Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Caroline Forbes drove slowly down the winding road leading into Rosewood Springs, her grip tight on the steering wheel as she navigated the serene landscape. The sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees, casting dappled shadows on the road ahead. She felt a wave of relief wash over her as she left behind the familiar, suffocating pressure of Mystic Falls. The weight of her past year—of the betrayals, the battles, the relentless fear—began to lift as she took in the tranquil scenery around her.

It had been just over a year since her transformation, a year of grappling with her new identity as a vampire. The world she had once known seemed so distant now. She had survived that first chaotic period of adjustment, but every day felt like a battle against her own darker impulses. Despite the attempts to adapt, she often felt like an outsider in her own life. The fear of losing control, of succumbing to the monster within her, haunted her more than any external threat ever could.

As she pulled up to her Aunt Mary and Uncle Bob's house, Caroline's eyes softened at the sight of the quaint home. It was everything Mystic Falls wasn’t—peaceful, untroubled, and pleasantly mundane. The well-kept garden, with its bursts of vibrant flowers and neatly trimmed hedges, looked like something out of a storybook. She breathed in deeply, savouring the clean, fresh air that seemed so different from the heavy atmosphere of her hometown.

Aunt Mary and Uncle Bob greeted her with warm, open arms. Their smiles were genuine, their concern for her well-being evident. They were so unburdened by the supernatural world, so unaware of the chaos that had become her life. For a moment, Caroline felt like she could truly relax, letting their kindness wash over her like a balm.

After exchanging hugs and settling into her room—a cosy, ordinary space with a patchwork quilt and a view of the garden and lake—Caroline Forbes decided to explore her new surroundings. The lake, just a short walk from the house, shimmered under the afternoon sun. She walked to the water's edge, dipping her toes into the cool, clear lake. The sensation was refreshing and grounding, a stark contrast to the endless danger and darkness of Mystic Falls.

Sitting on the bank, Caroline set up a small picnic. She pulled out her phone and, with a sense of anticipation, sent messages to Matt, Bonnie, Elena, Stefan, and Tyler. She updated them on her arrival, expressing how much she missed them and how peaceful everything was in Rosewood Springs.

Noticing the lack of immediate replies—Matt was travelling with Rebekah, Bonnie was likely preoccupied with Abby, and Elena was enjoying her time with Damon, and Stefan was dealing with the fallout and Tyler—Caroline felt a pang of loneliness and insecurity but tried to push it aside. She focused on the serenity of her surroundings, trying to appreciate the calm after the storm.

With a sigh of contentment, she retrieved Bonnie’s grimoire from her bag and began to read. The book, a cherished connection to her friend, offered her a comforting sense of familiarity. Alongside the grimoire, Caroline also brought out a neatly organized folder she had been compiling over the past year. Inside were pages of notes about the supernatural world: the supernatural species, the other side, types of spells, important ingredients, significant people and various magical practices she had come across. She had been diligent about documenting everything she learned, hoping it would be useful in her now immortal life.

Bonnie wandered through the eerie stillness of the Other Side, her gaze fixed on Caroline as she enjoyed the serene lake in Rosewood Springs. The realm was usually quiet, a place of muted echoes and distant whispers, but tonight, a strange energy pulsed through the air, sending a shiver down Bonnie's spine.

Suddenly, her focus was pulled away from Caroline by a flicker in the corner of her vision—a young male vampire stumbling into view. His form was erratic, shifting between solid and spectral, like a mirage. His skin was almost translucent, veins dark and pulsing beneath the surface. He was muttering to himself, words spilling out in a disjointed, frantic manner.

Bonnie hesitated, her breath catching in her throat as she watched him. There was something deeply unsettling about him, something that didn’t quite belong in this realm. "The needles... the light... too bright... the blood..." he mumbled, his voice low and cracking, as if he were speaking from a place of immense pain.

He clawed at his own arms, leaving deep, angry marks that healed almost as quickly as they appeared. His eyes, wild and unfocused, suddenly locked onto Bonnie. For a split second, recognition seemed to flash in them, but just as quickly, it was gone. "You’re not real... just a trick... in my head..." he whispered, his words barely audible over the oppressive silence of the Other Side.

Bonnie took a cautious step forward, her instincts urging her to help, but something held her back. The vampire’s form flickered again, his presence growing faint and then sharpening, as if he were caught between two worlds. His eyes were wide with terror, filled with a dread so profound that it made Bonnie’s blood run cold. "The light... it’s coming back... no... please... stop..." His voice trembled, fading with each word, until he was barely a shadow against the darkness.

And then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone. The air around Bonnie stilled, the strange energy dissipating as quickly as it had come. She was left standing alone in the vast emptiness of the Other Side, her heart pounding in her chest.

Bonnie blinked, her mind racing to make sense of what she had just witnessed. Had he really been there, or was her mind playing tricks on her? The lines between the living and the dead had always been blurred for her, but this... this was something else entirely.

As she stood there, the silence of the Other Side pressed in around her, heavy and suffocating. She tried to shake off the unease that clung to her, telling herself that it was just the ghost of a broken vampire—another lost soul, driven mad by whatever horrors had brought him here. But deep down, a small voice whispered that something wasn’t right, that this was more than just another encounter with the dead.

The sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. Caroline packed up her picnic and made her way back inside. The house was quiet; Aunt Mary and Uncle Bob were away on a brief trip, leaving her alone. She took this opportunity to work on another project—growing vervain, a plant she knew would be crucial for her safety. She had brought a small amount of vervain seeds with her and planted them carefully, wearing gloves, in a pre-prepared pot of soil, placed in a large drawer in her wardrobe, under a grow light she had set up to help them thrive. It was a careful and meticulous process, one that provided her with a sense of control and preparation.

As she prepared her blood bags for the evening, Caroline took extra precautions to ensure her aunt and uncle remained unaware of her supernatural needs. She gifted Aunt Mary and Uncle Bob with vervain-infused watches after subtly compelling them to never take them off and to avoid looking into any of the drawers in her room or her belongings.

Later that evening, Caroline indulged in a tub of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Brownie ice cream and a plate of ketchup-smothered fries from the town’s only bar. She watched Gone With The Wind while flipping through another of Bonnie’s grimoires, taken from the Martin witches. She checked her phone again, hoping for a reply from her friends but found none. A small frown tugged at her lips, but she decided not to dwell on it. She fed from one of the blood bags she had set aside and painfully drank her daily dose of vervain, the act a necessary part of her new routine.

As she settled into her bed, the tranquillity of the night enveloped her. She picked up her phone and hesitated for a moment before sending a brief message to Klaus.

Caroline: Hi Klaus, just wanted to share that the lake and mountains here are breathtaking. You were right, Genuine Beauty.

With a final glance at her phone, she put it down and allowed herself to relax.

The serene night outside was abruptly shattered by the unsettling presence of a shadowy figure moving with purpose in the nearby forest. The forest, once calm and tranquil under the silver glow of the moon, now held a sinister edge as the figure worked in the darkness.

With grim efficiency, the figure wielded a spade, the rhythmic crunch of dirt against metal cutting through the stillness. The shallow grave began to take shape, its edges rough and uneven, the earth disturbed from its peaceful slumber. As the moonlight flickered through the trees, casting eerie shadows, the figure’s movements were precise, betraying a disturbing familiarity with the task at hand.

The body, cold and lifeless, was handled with a care that belied the horror of its fate. It was unceremoniously dropped into the pit, landing with a sickening thud that seemed to echo through the trees. The figure paused, taking a moment to adjust the twisted limbs and ensure the body lay flat, as if trying to force some semblance of dignity upon the grim scene.

Once satisfied, the figure began the grim task of covering the remains. Dirt was shovelled over the body in heavy, deliberate loads, each clump hitting with a muffled thud. The figure’s breathing was shallow, the only sounds besides the shuffling of earth were the occasional rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl, adding a haunting soundtrack to the macabre act.

Leaves and forest debris were strewn over the grave with meticulous care, the figure’s hands working quickly to blend the disturbed ground with its natural surroundings. The result was a disturbingly perfect camouflage, the freshly turned soil hidden beneath a blanket of foliage that made the grave almost indistinguishable from the forest floor.

The figure’s work was methodical, every action performed with an unnerving calmness. As the final layer of leaves was arranged, the figure paused, surveying the scene with a cold, detached satisfaction. The once-bare patch of earth was now seamlessly merged with its surroundings, concealing the dark secret beneath.

In the depth of the forest, the grave remained hidden, a silent testament to the night’s grim activities. The moon continued its journey across the sky, casting an indifferent light on the scene as the forest returned to its deceptive quiet, leaving the shadowy figure to vanish into the darkness, leaving only the unsettling residue of their presence behind.

As Caroline slept soundly, wrapped in the comfort of her temporary sanctuary, the dark events unfolding just beyond her peaceful refuge remained a world away. For now, she was content to believe in the possibility of peace, even as the shadows began to encroach upon her tranquil haven.

Chapter Text

The townhouse in New Orleans was a lavish testament to the grandeur of its occupants. Opulent furnishings and elegant decor filled the space, casting an air of decadence over everything. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing over the walls as blood dripped from the lifeless body sprawled across an ornate chaise longue. Klaus stood over the corpse, his satisfaction evident as he licked the remnants of his feast from his lips, a smirk playing on his face before turning back towards his half-finished canvas.

The door to the room opened quietly, and Elijah stepped inside with his usual grace. His eyes immediately took in the grisly scene, a frown creasing his forehead.

"Must you always leave such a mess, Niklaus?" Elijah’s voice was calm but carried an unmistakable undertone of frustration. "I tire of cleaning up after you."

Klaus chuckled, unfazed by his brother's disapproval. "Perhaps if you had more fun, you wouldn’t mind the occasional splatter of blood."

Elijah’s lips twitched in annoyance as he held out a handkerchief his expression frustrated. "We have more pressing concerns than your hedonistic pursuits. Marcel’s army is growing rapidly. We need to balance the scales before we’re overrun."

Klaus’s smirk faded, his expression turning serious as he wiped his hands on a silk handkerchief. "You’re right. We need reinforcements. What about your sireline? Surely they’d be inclined to aid us."

Elijah sighed, his gaze drifting to the bloodstains on the floor. "Many of them have established their own clans and militias over the centuries. They’ve deviated from our cause, each with its own agenda."

Klaus let out a dark laugh, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. "They'll fall in line... or face my wrath. My own sireline is a disappointment. If I weren’t occupied here, I’d consider wiping them out every last one of them and starting anew."

At that moment, Klaus’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his demeanour shifting as he saw the name on the screen. His smirk softened into a genuine smile as he read Caroline’s message. Elijah looked on curiously, his attention peaked as he saw a flicker of humanity and joy on his brother’s face, before again the smile was replaced with a cold, calculating gaze.

"Gather more intel on the vampiric situation and report back to me," Klaus said, his tone dismissive but firm. "And tell Rebekah that her time with the quarterback is over. She is needed back here."

Elijah nodded, preparing to exit. "I’ll make the arrangements."

As Elijah left to arrange for someone to clean up the mess, Klaus took one last look at the room before heading out. His phone buzzed again, but this time, it was a message from Marcel, inviting him for a drink. Klaus read it, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. He slipped his phone into his pocket and made his way out, the promise of a drink with Marcel ahead.

As he exited the townhouse, Klaus’s thoughts lingered on Caroline's message, a flicker of warmth touching his otherwise cold demeanour.

The village market in Rosewood Springs hummed with energy under the soft morning sun. Stalls overflowed with vibrant produce, handcrafted trinkets, and the mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked goods that wafted through the air. The cobblestone path between the stalls was alive with chatter, the soft buzz of laughter, and the occasional bark of a vendor vying for attention.

Caroline strolled through the market, her dark blue leather jacket popping against the warm, earthy tones around her. She wore a floral white and pink Henley underneath, paired with dark blue jeggings and sleek black boots that clicked lightly on the stone beneath her feet. A small white handbag hung loosely at her side, and her hair, curled a bit more than usual, framed her face. She had a freshly baked cinnamon bun in hand, biting into it and letting out a soft, involuntary moan as the warm, sugary flavours burst in her mouth.

“Oh my God, that’s heaven,” she mumbled to herself, savouring each bite.

As she wiped the corners of her mouth, her eyes scanned the market, taking in the sights. A young man, standing at a nearby stall, suddenly caught her attention. He seemed to hover uncertainly, holding a basket filled with ripe berries, his brown eyes fixed nervously on her. His posture was hesitant, like he was working up the courage to approach her.

He shuffled over, his sneakers scuffing lightly against the cobblestone, and extended the basket toward her with a shy smile. “Uh, you should try these,” he said, his voice soft but eager. “Best berries in town.”

Caroline eyed him, her guard subtly rising as her instincts kicked in. The whole ‘too friendly stranger’ vibe usually came with complications in her life. But there was something disarming about his awkwardness. She smiled politely, shaking her head. “Thanks, but I’m just looking around.”

Before the boy could respond, a voice chimed in from beside him, bright and teasing. “Oh, come on, Isaac, don’t just offer her berries like a weirdo.”

A girl with dark, dyed hair and a sharp, sassy grin stepped up beside Isaac, nudging him playfully with her elbow. Her style screamed emo-chic—ripped black jeans, combat boots, a band tee with sleeves torn off and a thick black choker. She looked like the polar opposite of Isaac, whose sweater and jeans were a bit too neat. Her dark eyeliner only emphasized the contrast between her mischievous smirk and her brother’s bashful expression.

“This is my twin brother, Isaac,” the girl introduced, gesturing with a dramatic wave. “I’m Isla. We’ve lived here forever and know all the best spots to avoid tourists and creepy berry vendors.”

Isaac flushed immediately, his cheeks turning a deep shade of pink. “I wasn’t—I mean—”

Isla grinned wider, ignoring him. “So, what brings you to Rosewood Springs? We don’t usually get people as… well, not you,” she said, looking Caroline up and down. “More like not as put-together as you.”

Caroline couldn’t help but smile. There was a directness in Isla’s tone that reminded her of her old friends back home. But her guard was still up. “Just trying to get a break from, well, everything. It’s been a long year.”

Isla cocked her head, curiosity flashing in her dark eyes. “Wow mysterious as well, I like it.”

Isaac cleared his throat, his voice still soft as he tried to regain some composure. “If you want, we were thinking of going for a hike tomorrow. Up to the lake in the mountains. It's kind of off the beaten path but worth it.”

Before Caroline could respond, Isla jumped in putting her arm around Caroline, eyes gleaming. “Come on, it'll be fun! We’ll pack snacks and make a day out of it. You’ll love it.”

Caroline bit her lip, considering. Her instincts still screamed caution—after everything she’d been through in Mystic Falls, friendly strangers were often a prelude to danger. But there was something innocent, even endearing, about these two. Isaac’s nervous energy contrasted with Isla’s bold, sassy demeanour, and it made her smile despite herself.

“I’ll think about it,” she replied, still wary but not wanting to shut them down completely.

Isla shot Isaac a sideways glance, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I bet Isaac would love for you to come. Right, Isaac?”

Isaac looked like he wanted to sink into the ground. His voice stumbled as he tried to brush off her teasing. “I-I mean, it’d be cool if you joined. But no pressure. Really.”

Caroline laughed softly, finally relaxing a bit. “Alright, I’ll keep it in mind. Maybe a hike is just what I need.”

Isla gave her a knowing smirk, leaning back and folding her arms. “Perfect. We’ll see you here tomorrow morning. You won’t regret it.”

As Caroline continued through the market, a sense of relief settled over her—though not fully. Isaac’s sweet awkwardness had almost charmed her, and Isla’s sass reminded her of her friends back in Mystic Falls. But something still didn’t sit right. Something about how quickly they’d latched onto her.

She tucked the feeling away for later. For now, she would see where this strange, new friendship might lead.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the mountains as Caroline, Isaac, and Isla made their way along the winding trail. The crisp mountain air was invigorating, and the sounds of rustling leaves and distant birdcalls created a serene backdrop to their hike. The trail led them through a forest of towering pines and underbrush, the path narrowing as they approached their destination.

Caroline, enjoying the natural beauty of Rosewood Springs, couldn’t help but appreciate the peacefulness of the hike. Isaac and Isla chatted animatedly about the local wildlife and their favourite spots around the town. Their enthusiasm was infectious, but Caroline’s mind remained partially preoccupied, her instincts on high alert despite the apparent charm of the twins.

As they finally reached the lake, it’s clear, pristine waters shimmered under the late afternoon sun. The trio spread out a blanket on the soft grass beside the water and began to unpack their picnic. The air was filled with the aroma of fresh fruits, homemade pastries, and the faint scent of pine from the surrounding forest.

Isaac offered Caroline a sandwich, and Isla poured iced tea from a thermos. Their easy conversation and laughter contrasted sharply with Caroline’s growing sense of unease. She noticed the way they moved almost too synchronously, their smiles just a bit too perfect. But she tried to push her suspicions aside, focusing on the beauty of the lake and the pleasantness of the day.

After settling in, Caroline's gaze wandered across the picturesque landscape. Her eyes soon caught something unusual. A short distance away, a tree stood with a peculiar symbol carved deeply into its bark: a vertical line with three circles—two at each end and one slightly below the midpoint. The edges of the carving were blackened and cracked, and a faint, unnatural glow seemed to emanate from it.

“Hey, what’s that?” Caroline pointed to the symbol, her voice betraying a hint of concern. “It looks… strange.”

Isla’s reaction was immediate, but her tone was unnervingly flat. “Oh, that? It’s unimportant. Just things of no consequence.”

Caroline frowned, her instincts kicking in. The dispassionate way Isla spoke was off-putting. She turned to Isaac, hoping for a different answer. “And you? What do you think?”

Isaac’s response mirrored Isla’s, his voice lacking its usual warmth. “Unimportant. Things of no consequence.”

A chill ran down Caroline’s spine. The repetitive, mechanical responses of the twins, coupled with the eerie glow of the symbol, were setting off alarm bells in her mind. The twins’ demeanour felt eerily familiar, reminiscent of the compulsion she had experienced before.

“Guys,” Caroline said carefully, her tone steady but laced with unease, “are you sure that mark doesn’t mean anything? It looks... unnatural.”

Isla’s gaze remained blank, her expression unchanging. “It’s really not important,” she insisted, her voice devoid of any inflection.

Caroline’s anxiety grew. She felt the weight of her suspicion pressing down on her, intensifying with every robotic reply. The seemingly benign excursion was taking on a darker, more sinister hue. Her mind raced, trying to piece together the implications of the symbol and the twins’ unnerving behaviour.

The sense of camaraderie she had felt earlier began to wane, replaced by a growing discomfort. Caroline forced herself to remain calm, trying to mask her apprehension with a smile. “Alright,” she said, her voice steady, “let’s just enjoy the rest of the picnic.”

The Other Side was shrouded in an unsettling silence, its barren landscape devoid of the familiar vibrancy of life. The sky was an endless stretch of grey, and the air seemed to hum with a low, unsettling frequency. Bonnie Bennett wandered through this ghostly realm, her mind still reeling from the disturbing encounter with the tortured vampire she had witnessed before.

Every step she took echoed in the stillness, amplifying the oppressive atmosphere. She tried to steady her breathing, her earlier dread transforming into a gnawing curiosity. What was happening on the Other Side? Why had that vampire seemed so tormented?

As she walked, her eyes fell upon a sight that froze her in her tracks. The same vampire from before lay sprawled on the ground, motionless. This was not right. Everyone on the Other Side remained conscious, their forms unharmed regardless of how they had passed. The stillness of the vampire’s body was a stark anomaly in this realm of perpetual awareness.

Bonnie took a tentative step closer, her heart pounding in her chest. “What the hell?” she questioned quietly to herself, her voice barely more than a breath. “Why are you here?”

As her fingers reached out to touch the vampire’s cold, lifeless form, a sudden burst of white fire erupted from his body. The flames roared to life with a fierce intensity, casting eerie, dancing shadows across the barren landscape. Bonnie gasped, stumbling backward in shock. The searing heat and blinding light caught her off guard, and she shielded her eyes from the blinding blaze.

The white fire surged and writhed around the vampire’s form, creating a surreal, almost otherworldly spectacle. Bonnie’s senses were overwhelmed by the violent and inexplicable phenomenon. Her mind raced with questions—why was this happening? What did it mean?

Just as abruptly as it had appeared, the fire vanished. The blazing flames dissipated into nothingness, leaving no trace of the vampire’s body behind. The ground was as bare and empty as it had been before. Bonnie stood there, her breath coming in ragged gasps, staring at the spot where the vampire had been. The eerie silence of the Other Side returned, more profound and oppressive than ever.

She felt a chill creep over her, her mind struggling to grasp what she had just witnessed. Was it a trick of the other side? A manifestation of her fears? Or something more sinister lurking beyond her comprehension?

Bonnie’s heart raced as she took a few unsteady steps back, her mind grappling with the implications of the encounter. The scene before her was as disconcerting as it was inexplicable, leaving her with a gnawing sense of dread and uncertainty.

Caroline Forbes sat in her bedroom, the soft glow of a lamp casting a warm light across the room. Despite the comfort of her new surroundings, sleep eluded her. The serenity of Rosewood Springs felt distant, overshadowed by the nagging curiosity and unease from her recent encounters. Her mind buzzed with unanswered questions and unsettling discoveries.

On her desk lay Bonnie's grimoire, opened to pages filled with intricate spells and cryptic symbols. Beside it was a neatly organized folder, filled with Caroline's own notes and observations. She had been meticulously documenting her findings, hoping to uncover any connection between her strange experiences and the supernatural lore she had been studying.

As she flipped through the pages of the grimoire, her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar, burning sensation. Caroline grimaced as she reached for a small vial of vervain. The process was a necessary ritual, one that both tortured and fortified her. She carefully measured out a dose, feeling the familiar sting as the vervain burned and corroded her throat. The pain was intense, but she endured it, knowing it was crucial for her self-protection and to build a tolerance.

She paused for a moment to let the pain subside before grabbing a blood bag from a nearby cooler. The rich, iron taste of the blood was both comforting and euphoric. Caroline allowed herself to savour the taste, letting the warm liquid soothe her nerves. Despite the pleasure, she exercised restraint, forcing herself to stop after only one bag. It was a delicate balance—enjoying the blood while maintaining control over her darker instincts.

Returning to her research, Caroline flipped through additional books on gemstones, herbs, and mythology, her eyes scanning for anything that could explain the symbol she had seen by the lake. Her focus was interrupted as her phone buzzed on the desk. She glanced at the screen, rolling her eyes with a smile as she saw a message from Klaus. She took a moment to compose a thoughtful reply before returning to her work.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the quaint townhouse in Rosewood Springs. The quiet evening was suddenly interrupted by a firm knock at the door. Isla and Isaac exchanged a tense glance, their earlier facade of warmth now replaced with an undercurrent of apprehension.

Isaac approached the door with a cautious curiosity, opening it to reveal a man standing in the twilight. His appearance was unsettlingly polished—dark suit, cold, calculating eyes that seemed to see through everything. A thin scar cut through his right eyebrow, a pale mark that stood out against his otherwise impeccable appearance, hinting at a violent past. The stranger’s presence filled the doorway, an almost palpable aura of menace surrounding him.

“Evening,” the man said smoothly, his pupils dilating. “I’m here on business. May I come in?”

Isaac’s resistance was feeble against the compelling force of the man’s gaze. With a hesitant nod, he stepped aside, allowing the stranger to enter.

The man walked past them with an air of confidence, surveying the interior with a predatory gleam in his eyes. He turned to face Isla and Isaac, his gaze settling on Isla with an unsettling intensity. “Thank you for the warm welcome,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Before Isla could react, the man’s pupils dilated, and she was unable to resist. Her entire mind was screaming at her not to listen. “Come here and do not speak,” he commanded, his voice smooth and cold.

Isla found herself moving toward him, her body obeying the compulsion against her will. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, fear mingling with an inexplicable need to comply.

The man reached out, removing the choker and revealing two bloody wounds on her neck, his fangs extending with a predatory gleam. He sank them into Isla’s neck with practiced ease, his grip firm and unyielding. Isla gasped, a shudder of pain and horror passing through her as her blood was drained. Her vision swam, the world around her darkening with each passing moment. Isaac tried to move and help, but the vampire’s compulsion from his last visit held firm.

When he finally withdrew, his lips stained with her blood, the man’s eyes were cold and calculating. He picked up his phone with a smooth motion, his demeanour shifting to one of business-like efficiency as he lounged on the couch.

“Everything is in place,” he said into the phone, his voice low and purposeful. “Yes, my lady. At once.”

He ended the call and turned his attention back to Isla, who was slumped against the wall, her face pale and her breath coming in shallow gasps. Fear and

The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the quaint townhouse in Rosewood Springs. The quiet evening was suddenly interrupted by a firm knock at the door. Isla and Isaac exchanged a tense glance, their earlier facade of warmth now replaced with an undercurrent of apprehension.

Isaac approached the door with a cautious curiosity, opening it to reveal a man standing in the twilight. His appearance was unsettlingly polished—dark suit, cold, calculating eyes that seemed to see through everything. A thin scar cut through his right eyebrow, a pale mark that stood out against his otherwise impeccable appearance, hinting at a violent past. The stranger’s presence filled the doorway, an almost palpable aura of menace surrounding him.

“Evening,” the man said smoothly, his pupils dilating. “I’m here on business. May I come in?”

Isaac’s resistance was feeble against the compelling force of the man’s gaze. With a hesitant nod, he stepped aside, allowing the stranger to enter.

The man walked past them with an air of confidence, surveying the interior with a predatory gleam in his eyes. He turned to face Isla and Isaac, his gaze settling on Isla with an unsettling intensity. “Thank you for the warm welcome,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Before Isla could react, the man’s pupils dilated, and she was unable to resist. Her entire mind was screaming at her not to listen. “Come here and do not speak,” he commanded, his voice smooth and cold.

Isla found herself moving toward him, her body obeying the compulsion against her will. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, fear mingling with an inexplicable need to comply.

The man reached out, removing the choker and revealing two bloody wounds on her neck, his fangs extending with a predatory gleam. He sank them into Isla’s neck with practiced ease, his grip firm and unyielding. Isla gasped, a shudder of pain and horror passing through her as her blood was drained. Her vision swam, the world around her darkening with each passing moment. Isaac tried to move and help, but the vampire’s compulsion from his last visit held firm.

When he finally withdrew, his lips stained with her blood, the man’s eyes were cold and calculating. He picked up his phone with a smooth motion, his demeanour shifting to one of business-like efficiency as he lounged on the couch.

“Everything is in place,” he said into the phone, his voice low and purposeful. “Yes, my lady. At once.”

He ended the call and turned his attention back to Isla, who was slumped against the wall, her face pale and her breath coming in shallow gasps. Fear and desperation filled her eyes as she struggled to maintain control of her body, still under the thrall of his command.

“Now,” the man said, his tone almost gentle, “you will cover the bite marks.” His words were a soft command laced with an undercurrent of menace. “Put on something that hides the evidence of our meeting.”

Isla’s trembling hands reached for a nearby wardrobe, her movements robotic and devoid of her usual grace. Her eyes were filled with terror as she complied, picking up another thick choker—each motion an effort against the overwhelming fear and the compulsion binding her.

The man watched with a satisfied smirk, his gaze cold and unfeeling. He revelled in the display of control, in the fear he instilled, and in the complete domination of Isaac and Isla’s will. The room, once filled with the lively energy of the twins, was now a tableau of dread and submission, the harsh light of the man’s presence casting a long, dark shadow over their lives.

As Isla finally managed to cover the bite marks with a carefully chosen outfit, her eyes met Isaac’s, filled with silent pleas for help. Isaac, too, was trapped under the man's influence, unable to intervene, his face a mask of helplessness, anger, and fear.

“You will both follow through with the next phase.” The man commanded, pupils dilating.

His satisfaction was evident as he turned on his heel, leaving the townhouse with a chilling finality. The door closed behind him, sealing away the darkness he had brought into their lives.

filled her eyes as she struggled to maintain control of her body, still under the thrall of his command.

“Now,” the man said, his tone almost gentle, “you will cover the bite marks.” His words were a soft command laced with an undercurrent of menace. “Put on something that hides the evidence of our meeting.”

Isla’s trembling hands reached for a nearby wardrobe, her movements robotic and devoid of her usual grace. Her eyes were filled with terror as she complied, picking up another thick choker—each motion an effort against the overwhelming fear and the compulsion binding her.

The man watched with a satisfied smirk, his gaze cold and unfeeling. That scar above his right brow shifted slightly with the motion, a subtle reminder that he was no stranger to violence. He revelled in the display of control, in the fear he instilled, and in the complete domination of Isaac and Isla’s will. The room, once filled with the lively energy of the twins, was now a tableau of dread and submission, the harsh light of the man’s presence casting a long, dark shadow over their lives.

As Isla finally managed to cover the bite marks with a carefully chosen outfit, her eyes met Isaac’s, filled with silent pleas for help. Isaac, too, was trapped under the man's influence, unable to intervene, his face a mask of helplessness and fear.

“You will both follow through with the next phase.” The man commanded, pupils dilating.

His satisfaction was evident as he turned on his heel, leaving the townhouse with a chilling finality. The door closed behind him, sealing away the darkness he had brought into their lives.

Chapter Text

The sun was at its apex illuminating where Caroline, Isaac, and Isla had hiked earlier. The tranquil beauty of the setting—a serene lake surrounded by rolling hills and dense woodland—belied the tension that was about to unfold.

Caroline leaned back on a large boulder, her face illuminated by the bright light of the noon sun. For a moment, everything seemed perfect, a rare moment of normalcy amidst the chaos of her life.

“Caroline, you really should come out here more often,” Isaac said, his voice warm with a sincerity that felt almost too perfect. “It’s the best way to clear your head.”

Isla nodded in agreement; her smile just as reassuring. “Rosewood Springs is full of these hidden gems. You’ve got to enjoy them while you can.”

Caroline returned their smiles, grateful for the friendly gesture. “I’ll keep that in mind. It’s nice to have a break from everything.”

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. Isaac’s gaze hardened, and Isla’s smile faltered, a cold edge creeping into her eyes. Without warning, Isaac pulled a wooden stake from his jacket, and Isla followed suit, revealing a crossbow. Caroline’s eyes widened in shock, her instincts immediately kicking in.

Before she could react, Isaac lunged at Caroline with the stake, its wooden edge slicing through the air with a menacing whoosh. The stake’s impact against the boulder echoed with a sharp, splintering crack as Caroline dodged, her vampire reflexes barely allowing her to sidestep the attack. She moved with inhuman speed, grabbing Isaac’s arm and twisting it behind his back. The stake went flying, clattering to the ground.

Isla, not missing a beat, aimed her crossbow at Caroline. A bolt whizzed through the air, striking the tree behind her. Caroline ducked and rolled, narrowly avoiding the deadly projectile. Her heart raced, adrenaline surging as she started to realise the true danger of her situation.

“Why are you doing this?” Caroline shouted, her voice a mix of confusion and anger.

Isaac’s face was a mask of cold determination as he lunged towards her barely missing Caroline. The confrontation was brutal. Caroline fought back with all her vampire strength, her movements fluid and precise. She managed to disarm Isaac, wrenching the stake from his hand and sending him crashing into a nearby tree. The impact was jarring, and Caroline heard the sickening sound of bones snapping and leaving Isaac on the ground screaming in agony.

Isla, her eyes narrowed with cold resolve, pulled back the crossbow and released another bolt with a sharp twang. The projectile sliced through the air, its whistling flight narrowly missing Caroline as she ducked. The bolt embedded itself into the tree with a resounding thud. Caroline’s reflexes faltered for a split second, and she felt her feet slip against the moss-covered bark of the fallen tree, her heart racing as she fought to regain her balance. In the chaos, she shoved Isla away. The force of the push sent Isla crashing into a low-hanging branch, the sharp wood piercing her stomach with a sickening crunch. Isla gasped; her eyes wide with pain as she struggled against the impaling branch.

Caroline’s heart pounded as she watched Isla’s blood seep into the earth. She quickly approached Isla, her own pain and concern overriding her fear. “Hold on, Isla. I’ll fix this.”

Caroline used her vampire strength to pull Isla off the branch, her hands stained with blood. She took a deep breath, bared her fangs and bit into her wrist before feeding Isla her blood. The gash closed up, but Isla was still struggling in Caroline’s grip, her breathing shallow and rapid. Caroline took a hold of Isla and tied her to a tree trunk.

Turning to Isaac, Caroline felt a pang of guilt. She knelt beside him, her hands trembling as she used her vampire blood to heal his broken bones. Isaac’s injuries mended, though he remained dazed, weak and twitching in pain. As carefully as she could, she took Isaac and tied him next to Isla.

With both Isaac and Isla incapacitated, Caroline took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing as she prepared to compel them to reveal the truth.

“Tell me what’s going on,” she demanded, her voice firm and commanding.

Isaac and Isla’s eyes glazed over, but they remained silent, their minds seemingly blocked from sharing any useful information. Frustration bubbled inside Caroline. She realized that compelling them wouldn’t yield any answers, and that they were compelled.

Her expression hardened. “Caroline does not exist. Forget I exist. I’m just another member of this town, insignificant. Leave town and move somewhere safe.”

She reached into her bag and brought out a glass jar of vervain before she readied herself and pressed vervain into their hands, wincing at the pain it caused her. It was a small price to pay for their freedom from future compulsion. The vervain was potent and essential for their protection, even though it burned her own skin as she handled it.

Finally, Caroline stepped back and cut the ropes free, her gaze softening. “Have a good life and be happy. Don’t stay here any longer than you need to.”

Isaac and Isla’s eyes cleared, but their memories of the encounter were now shrouded in a veil of forgetfulness. They were left confused but compliant, their focus shifting away from Caroline.

As she watched them stumble away, Caroline’s heart ached with a mixture of relief and frustration. She had tried to protect them, but the danger was far from over. With a heavy sigh, she turned back towards the lake, her mind racing with unanswered questions and the haunting realisation that she was fighting a vampire that wanted her dead.

Caroline’s bedroom was a testament to her obsession with uncovering the truth. The room was cluttered with open books, scattered notes, and illuminated by the glow of a desk lamp. The once calming space now felt like a battlefield, filled with the remnants of countless hours spent pouring over ancient texts and supernatural lore.

At the centre of the chaos was Caroline, her brow furrowed in concentration as she flipped through the pages of Bonnie's grimoire. Her fingers moved swiftly, but the frustration on her face was palpable. Every piece of information she stumbled upon seemed irrelevant to the burned symbol and the other strange occurrences she had witnessed.

She glanced at the wall, where a large corkboard was covered in notes, diagrams, and photographs. Each detail was meticulously connected with red string, forming a complex web of her investigation. Yet, despite the effort, there was no clear pattern or explanation.

