After the beach day, Ky's friendship with Stiles grew into a comfortable routine that would have been strange, if it didn't feel so easy. When her right side healed enough, he began joining her on evening walks around the neighbourhood. They'd visit the old elementary school. At one point, Stiles mentioned Allison again while describing an old bowling memory. The warmth of the recall faded and was replaced by quiet afterward. Finally, Ky asked the question.

"How did she die?"

"Doesn't matter. Just that she did," he replied coldly, before changing the subject.

That night, she went home and looked up 'Allison, Beacon Hills death.' Only a short, general obituary could be found. Allison Argent, age 17. Survived by her father.

Other evenings after dinner, she would sit out on the porch to sketch instead, subconsciously glancing at the houses across the street every once in a while. Soon it was easy to notice that Sheriff Stilinski- Stiles's father- tended to stay late at the station. He usually wouldn't be back before dark, around the time Ky went back in. The blue jeep parked in their driveway sat unmoved more days than most. She couldn't help but wonder what Stiles did for dinner, and how lonely it would be to eat alone so often.

The mundanity of life had put Ky into a disgruntled mood. One day to get out of the house, she decided to walk to the local cemetery.

The funeral home stood to the right, a grand old churchhouse painted white with black trimmings. The rest of the cemetery was made up of looming hills and gravestones, bordered off with regal black metal fencing. A matching black metal gate marked at the entrance, with overarching letters on top that read Beacon Hills Cemetery. She pushed hard- the gate was surprisingly heavy- and it creaked open slowly. The parking lot was nearly empty. The sun was shining. Maybe it was too nice of a day to visit the dead.

Then again, maybe there was no such thing.

Out of habit and respect, she read the names and epitaphs on the tombstones and mausoleums while passing by. Eventually she went up a small hill overlooking the grounds, before settling on a spot by the oak tree at the top. It was a good vantage point for sketching.

Ghosts and their tombstones made for quiet company, but it wasn't long before her trance was broken by the sound of footsteps from another visitor, behind the tree. She felt a wave of sullen remorse. Right. Breathe in and out, and silently. Concentrate on the drawing. The shape of those wisping clouds. The curve of the mausoleum roof, further away. It was working well, until she heard him speaking quietly.

"Hey, Allison."

Ky's pencil froze in place. Don't eavesdrop, she reminded herself. But it was no use when the boy was in earshot. It wasn't Stiles, either.

"I dunno what to say, really. I mean, it's been two months. Since. Yea." He grew quiet for a while before speaking again.

"I know we probably wouldn't have talked for a long time, if you were still alive. It'd probably just be awkward glances and seeing each other in the halls and trying to avoid eye contact." He chuckled, but it was hollow. "We'd make it to graduation."

More silence. The birds chirped overhead. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I just wish you knew how- I just." He sighed in frustration. "I wish it had been me instead. I'm the one who got us all into this mess. Should've stayed home that night. Forced Stiles to, too."

Ky almost recognized the voice now, behind the tree.

"Then maybe we could have had a normal fight. Worry about midterms and parties instead. Your dad might like me more." Scott chuckled again. "Or maybe not. I'm just so sick of it, you know? All the fighting. The dying… It's hard to enjoy the summer when I'm just waiting for the next... anyway. Just feels so pointless. This lull. But I can't do anything until something else happens, I guess. If it happens," he corrected. "Maybe we'll make it through and go to college and this'll all just be like a nightmare…"

"But it wouldn't change anything that happened. You'll still be gone."

Scott was quiet for a long time after that. Ky would have guessed he'd left, if the air didn't still feel so heavy.

"I'm worried about him, you know. I know you don't blame him, but he still… it's been rough."

He got up and said his goodbyes, and the grief felt like it was lingering in Ky's blood. She risked a peek to see if it really was him. Well, it must have been; he'd mentioned Stiles by name. Was that who he was talking about, at the end? And from the sound of it, they'd dated, or were dating, or something in between. Either way, there was such love, such softness in how he talked to her. Such regret.

From the back, she couldn't tell if it was the same boy who'd been in some of her grade-school classes. He was tall and more built now. A simple, dark tattoo peeked out of his t-shirt, wrapped around his arm. He stopped mid-step and turned around. Ky whipped back behind the tree.

The boy paused but then left, probably deciding it was nothing. His footsteps grew quiet.

"He knew you were there, you know."

Ky yelped, not noticing someone else leaning on another tree nearby on the same hill with his hands in his pockets. They were both out of view from the grave in question. He was tall and lanky, with curly hair in a black suit slightly too big. A nametag was pinned at his chest.

Nametag, funeral home… Ky recalled the family who owned the place. The Laheys.

"... Isaac?"

The boy nodded, gave a wry smile. "Kyla. You're back."

"Just for the summer."

"Mm." He looked out towards the path that Scott had left from. "To be fair, I think he knew I was here too."

