She was standing in a scrap yard. Eyes red raw from crying, throat torn from all of her screams. Barely a whisper, she begged the doctor to stop. "Please," she moaned, "I don't want to watch this, not again. I promise you I don't know anything." A hiccupping sob almost escaped her and she had to bite down on her lip to stop it from turning into a full blown wail. She couldn't watch this scene unfold, not again. The first time she had seen it, she was sure it was fake. But then the feeling started growing, and she couldn't deny it's presence. The feeling that someone was going to die. He was going to die. Every time she watched the footage, the feeling grew in her chest until she couldn't contain it any longer. She would always scream right when it happened. At the very moment when Stiles died.

Theo had tracked him down and boxed him into a scrap yard. Stiles was so smart, and he fought so hard to survive. But then he turned his back for just a second, and Theo was on him. She had to watch as Stiles screamed in horror, the terrified look on his face as the werewolf tore into him. Their emotional tether meant she felt his pain in every blow that hit him. It took him so long to die. "Why." She shook as she spoke, due to a cocktail of anger, fear and exhaustion. "Why are you making me watch this again. He's dead, isn't that enough?"

"Not until you tell me how to do it. Lydia I know you know. Theo said-"

"THEO LIED!" she yelled into the vision, making the edges warp slightly. Blinking, she realised the powers she had been neglecting. Screwing her eyes shut she took a deep breath and screamed. The scene warped and dematerialised, returning her to the small dark room where she was strapped to a chair. The man who constantly questioned her stood bent over, hands covering his ears. A small trickle of blood made its way past his fingers and down his jaw line. Hissing in pain he glared at her.

"I thought I warned you not to do that." Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved the taser that she was growing increasingly familiar with. Fear sparked inside her and she began struggling against the restraints. Before, she had tapped into her powers when thinking of Stiles. But he was dead. How was she going to protect him when he was already dead? Just before the orderly reached her, she heard a distant shout echoing through Eichenhouse.

"LYDIA?"

Her heart jolted against her ribs. It couldn't be. Couldn't possibly be him, not Stiles. But sure enough the call came again, this time sounding a lot closer. Hope flurried inside of her and she turned a wicked grin to the orderly. Facing her palms towards him, she whispered, "Fuck. You." Then she screamed. The wave of prickly hot electricity burst from her hands and hit him square in the face. Feeling strength pulse through her, she pulled hard against the restraints, snapping them with ease. She was so shocked at how easy her escape seemed that she couldn't help but laugh. Smile on her face she kicked open the door and stumbled out into the hallway. Casting a wary glance left and then right, she followed the sound of her best friend's voice. "Stiles? STILES!" Joy pricked her eyes and she was crying all over again. There he was. Right there, standing at the end of the corridor, looking tall and lanky and dorky as ever. He smiled at her, beckoning her to him with a finger held on his lips.

Laughing and crying she tripped and stumbled towards him, so glad that the whole ordeal was finally over. She was safe, he was safe, and they were together. Just before she reached him, another body walked around the corner. She had to do a double take. "Ethan?" Had the surviving twin really come back to help save her? But then she saw the lump on his nose where he had been punched before he could heal. The lump that only Aiden had. For a moment, joy froze her, and before confusion could seep in, another figure also appeared. Her heart melted. Alison. "Alison? I can't believe it's you! I've missed you so much, oh God I'm so happy to see you!" All three of them smiled, but something wasn't right. The smiles weren't how they should be. Not warm and kind, but something almost sadistic. Realisation hit her with a sickening smack. "This isn't real. You're not real. You- you're all dead." Her voice wavered and cracked into silence at the end of her sentence as she made eye contact with Stiles. His eyes didn't hold the same warmth as Stiles' had either. "You. Are not. Stiles." She blinked, and three orderlies now stood before her.

"Nope." The one that had appeared as Stiles lurched towards her, jabbing a taser into her side. Yelping in pain and sorrow, she crumpled to the ground. From there, her memories were blurred. She caught sight of a door or wall occasionally, the bright lights on the ceiling hurting her head when she looked up. The first solid memory she had was waking up back in her room, tied to the bed with the five point restraint system Stiles had told her about. She didn't have the heart to struggle. In fact, she felt as though her heart was gone completely. How cruel she thought how- why would they do that. Isn't it enough that they're all gone? Every time she closed her eyes, Stiles' face danced into her vision. Each time she opened them, she thought she spotted him walking past the door, or the window, or sitting on the end of her bed.

The ordeal repeated itself multiple times until even the slightest sight of Stiles terrified her, sent her into a fit of screams or a catatonic state that she would not recover from for hours. Her cell mate watched intently, studying the Banshee like a science project. The girl jumped as Lydia gasped, jolting awake where she lay. In a panic, Lydia thrashed her head from side to side, gaze eventually falling on Isla. "Does the Banshee know how to save her friends?"

"Shut up." She fixed Isla with a glare so deadly it could have withered grass.

"Does the Banshee know how to save her friends?"

"NO! Of course I don't know because for some reason you refuse to tell me!"

Smiling slightly, Isla walked over to stand next to Lydia, something about her demeanour becoming instantly comforting. "Because-" she soothed, "The Banshee doesn't need to save her friends. A new face and now they're safe. A new face and now they're safe. They don't need saved anymore."

"What?" Lydia's eyes bulged out of her sallow face, emaciation turning her once beautiful face into something skeletal and frightening.

Before Isla could answer, the door burst open to reveal a very angry orderly. "That's enough of that, I think!" Storming in he grabbed Isla by the wrist and began dragging her towards the door, "Think it's time we found you a new cell, Maverick, don't you?"

Struggling against him to get back to Lydia, Isla began shouting, "The Banshee must escape. Escape Lydia! The Banshee must escape!" And then she was gone, the door slammed shut leaving Lydia alone in the cell. Alone, but no longer hopeless.