Isaac strode into the cafeteria, his eyes scanning the usual table where the pack gathered. To his surprise, only Lydia and Stiles were seated, engrossed in their own worlds. Lydia had her nose buried in a book, while Stiles tapped furiously at his phone, his leg bouncing under the table like it was powered by pure caffeine. Isaac frowned, his bag slung over his shoulder as he approached.

"Hey," Isaac greeted, dropping his bag onto the table and sliding into a seat. "Where's Scott? I need to talk to him about a few things."

Lydia didn't look up, merely shrugged one shoulder in a noncommittal gesture. Stiles, however, mumbled something without lifting his eyes from his phone.

"Probably with Quinn, like usual," Stiles said absentmindedly.

The words hit Isaac like a slap. His confusion was immediate, his brows knitting together as he turned to Stiles. "Wait—what did you just say?"

Stiles froze, his face draining of colour. He fumbled with his phone, nearly dropping it onto the table as his eyes darted toward Lydia, who finally looked up from her book. She shot Stiles a sharp, warning glare.

"Uh... nothing!" Stiles stammered, his voice pitching higher than usual. He flailed his arms in a weak attempt to backtrack. "I didn't say anything—just rambling, you know how I am! Completely incoherent most of the time—"

Lydia sighed audibly, shutting her book with a soft thud. She fixed Stiles with a withering look before turning her attention to Isaac. "What he meant," she said, her tone calm but pointed, "is that Scott is probably meeting Quinn. They've been spending time together."

Isaac's frown deepened, his confusion giving way to something heavier. "Since when do they hang out so much? I mean, sure, maybe they're friends, but—"

Stiles groaned audibly, slapping a hand over his face. "Oh, come on, Isaac. Really? Friends?" He threw his arms up in exasperation before Lydia's foot connected with his shin under the table, silencing him with a yelp.

Isaac turned to Lydia, his confusion now mingled with suspicion. "What's he talking about? What's going on?"

Lydia hesitated for a brief moment before letting out a resigned sigh. She tilted her head, levelling Isaac with a matter-of-fact gaze. "They're dating," she said simply.

The words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. Isaac blinked, his jaw tightening. "What? Since when? How long has this been going on? And why the hell didn't he tell me?"

Lydia raised a hand to stop him, her calm exterior cracking just slightly. "No," she said firmly. "You don't get to do this."

Isaac's frown deepened. "Do what?"

"You don't get to question Scott," Lydia said, her voice cool but laced with a razor-sharp edge. "And you especially don't get to act like you have a claim to Quinn. Not after what you did."

Isaac bristled, his voice rising defensively. "I did it to protect her!"

Lydia's eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward, her tone sharp enough to cut. "Protect her? That's your excuse? Let me ask you something, Isaac. How would you feel if the one person you trusted most just vanished from your life without a word? How would you feel if someone you cared about made you feel like you weren't worth an explanation?"

Isaac opened his mouth to respond, but Lydia didn't give him the chance. "You say it was to protect her, but did you ever think about how she felt? You abandoned her, Isaac. And now, when she's finally finding some semblance of happiness, you think you have the right to be angry?"

Stiles watched the exchange, his wide eyes darting between them as he slowly slid further down the bench, clearly trying to make himself invisible.

Isaac clenched his fists, his jaw tight as he absorbed Lydia's words. Her expression didn't soften, her steely gaze holding his own like a challenge.

"You pushed her away," Lydia continued, her voice unwavering. "And now, she's moved on. You have no one to blame but yourself."

Isaac shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He grabbed his bag without a word, his face a storm of anger and regret. Lydia didn't flinch as he turned and stormed out of the cafeteria, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Stiles let out a low whistle, leaning back in his seat as he rubbed his shin, still feeling the sting from Lydia's earlier kick. "Remind me never to get on your bad side," he muttered, half-joking but clearly a little wary of her no-nonsense demeanour.

