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Chapter Text

Chapter One: The Weight of Legacy
The Mikaelson compound in New Orleans was impossible to miss. It wasn’t just a house—it was a fortress. The towering iron gates, ivy-covered walls, and flickering gas lanterns gave it an old-world grandeur that screamed power. If you lived in the French Quarter, you didn’t just know the Mikaelsons—you stayed out of their way. That was the unspoken rule of New Orleans, and it had been for as long as Hope could remember.

She slipped through the main gates, the quiet hum of jazz from the streets fading as she made her way inside. Inside, it was all polished wood, high ceilings, and chandeliers that cast flickering gold patterns on the marble floors. To outsiders, it was breathtaking. To Hope, it was suffocating. Every inch of the place felt like a reminder of the legacy she was supposed to uphold—a constant, heavy presence that followed her wherever she went.

The front doors groaned under her push as she stepped inside. She kicked off her boots by the staircase, the sound echoing through the empty foyer. For a moment, she let herself hope that maybe, just maybe, everyone was busy with last-minute gala preparations. No such luck.

“Hope, darling!” Rebekah’s sharp voice cut through the silence, followed by the clink of glass. “Fashionably late as usual, I see. Honestly, one might think you’re trying to avoid us.”

Hope rolled her eyes and walked into the sitting room. “Nice to see you too, Aunt Bex.” She said sarcastically.

The sitting room was its usual mix of chaos and elegance. Kol was sprawled across the velvet sofa, tossing a deck of playing cards onto the coffee table as though he’d invented the most entertaining game ever. Freya and Keelin sat near the fireplace, their heads bent close together as they whispered about something. Rebekah, of course, stood by the bar cart, already halfway through her first glass of wine.

“Cutting it close, aren’t you?” Elijah asked without looking up from his book. As always, he was the picture of calm sophistication in his perfectly tailored suit. “The gala starts in less than an hour. It would be nice if, for once, we weren’t fashionably late.”

Before Hope could respond, Klaus appeared in the doorway, his presence commanding as always. Hayley followed close behind, one hand resting lightly on his arm. They were opposites in nearly every way—Klaus with his sharp edges and unyielding intensity, Hayley with her grounded confidence and steady warmth. And yet, somehow, they balanced each other perfectly. It was infuriating sometimes.

“Elijah, relax,” Klaus said with a smirk. “The world won’t crumble if we arrive five minutes late.”

Elijah sighed, clearly not in the mood to argue. Instead, he stood, closed his book, and made his way toward the door. “Do as you wish. Just don’t blame me when Rebekah starts making speeches about how we’ve lost touch with decorum.”

“Speeches?” Kol grinned, sitting up. “Now that’s something I’d pay to see.”

Rebekah glared at him over the rim of her glass. “Oh, shut up, Kol.”

As the banter continued, Hope slipped out of the room. It was all too much—too loud, too dramatic, too Mikaelson. She didn’t even know why she had to go to this stupid gala in Mystic Falls. Sure, it was for some fundraiser Caroline and Stefan were hosting, and yes, Hayley had said it was important, but Hope didn’t see why she had to be there. She wasn’t a politician or a public figure. She was just Hope.

At least, that’s all she wanted to be.

The restored Salvatore mansion was as pristine as ever. Mystic Falls had its charms, but it never quite lost its small-town vibe. That might’ve been why Caroline Forbes loved it so much—her endless optimism thrived here. The gala itself was stunning, with fairy lights strung across the wide garden and classical music drifting from a quartet stationed inside. It was picturesque in a way that made Hope feel like she didn’t belong.

She stuck to the edges of the crowd, trying to blend into the background. Marcel was somewhere near the stairs, chatting with Caroline. Stefan stood nearby, looking like he was trying (and failing) to enjoy himself. Hope caught sight of Lizzie Salvatore flitting between groups of donors, flashing a perfect, practiced smile that would make any politician jealous. Classic Lizzie.

“Hope?”

The voice made her freeze. Turning slowly, she found herself face-to-face with Josie Salvatore, and for a moment, the noise and chaos of the room seemed to fade away. Josie was, in a word, stunning. She wore a navy-blue dress that looked like it was made for her, her dark hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Her smile was warm—so warm it made something in Hope’s chest ache.

“Josie,” Hope said, her voice softer than she intended. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“My dad practically dragged me,” Josie replied, glancing toward Stefan, who was deep in conversation with Klaus near the bar. “Apparently, ‘family unity’ is important or something.”

Hope snorted. “Yeah, tell me about it. The Mikaelsons wrote the book on that.”

Josie laughed, and for the first time all night, Hope felt like she could actually breathe. They started talking—about school, about Lizzie’s latest drama (something about an over-the-top argument with Caroline), and about how weirdly stiff these kinds of events always were. Josie was easy to talk to. Too easy.

But, of course, nothing good lasted long in Hope’s world.

“Salvatore,” a familiar voice cut in. Hope didn’t even have to turn around to know it was her dad. Klaus stood behind her, his piercing blue eyes fixed on Josie in a way that was polite but undeniably intimidating. “How nice to see you.”

Josie smiled nervously. “Mr. Mikaelson. It’s good to see you too.”

“I’ll catch you later, Hope,” Josie said quickly, slipping away into the crowd before things could get more awkward.

Hope turned to Klaus, her eyes blazing. “Really? Was that necessary?”

“What?” Klaus raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “I’m simply protecting you.”

“From what, Dad? A conversation? God forbid I talk to someone normal for once.”

“Normal isn’t always safe,” Klaus replied, his tone turning cold. “You’d do well to remember that.”

Hope clenched her fists, her frustration bubbling over. “Maybe if you actually listened to me instead of trying to control everything, you’d understand.”

Before he could respond, she spun on her heel and walked away, her heart pounding in her chest.

The drive back to New Orleans was quieter than usual. Hayley sat beside her, occasionally glancing over like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. Klaus had stayed behind to sort out some “business,” which was fine by Hope—she wasn’t ready to deal with him yet.

By the time they got home, the sun was already starting to rise. Hope went straight to her room, dropping her bag by the door and collapsing onto her bed. She stared at the ceiling for a long moment before grabbing her sketchbook from the nightstand. Drawing always helped her focus, helped her breathe.

Her pencil moved almost automatically, sketching the outline of a face she couldn’t stop thinking about. Dark hair. Soft eyes. That smile.

She stared at the drawing for what felt like forever before slamming the book shut and tossing it onto the floor.

