Graduation had come and gone, and the weight of Beacon Hills lingered like a shadow you couldn’t shake. The fights, the deaths, the constant supernatural chaos — all of it had burned you out. You needed air. Space. Something to make you feel alive again

That’s when Malia showed up at your house, leaning against her beat-up Jeep with that stubborn, determined glint in her eyes

“Pack a bag,” she said flatly, arms crossed.