Caroline slammed a book shut and threw it onto the pile beside her, her frustration boiling over. “Nothing makes sense,” she muttered under her breath, her voice tinged with exhaustion. She rubbed her temples, feeling the weight of her mounting pressure. The burned symbol, the unnerving encounter with Isaac and Isla—everything seemed like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces.

Her phone buzzed on the desk, but she barely registered it. She was too absorbed in her futile search for answers. The more she read, the more elusive the solution seemed. It was as if the information she needed was just out of reach, hidden behind an impenetrable veil.

With a sigh, Caroline pushed her chair back from the desk and stood up. Her shoulders were tense, and her usually poised demeanour was replaced by a sense of defeat. She paced the room, the stress of the investigation weighing heavily on her.

“I need a break,” she said aloud, her voice echoing with a mixture of frustration and resignation. She glanced at the mess of her research, feeling overwhelmed by the sheer volume of material that had yielded no tangible results.

Caroline walked over to the small kitchenette in the corner of the room, her movements mechanical. She grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water, her hands shaking slightly. As she took a sip, she stared out the window, watching the peaceful landscape of Rosewood Springs bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, the golden light illuminating the white flowers on the front lawn. The serenity of the outside world felt like a stark contrast to the turmoil she was experiencing inside.

With a sigh, Caroline set the glass down and decided to take a break. She needed to clear her mind and regain her focus. As she moved back towards her desk, she cast one last glance at the chaotic display of her research. The sight of it reminded her of the elusive nature of the answers she sought.

“Maybe a change of scenery will help,” she thought, her resolve firming. She grabbed her jacket and headed out of the room, leaving behind the frustration of her research for a moment.

As she made her way to the town’s only bar, the need for a break felt more pressing than ever. The familiar hum of the bar and the clink of glasses offered a temporary respite from the relentless search for answers. Caroline hoped that a drink and a moment of calm might provide the clarity she desperately needed.

The bar in Rosewood Springs was a modest establishment, a haven for the locals seeking refuge from the day’s worries. It was dimly lit, with wooden tables and stools arranged haphazardly, giving it a comfortable, lived-in feel. The hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses filled the air, creating a cosy backdrop against the cool evening air outside.

Caroline entered the bar, her steps heavy with frustration. The warmth inside contrasted sharply with the chilly night she had left behind. She made her way to an empty booth, sliding into the seat with a sigh of relief. The bartender, a friendly older man with a welcoming smile, approached her.

“What can I get for you?” he asked.

“A glass of rosé wine, please,” Caroline replied, her tone weary.

As she waited for her drink, Caroline let her gaze wander around the bar. She was lost in thought, her mind still occupied with the frustrations of her research. The evening’s monotony was briefly broken when her attention was caught by a sudden, unsettling sight through the large window facing the street.

A woman with red hair was walking calmly down the street, her expression at ease seemingly unaware of the three men were trailing behind her, their movements predatory. Caroline’s instincts flared with concern. The woman was clearly in danger, and the men following her exuded a dangerous aura that Caroline recognized all too well.

Without hesitation, Caroline stood up and headed toward the door. The chill of the night air hit her as she stepped outside, her senses heightened as she followed the woman and her pursuers. The red-haired woman had reached a darker, quieter part of the street, away from the safety of the bar’s warm light.

Caroline quickened her pace, her eyes narrowing as the three men surrounded the woman. They were vampires, their predatory instincts unmistakable. One of them brandished a wooden stake, while the others moved in with malicious intent. Caroline’s heart raced, a surge of adrenaline sharpening her focus.

The confrontation erupted into chaos. Caroline leaped into the fray, her vampire strength and agility coming to the forefront. She tackled one of the men with a powerful shove, sending him crashing into a nearby wall in surprise. As he recovered himself from the ground, Caroline’s swift movements allowed her to snap his neck.

“You little whore!” One of the vampire’s snarled seeing his friend’s neck snapped and charged at Caroline. The fight was brutal. The vampire’s speed and strength far outmatched Caroline’s, and the struggle was fierce as she bit, scratched and clawed at the man. The man grabbed her by the hair before taking the stake his friend dropped and stuck it in her stomach.

“Beg for a quick death you bitch. Go on.” The man said before taking his switch-blade and stabbing her in the eye causing Caroline to screech in pain and claw even more in his arms.

“Fuck you!”, Caroline screamed and clawed at his arm before she found an opening and kicked him in the groin sending him to the floor in a howl of pain, causing him to release her. She despite the pain immediately manoeuvred herself behind the vampire, delivering a decisive blow that snapped his neck.

As the last vampire crumpled to the ground, Caroline glanced over at the red-haired woman through her one unharmed eye, her stabbed eye currently healing. To her astonishment, the woman was not just a passive bystander but an active participant in the fight. With a cold, calculated efficiency, she ripped the heart out of the remaining vampire, a gruesome display of raw strength and skill.

Caroline’s eyes widened in shock as the woman casually walked out to the other incapacitated vampires pulling out the hearts of the other two unconscious vampires. The woman’s expression was calm and almost playful as she performed these actions seeing the blood staining her hands and grinning at it.

Breathing heavily, Caroline approached the woman, her curiosity piqued. The woman looked up, her gaze steady and knowing. There was a confidence and childlike nature about her that was both intriguing and intimidating.

“Are you okay?” Caroline asked, her voice a mix of concern and apprehension. Caroline, her breaths heavy and uneven, stood amidst the chaos, her now healed eyes locked on the red-haired woman who had just effortlessly dispatched their remaining attackers. As she wiped the blood from her hands, Caroline wondered who she had become. The reflection of her bloodied face in a nearby window seemed foreign, a stark contrast to the person she used to be.

The woman took a moment to compose herself, brushing off the dirt from her clothes with a practiced nonchalance. She glanced at Caroline with an expression of measured curiosity. “I’m good, thank you for your help,” she said, her voice calm and reassuring.

Caroline, still trying to steady her racing heart and put up her guard, couldn’t help but ask, “Who were those vampires, and what was all this about?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying Caroline as if she were an intriguing puzzle. “You jumped into a dangerous situation without a second thought. Most wouldn’t have. Why did you help me?”

Caroline met her gaze, the sincerity of her actions reflected in her eyes. “I felt it was the right thing to do. I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.”

A flicker of surprise crossed the woman’s face, quickly replaced by a contemplative look. She extended her hand toward Caroline playfully. “I’m Eve,” she introduced herself. “And you are?”

“Caroline,” she replied, shaking Eve’s hand firmly. “Nice to meet you, Eve. But who were those vampires, and what’s going on?”

Eve’s expression grew more enigmatic. “It’s a long story, and not one that’s easily explained in the middle of the night. But since you’ve been so brave, I’d like to offer you a chance to hear it. How about we discuss it over a drink? My treat.”

Caroline’s curiosity was piqued. She had come to the bar seeking solace and clarity, and now found herself presented with a chance to understand more about the strange events unfolding around her. The opportunity to learn from someone as formidable as Eve was too compelling to pass up.

“Sure, I’d like that,” Caroline agreed, her voice tinged with anticipation. “Lead the way.”

The bar in New Orleans exuded a vibrant energy, alive with the sounds of jazz and the hum of animated conversations. The dim, amber lighting cast a warm glow over the polished wooden tables and the bottles of fine liquor lining the shelves. Klaus and Marcel sat at a secluded corner table, the air filled with the clink of glasses and the soft murmur of patrons enjoying their evening.

Marcel leaned back in his chair, a relaxed smile on his face as he took a sip of his drink. His eyes followed Camille, the bartender, as she moved gracefully behind the bar. There was a genuine warmth in Marcel’s gaze, a stark contrast to the fake smile Klaus was accustomed to seeing. Camille’s laughter rang out as she engaged with other customers, her presence clearly a bright spot in Marcel’s night.

“You seem awfully pleased tonight, Marcel,” Klaus remarked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he observed his friend. “I’ve rarely seen you look so… content. Is the bartender the reason for this newfound cheer?”

Marcel chuckled, his gaze lingering on Camille. “I suppose you could say that. Camille’s queen material, you know what I’m saying’.”

Klaus raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. “Ah, I see. Well, it’s good to see you in high spirits. It’s been a while since we’ve had a night out without the usual drama.”

The two shared a light laugh, the camaraderie between them evident. The conversation shifted as Marcel took another sip of his drink, his expression turning more contemplative. “By the way, I haven’t seen Elijah around lately. Any idea where he’s disappeared to?”

Klaus leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Elijah? He’s been spending his days obsessively curating his suit collection. He’s turned it into something of a personal museum. I suppose he’s found solace in tailoring rather than the usual family squabbles.”

Marcel shook his head with a chuckle. “Always the fashion aficionado, isn’t he? Sometimes I wonder if he’ll ever enjoy himself?”

Just as Klaus was about to respond, Diego, one of Marcel’s trusted associates, approached their table, his expression serious. “Marcel, can I have a word with you?” Diego asked.

Marcel gave Klaus a quick apologetic smile before standing up. “Sure, Diego. I’ll be right back.”

Klaus watched as Marcel followed Diego to a quieter part of the bar, their conversation quickly turning into a low murmur. Alone now, Klaus took a leisurely sip from his glass, the dark amber liquid reflecting the dim lights, his mind racing and plotting with this new information.

The Other Side was a realm of endless, haunting grey—a stark contrast to the vibrant life Bonnie Bennett had once known. The landscape was barren, the air thick with an unsettling quiet that amplified every small sound. It was a place of eerie stillness, where the whispers of lost souls echoed in the distance.

Bonnie wandered through the desolate expanse, her heart weighed down by the strange, lingering sense of dread that had plagued her since her arrival. Her steps were measured, each one resonating in the void, until something caught her eye—an unusual flicker of movement among the shadows.

In the dim light, a figure struggled in agony similar to the man before but this creature was female. The vampire woman writhed on the ground, her body flickering intermittently, as if caught between existence and oblivion. Sweat streamed down her face, mingling with the unnatural blackness of her veins that pulsed erratically beneath her skin. She was trembling violently, her eyes wild with an intense, almost primal hunger.

Bonnie’s instincts screamed at her to stay away, but she found herself drawn to the suffering creature. The vampire’s gaze snapped to Bonnie, and a guttural growl erupted from her throat. “I’m so hungry,” the vampire rasped, her voice a pained whisper that sent a shiver down Bonnie’s spine.

Before Bonnie could react, the vampire lunged at her with a feral speed. Bonnie’s hands flew up, trying to summon a protective spell, but she felt an unsettling drain on her magic. It fizzled and sputtered, as if the very essence of the Other Side resisted her attempts to wield power.

The vampire was relentless, her fangs bared and her eyes burning with an unnatural hunger. Just as the vampire’s sharp teeth were about to sink into Bonnie’s neck, a powerful force surged into the scene.

Without hesitation, Kol grabbed the vampire with a ferocity that matched her own. He ripped her heart out with a swift, brutal motion. Bonnie watched in stunned disbelief as the vampire’s body convulsed violently, but instead of collapsing, she continued to fight with a desperate, primal strength that somehow rivalled his own.

Kol’s face contorted with surprise as he wrestled with the vampire, struggling to maintain control. “Bloody hell?” Kol muttered, his grip faltering as the vampire clawed and twisted, refusing to succumb to her injuries.

Just as Kol seemed to be at his limit, the vampire woman let out a blood-curdling scream. Her body was overtaken by a cascade of white flames that erupted with an intense, purifying heat. Bonnie shielded her face from the blinding blaze, her heart pounding in her chest.

The vampire’s screams grew more frantic as the white fire consumed her. Blood poured from her eyes, nose, and mouth, painting the ground with a macabre display of red. The flames roared and writhed, enveloping the vampire in a cleansing inferno that seemed to cleanse the very fabric of the Other Side.

In moments, the fire extinguished itself, leaving only ash and a lingering sense of profound silence. Kol stood over the remains, his face a mask of confusion and frustration. Bonnie, still reeling from the encounter, took a shaky breath, her mind racing to understand what she had just witnessed.

Kol’s gaze met Bonnie’s, a mix of annoyance and curiosity in his eyes. “Hello darling, Seems like we’re not in Kansas anymore,” he quipped, though the gravity of the situation was clear in his tone.

Bonnie nodded, her thoughts tangled in the strange events she had just experienced. “What’s going on here?.”

“I don’t know but it’s happening at nexus points all over the globe” Kol replied, himself still spooked about the vampire who managed to almost overpower him.

“Nexus points?” Bonnie asked.

“The points of conversion of Ley Lines?” Kol replied before sighing at Bonnie’s confused expression. “Imagine the earth as a living being. Just as we have blood coursing through our veins well before I was pointlessly killed by Jeremy Gilbert, our world has these lines of energy. Nexus points are intersections where these lines converge, creating points of great power .”

Meanwhile, dusk filtered through the dusty windows of Isaac and Isla’s modest home, left to them after their parents' car crash. The room was a flurry of activity, strewn with half-packed bags and scattered belongings. Isaac and Isla moved with urgent precision, their hands working quickly to shove clothes and essentials into hastily opened suitcases. Their faces were etched with a mixture of anxiety and determination.

Isaac glanced at Isla, his brow furrowed in worry. “We have to be fast.”

Isla nodded, her hands trembling slightly as she grabbed a stack of clothes and threw them into the nearest suitcase before grabbing another. “I know. I just... I never thought it would come to this.”

Before Isaac could respond, the front door creaked open.

A tall, imposing figure stepped inside. The same man—sharp suit, glinting eyes, and a thin scar slashing cleanly through his right eyebrow. His presence was unmistakable. “Leaving so soon?” he drawled smoothly, his voice coated with menace. He stepped further into the room, his gaze sweeping over the chaos of their packing. The scar over his brow crinkled slightly as he smirked.

Isaac and Isla froze. The clothes in their hands dropped to the floor, forgotten. Their limbs locked in place, eyes wide.

“No response?” the vampire mocked, a cold chuckle escaping his lips. “Don’t worry, I’m aware. And I know exactly why you’re leaving.” He tilted his head, his scar catching in the low light like a pale brand. “But what I don’t understand is why my compulsion isn’t working on you.”

They didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Isla’s breath caught. Isaac’s shoulders tensed.

“You were told to kill the blonde vampire, Caroline, correct?” the vampire asked, voice deceptively light, laced with lethal intent.

Panic overtook them. Isla and Isaac turned and bolted for the door—but he was faster. In a blur, he appeared in front of them. They skidded to a halt, flinching back as he blocked their escape.

“Please,” Isaac begged, “just let us go... we don’t know Caroline... please!”

The vampire’s eyes narrowed as he understood their sincerity. His fangs extended, frustration twisting his expression. “So, the little blonde bitch has managed to outsmart me. How clever.”

Without warning, he lunged. His fangs plunged into Isla’s neck—but instantly, he recoiled, hissing in pain. The vervain in her blood burned like acid. He spat violently, eyes blazing.

“You’re protected,” he growled, the scar on his brow twitching with fury. “Clever indeed. But now I have no use for you.”

Before they could run, he struck.

In one swift, savage motion, he snapped Isaac’s neck. The sickening crack filled the room. Isaac collapsed to the floor, lifeless.

Isla’s scream tore through the air. She dropped to her knees beside her brother, trembling hands reaching for him. But the vampire wasn’t finished. He seized her by the arm and dragged her back. From his coat, he pulled a pocket knife—gleaming, cruel—and without hesitation, slashed deep across her carotid artery. Blood spilled freely as Isla collapsed, gasping, crawling toward Isaac’s body in a last desperate act.

The vampire sat casually on the sofa, pulling out a flask of whiskey. He drank leisurely, watching the devastation before him like a twisted theatre. The scarred vampire stared at the scene with a blend of satisfaction and irritation. The vervain had thwarted his bite, but the failed compulsion stung worse. Rage simmered beneath his calm exterior.

He rose without another word, his coat swaying behind him, and stepped toward the door.

With a slam that echoed through the broken silence, he was gone.

The house fell still—once full of life, now nothing more than a quiet mausoleum of death and blood.

Chapter Text

The neon lights flickered warmly outside the bustling bar in Rosewood Springs, casting a soft glow over the sidewalk. The evening was still young, but the energy inside was already lively, the music pulsing through the walls, inviting anyone nearby to come in and forget their troubles for a while. Caroline hesitated at the entrance, her clothes still stained with the remnants of their earlier ordeal, but Eve nudged her playfully.

"Come on, little dove," Eve coaxed, her voice laced with that peculiar old-world charm, the kind that reminded Caroline a little too much of Klaus. "Tonight, we leave all that behind. Let’s indulge ourselves for a change."

Caroline sighed but allowed herself to be led inside. The bar was alive with chatter, clinking glasses, and the sound of laughter cutting through the music. The heavy air of tension that had followed them earlier began to dissipate with every step toward the bar counter. Eve ordered them both drinks, her eyes sparkling with an excitement Caroline hadn’t seen before.

As they settled into a corner booth, Caroline couldn’t help but try to steer the conversation back to what had happened earlier that evening. "Eve, about those vampires… What did they want? And why were they after you?"

Eve’s expression softened, but she shook her head, a small, secretive smile playing on her lips. "Darling, tonight is not for questions with answers we’d rather not hear. Let’s just enjoy the moment, shall we?" She raised her glass, encouraging Caroline to do the same. "To surviving another night."

Reluctantly, Caroline clinked her glass against Eve’s, deciding not to push further. The truth, she realised, would come in its own time. For now, Eve was offering her an escape, and maybe she needed that just as much as the answers.

"So," Eve began, her tone lightening as she sipped her drink, "tell me, Caroline. What keeps a little dove like you fluttering about in a world full of hawks?"

Caroline chuckled, shaking her head at the nickname. "You sound just like a friend of mine."

Eve raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? And what is it that this mysterious friend sound like to you?"

"Old," Caroline teased, a grin spreading across her face. "Like he’s from a different time, which, I guess, he is. But he’s always calling me things like ‘love’ and ‘sweetheart.’ You know, in that annoyingly charming way he has."

Eve laughed, a musical sound that drew a few curious glances from nearby tables. "I suppose centuries tend to leave their mark on one’s vocabulary. But you didn’t answer my question."

Caroline hesitated, then shrugged, deciding to open up a little. "Honestly? I don’t know. Sometimes, I feel like I’m just trying to keep up, trying not to lose myself in all the chaos. I’ve got this… this thing where everything has to be in order, perfect even. It drives me nuts sometimes."

Eve nodded thoughtfully, her gaze softening. "OCD, I’ve heard it called in this era. It’s a burden, having to hold onto control so tightly. But I see strength in it, too. You’re not just surviving, little dove. You’re thriving."

"Yeah, well, I’m also a crazy insecure neurotic control freak," Caroline admitted, her smile tinged with self-deprecation. "And it doesn’t always make things easier. What about you? You seem to have it all figured out."

Eve’s expression flickered, a shadow passing briefly over her features before she looked away. "Figured out? Far from it. Let’s just say that when you’ve lived as long as I have, you learn to embrace the chaos. I’ve been called mad, broken, possessed… and more recently, bipolar. But it’s all just labels, isn’t it?"

Caroline leaned in; her curiosity piqued. "I guess. But the emotions you feel heightened by vampirism doesn’t mean you’re crazy or anything, it’s just as real and true. It just means… maybe you’re misunderstood?"

Eve smiled, this time a bit more genuinely. "Perhaps. It’s been a long time since someone saw it that way."

The conversation drifted into lighter topics after that, with Caroline steering them towards safer, more familiar ground. They swapped stories about boys—Caroline’s with their perpetual bad choices, Eve’s with an air of nostalgia. There was a lightness to their banter, each jab and tease met with laughter. The tension that had been hanging over them slowly melted away, replaced by a growing camaraderie.

At one point, Eve stood up, extending her hand towards Caroline. "Enough talking. Let’s dance, little dove."

Caroline groaned playfully but took her hand anyway. "You’re not going to stop calling me that, are you?"

"Not a chance," Eve grinned, pulling her onto the dance floor. "It suits you."

The music shifted to a lively beat, and soon they were lost in the rhythm, twirling and laughing like carefree girls on a night out. For a moment, it was easy to forget the centuries of pain and secrets between them. They were just two women enjoying a night of freedom, dancing away the weight of their worlds.

As the night wore on, the lines between Caroline and Eve, between what was real and what was simply a moment of reprieve, began to blur. Caroline knew that Eve was older—much older—than she let on. There was a weight to her words, a depth in her eyes that spoke of ages past. But for now, that mystery could wait.

Caroline felt a surprising warmth toward Eve, almost admiration. There was something about the way she carried herself, a blend of old-world grace and a touch of modern sass, that Caroline found both endearing and intriguing. And Eve couldn’t help but feel a similar pull. In Caroline, she saw a brightness, a purity of spirit that was rare in their world—a world so often marred by darkness.

As they finally took a break, returning to their booth, Caroline leaned back, catching her breath. "You know, for someone who’s lived through so much, you’re pretty good at letting loose."

Eve smiled, her gaze distant for a moment. "You have to be, darling. Otherwise, the weight of the years would crush you."

Caroline nodded, understanding more than she let on. As the night came to a close, she felt a strange sense of comfort in Eve’s presence. Whatever secrets the night held, whatever dangers still lurked, for now, they were just two women who had found a fleeting moment of peace.

"Thank you, Eve," Caroline said quietly as they finished their drinks. "For tonight."

Eve’s smile was soft, almost affectionate but there was a flicker shame or guilt on her features before it was quickly masked. "The pleasure was mine, little dove.”

As they left the bar, stepping out into the cool night air, the connection between them had deepened. But beneath the surface, both knew that this night was only a brief respite—a moment of calm before the storm that was sure to come as they waved goodbye and left into opposite directions away from the bar.

The night air was crisp and cool as Caroline walked down the quiet streets of Rosewood Springs, the events of the evening still buzzing pleasantly in her mind. She had enjoyed an unexpected reprieve at the bar with Eve, and the laughter they shared had been a balm for her troubled thoughts. She found herself smiling as she walked, the worries of the past few days momentarily forgotten.

As she passed by Isla and Isaac’s house, however, her pleasant mood took a sharp turn. Something felt wrong. The car was still parked in the driveway, but the eerie silence that enveloped the house struck her immediately. Caroline’s senses, always heightened in the presence of potential danger, picked up a sharp, metallic scent—blood.

A cold shiver ran down her spine. She paused at the threshold of their front door, her breath catching in her throat. She hoped against hope that the unsettling smell was just a figment of her imagination, or worse, a cruel trick her senses were playing on her. But as she stepped closer, she realized with growing dread that she could cross the threshold with no resistance. Her heart pounded in her chest as she pushed open the door, the creak of the hinges sounding unnaturally loud in the stillness. Caroline’s eyes adjusted to the dim light of the hallway, and she was met with a scene that made her blood run cold.

Isaac lay sprawled on the floor, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle, a grotesque sight of broken bones and shattered flesh. Isla was only a few feet away, her body slumped against the wall, a knife wound cutting through her abdomen and vampire fang marks evident on her neck. The sight of them, both so lifeless and yet so recently vibrant, was overwhelming.

Caroline felt a wave of nausea and guilt crashing over her. She had compelled them to leave town to protect them from the vampires, but now, it seemed she had failed in the most catastrophic way. Her tears welled up as she sank to her knees beside them, her heart heavy with the weight of her actions. She didn’t want to make waves and bring attention to herself and here’s the consequences. But then, a realisation cut through her grief. Both Isaac and Isla had consumed her blood, and she knew the consequences all too well. They were not truly dead—they would soon wake up in transition. Her anguish turned to panic as she considered what this meant: they would be vulnerable, confused, and in desperate need of guidance.

Without wasting another moment, Caroline’s resolve hardened. She gently lifted Isaac’s limp body into her arms, his weight feeling like a leaden burden. With a swift motion, she vamped sped to her home, her heart racing as she carried Issac and then Isla. The dark, empty streets blurred into the night as she moved with the urgency of a woman who knew what was at stake.

Arriving at her home, Caroline swiftly entered, slamming the door shut behind her. She locked every bolt and drew the curtains, plunging the house into darkness. Her thoughts raced as she set about preparing for the inevitable awakening. She had to think fast—how to keep them safe, how to help them through the transition, and how to shield them from the sunlight that would soon be their enemy.

She placed both Isaac and Isla on the floor of her living room, the only space large enough to accommodate the chaos she was about to unleash. Caroline’s hands trembled as she paced back and forth, her mind a whirlwind of plans and worries. She had a vague idea of how to get daylight rings for them, but it would take time and effort. For now, her focus was on ensuring they awoke safely and could make their choice with some semblance of normalcy.

As she waited, she tried to calm her racing thoughts, reminding herself that she had the power to guide them through this. It was her responsibility now, and she had to be strong for them. Caroline knew that the next few hours would be crucial, and she would have to be ready to support them as they faced the greatest change of their lives.

With a worried sigh, she pulled out her phone and checked her messages. Her screen illuminated her anxious face as she scanned through a list of ignored notifications and unanswered texts. Her mum and her friends had been silent for days, leaving her feeling isolated and more uncertain than ever. The only message with any recent activity was from Klaus.

Caroline clicked on the conversation with Klaus, her eyes tracing the familiar thread of their exchange:

Caroline: Hi Klaus, just wanted to share that the lake and mountains here are breathtaking. You were right, Genuine Beauty.

Klaus: Hello sweetheart, I am glad you’re enjoying it. The natural splendour of the area is unparalleled in North America.

Caroline: How is New Orleans?

Klaus: Ah, New Orleans remains as enchanting as ever, my dear. The city hums with a timeless magic that never fades. The nights are alive with music, and the moonlit streets are perfect for whispered secrets and stolen kisses.

Caroline: Sounds lovely. What’s new with you?

Klaus: In addition to keeping the city in its perpetual charm, I’ve been indulging in some artistic pursuits. I find that painting under the New Orleans sky helps me capture its essence, though it pales in comparison to the light you bring into the world.

Caroline: As I said before Klaus, I’m too smart to be seduced by you.

Klaus: And that’s why I like you.

The warmth of their past conversation felt like a distant memory now, overshadowed by the cold reality she faced. Caroline hesitated for a moment before making her decision. She tapped on Klaus’s contact and hit dial, hoping he might provide some much-needed clarity or, at the very least, a momentary escape from her grim reality.

On the other end, Klaus was deep during his painting. His brush was poised over the canvas, strokes of dark and light mingling to create a hauntingly beautiful image. The sudden ring of his phone interrupted his focus. With a glance at the screen, he saw Caroline’s name and smiled, intrigued.

“Caroline,” he answered, his voice warm and inviting, “what a pleasant surprise at this hour.”

“Hi Klaus,” Caroline said, her voice sounding more strained than she intended. “How are you?”

Klaus’s concern was immediate, even over the phone. “Is something wrong? It’s rather late.”

Caroline tried to brush off his concern, forcing a lighter tone. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a little stressed. Tell me more about New Orleans. How are things there?”

As Klaus began to recount the vibrant life of New Orleans, painting a picture of moonlit streets and lively jazz, Caroline’s mind was clearly elsewhere. Her attention was split between his soothing voice and the ominous sounds of shifting bodies coming from the living room.

Suddenly, a muffled groan broke through the conversation. Caroline’s breath hitched as she looked over at Isla and Isaac, who were stirring from their unconscious states. Panic surged through her, and she couldn’t afford to stay on the phone with Klaus any longer.

“I’m sorry, Klaus. I... I have to go,” Caroline said abruptly, her voice barely concealing her distress. Before Klaus could respond, she hung up, her heart racing.

Klaus’s smile faded as he heard the click of the call ending. Concern etched across his face, he immediately dialled Caroline back, but his call went straight to voicemail. His worry deepened, sensing that something was seriously amiss.

“Caroline, pick up,” he said into the empty line before ending the call. He took a moment to compose himself, then reached for his phone again. This time, he dialled an unknown number, cold rage in his voice as he spoke to the unseen recipient.

Bonnie Bennett and Kol Mikaelson stood on the Other Side, a realm of shadowy vistas and echoes of lost souls. The ethereal landscape around them shimmered with an eerie light, reflecting their sombre mood. Kol, ever the cheeky troublemaker, was sprawled comfortably against a spectral rock, while Bonnie paced restlessly.

Bonnie’s eyes flickered with frustration as she glanced at Kol. “You know, Kol, it’s not exactly comforting to be stuck here in the middle of nowhere while Care’s life is falling apart. She’s getting attacked, she’s dealing with the twins’ deaths, and she’s up to her neck in vampire drama.”

Kol’s lips curled into a smirk. “Ah, our little Caroline. Tasty little thing, isn’t she? I do enjoy watching her stir up trouble. It’s amusing to see Nik, all brooding and mighty, so wrapped around her little fingers. Quite the little puppet master, isn’t she?”

Bonnie shot him a withering look. “This isn’t a joke, Kol. Care’s is in real danger, and we both know it. You might find it entertaining, but she’s struggling. And I can’t just sit here knowing that she’s being manipulated by who you say is an old and dangerous thousand-year-old vampire.”

Kol shrugged, his casual demeanour not matching the gravity of their conversation. “Oh, Bonnie, you’re always so serious. But I do agree, she’s in quite a pickle. Still, it’s not like we can do much from here. We’re, you know, dead. Kind of limits our options.”

Bonnie’s frustration boiled over. “Don’t you think I know that? I’m trying to figure out how to help her. She’s unknowingly stepped into the middle of a storm, and the worst part is, she’s distracted, and she’s feeling guilty about everything. I saw it all—she’s overwhelmed.”

Kol’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Well, if you’re so eager to help her, maybe we should start by figuring out how to get ourselves out of this lovely limbo. Not much we can do if we’re stuck here, watching like some twisted reality show.”

Bonnie stopped pacing and looked at him sharply. “And how exactly do you propose we do that, Kol?”

Kol grinned wider, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Isn’t it obvious, darling? If we want to be of any real help, we can’t be dead. We need to find a way to get back in the game. It’ll take time, and it won’t be easy, but we’ve got to get back to the land of the living.”

Bonnie sighed, rubbing her temples in frustration. “Great. So, we’re back to square one. You’re suggesting we find a way to come back to life? How exactly do we do that?”

Kol’s smirk didn’t waver. “Well, I might have a few ideas, but they’re not exactly foolproof. We’d need to find a way to bridge the gap between this realm and the mortal one. But until then, we might as well enjoy the view of Caroline and her little drama. It’s not every day you get to see Nik so... smitten.”

The grand dining hall of the mansion was draped in luxurious velvet curtains, and the walls were adorned with ancestral portraits that seemed to watch over the gathering with cold, judgmental eyes. The long mahogany table was set for an elegant feast, with silver cutlery gleaming under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. Elijah Mikaelson sat at the head of the table, his posture regal and composed, a glass of aged wine held delicately between his fingers. Around him were seven vampires, all from his sireline, each one carefully chosen for their influence and loyalty—or so he had thought.

The conversation started innocuously enough. Marcus, a tall vampire with sharp features and a calculating gaze, raised his glass in a toast. “To the Mikaelsons, the Originals, and the legacy they’ve bestowed upon us.”

Elijah nodded politely, raising his own glass. “To family and loyalty.”

The other vampires echoed the sentiment, though Elijah couldn’t help but notice the slight hesitation in their voices. His eyes flicked to each of them in turn—Marcus, Sofia, Andre, Lucas, Damian, Victor, and Serena—each several centuries old and dangerous yet there was something off. A whisper of discontent beneath the surface, like a festering wound barely hidden by a thin veneer of respect.

As the dinner progressed, the conversation shifted, and the tension in the room became palpable. Andre, a vampire with a scar running down the side of his face, was the first to break the calm façade.

“So,” Andre began, his voice carefully measured, “it’s true, then? About Kol and Finn? Entire sirelines, wiped out in an instant?”

Elijah’s gaze sharpened. “Yes, it is true. My brothers were murdered, and with them, those of their bloodlines.”

Victor, a hulking brute of a vampire, leaned forward, a sneer tugging at his lips. “Two of the Originals gone, just like that. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? How much power the remaining ones really have?”

Elijah placed his glass down slowly, his movements controlled, betraying nothing of the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. “Power is not something to be questioned lightly, Victor. You may want to reconsider your line of thinking”

Sofia, a vampire with auburn hair and piercing green eyes, chimed in, her voice laced with sarcasm. “But how can we respect something that’s so… fragile? After all, it seems any vampire with the right stake could end the great Elijah Mikaelson. How are we supposed to feel safe when even you could be taken down so easily?”

The words hung in the air like a dagger poised to strike. Elijah felt a cold fury begin to coil in his chest, but he kept his expression impassive and took a sip from his glass once again.

Lucas, who had been silent until now, spoke up, his tone almost casual. “It’s not just the threat of a stake, Elijah. It’s the fact that you Originals are no longer untouchable. Kol and Finn proved that. So why should we continue to bow to your power when it’s clearly… diminishing?”

Before Elijah could respond, the door to the dining hall creaked open, and three witches stepped into the room, their eyes cloudy white and movements synchronised. Elijah tensed, recognizing the scent of betrayal in the air. The witches began to chant, their voices rising in a cacophony of dark magic. A searing pain shot through Elijah’s head, an aneurysm spell designed to cripple even an Original.

Marcus grinned; his teeth bared. “You see, Elijah, we’ve realized that the power of the Originals is nothing without the true immortality you possessed. But that all changed the moment you all could actually die.”

Elijah’s vision blurred with the pain, but his resolve hardened. With a flick of his wrist, he grabbed the silver knife from his place setting. The witches barely had time to react before he hurled the knife with deadly precision, embedding it into the throat of the first witch. Blood sprayed across the table as she collapsed.

The second witch tried to cast another spell, but Elijah was faster. He snatched up a fork and drove it into her eye, twisting it with such force that she dropped instantly. The third witch screamed, but her cry was cut short as Elijah flung the heavy silver platter at her, decapitating her in one swift motion.

Silence fell over the room, the only sound the soft drip of blood onto the polished floor.

The vampires stared in shock, the realization of what they had unleashed dawning too late. Elijah, now free from the witches’ spell, moved with terrifying speed.

“Now now Marcus,” Elijah said, his voice calm, almost gentle, as he reached across the table and tore Marcus’s head from his shoulders. The others reacted too slowly, scrambling to escape, but Elijah was a blur of motion.

He grabbed Sofia by the throat, lifting her off the ground as she clawed at his hand. “You speak of power as if it’s something you understand,” Elijah murmured, before driving his hand through her chest and ripping out her heart.

Andre made it to the door, but Elijah was upon him in an instant. He broke off a wooden chair leg before staking in the heart, his body dropping to the floor in a disappointing heap. Damian and Victor attempted to fight back, but Elijah dispatched them with ruthless efficiency, decapitating Damian with a single swing of his arm and crushing Victor’s heart with a brutal punch.