"There's no way he could've seen us."

"No, but- nevermind. He knew."

Ky sighed. "Damn. That's embarrassing."

Isaac shrugged, still looking out to the grounds. "Maybe."

Seeing another familiar face, albeit less than friendly, was relieving. He made his way over to her so they could talk more easily instead of cutting the conversation short and leaving, so maybe he felt the same way. Or maybe it was just common courtesy. Isaac sat down near her, sticking one knee up. His hair was disheveled and with the formal attire, he looked oddly like he belonged right in front of the grassy, tombstone-marked background. Ky learned that his father owned the place and he worked there in the summers, and she told him about San Fran and the summer situation.

"You wanna come visit with me?" Isaac asked, after a moment.

"What do you mean?"

He nodded down towards where Scott had been. "I knew her, too."

"Oh. Sure, yea."

They made their way down. Allison's tombstone was beautiful; made of dark marble, engraved with flowers around the epitaph: Allison Celestine Argent. Rest in peace. Fresh flowers had just been laid down, violet irises, just bloomed.

They stood there for a while.

"What was she like?"

Isaac was surprised at that. "I thought you'd want to know how I knew her first."

"Well, yea, but you know. Not my place to pry."

"It's okay. We were friends." He shoved his hands in his pockets again. One of the seams on the inside of the arm was fraying. "She was really sarcastic."

"So, like you."

"Ha. I guess so. Caring. She knew what was important. Confident. Brave."

"She sounds like a great person. Loved and cared about, too."

Isaac smiled softly at that. "Yea. She was." He glanced at her. "I've worked here long enough to know that there's one other thing people are dying to know."

Ky raised her eyebrows and they both glanced at the grounds before looking back at each other. They both winced. "That they really wanna know," he amended. "You can ask, you know."

He had good intuition, that was for sure. "... How did she die?"

"Stab wound. Brutal, right through the stomach. Must have pierced a lung, there was so much blood. But we- they caught the guys who did it. Won't be bothering anyone anymore."

"Shit." That was more graphic than expected. No wonder Stiles didn't want to discuss it. Isaac's grief was less pronounced than Scott's had been, more of a fact than a state, which was odd for an emotion. She hadn't been able to sense it until now; a sort of piercing pain before it was gone, contained again. Hidden. The flash and sudden absence had left her dizzy; she took a few steps back to ground herself again. It was the kind of hurt that was left after losing someone you loved.

"Were you there?"

"Near enough. Not that it made any difference."

"Don't put that on yourself. It must have been terrifying."

"Nothing I'm not used to." Ky remembered the volcano project, the unexplained aches and bruises. Isaac cleared his throat, realizing what he'd just said. "Uh, anyway."

"Thanks for telling me. When I asked someone else, it seemed like a really.. um, sensitive topic. And now I see why."

"Yea. It's the truth, though. Gotta tell that shit when you can. Sorry, you asked someone else…? You heard about the funeral up in San Francisco?"

"No, actually, I asked a neighbour. You know Stiles?"

He sighed, seeming annoyed at the very mention of the name. "Yea, I know Stiles. You know him?"

"Yea, I think. I mean, we're on the same street these days, so."

"Huh. He's leaving his house again?"

"Sometimes. But not often. Wait, so what's up with that?"

Isaac shrugged, eyes contemplative. "We're not friends."

"But you know each other," she pressed. "Enough to know how often he leaves his house."

"Yea. Out of circumstance. School. And it's a small town. Anyway," he said, changing the subject, "I gotta get back to my shift. Thanks for visiting her with me. To be honest... it gets really fucking sad alone."

"Yea, sure. It was nice seeing you."

Isaac nodded. "Well, see you around." He began to leave but stopped and turned back, a weird look on his face.

"Hey, Kyla."

"Yea?" Her real name was a surprise- it'd been a while since she'd heard it.

"There's something about you that makes it easy to trust you." Isaac fixed her with a stare while trying to figure it out, before giving up. "I hope it's something good," he said finally.

Ky watched him head back up over the hill and towards the funeral home, his suit hanging off his limbs. He looked like a ghost being swallowed up by the cloth.

Later that evening, Ky was sketching at her desk when Stiles called. They hadn't talked much since the last walk around the block, a few days ago.

"Hey," he said, voice surprised over the phone.

"Hey. You sound surprised."

He laughed a bit, the sound low like relief to her ears. Like the steadiness of ocean waves. "Wasn't sure if you'd pick up. How was your day?"

"Pretty good. Took a walk. Visited the cemetery, actually. Good landscape-sketching practice."

"Oh, that's cool."

"Yea, it was nice. Peaceful. What about you?"

"Just trying to study for school... I went to the library to pick up some more books. Boring stuff. That's about it."

"Oh shit, I forgot about the library. I was thinking of going there, see if it still feels the same."

