smacking against what feels like concrete. She sits up to cradle her throbbing cranium and notices Scott is no where to be found. Thank God. She can't tell where she is now though. Everything is dark, pitch black almost. She can barely make out her own hand when she holds it in front of her. This will not do. She needs some sort of light source.

Hell, even a fucking candle would work.

She sees a faint flicker in the blackness to her right, reminding her of the way fire first licks at a newly waxed wick. Curious. Lydia shrugs to no one and reaches for the now glowing candlestick beside her. She holds it her hands, testing the strength of the wax and making it a reality in her mind. This has potential.

Lydia blows the candle out and closes her eyes. She concentrates on the image of a crystal chandler that shines just as bright and warm as noon day's sun shimmering in the blackness over her head. When she opens her eyes, she can clearly see the blown out candle in her hands, wisps of smoke still drifting from burnt wick. She wants to laugh. The precision she'd used to make every detail in the grand light fixture seems ludicrous now that she's able to see the chandler in the person. Are her taste really so gaudy? The entire situation fills her body with endless mirth until she shakes, and finally, concedes to her need for chortling. Her head still hurts from her fall, but Lydia doesn't care one little bit. She feels fucking fabulous. It's the fabulous feeling that drives the gravity of her situation home. It hits her hard. Lydia's controlling her own mental space.

How long had it been since she was anything but a lost and simpering child inside her own mind?

The thought gives her shivers so she imagines her favorite grey coat settling on her shoulders. She smirks as she feels it's weight on her shoulders and slips her arms inside the familiar warmth. The light from the chandler is nice, but it only illuminates what immediately surrounds her. As far as she can tell, it's nothing but white concrete floors. Maybe it's a hallway. She visualizes rows of lighting similar to what a school might use. She can instantly tell it's not a hallway from the portion the lights show. It's much too wide. She keeps imaging rows and rows of lights until she realizes she's back in the white room again. She stops the lights at the nemeton. If she's remembering correctly, she's about half way to one of the walls with a door. She turns around so that her back faces the stump and looks at the darkness now in front of her. Instead of imagining more lights, she closes her eyes and slowly extends her hands. She tells herself her hands will to be stopped by a white wall with a grand set of black doors on it. She nearly screams in glee when her hands hit a solid surface and she opens her eyes to a large black door. Well, it obviously didn't matter how long she'd been out of practice with her mental control. It's nearly flawless now.

Clearly, Lydia Martin's still a force to be feared inside of her own mind.

Lydia tries to push open the door, but it's stuck again. She sighs and turns around to face the nemeton. Maybe she should try the doors on the other side of the room. She closes her eyes and imagines the lights extending past the tree stump to the other wall. She's not surprised to see her mental trick worked, but she's caught off guard by the figure now illuminated at the opposite side of the room. It's difficult to make out all their features, but the mahogany hair and the crossbow clutched in their hands leaves no room for doubt in Lydia's mind.

"Allison!" she yells across the white room. The figure waves wildly at her and starts to run across the barren space. Lydia runs as fast as she can to meet the hunter. Her throat catches when she sees a blur moving behind Allison.

It almost looks like some sort of animal.

The movement occurs so fast that for a long five seconds, Lydia has no idea what happened. It's not until Scott stands to face her, blood splattered across his face and red dripping off his mouth and claws that she puts two and two together.

Lydia screams, never breaking pace in her effort to reach the fallen hunter. She skids past Scott, and slides into the red liquid leaking from her best friend's side.

"Oh no. Oh no no no no," She mutters while gently lifting Allison's head into her lap. "Allison, no, you're okay. This isn't real." The hunter coughs in the banshee's arms, her eyes lazily searching for Lydia's with an unfocused glaze.

"This is real, Lydia," says Scott. His eyes are red as he stares down at her. "Allison is dead." Lydia ignores him, and continues whispering to the dying hunter.