Lucas was the last, trembling as he backed away from Elijah, his earlier confidence shattered. “Please, Elijah,” she begged, “I didn’t—”

Elijah silenced his with a cold stare. “You chose your side, Lucas.” Elijah moved faster than Lucas could scream, and his head rolled across the floor a moment later.

Breathing deeply, Elijah stood amidst the carnage, his suit barely wrinkled despite the massacre he had just unleashed. He glanced around at the ruined dinner, the bodies of his former allies now nothing more than remnants of their treachery. The sight stirred no emotion in him—only a grim determination.

With a sigh, Elijah pulled out his phone and dialled a number. It rang only once before Klaus’s voice came on the line.

“Elijah,” Klaus’s tone was sharp, expecting news.

“I’ve dealt with yet another group of traitors,” Elijah said, his voice steady, as if discussing the weather. “But the situation is becoming more severe by the day. We need to be vigilant.”

There was a pause on the other end, then a low empty chuckle. “It seems our enemies are growing bold. It’ll take care of it, brother. For now, return to New Orleans. We have much to discuss.”

Elijah ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He cast one last look at the scene of devastation he had wrought, his face expressionless, before turning and walking out of the mansion, leaving behind nothing but silence and death in his wake.

The full moon hung low in the night sky, casting an eerie silver light over the dense, swampy terrain of the bayou. The air was thick with humidity, the scent of moss and damp earth mixing with the faint smell of smoke from a nearby campfire. Shadows danced across the ancient trees, their twisted branches resembling the claws of some long-forgotten monster. In this wild, untamed land, the Crescent Moon werewolf pack had gathered in their human forms, their eyes reflecting the moonlight as they stood silently, awaiting the arrival of the one who had summoned them.

Klaus Mikaelson stepped out of the shadows, his presence immediately commanding attention. He moved with the grace of a predator, every step deliberate, his expression a mask of cold authority. The werewolves stiffened as he approached, the tension in the air palpable. Despite their numbers, the power dynamic was clear—Klaus was not someone to be trifled with.

At the front of the group stood Jackson, the alpha of the pack, his posture tense but unyielding. He met Klaus’s gaze with a mixture of defiance and wariness, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“So,” Jackson began, his voice laced with sarcasm and distain, “is this where the great Klaus Mikaelson says something poignant and snaps my neck?”

Klaus’s lips curved into a faint, almost amused smile. “I’m not here to kill you,” he replied, his tone smooth and assured. “I’m here to offer you a gift.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow, scepticism etched across his rugged features as he spat out his retort with distain. “Out of the kindness of your vampire heart?”

Klaus stepped closer, his eyes never leaving Jackson’s. “Our hearts are more similar than you might realise. You see, long before I evolved, mine beat as a werewolf. I know your power. I know your burden. And I’m here to take the latter away.”

Jackson’s jaw tightened as he understood the implication. “You want to make me a hybrid,” he said, his voice hardening with resolve. “I put my pack first, and I’m not gonna let anything compromise my family line, especially becoming some bloodthirsty vampire parasite.”

Klaus’s smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes, his eyes pooling with rage. “That pride,” he said firmly, “that sense of loyalty—well, that’s exactly why I haven’t snapped your neck yet.”

Jackson’s eyes narrowed, the tension between them thickening. “If you’re not gonna kill me,” he demanded, “then what the hell do you want?”

Klaus’s gaze flicked over the gathered pack before settling back on Jackson. “Only to give you back the city that was taken from you.” Klaus then smirked and set his gaze back on the alpha eyebrow raised, “How was that for poignant?”

The offer had been made, and the game had begun.

The dim glow of a single lamp illuminated Caroline's living room, casting long shadows across the walls. The air was thick with tension, and Caroline could feel it pressing down on her chest. She had just hung up on Klaus, the abrupt end to their conversation still echoing in her mind. But there was no time to dwell on that now. Isaac had woken up.

His eyes were wild, darting around the room in confusion and fear. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as if trying to grasp something solid to hold onto. He backed away from Caroline, his expression a mix of anger and disbelief.

“Where am I?” Isaac’s voice was hoarse, panic creeping into his tone. “What the hell is going on? Where is my sister? Isla? ISLA!?” As he screamed tears streaming down his face, he saw Isla’s dead body on the couch and gasped before angrily turning his gaze back to Caroline. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

Caroline took a step forward, her hands raised in a calming gesture. “Isaac, please, just listen to me. I know this is confusing, but I need you to stay calm.”

“Calm?” Isaac’s voice cracked as he stared at her, eyes wide. “I remember… I remember dying. My neck… it was broken. How am I— I am so hungry”

Before Caroline could respond, Isla stirred on the couch, her eyes fluttering open. A moment later, she shot up, gasping for breath. Her hand flew to her neck, where the memory of a slash lingered, and then to the bite marks she could still feel on her skin. Her eyes filled with tears, quickly turning to anger as she saw Caroline.

“What did you do to us?” Isla’s voice was trembling, but there was a fiery edge to it.

Caroline’s heart ached as she looked at the two of them—her friends, now caught in a world they never asked to be part of. She had to tread carefully. “I’m so sorry,” she began, her voice soft but steady. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. But you were hurt, and I couldn’t let you die. So, I—”

“Saved us?” Isla snapped, her voice laced with venom. “Or cursed us? What are we now? What did you do to us, Caroline?”

Isaac’s gaze flicked between Isla and Caroline, his confusion deepening into something darker. “I feel… different... hungry,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. Then, looking up at Caroline, he added, “What did you do?”

Caroline took a deep breath, knowing there was no easy way to say it. “You’re in transition,” she explained, her tone gentle. “You had my blood in your system. When you were murdered, it kept you alive… or rather, it brought you back from death. But now, you’re at a crossroads.”

“What do you mean?” Isaac asked, his voice low and tense.

“You have a choice,” Caroline said, meeting both of their gazes. “You can either complete the transition, drink human blood and become vampires, or you can choose to die as humans.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of her words settling over them like a shroud. Isla stared at her, disbelieving, while Isaac seemed to be processing everything in stunned silence.

“Vampires?” Isla whispered, her voice cracking. “You want us to become vampires?”

“I didn’t want this for you,” Caroline replied quickly. “But it’s the only way for you to survive now. If you don’t feed—if you don’t drink human blood—you’ll die.”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed. “And if we do… what then? We just live as blood-sucking monsters?”

“You don’t have to be monsters,” Caroline insisted, her voice firm. “I know it’s overwhelming, and it’s not what you wanted, but you won’t be alone. I’ll be here to help you, to guide you. You don’t have to hurt anyone. There are ways to survive without killing, and I’ll teach you everything I know.”

Isla’s eyes filled with tears, but her expression was resolute. “This isn’t a life,” she said quietly. “This is a nightmare.”

Caroline’s heart broke for them, the guilt eating away at her. “I understand how you feel,” she said, her voice softening. “But it doesn’t have to be. You can make a difference, live a life with purpose, even as a vampire. But the choice is yours.”

Caroline reached behind her and produced two blood bags, holding them out as if they were offering salvation and damnation in equal measure. “Drinking this will complete the transition to become a vampire,” she explained. “If you choose not to take it, you’ll die as a human. It’s your decision.”

The room went silent again, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the faint ticking of a clock on the wall. Isaac and Isla exchanged a long, searching look, communicating without words the depth of their fear, confusion, and anger.

Isaac was the first to move, his gaze shifting from the blood bags to Caroline’s face. “If we do this,” he began slowly, “we’re bound to you, right? You’re our sire?”

Caroline nodded. “Yes. But that doesn’t mean I control you, not like that vampire did. It just means I’m responsible for you. I’ll help you adjust, teach you how to live with this.”

Isla swallowed hard, her eyes glistening with tears. “And if we don’t…?”

“Then you’ll both die,” Caroline said softly. “And I’ll mourn you, but I’ll respect your choice.”

Another long silence stretched between them. Then, with a trembling hand, Isaac reached for one of the blood bags. He hesitated for only a moment before taking it from Caroline, his expression hardening with determination.

Isla’s gaze flicked between Isaac and the remaining blood bag. Her lips trembled as she considered her options, the reality of the situation weighing heavily on her. Finally, she wiped away her tears and nodded to herself. With a deep breath, she took the other blood bag from Caroline’s outstretched hand.

Caroline watched as they both slowly brought the blood bags to their lips, the final step in their transition. As they drank, she could see the change in them, the heightened senses, the new awareness of the world around them. When they finished, they both looked at her, a mix of fear and resolve in their eyes.

“I know this is hard,” Caroline said gently, her heart aching for them. “But you won’t have to go through it alone. We’ll figure this out together. I promise.”

Isaac nodded, his expression still conflicted but resolute. “We’re in this now,” he said quietly, glancing at Isla. “We have to be strong.”

Isla wiped the last of her tears away, her gaze steady as she met Caroline’s eyes. “We’ll do what we have to,” she said softly. “But you’d better keep that promise, Caroline.”

Caroline gave them a small, reassuring smile, though the weight of what lay ahead pressed heavily on her. “I will,” she vowed. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

As the room fell into a tense, uncertain silence once more, Caroline knew that the challenges they would face were only just beginning.

Chapter Text

The room was dim, shadows flickering along the walls as Elijah leaned against the edge of his desk, his fingers absently trailing over the smooth wood. The soft hum of New Orleans filtered through the open window—distant jazz, the faint rumble of traffic, life moving on outside while inside, his world felt frozen in tension. He pressed the phone to his ear, his voice a low murmur as he dialled the familiar number.

“Rebekah,” he greeted her calmly when the line connected, though the weight of the situation tightened his tone. "Please can you reconsider your earlier reply?"

For a moment, there was silence on the other end. Then, her voice came through, sharp and edged with frustration.

"I’m tired of Nik’s endless power plays, Elijah," Rebekah replied, her words carrying the weariness of centuries. "And you, still cleaning up his messes? When will you both learn that the world doesn’t revolve around him?"

Elijah closed his eyes, swallowing the urge to argue. Her frustration wasn’t unfounded. Klaus had left a trail of destruction in his wake, and the weight of that responsibility had often fallen on Elijah’s shoulders. But this time, the threat wasn’t just about Klaus. It was bigger, more dangerous.

"Rebekah," Elijah began, his voice steady, calm, the way it always was when he needed to reason with her. "This time, it’s more than that. There’s a storm brewing, I already see it. He's spiralling. He's lashing out in blind rage. You know, the last time I saw him like this it lasted 200 years. We both know you won’t be travelling with the human forever"

There was a soft sigh on the other end, the sound of Rebekah’s resistance faltering for just a moment. But then, she spoke again, quieter, more resigned.

"I want to be free Elijah, I have slice of that traveling with Matt. Even if it’s just for a little while. If you’re smart, Elijah, you’ll leave too."

The line clicked dead, leaving Elijah in the heavy silence of his study. He lowered the phone from his ear, his expression tightening, eyes narrowing as his thoughts churned. Rebekah’s refusal could complicate everything. Without them being united, their chances of keeping the sirelines in check were slim.

Elijah stood still for a long moment, the weight of his sister’s words hanging in the air like the distant rumble of an oncoming storm. He sighed, the sound heavy and measured, as if trying to release the tension building inside him.

But no matter how hard he tried, the pressure in New Orleans continued to grow.

The quaint Swiss village was a picture of serenity, nestled amid the towering mountains, their snow-capped peaks glistening in the bright sunlight. Waterfalls tumbled down the cliffs in a spectacular display, filling the air with a refreshing mist that danced across Rebekah’s skin. The beauty around them was almost otherworldly, a stark contrast to the dark undercurrents that constantly threatened her existence.

Rebekah walked alongside Matt, their laughter echoing against the cobblestone streets as they admired the vibrant flowers that adorned the window boxes of charming cottages.

“Look at that,” Matt said, pointing to a shop selling delicate pastries. “I bet those are as good as they look. What do you think—should we try some?”

“Only if you promise to share,” Rebekah replied with a playful grin.

“Deal!” Matt laughed, his eyes sparkling with warmth. “But just know, I’m not sharing next time.”

As they strolled, the familiar warmth of companionship filled the space between them, though Rebekah couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Her centuries of survival instincts tingled at the edges of her consciousness, a whisper of danger lurking just beyond sight. She glanced around, taking in the friendly faces of villagers going about their daily lives, yet the nagging sensation wouldn’t leave her. They came across a gelato stand on the edge of the village and idly ordered some ice cream and water.

“Rebekah?” Matt’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Are you alright? You seem… distracted.”

“Just enjoying the view,” she replied, forcing a smile. “These mountains are beautiful, aren’t they? Almost makes me forget about the chaos back home.”

“Almost?” Matt raised an eyebrow, his expression serious.

Before she could respond, the atmosphere shifted. A heavy tension descended, the laughter of the village fading into an unsettling silence. Rebekah’s instincts flared, her senses heightened as she scanned their surroundings.

“Matt, I—” she began, but her words were cut off as figures emerged from the shadows, cloaked and menacing. A woman with short black hair and dark classy clothing appeared carrying herself like royalty as she wordlessly ordered a group of vampires as well as a coven of witches in black robes to surround the original. Her long earrings swayed in the wind and the weather around them began to change. A vampire threw a knife killing the lady serving the gelato causing Matt to gasp and stand back.

“Hello, Rebekah,” The lady called out, her voice smooth yet laced with a deadly edge.

Rebekah smiles fakely and condescendingly, “Aya. Of course. Elijah's little protégé. Is that all you brought?”

“I’m here to claim the unattended Mikaelson. As for Elijah, I haven’t seen him in many a century. Maybe I’ll send him your head as a souvenir.”

Rebekah stance shifted naturally to a defensive stance and she sneered back at her “Enough with the idle chit-chat. Are you gonna throw the first punch, or what?”

Aya, too, shifted to a fighting stance with her fists in the air, “Respect my elders. You first.”

The confrontation was swift. Rebekah fought alongside Matt. Rebekah immediately ripped out two of the vampires hearts before the witches turn to Rebekah and she falls to her knees in pain. One of the vampires grabbed Matt and broke his arm before grabbing him by the neck.

Rebekah screamed out fighting against the pain inducing spell, rushing forward, but before she could reach him, the witches put up a boundary spell. The witches are chanting but holding an original at bay is no small feat. Rebekah glares at the woman.

“Let him go or I will make you suffer!” Rebekah threatened coldly, struggling against the magic that held her firm.

Matt struggled, trying to fight back, but one of Aya’s men stabbed him with a dagger, a cruel smile on his face. Rebekah’s heart sank as she watched Matt’s body go limp, collapsing onto the cobblestones.

“No! Matt!” she shouted, her voice raw with panic. But there was no time to mourn; she felt the rush of power shift toward her as another witch stepped forward.

The group turned their attention to Rebekah, whose eyes widened as they approached her with an enchanted dagger glinting in the sunlight. Normally Rebekah wouldn’t be worried about a weapon so long as it wasn’t the enchanted silver ones or a white oak stake but this one frightened her. The blade dagger was long and slightly curved and had many symbols Rebekah didn’t recognise on it but it was the aura coming off the blade that made her realise that this dagger was going to work.

“Rebekah,” Aya said, her voice almost a whisper now, a twisted satisfaction curling at the corners of her lips. “This won't kill you. It's just meant to put you to sleep for a very, very long time."

“And when I wake up, you will be the first person that I kill.” Rebekah replied furiously.

Before Rebekah could summon the strength to fight back, the dagger pierced her skin, and an electric shock coursed through her. Instantly, her body went numb. She felt the life drain from her limbs, the world around her fading into darkness.

As her vision blurred, she caught one last glimpse of Matt’s lifeless body before everything went black.

“I won’t hold my breath, but you’re more than willing to try.” Aya replied amused as the remaining few of her group grabbed her body off of the floor.  The remaining Strix members exchanged satisfied glances as they stood over her, their mission accomplished.

“Aya, what do we do with her now?” one of them asked, his voice filled with curiosity.

“She will serve our purpose in Mahal Khafa,” Aya replied coolly, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the scene. “Take her away. And clean up the mess.”

As they lifted the coffin and vanished back into the woodland, the sun continued to shine brightly on the picturesque Swiss village, blissfully unaware of the darkness that had just fallen over Rebekah’s world.

The air in the Appalachian Mountains was thick with tension as Tyler stood at the edge of the camp, surrounded by the towering pines that seemed to whisper secrets of their own. His newly acquired wolf pack moved restlessly behind him, their eyes sharp and watchful. Ever since his pardon by Klaus, he had been on high alert. Trusting the Original was a dangerous game—one he had no interest in playing.

The memories of his mother’s death played on a loop in his mind, a haunting reminder of the betrayal he felt. Klaus had retaliated against Tyler’s plan to turn his hybrids against him by slaughtering his mom, all because of a lie spun by Hayley. She had claimed to have a witch to incapacitate Klaus, only to sell them out to the very monster they had sought to defeat. After that, Caroline and his relationship took a nose dive.  They were still together but things were just so complicated, he’s seen all the messages she has sent but he can’t bring himself to reply back.

“Tyler,” a pack member named Jessica called, breaking him from his thoughts. “A intruder has been spotted on the perimeter. A wolf. She has requested to speak with you.”

Tyler’s instincts flared. “What wolf?”

“Four wolves are escorting her. They said it’s urgent.”

Tyler’s heart sank. There was only one wolf who could arrive with such an entourage. He braced himself as the group approached, his fists clenching at his sides. As soon as he caught sight of Hayley, a surge of anger coursed through him. She stood with a confidence that only ignited his fury, her dark hair flowing down in waves and her expression calm, yet tense.

In a flash, Tyler vampspeeded toward her, pinning her against a tree with a fierce grip around her throat. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here, Hayley,” he growled fangs extending, his voice low and menacing. “Give me one good reason not to kill you.”

Hayley’s eyes met his, unflinching. “I didn’t come to fight, Tyler,” she replied, her voice steady despite his hold. “I came to warn you.”

“Warn me?” Tyler sneered, his grip tightening. “You think I care about your warnings? You sent twelve hybrids to their deaths for a blood sacrifice. My mom died because of your betrayal.”

“It's not just a few vampires fighting!” Hayley raised her voice, her urgency spilling over. “Once Finn and Kol died, the supernatural world understood that killing the Originals meant the entire vampire line dies along with them. A full scale war had broken out between the sirelines. There are rumours that vampires are scrambling around the globe trying figuring out how to unlink the sirelines. If they succeed, you can kill Klaus once and for all!”

Tyler’s brow furrowed, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air, but his anger surged again. “And what? Just let you stroll back into my life like nothing happened? You’re a traitor, Hayley. I don’t trust a single word that comes out of your mouth! Get out of here. Before I kill you just on principle.”

Hayley took a deep breath, steadying herself against the pressure of his grip. “Listen to me, Tyler! If Klaus dies in this infighting, you die, Caroline dies, Elena dies. This affects everyone. You think this is just about revenge? It’s bigger than that!”

With a snarl, Tyler released her, stepping back but keeping his glare locked on her. “I don’t care. I’m not playing your games anymore. You can’t just come back after everything you’ve done and expect me to believe a word you say.”

“I’ll be back,” she said, her tone filled with determination. “And when I am, you’ll realise that this war is everyone’s problem.”

As she turned to leave, Tyler felt a mix of frustration and confusion swirling inside him. He watched her walk away, her figure disappearing among the trees. The weight of her words lingered in the air like a storm cloud gathering overhead.

His pack members looked to him for guidance, their expressions uncertain. Tyler’s mind raced, torn between his desire for revenge against Klaus and the responsibility of protecting his pack. As much as he wanted to dismiss Hayley, her warning echoed in his thoughts.

What if this war really was bigger than all of them? And if Klaus’s enemies were planning something that could threaten their lives, could he really afford to ignore it?

The quiet of the mountains wrapped around him, leaving Tyler standing at the crossroads of his past and an uncertain future.

The fog rolled thickly through the forest, wrapping around Caroline, Isaac, and Isla like a giant, gray blanket. It was a perfect day for a lesson away from the prying eyes of the town and not a ray of sun in the sky—at least, that’s what Caroline hoped. She watched as the twins shuffled beside her, still getting used to their new existence as vampires as.

“Alright, class,” Caroline announced, casually eating a cinnamon bun, trying to keep the mood light despite the heavy topics they had to cover. “Welcome to Vampire Survival 101.”

Isla rolled her eyes dramatically, a sly grin spreading across her face. “Wow, it’s like high school all over again. Are you going to hand out detention slips for bad behaviour, or is it just the bloodlust that gets us grounded? And Why can’t I get one of those?”

“Focus, Isla,” Caroline said, unable to hide her smile, while taking another bite. “Today we’re going to tackle your vampiric abilities and how to control your bloodlust. The goal is to make sure you don’t end up accidentally maiming someone... or worse.”

Isaac, who had been brooding quietly, finally spoke up, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like that vampire who… you know… killed us.” His eyes darkened, rage flickering beneath the surface.

Caroline nodded, understanding the weight of his words. “Yes, exactly. But first, you need to understand what you’re capable of. You both remember when I whooped your asses in that training match, right?”

“Whooped is an understatement,” Isla said, crossing her arms. “Like it was action movie level of whoopass. And honestly, it’s embarrassing.”

Caroline chuckled. “Well, now you’re vampires! You have power. Embrace it. The first step is to control it. And if you want to survive, you need to be certain of what you can do.”

“Right. Control,” Isla said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Isaac shifted uncomfortably but nodded. “We need to get stronger. I mean, we can’t let him get away with what he did. We want revenge.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow, sensing the fire in Isaac’s words. “I like that determination. It’s good to channel that rage but if you let it consume you, you will end up dead. Dead for real this time. Once a vampire dies, that’s it. But let’s focus on the basics first.”

After a moment of silence, Isla turned to Caroline with a mischievous grin. “How old are you, anyway? Like, 2000 or something?”

Caroline burst out laughing. “I’m 18.”

“Ew, seriously?!” Isla exclaimed, her eyes wide in mock horror. “Is this a Twilight thing where I ask all scared, ‘Oh, Edward, how long have you been 18?’” She adopted a horrendous, doe-eyed impression of Bella Swan that sent Caroline into another fit of giggles.

“Eight months, give or take,” Caroline replied, trying to regain her composure.

Isla sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her heart as if truly disappointed. “Seriously? I was expecting some big reveal and maybe a gold-plated coffin or something. Maybe you could have said you were 1,800 years old or teach us how to transform into a bat or something!?... you know just to spice things up a bit.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Caroline replied, still chuckling. “But I promise, even though I’m young, I can still teach you a thing or two about being a vampire.”

“Alright, let’s start,” Isaac said, his brow furrowed with determination. “How do we control this…uh, bloodlust thing?”

Caroline nodded, appreciating his resolve. “Let’s begin with breathing exercises. You need to focus on calming your mind, letting the hunger wash over you like a wave but not letting it take control. We’ll work on honing your instincts to be stronger than your urges.”

Isla nodded, the playful banter giving way to the seriousness of their training. “Fine, but if I end up ripping someone’s head off, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal,” Caroline said, her eyes shining with determination. “Just remember—revenge is great, but if you lose control, you might end up hurting the wrong people.”

As they settled into their exercises, Isaac and Isla began to breathe deeply, slowly finding their rhythm under Caroline's watchful gaze before they began to work on how to utilise vampire speed and strength.

The flickering light of candles cast long shadows across Klaus’s study in New Orleans. The space was littered with books—old grimoires, half-read journals, and ancient spells. Maps of New Orleans were spread out across his desk, marked with cryptic notes and symbols. Klaus paced back and forth, his eyes darting from the half-finished painting he’d angrily ripped in two, to the phone on his desk that had yet to buzz with the update he was anxiously awaiting.

He wanted everything. He needed to be king. And lately, that gnawing desire had left him more paranoid than usual. His mind was an erratic storm of thoughts—memories of Rebekah’s absence, fragmented plans for domination, and a mounting jealousy he couldn’t suppress.

His eyes landed on a half-crumpled text about bloodlines and territorial spells, but he barely processed the words. Caroline was in Rosewood Springs, far away, and yet, her absence gnawed at him. He didn’t trust Leonard, the vampire he had compelled to keep watch over her, but still, he was useful and skilled enough. The distance unnerved him. The thought of her being away from him, laughing with an unknown somebody, being protected by them—especially someone unworthy—was enough to stoke his jealousy into a blaze. A part of him scolded that ‘Love is a vampire’s greatest weakness’ but he tried to let her die and he couldn’t go through with it.  He knew she deserved better than him but he was selfish and he knew it.

Suddenly, his phone vibrated on the desk.

He swiped it up in a flash, his jaw tight as he unlocked the message. It was from Leonard, the vampire he’d tasked with shadowing Caroline, and it had been far too long since he had summoned the vampire.

Leonard: Apologies, my Lord. Rosewood Springs is remote, and it took longer than anticipated to gather anything significant.

Klaus’s eyes narrowed, his patience already worn thin. He immediately fired off a response.

Klaus: I did not ask for excuses. I asked for information. Give me an update. Now.

There was a pause before his phone vibrated again. This time, an image appeared on the screen. The moment Klaus’s eyes fell on it, his breath hitched, his body tensing involuntarily. It was a photo of Caroline, standing in a foggy clearing in the woods. She was smiling, her golden curls bouncing around her shoulders, and next to her stood two young vampires—Isaac and Isla. Caroline was laughing, her face glowing in the sunlight. The girl was smiling too, but it was the boy who caught Klaus’s attention.

Isaac stood next to Caroline, looking up at her with shy admiration, his eyes filled with something that made Klaus’s chest tighten uncomfortably. That boy’s gaze lingered on Caroline far too long for Klaus’s liking.

A flash of jealousy surged through him—primal, possessive. His hand gripped the phone tighter, knuckles turning white. The image burned in his mind. Caroline, laughing, carefree, surrounded by people who didn’t know her the way he did. Who didn’t deserve to be near her.

Leonard: They’ve spent the last two days indoors since the boy and girl do not have daylight rings. She’s been helping the boy and girl transition into their new lives as vampires. They seem to have formed a bond.

Klaus’s paranoia heightened. His instincts screamed at him that something was going to happen, that something had happened. The distance between him and Caroline felt unbearable, like a chasm widening with each passing second. He should be the one there, protecting her, watching over her—not some shy boy who stared at her like she was his salvation.

His fingers moved swiftly over the phone as he typed back, his words sharp and venomous.

Klaus: If so much as a hair on her head is harmed, I will tear out your spine, inch by inch, and feed it to you. Understood?

He sent the message and tossed the phone onto the desk, his eyes dark with possessive rage. The idea of anything happening to Caroline, of anyone touching her or harming her—it was enough to make his blood boil. His jealousy mixed with his protectiveness, a dangerous combination that often led to violence.

The phone buzzed again. Leonard’s response was immediate, his fear evident in the brief message.

Leonard: Yes, my Lord. I’ll keep watch. She will be safe.

Klaus stared at the phone, his mind already planning his next move. He would continue to monitor the situation, but now, more than ever, he needed to assert his control. His protective nature toward Caroline was stronger than ever, and the boy’s presence—his shy admiration—was a threat he would not allow. Klaus picked up a brush from the table, eyeing the half-finished, now torn painting in front of him. He stared at the ruined piece for a moment, then tossed the brush aside. The artwork could wait. He needed to focus on more pressing matters—like ensuring that Caroline, his Caroline, remained safe. And if that meant removing anyone who got too close, then so be it.

He would watch. And he would act.

Caroline’s temporary home was quiet, the soft hum of the air conditioning the only sound filling the space. She called earlier the town’s lawyer who was compellable to change the lease of the property to himself before compelling him to forget all about it and that other than on paper the home belonged to her aunt and uncle. This was so that she could invite Isaac and Isla inside while maintaining the home’s threshold barrier. A stack of dusty old books lay open on the coffee table, alongside Caroline’s neat folder, overflowing with notes she had carefully compiled about the supernatural. On the connecting dining room table lay a few berries, empty boxes of pizza and a plate of half-eaten cinnamon buns as well as some empty tubs of ice cream. The room smelled faintly of old paper and blood—Isaac and Isla were seated on the couch, sipping from blood bags Caroline had given them earlier.

Isaac, his gaze flicking between Caroline’s notes and his blood bag, looked frustrated. “So... vampire weaknesses,” he started, trying to focus his restless energy on something useful. “We know about the sun, stakes and decapitation, but how do we know if we’re strong enough to take on the one that killed us? There’s three of us now. Shouldn’t we just go after him?”

Caroline, standing near the bookshelf, didn’t look up from the old tome she was flipping through. “It’s not that simple. We don’t know how old or strong this vampire is. Going after him without knowing that would be suicide.”

Isaac frowned, clearly unsatisfied with her answer. “It’s a three-on-one fight. We can take him.”

Caroline finally turned to face him, her expression serious. “Age matters, Isaac. The older a vampire is, the stronger they are. I am young, you both are brand new vampires. They’re faster, they heal quicker, and they’re harder to kill. From what you two described, this vampire must be old.”

Isla, sitting cross-legged on the couch with a dark, brooding look, jumped in, her voice tinged with skepticism. “How do you know that?”

Caroline crossed her arms and leaned against the edge of the table, sighing. “Daylight rings are rare. Not just any vampire can get their hands on one. They have to be enchanted by witches, and witches generally hate vampires. So, only the really old and cunning vampires usually have them—those who’ve survived long enough to convince or manipulate a witch.”

Isla raised a brow, looking a little impressed. “So how did you get one, then? You don’t strike me as the evil type.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Caroline’s lips. “I got lucky. My best friend is a witch, and even then, it took a lot of convincing for her to make it.”

“Why can’t she make one for us?” Isla asked, sounding a bit petulant now. “If she’s your best friend, we could at least go outside during the day and actually do something instead of being stuck in here.”

Caroline’s expression softened. “I’ve already asked her. Bonnie’s had a lot on her plate, she has been through so much, but she’s working on it. But I trust she’ll get back to me soon.”

Isaac let out an exasperated sigh and threw his now empty blood bag onto the table, frustration evident in the tense way he sat forward. He looked through one of the Martin witches’ old grimoires before closing it and tossing it on the sofa and began pacing around the room. “Being cooped up inside isn’t helping. We’re wasting time. The answers are out there, not in these dusty old books.”

Caroline straightened, her patience still intact, but her tone more firm. “These ‘dusty old books’ are witch spell books. They could point us in the right direction about what that burned symbol means, the same symbol that a vampire or vampires compelled your entire town to ignore, but we need to be patient, or we’ll end up dead.”

The words hung heavy in the air, but Isaac wasn’t having it. With a sudden burst of anger, he took a chair from the connecting dining room and hurled it against the wall. The crash echoed through the room. “Fuck patience!” he shouted, his voice raw with emotion. “He murdered us Caroline! I want that bastard’s head!”

Caroline didn’t flinch, but her eyes softened as she saw the pain in his face. Isla, sitting quietly for a moment, finally spoke up, her voice shaky. “He fed on me, Caroline. He treated me like nothing but a blood bag. He compelled me—he made me feel so afraid. I... I couldn’t do anything.”

Her voice cracked, and Caroline saw the hurt, the anger, and the fear in Isla’s eyes. Isaac’s fists were clenched, his knuckles white, as he paced the room, consumed by rage.

Seeing their pain, Caroline walked over and placed a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, then took Isla’s hand in her own. “Sit down. Both of you.”

Reluctantly, they did as she asked, though Isaac was still vibrating with anger.

Caroline took a deep breath, sitting in front of them. “I was 17 when two siblings came to my town. I was a lot different back then—imagine Regina George from Mean Girls, with all the insecurities in the world, dialled up to 10,000.”

Isaac and Isla exchanged confused glances, but Caroline continued, her voice soft but firm. “The younger brother rejected me outright. Went straight for my best friend Elena. I was jealous, hurt. Why was she always the one that got the guy? The one who gets chosen? And then the older brother showed an interest in me. I leapt at it. We had sex.”

She paused, a tortured expression appeared on her face. “But I woke up the next morning with bloody fang marks on my neck. I tried to leave, but... he was a vampire, and I was human. He attacked me again. He compelled me to be compliant—to let him drink my blood, to be happy letting him use my body as a sex toy. He made me betray my friends and made me feel so small.”

Caroline’s voice grew heavier, the weight of her past pressing down. “He told me, again and again, that he was going to kill me. That I was nothing. When I became a vampire, I remembered everything. All I wanted was revenge. I wanted someone to fight for me, to acknowledge what he did to me. For there to be justice.”

The room was silent. Isaac and Isla sat still, captivated by her words, their own pain mirroring Caroline’s.

“But the world doesn’t work that way, if you want revenge you have to get it yourself. It’s going to be bloody and messy … you will have to sacrifice everything … you will have to put it first and you may succeed but at what cost. Are you willing to pay it? Do you know what price you must pay?” she continued, her voice stronger now. “I built a life for myself, and I’m not willing to sacrifice what I have built, what I have paid in blood for. As much as I want to see him suffer, it’s not worth my life.”

Caroline leaned forward, locking eyes with them both. “I’m not saying you can’t want revenge. It’s not my right to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. Revenge rarely gives you the peace you are looking for. But if you still want revenge I will back you on this and I will help you hunt that bastard down and help you serve his head on a silver platter but you have to be smart about it. Revenge is not worth your lives.”

Isaac sat in silence, still fuming but understanding. Isla wiped at her eyes, nodding slowly.

Caroline gave them both a small, encouraging smile. “That being said, I think you’re right. Maybe we need to get out of here. Going out and looking for more clues might give us a better idea of what’s going on.”

Isaac’s eyes flickered with hope, his anger simmering down. “So...we go out? We find him?”

Caroline gave Isaac a pointed look, her voice remained firm but have a light edge to it. “Not yet. Let’s have a better idea of what we are walking into. We look for more burned symbols or anything else suspicious, and we take it one step at a time. But we don’t rush into anything. We’re not getting ourselves killed.”

Isaac and Isla exchanged glances, then nodded in agreement.

Caroline stood up, grabbing her bag, keys and a couple of torches. “Let’s go. But remember, patience. We need to stay smart.”

With that, they left the house together, ready to search for answers—but this time, they would be cautious, they would be prepared, and they would be smart.

The woods were thick with shadows, the tall trees overhead creating a canopy that blocked out most of the moonlight. The air was cool, and the only sounds were the soft rustling of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl in the distance. Caroline, Isaac, and Isla stood near the burned symbols on the tree, the blackened mark glowing faintly under the beam of their flashlights.

Isaac and Isla were snapping photos of the symbols with their phones, but it was clear they had no idea what they were really looking for. They were both fumbling around, still bickering from earlier.

“You know,” Isla teased, smirking as she glanced at her brother, “if I wasn’t so upset earlier, I would’ve sworn you were about to hulk out back there.”

Isaac’s face flushed, clearly still embarrassed by his outburst. “I wasn’t hulking out,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze as he focused on his phone screen. “I just... lost my temper.”