Josie wasn’t just a friend. She was something more. And that scared Hope more than she wanted to admit.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: Shadows and Secrets
Hope pov

The morning after the gala, the Mikaelson compound was too quiet. That never meant anything good.

I stared at the ceiling, my body heavy with exhaustion, but sleep wouldn’t come. My mind was too full—of my fight with Klaus, of Josie’s smile, of the feeling that no matter how hard I tried, I would never have control over my own life.

I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. Breathe. Focus.

For a moment, I just lay there, counting the beats of my heart, feeling the pressure of my clenched fingers. It was grounding in a way I couldn’t explain. A reminder that I was still here, still in control of something, at least.

But the relief didn’t last.

I sat up abruptly, shoving the blanket off, my body buzzing with restless energy. The tension in my chest was unbearable, coiled so tight that it felt like if I didn’t do something—anything—I might just snap in half.

My gaze landed on the dagger on my nightstand.

It was nothing special—just an old, silver-edged blade I kept for protection. But right now, I wasn’t thinking about protection.

I reached for it without hesitating, pressing the tip lightly against the soft skin of my forearm. Not enough to break skin. Just enough to feel something.

The cold bite of metal sent a shiver through me. My breathing slowed. My mind quieted.

That awful, choking pressure in my chest loosened just a little.

The temptation to press harder lingered, but a knock on my door shattered the moment.

I jerked back, dropping the dagger onto my nightstand like it had burned me.

“Hope, we need to talk.”

Hayley.

I swallowed hard, flexing my fingers to shake off the lingering numbness. “That’s never a good sign.”

“Just open up.”

I hesitated, but then got up, tucking my arm behind my back as I unlocked the door.

Hayley stepped inside, arms crossed. She looked tired—like she hadn’t slept either. Her eyes flicked over me, searching. “Rough night?”

I shrugged. “What else is new?”

She sighed. “Your dad stayed in Mystic Falls.”

My stomach twisted. “Why?”

“Unfinished business, according to him.”

I snorted. “Yeah, sure.”

She hesitated. That was never a good sign.

“Hope,” she said carefully, “I think he’s watching Josie.”

I felt something cold settle in my chest. My hand clenched into a fist, pressing against my side. I forced a neutral expression. “She’s not a threat.”

“I know.” Hayley exhaled. “But your dad—he doesn’t do trust. Especially not when it comes to you.”

The pressure in my chest was back, but this time, I had nowhere to put it. “So what am I supposed to do? Just let him run my life?”

Hayley studied me for a moment, then said, “You have two choices. You can fight him—and you will lose. Or you can make him see that you don’t need protecting.”

I scoffed. “You really think he’ll ever believe that?”

“I think he wants to,” she said softly. “He just doesn’t know how.”

I looked away. My hands still ached from how tightly I had clenched them earlier.

I didn’t know how to fix this.

I wasn’t sure I even wanted to.

Later That Day
I wandered through the city for hours, trying to shake the feeling that I was suffocating.

It didn’t work.

New Orleans was alive, buzzing with street music and the scent of powdered sugar and chicory coffee, but I felt like I was moving through it all underwater. Every sound was muffled. Every step felt distant.

I ended up at Rousseau’s. I wasn’t even sure how.

I slid into a booth near the back, ordering coffee just for something to do with my hands.

The weight in my chest hadn’t gone away. I dug my nails into my palm again, holding my breath as the sharp sting cut through the numbness. It helped. But only for a second.

My phone buzzed.

Josie: Hey. I know last night was… weird. Are you okay?

I stared at the message for a long time.

I should lie. I always lie.

But for some reason, I didn’t want to this time.

Me: I’ve had worse nights.

A few seconds later:

Josie: Do you want to talk about it?

I swallowed hard.

I did.

Before I could answer, someone slid into the seat across from me.

“I was wondering when I’d run into you.”

Marcel.

I tensed, but forced myself to relax. “If you’re here to give me a lecture—”

He smirked. “Relax, I just came for a drink. And to check in on you.”

“I don’t need checking in on.”

He gave me a look that made it very clear he didn’t believe me.

“Look,” he said, voice lower, “I know things with your dad are complicated. But you do know he’s not going to stop, right?”

I stared into my coffee. “And what exactly does he want?”

Marcel exhaled. “Control.”

Something inside me clenched.

“You scare him, Hope,” Marcel continued. “Not because he doesn’t believe in you, but because one day you’re going to realize you don’t need him. And when that happens, he won’t know what to do.”

I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “So what do I do?”

Marcel shrugged. “That’s up to you. You can either fight him—and spend your life trying to prove you’re stronger than him—or you can show him that you’re not someone he needs to fight.”

I looked down at my hands, flexing my fingers. The sting was already fading. The weight in my chest wasn’t.

My phone buzzed again.

Josie: I know things are complicated, but… if you ever need to talk, I’m here.

I hesitated.

I wasn’t used to this—to someone like her. Someone kind. Someone who didn’t demand anything from me.

I didn’t want to mess this up.

Before I could second-guess myself, I typed out a reply.

Me: Thanks, Josie. I might take you up on that.

I hit send.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I had made a choice for myself.

Even if I had no idea where it would lead.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: Cracks in the Armor
I barely got two steps into the compound before I knew something was off.

The air was too still. Too expectant.

I glanced toward the sitting room and, sure enough, found Rebekah, Hayley, and Freya waiting for me. That was never a good sign.

Rebekah sat with her arms draped over the couch, deceptively casual. Freya stood near the fireplace, fingers tapping lightly against her arm. Hayley leaned against the bar, one ankle crossed over the other, but her sharp gaze followed my every move.

A trap.

I sighed, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets. “Alright. Who died?”

Hayley straightened. “Hope.”

Her voice was careful. Too careful.

I tensed. “What?”

Freya stepped forward, her expression softer but no less determined. “We need to talk.”

“And here I thought this was an intervention.”

No one laughed.

My stomach twisted. “Seriously. What?”

Rebekah rolled her eyes, standing. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you’ve been walking around like a bomb waiting to go off? Or the fact that you’ve barely slept? Or—” Her voice sharpened. “—that we see what you’re doing, Hope.”

The room felt smaller.

My heartbeat picked up, but I forced a smirk. “Going to need you to be more specific, Aunt Bex.”

Freya’s eyes flicked down—just for a second—to my hands.

I curled my fingers instinctively. Too late.

Freya exhaled. “Hope.”

I looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t,” Hayley said quietly.

Something in her tone made my throat tighten. I risked a glance at her, but I shouldn’t have.

Her expression wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even frustrated. It was worried.

Guilt crawled under my skin.

I shifted my weight, forcing my voice to stay even. “I’m fine.”

Rebekah scoffed. “Oh, please. You’re not fine. You’re barely holding it together.”

I bristled. “Excuse me?”

“You think we don’t notice?” she shot back. “The way you avoid us? The way you disappear for hours at a time? The way you flinch when someone touches you?”

My jaw clenched.

“I said, I’m fine.”

Hayley pushed off the bar. “Hope, stop.”

Something in me snapped.

“Stop what?” I demanded. “Stop feeling? Stop trying to deal with the fact that I’m drowning and no one seems to care unless it inconveniences them?”

Freya’s expression tightened. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” My voice wavered, but I didn’t care. “You all want me to talk? Fine. Let’s talk. Let’s talk about how I don’t get to have a normal life because my own father is obsessed with controlling me. Or how I can’t even have one conversation with someone without him deciding they’re a threat. Or how every single day, I wake up wondering if I’m ever going to be more than the monster everyone expects me to be.”

Silence.

I exhaled sharply, turning away.

Hayley was the first to move. She stepped closer, cautiously, like I might bolt if she got too close.

Her voice was softer now. “Hope, no one thinks you’re a monster.”

I let out a short, bitter laugh. “You sure about that? Because I’m not.”

Freya reached out then, her fingers brushing my wrist before I could pull away. “Hope.”

Her voice was gentle, but I still flinched.

Her grip tightened. Just enough to keep me there. Not enough to trap me.

I swallowed. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Rebekah stood, moving beside Freya. “Too bad.”

I looked up at her, surprised.

Her expression wasn’t cold. It wasn’t even angry.

It was hurt.

“Hope, do you think we don’t see you?” she asked, voice quieter now. “You’re not invisible. You’re not alone. And you sure as hell don’t have to pretend you’re fine when you’re not.”

I looked away. “I don’t—” My throat felt tight. “I don’t know how to talk about this.”

Hayley exhaled, stepping closer. “Then let us help you.”

I shook my head, the familiar pressure building in my chest. “I don’t want to be fixed.”

“No one’s trying to fix you,” Freya said gently. “We just don’t want you to go through this alone.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

My breath caught.

Alone.

I’d felt alone for so long that I forgot what it was like to have people who noticed. Who cared.

My hands shook at my sides.

I wasn’t sure how it happened, but suddenly, Hayley was pulling me into a hug.

I stiffened automatically—out of habit, out of instinct—but she didn’t let go.

She didn’t say anything, either.

She just held me.

For a second, I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.

Then, finally, I let go.

Not completely. Not all at once.

But just enough to let myself lean into her, my fingers gripping her jacket, my head resting against her shoulder.

Just enough to let myself be held.

Just enough to let myself believe, even if only for a moment, that I didn’t have to do this alone.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: Walls Rebuilt
The next morning, I woke up feeling worse than before.

I should’ve felt lighter after last night—after the confrontation, after Hayley held me like I was something worth holding. But instead, the weight in my chest had only gotten heavier.

I laid in bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling, feeling raw and exposed.

I hated it.

I hated that they saw me like that.

Weak.

I shoved the blanket off and sat up quickly, as if moving would shake the feeling off. But it stuck, clinging to my skin like a second layer, and I hated it.

They thought they could help me. That I was something fixable.

I knew better.

By the time I made my way downstairs, the compound was already awake. Rebekah sat on the couch, flipping through an old book, though I could tell she was only half paying attention to it. Freya was at the dining table, scribbling something into a notebook. Hayley stood near the kitchen, sipping coffee.

All three of them looked up the second I stepped into the room.

I immediately regretted coming downstairs.

Their expressions weren’t pitying, but they were watching me. Waiting.

I clenched my jaw. “What?”

Hayley set her mug down. “We were just talking.”

“Great. Don’t let me interrupt.” I turned toward the front door.

“Hope,” Freya called, her voice careful.

I stopped but didn’t turn around.

“Where are you going?”

I exhaled sharply. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Rebekah said simply.

I clenched my fists.

This was exactly why I shouldn’t have let my guard down.

They thought one moment of vulnerability meant I was suddenly an open book. That I was suddenly going to let them in.

They didn’t understand.

I couldn’t let them in.

Because if I did—if I started depending on them, started believing I could lean on them—what would happen when they realized I wasn’t worth saving?

When they gave up on me, just like everyone else eventually did?

The pressure in my chest was suffocating.

“I just need some air,” I muttered, pushing through the doors before they could stop me.

Later That Day
I didn’t go far.

I ended up at the river, sitting on the edge of the docks, watching the water shift under the afternoon sun.

My phone buzzed next to me.

I ignored it.

I already knew who it was.

I should’ve gone somewhere farther—somewhere they wouldn’t find me.

Because, sure enough, less than an hour later, I heard the unmistakable click of heels on wood.

I didn’t have to turn around to know it was Rebekah.

“Brooding doesn’t suit you,” she said as she sat beside me, her tone casual.

I snorted. “Yeah? What does?”

“Not this.” She gestured vaguely at me. “Sulking by the water like some tragic novel heroine.”

I huffed a quiet laugh despite myself. “I’m not sulking.”

She arched a brow. “Could’ve fooled me.”

We sat in silence for a while, the water lapping against the docks.

Eventually, Rebekah sighed. “I know what you’re doing, you know.”

I stiffened. “And what’s that?”

“Pulling away. Shutting down. Pretending you don’t need us.”

I forced a smirk. “Maybe I don’t.”

She hummed, unimpressed. “Right. Because isolating yourself and pretending you’re fine has worked so well for you in the past.”

I frowned, looking away.

Rebekah sighed again, softer this time. “Hope. You don’t have to do this alone.”

The words hit something deep inside me, something I wasn’t ready to face.

I kept my expression blank. “I never asked for help.”

“Maybe not.” She studied me. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t need it.”

I swallowed.

For a second—for one brief, painful second—I wanted to believe her.

I wanted to believe that they could help me. That I wasn’t alone.

But the thing about hope—real, actual hope—was that it had a tendency to disappoint you.

And I was done being disappointed.

I stood abruptly. “I should go.”

Rebekah’s expression flickered, just for a moment. Like she knew what I was doing. Like she saw right through me.