"Allison, you're okay. I'm here," She closes her eyes and curls around Allison's body, shielding the hunter from Scott's eyes. "This isn't real. This can't be real." Lydia squeezes Allison harder. "This isn't what happened." The girl in her ams sputters, and Lydia feels wet droplets land on her face. She runs her hands through Allison's hair, trying to calm the dying girl. Lydia feels the body seize and then relax in her arms while her hands still work through the hunter's hair. She opens her eyes, but what she sees causes her to scream and push the body from her lap.

It's not Allison.

It's a blank-eyed and milk-skinned girl with strawberry blond hair in a champagne colored party dress.

Lydia scrambles to put space between herself and her own dead body. She hadn't cared that she was sitting in blood when it was Allison, but the realization that she's coated in her own bodily fluids causes her hands to begin to shake. She can't stand up in the slippery liquid that covers the white floor. She tries and falls back into the red mess instantly. There's simply no traction in the thick wet substance. She crawls on her hands and knees towards the nemeton. She looks over shoulder and sees that the body is gone.

Why is there still blood everywhere if the body is gone?

The air rushes from her lungs at the sudden draining pain in her side. Lydia looks down at herself. She's wearing the same champagne colored dress with the exact same wound as her dead doppelgänger. Her limbs no longer carry the strength to keep her in a kneeling position, and she crashes to the floor. Lydia can feel her life leaking out the gaping hole in her side. She's dying.

Lydia's not supposed to die. Not here, and not like this.

She clenches her jaw and pushes against the floor with all her strength until she's back in a kneeling position. She will reach the nemeton.

"I'm impressed, little banshee," says a sickeningly familiar voice.

"Go away, Peter," she snarls through her teeth. She listens to his designer shoes click across the concrete as he walks towards her.

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that," he says, "See, you have to make me go away." He crouches down next to her, and sweeps the hair from her face. Lydia jerks back from his touch. He makes a 'tsk' sound through his teeth and grabs her chin. "You're dying, Lydia." He looks at the nemeton then back at her. It's distance of at least fifty feet to get to the tree stump. "I don't think you'll be able to reach it. Do you?" She breathes hard, her body shaking with the effort it takes to keep her up on her hands and knees. She ignores the hand holding her chin and closes her eyes.

She will do this.

Lydia imagines the tree stump right in front of her. She tells herself that if she can extend one arm, she'll be able to touch the rough bark. She lifts a shaking hand and reaches out blindly. She catches herself on the side of the nemeton before she falls on her face.

"Very impressive," says Peter. His voice sounds muffled like he's much further away.

Lydia opens her eyes and pulls herself up to side of the nemeton to find she is alone in the white room once more. She stays seated for a long time, resting her head on the damp surface of the stump. Her legs and arms are weak from the adrenaline still coursing through her veins, but at least she's no longer covered in blood and dying. She takes a deep breath and pulls herself into a sitting position on the stump. She's beginning to understand how this stage might reflect her emotions and fears. Lydia's almost embarrassed that she'd thought it'd be easy. Almost.

She stands once her limps stop shaking and surveys the room. She needs to try the other door. She's familiar with the logic of the white room now, so she closes her eyes and walks towards the opposite wall with her hands outstretched. It seems she walks for only a second before her hands meet a solid surface. She opens her eyes and before her is the another grand set of doors. She pushes against it gently and can tell from its give that she'll easily be able to open the doors. She turns to look behind her one last time out of curiosity and sees the nemeton is a football field's length away. How strange, but if she can leave this room, she doesn't care.

Lydia pushes the doors open and is about to walk through when someone calls her name in a hushed whisper. She turns around again, slowly. She sees them clear as day despite the distance they stand on the nemeton.

Allison and Stiles.

"Lydia," says Allison. Her voice trembles over the banshee's name. "It's not your fault. I swear it's not your fault." Lydia takes a step towards them. She doesn't like how close Stiles is standing to the hunter - slightly behind but to the side of Allison. She can't see his whole body and it makes her nervous.

"Allison," she says, "Let me help. I can help."

Allison shakes her head and says, "Please don't watch. Please, Lydia."