"We should go. I mean, if you want company."

Now it was her turn to laugh. "Didn't you just say it was boring?"

"No, I didn't… well… okay, yea, but I was alone too, so…"

"Ha, I'm teasing. Yea, that'd be fun. As long as it's not too nerdy for you."

She could picture him rolling his eyes. "I'll live."

They went on to talk about other things like books and movies and music, before the conversation rounded back to the cemetery.

"Wasn't it, like, a bit depressing?"

"No, just quiet. And sunny, too. I like reading the epitaphs."

"Did you know Benjamin Franklin wrote his in his twenties? Sixty years before he actually died."

"Really?"

"Mhm. I memorized it and had to recite it to the class last year for history. For bonus marks."

"What? Do you still remember it?"

"I dunno."

"Okay- well, now I have to hear you try. Prove you're not lying." His tone was light though. Teasing back.

"Ahh, I might have to ad-lib some of it but… okay, here goes nothing. I don't know why I'm even trying..." She took a breath, closed her eyes. "The body of B. Franklin, printer- that was his job, to work the printing press for newspapers, but anyway- the body... like the cover of an old book, its contents torn out and stripped of its lettering and gilding, lies here. Food for worms."

Stiles chuckled at that.

"But the work shall not be wholly lost, for it will, as he believed, appear once more, in a new and more elegant edition, corrected and improved by the author."

"Wow. Impressive."

'It's nothing. I used to be obsessed with those- epitaphs, last words. All the plans that writers and scientists had for what they'd leave behind. As if they weren't already leaving a legacy. Like they knew the importance of saying goodbye."

"Or they just didn't have much to do back then."

"Mm, maybe. Either way, I like the honesty of it. I was talking to a guy at the cemetery about that, about truth. Dynamic stuff." Ky remembered that Isaac and Stiles didn't exactly get along. She couldn't see why; they both had a dark sense of humor to them.

"A guy at the cemetery? Sounds like a creep."

"No, no, he was our age. From school."

"Who was it?"

"Guess."

Stiles sighed. "Okay, uh… brown hair?"

"Yes."

"Tall?"

"Yea."

"... Ghoulish eyes? Sunken cheekbones?"

"I mean, I'm pretty sure you're describing yourself now."

"I am not." They both laughed at Stiles's feigned offence.

"Okay, okay. Still, you guys need to get out more. This is literally the golden state."

"I'm rolling my eyes. I just remembered we're on the phone, so I need you to know I'm rolling my eyes. Anyway." He asked the next question bluntly. "Was it Isaac?"

"Yea."

"Ugh."

"How come you guys like, hate each other?"

"We don't hate each other. He's just barely tolerable. Nah, but he's. Decent."

"Nice. He was cute, too."

"Pfft. Cute as a block of wood, I guess. After leaving it out in the rain. So it grows mold." He continued to grumble, which was admittedly amusing.

"... Jealous?"

"What? No. Why would I- no."

"Ha, I'm kidding. Besides, he didn't seem interested or anything like that. I just said it to see how you'd react, to be honest." Ky kept talking before he could respond to that, not even meaning to say it in the first place. She had been thinking about whether Isaac had feelings for Allison, her mind splitting up into too many directions. "Anyway, I think he recognized me first."

"Is that surprising?"

"Well, yea. I sort of pride myself on being forgettable. Blending in with the crowd and disappearing just as quick, you know, that sorta thing," she said, half-jokingly and expecting a joke in return.

"... You're a lot of things, but forgettable isn't one of them."

Well, that was unexpected. It took a moment for her to process. "Thanks."

"Yea. Anyway, if you want places to sketch- what about the lookout?"

"Oh my god, I forgot about that place…" The lookout was a cliff/ park area that overlooked the city. Ky had dreamed about going as a high schooler before moving away- it was where the older kids always went to hang out. "It's too far though. I'm stuck in the neighbourhood without my bike- oh, and I still haven't gone to Main street or downtown, either…"

"I can drive. To the lookout, I mean. And the library's on the way too… maybe we could go there first for a bit and then head there after?"

"I'm down if you are. Are you sure?"

"Yea, I wanna get out of the house and actually enjoy the summer," he admitted. "Like that day at the beach."

Ky agreed. "When do you wanna go?"

"Friday? Oh shit, I have an essay due the next week."

"Oh! I can help with that if you want. English is sort of my strong suit."

"Normally I'd say no- are you sure? Maybe I can just bring it and work on it while we're there… and ask if things make sense and stuff?"

"Yea exactly, you can bounce ideas off me."

"Cool. Okay, friday."

"Mhm. I gotta go- my grandparents wanna go out for breakfast tomorrow. But I'll see you then?"

"Yea, see ya. Uh. Goodnight."

Ky wondered what he heard in her voice, in the way that she heard warmth in his. "Night."