But she didn’t stop me.

She just nodded.

“Alright,” she said. “But just so you know—you can run all you want, but we’re not going anywhere.”

I hesitated.

Then, without another word, I walked away.

An Hour Later – Mikaelson Compound
I barely said a word when I got home.

The second I stepped through the front doors, I made a beeline for my room, shutting the door behind me.

The familiar silence wrapped around me like a shield. I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering weight of Rebekah’s words.

But the moment of solitude didn’t last long.

A soft knock at the door.

Then another.

I closed my eyes, already knowing who it was.

I ignored it.

Another knock. Firmer this time.

“Hope,” Freya’s voice came through the door, steady but gentle. “Let us in.”

I swallowed hard, gripping the edge of my desk. “I’m tired.”

Hayley’s voice now. “We just want to talk.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “I don’t.”

A pause. Then Rebekah. “Too bad.”

I clenched my fists.

Why couldn’t they just leave it alone?

I took a deep breath, forcing my voice to stay even. “I’m fine.”

No one responded right away. Then Freya sighed. “Hope… please.”

The quiet plea nearly broke me.

I almost caved.

Almost.

But I couldn’t.

Because if I let them in, if I admitted how much I was struggling, then I’d have to face it. And I wasn’t ready for that.

So I did the only thing I knew how to do.

I shut down.

“I’m going to bed.” My voice was empty, detached.

Silence.

Then Hayley, voice softer now. “Okay.”

A moment later, I heard them step away. The sound of footsteps fading down the hall.

I let out a slow, shaking breath and leaned against the door.

They weren’t giving up.

But neither was I.

I couldn’t let them in.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five: Cornered

Hope's pov

I barely slept.

Even after locking myself in my room, I could feel them hovering outside. Every quiet knock, every whisper beyond the door, every unspoken plea.

They weren’t going to let this go.

And I wasn’t sure how much longer I could pretend it wasn’t breaking me.

Mikaelson Compound – Late Morning
I tried to avoid them. I really did.

But the second I stepped downstairs, they were waiting.

Freya. Rebekah. Hayley.

Like they knew I wouldn’t stay hidden forever.

I froze at the base of the stairs, every instinct screaming at me to turn around and go back to my room. But I didn’t get the chance.

Hayley was the first to speak. “Hope.”

Her voice wasn’t scolding—it was soft, too soft. Like she knew I was seconds from running.

I forced a sigh. “Please don’t start.”

“We have to,” Freya said simply. “We’re not going to pretend we don’t see what’s happening.”

I clenched my jaw. “Nothing is happening.”

Rebekah scoffed. “Oh, please.” She gestured at me, exasperated. “You barely eat, you barely sleep, and the only time you leave is when you want to disappear for hours on end.” Her voice dropped, sharpening. “And let’s not even get into the self-destruction.”

My chest tightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hope,” Hayley said, her voice breaking a little. “You can’t keep doing this.”

I didn’t answer.

Because I could.

I’d been doing it my whole life.

Freya stepped forward, expression unreadable. “You don’t have to pretend with us.”

I laughed—sharp, humorless. “That’s rich, coming from the people who act like I’m supposed to be some great Mikaelson legacy.”

“That’s not—”

I cut her off. “You say you want to help, but what happens when you can’t? What happens when I’m too much for even you?”

Silence.

I saw the way they looked at me—concerned, desperate, afraid.

And that was the problem with hope.

It always let you down in the end.

So I did what I did best.

I bolted.

I turned and ran before they could stop me, pushing through the front doors and down the street.

An Hour Later – Abandoned Church
I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, staring at nothing. My hands were shaking against my knees, my pulse uneven.

Then my phone buzzed.

I almost ignored it.

Then I saw the name.

Josie.

I hesitated before picking it up.

Josie: Hey. You okay?

I swallowed hard.

I could lie.

But for some reason, I didn’t.

Me: No.

A few seconds later, my phone buzzed again.

Josie: Do you want to talk about it?

I exhaled slowly.

Me: Not really.

Josie: That’s okay. We can just talk about nothing then.

I stared at the message, something warm creeping into my chest.

Me: Okay.

So we did.

Josie talked about Lizzie’s latest drama, about some ridiculous fight she had with a professor at Whitmore. I let her ramble, occasionally responding with sarcastic remarks or questions, but mostly just listening.

For the first time in days, I wasn’t drowning.

I almost didn’t want to stop.

But eventually, I had to go home.

Mikaelson Compound – Nightfall
The second I stepped through the front doors, I knew something was wrong.

Everyone was there.

Freya. Hayley. Rebekah.

But also Marcel. Keelin. Even Davina.

The realization hit me like a brick.

This wasn’t just a conversation.

This was an intervention.

My stomach dropped.

I took a step back. “No.”

Hayley sighed. “Hope—”

“No.” My voice was sharp, my chest tightening. “I’m not doing this.”

Marcel stepped forward. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

I clenched my fists. “I never asked for this.”

Freya was suddenly in front of me. “That’s the problem, Hope. You never ask.”

Something in me snapped.

“Because I don’t need you to fix me!” I shoved past her, heading straight for the door.

But before I could reach it, hands grabbed my arm—strong, unyielding.

Freya.

I tried to yank free, but she held on. “Let me go.”

“No.”

The word was firm, absolute.

I struggled harder, my pulse hammering. “Freya—”

“I’m not letting you run from this.” Her voice wasn’t angry—it was pained. “Not this time.”

I shook my head. “You can’t just—”

Her grip tightened, but not enough to hurt. Just enough to stop me.

“I love you, Hope,” she said, voice raw. “But I will not stand by while you destroy yourself.”

My throat tightened. My vision blurred.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

I needed out.

So I did the only thing I could—I ripped my arm free and bolted out the back door, ignoring the voices calling after me.

Ignoring the way my chest ached.

The Abandoned Church – Minutes Later
I didn’t know where else to go.

I sat in the pew, my hands shaking, my body exhausted.

Then my phone buzzed again.

Josie.

I wiped at my face, exhaling sharply before picking up.

“Hey,” she said softly.

I swallowed. “Hey.”

A pause.

Then:

“You wanna talk about it?”

I closed my eyes.

For some reason, the words came easier this time.

“Not really.”

“That’s okay,” Josie said. “I can just keep talking until you feel like it.”

Something in me unclenched.

And for the second time that day, she pulled me back from the edge.

Mikaelson Compound – Later That Night
I came home when I had no other choice.

