CHAOS THEORY: a mathematical branch which states that even a small tweak can make the system behave completely differently. very small adjustments in the starting position of a chaotic system make a big difference after a while.
OR, one teenage girl...
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FOUR.
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STILES BECKONS the three others down the hallway after the guards have left. Illa glances anxiously back at the boy in the cell, who has backed away enough that she's certain he won't pose a threat anymore. She looks for a second too long; Liam taps her shoulder so she keeps moving and doesn't get left behind. She's lucky the kid had been hidden by the shadows so she hadn't accidentally seen his face.
When she turns back around, her eyes are closed, so she misses the concerned look that Scott gives her. His eyes direct to Liam behind her and ask a silent question. The younger boy shrugs— he hadn't known why Illa seemed mystified by the boy, either.
"We're at a crossroads," Stiles informs Illa, too focused on the task of finding Lydia to notice the interaction between the two boys. "Which way?"
"Left," she answers carefully. Stiles is smart, and he'd come here yesterday, but maybe he's just double-checking the directions with her. It could be a test to see if she's worth trusting with directions. "From there, it's a right."
They walk in silence except for her occasional directions. Somehow, the more time they spend like this, the more at ease Illa is. She isn't used to so much casual chatter and is content with a lack of conversation. Interactions with others haven't always been her strong suit, mostly because she usually doesn't do much but scream at other people.
The sound of a light above her head fizzling out catches her attention. The space behind her lids goes darker for a split second, and her breath hitches.
"It's okay," Scott tells her after detecting the skip in her heartbeat. "It's our friend, Kira."
"She did it," Liam gasps in disbelief. "She really did it."
"We have five minutes to get to Lydia," Scott announces, and all senses of calm inside of Illa are washed away in that single sentence. She begs to every force above that she'll be able to work under such pressure and that her memory won't fail her.
Someone takes her hand lightly but her arm instinctively yanks itself away at the unexpected contact. She feels guilty for a split second. They'd been trying to perform a kind gesture, not hurt her, as she's used to.
"Sorry," she whispers. "Habit."
"I'm sorry," Scott says back, ever the peacemaker. "I should've asked."
It's clear that this pack is close enough that casual touching isn't uncommon between them. And, for a moment, she'd blended in well enough that Scott hadn't even hesitated before trying to help her along. He's a truly good person at heart; most people wouldn't trust her this much, let alone try to give her comforting gestures. She's used to people backing away in fear.