"Watch what?" says Lydia, her voice cracking in her panic. "Allison! Watch what?"

Stiles curls his lips and shows his white teeth in a bastardization of a smile. "This," he says and suddenly a blade is protruding from the hunter's stomach.

"ALLISON!" screams Lydia as she runs to the girl collapsing in a pool of blood.

Unbelievably strong arms catch her around the waist, and she feels a hand grip her throat.

"Uh-uh," says Stiles as he tightens his hold on her throat. "I think you've helped enough for one day, don't you?" She pulls violently against his hold and tries kicking her legs back into his, but he doesn't budge. Are human boys really this strong?

"Stiles! Let me go!" she yells. He chuckles into the curve of her neck before resting his chin on it.

"Do you want me to be Stiles, banshee?" he asks softy.

The question curdles her blood and she uses all her strength to push against his arms, but there's no effect. Not even a flinch on his part. Human boys definitely aren't this strong, but a Nogitsune possessed boy is, and he's forcing her to watch her best friend bleed out right before her eyes.

"I never could've done it on my own," he says while rubbing a cheek tenderly against hers. "You were such a great help to me."

"Shut up!" she growls as she intensifies her struggles against the obscenely strong arms around her waist and throat. "ALLISON!" Her throat is raw not only from her screams, but from the now crushing grip around it. Is he trying to kill her? Lydia's so fucking mad, she does the only thing she has left to do. She whips her head to the side and spits in Stiles's surprised face. She uses his shock to explode from his arms and runs to the gasping hunter.

She skids on her knees and lifts Allison into her arms. The hunter reaches a hand to Lydia's face, and wipes away a tear the banshee didn't even know was there.

"It was going to be one of us," says Allison as she keeps her hand resting on Lydia's cheek. "I knew when I saw your warning it was going to be one of us." She stops to cough, and blood trickles down the side of her mouth. "I'm so glad it wasn't you. I know it's selfish, but I wouldn't have been able to go on without you." Lydia can't stop crying now even though both of Allison eyes are completely dry.

"But what about me?" she says as her voice trembles. "Allison, I haven't been able to go on either. I need you. You're my best friend." Lydia can barely say the words above a whisper.

Allison tries to smile, but looks more like a grimace. The pain must be getting worse.

"Lydia," she says, "I promise we'll always be best friends, okay?" Her voice sounds hoarse like every word is taking too much effort get out of her mouth. "But you've got to keep going. It doesn't end for you her-" Allison mouth goes slack and the rest of the word just comes out as air. The hunter's last release of breath. Then the body is simply gone from the banshee's arms.

Lydia screams. The walls of the room shake and rumble from the force she uses to project the sound out of her lungs. She collapses against the cold concrete where Allison's body was moments ago. It's all she can do to keep breathing. She ignores the slow and steady clapping coming from behind her.

"Now that was a scream," laughs a hollow voice. Lydia doesn't turn to face the possessed Stiles, but she does address him.

"Why are you still here?"

She hears him walking closer to her. Soon she can see his dirty shoes in front of her even without lifting up her head or eyes from the barren concrete beneath her defeated form. He couches down in front her, a disturbingly sincere smile on his face.

"That was heart-wrenching," he says, "Not my cup of tea, but whew," He frames his face with the palm of his hands before clapping them together. "Stiles would have loved it. It had everything you want when a best friend dies."

"Why are you still here?" she repeats as she tries hard to keep the sobs from working their way out of her throat. The Nogitsune Stiles sits down next to her.

"I wonder. . ." he says. "Probably because you're still afraid." Lydia raises her head to look at him. He still has her spit on his left cheek. He continues talking when they make eye contact, "What are you still scared of, hmmm? I mean your best friend is already dead and gone. A noble sacrifice on her part. Maybe you wish it was you?"

"I don't wish I was dead."

"Oh Lydia, that's cute," he says, "Do you really believe that? Then why are you still here? Why are we still talking? This is your mind, right?" She ignores him so he continues, "I don't believe you. Not for one second. You're a banshee with a death wish."