But the moment I stepped inside, I realized they were all waiting for me.

Freya. Hayley. Rebekah.

But also Marcel. Keelin. Even Davina.

The weight of their concern filled the room, thick and inescapable.

I turned for the door again—

Freya stepped in front of me.

“Don’t,” she said softly.

I stared at her.

And for the first time, I had no fight left.

Chapter Text

Chapter Six: Fractures
Hope’s POV
Freya wouldn’t let me leave.

Not this time.

So I stood there, trapped in the doorway, my pulse hammering. Marcel. Keelin. Davina. Rebekah. Freya. Hayley. All of them watching me like I was about to fall apart.

I hated it.

I hated the way their eyes burned into me, hated the suffocating weight of their concern.

Hated that they were right.

But I couldn’t give them that.

Not when I barely had anything left to hold onto myself.

I exhaled sharply, forcing a smirk. “So, what is this? A family meeting? Should I grab a notepad?”

No one laughed.

Rebekah rolled her eyes. “Cute.”

Hayley crossed her arms. “We’re not doing this, Hope.”

“Doing what exactly?” I shrugged. “Having a fun little intervention where you all pretend you can fix me?” I scoffed. “Go ahead. Say your piece so I can get out of here.”

Freya’s jaw tightened. “We’re not letting you run from this.”

I clenched my fists. “And what if I don’t want to talk?”

Hayley sighed. “Then we’ll wait.”

My stomach twisted.

I shook my head. “You don’t get it. None of you do.”

Freya’s voice softened. “Then make us understand.”

I swallowed hard, my nails digging into my palms.

Say something.

Tell them.

But I couldn’t.

Because the second I opened my mouth, the second I let it all out—

It would break me.

So I did the only thing I knew how to do.

I shut down.

“Good talk,” I muttered, pushing past them.

No one stopped me this time.

Hayley’s POV
I watched my daughter disappear up the stairs, my chest tightening with every step she took.

She was slipping away.

And I didn’t know how to stop it.

Keelin sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Well, that went great.”

Marcel exhaled. “She’s not ready.”

“She’s never going to be ready,” Freya muttered.

I clenched my fists, forcing down the frustration bubbling inside me. “So what do we do?”

Davina hesitated. “We keep trying.”

But I could hear the doubt in her voice.

And I hated it.

Because I was scared she was right.

Hope’s POV
I locked my door behind me and pressed my back against it, my breath coming too fast.

I was fine.

I just needed to breathe.

Needed to—

A knock at the door.

I tensed. “Go away.”

Hayley’s voice. “Not happening.”

I groaned, running a hand down my face. “Mom, I’m tired.”

“Then let me sit with you.”

I hesitated.

Then, against my better judgment, I unlocked the door.

Hayley slipped inside, her expression unreadable as she leaned against the wall.

For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then:

“I don’t know how to help you, kid.”

The honesty in her voice made my throat tighten.

I shook my head. “You can’t.”

She sighed, stepping closer. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.”

I swallowed hard. “You should stop.”

“No.”

I exhaled sharply. “You should.”

She studied me, eyes searching. “Why?”

I hesitated.

For a second, I almost told her.

Almost let the words slip.

Then I saw it—that hope in her eyes.

And I couldn’t do it.

I couldn’t let her believe she could save me.

Because she couldn’t.

So I looked away.

“I’m tired,” I muttered.

Hayley sighed, and I knew she wanted to push—but she didn’t.

Instead, she nodded. “Okay.”

I turned toward the window as she left, my chest aching.

Hayley’s POV
I closed Hope’s door behind me, exhaling slowly.

Freya was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

“She talk?”

I shook my head. “Not really.”

Freya’s shoulders slumped.

“She almost did,” I admitted. “For a second, I thought…” I trailed off.

Freya sighed. “She always pulls back.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Silence stretched between us.

Then Rebekah appeared in the hallway, arms crossed. “We need a new plan.”

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said again.

Because if we didn’t—

We were going to lose her.

The Next Day – Hope’s POV
I barely slept.

I barely felt anything.

So when I heard voices downstairs, I ignored them.

Until I heard his voice.

I tensed.

No.

No, no, no.

I shot up from bed, shoving my hair out of my face and moving toward the door.

Just as I stepped into the hallway, I heard it again.

Smooth. Charismatic. Dangerous.

“Miss me?”

Klaus.

I gritted my teeth, my heart slamming against my ribs.

Of course he picked now to show up.

Because my life clearly wasn’t complicated enough already.

Hayley’s POV
I stood in the foyer, arms crossed as Klaus grinned like he hadn’t abandoned us again.

“Don’t look so happy to see me, love,” he teased.

I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want my actual reaction.”

His smirk didn’t waver. “Fair enough.” He glanced around. “Where’s my daughter?”

I hesitated.

Then, before I could answer—

“I’m right here.”

I turned just in time to see Hope at the top of the stairs.

Klaus grinned. “Ah, there she is.”

Hope’s expression was unreadable.

But I could see it in her eyes.

The walls were already back up.

And somehow, I had a feeling things were about to get a lot worse before they got better.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven: Shattered Bonds
Hope’s POV
I knew it was only a matter of time before my dad showed up.

Still, when I saw him standing in the foyer, hands in his pockets like he owned the place, my stomach clenched.

Klaus Mikaelson didn’t show up unless he had something to say.

“Come down here, love,” he said smoothly. “Let me take a good look at you.”

My fingers curled around the wooden banister.

I wanted to go to him.

I wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

But it never was.

So, I forced myself to stay cold. Stay distant. I stepped down the stairs slowly, arms crossed, my face unreadable.

Klaus tilted his head as I reached the bottom step. “You look well.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “That’s funny, considering you don’t actually know me well enough to tell.”

His smirk didn’t waver, but I saw the flicker of something in his expression.

Disappointment.

Annoyance.

“You wound me,” he said lightly.

I shrugged. “I think you’ll survive.”

His jaw clenched. “Is that really how you want to start this conversation?”

I scoffed. “Oh, so this is a conversation? Because the way I see it, Dad, you don’t actually talk to me. You talk at me.”

Silence.

For a second, I thought maybe he’d actually acknowledge it.

Instead, he exhaled sharply. “You’ve been reckless.”

I rolled my eyes. “Here we go.”

“Don’t dismiss me.” His voice sharpened. “You stormed out of the gala, Hope. Made a scene.”

I tensed.

Oh.

