Chapter 15: Lydia Martin's POV - Reading Between the Lines
Lydia Martin had always trusted her instincts. Not the psychic banshee kind, although those came in handy too. But the sharp, keen, socially-tuned instincts that let her read a room before most people could open their mouths. Which was exactly why, the second Nova Hale showed up at her front door, glassy-eyed and silent, Lydia didn't ask questions. She just let her in.
They didn't even make it to the living room before Nova collapsed into Lydia's arms, shaking. Lydia guided her gently to the couch, concern growing in her chest. She didn't text anyone. Not yet. Not until she knew what had happened. She just held Nova, waiting in silence, offering comfort until Nova was ready to speak.
Nova sank onto the couch, stiff and trembling, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Lydia followed immediately hugging Nova to her side. She didn't text anyone. Not yet. She needed to know what this was before she pulled others in. So she waited—unmoving, focused, offering comfort without crowding, silently promising she'd be there when Nova was ready.
And then Nova whispered it. Just loud enough.
"Allison slept with Scott."
Lydia's breath caught. Her mind didn't immediately register the words. But when they sank in, she blinked hard.
Allison? The girl who transferred to their school sophomore year, the one Lydia had grown close to over time but never as deeply as she had with Nova, her childhood best friend. Scott? The boy who talked about loyalty and love and the sanctity of their little supernatural family.
And Nova, who had been nothing but quiet strength to their lives, now looked like someone had ripped the floor out from under her—shaky, fractured, and barely holding it together.
Lydia sat beside her.
She didn't say anything. Just reached for her hand, her grip grounding as she processed the confession.
A few weeks later, at school, Lydia tried to get Nova to move on from Allison and Nova admitted she'd had a one-night stand with someone she met in the Beacon Hills Preserve. At the time, Nova hadn't mentioned names or acted like it was important, brushing it off like it meant nothing. Lydia didn't press, thinking it was just a moment of recklessness in the wake of heartbreak. But even then, something about Nova's voice, her expression, had felt off. Like there was more beneath the surface she wasn't saying.
The Salvatore School.
A name Nova said like it had weight. Because it did.
Lydia wasn't surprised when Nova said she was leaving. What did catch her off guard was when Nova asked if the rest of them wanted to come along. Nova had always lived by the principles of family, pack, and loyalty—values so deeply rooted in her that they often guided every decision she made, sometimes to a fault. She wasn't one for dramatic declarations or emotional appeals, so this offer wasn't just an invite. It was Nova silently reaffirming that they were her family, offering them a chance to stay together, to start over on her terms. And Lydia, heart already aching for her best friend, understood exactly what that meant.
When Caroline Forbes-Salvatore showed up at Derek's loft and laid out the facts, a school for supernatural beings, a place for safety and control and second chances, Lydia agreed. It was the kind of place that sounded like a fairy tale. Dangerous, but alluring.
And when Nova said, "Stiles is my emissary. He comes with us," Lydia had smiled. That was the Nova she knew.
So Lydia packed her things. Told her mom it was a temporary program. She didn't explain further.
They started their trip to the Salvatore School and stopped at a motel outside Memphis. She and Nova and Malia shared a room. Lydia noticed Nova being quieter than usual. Restless. Lydia discovered the truth—Nova's so-called one-night stand could no longer be dismissed or written off, not when it resulted in a pregnancy that changed everything.
Later that evening, once they were settled in at the motel outside Memphis, Lydia finally cornered Nova alone in their shared room. She crossed her arms, voice calm but firm. "Nova, I know you're scared, but you can't carry this alone anymore. They're your family—they deserve to know, and you deserve their support."
Nova looked away, jaw tight, eyes shining with unshed tears. For a moment, Lydia thought she might argue. But then she sighed, shoulders slumping as she whispered, "Okay. Tomorrow. I'll tell them tomorrow."
Lydia nodded gently, placing a reassuring hand on Nova's shoulder. "I'll be right beside you."
The next morning, true to her word, Nova stood before the group and took a deep breath.
"I'm pregnant."
Silence.
Then chaos.
Lydia watched as her friends processed the information in their own ways. Stiles rambled. Malia nodded. Isaac gave a hug. Ethan and Aiden swore vengeance on the mystery person who got Nova pregnant. Derek stood silently for a moment, his expression unreadable, then walked over to Nova, resting a protective hand on her shoulder with a quiet, firm nod that said everything—he had her back.
Lydia just stood by her.
When Nova confessed that it was a one-night stand with a girl named Hope from the Preserve, something clicked in Lydia's mind. A one-night stand didn't feel like Nova. Something about it felt unfinished.
Lydia tried to convince Nova to tell Hope about the baby, but Nova refused.
The Salvatore School looked like a gothic daydream. Stone halls, antique chandeliers, and more magical drama than Beacon Hills could hold in a year.
Lydia quickly got into the rhythm. She sat in on magic theory, helped Nova navigate the mess of class schedules, and analyzed the social dynamics like she was building a map of influence.
And she saw the way Nova reacted to her new roommate. The day after they got to the school, the very first thing the next morning, Nova burst into Lydia and Malia's dorm room in tears. After a panicked rush of questions, Lydia and Malia managed to calm her down enough for Nova to explain everything—her so-called one-night stand wasn't some stranger. It was her roommate. Hope Mikaelson. The same girl from the Preserve. Lydia hadn't put it together before, but now it was glaringly obvious. Hope wasn't just anyone.
Hope Mikaelson.
Hope Mikaelson was the girl. The one from that night. The other parent of Nova's baby. And now they were sharing a room. Lydia tried to convince Nova to tell Hope about the baby, but Nova refused, insisting it would only make things more complicated. Days turned into weeks, and Nova still refused to tell Hope the truth, but at least Lydia had convinced her to tell the Beacon Hills crew.
She hadn't said anything. Not yet.
Not when Nova collapsed in training and was rushed to the infirmary.
Not when the truth spilled out and Stiles, after a nod from Lydia, told Hope that Nova was pregnant, and Hope looked like the ground had shifted beneath her.
She stood by Nova—not just in that moment, but through every up and down that followed. Through the questions, the doubts, the judgments from others. Lydia made it clear, silently and steadily, that her loyalty had never wavered.
And when Hope started showing up to breakfast, sitting close, carrying extra food for Nova, helping her through crowded hallways, always walking beside her, sometimes with a hand on the small of her back or a narrowed glare for anyone who bumped too close, Lydia saw it all. She noticed how Hope's protectiveness edged on possessiveness, and how Nova didn't seem to mind. If anything, she leaned into it.
She didn't say a word.
She just watched.
And knew.
Nova was no longer alone.
Hope might be messy, dramatic, emotionally constipated and powerful enough to set the building on fire with a sneeze.
But she was there.
Lydia could live with that.