"This isn't real" she mutters to herself.

"You're right. It's not real, but that doesn't mean it isn't happening. Doesn't mean I'm not here right now." He crawls closer to her.

"Go away," she says.

"I will," he says with a toothy grin. "I promise the moment you're not scared of me, I'll be gone."

"I'm not scared of you," she says.

"But you're shaking," he informs her with a tilt of his head. "And I can taste the pain you give off in the air."

"You're not real," she says in a stronger voice. He covers his face with a hand and laughs softly before slamming the hand down in front of her. Lydia jumps at the noise.

"But that's the best part," he says with wide eyes, "I don't have to be real to scare you, banshee. Don't you understand?" He laughs again and Lydia has to curb every impulse in her body not to reach out and slap him. "I'll give you a hint. You're still here because you haven't admitted something."

"And what would that be?"

"I can't tell you the answer," he says flatly, "I already gave you a big hint."

"Allison death wasn't my fault," she says quickly. She won't play this game with him of all people. "I tried to warn her. She didn't listen. And you killed her."

"Did I?" His tone is flat again. Uninterested almost.

"You killed her," she repeats the words in a firm tone as if she's speaking to a disobedient child.

"But she wasn't there for me," he nearly sings, "She was there for you, banshee."

"I didn't kill her." Her voice stays strong.

"It wasn't by your hands, you're right about that," he chuckles and shakes a finger at her as if to say she's the naughty child now.

"I didn't kill Allison!" She yells it louder than she would have liked. Lydia realizes her voice also shook during the declaration which isn't good either.

"She died for you though," He says the words softy. He turns to face her with a drooping brow, his lips curved down and pulled taunt between his teeth. He holds both hands under his chin while he stares at her, and it's awful how much he looks like her Stiles.

She wouldn't be able to take it if it was her Stiles.

He continues in a somber voice, all previous glee and gloating having dissipated from his tone, "Such a heroic death she died."

Lydia is quiet a moment. Not because she doesn't know what to say (she's never been at a loss for words, ever,) but because the response she has - the one she has every time she revisits Allison's death in her thoughts- is almost too much to say out loud. She feels it so powerfully in every bone, nerve, muscle, and synapsis of her body that it never occurred to her she might have to say it out loud one day.

And to be quite honest, she wishes she had a better audience.

"I would have done the same for her," Lydia says. She tries to keep the emotion from her words, but its overwhelming, the amount of grief she feels tumbling into her voice as she speaks, "I would have died to keep her safe." The weight of the her grief forces her down to the floor, and she keeps a cheek pressed against the cold concrete. She would've done anything to protect Allison.

"Then maybe you should. What use are you to the pack with or without your maddening voices anyway? You couldn't save Allison. You couldn't save Meredith. Honestly, I'm not seeing any real potential." He creeps much closer during the conversation. She's not surprised when a hand trails through her hair. "I can end it for you, banshee. Right now. It's the least I could do." She starts to pull away from him but he wraps an arm around her shoulders and brings her closer. "You won't ever have to worry about failing someone again."

The arms around her shoulders move up until two hands are gripping her throat. He doesn't hold back either. Within seconds, Lydia's vision is blurring and she can't take breaths. She wants to fight back, she does, but there's so much truth in his cruel words. She failed everyone. She killed Allison. She killed Meredith. She doesn't understand how Scott and Stiles still look at her. She's useless. Pathetic. All she does is scream and cry and find dead bodies if she's not already the one responsible for the death itself.

She deserves to die.

It's so faint, that Lydia almost doesn't hear it at first. The noise is just a tickle in the back of her head. Then it grows and swarms until all she can hear is the fierce tone of Allison whispering in her mind.

Lydia, you're stronger than this. Lydia, god dammit, do something. Don't let it end like this. I swear to god, I'll never forgive you if you don't fight back right now.