So that’s what this was about.

Not me.

Not what I was feeling.

Just the damn Mikaelson name.

I let out a hollow laugh. “Of course. That’s what you care about, right? The family reputation. The legacy.”

Klaus narrowed his eyes. “It was an important event—”

“Oh, spare me, Dad.” I threw up my hands. “God forbid I embarrass the great Klaus Mikaelson. God forbid I don’t play my part.”

His jaw tightened. “You are part of this family, Hope. Whether you like it or not.”

My chest ached.

“That’s the only thing you ever talk to me about,” I whispered.

Klaus frowned slightly. “What?”

I swallowed hard, voice shaking. “The legacy. The family. Our reputation. That’s all you ever care about.”

“That’s not true,” he said sharply.

“Then prove it.” I glared at him. “Ask me one thing—just one—about my life. About me.”

Klaus opened his mouth.

And then he closed it.

My heart sank.

Because I saw it in his face.

He didn’t know.

He didn’t know a damn thing about me.

I nodded, throat burning. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

And then I turned.

And I ran.

Hayley’s POV
“Hope!”

One second, she was standing in front of Klaus, her face flushed with anger—

The next, she was sprinting out the door like her life depended on it.

My stomach twisted.

I barely had time to react before she was gone.

“Bloody hell,” Rebekah cursed beside me.

Freya’s voice was tight. “We have to go after her.”

I didn’t hesitate.

I pushed open the front doors and scanned the street, my pulse racing.

Where the hell did she go?

Then I saw her—a blur of red curls disappearing into the city streets.

I ran.

Hope’s POV
I didn’t know where I was going.

I just needed to run.

Away from Klaus. Away from my mom. Away from everyone who kept looking at me like I was breaking.

My chest burned, my vision blurred as I turned down another street.

But I wasn’t fast enough.

Because I heard footsteps behind me.

Getting closer.

Then—

“Hope, stop!”

I barely had time to react before strong arms wrapped around me, yanking me back.

I struggled, my breath ragged. “Let me go—”

“Not a chance,” Rebekah panted, tightening her grip.

A second later, Hayley and Freya caught up, both of them out of breath.

Freya’s eyes were sharp. “Are you done running?”

I swallowed hard, my throat burning.

Hayley stepped forward, her expression unreadable. “You don’t get to do this, Hope.”

I clenched my jaw. “Do what?”

“Shut us out,” she said, voice firm. “You don’t get to run when things get hard.”

I looked away, my chest aching.

Because I didn’t know how to do anything else.

I felt Rebekah’s grip loosen slightly, like she knew I wasn’t going to fight anymore.

Hayley’s voice softened. “Come home, kid.”

I exhaled shakily, closing my eyes.

I didn’t say anything.

I just nodded.

And let them lead me back.

Chapter Text

---
Chapter Eight: The Walls We Build

Hope’s POV

I didn’t speak the entire car ride home.

Rebekah sat beside me in the back seat, occasionally glancing my way like she wanted to say something. Freya drove, focused and silent, while Hayley sat in the front seat, tense, arms crossed, like she was holding herself back from turning around and shaking me.

We pulled up to the compound just before sunset. The fading light stretched long across the cobblestones as the gates creaked open and closed behind us. It felt colder than I remembered.

Rebekah reached for the door handle, then paused. “You okay, darling?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I didn’t know.

I just got out of the car and walked inside.

My boots echoed against the tile. I kept my head down, heading for the stairs, ready to lock myself in my room and stay there until the guilt faded.

But the second I stepped into the foyer, I stopped cold.

They were all there.

Everyone.

Marcel. Keelin. Davina. Even Elijah stood off to the side, arms folded. Caroline and Stefan had just arrived too—probably called in for backup. They all looked serious. Silent.

I froze, heart pounding. “What… what is this?”

No one answered right away.

Hayley stepped up beside me, her tone low but firm. “This is us not letting you run anymore.”

Freya closed the front door behind her with a soft click.

I looked around—at all the eyes watching me. It felt like the walls were closing in again.

“Oh, great,” I muttered. “An ambush.”

“It’s not an ambush,” Marcel said gently. “It’s an intervention.”

I laughed bitterly. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Keelin stepped forward. “You’ve been hurting yourself, Hope. You think we haven’t noticed?”

Davina nodded. “You’ve been shutting down, shutting us out—and you’re not okay. We *see* you. Whether you want us to or not.”

“Stop.” My voice cracked. “Just—stop.”

But no one moved.

I took a shaky step back. “I don’t want this.”

“Well, that’s too damn bad,” Rebekah snapped, stepping forward. Her voice was sharp, but her eyes were glassy. “Because we love you. And we’re not going to stand by while you destroy yourself in silence.”

“Why do you *care*?” I shouted, suddenly trembling. “You don’t even *like* who I am—none of you do! You just want me to be the perfect Mikaelson daughter. Strong. Quiet. Obedient.”

“We want you alive,” Hayley said quietly.

That shut me up.

The silence after that felt loud.

But I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand *them*. Not when they all looked at me like I was some broken puzzle they were desperate to fix.

I turned toward the door. “I’m not doing this.”

“Hope—” Marcel called after me.

“I SAID NO!” I yelled, my voice echoing off the walls.

I lunged for the door—desperate, wild—but Freya stepped in my way. Her arms caught mine in a strong, practiced grip. And unmovable.

“Let go of me!” I screamed, struggling against her.

She didn’t. She just held on. “No. Not this time.”

I twisted in her arms, breathing hard, trapped. “You can’t keep me here.”

“We can try,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Because you matter. Because *you’re* worth staying for.”

I broke down right there.

The fight left me all at once, like someone pulled the plug on everything I had left. My body went limp in her arms.

And I started crying.

Not soft tears.

