Y/n pushed through the main doors, the morning sun cutting a sharp rectangle of light across the scuffed linoleum. The familiar din of slamming lockers and shouted greetings washed over her like a lukewarm wave.

Stiles was already there, leaning against a bank of lockers, gesturing wildly at Scott. Lydia Martin floated past with a dismissive glance, trailed by a group of girls. Allison Argent offered a small, tight smile from near the water fountain.

And then, across the crowded hall, standing by the trophy case as if they owned the place, were two figures that made the air in Y/n's lungs turn to ice.

Ethan and Aiden. Unchanged. Same broad shoulders, same arrogant posture, same faces that had been the last thing she’d seen before her world had shattered.

They were looking right at her. Ethan’s eyebrows shot up. Aiden’s smirk faltered, then vanished completely. Their surprise was a physical thing, a ripple in the space between them.

The noise of the hallway seemed to fade into a distant, muffled roar. All Y/n could hear was the memory of a voice, cracked and bloody, saying I’m sorry before walking away into the dark.