Lydia still can't breath, but she doesn't need too. She closes her eyes and focus on the sensation of metal between her hands. She feels the cold steel in her grip and imagines the metal sliding to a point. When she's positive her thoughts are a reality in her hand, she brings both arms up and behind her. There's a choking sound, and then the grip around her throat weakens and drops away all together. She crawls forward coughing, only turning around to face her attacker once she's caught her breath. The boy wearing Stiles's face lies on his side, hands tightly clasped around the knife protruding from his neck.

Lydia stands and runs as fast as she can to open door in front of her. She slams it closed the second she's through it. She leans head first against the door, catching her breath from her near death experience. She can already tell without turning around that she's no longer in the white room. The lighting is way too natural. She turns around only to pulled into two slender but surprisingly strong arms. Her face is pressed against someone's neck, but she feels the long hair tickling her cheek, and when she looks out the corner of her eye, she can see some mahogany strands simmering in the sun.

Allison takes a deep breath, and lets Lydia go. It's clear that Allison's been crying. Her eyes are red and puffy, and her cheeks are still flushed. She looks at Lydia with her mouth in a tight line until she breaks into mixture of laughter and crying. The hunter tries to compose herself, but she's doing a real shit job, and finally, appears to give up the facade. She hits Lydia hard on the shoulder with a closed fist and turns away from the banshee like she can't even look at her.

"Don't ever fucking scare me like that again!" says Allison. "I know I'm already dead, but you almost fucking killed me again. God!" She runs her hands through her hair before she turns to Lydia and gives a teary-eyed smile. "Welcome to level Two, Lydia. I'm your dead best friend, Allison, and I'll be your guide."

"You're my guide?" asks Lydia. She tries to keep her tone neutral but she's positive some hopefulness just snuck in there. Is this her mind's idea of Allison? Or (dare she even think it) is this really Allison?

Her Allison.

"Technically, I'm making myself your guide," Allison shrugs with shy smile. "Truthfully, I just want to hang out with you. You're a hard girl to get a hold of in your own mind." It's clear Allison wanted her words to be taken as a joke, but the hunter drops her shoulders at the truth in the statement. She continues in a less playful tone, "I'm proud of you, Lydia. I'll admit, I was super pissed when I realized you were doing something this dangerous, but I'm proud of you."

"I've been here before," says Lydia as she looks around. "I don't remember how, but I know I've been here." Allison's lips curl up and she nudges Lydia with her shoulder.

"I showed you this place in a dream," says the hunter, "Come on, we should get moving."

"In a dream," repeats Lydia slowly. She looks around the sunny forest again before turning to face Allison. "You're really her, aren't you? I mean, you're Allison, not my mind's version of Allison." The hunter grabs the banshee's hand and starts to pull her down a path in the woods.

"I'm the only real person you'll meet down here," Allison says as she starts a fast pace. Lydia has to run to keep up with her.

"But I haven't heard you in weeks," says Lydia, "I thought you were gone."

"Trapped," corrects Allison, "Not gone. Whatever drug you took to do this trance thing loosened all you mental doors and dividers. It was easy for me to get out."

"You were trapped in my mind?"

"Locked in a room that only one person had access to," she spits the words out as if taking too long to say them will leave a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Was it Scott?" asks Lydia. Allison stops walking and turns to face her.

"That's not important now," says the hunter, "What we need to do is get you to the deepest level of your mind, and we need to hurry." She turns and starts pulling Lydia even faster down the forest path. "Deaton said you only get four hours before he sends someone in after you. Who do you think the Druid will choose?"

"Stiles, obviously," Lydia says. Allison raises an eyebrow and grins at her. "Oh please," continues Lydia, "I had to go into his mind, it's only fair he return the favor."

Allison smiles and shakes her head. "Whatever you say. You really are the best at deflection though," she says.

"I get a lot of practice," says Lydia with a shrug as she steps over a branch.

"So they'll send in Stiles, that's good," says Allison, "The only problem is Stiles can't enter your mind on his own."

"What do you mean?" asks Lydia.

"Think about it. Did you enter Stiles's mind on your own?"