“Yeah,” Isla shot back, not letting up. “Losing your temper involves hurling a chair across the room like it weighed nothing. You went full Hulk. The only thing that was missing was the green skin and the purple spandex”

Isaac’s glare could’ve cut through steel. “I didn’t ‘Hulk.’ And maybe if you didn’t have to joke all the time—”

“Oh please, you’re just mad because I’m right.”

“Right about what? You didn’t even—”

Their voices, though hushed, were steadily rising, but Caroline was already tuning them out. She stood a few feet away, her flashlight shining on the base of the tree. Something was nagging at her. The thick woodland overhead meant there was barely any sunlight that could reach the forest floor here, yet... something wasn’t right.

She crouched down, brushing away some of the undergrowth to get a better look. Among the moss and fungi that thrived in the low-light environment, she spotted something that didn’t belong. A plant, delicate and oddly luminescent, its leaves shimmering with a golden hue. It almost looked as though it were glowing from within, the same glow as the symbol. As she moved her flashlight closer, the plant seemed to reflect the light back at her, like reflective sheeting on road signs.

Her heart raced. This was it—something more. Something tied to the mystery.

“Isaac, Isla,” she called out, her voice sharp enough to cut through their bickering. “Come here. Now.”

They glanced at each other before hurrying over. When they crouched next to her and saw the glowing plant, both of them froze.

“Whoa,” Isaac breathed, his eyes wide. “What is that?”

Caroline pulled out her phone and snapped a picture before carefully plucking a handful of the strange flowers and placing them in a small glass vial she had brought along, sealing it tightly. “I don’t know, but it’s not natural. Not here.”

Isla knelt down beside her, staring at the glowing plant with awe. “How did you even spot this? It’s very dark.”

Caroline pointed her flashlight toward the surrounding undergrowth. “Look at the other plants here—moss, fungi. They don’t need much sunlight to survive. This one, though,” she gestured at the glowing flower, “it’s not supposed to be here. No sunlight reaches this part of the woods. Something’s off.”

Isla’s brow furrowed. “Wait... this plant. I’ve seen it before. It’s all over town. It’s been growing everywhere since, like, forever.”

Caroline’s suspicion deepened. “That’s... strange. Why would a plant that needs sunlight be thriving in a place where it shouldn’t grow? And why would it glow like that?” She turned the vial over in her hand, her mind racing with possibilities. “Something’s definitely not right.”

They stood up, ready to move on. Isla, ever the restless one, decided to mess around. “Watch this,” she said with a grin, and in the blink of an eye, she vamp-sped a few yards ahead. Unfortunately for her, the forest floor was uneven, and her foot caught on a root. She tumbled forward, landing face-first in the dirt with an ungraceful thud.

Isaac burst out laughing, unable to hide his amusement. “Oh my God, Isla, did you just faceplant?”

Isla groaned in frustration, wiping dirt off her face. “Shut up, Isaac. I swear, I tripped over something.”

Caroline stifled a laugh of her own, walking over to Isla and handing her a pack of wipes. “Here, let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I’m fine,” Isla muttered, though she gratefully accepted the wipes. As Caroline helped her get the mud out of her hair, Isaac started sniffing the air, his expression changing. His laughter faded, replaced by something far more serious.

“Wait... do you guys smell that?” Isaac’s nose wrinkled in disgust as he sniffed again. “That... that’s rotting flesh.”

Caroline and Isla paused, exchanging a quick glance. “Are you sure?” Isla asked.

Isaac nodded, his face paling slightly. “Positive. It’s strong. And... close.” He turned, using his heightened vampire senses to follow the scent, taking a few cautious steps toward the direction it was coming from.

Caroline and Isla followed him through the woods, the unease settling over them like a thick fog. Finally, Isaac stopped near a patch of disturbed earth, a slight depression in the ground. The smell of decay was unmistakable now.

“I think it’s coming from here,” Isaac said quietly, his voice tense.

Caroline sighed, already knowing what they had stumbled upon. “Wait here,” she said, her tone firm but calm. “I’ll go back and grab some shovels.”

Isla’s face scrunched up in disgust. “We’re seriously digging up a dead body? Here? Now?”

Caroline shot her a pointed look. “Yes. Unless you want to wait for whatever did this to come back and find us.”

Isaac didn’t argue, though he looked equally grossed out. “Hurry back.”

Caroline nodded, and without another word, she vamp-sped back toward the car where she had a couple of tools in the boot include a couple of shovels, leaving Isaac and Isla to stand guard by the makeshift grave. The woods felt darker now, the air heavier with the scent of death.

The night pressed in on all sides as Caroline raced through the dense woods, her vampire speed making her footsteps almost silent against the forest floor. But as fast as she was, the dark, twisted branches and uneven terrain made navigating at such speeds risky. She had already tripped once, scraping her arm against a sharp rock. Frustrated, she slowed down to a more manageable pace, glancing back to make sure she wasn’t being followed.

The woods were thick, the trees so dense that barely any moonlight broke through. The only sound was the whisper of wind through the leaves and her own breath as she ran. She was almost back to Isaac and Isla, shovels in hand, when suddenly... there it was—a strange vibration in the air, followed by a brief flash of whitish gold light that illuminated the trees in an eerie glow.

Caroline’s instincts kicked in. She immediately ducked behind the thick trunk of a nearby tree, her senses on high alert. The voices came next—low, urgent murmurs—like a secretive meeting. But what really alarmed her was how fast they had appeared, almost like they had teleported into the woods.

She peered out from behind the tree, squinting through the darkness. There, standing in a small clearing just ahead, was a group of vampires. A lot of vampires.

Caroline’s heart sank. She recognized one of them instantly—the vampire who had killed Isaac and Isla. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw him standing among the others. They were clustered together, and leading the group was a man with an air of authority, standing tall and composed. Tristan.

Next to him was a striking woman—elegant and powerful, with a sharp gaze that cut through the night. Aya. Caroline didn’t know who they were, but her instincts told her they were dangerous. More dangerous than anything she’d come across in a long time.

Her hands shook slightly as she fumbled for her phone. If she could just get a photo—just one shot of these vampires—it could help her piece together what was going on. She raised the phone, careful to stay hidden, and aimed it at the group.

But before she could snap the picture, everything happened at once.

A blur of motion to her right. A strong hand clamped down on her wrist, yanking her away from the tree with terrifying strength. Caroline gasped, her phone flying out of her hand and into the dirt. She struggled, trying to vamp-speed away, but the grip on her wrist was like iron. She barely had time to react before she was slammed into the ground, face-first. A figure loomed over her—a vampire with dark, cold eyes and movements too fast for her to track. He had her pinned down with ease, his strength far surpassing hers.

Caroline thrashed beneath him, trying to break free, but it was no use. Shen Min had her completely subdued. He dragged her, still struggling, toward the clearing, where Tristan, Aya, and the others were standing.

“Look what we have here,” Shen Min said, his voice low and mocking as he tossed her onto her knees in front of the group. “A little spy.”

Caroline’s head was spinning, her vision blurry as she was forced to kneel in the centre of the meeting. She glanced up, her eyes darting from vampire to vampire. Tristan. Aya. A vampire with a scar on his eyebrow, the one who had killed Isaac and Isla. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what she had stumbled into.

Caroline turned to the vampire who Isla and Isaac had described and sneered, “You murdered Isaac and Isla.”

The vampire laughed and replied, “Who?”

Caroline lunged for the vampire and managed to land a punch on him however was easily subdued by Shen Min again who grabbed a nearby branch and staked her in the spine causing her to cry out in pain and drop to the floor. The vampire in question now had a bloodied lip hissed with rage made his way toward Caroline only for Tristan’s voice to break the ruckus.

“Vasil, Stand down.”

The rival clan’s leader bored with the ruckus in front of him and surrounded by his clan sneered, his arms crossed. “Haven’t you heard, Elijah has already slaughtered four clans this week, There is open war between the remaining sirelines.” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re leading your people into a slaughter.”

Tristan’s expression remained calm, even bored, as he studied the vampire who had dared to challenge him. “You forget your place,” Tristan said softly, his voice smooth but laced with cold malice. “And you forget who leads the most powerful organisation in the supernatural world.”

Before the rival leader could respond, Tristan gave a slight nod to his men. Chaos erupted.

The Strix attacked with lightning speed. The air was filled with the sound of bones snapping, flesh tearing, and brutal cries of pain. Caroline watched in horror as the Strix easily overpowered the rival clan. Bodies dropped to the ground, limbs torn apart as the vampires were systematically slaughtered. The brutality was immense, the violence quick and efficient.

When the last of the rival vampires fell, Tristan stood among the carnage, not a single hair out of place. He glanced at Caroline, who was on the floor paralysed by the stake in her spine, her heart pounding in her chest. She was a witness to the massacre.

“What do we do with her?” Shen Min asked, his grip tightening on Caroline’s arm, ripped the branch roughly out of her spinal cord before putting her a brutal lock on her arm, ready to finish her off.

Tristan looked at her with disinterest, but his tone was dismissive. “Kill her.”

Caroline’s pulse spiked, panic flooding her system. As she struggled harder against Shen Min. A sickening snap and scream emanated the room as she managed to break free of his hold by breaking her own arm. She hastily grabbed a branch from one the dead bodies and she unleashed her vampire features, but it was futile. She knew it. She was about to die. But damn them all she wasn’t going to go without a fight.

The other vampires looked on with a mixture of boredom, glee and curiosity at the blonde baby vampire as Shen Min stepped towards her.

Then, a voice rang out from the shadows—calm, commanding, and full of authority.

“Dear brother of mine!”

All heads turned as a woman stepped forward from the darkness. Eve. Or at least, that’s what Caroline had known her as. But as the woman emerged into the light, Caroline’s heart stopped.

“Eve?” Caroline’s voice wavered, confused. This woman—this wasn’t the Eve she had befriended.

Eve smiled—no, smirked—her expression twisted with amusement. She glanced at Caroline, then at her brother, her voice lilting with sadistic pleasure. “I see you’ve found my little toy.”

Caroline’s eyes widened in shock. “What—who are you?”

Eve’s chuckled before introducing herself, “My name is Aurora De Martel, Little Dove” giving a confident curtsey.

Caroline’s blood ran cold.

Aurora turned to Tristan, her tone playful yet firm. “Spare her. I’ll take her as my servant.”

Tristan sighed, clearly annoyed by his sister’s whims. “Rory, you killed and tortured the last one just yesterday. Why should I allow this one to live? It’s getting awfully tiresome having to have to deal with all the bodies.”

Aurora’s eyes gleamed with dark amusement. “Because the last one was boring. This one... has spirit. And I want a new toy to play with.”

Tristan hesitated, then waved his hand dismissively. “Fine. Do what you want with her.”

Shen Min grunted in disapproval but followed Tristan’s orders. With one quick, brutal motion, he flashed forward and snapped Caroline’s neck.

Darkness engulfed her in an instant as she fell to the ground, temporarily dead.

Chapter Text

The forest was shrouded in an unsettling darkness as the clock ticked past 2 AM. The moon hung high overhead, its silvery light filtering through the dense canopy of trees, creating flickering shadows that danced eerily on the ground. Isaac paced back and forth, his anxiety palpable in the cold night air.

“It’s been too long. Something’s wrong,” he muttered, glancing at Isla, who was perched on a fallen log, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her shirt.

Isla sighed, her brow furrowed with concern. “Maybe she’s just getting shovels from the house. Let’s not panic yet.”

Isaac stopped, frustration boiling over as he shot her a look. “The shovels were in the boot! I’m not waiting anymore.” His voice was sharp, but it was the worry behind it that fuelled his urgency.

Without waiting for a response, he vamp-speed dashed deeper into the woods, his instincts driving him forward. Isla, momentarily caught off guard, quickly followed, her heart racing. They moved silently through the trees, retracing Caroline's steps, the urgency of the situation clawing at them with each stride.

As they navigated the underbrush, something caught Isaac's eye—a glint of light amid the dark earth. He skidded to a stop, his senses tingling. “Wait,” he said, holding up a hand. “Over there.”

Isla caught up and glanced where he was pointing. They almost missed it—there, half-buried in the dirt, lay Caroline’s phone. It was cracked, its screen flickering faintly in the dim light. Next to it, they spotted the shovels, abandoned and half-hidden in the foliage.

Isaac’s heart dropped. “What the hell happened here?” He knelt beside the phone, fingers trembling as he picked it up, the reality of the situation settling heavily in his stomach.

“Oh my God…” Isla whispered, her voice trembling. “What is going on?”

As they took a closer look, the sight of dead vampires scattered across the ground hit them like a punch to the gut. Bodies and body parts lay strewn about, lifeless and bloody, as if a violent storm had swept through the woods.

Isaac's mind was racing with questions. “This can’t be right. This can’t be—”

Isla could barely contain her panic, her breath coming in short, quick gasps. “We need to get out of here, Isaac! Whoever did this could come back! The sun is about to rise. We can’t help her if we’re dead!” Her voice was rising in pitch, panic lacing every word.

Isaac nodded, his own fear palpable as he looked around, scanning the area for any signs of danger. “You’re right. We need to go back to Caroline’s house. We have to calm down and figure out what to do next. Maybe she went home.”

They exchanged frantic glances before quickly retracing their steps, their hearts pounding in their chests. The darkness of the forest, once a familiar comfort, now felt threatening, the trees looming ominously around them.

The dimly lit bar in Rosewood Springs was nearly empty, save for a few late-night stragglers nursing their drinks. Leonard sat slumped over the polished wood of the bar, swirling a glass of bourbon in his hand, the amber liquid reflecting the low light. He stared into his drink, lost in thought, convinced that Caroline and the twins were safely tucked away at her home, oblivious to the dark forces lurking in the woods.

A history of servitude weighed heavily on him. At 684 years old, he often pondered if he was merely a relic of a bygone era, cursed to exist in a perpetual state of servitude. After all, he had been turned into a vampire at the tender age of 24, just as he lay dying from the Black Death in 14th century England. Klaus had been the one to save him, turning him into a creature of the night, and ever since, Leonard had obeyed every command, every whim of his sire.

His blonde hair, fell loosely over his forehead. He absentmindedly ran a hand through it, wondering if he had wasted his immortal life chasing fleeting pleasures and lovers who were now nothing but memories. He had travelled the world, learned 27 languages, and seen the rise and fall of empires, yet here he was, drinking alone in a small town, contemplating his purpose.

Leonard chuckled bitterly to himself. “Is this my mid-life crisis?” he murmured, downing the rest of his bourbon in one swift motion. “Tasked to babysit fledgling vampires while I reminisce about my glory days?” The laugh that escaped his lips was hollow, almost mocking.

With a sigh, he pushed himself away from the bar, feeling the weight of his own life pressing down on him as he made his way out. He decided to take a quick detour past Caroline’s house. Maybe he would find her there, basking in the safety of home.

As he approached, he heard voices—loud and agitated. Intrigued, he stepped closer, his vampire senses picking up the tension. It was Isaac and Isla, clearly in the middle of a heated argument.

“We need to find her Isaac. We are the whole reason why she was out there in the first place!” Isla exclaimed, frustration and guilt lacing her voice.

“You don’t think I don’t know that! God! …We just need to be smart about this…” Isaac shot back, his tone equally sharp.

Leonard felt his heart drop as he realised the girl wasn’t at home. He pushed the door open and stormed inside. “Where is the blonde? What the hell is going on?” His voice was commanding, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

The twins turned, startled. Isaac’s expression shifted from surprise to suspicion as he grabbed a piece of a broken chair that had been hurled earlier. “Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, gripping the makeshift weapon defensively.

“Put that down!” Leonard raised his hands, palms out in a gesture of peace. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m trying to find your friend!”

“Where is she. Where is she!” Isla asked incredulously voice rising, stepping slightly in front of Isaac, her eyes narrowed, finger pointed at him. “You think we know? We’ve been trying to find her as well. Talking about friends, You haven’t told us who the hell you are!”

Leonard could feel the tension in the room rise and his own frustration rise but he pulled himself back. “We don’t have time for this. I need to know what happened. I thought she’d be home.”

“Thought?” Isaac echoed, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean thought? What business do you have to do with Caroline’s whereabouts. We found her phone—”

“Her phone?” Leonard’s heart dropped. “What else?”

“Dead vampires... everywhere.” Isaac’s voice was barely above a whisper, the weight of their discovery crashing down on them.

“Shit,” Leonard breathed, his mind racing. Klaus would never forgive him for this. “Klaus is going to kill me.”

“Who the hell is Klaus?” Isla asked, confusion blending in her voice.

Leonard ran a hand through his hair, panic beginning to seep into his composure. “Niklaus Mikaelson. The Original Hybrid. My sire. My death will last centuries as will yours if we don’t find your friend, and fast.”

After a moment of tense silence, Isaac and Isla exchanged glances, a flicker of fear in their expressions. “It sounds like we are all in the same boat. We can work together.” Isla said, her voice steadier now. “We all want to find her.”

Isaac nodded. “Caroline has friends in Mystic Falls who can help, too. If we work together, we might actually stand a chance.”

Leonard hesitated, the weight of their situation pressing down on him. But the urgency in their eyes and the dread of Klaus’s wrath spurred him into action. “Fine. We work together. But we need to move fast.”

The world slowly came back to Caroline in a haze of discomfort and disorientation. She blinked her eyes open, her body aching from the familiar feeling of having her neck snapped. The first thing that hit her was the air—thick and heavy, smelling faintly of ash. She tried to sit up, her limbs sluggish as though time itself moved differently here.

The room around her was unfamiliar and unnervingly beautiful. Intricate stained-glass windows with shades of red and gold reflected a fiery light from the world outside, casting eerie, shifting patterns on the polished stone floor. The architecture was a blend of Greek elegance, Persian grandeur, and Turkish detail, all of it dripping with opulence. Soft drapes moved with the breeze coming from the open balcony. Beyond it, Caroline could make out a sky that was far from normal—an angry grey streaked with red as if the sun was trapped in an eternal dusk. And beyond the edge of the balcony, the landscape was like something out of a nightmare: buildings, hundreds of them, lay crumbling under a constant downpour of ash.

She groaned softly, pushing herself off the plush velvet couch she had been lying on. Her eyes adjusted, finally settling on the figure across the room—Aurora, reclined on another sofa with a book in her hand, her lips curled into an amused smile.

"Rise and shine, little dove," Aurora cooed, her voice soft but laced with mockery.

Caroline’s head pounded, but she forced herself to stand, her legs still shaky from whatever had happened before. "Where the hell am I?" Her voice came out hoarse, panic rising in her chest as she staggered toward the open balcony, taking in the bizarre scene beyond.

The sight outside made her stomach turn. “Is this hell? Am I dead?” Caroline asked, trying to keep the fear from seeping into her voice. She gestured to the ash falling like snowflakes in slow motion, coating the world in a haunting grey.

Aurora let out a soft, melodic laugh, the kind that made Caroline’s skin crawl. "Why does it look like that?" Caroline continued, her voice sharp.

Aurora finally closed her book, standing up gracefully and walking over to join Caroline on the balcony. Her eyes sparkled with a kind of dark amusement as she gazed out at the city. “This is Mahal Khafa,” she said with a grand gesture, her tone dripping with pride and malevolence.

Caroline narrowed her eyes. "That tells me nothing."

Aurora smirked, tilting her head slightly as if Caroline was a particularly amusing child. “We call this place home. Isn’t it... enchanting?”

Caroline’s blood ran cold as she processed what Aurora said. The castle—its towering walls, the impossibly high spires—seemed to loom over everything, the tallest structure in the landscape, reigning supreme over the city. The feeling of being trapped was suffocating. Time... it didn’t feel right here.

“Why did you lie about your name? You could’ve told me your name is Aurora. Why did you lie?” Caroline questioned , her mind still reeling about everything.

Aurora turned toward Caroline, her eyes sparkling with that dangerous mix of charm and cruelty. “Questions, questions, questions. You always were so inquisitive, weren’t you?” Her smile grew. “I, however, am hungry. Care for a snack?”

The casualness of the offer twisted Caroline’s thirst as she knew exactly what Aurora meant by ‘ a snack’. She took a step back from the balcony, her fists clenched at her sides as she glared at Aurora. “I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

Aurora let out a light, almost girlish giggle and rolled her eyes before ringing a bell. “Oh, my dear little dove, you will. Soon enough.”

The night air in Rosewood Springs was thick with tension. The shadows of the trees swayed gently, casting elongated shapes on the damp earth. Bonnie paced restlessly along the edge of the clearing, her hands clenched into fists as kept scolding herself for not being here watching over Caroline instead she was looking at ley lines.

“She is gone and I wasn’t here,” Bonnie muttered, her voice laced with frustration and guilt.

Kol, leaning casually against a nearby tree, watched her with narrowed eyes, trying to appear relaxed even though he could sense the storm brewing inside her. “You're dead darling. Even if you were here what could you have done?.”

Bonnie whirled around, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and fear. “She’s in danger, Kol! She could be dead or worse, and I weren’t even here! I couldn’t even—”

“—What Bonnie?,” Kol interrupted, stepping forward, his tone calm but firm. “You are dead. Your magic here is limited, even more so on the mortal plane. You can’t help your friends here. You need to keep focus and stick to the plan.”

“You’re only saying this because the plan conveniently requires you to come back to life with me. You only care about resurrecting yourself and only yourself. Don’t pretend like you give a damn about me or my friends!” Bonnie shouted back, her voice getting more venomous by the second.

Kol looked back at Bonnie with a look that could kill and he shouted back, “I am only here because your little boyfriend and the doppelganger ambushed me and murdered me! I don’t give a damn about your friends! I want back the life that was stolen from me! And right now, my plans align with yours. If you want to do this alone. Fine. Be my guest but we both know that we can’t do this apart so let’s cut the melodrama and focus on the bloody plan to get us back to the land of the living.”

Bonnie paused, biting her lip as her gaze dropped to the ground, her mind racing. She wanted to scream, to break something, but Kol was right—losing focus wouldn’t help.

Suddenly, a rustling sound in the distance cut through the tense air. Both Kol and Bonnie’s heads snapped toward the direction of the noise. The trees parted as a figure stumbled into the clearing—a vampire. Its movements were jerky, unnatural, its face twisted in rage and pain and blood dripped from its mouth.

“Another one?” Bonnie muttered, taking a step back.

The mutated vampire lunged forward, growling with unnatural fury. Kol’s reflexes kicked in, and in an instant, he vamp-sped toward the creature, slamming it against a nearby tree before ripping off it’s head. The vampire collapsed to the floor before the head re-attached itself and the vampire got back up, fangs bared lunging at Kol.

“Ugh, this just keeps getting better,” Kol grunted, barely managing to hold the creature back.

Bonnie raised her hands, trying to summon all the magic she could but her limbs felt unnaturally heavy. Nevertheless Bonnie sent as much power as she could and shouted “Somnus invoco” causing the creature to immediately drop to sleep. Blood seeped out of Bonnie’s nose and Kol helped her steady herself.

Before either of them could breathe a sigh of relief, the air shifted. A cold, unsettling presence filled the clearing, and from the shadows, a group of witches emerged, their eyes gleaming with power. The leader stepped forward, her cold gaze locking onto Bonnie.

“You’ve meddled enough, Bennett witch,” the witch leader said, her voice echoing ominously through the clearing. “Stay out of our business, or there will be consequences.”

Bonnie’s heart pounded in her chest, her fists clenching. “I’m not afraid of you.”

The witch leader’s lips curled into a sinister smile. “You should be.”

Before Bonnie could react, the witches raised their hands in unison, and the veins of their bodies turned black and they chanted together, "Bluot firbrennan, Flësk starran. Séola forwortan, in dio finstrun sinkan." Kol cried out in agony, dropping to his knees, clutching his chest before lurching over and coughing up blood. His face twisted in pain as the witches poured their magic into his mind, overwhelming him. Sweat poured from him as his eyes began to turn black.

“Stop it!” Bonnie shouted, her voice raw with desperation as she turned toward the witches. She tried to gather any power but that sent her head spinning and blood dripped from her nose. But they ignored her, their focus entirely on Kol, who was writhing on the ground in agony.

Kol’s vision blurred as the pain intensified, but through the haze, he spotted a rock lying just within reach. Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, he vamp-sped his hand toward it and hurled the rock at vamp speed, hitting one of the witches square in the head, killing the witch instantly.

The other witches’ concentrations broke, their spell faltering for a moment. But a moment was all Kol needed. In an instant, Kol was back on his feet, his fury igniting. He moved with deadly precision, vamp-speeding toward the witches. With a growl, he tore through them, ripping them apart with savage ferocity. The witches didn’t even have time to scream before their bodies crumpled to the ground.

Bonnie stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat as she watched the witches’ bodies flicker and phase out of existence, as though they had never been there at all.

Kol, his chest heaving from the exertion, glanced over at Bonnie. “You alright, love?”

Bonnie nodded, her heart still racing. “Yeah. But... who were they?”

“No clue.” Kol muttered, his voice dark. “But given our luck, they won’t be the last.”

The stolen van rattled down the long, empty road, the soft hum of the engine barely masking the growing tension inside. The sun had already risen, its harsh light casting an orange glow over the landscape, but none of that light made its way into the van. Every window had been meticulously covered with thick blankets and towels to protect the vampires from the deadly rays. In the front seat, Leonard gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he focused on the road ahead.

The van reeked of old leather and the faint metallic scent of blood from a few discarded bags in the back. Isaac and Isla sat on the floor behind the driver’s seat, flipping through Caroline’s scattered notes and research. Every so often, Leonard’s eye would flick to the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of the twins bickering over some piece of supernatural trivia.

“So,” Isaac began, holding up a hastily scribbled note from one of Caroline’s folders, “we’re just... driving to Mystic Falls now? That’s the whole plan? What exactly are we supposed to do when we get there?”

Leonard didn’t look back, his eyes focused on the road ahead. His tone was sharp. “We’re going to find her friends. They’ll know what to do.”

“And that’s it? Just walk up to them and say, ‘Hey, your vampire friend is missing, care to help?’” Isaac shot back, sarcasm creeping into his voice.

Before Leonard could respond, Isla let out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes as she leaned against the van wall. “Yeah, why don’t we just call them instead of driving across the country in a stolen van?” she quipped, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Leonard’s jaw clenched as he resisted the urge to snap at her. This girl had been grating on his last nerve since the moment they’d piled into the van. She was the type who always had to have the last word, always had to push buttons—and Leonard was already wound tighter than a spring.

“Do you want to die, girl?” Leonard said through gritted teeth. “If Caroline’s friends are anything like Klaus, they’re going to be suspicious of strangers showing up, even more so over a phone call.”

Isaac glanced at Isla with a knowing smirk. “Oh yeah, because showing up unannounced in person is way less suspicious.”

Isla snickered, clearly enjoying herself as she tossed another note aside. “He’s right, you know. We’re driving across the country in a stolen van, hiding from the sun like we’re in some bargain-bin horror flick. This whole thing is—”

“—Necessary!” Leonard snapped, cutting her off. “Do you want to go waltzing into Mystic Falls with no idea what’s going on? We’re taking precautions. We have no idea what we’re up against.”

Isla rolled her eyes again, leaning back. “I’m just saying, you don’t exactly inspire confidence, old man.”

Leonard’s grip tightened on the wheel, and he inhaled sharply, trying to keep his temper in check. Why don’t I just dump them on the side of the road and head to Mystic Falls myself? he thought bitterly. They were an inconvenience, a liability. He’d been alive for 684 years, long enough to know when dead weight was dragging him down. But then again...

He glanced in the rear-view mirror again, watching Isaac and Isla bicker over one of Caroline’s spell books. They were inexperienced, impulsive, and reckless. But they were vampires now. Which meant, if things went south, they could at least be useful. Maybe even as cannon fodder, if it came to that. Leonard wasn’t proud of that thought, but self-preservation was a skill he had honed for centuries.

Besides, the truth gnawed at the back of his mind: Klaus had tasked him with protecting Caroline, and Klaus didn’t tolerate failure. If he returned to New Orleans without her, his death wouldn’t be quick. No, Klaus would drag it out for centuries, making him suffer in ways Leonard couldn’t even begin to imagine.

How did this girl attract Klaus Mikaelson’s attention anyway? She seemed so... ordinary. And yet, Klaus was willing to kill and torture for her. Leonard shuddered at the thought, a cold sweat creeping down his back despite the heat of the rising sun outside.

“I still don’t get it,” Isla muttered, breaking Leonard’s internal monologue. “How did Caroline even get involved with someone like Klaus? She’s all... sunshine and sparkles. And you are going on about him like he’s Lord Voldemort. What’s he doing caring about someone like her?”

Leonard didn’t answer. Mostly because he didn’t know. He had no idea what Klaus saw in the blonde. But one thing was clear: if he didn’t find her, he wouldn’t live long enough to find out.

“Look,” Leonard said finally, his voice low and tense, “I don’t care how this looks, or how much fun you’re having mocking me. The bottom line is, if we don’t find your friend, we’re all dead.”

Isaac, for once, fell silent at that. Isla, however, wasn’t quite done pushing buttons.

“Oh, relax. We’ll figure this out,” she said breezily. “If Klaus is so scary, maybe you should’ve thought twice before letting Caroline out of your sight.”

That was it. Leonard slammed his fist against the steering wheel, the van swerving slightly before he corrected it. “Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I asked for this assignment? If it were up to me, I’d be anywhere but here, chasing after a bunch of fledgling vampires who think they know everything about the world.”

Isla raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Feeling sorry for yourself now? That’s not very stoic soldier of you.”

Leonard let out a frustrated sigh, muttering to himself. Mid-life crisis, indeed.

The van rattled on, the sun creeping higher in the sky as the tension simmered between the three. Leonard drove faster, pushing the van to its limits, desperate to reach Mystic Falls before Klaus’s patience ran out.

The air in Mahal Khafa was heavy with the smell of blood, coppery and thick, clinging to everything like a second skin. Caroline stood frozen, her eyes fixed on the horrific scene in front of her. Aurora had drained seven humans, their limp bodies scattered across the floor like discarded toys. Their blood pooled at Aurora’s feet, staining the intricate stonework beneath them. Aurora wiped her lips with the back of her hand, smiling in that cold, sadistic way that sent a chill down Caroline’s spine.

“Your turn,” Aurora said lightly, gesturing toward the last human, barely clinging to life.

Caroline’s stomach churnedbile rising in her throat but more worrisome was the growing hunger she had but she held firm. “No.”

Aurora raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “No?”

Caroline shook her head firmly, backing away slightly. “I’m not like you. I won’t—”

“Drain them?” Aurora finished, her voice soft but mocking. “Oh, come now, little dove, don’t pretend like you haven’t before. It’s in your nature.”

Caroline’s fists clenched at her sides, her eyes flashing with anger. “Not like this.”

Aurora chuckled, stepping closer, her eyes gleaming with a twisted kind of amusement. “Suit yourself, then.” She then rang a bell, and one by one the blood-drained humans were dragged out of the room by silent, blank-faced servants. “But you’ll join me for some entertainment, won’t you?”

Caroline hesitated, her gaze lingering on the bodies. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Aurora’s smile widened, her tone almost sing-song. “Well, you have two options, darling. You can come along willingly, or...” Her eyes flickered toward the hall, and her voice dropped, full of wicked glee. “I’ll drain the next human who walks through that door. Right in front of you.”

Caroline’s heart pounded. Her mind screamed at her to refuse, to fight back, but the look in Aurora’s eyes told her the threat wasn’t empty. She swallowed hard and nodded reluctantly.

“Good girl,” Aurora said, her smile brightening as if they were simply planning a casual outing.

They left the room, walking down the castle’s endless corridors, the grand architecture feeling more like a prison with each step. Mahal Khafa was an unsettling place. The walls were dark, lit with the occasional flickering torch. The air was thick, oppressive, and the constant red light from the sky above bled through the stained glass windows, casting a haunting glow on everything.

As they passed through the hallways, Caroline noticed the humans who crossed their path. Some were scared, their eyes wide with fear, clutching their arms or necks where fresh bite marks marred their skin. Others were blank, their faces expressionless, as though their souls had already been drained from their bodies. They cowered away from Aurora—and from Caroline. Caroline’s heart twisted at the sight. She wasn’t one of them, not like Aurora. But these people... they didn’t know that. To them, she was just another vampire. She bit her lip, forcing herself to keep moving.

After what felt like an eternity, they entered the main hall. It was grand, vast, and eerily silent. The red light from outside filtered through the tall stained glass windows, casting an otherworldly glow on the stone walls and the massive tapestries that hung between them.

Aurora gestured for Caroline to sit beside her. Caroline hesitated, her eyes darting around the hall. The seats were filled with vampires—many of them dressed in lavish clothing, their eyes glittering with a mix of boredom and bloodlust. At the head of the hall sat Tristan, regal and detached, watching the proceedings with cold, calculating eyes.

Aurora took her seat beside her brother, and with a smile, gestured for Caroline to sit beside her. Caroline reluctantly did, feeling the weight of the eyes around her. She was surrounded—trapped.

Tristan leaned slightly toward Aurora, his voice a low murmur as he glanced in Caroline’s direction. “Your new pet doesn’t look particularly happy.”

Aurora laughed softly, barely looking at Caroline as she responded. “Oh, she’ll come around. She just needs a bit more... training.”

Caroline’s fists clenched before flattening her hands over her lap. They were talking about her as if she weren’t even there, as if she were some kind of object, a thing to be molded and broken.

“Does she now?” Tristan’s gaze flickered toward Caroline, studying her as if she were nothing more than an experiment. “I suppose we’ll see how long that lasts.”

Caroline stared straight ahead, her mind reeling. What was this place? The cruelty of it, the disregard for human life, the way they spoke about her like she was something to be owned. Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to stay calm. Panicking wouldn’t help. She had to survive. She had to find a way out.

The dim lighting of the grand hall darkened further as the play began. Caroline shifted uncomfortably in her seat, a sense of foreboding creeping over her. Her attention was caught by the stage, where a group of actors—humans, she realized with growing horror—were stepping into place.

The hall quieted, save for the eerie sound of the ash tapping gently against the windows outside and the terror filled gasps of the actors. Aurora sat beside her, reclining in her chair, her expression one of almost childlike glee. Caroline's stomach twisted. Something was wrong, more than just the strange setting, more than the oppressive atmosphere. The play they were about to watch was real—the humans were acting, but the bloodshed, the violence... it wasn’t staged.

As the first act began, Caroline’s worst fears were confirmed.

On the stage, a man dressed as Saturninus stood tall, his voice echoing across the hall, however the fear in his eyes, the adrenaline pumping through his body was abundantly clear.

“ Noble patricians, patrons of my right, Defend the justice of my cause with arms. And countrymen, my loving followers, Plead my successive title with your swords. I am his firstborn son that was the last That wore the imperial diadem of Rome. Then let my father’s honours live in me, Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.”