Lydia didn't look up from her book as she flipped the page with a practised calm that belied the intensity of what had just transpired. "It's not about being on my bad side, Stiles," she said smoothly, her tone carrying that trademark mix of intelligence and authority. "It's about knowing when to take responsibility for your actions."

She paused, her green eyes briefly flicking toward the direction Isaac had stormed off. There was no satisfaction in her gaze, only a quiet resolve. "Isaac just learned that the hard way."

Stiles tilted his head, studying her for a moment before letting out a soft laugh. "Yeah, well, you sure have a way with words, Lydia. You could probably scare Derek if you tried."

Lydia arched a perfectly shaped brow, the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. "Derek doesn't scare easily, Stiles. But some people need a wake-up call, and Isaac was overdue."

Stiles leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You think he'll actually do anything about it? Or is he just gonna keep moping around, standing outside Quinn's house like some kind of brooding werewolf Romeo?"

Lydia snapped her book shut with a decisive motion, finally giving Stiles her full attention. "That depends," she said, her voice steady but pointed. "On whether Isaac cares more about his pride or the person he claims to care about."

Stiles blinked, leaning back slightly as her words sunk in. "Wow. That's... deep."

"It's the truth," Lydia replied matter-of-factly. "And if he doesn't figure that out soon, someone else will."

Stiles tilted his head in curiosity. "You mean Scott?"

Lydia's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a hint of amusement dancing in them. "Maybe," she said cryptically, picking up her book again. "Or maybe Quinn will figure out she doesn't need any of them."

Stiles let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he pushed himself up from the table. "You're scary when you're right, you know that?" he muttered, the lingering trace of humour in his voice masking a genuine sense of unease.

Lydia didn't respond immediately. Her focus was back on her book, her fingers delicately turning the page as though their entire conversation hadn't just unravelled one of the pack's most tangled dynamics. The air of indifference she exuded wasn't unkind—it was calculated, a quiet signal that she had said her piece and had no intention of revisiting it.

As Stiles began to walk away, he stole a glance back at her, his steps faltering for just a moment. It wasn't fear that made him pause, not really. It was something more complicated: admiration mixed with a little wariness.

Lydia Martin had a way of cutting through the noise, seeing straight to the heart of things in a way that could be both comforting and unnerving. She didn't just notice things—she understood them, dissected them, and presented them with a clarity that left no room for argument.

"Man," Stiles muttered to himself under his breath as he headed toward his next class. "How does she do that?"

He replayed the conversation in his head, her words about Isaac still echoing. It's about knowing when to take responsibility for your actions. Lydia hadn't just been talking about Isaac, and Stiles knew it. She was addressing the broader mess they were all tangled in—the unspoken feelings, the missed opportunities, the fractured relationships. It wasn't just Isaac who needed to step up; they all did, in their own ways.

But the part that stuck with him the most wasn't her critique of Isaac. It was the subtle, almost offhand comment she had made about Quinn. Maybe Quinn will figure out she doesn't need any of them. The idea unsettled him. Quinn was strong—stronger than most people gave her credit for—but the thought of her walking away from all of them, leaving behind the complicated, messy web they had all spun, made him wonder if maybe Lydia was right. Maybe Quinn deserved more than what any of them were offering her.

Stiles sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he rounded the corner. Lydia's insight was sharp, but it was also relentless. She had a way of holding up a mirror to people, forcing them to confront things they'd rather ignore. And while he respected her for it, it also left him feeling like he had just walked away from a conversation far more significant than he could fully grasp.

Back at the table, Lydia turned another page in her book, her expression calm but her mind far from the words on the page. She knew Stiles would be chewing on her words, just as she knew Isaac would brood over her critique. That was the thing about seeing through people—it wasn't just about pointing out their flaws. It was about planting seeds, giving them something to think about, and hoping they'd grow into better versions of themselves.

With a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, Lydia murmured to herself, "Scary when I'm right? You have no idea."