But the kind that burned.

~~~
Hayley’s POV

I hadn’t seen her cry like that since she was little.

My strong, sharp, impossibly stubborn daughter—folded in on herself in Freya’s arms like the weight of it all finally crushed her.

I should’ve gone to her. I should’ve held her. But my feet wouldn’t move.

Because all I could think was—*how long had she been carrying this alone?*

Klaus and I… we gave her a legacy, sure.

But we also gave her a burden.

And now, it was suffocating her.

Freya looked over at me with a tight, pained expression. She was holding Hope up, but only barely.

“I’ve got her,” she whispered.

I nodded, blinking back tears.

Rebekah turned away, swiping at her eyes. Davina and Keelin sat down slowly, like the air had left the room.

And Klaus… he wasn’t here to see it.

Maybe that was the problem.

I took a shaky breath and walked over.

“Hey, baby,” I whispered. “We’ve got you.”

Hope didn’t look up. She just nodded faintly and clung to Freya like she was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

---

Hope’s POV

I don’t remember how I got to the couch.

Or how long they sat there with me while I cried.

Eventually, someone brought me water. Rebekah handed me a blanket. Davina rubbed my back.

I didn’t talk.

I didn’t have the words yet.

But something cracked open inside me.

And that terrified me more than anything.

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine: Fractures and Fault Lines

Hope’s POV

I woke up the next morning in my own bed, still in yesterday’s clothes. Someone—probably Rebekah—had thrown a blanket over me at some point, but it was tangled around my legs like a net I didn’t remember falling into.

The weight in my chest was still there. Heavier, maybe.

Everything from the night before drifted in like fog. The intervention. The crying. Freya restraining me—holding me like she wasn’t going to let go no matter how hard I pushed.

I had let myself break open for them.

And now, I regretted it.

I got up quietly, ignoring the aching in my muscles, and made my way to the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face and stared at myself in the mirror.

I didn’t recognize her.

I avoided everyone for the rest of the morning.

Snuck out of the house for a walk. No one stopped me. Not that they didn’t try—I just moved fast, left early, and texted Marcel that I was fine.

**"Fine"**—the safest lie in the world.

---

Hayley’s POV

“She’s shutting down again,” I said, pacing the sitting room.

Rebekah sat on the arm of the couch, arms crossed tightly. “She barely looked at me this morning. I offered to make her breakfast—she left before the toast even popped.”

“She’s terrified,” Freya said quietly from her spot near the window. “Last night was the first time she let go of anything in months. That kind of vulnerability doesn’t come without a price for someone like her.”

“She *shouldn’t* have to be strong all the time,” I whispered. “She’s just a kid.”

“She’s not,” Rebekah said, shaking her head. “She hasn’t been for a long time. Not with everything we’ve put on her shoulders.”

Freya looked at me. “So what do we do? Keep pushing?”

“No,” I said. “Not pushing. Not cornering.”

Rebekah raised an eyebrow. “Then what?”

I sighed and sat down slowly, the exhaustion wrapping around my bones. “We show up. Every day. We knock on her door even when she doesn’t answer. We sit next to her even when she says she wants to be alone. We remind her that she doesn’t have to carry this alone—not anymore.”

Freya nodded. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

---

Hope’s POV

I came back late afternoon.

The compound was quieter than usual. No lectures. No staged concern. Just soft background noise and a few people walking around like they were trying not to scare me off.

I appreciated the effort.

Still, I grabbed my sketchbook and headed outside to the courtyard—my place, when I needed quiet. When I needed space to pretend none of this was happening.

I was halfway through a rough sketch when I heard a familiar voice.

“Hope?”

I looked up, and the breath caught in my throat.

Josie.

She stood just a few feet away, her dark hair twisted up loosely, soft curls framing her face. She wore jeans and a casual button-up, the kind of outfit she always made look effortlessly cool.

Behind her, Caroline and Stefan stood by the car, clearly deep in conversation with Freya. But Josie… she was looking only at me.

“Hi,” I said, my voice scratchy.

She smiled. “Hey. My moms are here for some kind of check-in with Freya. I tagged along.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You tagged along to Mystic Falls to New Orleans? That’s one hell of a ride.”

Josie shrugged. “Felt like the right time.”

I closed my sketchbook slowly and gestured to the bench. “You can sit if you want.”

She did.

For a while, we didn’t talk. Just sat there, the air between us filled with that kind of silence that only exists between two people who understand each other without trying.

Finally, Josie broke it.

“I heard what happened,” she said gently.

Of course she did.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said quickly, bracing for the look. The pity. The “Are you okay?” questions.

But Josie just nodded. “Okay.”

And that one word hit harder than any speech could’ve.

I stared down at my hands. “I feel like I’m constantly disappointing everyone.”

Josie turned slightly toward me. “You’re not.”

I scoffed. “You don’t know that.”

“I know you,” she said quietly. “And I know you’re doing the best you can.”

Something cracked. Again. I didn’t show it. Not on my face. But inside… the wall shifted. A hairline fracture.

“Thanks,” I whispered, blinking fast.

She smiled and reached over, linking her pinky with mine.

It was stupid. Small. But it anchored me.

---

### **Hayley’s POV**

I watched from the balcony as Hope sat with Josie in the courtyard.

Something about the way they leaned toward each other—just a little—gave me hope. No pun intended.

“She talks to her,” Caroline said, stepping beside me. “Josie’s always had this calm… light about her.”

I nodded. “Hope needs that.”

“She needs you too, Hayley.”

I looked down again, watching my daughter laugh quietly at something Josie said. A laugh I hadn’t heard in weeks.

“She’s been carrying the weight of this family on her back since she could walk,” I said softly. “And I let her.”

Caroline placed a hand on my shoulder. “Then help her take it off.”

I nodded slowly. “That’s what I intend to do.”

---

Hope’s POV

Josie had to leave after an hour.

She hugged me before she went, tight and warm, and whispered, “You’re not alone.”

That stuck with me long after the car pulled away.

I went inside quietly, bracing for another wave of eyes and concern.

But the house was calm.

Dinner had already been made—some pasta dish by Keelin. I didn’t eat much. Didn’t say much. Just nodded when Freya asked if I was okay.

Then I went up to my room, closed the door, and sat on the floor with my back against it.

I didn’t cry.

But I didn’t feel nothing either.

Somewhere in between.

That’s where I lived now.

Chapter Text

---
Chapter Ten: Cracks Let the Light In

Hope’s POV

The house was quiet again, but I didn’t trust it.

Silence in the Mikaelson compound wasn’t peace—it was pressure. The kind of stillness before something exploded, or someone snapped. And after everything that had happened—after the yelling, the crying, the bolting—it felt like everyone was walking on eggshells around me.