The lines of Titus Andronicus—Shakespeare’s bloodiest tragedy—rang through the hall, but what disturbed Caroline more was the way the actors moved, how their eyes flickered with fear. It was a twisted execution.

When the first blow was struck, and one of the actors was cut down, blood spilling onto the stage, Caroline gasped. It wasn’t a stage trick. The blood was real. The human crumpled to the floor, his life snuffed out in front of the audience’s eyes, and the show continued as though nothing was wrong.

Caroline’s heart raced, her breath quickening. She had seen death before, countless times, but this—this was different. This was murder, dressed up as entertainment. And they were enjoying it.

Around her, the vampires in the hall watched with casual interest, some even clapping softly as the actors fell, one by one, in line with the grim story. Caroline felt bile rise in her throat, her mind reeling. She couldn’t watch this—she wouldn’t.

With a surge of determination, Caroline pushed herself up from her seat, trying to get away. But before she could even take a step, Aurora's hand shot out, her grip vice-like on Caroline’s wrist. She yanked her back down with terrifying strength, her voice dripping with amusement.

“Where do you think you’re going, little dove?” Aurora whispered, her lips curving into a smirk.

Caroline glared at her, her voice trembling with fury and disgust. “You’re insane,” she spat, her chest heaving. “I won’t watch this.”

Aurora’s eyes glinted with that dangerous amusement again. “Insane?” she echoed mockingly. She leaned in closer, her voice soft, but the edge unmistakable. “I thought my feelings were valid. Isn’t that what you said, Caroline? That I was just... misunderstood?”

Caroline’s heart skipped a beat. Aurora was throwing her words right back at her—the ones she had used when bonding with Eve or Aurora during their previous encounter. Now, those words felt like a bitter, twisted joke.

“You’re not misunderstood,” Caroline growled. “You’re a monster.”

Aurora’s smile widened, her grip tightening painfully around Caroline’s wrist, her perfectly manicured long nails began drawing blood. “Perhaps. But I think you’re being dramatic, darling. After all, it’s just a play.”

Another actor fell on stage, blood spurting from a deep wound as the audience clapped appreciatively. Caroline’s stomach churned. She wanted to scream, to run, to do anything other than sit here and watch as these humans were butchered for sport.

But she couldn’t. Not with Aurora’s iron grip holding her in place.

The play continued, the gruesome tale of Titus Andronicus unfolding in brutal, horrifying detail. Caroline’s mind raced. She had read the story before—she knew how it ended. The Roman general, Titus, would soon exact his revenge of the rape and mutilation of his daughter in the most disturbing way possible: by murdering the sons of his enemy, baking them into a pie, and serving it to their mother before killing her as well.

The thought made Caroline sick. She tried to avert her gaze, but Aurora’s nails dug into her wrist forcing her to watch the play. Every scream, every drop of blood, felt like a knife twisting in her gut.

“I can’t believe you’re forcing me to watch this,” Caroline hissed, her voice shaking with anger and despair.

Aurora leaned closer, her breath brushing against Caroline’s ear. “You need to learn, little dove. This is our world. You can’t run from it. You’re not in Rosewood Springs anymore, Little Dove.”

Caroline swallowed hard, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts. She was trapped in this nightmare dimension, surrounded by monsters, with no way out. She has left Isaac and Isla alone to fend for themselves in a town which is turning out to be worse than Mystic Falls. She needed to get out of here and fast. She needed to get to Isaac and Isla and get them away from all of this.

She had to.

The Mystic Falls sheriff’s station was quiet, the soft hum of fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as Sheriff Liz Forbes sat at her desk, staring at her phone. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth as she scrolled through her messages. Two days. Two days and not a word from Caroline. That was unusual. Ever since her daughter had left Mystic Falls for the summer to try and escape the supernatural chaos that seemed to follow her, they had made it a point to check in with each other twice a day—once in the morning, once at night. It had become a ritual, a way to ease the tension of being miles apart.

But now... nothing.

Liz’s fingers hovered over her phone as she debated sending yet another text, but something gnawed at the back of her mind. Caroline had never missed a check-in before. The silence felt wrong—ominous. She pushed the thought aside for a moment, standing up from her desk. Maybe Caroline was just busy or caught up in whatever she was doing. There was no need to jump to conclusions... yet.

Grabbing her jacket, Sheriff Forbes left the station and headed out on patrol, trying to push the growing sense of dread to the back of her mind. The cold night air hit her as she stepped out of the car near the outskirts of town, the moon casting long shadows over the road. She breathed in deeply, trying to calm her racing thoughts.

As she approached her car to start the patrol, movement caught her eye—three figures appeared out of the darkness, walking toward her. Her instincts kicked in immediately. Liz's hand went to the gun at her hip, and she quickly raised it, pointing the barrel straight at the strangers.

“Stop right there!” she commanded, her voice firm.

The three figures froze, their hands raised in surrender. The moonlight illuminated them—a young man and woman, along with another man who appeared older. The tension in the air was palpable.

“Wait! We’re not here to cause trouble. You’re Sheriff Forbes. Caroline’s mom. Right?,” the young woman spoke quickly, her hands still raised. “We need your help.”

Liz narrowed her eyes, not lowering the gun. “Who are you and what business do you have with my daughter?”

The young woman—Isla—swallowed nervously before responding. “I’m Isla. This is my brother, Isaac... and Leonard. Isaac and I... we were turned accidentally by Caroline after we were murdered by another vampire. She’s our sire, and she was teaching us how to be vampires without harming anyone.”

At the mention of Caroline’s name, Liz’s breath hitched. The sheriff’s mind raced, but her expression remained calm, practiced.

Isla continued, her voice shaking slightly. “We found her phone... and her bag.” She held up the items, her hands trembling. “She’s missing.”

Sheriff Forbes’ gaze flicked to the phone and bag in Isla’s hands, her chest tightening at the sight. Her first instinct was panic—she wanted to scream, to demand answers, but years of training kept her steady. Caroline was missing. Her daughter... missing.

She didn’t lower the gun but spoke with a practiced calm. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Isla nodded, her breath unsteady but compliant. Isaac, standing beside her, kept his hands raised, his face etched with worry. Leonard, on the other hand, remained eerily still, watching the sheriff with a keen, calculating gaze.

Liz’s mind raced as she slowly reached for her phone, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as she dialed a number she had hoped not to use tonight.

“Damon,” she said, her voice clipped. “We need to meet. Now.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end before Damon’s familiar, cocky voice responded. “Sheriff Forbes, you’re calling me at this hour? I hope this isn’t about—”

“Not now, Damon,” Liz interrupted, her tone sharp. “Caroline’s missing.”

There was another pause, and then Damon’s voice dropped its usual playful tone, becoming serious. “Where are you?”

Liz glanced at the three strangers still standing in front of her, their hands raised, the weight of the moment pressing down on her like a stone. “Gather everyone. I’m bringing some people over to the boarding house. This is serious.”

“Fine,” Damon replied, and the line went dead.

Sheriff Forbes hung up, lowering her phone but keeping the gun trained on the trio. “You’re coming with me, if any of you even blink funny a wooden bullet is going in your heart.” she said, her voice steady but laced with the fear she refused to show. “Are we clear?”

“Crystal”

The world came back to Matt in a rush of confusion and panic. He blinked against the dim light filtering through the dirt above him, the heavy weight of earth pressing down on his chest. He gasped, the stale air filling his lungs as instinct kicked in. He was buried.

His heart raced as he began to claw at the dirt, panic flooding his system. He dug frantically, each handful of soil falling away to reveal more of his surroundings. As he pushed himself upward and breathed in a massive breath and rested for a moment. The realisation hit him like a cold wave as he stared at a pale hand peaking out of the dirt. He continued digging and saw the green eyes of the lady who was serving them gelato staring blankly back at him, her face frozen.

The memories flooded back, and despair gripped him like a vice. Rebekah and him have been getting gelato and then... the ambush. It had all gone downhill so fast.

Matt staggered backward, the earth crumbling beneath him as he finally pulled himself free. He stumbled out of the grave, falling onto the ground beside the corpse. The sickening realization settled over him like a thick fog, and he felt the bile rise in his throat. He rolled away from the body, trying to catch his breath.

Frustration boiled over as he raked a hand through his hair and punched the floor. “No No No No!”

He pushed himself up, surveying his surroundings. The grave was hidden in the woods, the trees standing tall and foreboding around him. In the distance, he could see the glimmer of a road, hope flickering to life in his chest. But Rebekah was nowhere to be found. Panic clawed at him as he wondered what had happened to her.

Matt pulled out his phone, trembling hands fumbling with the device. He pressed Caroline’s number, hoping against hope that she would answer. When the call connected, it was not Caroline’s familiar voice that greeted him but someone he had never expected.

“Sheriff Forbes,” came the calm, authoritative voice of Caroline’s mother.

“Uh, Sheriff! It’s Matt. I... I’ve been traveling with Rebekah, and we got ambushed.” His voice shook with urgency. “I’m stuck in Switzerland. I don’t know what happened to her, but—”

“Matt, have you seen Caroline?” Sheriff Forbes interrupted, her voice tense.

“No, Is she okay?” he said, frustration and fear spilling over. “Rebekah and I were together and then these vampires and witches came out of nowhere and they killed me, but I woke up in a shallow grave next to a woman’s corpse... It’s all a blur. I just need to get back. I need to find them.”

“Get the next plane back to Mystic Falls, I’ll wire you some money,” Sheriff Forbes commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. “It’s not safe. Then go straight to the boarding house. Just hurry.”

“Okay, I will,” Matt promised, the weight of her urgency sinking in. He hung up the phone, his mind racing with thoughts of Caroline and Rebekah, the fear for their safety mixing with his own terror.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself as he looked toward the road. With a heavy heart and a sense of dread looming over him, Matt turned away from the grave, grabbed his bag and began to walk to the nearest train station where he could get to the airport and go home.

Chapter Text

The final act of Titus Andronicus played out with horrifying realism. Caroline sat stiffly in her seat, her fists clenched in her lap as she watched the brutal violence unfold before her eyes. Each slash of the sword, each anguished cry, and every drop of blood was real. The humans on the stage weren’t actors—they were victims. As the play reached its gruesome climax, with the final bodies crumpling to the floor, Caroline fought to keep her face neutral, though her insides twisted with revulsion.

The vampires around her, including Aurora, watched the scene with casual amusement, as though it were nothing more than an entertaining evening of theatre. Aurora, seated beside her, smiled as the last human collapsed onto the stage, blood soaking into the wooden planks.

Caroline could barely breathe. Her mind raced with the implications of what she had just witnessed, her heart pounding as she tried to keep her composure.

When the final curtain fell, the hall filled with polite applause from the vampires in attendance. Caroline swallowed the bile rising in her throat and turned to Aurora, forcing herself to speak without her voice shaking.

“The play is over,” she said, her voice tight. “Can I be excused?”

Aurora turned to her, eyes sparkling with that familiar, dangerous amusement. “Of course, little dove,” she purred, her lips curving into a mocking smile. “But do try not to get lost, hm?” Her tone was laced with condescension. She leaned in closer, her breath cold against Caroline’s cheek as she added, “And make sure to report to the kitchens before sunset. I’d hate to drain the next human I see due to your tardiness.”

Caroline’s stomach churned, but she forced herself to remain calm. She stood up, her legs stiff from sitting through the horror show, and nodded curtly. Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked out of the grand hall, her footsteps echoing in the quiet as the vampires around her began to disperse.

Once she was free from Aurora’s oppressive presence, her mask of calm crumbled. Fuming, her mind screamed with the injustice of it all, the cruelty of this world that she was trapped in. She couldn’t stay here. She had to find a way out—any way.

As soon as she was out of sight, Caroline vamp-sped through the corridors, her feet barely touching the ground as she navigated the vast, labyrinthine castle. Her heart raced not only from the urgency but from the overwhelming anger bubbling inside her. She couldn’t stand by and watch these monsters treat human lives as disposable entertainment.

The moment she reached the castle’s outer walls, she slowed, emerging into the city streets of Mahal Khafa. The oppressive sky loomed overhead, streaked with red light, casting an eerie glow over the stone buildings. Ash continued to fall softly from the sky, covering everything in a fine, grey dust.

Caroline’s breaths came quick and shallow as she vamp-sped through the empty streets, her eyes darting around, trying to take in as much information as possible. The town was both grand and decayed, as if frozen in time. Some areas bustled with vampires and frightened humans, while others seemed eerily deserted, the architecture crumbling under the weight of time and neglect.

She passed more humans, their faces blank or filled with fear, bite marks visible on their necks. They recoiled from her as she moved by, not realizing that she wasn’t like the other vampires here. That she would not harm them.

Caroline felt her frustration rising. There had to be a way out. This dimension—Mahal Khafa—was a trap, a prison designed to keep its captives in, but no prison was impenetrable. She just had to find the cracks.

As she raced through the streets, her mind swirled with desperation and determination. Every step, every street corner she turned, every dark alley she passed through was a piece of the puzzle she needed to solve.

The streets of Mahal Khafa were eerily silent, the ash that fell from the sky casting a soft blanket over everything, muffling the sounds of the world. Caroline raced through the town, her vamp speed carrying her through the shadowy alleys and narrow streets. Her heart pounded, not from exertion but from the burning need to escape.

As she turned a corner into a deserted street, she skidded to a halt, her senses immediately on high alert. Ahead of her, she saw a vampire—his fangs buried deep in the neck of a struggling woman, his hand gripping her tightly as he drained the life from her. Caroline recognized the look of pure terror on the woman’s face, the weak gasps as she tried to fight back, but it was no use. The vampire—Vasil—the vampire who murdered Isaac and Isla, would kill the woman within the minute.

No.

Caroline’s fury ignited. She couldn’t stand by and watch. Not here. Not ever.

Without hesitation, she vamp-sped toward Vasil. Her hand gripped his shoulder and yanked him off the woman with brutal force. Vasil staggered back, snarling in anger and surprise, but before he could react further, Caroline’s hand shot out and snapped his neck with a sickening crack.

Vasil’s body crumpled to the ground, temporarily incapacitated. Caroline didn’t waste a second. She rushed to the woman, who had collapsed to her knees, weak from the blood loss but still alive. Caroline knelt beside her, gently tilting her head to assess the damage.

“Drink,” Caroline said softly, biting into her wrist and holding it to the woman’s mouth. The woman’s eyes were wide with fear, but she was too weak to resist. She drank reluctantly, and within moments, the colour began to return to her face.

“Go,” Caroline whispered urgently. “Run. Don’t stop. Get as far away from here as you can.”

The woman nodded weakly, her eyes filled with gratitude and fear as she stumbled to her feet and fled into the night.

Caroline stood and stared down at Vasil’s unconscious body, her heart still pounding with anger as she looked at the vampire who killed Isaac and Isla in cold blood and caused them so much pain. Without a second thought, she spat on his body and ran.

Caroline kept running, her breath steady as she put distance between herself and the horrors of the town. She had to clear her mind, find a place to think. She wasn’t going to escape Mahal Khafa by sheer force or speed. She needed to be smart, to outthink these ancient vampires.

After what felt like miles, Caroline slowed as she reached the edge of the town, where the buildings thinned and the landscape opened up into dense woodland. The air was still heavy with ash, but the sky above her opened up, revealing a vast expanse of trees, their dark forms stretching out into the distance. Beyond the forest, far below, she could make out a large body of water in the distance and in the middle a light house of sorts, a white flame burning as a beacon of sorts, shimmering faintly in the eerie red light that filtered through the sky.

She stepped closer to the cliff’s edge, peering down at the vast expanse below. The view was both beautiful and unsettling—the perfect representation of the twisted world she was trapped in. Caroline’s mind began to race with ideas. The woodland, the water—these could be potential escape routes, or at least areas she could use to her advantage. But she knew better than to act rashly. She needed to analyse everything carefully.

She turned away from the cliff and ventured deeper into the woodland, her footsteps muffled by the thick ash that had settled on the ground. As she wandered through the trees, she came upon a small pond, its surface unnaturally still under the ash-covered sky. Caroline’s gaze softened for a moment as she took in the sight. Despite everything, there was a strange, haunting beauty to this place—the mix of red, yellow, and blue streaks in the sky, the ash that drifted down like snow.

For the first time since she arrived in Mahal Khafa, Caroline allowed herself to pause. She knelt by the pond, staring at her reflection in the still water. Her face looked just as it always did—calm, collected—but inside, she was a storm of emotions.

With a sigh, she reached into the water, intending to splash some on her face, but the second her skin touched the surface, pain shot up her arm. The familiar burn of vervain seared her hand, and she yanked it back with a sharp cry, falling against the base of a nearby tree.

Breathing heavily, she looked at her hand—red, raw from the burn. Vervain. The pond was filled with it. She crawled back towards the pond bed and readied herself before quickly putting her hand back into the water and yanking out the plant at the bottom of the pond bed and throwing it on the pond bank.

Vervain.

Caroline’s eyes darted around the woodland, her mind spinning. Why was there vervain growing underwater? Vervain is extremely sensitive to waterlogging so why was it growing underwater? This wasn’t a coincidence. As she waited for he hand to properly heal, her eyes landed on a nearby flower, its golden petals glowing faintly in the dim light. She recognized it immediately—it was similar to the one she had seen in Rosewood Springs.

Her heart began to race as a theory started forming in her mind. Nature. Vervain and sunlight were nature’s pushback against vampires. What if the same forces were at work here? What if the very dimension was designed to weaken them as a push back for its creation?

Caroline stood up slowly, her hand still throbbing as she turned her gaze back to the pond. There had to be a loophole, a weakness in this dimension’s structure—something she could exploit to destroy it from within. Vervain was only part of it. If she could figure out the rest, if she could understand how this place worked, maybe she could tear it down.

She thought back to what Rebekah had once told Elena about their transition to vampires that: ‘Nature always finds a way to push back.’ Caroline just needed to figure out how to push back against Mahal Khafa.

Taking a deep breath, Caroline collected herself. She couldn’t act recklessly. She needed information—books, spells, something to help her understand the magic that held this dimension together. Maybe there were witches here who opposed the Strix, who could help her. But she’d have to be careful. Witches generally despised vampires and the few witches who aligned themselves with vampires were either incredibly well-paid or fanatically loyal.

Her mind was racing with possibilities as she glanced up at the sky. The day was drawing to a close, and she needed to report to the kitchens before Aurora noticed her absence.

Just as Caroline was about to turn back toward the castle, the world around her seemed to explode with sound. A deafening siren, or some kind of alarm, blared across the town, reverberating through the air like a physical force. It was so loud that Caroline winced, her hands instinctively shooting up to cover her ears. But it didn’t help. The sound was so intense it felt like it was resonating in her skull, sending sharp pain through her head and making her vision blur for a moment.

Her thoughts scrambled. What is that? She didn’t know where the sound was coming from, but it was everywhere—an all-encompassing, maddening noise. Caroline’s body tensed, panic creeping in as the siren blared on.

She couldn’t stay here. Fighting against the dizziness in her head, she turned on her heel and vamp-sped back toward the castle, her steps quick and erratic. The closer she got to the heart of the town, the louder the siren seemed to become. It rattled her senses, leaving her disoriented, but she forced herself to keep going.

As she neared the castle, Caroline realized that something was terribly wrong. She could see a large crowd gathering in what looked like a community hall—a wide-open space filled with dozens, maybe hundreds, of vampires. They were murmuring amongst themselves, their voices rising in a mix of confusion and anger, adding to the cacophony of noise still pounding in Caroline’s ears.

Caroline slowed her pace, cautiously weaving her way through the throng of vampires. She had no idea what had triggered the siren or why so many vampires had gathered, but the atmosphere was tense. She kept her head low, hoping to remain unnoticed as she pushed through the crowd, but her curiosity got the better of her. She wanted—needed—to know what was happening.

As she reached the front of the gathering, the sight that awaited her sent a chill down her spine. Five bodies, strung up from the ceiling, were displayed for all to see. Their lifeless forms hung like grotesque decorations, swaying slightly with the breeze from the open hall.

Caroline’s stomach twisted in disgust. The bodies were wearing cloaks, dark and heavy, the kind typically associated with witches. Scrawled in what appeared to be blood, words were written in bold red letters above the bodies, etched across the stone walls. But the language was unfamiliar to her—something ancient, something she couldn’t decipher.

She stumbled back, her breath catching in her throat. The murmurings of the crowd grew louder, their confusion and fear palpable. Caroline’s mind raced, trying to process what she had just seen. Who were they? And why were they being displayed there?"

Distracted by her thoughts, Caroline turned to leave the hall, but before she could take a step, she collided with a cold, unyielding presence. Her body tensed, dread creeping up her spine before she even saw his face.

The vampire she had incapacitated earlier stood before her, his lips curled in a sneer, a twisted mockery of a smile. His dark eyes glittered with malice, piercing through her like a predator toying with its prey. His ruffled brown hair and casual stance did nothing to hide the simmering rage beneath the surface. He took a deliberate step closer, looming over her, his breath cold and unsettling.

"Well, well," he hissed, his voice oozing with venom. "If it isn’t the little hero. Ripping me off my prey earlier... That was quite bold." His gaze drifted over her, taking in her stiff posture, the fire in her eyes. "I’d almost call it cute, if it weren’t so... pathetically foolish."

Caroline’s heart raced, but her glare was steady, her voice sharp. "She wasn’t prey. She was a person."

Vasil chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent a shiver down her spine. He leaned in closer, his breath grazing her skin like the promise of something far worse. "Humans are prey, my prey." His eyes danced with cruel delight as he whispered, "I should skin you alive. Or better yet... perhaps I should treat you the way I treated your little friend Isla was it?." He paused, watching her face twist with a flicker of recognition and unadulterated rage. "Yes... Isla. So fragile. Such a shame, whole life ahead of her.”

Caroline’s jaw clenched, her fists curling into tight balls at her sides. Her voice was cold, seething. "I wonder what it feels like... to be so small."

The tension between them crackled like static, heavy and suffocating. Vasil’s eyes darkened, his expression hardening into something far more dangerous as he tilted his head, his gaze piercing through her.

"You think you’re strong, don’t you?" he whispered, his voice dripping with mockery. "You think you’re better than the rest of us. Moral. Pure. Innocent. Clinging to your humanity." He circled her slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. "But you’re a liar. Pretending that you wouldn’t drain that girl just for the thrill. It’s just beneath the surface, that little glimmer of darkness, the hunger, the thrill of the kill. It’s only a matter of time before you drop the façade, sweetheart. You’re already a monster, just like me."

Caroline’s pulse quickened, but she held her ground, her eyes locked onto his. "I am not pure or innocent. I am a vampire but I don’t have to be a monster," she said, her voice unwavering. "I’m not like you. I don’t torture people for fun."

Vasil’s smile widened, his expression turning cold and cruel. "Oh, but you will," he murmured, his tone laced with sadistic pleasure. "You’ll change. They all do. Give it time, little hero."

Caroline’s muscles tensed, her mind screaming at her to lash out, but she forced herself to stay calm. She couldn’t afford to make more enemies here—not yet. She already shot herself in the foot when she attacked Vasil in front of everyone and then earlier in the day snapping his neck. She can’t afford make things worse but Caroline won’t apologise for it nor would she back down. Not when she didn’t fully understand this place.

"I don’t appreciate being attacked, Caroline," Vasil said, his voice a low, venomous hiss. His eyes glinted with malice, a dark promise in their depths. "You’ve made a powerful enemy. And I assure you, your life—however long or short it lasts—will be filled with pain." He smirked, stepping back just enough to let her breathe. "Have a nice day."

Caroline’s blood boiled, but she kept her face impassive. "We’ll see," she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside her.

She brushed past him, her heart pounding in her chest, refusing to look back. But Vasil’s gaze burned into her, a searing promise of what was to come. The encounter rattled her far more than she wanted to admit, but she couldn’t let it show. Not here. Not Now.

The familiar creak of the door echoed through the Salvatore Boarding House as Sheriff Forbes entered, her face set in a tight, determined expression. Behind her, Isaac, Isla, and Leonard followed, their faces drawn and tense. The air was thick with anticipation, and as they stepped inside, the weight of the situation seemed to press down on the room.

Damon, Elena, and Jeremy were already gathered in the living room, their faces clouded with unease. Stefan, his voice barely audible in the background, was on the phone, clearly trying to gather information. Matt was still enroute, making his way back from Switzerland after the ambush. They all turned when the sheriff entered, tension palpable.

Damon leaned lazily against the mantle, one arm draped around Elena, a drink in his free hand. His casual posture belied the razor edge in his voice. “Alright, Liz. We’re all here now. What the hell is going on? And who the hell are these people?”

Isla exchanged a glance with Isaac before stepping forward, her tone wavering slightly. “I’m Isla, this is my brother Isaac, and... Leonard.” She hesitated. “Isaac and I are vampires, newly turned. Caroline—she’s our sire.”

The tension in the room shifted. Elena’s eyes widened, disbelief flickering across her face, while Damon raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Blondie turned you? That doesn’t sound like her.”

Isaac, looking sheepish, spoke up. “It wasn’t on purpose. We were compelled to attack Caroline. She defended herself and gave us her blood... told us to leave town with vervain to protect ourselves. But we didn’t get far. The vampire who compelled us... killed us. Caroline’s been helping us ever since.”

Sheriff Forbes stepped in, her voice laced with the quiet authority of a mother holding it together by sheer force of will. “But the important part is... Caroline’s missing.”

A heavy silence fell over the room, tension snapping tight like a wire. Elena’s face paled, and even Damon’s usual sarcasm faltered for a brief moment before he masked it with a smirk. “What do you mean, she’s missing?” Elena’s voice cracked, panic leaking into her words.

Leonard, still lingering awkwardly near the door, cleared his throat. “We found her phone... and some dead vampires. She’s been taken. We don’t know by who.”

Damon’s drink paused mid-air, his eyes narrowing. “Vampires?” His tone was sharp, almost disbelieving. “You’re saying Caroline’s been kidnapped by vampires?”

Before anyone could respond, Stefan’s voice filtered through the speakerphone, alarm evident in his tone. “Who took her? Do we have any idea?”

Sheriff Forbes spoke again, drawing all eyes back to her. “Matt called earlier. He and Rebekah were attacked in Switzerland by a group of vampires and witches. They killed Matt. If it weren’t for the Gilbert ring, he’d be permanently dead. Rebekah’s missing too.”

Kol, who had been standing quietly in the corner, suddenly tensed. His eyes darkened as the news hit him. His mind whirled with conflicting emotions. His sister, his partner in crime, the one person who had been there through it all. Together, they had shared centuries of chaos, laughter, and a bond born out of their youngest brother Henrik's death. But recently... things had changed.

Rebekah had chosen sides—not his, but theirs. She had threatened him with a dagger, aligned herself with the Mystic Falls group for the cure, and left him to rot. The sting of betrayal burned hot in his chest, but despite his anger, Kol couldn’t ignore the worry gnawing at him. Rebekah was in danger, and despite everything... she was still his sister.

His voice cut through the tension in the room. “So, they’re both missing—Caroline and Rebekah. This isn’t a coincidence.”

Before anyone could respond, Isla suddenly spoke up, remembering something. “Caroline told us about a friend of hers—Bonnie. She’s a witch, right? If we can find her, maybe she can help us with a spell to locate Caroline or Rebekah.”

Jeremy, who had been silent throughout, shifted uncomfortably. His gaze flicked to the corner, where Bonnie stood, visible only to him, her face tight with worry. Beside her, the furious presence of Kol Mikaelson lingered, his impatience seething.

“She’s right here,” Jeremy murmured, his voice soft.

The others turned toward him, confusion etching across their faces.

“What are you talking about, Jer?” Elena asked, frowning.

Jeremy took a breath, his voice low and filled with guilt. “Bonnie’s... she’s dead.”

A stunned silence fell across the room. Elena’s face drained of colour. “What?”

“When I came back, nature took Bonnie in exchange,” Jeremy explained quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “But she’s still here. On the Other Side. She’s working with Kol to find a way back.”

The room erupted in chaos. Damon slammed his glass down, his frustration boiling over. Elena looked like she had been punched in the gut, while Sheriff Forbes took a deep breath, trying to steady herself amidst the growing storm.

“So, Caroline’s missing, Bonnie’s dead, and you’ve been keeping this from us?” Elena’s voice trembled with anger.

Jeremy dropped his gaze, guilt flashing in his eyes. “She didn’t want me to tell anyone...”

Elena’s anger snapped. “So you’ve been lying this entire time? Sending texts from Bonnie’s phone, pretending everything was fine while my best friend is dead?”

The tension between them crackled, thick and suffocating, but Damon’s eyes had locked onto Leonard, who had been trying to remain invisible near the back of the room.

“Wait,” Damon interrupted, his voice sharp. “How do you fit into all of this?”

Leonard swallowed, feeling the weight of Damon’s gaze. He shifted uncomfortably before answering. “I was ordered to keep an eye on Caroline.”

“Ordered by who?” Elena’s voice was icy, her eyes narrowing.

Leonard hesitated for a moment, knowing the bombshell he was about to drop would not go over well. “Klaus.”

The room went deathly quiet. Sheriff Forbes’ face turned a furious shade of red as she stepped toward Leonard, her voice a low, dangerous growl. “You’ve been spying on my daughter for Klaus?”

Leonard raised his hands defensively. “It wasn’t like that! I was following orders—Klaus wanted her safe!”

“Safe?” The sheriff’s voice cracked with fury. “Klaus doesn’t care about anyone but himself!”

The room was a powder keg waiting to explode when Stefan’s voice came through the phone, cutting through the chaos. “Everyone, calm down. Like it or not, we’re out of our depth here. We don’t know who took Caroline or Rebekah, and with a threat like this, we need help. Klaus needs to know.”

Damon closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Stef’s right. We need to get Klaus involved.”

Leonard paled at the mention of Klaus. His mind raced, panic setting in. If Klaus finds out I let Caroline get taken... His throat tightened, his thoughts spiralling. He glanced toward the door, the urge to run surging through him, but it was useless. Running wouldn’t save him. Klaus would find him.

No. He was trapped. He’d have to face it. If he was going to die, he’d die on his feet.

As the room continued to argue, Leonard stood frozen, his fate hanging over him like a guillotine.

Damon stepped away from the chaotic scene in the Salvatore Boarding House, the tension in the room still palpable as arguments erupted over Caroline’s disappearance. He exhaled sharply, his mind racing. They were in deep, and if Klaus didn’t know yet... well, it wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation. Klaus was never pleasant.

The moment he dialed Klaus’s number, he felt the familiar weight of dread settle in his chest. The phone rang once, twice, and then Klaus’s voice cut through, cold and deadly.

“You’re interrupting me, Damon. This had better be important.”

Damon smirked, though his heart wasn’t in it. The usual teasing banter wasn’t going to cut it this time. Still, he couldn’t resist a jab.

“Blondie is missing”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, the cold rage emanating off of the other side of the phone was immense.. Damon could almost picture the look on Klaus’ face.

“What did you say?”

Damon’s smirk faded, replaced by grim urgency. “Blondie’s missing. We don’t know where she is, but it looks like she was taken by vampires. Oh and your guy Leonard is here with us..”

“Leonard,” Klaus repeated, the disdain in his voice clear. “Continue.”

Damon didn’t miss the rage in Klaus’s voice, but he pressed on. “That’s not all. Matt Donovan called in earlier. He and Rebekah were attacked in Switzerland. Witches and vampires. Matt’s alive, thanks to that Gilbert ring, but Rebekah... she’s missing too.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. The kind that made the hair on the back of Damon’s neck stand on end.

Then, without warning, a loud crash came through the phone. Damon winced, knowing exactly what that meant. Klaus had just trashed whatever room he was in.

When Klaus finally spoke again, his voice was a seething growl, every word laced with barely contained fury. “Get to New Orleans. Bring everyone. Now.”

Damon swallowed, but before he could respond, he decided to drop another piece of information. “One more thing... Bonnie and Kol. They’re on the Other Side, but they’ve been communicating through Jeremy. They’re trying to come back.”

That gave Klaus pause. Damon could almost hear the gears turning in the hybrid’s mind. Bonnie working with Kol? That was bound to complicate things, and even Klaus wasn’t immune to the strange situation.

For a moment, Klaus didn’t speak, but then his tone returned to its usual commanding authority. “Bring everyone and get to New Orleans now.”

The line went dead before Damon could reply.

He lowered the phone, letting out a slow breath. “Well, that went about as well as expected,” he muttered to himself.

Chapter Text

The familiar dim lighting of Klaus's study bathed the room in a golden hue. The heavy drapes blocked the sounds of the vibrant New Orleans nightlife outside. The silence within the room was tense, vibrating with unspoken words as Elijah entered, his brow furrowed. He was just off a tense phone call, his stress evident as he moved with urgency toward Klaus, who sat at his desk, flipping through old, dusty tomes with distracted ease.

Elijah stopped, crossing his arms and letting out a controlled breath. "Our contacts in Johannesburg, Tbilisi and Astana report of uprisings against the status quo," he said, trying to mask his own concern. "However what’s more concerning what several of our witch contacts are reporting, there has been a large disturbance of the ley lines not just in number but in magnitude, large amounts of energy has seemingly vanished. They report this disturbance started just several months ago but recently has grown exponentially. Someone is gathering power, large amounts of it."

Klaus looked up, a spark of interest flickering in his eyes, but he remained silent, allowing Elijah to continue.

"The vampires from Mystic Falls are on their way, as well as the Sheriff and the Donovan boy." Elijah's voice was steady, authoritative, but beneath it lay the beginnings of tension. "In addition to the secret weapon Marcel uses to control the witches, Marcel has assembled an army of vampires. Working together, we can destroy them from the inside."

Klaus’s lips twitched as he reclined back, fingertips touching lightly as though contemplating a grand move in some chess game. "And what of Rebekah?" he asked, his voice as calm as the eye of a storm. "Has there been any sign of her? Perhaps she left on her own accord and orchestrated the disappearance herself. "

Elijah glanced away briefly, the weight of the question pressing on his conscience. "She hasn't been spotted in Switzerland or any neighbouring countries ... and besides, she had made her disinterest quite clear. However Niklaus, I doubt our sister left on her own accord as the Donovan boy reported the fight as well as his own death in the onslaught." His tone was clipped, hiding a deeper frustration and concern, perhaps a tinge of guilt.

Klaus’s smile twisted into something darker, more resentful. "Who knows? Maybe it’s been the last straw. One too many times daggered and shoved in a box.” Klaus’s voice dripped with malice, the old wounds resurfacing. "Or perhaps she doesn't share your unwavering belief that I can be saved."

Elijah, ever calm, sighed. "Rebekah may surprise us yet. After all, we all swore the same vow."