"No," says Lydia with wide eyes, "No, I had to go with Scott. Since he's the one who actually bridges the two minds together."

"Exactly," says Allison. "If we don't get to your memories before Scott and Stiles show up, things are gonna be much harder."

Lydia lets the hunter continue to drag her through the forest, but she's beginning to feel like they might be going the wrong direction. The same way she would walk towards the black doors in the white room, but they got further away with every forward step she took.

"Allison," she says, "Where are we going?"

"I don't know. I'm just trying to get us out of these woods and back to something more familiar to you."

"Stop a minute." Lydia's tone is curious. "I want to try something. Keep holding my hand, but close your eyes, okay?" Allison sighs, but does as the banshee asks. Lydia focus on a hallway with light blue lockers and bright fluorescent lights. "Okay," she says, "you can open your eyes now." Allison is silent as she takes in her surroundings.

"You took us to school?" The disbelief is clear in her voice.

"I have a lot of bad memories tied to this place," says Lydia, "But I've got some great ones too. It's where we first met, you know." Allison rolls her eyes, but smiles anyway.

"Like I'd forget that," the hunter says.

The two girls walk down the abandoned hallway in silence. Every now and then, a light flickers overhead, but for the most part, the bulbs stay constant. Lydia trails a hand over the open lockers as she walks. She's not sure what she should be doing now. Getting to her inner mind, of course, but how? So far, everything Deaton explained has been a little off to Lydia. But she guesses she can't really blame the Druid. It's her mind that's calling the shots. But his wording of the experience bugs her. She has to follow her truth. What the hell does that even mean? How will she know when she finds it? The whole point of this little exercise was to figure out what's real anyway, and she won't know that answer until she reaches the last level. It feels like a catch 22.

Lydia's completely absorbed in her thoughts when Allison flings an arm in front of her, forcing the banshee to come to a stop. Allison turns to Lydia and puts a finger over her mouth. She motions for Lydia to follow her into a classroom, and then closes the door as quietly as possible once both girls are inside the room. She keeps her hands pressed against the door.

"Did you hear that?" Allison asks in a whisper without turning to face Lydia. The hunter is peering through the only small window on the classroom door.

"Hear what?"

"Foot steps," says Allison, "Like someone's tip-toeing down the hall." Lydia shakes her head, and wraps her arms around herself.

"Who is it?" she asks in hushed tone.

"I don't know," Allison says, "I can't see anything through this stupidly tiny window." All of a sudden, Allison jerks back from the door. She turns to Lydia with wide eyes. "There's definitely someone out there." The two girls creep back form the door, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the hallway as possible. "If something happens," continues Allison, "stay behind me."

Lydia rolls her eyes. "That makes no sense," she says, "It's my mind, so, no. I'm in front. Besides, I'm not watching you die again." Lydia shakes her arms and then her legs quickly before rolling her neck. "I've done that too many times already."

Allison watches Lydia continue to prepare for some sort of physical altercation. Allison has to turn her head to the side so Lydia won't notice the smile sneaking up the hunter's face. Of course, the banshee does anyway.

"Why are you smiling?" says Lydia.

"Nothing," Allison says with a slight laugh as she shakes her head. She looks down at the ground then back up at Lydia. "Nothing, it's just, you look adorable preparing for battle like that." Lydia stops mid stretch, and lets her arms drop back to her sides as she narrows her eyes.

Adorable really isn't the vibe she's going after here.

"Sorry we're not all trained badasses like you," Lydia mumbles. Allison smacks her on the back.

"Don't worry about. That's why I'm here."

The jovial mood dissipates when they hear movement outside the room. True to her word, Lydia steps in front of Allison as both girls watch the door knob turn with bated breath. The door swings open to reveal a girl in black boots wearing a leather jacket over a white tee with skinny jeans. Her eyes are fierce and she's clutching a crossbow.

Lydia and Allison speak at exactly the same time, the confusion clear in both of their voices, "Allison?" says Lydia while the hunter next to her whispers, "It's me?"