Which, somehow, made it worse.

I stayed in my room most of the day, sketching half-formed ideas and staring at my ceiling like it held some kind of answer. I kept my phone on silent, not that anyone was texting. Except...Josie.

She’d sent me a photo that morning of a coffee shop napkin with a doodled smiley face and the words *“Thinking of you. Don’t vanish, okay?”*

I hadn’t replied. I didn’t know how to. I didn’t deserve her kindness, not when I couldn’t even hold myself together for more than a day.

By late afternoon, I slipped out of the house again. No one stopped me. But this time, I didn’t go far.

---

Hayley’s POV

“She’s been gone for almost two hours,” Rebekah said, pacing the kitchen like a caged animal.

“I saw her leave,” Marcel added, arms crossed. “Didn’t say anything. Just walked out with her sketchbook.”

“She’s been leaving more often,” Freya noted quietly. “But she always comes back.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said, grabbing my keys. “That coming back is just routine for her. Not a choice. Not something she wants to do.”

“You think she’s going to run?” Keelin asked.

“I think she’s *thinking* about it,” I answered honestly. “And I want to get to her before she stops thinking and starts doing.”

Marcel looked at me carefully. “She’s not the same as she was even a few weeks ago. That girl who bolted and screamed? She’s still hurting, yeah. But she *wants* to be better. Even if she doesn’t know how.”

“I just want her to let us help,” I said, gripping the counter. “God, I’d give anything if she’d just—”

“Talk?” Rebekah finished for me. “Let someone in?”

I nodded.

A knock on the door cut through the moment.

Freya opened it—and there she was.

Josie.

---

Hope’s POV

I didn’t know why I walked to the coffee shop. Maybe because it was familiar. Maybe because I could almost pretend everything was okay when I was surrounded by strangers and white noise.

But when I turned around after paying for my drink, she was there.

Josie.

Standing by the door with her hands in her jacket pockets, like she hadn’t just driven four hours from Mystic Falls unannounced.

“You didn’t answer my text,” she said, a soft challenge in her voice.

“I didn’t know what to say,” I admitted.

“You don’t always have to say something,” she replied. “But disappearing? Not your best move.”

I sat down at a corner table, and she slid into the seat across from me like we’d done this a hundred times. Like it wasn’t weird or messy or complicated.

“I don’t know how to be what everyone wants,” I told her quietly. “Every time I try to open up, it’s like I make things worse.”

“You don’t make things worse,” Josie said, meeting my eyes. “You just don’t believe you’re allowed to take up space.”

I looked down at my cup.

She reached across the table and took my hand.

“You don’t have to be okay all the time, Hope. You don’t even have to be okay *today*. But let someone in. Let me in.”

I didn’t cry. But I wanted to.

“Okay,” I whispered.

She squeezed my hand.

---

Hayley’s POV

The front door creaked open just after sunset.

We all turned.

Hope stepped inside, looking exhausted but calm. And Josie was behind her, not leaving her side.

No one spoke.

Keelin and Davina hovered near the stairs, watching carefully. Marcel stood near the hallway, like he wasn’t sure if he should hug her or back off.

Then, Hope’s eyes landed on me.

“I’m not okay,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m trying.”

The tension in my chest broke all at once.

She stepped forward, and I caught her in my arms without saying a word.

Freya came in close, rubbing Hope’s back. Rebekah placed a hand gently on her shoulder.

No lectures. No pushing. Just presence.

We stayed like that—our strange little family, gathered in the foyer like survivors of a storm.

Hope didn’t bolt this time.

She stayed.

And for the first time in a long time, I believed maybe—just maybe—she would be okay.

---

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven: Pieces of Peace

Hope’s POV

Two weeks.

That’s how long it had been since I’d stood in the middle of our living room, surrounded by people who refused to let me fall apart quietly.

And the strangest part?

I hadn’t run since.

That didn’t mean things were easy. The darkness didn’t vanish overnight. It clung to the edges of me, stubborn and heavy. But something had shifted. Or maybe, *someone* had shifted it.

Josie had stayed in New Orleans for four days after the intervention. Long enough to convince me to go with her to this therapist Caroline recommended—someone local, discreet, and trained in trauma. I’d gone in expecting to hate every second.

But I didn’t.

I didn’t love it either. I didn’t walk out magically fixed.

But I *talked*.

And that was something.

-

I still drew every night—sometimes aimlessly, sometimes with purpose. The pages in my sketchbook were a mess of expressions: Josie’s smile, my mother’s furrowed brow, Klaus’s unreadable glare, Rebekah’s painted nails. I sketched scenes I remembered from childhood and some I wished had gone differently. It helped, even when I didn’t understand why.

Some days were still impossible. Days when getting out of bed felt like climbing Everest. Days when my reflection in the mirror looked like a stranger.

But I started getting up anyway.

Not for the Mikaelson name.

Not because someone told me to.

Because I *wanted* to try.

Hayley’s POV

I stood outside Hope’s therapy session, sipping bad coffee from the corner café and watching cars pass. Two weeks ago, I’d cried myself to sleep wondering if I was losing her.

Now, she was inside that office—talking.

I didn’t ask for details. I didn’t press her after sessions. I just asked if she wanted to go again. Some days she did. Some days she didn’t. And I respected that.

Rebekah and Freya took turns checking in on her. Marcel brought over lunch a few times. Davina left a stack of poetry books outside Hope’s door with sticky notes that read things like: *“Page 22 feels like you.”*

We weren’t fixed.

But we were *trying*.

And maybe that was enough.

Hope’s POV

It was a Saturday afternoon, and the compound was quiet. I sat cross-legged in the courtyard with my sketchbook in my lap and my earbuds in. Music hummed low—old records Freya had digitized for me. I was sketching a tree. Not because it meant something, but because it didn’t. It was just lines and shade and stillness.

“Hey stranger.”

I looked up—and there she was.

Josie.

She wore a soft yellow hoodie, sleeves pushed up, her backpack slung over one shoulder. My heart did that weird ache again, the one that meant *safe*.

“You’re back?” I said, standing.

“My mom and Stefan had a thing here. I asked to come along.”

“Good timing.”

She smiled. “You look... better.”

“Thanks,” I said, then laughed lightly. “I think.”

Josie walked over and sat beside me on the stone steps. “Better doesn’t mean perfect. It just means healing.”

I looked down at the half-finished tree. “It’s still hard.”

“I know.” She bumped her knee against mine. “You don’t have to carry it alone, you know.”

I nodded. “I’m starting to believe that.”

Josie glanced at my sketchbook. “You still draw me?”

I smirked. “Only when you’re not looking.”

She grinned, and we sat there in the sun, our shoulders brushing.

That night, I didn’t cry before bed.

I didn’t stare at the ceiling for hours.

I just pulled the blanket over myself, let the quiet wrap around me, and slept.