But Klaus wasn’t listening—his mind was already elsewhere, working through old grievances, plotting and calculating. He stood up from his chair, slow and deliberate, his eyes locking onto Elijah’s with a peculiar intensity. "I hope she stays far away." His voice was low, dangerous. "Because in my desire to reclaim this town... to steal from Marcel that which he holds most dear... and consolidate my rule over the supernatural world, I have realized one vulnerability left."

Elijah’s eyes narrowed slightly, wary of the sudden shift in Klaus’s mood. "And what is that?"

The silence that followed seemed to stretch endlessly, a heavy pause that foretold something sinister. Klaus’s face softened into a mockery of gentleness. "You."

Before Elijah could even register the words fully, Klaus's hand was already in motion. With vampiric speed, he plunged the silver dagger deep into Elijah’s chest. The sickening sound of the blade sliding through flesh was accompanied by a sharp groan from Elijah, his eyes wide in pain and betrayal as he gripped Klaus’ arm roughly.

Klaus held Elijah in a rough grip, his voice dropping to a quiet, intimate murmur. "Forgive me, my brother. There is no power in love. Mercy makes you weak. Family makes you weak. If I am going to win this war..." He stared at the silver dagger protruding from Elijah’s chest, eyes gleaming with a twisted sense of purpose. "...I have to do it alone."

Inside the van Leonard stole, the air was thick with tension. The artificial lights cast sharp shadows on everyone in the back, creating an eerie glow over Isaac and Isla, who were sitting in the dimly lit space, their faces lit up by torches. They were vampires, but they didn’t have daylight rings, so they stuck to the back, avoiding the bright rays of the sun that would kill them.

At the front, Sheriff Forbes and Damon were taking turns driving, each occasionally glancing in the rear-view mirror. In the back, Elena and Jeremy were pouring over grimoires, their faces solemn as they flipped through ancient pages in hopes of finding something useful to locate or rescue Caroline or resurrect Bonnie.

Isla, sitting cross-legged beside Leonard, had her usual mischievous expression, her fingers drumming on her knees. She nudged Leonard for what seemed like the hundredth time. “So, you’ve worked for Klaus for how long? Did you just go straight to spying or did you do his laundry first?” she teased, clearly enjoying the way his jaw clenched in irritation.

Leonard’s patience, already worn thin, snapped. “For God’s sake, Woman! Can’t you sit still for two seconds without annoying someone? I’m trying to focus on finding something to aid your friend!” He rubbed his temples, eyes glued to the ancient text in front of him, though it was clear his frustration was mounting.

Isaac, slouched against the side of the van, let out a long sigh. “I swear, if I have to stay in the back of this van much longer, I’m going to lose it. When are we next stopping for gas?”

Jeremy looked up from the grimoire he was studying, glancing at Elena. The weight of Bonnie’s absence hung between them, though neither had spoken much since the drive started. Elena’s eyes were still red, a silent testament to the grief she carried. “We’ll figure it out.” Jeremy said softly, though his voice lacked confidence.

Isla, clearly bored with Leonard’s mood, leaned over toward Elena and smirked. “So, Elena... Who is Klaus? I keep hearing his name. He’s like this big bad villain, right? How did someone as good as Caroline got mixed up with him too?” she asked, as if trying to piece together the puzzle in her own mind.

Elena closed her book and glanced up, her expression sombre. “Caroline didn’t exactly choose to get involved with Klaus. He’s... complicated. Dangerous. But he’s also... obsessed with her.”

Leonard huffed a humourless laugh from the corner. “That’s one word for it. Obsessed. Possessive. I’ve seen how he operates. No one leaves his orbit unscathed.”

Isaac chimed in, finally turning away from the van wall. “So, what’s the deal with Caroline? Why Klaus? Seems like she’d be the last person to want anything to do with a guy like that.”

Elena shifted uncomfortably, memories swirling in her mind. “It’s more complicated than it sounds. Klaus always saw something in her... something that made her different from the rest of us. He made her think she was special.”

Leonard’s eyes narrowed as he shifted his gaze toward Elena. “I’d say she is special. She’s the only reason I’m here. I have been on this earth for 684 years and I have never seen Klaus act this way about anyone. Ever. Given the fact that Caroline is a very killable baby vampire. If Klaus loses her...” His voice trailed off, clearly envisioning the wrath Klaus would unleash on anyone who failed to protect Caroline.

Isla snorted, folding her arms. “Still doesn’t explain why he’s such a psycho about it. I mean, isn’t it easier to just move on?”

Leonard turned his head sharply toward Isla, barely containing his irritation. “You really don’t get it, do you? Klaus doesn’t give up his toys. I am assuming since she is the doppelganger” Leonard cocked his head towards Elena, “You all know Katerina. You know he doesn’t just let things go. Whatever your friend and Klaus have or don’t have between each other. The point remains that the blonde is important to him, and if she’s in danger, it means all of us are.”

Isla mock stayed quiet nodding her head slightly for a moment before teasing again. “Man, you're really dedicated to being his errand boy, huh?”

Leonard sighed deeply, at the wall of the van in front of him. “I’m not doing this for Klaus... I’m doing this for me.”

In the front seat, Damon exchanged a glance with Sheriff Forbes. “Any idea what you’ll say to Klaus when we get there?” Damon asked, trying to mask his concern.

The sheriff shook her head. “I’m not thinking about that right now. I’m thinking about finding my daughter.”

The Other Side was an endless expanse of haunting, desolate beauty. But tonight, it felt different. Bonnie and Kol found themselves walking through what appeared to be a jungle—twisted, gnarled trees with dark leaves overhead, vines hanging low. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and mist, and the ground beneath their feet felt oddly alive, pulsing like a heartbeat. The jungle was eerie, with faint whispers carried on the wind, a constant reminder that this was not the world of the living.

Kol walked ahead, his hands shoved into his pockets, looking far too casual for someone discussing the complexities of resurrection. Bonnie followed closely behind, her face set in concentration, mind racing with the impossibilities before them.

Bonnie finally broke the silence, her frustration evident. “How are we supposed to pull this off? We don’t even have our bodies. Let alone ingredients for a resurrection spell.”

Kol smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he turned to face her, stopping in his tracks. “Ah, but there are several ways to resurrect oneself, darling.”

Bonnie crossed her arms, sceptical. “What do we need?”

Kol began listing off the requirements as though they were items on a grocery list. “A nexus vorti—an event so rare and powerful allowing the witch or warlock to channel enormous amounts of magic. A conduit strong enough to channel that power. Our remains, obviously, and the blood of an immediate family member—a binder for the spell. And for said spell to be completed on a nexus point.”

Bonnie let out a frustrated sigh. “And how the hell are we supposed to get a nexus vorti? They’re so rare they’re practically non-existent.”

Kol shrugged nonchalantly. “You yourself have channelled a nexus vorti, such as when you channelled a full moon for your spells. But you are right for us to resurrect one selves we need a bit more juice.” He took a step closer, a smirk still plastered on his face. “We can’t collect the ingredients ourselves because, well, we’re ghosts. But that’s the beauty of it.”

Bonnie’s brows furrowed. “The beauty?”

Kol nodded, his smirk widening. “Exactly. We need help from the Other Side. And I happen to have a few connections.”

Bonnie stared at him, her patience thinning. “Connections?”

Kol chuckled lightly. “Come on, love. We’ve both been here long enough to know that the Other Side isn’t just a pit for lost souls. There are witches here, powerful ones, just waiting to strike a deal.”

Bonnie’s eyes darkened. “And what would they want in return? You can’t just ask for favours without a price, Kol!”

Kol’s grin grew even more devious. “Ah, but that’s where you come in. A Bennett witch doesn’t just ask for a favour. You negotiate. And who better to outwit them than you? Not to mention, don’t your friends want you back, I am sure they will aid where they are needed in order to bring you home.”

Bonnie shook her head, the weight of what Kol was suggesting sinking in. It was reckless, dangerous, and likely to come with severe consequences. But it wasn’t as though they had many options left. She looked up at him, her resolve hardening. “If we’re going to do this, we need to make sure the price isn’t too high. I’m not making any deals that would cost us more than we can afford to lose.”

Kol winked, his tone light. “I knew you’d come around, darling. Let’s get started, shall we?”

The atmosphere in the kitchens of the Strix castle was a stark contrast to the opulence of the upper levels. Caroline had made her way down deep into the castle, navigating the winding corridors with a sense of unease still lingering in her chest. The memory of the horrific play, the sight of the dead witches, and her encounter with Vasil weighed heavily on her mind. The air was damp, and the echo of dripping water was a constant reminder of the castle's ancient structure.

As she stepped into the kitchen, the dim lighting highlighted the cool, dark rock walls, and the smell of herbs and spices mixed with something distinctly metallic. As she steeled herself for what she would be facing in the kitchen, she looked up and saw dripping water. She took a moment to breathe deeply and reached for it with her hand expecting it to burn her. Her eyes widened noticing the absence of vervain in the water and the cogs starting turning in her head. She made her way down the stairs and saw the people in the kitchen making food, blank faced with bloody wounds on their necks and arms. Some of the wounds were bandaged but the red stains on said bandages left little to the imagination, Caroline looked around and took note of the entrances and exits as well as the damp ceilings.

Just as Caroline was starting to relax, she was interrupted by the arrival of Aurora’s head of house. A woman entered with a quiet grace, her long, flowing black hair cascading down her back. Her light brown eyes glinted in the low light, holding a beauty that was striking yet intimidating. There was an elegance to her posture, but the coldness in her gaze made it clear that she was not someone to be trifled with.

“Ah, you must be Caroline,” Adara said, her voice smooth yet edged with an undercurrent of authority. “Welcome to the kitchens. My name is Adara. I trust you’re settling in?”

Caroline swallowed, forcing a polite smile. “I’m... getting used to things.”

Adara raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “Good. You’re the Lady Aurora’s personal servant now, which means your duties are quite important—though I suppose you’ll learn that soon enough.” She stepped closer, assessing Caroline with a critical eye. “We have water shipments coming in from the outside world soon so be sure to account for the added chaos. You’ll be responsible for making sure the Lady Aurora’s needs are met and be available whenever she requires you.”

“Why do you need water shipments if there are lakes and rivers nearby?” Caroline asked, wanting Adara to confirm what conclusion she has come to.

Adara's smile turned sharper, as if she found amusement in Caroline’s apparent naivety. “Oh, the lakes and rivers are filled with vervain, dear. The houses and buildings in town are supplied with vervain-free water, mostly to keep the food alive rather than for our own consumption. You understand, don’t you? We can’t have our supplies tainted.”

Caroline didn’t respond, molten anger running through her, she needed out of here and now. Adara handed her a thick book that detailed the rules of the household. “You’ll need to read this carefully. Granted it’s for the humans but it become obsolete since compulsion is so much easier until now of course. It outlines your duties and expectations. I would hate for you to become a liability.”

Caroline felt the weight of the book in her hands, heavy with implications. “And what about... books for leisure? Is there a library or somewhere I could read?”

“Now why would you need to read?” Adara asked lightly but the accusatory glint in her eyes, put Caroline on her guard.

“Reading helps me sleep.” Caroline responded as innocently as possible, trying to not give anything away.

Adara’s laughter was soft but laced with condescension. “How quaint. But I assure you, you can manage without it. There’s little time for idle distractions in our line of work. But you look parched.”

Adara reached for a goblet and took out a blade. She walked over to the nearest servant and compelled him to be silent and compliant before talking his wrist and cutting him, filling the goblet with blood. After the goblet was filled almost to the top, she grabbed another goblet and did the same again. The man looked blankly ahead, his body frozen save for the blood dripping from his wrist. Caroline felt sick. Caroline got up to heal the man but Adara put the goblets on the table and slammed Caroline into the wall. Adara took Caroline by the throat and slammed her to the floor before digging the heel of her boot into Caroline’s neck.

“You got the blood you want, just heal the man and let him go.” Caroline croaked out, her hands trying to get Adara’s foot of her neck. Adara dug in her foot for in for a bit longer, her veins and fangs descending before she released her foot off her neck. Caroline grabbed her neck and kept coughing trying to get up before she saw heard a sickening snap and a thump to the floor. Caroline’s face twisted in pain before she turned to give Adara the biggest glare she can muster.

“The Lady Aurora told me about your distaste of spilling blood. I have been given orders for you to feed. I would hate to fail her.” Adara added casually before handing her one of the goblets.

Caroline got herself off the floor and leaned herself against the counter tops gripping the goblet tightly.

“Drink my dear,” Adara remarked, her tone chillingly sweet.

Seeing the look on Adara’s face and the people in the kitchen, Caroline looked at the goblet and began to drink. The blood felt like electricity in her veins, it felt euphoric. But then came the guilt of the man who died, and then rage at the woman who killed him, casually leaning against the counter and sipping on her own goblet. The veins under Caroline’s eyes began pulsing and her fangs extended painfully before Caroline schooled them under control.

Adara’s eyes flashed with interest, before giving Caroline a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve been working for Aurora for many centuries, Caroline. And believe me, the only way to survive here is to know your place.”

Caroline clenched her jaw but maintained her composure. “I’ll be fine.”

“Let’s hope so,” Adara replied, before flashing a sickly sweet smile. “I wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen to you. The Lady Aurora expects you bright and early to bring her breakfast. She wakes at the crack of dawn so be prepared.” Adara turned to walk away but turned back around, her hand raised, “Oh…and make yourself presentable, a bath will be brought to you 2 hours before dawn.”

Caroline walked towards the countertop, placing down the goblet and picking up the book before turning towards Adara, “May I be excused?”

Adara raised an eyebrow before taking her hand and waving her away, “Your quarters are down the hall, take two rights and down 2 levels. Your quarters are the last one down that corridor.” Caroline turned to leave walking past several human servants and made several paces before hearing Adara quip, “Don’t get lost”. Caroline didn’t look back and continued down the entered the hall before following Adara’s earlier instructions to her quarters.

Caroline entered her servant quarters, her mind still reeling from the tense encounter in the kitchen with Adara. The walls around her felt colder than ever, the weight of her new reality pressing down on her. The air was damp, and as she crossed the small room, she noticed a steady drip of water trickling from the ceiling onto the stone floor. She laid the heavy book on the bed and began observing the room around her before settling back on the dripping of water.

She moved toward the dripping water, cautiously reaching out her hand to touch it. She unconsciously flinched, expecting the familiar burn of vervain, but... nothing. The droplets were vervain-free. A sense of unease stirred within her as she realized the significance—there was something off about this place, and it wasn’t just the absence of vervain in the water.

Her eyes landed on an old wardrobe in the corner, its heavy wooden doors slightly ajar. She opened it fully, discovering an several long black cloaks and several long dresses. Caroline took one of the cloaks, its dark material heavy in her hands and the cloak reminding her of those in fairy tales.

Caroline threw the cloak over her shoulders, the weight of it providing a small sense of comfort. Slipping into the hall outside her quarters, she kept her steps light, carefully making her way down the dimly lit corridors. She had no idea where she was going, but instinct pushed her forward. The city beyond the castle beckoned—there were answers out there, and Caroline was determined to find them.

As she moved through the streets, the buildings loomed tall and oppressive. The spires of one particularly dark structure caught her eye, and something about it seemed to pull her closer. With her cloak wrapped around her, she moved as stealthily as she could through the shadows, making her way toward the building.

The entrance to the building creaked ominously as Caroline slipped inside. Her heart raced in her chest as she peered into the darkness. This place felt different—colder, more sinister than anywhere else she’d been, which is saying something considering the hell dimension she was in. As she ventured further, the faint sound of soft breathing reached her ears. She followed the noise, her steps cautious as she navigated through the eerie silence.

Finally, she saw it: a cell, iron bars sealing off the far corner of the room. Inside, huddled against the wall, was a young boy. His figure was small and frail, his dark long hair matted and tangled. His clothes were dirty and torn, and he looked as though he hadn’t seen daylight in years.

Caroline’s breath caught in her throat.

The boy’s eyes widened in fear as he caught sight of her, scrambling to the furthest edge of the cell, his back pressed against the cold stone wall. His body trembled, his lips blue with cold. Caroline felt her heart ache for him—he looked so fragile, so utterly alone.

Slowly, she raised her hands in a gesture of peace. “Hey... it’s okay,” she whispered, her voice soft. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

The boy didn’t respond, his eyes darting nervously to the door as if expecting someone to come for him at any moment.

Caroline scanned the cell, desperately searching for a way to unlock the door. She tried the handle, pulling and twisting, but it wouldn’t budge. It was sealed—magically, no doubt. She sighed in frustration, turning back to the boy.

“I’m Caroline,” she said, her voice steady, though her heart pounded in her chest. “I’m going to help you. I promise.”

The boy remained silent, his eyes never leaving hers.

Caroline glanced down at her cloak, suddenly realizing the boy was shivering. She unclasped the heavy fabric and slipped it through the bars, leaving it on the floor and slowly placing it on the floor. “Here,” she said gently. “It’s not much, but it’ll keep you warm.”

The boy hesitated, his wide eyes locked on the cloak, but he didn’t move to take it.

Caroline’s stomach churned with unease. She knew she couldn’t stay—if someone found her here, there would be hell to pay. But the thought of leaving this boy behind gnawed at her. “I’ll come back,” she promised softly. “I’ll find a way to help you.”

With one last glance at the frightened child, Caroline turned and slipped out of the building, her heart heavy with the knowledge that there was so much more she didn’t understand about this place.

As she made her way back to her quarters, her mind raced with thoughts of the boy, the magic that trapped him, and the dark secrets hiding in this place. She was determined to find out more, but one thing was clear—she needed to find a way out of here and fast.

Leonard picked up a packet of chips, tossed it into his basket, and sighed. The morning fog allowed for everyone to get out of the car while they stopped for gas. He needed to figure out a way to get back into Klaus’s good graces, fast. Failing to protect Caroline wasn’t exactly something Klaus would forgive. Not to mention the fact that he was stuck in a van with a group of people who didn’t trust him. Not exactly the most comforting situation.

“I’m just saying,” Isla said, pulling a candy bar off the shelf and waving it around, “this fog is kind of a miracle, right? I mean, I’d be toast out there otherwise.”

Leonard didn’t bother looking at her. “Yes, it’s fantastic. Now, can you please stop talking?”

“Aw, come on,” Isla teased, putting the candy back only to grab another. “You’re such a downer, Leonard. You need to lighten up. Maybe grab a candy bar or something—sugar makes everyone happier. Look at this one! You ever try a Snickers? You’re not you when you’re hungry.”

Leonard stopped in his tracks, turning to give her an annoyed glare. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?”

Isla shrugged, grinning. “Just keeping things light, you know? We’re about to march into enemy territory, where you’re probably going to get ripped apart—at least you can enjoy your last meal, right?”

Leonard clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the irritation rising inside him. “I’m not going to get ripped apart.”

“Are you sure about that? Because from what I’ve heard, Klaus isn’t exactly the forgiving type. And you? You were supposed to protect Caroline, weren’t you?” Isla’s voice was playful, but there was an edge to it.

Leonard shot her a look that could kill. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Good luck with that,” she sang, tossing the candy bar into his basket. “But hey, maybe if you offer him a Snickers. He’s half wolf or dog or something right? Maybe chocolate may do the trick….’”

Leonard rolled his eyes and kept walking, heading toward the counter. Isla followed closely, still smirking as if she was having the time of her life pestering him. Before picking up a bunch of snacks for her and the rest of them.

Leonard dropped the basket on the counter, watching the clerk scan the items. Isla leaned against the counter next to him, still buzzing with energy.

Isla dropped all of the items in the basket, giving the clerk an award winning smile and adding sweetly, “These too please” before turning and looking expectantly at Leonard. The clerk looked at Leonard who nodded his head before handing the clerk two one hundred dollar bills and gestured towards the sheriff who was filling the van, “The gas as well and keep the change.”

The clerk handed over the bag of snacks and Leonard took the bag quickly before leaving just as quickly.

Damon leaned casually against the side of the van, watching Leonard and Isla bicker, a smirk playing on his lips. Elena stood beside him, arms crossed, clearly deep in thought.

Damon glanced over at her. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Elena sighed. “I’m just thinking about Caroline and Bonnie. I have lost so many people, Jeremy has lost so many people. Bonnie is dead, and Caroline…She’s just been gone a week or so and I am tired Damon. I am so tired.”

Damon raised an eyebrow and put an arm around Elena. “C’mon the brooding is Stef’s gig and now we are going on a happy little road trip to Lord Voldemort?”

Elena looked away a smile grazing her but her featured were still conflicted. “I don’t know. I don’t trust him, not with Caroline.”

Damon gave her a sideways glance, his smirk softening. “The big evil cares about her and will help us find her, we just have to navigate everything else and lay low.”

Elena frowned. “How can you be so sure?”

“Trust me,” Damon said, his voice dropping. “I know the look Klaus had in his eyes when it comes to blondie. He cares about her—more than he’d ever admit. And that, believe it or not, will help find her.”

Elena scoffed, frustrated. “So we’re supposed to rely on Klaus’s feelings to save her?”

Damon shrugged, his usual swagger returning before offering her his flask. “Wouldn’t be the first time. And it probably won’t be the last.”

Isaac, who had been lingering nearby, approached them cautiously. He had heard parts of the conversation and couldn’t hold his question any longer. Isaac approached Damon and Elena, his expression curious. “Hey, can I ask something?”

Damon raised an eyebrow. “Depends. You gonna ask me where babies come from, or is it something useful?”

Isaac rolled his eyes. “I was hearing what Leonard was saying earlier and he mentioned a Katerina and what happened with her. Who’s Katerina and what was he referring to?”

Damon and Elena exchanged a glance. The tension was back.

“Katerina?” Damon said, a sharp edge to his tone. “Katherine or Katerina is the previous doppelganger. Over 500 years old, psychotic, manipulative, and hell-bent on survival. She’s left a trail of bodies and broken lives everywhere she goes.”

Isaac blinked, his brow furrowing. “But I read in Caroline’s notes that she’s human now because of the cure? Shouldn’t she be less dangerous?”

Damon let out a low chuckle. “Oh, you’d think so, wouldn’t you? But Katherine is resourceful, ruthless, and never stays down for long. Being human won’t stop her from finding a way to become a vampire again and ruining our lives again.”

Elena crossed her arms tightly, her expression hardening. “She’s done things you couldn’t imagine. She killed Jeremy, murdered Caroline causing her to turn into a vampire, and she’ll do anything to save herself.”

Isaac’s eyes widened slightly. “She killed Caroline?”

“Yeah,” Damon confirmed, voice low. “And she’s responsible for a lot more.”

Isaac took a step back, processing. “So... what’s our plan when we get to New Orleans? We’re teaming up with Klaus to find Caroline?”

Damon gave a casual shrug. “That’s the idea. Voldemort has his resources, and he has a soft-spot for blondie. We’ll just need to deal with whatever mess Caroline’s in and... figure out how to not get killed in the process.”

Isaac bit his lip. “That... sounds not dangerous at all.”

Damon grinned. “That’s life now that you're a vampire.”

“So, what’s the plan when we get to New Orleans?” Isla asked, her tone more serious now. “How are you going to convince Klaus to not tear you apart?”

Leonard didn’t answer immediately, his mind racing. “I don’t know yet. But I’ll think of something. I’ve been alive for over 600 years—I’ll come up with something.”

Isla grinned. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Lenny.”

He glanced at her, his expression flat. “Don’t call me that.”

The year was 1348, and the air reeked of rot and despair. As the Black Death ravaged the land, Leonard, a 24-year-old stable boy, found himself standing before the towering castle of Niklaus Mikaelson. His heart thundered in his chest, fuelled by a need for vengeance and the ragged breath of his mother telling him that “It was alright, Lenny”.

It wasn’t.

Everyone knew it wasn’t but who would deliver justice. He knew he would die that day one way or another. He trudged through the desolate courtyard, his ragged breath visible in the chill air. Sweat dripped from his brow, but his determination didn’t waver.

Inside, Klaus stood by the window of the great hall, his gaze fixed on the world outside. The darkness of the plague reflected in his eyes, but his expression remained cold, distant.

Leonard’s footsteps echoed across the stone floor, but Klaus didn’t turn to acknowledge him. Not yet.

Leonard took a deep breath, willing the terror in his bones to dissipate. “My name is Leonard, serve at the stables of Lord Oxholm’s estate. You... you’re the Lord Niklaus, right?”

At the sound of his voice, Klaus tilted his head slightly but kept his back to the intruder. "You must be very brave or very stupid to seek me out. Which is it, stable boy?" His tone dripped with indifference, as if the presence of another insignificant human was beneath his notice.

"I beg you..." Leonard's voice cracked, desperation flooding every word. He took another step forward, his hands trembling, not from fear but from his pent-up fury. "Turn me into what you are. I need power, enough power to kill my lord.”

Klaus slowly turned to face Leonard, eyes narrowing as they scanned him with faint amusement. “And why would I do that? Why would I give a nameless stable boy the gift of immortality?”

Leonard clenched his fists. "Because my lord is plotting with a vampire Mikael. He’s going to betray you. He wants you dead.”

Klaus’s face hardened, his jaw tightening as the mention of Mikael caused something darker to flicker behind his eyes. He blurred forward, grabbing Leonard’s chin with supernatural speed, forcing him to look into his piercing gaze. "Do not lie to me," Klaus growled. With a swift movement, Klaus compelled him. “Tell me the truth.”

Leonard’s eyes glazed over under the force of compulsion. “I am telling the truth,” he said, his voice flat. “My lord plans to trap you. He’s using Mikael to kill you.”

Klaus studied him for a moment longer, weighing the truth in Leonard’s words. He released him abruptly, letting the young man stagger back. “You still haven't told me why I should turn you,” Klaus said, pacing slowly, his eyes never leaving Leonard. “What do I gain from you?”

“My lord..." Leonard’s voice broke slightly, his hatred bubbling to the surface, "He forced himself on my mother. No one would believe her, not someone as lowborn as she was or her bastard son. I want revenge. For her. For everything. I want to wipe out his entire bloodline—him, his sons, his knights—all of them.”

Klaus’s smirk returned, more dangerous now. “So, the stable boy seeks revenge on those who wronged him. And you think that if I make you a vampire, you’ll succeed where I cannot? You must have heard the rumours, If Mikael himself is near, how do you intend to survive?”

Leonard lifted his chin, eyes burning with resolve. “I know the castle like the back of my hand. I’ve been a servant all my life—It has been instilled in me to not be visible. If you turn me, I’ll kill my lord. You don’t have to risk yourself at all. What do you have to lose?”

Klaus stilled, considering the proposition. The offer was intriguing. It was clever. Leonard could be useful.

“I want them all dead," Klaus finally said, his voice a low hiss. "The lord, his sons, and his guard. Fail me, your death will be slow—an agony that will stretch for centuries. However that will come only after you watch your mother die screaming. Do you understand?”

Leonard nodded, his face pale but resolute. “I understand.”

Klaus’s smirk widened into a cruel grin. “Good.”

Without another word, Klaus bit into his wrist, blood pouring from the wound. He stepped forward, shoving his bleeding arm into Leonard’s mouth. Leonard hesitated for only a second before drinking, the taste of Klaus’s blood making him recoil, however Klaus held onto his arm firmly.

Once Leonard had taken enough, Klaus’s eyes glinted with malice. "Mind the sun," he said, his tone a mocking whisper.

And with that, Klaus snapped Leonard’s neck, the sickening crack echoing through the hall as Leonard’s body crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Klaus looked down at him, wiping the blood from his wrist.

“Welcome to the rest of eternity, stable boy,” Klaus muttered with a chuckle before turning away, leaving Leonard’s corpse on the cold stone floor. Before ordering his servants to remove him from his presence and leave a goblet of blood and a horse.

Chapter Text

In the Appalachian mountains, the sun hung high in the sky beating down the camp. The confrontation with Hayley still hung over Tyler’s shoulders. He wanted revenge. He wanted Klaus to bleed and suffer. But now he was just tired. Caroline had stopped messaging him three days ago.

Good.

He needed space.

Jessica, one of the younger wolves with a determined look in her eyes, approaches Tyler, her brow furrowed with worry. “Tyler, can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure, Jess. What’s up?” Tyler replies cautiously, sensing the urgency in her tone.

Jessica takes a deep breath, glancing around at the others before focusing back on Tyler. “It’s about my cousins... their pack. They’ve disappeared. Just vanished without a trace.”

“Disappeared?” Tyler echoes, his heart racing. “What do you mean, disappeared?”

Jessica shifts uneasily, running a hand through her hair. “I mean, they just… they’re gone. One minute they were there, and then nothing. It’s not just them; wolf packs all across the world are disappearing, Tyler. It’s like they’re being taken.”

Tyler’s expression darkens, the weight of her words settling heavily on him. “Taken? By who? Do you have any idea?”

Jessica shakes her head, her eyes widening. “I don’t know, but two of my cousins have gone missing, and I can’t just sit back and wait for news. Please, we need to do something.”

Tyler furrows his brow, thinking. “Where were they last seen?”

“Louisiana,” she replies, biting her lip. “They were camping near a lake. That’s the last anyone heard from them.”

A spark ignites in Tyler’s eyes. “Louisiana? That’s only a couple states over, we can check it out.”

Jessica’s face lights up with hope. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” Tyler nods, his resolve strengthening. “If someone is kidnapping wolves, we need to stop them.”

Tyler glances around at the other wolves, their expressions a mix of fear and determination. “Alright, let’s gather the pack. We’re heading to Louisiana.”

Two hours before the sun would rise on Mahal Khafa, the door of Caroline’s quarters swung open, startling her awake. As she adjusted herself to the incoming light flooding the room, a few human servants entered, their expressions a mix of trepidation and urgency. They rolled in a copper tub filled with steaming water, the warmth rising in tendrils that mingled with the cool morning air.

“Lady Aurora has ordered us to prepare you for the day,” The girl with kind eyes, announced, stepping forward. Caroline recognised her as rhe girl to whom she saved from Vasil the other day. Her voice was soft but firm, the kind that brooked no argument. The others began to unpack various bottles of fragrant oils, soaps, and hair products onto a small table by the tub.

“I don’t need any of this,” Caroline protested, instinctively shrinking back against the cold stone wall.

Naveeda shook her head, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice. “We don’t want to get in trouble. Please, just let us do our job.”

One of the other servants stepped forward, handing Caroline a chalice filled with deep crimson liquid. “Drink,” she urged, her tone leaving no room for refusal.

Caroline took the chalice hesitantly, examining the contents. The smell of blood hit her nostrils, a reminder of the world she was now trapped in. “My name is Caroline. What are your names?” she asked, trying to ease the tension in the air.

“I’m Naveeda, and I’ve been here for fifteen years,” Naveeda replied, her eyes earnest.

“Fifteen Years?” Caroline echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. “You have been here for fifteen years? You were here when you were a child.”

“Time works differently in Mahal Khafa.” Naveeda paused, glancing at her fellow servants, as if weighing her words carefully. “Most don’t live to notice it’s effects.”

The weight of her revelation hung heavy in the air as Caroline drank from the chalice, its metallic taste lingering on her tongue. She set it down and turned back to Naveeda, pressing further. “What about the water? How long has it been broken?”

“Fifteen years,” Naveeda said, a shadow passing over her face.

“Fifteen years?” Caroline felt a chill run down her spine. “How do you not catch some disease living like this?”

Naveeda shrugged, her expression hardening slightly. “If it’s not about the structural integrity of the castle or affects the vampires directly, then it doesn’t get fixed,” she said, the disdain clear in her voice. “Besides, Most don’t live long enough or are stupid enough to complain.”

“What about Adara?” Caroline asked, her curiosity piqued. “What’s her role here?”

Naveeda’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Word is that the Lady Adara was a human servant many centuries ago, but she worked her way up. Now she serves Lady Aurora directly.” The bitterness in her tone didn’t go unnoticed.

“She told me I needed to prepare a bath as well as bring breakfast for Aurora when she wakes,” Caroline said, her voice laced with uncertainty.

Naveeda nodded, her face impassive. “The Lady Aurora takes breakfast every morning as well as her daily bath.”

Caroline, Naveeda and the others rushed to get Caroline ready, Caroline was trying to gather as much information as possible. After she got ready, Caroline turned to leave. But as she stepped toward the door, she felt a sudden urge to turn back. “Thank you,” she said quietly to Naveeda and the others, though she knew the words felt hollow.

She opened the door, stepping into the dimly lit corridor. Suddenly, she bumped into Adara, who stood with arms crossed, an icy glare aimed at Caroline.

“Watch where you’re going!” Adara snapped, her voice as sharp as the dagger she kept at her side. Adara, with her long black hair cascading over her shoulders and a cold, calculating expression, radiated authority. She had an air of superiority that made Caroline bristle.

“Sorry,” Caroline muttered, instinctively taking a step back.

Adara’s gaze darted to the copper tub behind Caroline, then back to her. “What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be—” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “—preparing for Lady Aurora?”

Naveeda and the other servants, still in their modest clothing, shuffled nervously behind Caroline. Adara stepped forward, her demeanour shifting as she addressed Naveeda. “Also, where were you while I was breaking my fast this morning?”

“You ordered me to wake the Lady Caroline and help her get ready, and there were servants that served you, my Lady.” Naveeda replied, her voice becoming more scared and rattled as she stumbled back.

 “You know girl. Even listening to your excuses makes me hungry.” Adara said before going to bite her. Caroline however saw where this was going and vamp sped towards Naveeda blocking her from Adara and throwing Adara into the opposite wall. Before Adara landed Caroline started landing punch after punch but Adara gained the upper hand and blocked the third punch before breaking Caroline’s arm. With a swift motion, Adara shoved Caroline against the wall, pinning her there with an iron grip. Caroline gasped as the impact knocked the breath from her lungs.

“You aren't seriously going to defend every human here?” Adara hissed, leaning closer, her breath warm against Caroline’s face. “Do you want to find out how difficult it is to fight a vampire that is centuries older than you?”

Caroline took a moment to regain her composure. “Aurora will be waking soon, and I doubt you want to be the reason why I’m late.”

Adara’s glare hardened, and for a heartbeat, it seemed like she might take it further. But then, with a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features, she stepped back, releasing Caroline. “We are not done.”

As Adara stormed past, Caroline felt a rush of relief and anger coursing through her.

“Are you okay?” Naveeda whispered, her eyes wide with concern.

“I will be,” Caroline replied, straightening up. “Let’s get this done.”

With newfound determination, she joined Naveeda and the other servants as they carried the heavy tub toward Aurora’s room. Caroline insisted to do most of the heavy lifting since she was a vampire and she felt the tension lighten a bit between all of them. As they moved through the castle, carrying water and food, things felt lighter but she had to gain some control. Trouble seemed to always find her, she needed to learn more about this place before it got her killed.

The air was thick with tension as Bonnie and Kol made their way through the small, dimly lit streets of a American town. Kol led the way, his sharp senses attuned to every sound, every movement in the darkness.

“Honestly, why are we even here?” Bonnie grumbled, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “This place gives me the creeps. I thought we were supposed to be searching for clues about the other side, not chasing after ghosts in a creepy small town.”

Kol turned to her, a hint of amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “You know, this is all part of the adventure, little witch. Besides, there’s something significant about this place. An extremely large nexus point lies here, and I thought perhaps you might’ve heard of it.”

Before she could respond, Kol abruptly stopped and gestured for her to look ahead. “See that house?” he asked, pointing at a dark wooden structure looming in the distance.

As they approached, Bonnie squinted at the weathered sign hanging beside the door. “310 Essex Street,” she read aloud. Suddenly, recognition dawned on her face, her eyes widening with shock. “Salem.” The name slipped from her lips like a whispered prayer.

“Ah, so you do know of it,” Kol replied, a smirk forming. “Nineteen people were executed during the Salem Witch Trials according to the historical record.”

“It was a lot more than that,” a voice interrupted them, sending chills racing down Bonnie’s spine. Both she and Kol spun around, and Bonnie gasped, her breath catching in her throat.

“Grams?” she exclaimed, staring in disbelief at the apparition before her.

Her grandmother stood there, ethereal and radiant, with an air of wisdom that seemed to defy time. “Bonnie,” she said softly, her voice warm but tinged with an unshakeable sadness. “You’ve come a long way.”

“Is this real?” Bonnie’s heart raced. “Are you really here?”

“I’m always with you, my dear,” Grams replied, her gaze flickering to Kol, who stood a step behind, a mixture of curiosity and caution in his demeanour. “But you must understand, the energy in this place is not what it seems. It is tainted.”

Kol exchanged a glance with Bonnie, a silent communication passing between them. “We’ve been dealing with some… unusual occurrences,” he admitted. “Mutated vampires attacking from nowhere. We thought they were irregularities of some kind but they have been appearing at high concentrations around nexus points around the globe.”

Grams nodded, her expression grave. “The past is never truly gone, Bonnie. And these creatures are just the start.”

Before Bonnie could respond, the ground trembled beneath their feet. From the shadows of the alley, a figure lunged at them—one of the mutated vampires. Its eyes were wild and bleeding, a grotesque blend of rage and hunger.

“Get back!” Bonnie shouted, instinctively stepping in front of her Grams. She summoned her magic, feeling the power surge through her. “Kol, help me!”

Kol sprang into action, dodging the vampire’s fangs as he lunged for Bonnie. In a flash, they were locked in a brutal struggle. Bonnie focused her energy, weaving a protective barrier around them both. The vampire thrashed against her magic, but she held firm.

“Now, Kol!” she yelled, and with a swift motion, he grabbed the creature and hurled it away from Bonnie, allowing her the moment she needed. She summoned all her strength and sent a wave of power into the creature, causing it to flicker away into nothingness.

Breathing heavily, they stepped back, glancing around to ensure the coast was clear. “Grams?,” Bonnie exclaimed desperately her grams nowhere to be found.

Kol ran a hand through his hair, exasperation evident. “Relax Darling. We are all dead. Nothing can harm her that hasn’t harmed her already.”

“My family lived in Salem but left before the Salem Witches Trials began in 1692” Bonnie added her voice cautious.

“Most of the time history tells only a fraction of the story. Just as ley lines and nexus points can fuel magic, it absorbs it too. Power as tainted but as powerful as this comes from sacrifice and blood.” Kol stated, making his way towards the door of the house. “Humans have no magical power when they are born or when they are pass, the balance remains unchanged. Nineteen humans dying here is not a reason for such a point of power. Something else happened here. Something big.”

Kol then turned around and extended his arm to Bonnie,

“So, Are you coming or not?”

Caroline entered Aurora’s chamber with a silver balanced carefully in her hands. The aroma of fresh pancakes, ripe strawberries, eggs and mapled crispy bacon wafted in the air, mingling with the scent of the cold stone walls. Aurora was wearing a black silk nightie and black silk dressing gown, her hair and makeup was immaculate. The human servants made their swift exit but not before placing two large jugs of blood and a bottle of champagne.

“Breakfast,” Caroline announced, setting the tray down on the table before Aurora. She tried to maintain a polite smile, but unease flickered beneath her facade.

“Good,” Aurora replied, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Now that you’ve done your job, you may leave.”

Caroline nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over her as she turned toward the door. Just as her hand reached for the handle, Aurora’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Actually I have changed my mind. Join me for breakfast.”

Caroline hesitated, glancing back. “I’ve done my job, Aurora. I really should—”

Without warning, Aurora threw a knife with precise accuracy, embedding it deep into Caroline’s hand. Pain shot through her, and she gasped, jerking her hand back instinctively.

“Your job is to do whatever I desire of you,” Aurora declared, her voice icy as she leaned back in her chair, a predatory smile curling her lips.

Caroline pressed her bleeding hand against her chest, fighting the urge to scream. She moved to sit down, her expression defiant as she tried to regain her composure. As Aurora sat down and reached for one of the jugs of blood there was a sharp knock at the door, and without waiting for permission, Adara stepped in, curtseying slightly. “My lady,” she addressed Aurora with a smooth honeyed tone.

Aurora raised an eyebrow, signalling her to speak. “What is it?”

Adara shot a venomous glare at Caroline before reporting, “A date for the annual ball has been set for the following fortnight. With your ladyship's permission, I would like to start preparations immediately.”

“No,” Aurora said abruptly, causing Adara to blink in surprise. “Give the assignment to Caroline.”

Adara’s mouth fell open, but she quickly composed herself. “My lady, Caroline is new. These preparations require…good taste.”

Caroline clenched her jaw, as rubbed her now healed hand. Aurora’s eyes darkened, and in a flash, she vamped forward, her speed a blur.

With a swift, brutal motion, Aurora ripped open Adara’s abdomen, her grip tight as she held the woman before her. Adara dropped to her knees, her scream muffled as she tried to contain the agony.

“I didn’t turn you for your opinions, Adara,” Aurora hissed, the satisfaction in her voice palpable. “I turned you for your eternal obedience.”

Adara’s face paled, and she began to plead, “My lady, please! I—”

“Lucky for you, I’m in a good mood today,” Aurora replied, releasing her grip on Adara, and observing Caroline’s reaction. “Deliver the contacts, information, and requirements to Caroline by tonight.”

Adara scrambled away, her breaths shaky. Caroline turned her gaze back to Aurora, half-expecting a display of further violence. But instead, Aurora was inspecting her, a mix of intrigue and amusement playing across her features.

Then for Caroline it clicked.

Caroline took a breath, her heart racing, and got up from her seat. In one motion, she pulled out the parasol and when back and dragged the table and chairs toward the balcony.

“What are you doing?” Aurora asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Having breakfast,” Caroline replied nonchalantly, reaching for a plate and loading it with pancakes, strawberries, and other breakfast delicacies. She poured herself a chalice of blood, taking a sip, the taste warm and rich. She then sat back in her chair and began to eat.

Aurora chuckled, “I didn’t say to have it in the balcony.”

“You didn’t say not to,” Caroline countered, kicking out a chair for Aurora before cocking her head towards the seat. “Sit.”

Aurora raised an eyebrow but complied, intrigued by Caroline’s boldness. “You didn’t serve me any.”

“You have servants to bring you breakfast, help you bathe, and cater to your every whim,” Caroline replied, a smirk creeping onto her lips. “I’m sure you’re capable of serving yourself, Rora.”

“It’s Lady Aurora to you, little dove,” Aurora corrected, but there was no edge in her voice now, only a hint of playfulness.

“I’ve been thinking,” Caroline continued, her tone shifting to something more serious. “Since I’ve been here, I’ve seen you. I’ve seen Adara. And now I know—you’re bored. Adara is boring, this place is boring, draining human after human is boring.”

Aurora’s eyes narrowed slightly as Caroline put down her food and her chalice and looked at Aurora with a smirk, her eyes amused, "Tell me, Aurora, is this your mid-eternity crisis? Or are you still stuck trying to figure out if your centuries of drama and delusion have given any meaning to your miserable existence?”

In a flash, Aurora vamped forward, gripping Caroline’s heart. “I should kill you right now.”

“Like I said, you’re bored and lonely. Kill me right now and the game is over.” Caroline held her ground, meeting Aurora’s gaze without flinching.

“I have companions,” Aurora retorted, her voice low.

“Who? Adara? You use her like a builder uses a hammer,” Caroline shot back. “But hey, if this is it, go on.”

“Why aren’t you begging for your life?” Aurora asked, her grip tightening, causing Caroline to let out an involuntary groan of pain. “Do you really think I’m not capable?”

“After the effort you took to bait Adara into stumbling so you could show me up close and personal your capacity for bloodshed? You know I know,” Caroline replied confidently. “You’ve made up your mind on whether you are going to kill me. So like I said. If this is it go on.”

With a sudden movement, Aurora released Caroline’s heart and withdrew her hand. Caroline gasped deeply as she dropped to her knees, pain radiating from her chest.

Aurora strolled back to the breakfast table, refilling her chalice. She grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, writing furiously. Caroline straightened up, watching her with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.

After a few moments, Aurora sealed the letter with hot wax and picked out another from her drawer. “Take the first letter to my brother and the other to the witches.”

“How am I supposed to know where your brother or the witches are?” Caroline asked, frustration and sarcasm creeping into her voice.

“I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure it out,” Aurora replied with a dismissive wave. “Now get out.”

Caroline had barely turned the corner of the dimly lit hallway when she heard the slow, deliberate clap echoing behind her. Her steps faltered, and she suppressed a groan as she turned to see Vasil standing there, an all-too-familiar smirk plastered across his face.

“Impressive,” Vasil drawled, his eyes gleaming with mock admiration. “Part of me was hoping you'd be more dead.”

Caroline narrowed her eyes at him, the sarcasm not lost on her. “Part of you? Don’t tell me you’re getting soft now.”

Vasil’s laugh was sharp, filled with amusement. “Soft? No, no, no.” He stepped closer, trailing behind her as she began to walk away. “I would consider it more... selfish.” His voice dropped, sinister and smooth. “You see, I want to be the one to kill you.”

Caroline rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to punch him then and there. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” she drawled, making sure she sounded as bored as possible. “Hearing that pipe drip is less boring than listening to you villain-monologue.”

Vasil's grin widened, clearly enjoying the game. “Oh, little ole me? I don’t have anywhere to be.” He followed her, his boots clicking against the stone floor with a lazy confidence. “You could say my schedule’s cleared, you know, to explore my other hobbies.”

Caroline stopped abruptly and spun around, locking eyes with him. She was tired of the threats, the endless posturing. “Is that what you think this is, Vasil? A game?” She took a step toward him, her tone dangerous, daring him to push further. “I’ve met monsters scarier than you, and I’ve outlived them all.”

Vasil chuckled, leaning in, his breath brushing against her cheek. “Oh, I’m counting on it.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But you’re not done yet, are you?”

Caroline stood her ground, refusing to flinch under the weight of his predatory gaze. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. “What do you want, Vasil? Another snapped neck? Or are you just bored of torturing humans and decided to harass me?”

“Bored?” Vasil said, feigning shock. “On the contrary, I am enjoying this game of ours.”

Caroline scoffed, turning her back on him again as she began to walk away.

“It’s gonna happen you know…The Fall. How long do you think you can keep up this façade before you accept your true nature. You’ll see.”  Vasil said watching as Caroline made her way towards the stairs. Caroline’s hands clenched into fists in her pockets before she breathed out and made her way down the stairs, not bothering to turn and see the expression of Vasil’s face.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale silver glow over the dirt road that stretched into the horizon. Wagons creaked under the weight of their cargo—bundles of clothes, sacks of grain, and crates hastily thrown together. The air was thick with tension as families piled onto the overcrowded carriages, eyes wide with fear and urgency.

The rumble of the wagon wheels was drowned out by the frantic murmurs of the men, women, and children huddled together. Mothers clutched their babies close, fathers barked hurried instructions, and children peered out into the night, their innocent faces painted with worry. The chill in the air carried more than just the bite of autumn—it carried the weight of dread.

In the distance, torches flared on the horizon. The flickering lights grew closer, accompanied by the thundering of hooves and the heavy stomp of boots. The mob was coming.

“We have to hurry,” a man urged, his eyes darting back to the approaching threat. His wife pulled their daughter closer, her hands shaking as they climbed into the wagon.

But it was too late. The mob was upon them.

The horses of the pursuers kicked up clouds of dust as they surged forward, overtaking the fleeing families with terrifying speed. Shouts erupted from the mob as they surrounded the wagons, torches casting an eerie glow on their faces. Men on foot rushed forward, grabbing at the women and children, yanking them from the carriages with brutal force.

"Let her go!" a woman screamed as she was torn from her husband’s arms. Her voice cracked with desperation as she reached for him, but the man had no time to react. Another figure—a rider with wild eyes and a sword gleaming in the torchlight—lunged forward.

The husband, his face twisted in rage and terror, spat out a curse. His words, fueled by fear and magic, hung in the air. The rider who had seized his wife let out a strangled scream, blood pouring from his eyes, nose, and mouth. His body convulsed, collapsing to the ground in agony.

The moment of triumph was short-lived.

The husband barely had time to register what he had done before a sword swung down in a wide arc, cleanly severing his head from his shoulders. His body slumped to the ground, lifeless, his blood staining the earth beneath him.

All around, chaos erupted.

The families, now helpless and terrified, were dragged from their wagons, forced to their knees. The mob, their faces twisted with hatred, raised their muskets and rifles. The clink of metal echoed in the stillness as they took aim.

The moonlight bathed the scene in an ethereal glow, casting long shadows over the terrified faces of the captives. One man, his heart racing, looked up at the sky. The leaves on the nearby trees shimmered under the moon's light, and for a brief moment, the world felt still.

And then the gunshots rang out.

The Mystic Falls gang stood outside Klaus's grand townhouse in New Orleans, the air thick with tension. Stefan had met them at the edge of the city, guiding the group through the chaotic streets of the French Quarter until they arrived at Klaus’s home. Elena, Jeremy, Stefan, Damon, Matt, Isaac, Isla, Leonard and Sheriff Forbes were there, their expressions a mix of worry, frustration and fear.

As they entered the townhouse, Klaus was already waiting in the living room, pacing like a caged animal. His eyes flared with impatience, his mood as dark as the storm clouds that loomed over the city. He turned to face them, his voice dripping with irritation.

"Tell me," he growled, his sharp gaze flicking between them. "What the hell is going on? And be quick about it."

Damon, never one to miss an opportunity for sarcasm, leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his smirk in place. "Nice to see you too, Klaus. Always a pleasure."

Klaus’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "Now is not the time, Damon. I asked for answers, not your insufferable attitude." His tone left no room for banter.

Stefan, standing beside Elena, shifted uncomfortably. "We need to talk about Caroline," he began, but Elena interrupted, her concern evident.

"Where’s Elijah?" she asked, glancing around the room as though expecting him to appear.

Klaus clenched his jaw, his patience wearing thin. "Elijah is busy, as am I. Now tell me what’s happened, or I’ll kill you all and handle this myself."

Isla, who had accompanied them from Mystic Falls, stepped forward, her face pale but determined. "Caroline’s missing. It was night time and we were in the woods, we found a body, Caroline went back to get shovels." She hesitated, glancing at Leonard, who stood nervously at the back of the group. "She’s hasn’t been seen in the last three days."

Klaus’s expression darkened, his voice low and deadly. "Three days?" His gaze snapped to Leonard, his anger barely contained. "Where the hell were you?"

Leonard, clearly nervous, stammered, "I-I thought she was at home with the twins. I didn’t know she was missing until—"

"Where were you?" Klaus’s voice was a lethal whisper.

Leonard’s eyes darted around the room, fear settling in. "At... at the bar."

Faster than anyone could react, Klaus lunged. His hand wrapped around Leonard's throat, slamming him into the wall with bone-rattling force. "You were at the bar while Caroline disappeared?" Klaus hissed, his face inches from Leonard's, his hybrid features on full display.

Leonard choked, clawing at Klaus's grip. "I’ll find her!" he gasped. "I swear, I won’t stop until I do!"

Klaus’s eyes gleamed with murderous intent. "Your time on this earth is over," he growled, before sinking his fangs into Leonard’s neck. Blood poured from the wound as Klaus pulled away, his eyes wild with fury. Klaus then threw him across the room leaving the lethal venom coursing through Leonard’s veins.

"Wait!” Isla shouted, stepping forward. " Let his death be useful. Let him die trying to find Caroline. His death now has no use for you." Her voice was desperate, her eyes pleading with Klaus to stop.

Klaus paused. He glanced at Isla, a twisted smile creeping onto his face and a cold dead laugh emanating through the room.

Turning to Stefan, Klaus’s mood shifted once more. "And where were you? Ripper." he asked with a sharp edge to his voice.

"Mexico," Stefan replied, his expression guarded.

"Mexico?" Klaus mocked. "Of course. How delightful." His gaze flicked to Elena, and a wicked grin spread across his face. "And I see you’ve brought the doppelganger. I see she has decided on Damon. For now anyway."

Stefan bristled but said nothing, while Damon shot Klaus a dark look. "Alright, enough with the jabs. We didn’t come here for a family reunion."

Klaus ignored him, grabbing a glass from the table and biting into his wrist. Blood spilled into the glass, and he handed it to Leonard, who still lay on the floor, trembling. "Drink this," Klaus commanded. "But hear me now—if you fail me again, your life will become an unending cycle of agonizing torture. And it won’t just be you. She—" he nodded towards Isla, "—will suffer the same fate."

Leonard, shaking, took the glass and drank, the healing properties of Klaus's blood already working through his veins.

Matt, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up. "We were attacked by a group of vampires. There was a coven of witches with them. They came prepared to take down Rebekah. I was killed before I saw what happened to Rebekah."

Klaus downed a glass of bourbon, his expression emanating cold fury, before turning toward the door. Just as he was about to leave, Sheriff Forbes spoke up, her voice breaking slightly. "What’s the plan, Klaus? My daughter and your sister are missing. We need to know what you’re going to do."

Klaus stopped in his tracks, his anger flaring once more. He turned slowly, his gaze hard. He wanted to snap at her, to unleash his rage, but he knew Caroline would never forgive him for harming her mother. He took a deep breath, his voice low and controlled. "I will find my sister and Caroline.”

With that, he stormed out, the door slamming behind him, leaving the group in tense silence, the weight of Klaus's promise hanging over them.

Caroline gripped the letter tightly in her hand, feeling the weight of its importance. She had been tempted to peek inside and read what secrets it held, but something about Aurora’s dismissive confidence made her reconsider. The last thing she needed was to give Aurora another reason to punish her. As she approached the witches' dwelling, her stomach churned with nerves. Her history with witches had always been rocky, and the last thing she wanted was to provoke another dangerous confrontation.

As Caroline neared the gathering of witches, the air around her seemed to thrum with unseen energy. She hesitated for a moment, then pressed on, determined to get the task over with and return to her own plan — seeing the boy again and slipping him food and water.

The red-haired witch, stepped forward, eyeing Caroline with a mix of cold suspicion and amusement. “You have something for me?” she asked, her voice smooth but laced with venom.

Caroline held out the letter. “From Aurora.”

The witch, who introduced herself as Genevieve, took the letter, her eyes flickering with interest. But before Caroline could turn to leave, Genevieve’s hand shot out, gripping Caroline’s wrist. The touch was icy and searing all at once, and Caroline felt an overwhelming surge of pain shoot through her body.

Caroline gasped, doubling over as her skin seemed to burn under the witch's grip. Blood welled up from her nose, dripping down onto the ground, and her vision blurred as her eyes filled with blood. She coughed, choking as she felt her lungs burn with the effort.

A witch with thin brown hair stepped forward and whispered to Genevieve, "Maybe we should leave the Lady Aurora’s toy go."

Genevieve let go, a cruel smile playing on her lips as she watched Caroline stumble back, struggling to regain her composure. "Next time, come with more respect," Genevieve said coldly before turning her back on Caroline.

Caroline, barely holding herself together, vamp sped away, her mind spinning and her body still reeling from the pain. When she finally stopped, hidden away in the shadows of a nearby alley, she wiped the blood from her face, taking deep, steadying breaths.

After composing herself and quickly grabbing some food and water from the kitchens she made her way to the dark building she was in yesterday. She couldn’t leave the boy behind in that wretched cell, not after seeing the fear in his eyes, the images she couldn’t tear her thoughts away from. She sneaked through the dark streets, her movements quick and silent as she made her way back to the prison where the boy was being held.

When she arrived, she saw him huddled in the corner, still wearing the cloak she had given him. He looked so small, so fragile, sitting there in the dim light. Caroline knelt by the bars and whispered, "Hey, it's me again."

The boy didn't move, staying in the farthest corner of the cell, his wide eyes filled with distrust and fear. Caroline reached into her pocket and pulled out the food she had smuggled with her. "I brought you something to eat."

Still, the boy remained motionless, his gaze locked on her but refusing to approach. Caroline sighed softly, setting the food and water down just within reach on the other side of the bars. "I know you're scared," she whispered. "But I'm not here to hurt you. I promise."

There was no response, but she could tell he understood her. His eyes followed her every movement, and though he remained in the shadows, his tense body suggested he was listening.

Caroline tried to lighten the mood, her voice softening as she attempted to connect with him. "Do you know how to play rock, paper, scissors? Or maybe tik tack toe?" she asked, showing him the hand gestures and drawing a grid in the grime of the cell floor reaching her arm through the bars. The boy remained silent, his body stiff, but she could see something flicker in his eyes—a small sign that he understood her.

"I bet you'd be really good at it," she said, trying to coax him into some form of interaction. But he stayed frozen, watching her warily.

Caroline was about to tell him a story, hoping it might ease his tension, but suddenly, her sharp vampire hearing picked up the sound of footsteps approaching. Her eyes widened, and she turned back to the boy. "I have to go," she whispered urgently. "But I’ll be back. I promise."

With that, she turned and made her way back to the castle once more, leaving the boy behind, but determined to return and find a way to help him. Caroline made her way down the dimly lit corridor, the flickering torches casting long shadows along the stone walls. The kitchens were bustling with the sounds of pots clanging and the murmur of tired servants, but as she entered, all of that faded into the background. Her focus landed on Naveeda, who was meticulously chopping vegetables at the far side of the room.

Naveeda glanced up, her dark brown eyes widening slightly as she spotted Caroline. She paused her work, wiping her hands on her apron. "Lady Caroline," she greeted, her voice calm but respectful.

Caroline gave a quick nod, suddenly remembering the letter she was supposed to deliver to Tristan de Martel. "No need for the Lady part, Caroline’s fine. Naveeda, I need to ask you something. Where can I find Tristan?"

Naveeda straightened, setting the knife down as she considered the question. "His quarters are on the floors just above Lady Aurora's," she replied, her voice low but steady. "Be careful, Lady Caroline. Lord Tristan is not... someone you want to cross."

Caroline gave a small, appreciative nod. "Thanks," she said, but before she could leave, Naveeda stopped her.

"Why did you do it?" Naveeda asked, her voice soft but filled with curiosity.

Caroline turned, her brow furrowing. "Do what?"

"Save my life," Naveeda said, her dark eyes searching Caroline's face. "Twice now. When Adara was about to... and when you stopped her."

Caroline paused, her expression softening. "Because it was the right thing to do," she said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Naveeda blinked, visibly taken aback by the response. For a moment, she seemed lost in thought, as if the idea of someone doing something out of pure kindness was foreign to her. After all, she had been a servant in this wretched place for fifteen years. "The right thing to do..." she echoed quietly, almost as if testing the words.

Naveeda looked down, her fingers brushing over the edge of the counter, clearly affected by Caroline’s words. "You should go," she said, her voice softer now. "Deliver the letter before anyone gets suspicious."

Caroline nodded, turning to leave. "Thanks, Naveeda," she said over her shoulder as she walked toward the exit, her mind already shifting to the task at hand. She couldn't afford to dwell on sentimentality for too long—not when she had a letter to deliver to Tristan de Martel.

Chapter Text

Caroline’s heels clicked against the cold stone floor as she made her way up the winding staircase that led to Tristan de Martel’s quarters. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows, and the air seemed to grow heavier the higher she climbed. Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears, but she kept her expression calm, determined not to betray her unease.

As she approached the door to Tristan’s floor, two guards stepped forward, blocking her path. Their eyes lingered on her in a way that made her skin crawl. One of them sneered, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What’s your business here?” one of them asked, his tone dripping with mockery.

Caroline stood a little straighter, gripping the letter in her hand. “I’m here to deliver a letter to Tristan de Martel,” she replied coolly. “From his sister, Aurora.”

The guard chuckled, exchanging a glance with his partner. “Oh, don’t trouble yourself, darling. We’ll make sure it gets to him. You don’t need to worry your pretty little head over it.”

Caroline’s jaw clenched at the condescending tone, but she kept her voice steady. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll hand him the letter myself, as Lady Aurora requested. Or would you rather I tell her that you two wouldn’t let me deliver a simple letter to her beloved brother?”

The guard’s smirk faltered, and his partner shifted uncomfortably. “Look, no need to get dramatic—”

Before the back-and-forth could continue, a familiar figure stepped out of the shadows. Shen Min, his dark eyes as unreadable as ever, glided forward with an unsettling grace. “Let her pass,” he said quietly, but there was an undeniable authority in his tone.

The guards stepped aside immediately, clearly wary of Shen Min. Caroline didn’t waste any time, stepping past them, though her heart pounded a little faster. Shen Min was the one who had dragged her into this hellish dimension, and the memory of that moment sent a shiver down her spine. She could feel his presence just behind her, like a looming shadow, but she kept her head high and walked with as much confidence as she could muster.

Shen Min led her through a narrow hallway until they reached Tristan’s door. With a bow, Shen Min gestured for her to enter. “You may proceed,” he said, his voice soft yet sharp.

Caroline hesitated for the briefest moment, then nodded and stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of candlelight revealing Tristan seated at a grand wooden desk. His pen scratched across parchment, his focus entirely on whatever he was writing. Without looking up, he gestured for her to speak.

Caroline approached cautiously, keeping her gaze forward. She didn’t glance around the room, knowing better than to give anyone a reason to be suspicious of her. She stepped up to the desk and gently placed the letter on top of the stack of papers he was working on.

“It’s from your sister,” Caroline said, her voice steady.

Tristan paused his writing and slowly lifted his head, his cold eyes settling on her. For a moment, he said nothing, as if waiting for her to do something more—perhaps to make a comment, or to have opened the letter out of curiosity. But Caroline remained silent, standing straight, her gaze unwavering.

Tristan’s eyes flicked down to the letter. He was surprised to see it was still sealed, untouched. He studied her for a second longer, clearly expecting more from her, but Caroline didn’t indulge him. She simply gave a slight nod and turned to leave without another word.

Tristan watched her as she exited, his expression thoughtful. Most people would have pried, would have been curious, or would've just been terrified. But this one… she was different.

As Caroline walked out of the room and back down the hallway, Shen Min gave her a brief, unreadable glance, but said nothing. She made her way past the guards and back through the winding corridors of the castle.

Once outside, the fresh air hit her like a wave of relief. Caroline took a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly. But her task wasn’t finished yet. She still had to deliver the second letter, and after what had just happened with Genevieve and the witches, she wasn’t exactly eager to see them again.

But for now, she needed a moment of peace. She made her way out of town, toward the tree she had visited the previous day. As she walked, her eyes were drawn to the strange red light beaming down from the sky, concentrated by the thick grey clouds. The ash that perpetually rained down glistened in the soft light, casting a haunting beauty over the landscape.

Caroline crouched down and gently picked one of the golden plants she had seen growing here before. The same one that glowed in the forest when her and the twins went investigating. The small petals shimmered in the crimson glow, a reminder of the strange magic that permeated this world. She held it in her hand, staring up at the sky as the ash fell softly on her skin.

For a moment, she allowed herself to simply breathe, to feel the strange and eerie calm of this place. But the weight of her situation settled over her once again. She had to find a way out of here. Not just for herself—but for the boy in the cell, for Naveeda, and for anyone else trapped in this twisted dimension.

Genevieve watched as Caroline hastily left, the corners of her mouth tugged into a faint smile—so much about that vampire intrigued her. As soon as the door closed behind Caroline, Genevieve stepped forward, picking up the letter. Her long, elegant fingers carefully broke the wax seal, and she unfolded the paper, her pale blue eyes scanning the familiar script.

Aurora had tasked her with performing the usual tarot reading—this time for the dinner planned tonight. Genevieve rolled her eyes. It was always the same: Aurora’s obsession with seeing what dangers or opportunities might arise during one of these social gatherings. As if these petty events mattered in the grand scheme of things. But something about Caroline's presence lingered. Genevieve couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling she had sensed the moment Caroline handed her the letter. There was something unusual about that vampire, something other than Aurora’s little pet. The way Caroline had kept her composure, even after Genevieve’s brief torture, made her curiosity burn brighter.

“Let’s see what you’re hiding, golden girl,” Genevieve murmured, her lips curling into a sly smile.

She made her way to the small, dark table in the corner of the room. Candles flickered on either side of it, casting long shadows on the stone walls. She sat down, her tall figure commanding, as she shuffled her tarot deck. The cards had been with her since before her death or near death in 1919—an anchor to the mortal world, even here in the timeless hell that was the Strix dimension.

Placing her hand on the deck, Genevieve closed her eyes and focused. Her red hair fell in loose waves around her, framing her pale face. Her blue eyes, once filled with warmth and life, now held only a cold determination. This place had not aged her body, but her soul… oh, her soul was scarred, hardened by years of betrayal and death. She had been cheated out of her life—cut down by an ancient vampire and her selfish happiness.

Her hands stilled over the cards. Vampires, she thought with disdain. Their greed, their selfishness. They had taken everything from her—her life, her future, her friends. That hate still burned in her, as bright and vengeful as it had the day she died. This dimension, with its twisted magic and time manipulation, had allowed her to fester in that hatred without the passage of years dulling it.

She cut the deck and laid out the cards in a careful spread. Her eyes narrowed as she examined each one, her breath slowing as the familiar symbols revealed themselves. But this time, there was something… different. The cards didn’t just reflect the dinner Aurora had in mind.

They told her something about Caroline.

Genevieve’s heart skipped a beat, and her breath caught in her throat as she gazed at the pattern that had formed before her. Slowly, she drew a final card, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. When she saw what it revealed, she sat back, breathing deeply. A smile creeping over her face.

Genevieve’s pale fingers danced over the surface of the cards once more, tracing the shapes, her mind already churning with new plans. She hadn’t smiled like this in years, not since she was alive.

She looked at the last card once more before rising to her feet, her tall figure silhouetted by the dim candlelight. The tarot had spoken, and Genevieve knew it would be wise to heed the call.

Tonight’s dinner with Aurora was no longer the most pressing matter. Something darker, more profound, had stirred in the cards.

She could use this.

Caroline sat under the tree, her back against the cool bark as she absentmindedly twirled the golden plant in her hand. The weight of the strange dimension pressed down on her, leaving her restless and agitated. She glanced around the eerie forest, her eyes catching movement on the forest floor—a snake, its dark scales glinting as it slithered closer.

Startled, Caroline instinctively vamp-sped away just as the snake lunged at her. She stumbled back, losing her grip on the golden flowers. They fell to the ground with a soft thud. The snake lunged again, but before it could strike, it suddenly hissed, writhing in agony. The creature’s dark, slick body began to sizzle, and within moments, it burst into white flames. Caroline’s eyes widened in shock as the snake disintegrated into ash, leaving nothing but a small, charred mark on the forest floor and silvery grey ash.

She bent down, her hand trembling slightly, and picked up the golden plant. Her breath caught as she stared at it. What just happened?

Her mind raced. There was something about this plant. Something powerful.

An idea struck her.

Caroline's gaze shifted to the pool of vervain water nearby. She had been cautious of it before, knowing full well how the vervain burned her skin. But this plant—the one that had caused the snake to disintegrate—it could be the key.

Steeling herself, Caroline approached the pool and plunged her hand into the murky depths, grasping at the underwater vervain plants. Immediately, her skin began to corrode, the vervain searing into her flesh with excruciating pain. She bit down hard on her lip to stifle a scream, her hand trembling as she yanked a plant from the bottom of the pond.

Her vision blurred with the pain, but she refused to let go. She tossed the vervain plant onto the forest floor, and the agony slowly began to subside as her arm and hand healed. She watched as her skin knitted itself back together, the once raw and burning flesh now smooth and unscarred.

When she was ready, Caroline took the golden plant and placed it next to the vervain plant on the ground.

The effect was immediate.

The vervain plant disintegrated, just as the snake had, turning to ash before her eyes. Only ash and the golden plant remained, untouched and gleaming. Caroline stared, breathless, at the sight.

She had been right—this dimension was strange, warped. The vervain here was different, sensitive to water and other elements, just like the plants and creatures.

Her mind buzzed with possibilities as she carefully pocketed the golden plant. This might be the edge I need, she thought.

Straightening herself, Caroline cast one last glance at the shimmering ash that had once been the vervain plant, and a slow smile tugged at the corner of her lips and she made her way back to her quarters.

This place had rules. But they could be broken.

Caroline entered her quarters, her eyes immediately falling on the book that lay on her bed, right where she had left it. The "servants' guidebook," as Adara had so smugly handed her, looked worn and out of place against the otherwise cold and dark room. With a sigh, she sat down on the floor, leaning her back against the bed, and opened the book, its brittle pages crinkling under her touch.

She began to read, but it wasn’t long before a scoff escaped her lips. The entire book seemed a relic of a forgotten time—outdated rules and etiquette from what felt like Victorian England. She flipped through the pages faster, hoping to catch a glimpse of something useful, something that could give her insight into this twisted world. But the book was just as stiff and pointless as she feared. There was nothing to help her understand the Strix, Aurora, or the labyrinth of this dimension.

Frustrated, she placed the book aside and leaned her head back against the bed, her thoughts drifting. Memories of her human life flickered in her mind—back when she was still set on getting into an Ivy League school. She had always been ambitious, with perfect grades and a plan to conquer the world. But after becoming a vampire, things had shifted. Whitemore College had become the obvious choice, a way to stay close to Bonnie, Elena, and her mom in Mystic Falls. Life had been simpler then. Even now, despite everything, she wouldn’t go back to being human. Caroline recalled her conversation with Klaus, back in Elena’s living room. He had asked her if she would take the cure. She hadn’t answered then, but she knew the truth. Klaus was right—she wouldn’t take it. She liked who she was now. She liked the strength, the power, and the control.

A sudden knock at the door startled her, pulling her out of her thoughts. Rising to her feet, she crossed the room and opened the door to find Naveeda standing there with a trolley full of books.

“These are from Adara,” Naveeda said, her voice soft but steady. She handed Caroline a sealed letter with Aurora’s crest imprinted on the wax. “And...this.”

Caroline took the letter, broke the seal, and read the brief message:

‘See you then, Little Dove.’

It was an invitation to a dinner at sundown, signed by Aurora. Caroline glanced up at Naveeda, confused. She handed her the invitation. “What is this dinner about?”

Naveeda’s expression tightened, a flicker of concern in her dark brown eyes. “It happens every so often. It’s an inner circle event. Dangerous, though. Be careful.”

Caroline felt a chill run down her spine. She glanced at the time noted on the invitation. “It’s at sundown. I need to find something to wear... and fast. Do you know where I can find a good dress, and where are these dinners usually held?”

Naveeda hesitated but then nodded. “I know a dressmaker who can help. Come with me, Lady Caroline.”

“Just Caroline,” Caroline corrected gently. “And don’t worry. You have nothing to fear from me.”

Naveeda’s lips twitched into a small, fleeting smile. “Follow me.”

Naveeda and Caroline made their way through the narrow streets of the strange dimension, Caroline trying to ignore the unnerving atmosphere. Naveeda walked confidently ahead, her dark eyes focused on their destination as she spoke. “Batima has been looking after me ever since I arrived here. She’s a bit grouchy but... she’s like the mother I never had.”

Caroline chuckled nervously. “She sounds... lovely.” She couldn’t shake the unease building in her chest. Despite everything she had faced so far, the idea of dealing with a backdoor dressmaker in this twisted world made her feel more vulnerable than usual.

Naveeda pushed open a worn wooden door, leading them into a dark, cluttered space that seemed to be lit only by a few candles. The warm scent of fabric and thread hung in the air, and in the dim glow, Caroline saw an old woman hunched over a sewing machine. She worked quickly, the machine whirring as her hands deftly maneuverer the fabric under the needle. Batima looked up sharply, her pale eyes narrowing when she saw them.

In rapid Khazak, Batima shouted at Naveeda, her voice harsh and reprimanding. “What are you doing, bringing this vampire into my shop, Naveeda?”

Naveeda raised her hands, trying to calm the older woman. “Batima, please, we have a situation. It’s an emergency.”

Batima shook her head, her wrinkled face twisting into a scowl. “No, it’s too late. Get out both of you.” She glared at Caroline. “Never bring her kind into my shop.”

Caroline shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of Batima’s disdain. She had dealt with enough prejudice in her short time on this earth, not to mention the horrible things vampires have done to them, to know this wasn’t going to be easy.

Naveeda stepped closer to Batima, lowering her voice to a pleading whisper. “Caroline saved my life. Twice. She’s not like the others. Please Batima.”

Batima’s eyes flickered to Caroline, full of suspicion. “She’s a vampire. They only use people for their own ends.”

“She needs help and she isn’t like the others,” Naveeda pressed. “Please, Batima.”

With a sigh and a muttered curse, Batima finally relented. “Fine.” She gestured for them to follow her. “Let’s get this over with.”

Caroline followed Batima and Naveeda deeper into the shop. The back of the shop was even more cluttered, rows of clothes hanging on racks, and fabric draped over every surface. Batima led them to a small staircase that descended into a cramped, dimly lit basement. She gestured toward a makeshift changing area, a curtain strung up to offer some semblance of privacy.

“Change into this,” Batima ordered, handing Caroline a simple chemise. “Take everything else off.”

Caroline took the chemise and slipped behind the curtain, quickly changing. Normally, she would be the one controlling a situation like this, but tonight she didn’t have the time. After changing, she stepped out to find Batima waiting, a measuring tape in hand. Without a word, the old woman began taking measurements, her movements swift and precise.

Naveeda, meanwhile, was setting up a small table with a hair curler and makeup supplies. “We’ve got about two hours,” she said, glancing at Caroline. “Plenty of time.”

Batima grunted in agreement, her face showing no sign of the kindness Naveeda had described. But she worked quickly, and before long, she was pulling out swatches of fabric, comparing colours to Caroline’s skin tone. After a moment of consideration, she nodded to herself, seemingly satisfied.

“Wash the dried blood off your face and body,” Batima instructed, her tone brusque. “But leave your hair. Be quick.”

Caroline hurried to clean herself up, wiping away the remnants of the encounter with Genevieve and Aurora. When she returned, Naveeda had the curling iron ready, and Batima had already begun working furiously at her sewing machine, the whirring sound echoing in the room. Naveeda moved to style Caroline’s hair, keeping it in loose waves but with a polished look.

“Here,” Batima said, placing gold nail polish in Caroline’s hands. “Paint your nails. Quickly.”

Caroline worked as fast as she could, painting her nails in a shimmering gold. She glanced over at Batima, who seemed to be sewing fabric into a dress with a kind of manic precision.

Naveeda finished with Caroline’s hair and began applying makeup—a subtle nude lip, gold eyeshadow, and a slightly more defined brow than Caroline was used to. She looked into the mirror Naveeda had uncovered, surprised at how different she looked already.

As Caroline painted her last nail, Batima stepped forward with a long, flowing gold satin dress. “Put this on,” Batima said curtly. “Behind the curtain.”

Caroline changed quickly, slipping into the luxurious gown. When she stepped out from behind the curtain, she caught her reflection in the large mirror and froze. She barely recognized herself. The golden fabric shimmered in the candlelight, and the cut of the dress was perfect.

Caroline turned to Batima and Naveeda, speechless for a moment. “Thank you,” she finally managed to say.

Naveeda grinned. “You’ve got five minutes to get there. Go now.”

Batima handed her a gold clutch bag. “You’ll need this.”

Caroline nodded and placed the invitation inside. “Thank you, both of you.”

Batima’s stern expression softened slightly as she grabbed Caroline’s arm. “Don’t take shit from any of them,” she said firmly.

Naveeda led Caroline to the door, explaining as they walked. “The dinner is on the floor below Aurora’s. Take the staircase we used earlier today and go up one floor. You’ll find it—just look for the guards.”

The grand hall echoed with laughter and clinking glasses as Caroline stepped through the imposing double doors. The large table, elegantly set for twenty-one, dominated the room, its long expanse adorned with glimmering silverware and rich, deep red linens. Candles flickered softly, casting a warm glow that mingled with the light of the ornate chandeliers above.

Caroline’s heart raced as she approached the guards stationed at the entrance. They regarded her with a mix of curiosity and disdain, their eyes flickering over her like she was an enticing piece of meat. She steeled herself against the unwelcome scrutiny, producing her invitation with a practiced smile.

“Who let you in?” one guard muttered, his tone dripping with condescension. “Just arm candy, I reckon.”

Ignoring the jab, Caroline smiled brighter and walked past them, her head held high. She refused to let them diminish her worth. Inside, the atmosphere was alive with conversation, the buzz of voices mixing with the sound of champagne being poured.

As she moved further into the room, Caroline’s gaze swept over the attendees. Groups of vampires mingled, all clad in formal attire, their laughter echoing against the high ceilings. At the far end of the room, she spotted Adara, resplendent in a long crimson dress that clung to her curves. She swirled a glass of red wine in her hand, the colour mirroring the lipstick that accentuated her lips. Vasil stood beside her, donning a sleek black tuxedo, his eyes sparkling with interest as Adara leaned closer.

Caroline steeled herself and walked past them, but Vasil's voice broke through the din. “Well, if it isn’t our little hero,” he called, smirking. “Surprised to see you invited, especially after you left Aurora’s room with a hole in your chest.”

Caroline shot them a fleeting glance but chose to ignore the remark, brushing past them as annoyance bubbled beneath her calm facade. She made her way to the champagne fountain, hoping to lose herself in the effervescent celebration.

Just as she reached for a glass, the room hushed, and Tristan entered, flanked by Aurora. Dressed in an expensive-looking black tuxedo, Tristan exuded authority. But it was Aurora who drew every eye in the room. She wore an exquisite emerald green gown that hugged her form, accentuating her striking features. Her long, wavy hair cascaded down her back in a half-up, half-down style, perfectly framing her face.

Caroline felt a pang of envy mixed with admiration.

“Welcome, my friends,” Tristan began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room. “Tonight, we gather to celebrate our strength and unity. I invite you all to take a seat.”

Caroline glanced at the place cards atop silver domes, her name neatly inscribed on one. She moved to her seat, noting the arrangement: Tristan at the head of the table, Aurora to his left, and Adara seated next to her. Vasil was directly across from her, flanked by Shen Min on his right and Aya beside Tristan on his left.

Once everyone settled, Tristan stood again, his commanding presence filling the room. “The greatness of the Strix has only grown throughout the centuries,” he proclaimed, drawing the attention of the assembled vampires. “As we move into the next phase, we must ensure loyalty among us.”

The atmosphere grew tense as he continued, speaking of their plans and the importance of absolute authority. Just then, a group of witches, including Genevieve, entered the room, their presence commanding yet quiet. Caroline felt a ripple of unease course through her.

“Light of this new phase, we must ensure loyalty,” Tristan continued. “Our unity is our strength, and to ensure that, loyalty must be assured.”

The waiters moved forward, lifting the silver domes with synchronized precision. A hush fell over the crowd as everyone’s eyes fell on the singular tarot cards facing down on the table.

“Tonight, we will delve deeper into our fates,” Tristan declared, a glint of something dark flickering in his eyes. “Let the cards guide us.”

The atmosphere thickened with anticipation as Tristan gestured to the cards, his voice smooth yet commanding. “Let us reveal the cards and see what fate has in store for us.”

He began with Aya, who sat to his right. As she flipped her card, the room held its breath. “The Knight of Pentacles,” she declared, a proud smile on her lips. The group murmured in approval. One by one, they revealed their cards: Shen Min, also a Knight of Pentacles; Vasil, a confident smirk on his face as he revealed his own card, mirroring Aya’s fortune. The man next to him, a brooding vampire with a scar running down his cheek, hesitated before flipping his card.

“The Seven of Swords,” he spat, anger flashing in his eyes. “I don’t recognise your leadership, Tristan! You hide in your high castle, leading us down a path to slaughter, just as we were the first time by the Destroyer!” His voice echoed defiantly, igniting tension around the table.

Before he could finish his tirade, Tristan’s expression darkened. In a blink, he lunged, his hand swiping towards the man just quick enough for Caroline to spot before the next moment the man’s head was separated from his body. The table froze, a collective gasp resonating through the hall as blood sprayed across the fine linen, splattering Caroline’s face, hair, and dress in a crimson mist.

The remaining vampires shifted uncomfortably, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Several others who had drawn the Seven of Swords paled, and one of them, visibly shaking, called out, “My lord, please! There must be a mistake! Please!”

“I made a mistake but I am loyal. Please! I swear!” another one whimpered just before Caroline’s turn came.

As Caroline’s heart raced, she reached for her card, trying to shake off the shock of the violent display. Just as she was about to collect it, Genevieve stepped forward, her demeanour calm amidst the chaos. She leaned down, snatching the card from the plate of the man who had just been executed beside her.

“You look nervous,” Genevieve commented, her voice a soft taunt as she walked away, leaving Caroline momentarily speechless.

Determined, Caroline took a breath and picked up her card, feeling the weight of every gaze in the room. The tension wrapped around her like a vice, but she wouldn’t back down. “You’re all pathetic,” she announced, holding her card high for everyone to see. The glint of the Knight of Pentacles shone in the candlelight, a reflection of her resolve.

Smirking, she turned toward Aurora and winked before bending down and grabbing Vasil’s wine glass, taking a generous sip before placing it back down in front of him. The audacity of her actions sent ripples of shock through the room, but Caroline couldn’t help but feel empowered. Aurora’s laughter rang through the room, a melodic sound that contrasted sharply with the earlier violence. Adara, who also held a Knight of Pentacles card, exchanged a glance with Aurora who nodded shortly.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” Tristan declared, his voice regaining its composure, “Let’s eat!”

As the vampires around her began to relax, the tension dissipating slightly, Caroline couldn’t shake the feeling that the night was just beginning, and she was caught in a dangerous web of intrigue, power plays, and dark alliances.

Chapter Text

The streets of New Orleans pulsed with life, people of every kind revealing in the night. Marcel, Klaus, Damon and Stefan are walking through the streets after leaving Rousseau’s bar. They has spent the better part of an evening together drinking and having a good time. The day had been a complete waste of them all just looking through books and finding nothing.

“The city of New Orleans... people of all stripes and flavours from all over the country come here to party on our streets. Some are just looking for fun... some are looking for something a little darker, more dangerous.” Marcel explained, his voice confident as he illustrated to Klaus, Stefan and Damon his operation.

Diego, one of Marcel’s loyal vampires, stood on the street corner, a sly smile on his lips as he handed out flyers to an unsuspecting couple. The flyer read:

"ABATTOIR—WHERE THE PARTY NEVER ENDS."

The two friends looked intrigued as they entered the club, the bright lights and thumping music pulling them deeper inside. As they stepped through the door, their hands were stamped with an elegant monogrammed “M,” marking them for more than just a good time.

Marcel continued, “So, we invite them into my home and we give it to them.”

Inside, the party raged—a lavish affair filled with the city’s elite, but at its core, a feast waiting to happen. Midnight approached, and Marcel stood on the balcony, leading Klaus through the scene below. Marcel was in his element, smirking as he surveyed the floor where humans danced, oblivious to the predators around them. Klaus, standing by his side, watched the spectacle unfold with a cool, calculating eye. Next to Klaus, Stefan stood cautiously waiting for the axe to drop while Damon leant against the railing taking a swig from his pocket flask looking as nonchalant as possible.

“Then, at the stroke of midnight, everything changes, and it's time to feed.”

As the clock struck twelve, chaos erupted. Marcel’s vampires lunged, fangs bared as they attacked their unsuspecting prey. The humans’ screams pierced the air, and blood spilled into the night. Some tried to run, but there was no escape. The vampires indulged, feeding ravenously, while Marcel looked down with pride at his efficient system.

“This is how I keep my guys happy: the occasional, all-you-can-eat buffet. My night-walkers love it. I've got 'em working hard, trying to earn one of these daylight rings. They deserve to blow off a little steam.”

Below, vampires savored the feast, and Marcel’s trusted day-walkers mingled with them, enjoying the party without the need to kill. Klaus’s attention was briefly caught by a crest etched into the stone wall—an “M” entwined with a coiled serpent. But Klaus didn’t comment, instead turning his attention back to Marcel. Damon looked on surprised but also concerned for Stefan who seemed like he was barely keeping his ripper instincts in check.

“It's quite an operation. Tell me—what about the victims? Seems like a lot of graves to dig.” Klaus adds.

Marcel chuckled and took a casual sip from his drink before answering, “Can't kill 'em all. Too many folks go missing, tourism drops. So, we heal them with a little vamp blood, erase their memory, send them on their way—no muss, no fuss.”

Damon, standing by, grinned in appreciation, “Well, I'm impressed.”

Marcel smirked, clearly enjoying the praise. But just then, his eyes fell on Stefan, who was standing slightly apart from the group, his face tight as he breathed in the scent of fresh blood permeating the air. “Are you alright, my friend?”

Stefan clenched his jaw, trying to keep control, but managed to give a strained smile. “Yes, just... enjoying the smell of blood.”

Leonard paced the dimly lit reception room of his home, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He had let the Mystic Falls gang and the twins stay in his town house in the city. He liked to frequent New Orleans although the last time he was here was in the 60s. He compelled and paid a housekeeper to look after it and keep it in good condition which paid off for him although he was far from fortunate at this point. The encounter with Klaus had left him with more questions than answers, and the looming threat of death hung over him like a dark cloud. Klaus had made it painfully clear: if Leonard didn’t find Caroline alive, both he and Isla were doomed. But something nagged at him—the question of why Isla had intervened, saving him from the hybrid venom.

The sound of soft footsteps broke his thoughts. Isla strolled into the room, still rubbing her eyes from having slept through the day. As a vampire without a daylight ring, it was her only option. Her presence, as always, was immediately felt. “Ah, look who's brooding again,” she teased, a smirk tugging at her lips. “What's the matter? Running out of dark corners to sulk in?”

Leonard shot her a look, his irritation evident. Isla had spent the entire trip from Mystic Falls to New Orleans annoying the hell out of him, with her sarcastic jabs and playful attitude. And as much as he wanted to ignore her, he couldn’t shake the question that had been gnawing at him.

“You know why I’m brooding,” Leonard grumbled. “I’ve got no idea where Caroline is, and I’ve got Klaus breathing down my neck. If I don’t find her, we’re both dead—hell, Isaac will probably be dragged down with us too.”

Isla rolled her eyes, casually leaning against the doorframe before throwing Leonard a snickers bar which hit Leonard in the side falling on the floor and causing Leonard to look at Isla like she killed his goldfish. “Oh, lighten up. Have a snickers bar.”

Leonard stopped pacing, staring at her. He couldn't hold it back any longer. “Why?”

Isla raised an eyebrow and answered in the brattiest tone she could muster. “Why what?”

“Why did you save my life?” Leonard asked, his voice quiet but insistent. “Klaus bit me—his hybrid venom would’ve killed me. But you stepped in, even though you could’ve let it happen. Why?”

Isla’s smirk widened, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, I told you to use chocolate as a weapon—y’know, since Klaus is half-wolf and all. But you didn’t, so hey, someone had to bail your ass out.”

Leonard clenched his jaw, not amused. “Be serious, Isla.”

She sighed, her expression softening slightly. “I am serious, in my own way. But if you really want an answer... maybe I didn’t feel like watching you die today. Doesn’t mean I won’t change my mind tomorrow though.” She winked, adding her usual sarcasm.

Leonard narrowed his eyes, still unconvinced. “You realise that if we don’t find Caroline, it’s not just me that’s screwed, right? Klaus will kill all of us. Painfully.”

Isla rolled her eyes again, walking further into the room. “Well, thank you for the cheerful reminder. It’s not like I need another reason to want to find Caroline. But seriously, you’ve been alive for 684 years and you’ve got no clues at all?”

Leonard ran a hand over his face, the weight of centuries on his shoulders. “No. I don’t. Not a damn clue.”

Isla let out a dramatic sigh, flopping onto a nearby couch. “Well, that’s just fantastic. So you are telling me that we are just running on dumb luck and charm.” She glanced at him with a grin. “At least I’ve got one of those covered.”

Leonard, despite himself, let out a small, grudging chuckle. He couldn’t help but appreciate Isla’s spirit—even if it was maddening at times. But still, the question remained unanswered in his mind: why had she saved him?

Isla stretched lazily, her tone shifting slightly as she met his gaze. “Look, blonde boy, I know we don’t exactly have a warm-and-fuzzy dynamic. But we're in this shit pile together. So let’s just focus on finding my sire and getting out of here in one piece.”

Leonard nodded, though the question still lingered in the back of his mind. Maybe he’d never get a straight answer from Isla. But for now, they had bigger problems to worry about.

“Yeah,” Leonard muttered, glancing out the window. “Let’s find Caroline.”

“Attaboy,” Isla said, flashing him a grin. “Now, what’s the plan?”

Leonard let out a sigh. “I still don’t have one.”

Isla groaned dramatically, throwing her hands in the air. “Unbelievable. You have been on this earth for 684 years, Leonard! For God’s sake, think of something!”

Leonard shot her a glare, but he couldn’t help but crack a small smile.

As Caroline walked back to her quarters, her mind drifted over the dinner. It had been... fine. Nothing useful was revealed, just more talk of "great leaps" and a "new phase" that felt like a vague promise of something ominous. She had smiled when appropriate, nodded when expected, but didn’t really care to involve herself in the social games being played.

Aurora, Adara, Vasil, Aya, Tristan—they were all tangled up in their power dynamics, whispering in their little circles. Caroline made some light conversation with Aurora and even managed to exchange a few words with Adara. But despite the cordial façade, Caroline didn’t feel the need to force herself into their group. She didn’t like any of these people, and she certainly didn’t need their approval.

Still, there was something about Adara that tugged at her—a memory of who she used to be. The way Adara fawned over Aurora, complimenting her on her dress, obedient to every command, reminded Caroline too much of her former human self. Adara was trying so hard, sucking up to Aurora in the hopes of gaining favour, and it made Caroline pity her.

Naveeda had mentioned that Adara used to be a human servant and had clawed her way up the ranks to become indispensable to Aurora. Caroline could see it. Adara had built herself into someone who mattered in this place, someone with power—however fleeting it might be. She couldn’t help but feel bad for Adara... just as she felt bad for Bonnie, Matt, her mom, Elena, Stefan—everyone who had been on the receiving end of her own self-obsessed, insecure behaviour back when she was human.

“I’m a terrible, awful person,” she had once told Matt. And she had meant it. But she had also meant it when she said, “I’m working on it.”

As she reached her quarters, Caroline turned the doorknob and flicked the light on.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Genevieve was waiting for her, leaning against the wall, her red hair aglow in the flickering light of a nearby candle. Caroline's eyes darted to the shelf where she noticed sage burning. Her stomach twisted—privacy spell. Caroline knew she was outmatched.

“Hello Caroline”, Genevieve’s voice was cool, but the underlying tension was undeniable.

"Do all villains wait in the dark like that? It’s getting pretty overdone," Caroline quipped, her sarcasm a thin mask for her nerves.

Genevieve’s lips curled into a smile. "You look beautiful. How did you manage to put such a stunning outfit together in such a short amount of time?"

Caroline crossed her arms. "So, you set up a privacy spell just to get fashion advice?" she fired back, eyebrow raised.

Genevieve cocked her head, seeming genuinely surprised for a moment. "Fine," she replied.

Caroline sighed, kicked off her heels, and leaned against the wall, waiting for the real reason behind this encounter.

Genevieve moved with graceful precision, shuffling a deck of tarot cards as the air shifting around her. The table and chairs moved into place, forming a neat arrangement between them.

"Sit," Genevieve instructed, her voice smooth but commanding. Caroline felt a sense of déjà vu as she complied, sensing she had little choice.

"You've been here a long time, haven’t you?" Caroline observed, trying to stall.

Genevieve nodded.

"Long enough to hone my skills—especially in Divination," Genevieve answered, shuffling her cards methodically.

Caroline tried to sound unfazed. "Divination… and what? You’re going to try another reading?"

Genevieve locked eyes with her. "This one will be... more accurate." She pulled out a switchblade and reached for Caroline’s hand.

Caroline recoiled slightly, tension flaring between them. "I already got your little reading at the dinner. No need to do it again."

"For someone so observant," Genevieve said with a glint of amusement, referencing the sage Caroline had noticed earlier, "do you really think you have a choice?"

With one swift movement, Genevieve reached forward and cut Caroline's hand. The pain shot through Caroline, and she hissed in response, the sharpness of it catching her off guard. Genevieve collected the blood as it dripped onto the deck of cards. The blood sizzled on the deck of cards and then moved into a line of eight distinct circles. The room suddenly filled with an unnatural wind, the flickering lights casting shadows across the walls. Caroline's spine tingled with dread.

Genevieve shuffled the cards in the blood-stained deck and split them into eight piles and placed them on the eight circles of blood. She murmured an incantation, her voice low and ancient.

"Écoute les âmes, révèle les vérités, que les cartes dévoilent ce que le destin a tissé," Genevieve chanted, her eyes rolling back as an eerie white fire consumed the blood.

One card remained face down, untouched by the flame.

"Turn them," Genevieve commanded.

Caroline hesitated but eventually flipped the cards. One by one, they revealed themselves: The Tower, Death, The Hanged Man, The Star, The Chariot, Nine of Swords, Ten of Swords, and The Empress.

Caroline stared at them, unphased but unsettled. Tarot had always seemed like a cheap trick to her, a money grab. But the way Genevieve’s cloudy eyes returned to their sharp blue, the sinister grin playing on her lips, made Caroline rethink.

"Nice lightshow," Caroline remarked, leaning back in her chair. "All that fire and blood just to manipulate a deck of cards?"

Genevieve raised an eyebrow. "You’re awfully confident for someone who should have gotten this." She held up the Seven of Swords.

"So, what? You’re saying you saved me today?" Caroline shot back, feigning indifference and scepticism.

"A 'thank you' would be nice."

Caroline’s patience snapped. "Why are you here?"

Genevieve's smile faded, her tone turning cold. "I did the same reading earlier. The exact same cards were shown. In my very long time here I have not seen anyone cause such a shift, until now. What is so special about you?"

"Nothing," Caroline replied flatly. "I'm just a normal vampire."

Genevieve laughed, the sound sharp as glass. "There’s nothing normal about you. What are you planning?"

"I’m not planning anything," Caroline insisted, her voice strained with the effort to remain calm.

Genevieve leaned forward, grabbing Caroline's temples. Her eyes clouded over again as she forcefully entered Caroline’s mind. But Caroline resisted. She fought back, vampire-speeding away from Genevieve’s grasp, gasping for air. But not before Genevieve saw flashes—dripping pipes, the vervain pool, the golden flowers, the boy.

"Where did you get Elderglow Fern?" Genevieve demanded, her face pale and angry.

"Leave me alone," Caroline hissed, her voice trembling with defiance.

Genevieve stepped closer, eyes narrowed. "I’ve been trapped here for almost a century. Stuck serving monsters and catering to their every whim. You will be leaving and you’re taking me with you. And you’ll do what I say, or I’ll out you to the Strix."

"No," Caroline replied, her voice firm despite the threat.

"Excuse me?"

"No thank you."

"You don’t have a choice."

Caroline squared her shoulders. "When I first turned into a vampire, I was murdered by this older vampire who forced me to spy on my friends, report to her, and do whatever she said. If I didn’t, she would kill my boyfriend and everyone I cared about. My best friend realised what I was doing, and at first, she was angry. But she understood why I did it. I was terrified—so was she. But you know what she did? She didn’t back down. My best friend didn’t care who she was up against, no matter how old or powerful they were. She protected the people she cared about. But I won’t be manipulated or bullied by you or anyone else. So no thank you. I am done being pushed around."

Genevieve’s anger flared, and she unleashed a pain-inducing spell. Caroline screamed as blood dripped from her eyes, nose, and mouth, her body wracked with agony.

"That was sweet," Genevieve sneered. "Let’s get back to the part where you do exactly what I say."

Through gritted teeth, Caroline whispered, "Not gonna happen."

“All I have to do is show this reading to the Strix and that’s it.” She warned, her face twisting in anger.

“If you do that, they are going to wonder why you didn’t flag it sooner and whether they really need such an incompetent witch serving in their coven. And poof. That’s it for you too.” Caroline

“I can cover my tracks.” The witch replied confidently.

“How are you going to cover up your ‘mistake’ at the dinner party?” Caroline sneered, a cold pained chuckle leaving Caroline’s body causing Genevieve’s face to shift to cold fury.

The pain intensified, and Caroline’s vision darkened. She knew she was on the brink of death. She was terrified but she refused to back down.

Not now.

“Last chance, Caroline. You will obey or I will burn you alive.” Genevieve said, before chanting someone indistinguishable to Caroline’s ears before a burning jolt coursed through her bloodstream. Caroline began to sweat profusely as her veins began to glow and she felt an unnatural heat begin to rise.

“Not…Gonna…Happen” Caroline screamed in anguish, her voice pained but fuelled with a final desperation.

Genevieve faltered, her own confidence shaken, seeing that Caroline wasn’t backing down. Any more magic would kill Caroline, especially with how young a vampire she is.

She was boxed in.

With a flick of her hand, Genevieve released her hold on the spell, stepping back, mind racing trying to reclaim the situation.

Caroline gasped for air, her strength returning.

“Whatever it is you think you’ve done, you haven’t. You-”

"I’ve done something," Caroline said, her voice raw but strong. "You may have magic, but I’m calling the shots. This is my plan. My escape. Not yours. Mine”

Genevieve glared at her, but she could sense the shift in power.

"Now get out," Caroline commanded.

With a final glance of anger and frustration, Genevieve turned and left the room. Caroline took a shaky breath, clearing her face from the blood and mess and changed into a new set of sleeping clothes. Before she gathered the tarot cards, the sage spell remnants and her now bloodied dress  and made her way up to the kitchens. She tossed them into the kitchen’s fire before heading back downstairs.

Collapsing into her bed, Caroline let exhaustion take her. Tomorrow would bring new battles.

Sheriff Forbes pushed open the heavy wooden doors of St. Anne’s Church, the air inside cool and filled with the faint scent of incense. The light from the stained-glass windows cast colorful patterns on the stone floor as she stepped further in, her footsteps echoing in the large, empty space. At the altar, a lone figure stood—Father Kieran O'Connell.

He was an imposing man, his black cassock blending with the shadows, save for the white collar that stood out starkly against his skin. His expression was one of deep contemplation, the weight of past sins and dark secrets etched into the lines of his face. He looked up as the sheriff approached, his sharp blue eyes appraising her, his demeanour wary.

"Father Kieran?" Sheriff Forbes said, her voice firm but respectful as she came to a stop a few feet away from him. She extended a hand. "I’m Liz Forbes, Sheriff of Mystic Falls."

Father Kieran hesitated for a moment before taking her hand in a firm grip. His eyes lingered on her, as if trying to read the unspoken reasons behind her visit. "Sheriff Forbes," he said, his voice gravelly but calm. "I’ve heard of Mystic Falls. A place with its own... troubles, I’m told. What brings you to New Orleans?"

Liz took a breath, feeling the weight of her purpose here. "I’m looking for my daughter," she said, her voice betraying the concern she tried to keep hidden. "Her name is Caroline. She’s... well, she’s a vampire."

Father Kieran’s expression shifted, his mouth tightening into a thin line. He turned away from her, his back now to the sheriff as he focused on the altar in front of him. "Vampires," he muttered under his breath, a note of disdain creeping into his voice. "Of course, it’s the Vampires”.

Liz stepped closer, determined not to be dismissed so easily. "I’ve heard about you, Father. You’re a man who understands what’s really going on here in New Orleans. The vampires, the witches—you know about all of it. I don’t know where to start, but all roads are leading to this city right now. I need your help to find Caroline. She’s not like the others. She doesn’t hurt innocent people."

Father Kieran let out a scoff, shaking his head. He turned to face her again, his expression hardened. "Your daughter’s a vampire, Sheriff. I don’t care how innocent you think she is—she’s a creature of the night, just like the rest of them."

Liz clenched her fists, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "She’s my daughter!" she insisted, her voice rising. "She didn’t choose this life. But she’s done everything she can to keep people safe. She’s not a monster."

Father Kieran’s eyes darkened with a bitterness that spoke of long-buried pain. "That’s what they all say, at first," he said, his voice low. "I’ve dealt with supernaturals for years. You think I don’t know what they’re capable of? I’ve seen the bodies, Sheriff. I’ve buried them. And I’ve seen the ones left behind to pick up the pieces."

The sheriff stood her ground, her gaze unwavering. "I’m not asking for your sympathy, Father. I’m asking for your help. Caroline has gone missing, and I don’t know who else to turn to."

Father Kieran crossed his arms over his chest, clearly torn between the knowledge he possessed and the boundaries he had set for himself. "I’m not involved in the supernatural anymore," he said, his tone cold. "I’ve made my peace with that world—or as much peace as a man like me can. I’ve dealt with Marcel, the witches, and the vampires for the sake of the humans in this city. But that time is over. I’m done with it."

Liz’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of anger crossing her face. "You’re the leader of a group that’s supposed to protect humans from the supernatural. You made deals with Marcel. You’ve taken vervain, so you know what’s out there. And yet you’re just going to stand there and what. Wash your hands clean."

Father Kieran’s expression softened slightly, as if some part of him understood the desperation in her voice. But he shook his head, his resolve unshaken as he looked to the side at the very spot his nephew slit his own throat. "My hands are far from clean Sheriff. I did what I had to do to keep this city from falling apart. Marcel keeps the vampires in line. The witches are under control. That’s the deal. The humans here stay safe, as long as they stay out of the supernatural’s business. I’m not breaking that deal. Not for you, not for anyone."

Liz took a step forward, her voice low and firm. "I’m not asking you to break any deals. I’m asking for information. I am asking you to point me in the right direction. Please she’s not the enemy."

Father Kieran sighed deeply, running a hand over his tired face. He looked at the sheriff, his expression weary and resigned. "I’m sorry, Sheriff," he said quietly. "But I can’t help you. This isn’t my fight anymore. And it’s not yours, either. Go back to Mystic Falls, and leave New Orleans to its own mess."

He turned away from her again, as if the conversation was over. Sheriff Forbes stood there for a moment, her heart sinking as the weight of his rejection settled over her. She opened her mouth to argue, but she knew it would do no good. Father Kieran had made up his mind.

"I hope you can live with the consequences of that decision," she said quietly, turning on her heel and walking toward the exit. "Because I won’t stop until I find her. Deals be damned I will find my daughter."

As the church doors closed behind her, Father Kieran remained still, his face etched with the memories of past battles and sacrifices. He had distanced himself from the darkness that had once consumed him, but the sheriff’s words lingered in the quiet air, stirring something deep inside him—something he had tried to bury long ago. Father Kieran took out his phone and looked at it with a conflicted look on his face before dialling a number and making his way to a backroom of the church.

The library of Leonard's mansion was dimly lit, the heavy drapes drawn against the fading sunlight, casting long shadows across the room. Rows of ancient tomes and dusty volumes filled the towering bookshelves, lending the space a weighty, almost oppressive atmosphere. The only sounds were the soft flipping of pages and the occasional frustrated sigh. At the large oak table in the centre, Elena, Jeremy, Isaac, Isla, and Leonard sat, surrounded by piles of books and scattered notes, all focused on their increasingly fruitless research into the mysterious plant Caroline had identified.

The frustration in the room was palpable. They had been at it for hours, combing through every text Leonard’s impressive library had to offer, but nothing seemed to connect to the plant in question. The silence was broken only by the faint creak of a chair or the dull thud of a book being set down in defeat.

At his own insistence, Matt had already returned to Mystic Falls, his patience with the supernatural long since worn thin. “I’m done with this vampire stuff,” he had declared before leaving, his tone final. With Matt gone, the group had little choice but to carry on without him, hoping that somewhere in the dusty volumes they would find answers.

Jeremy leaned back in his chair, tossing a book onto the table with a frustrated sigh. “I’ve been trying to reach Bonnie for hours,” he said, his voice edged with worry. “But I can’t seem to get through to her on the Other Side. It’s like... she’s not even there.”

Elena frowned, concern creasing her features. “Keep trying, Jer. We need her help. There has to be something we’re missing about this plant.”

Isaac glanced over at his sister, Isla, who was half-heartedly flipping through another book. Her attention, however, kept drifting to Leonard, who had been in and out of the library all afternoon, pacing around with his phone glued to his ear. The constant phone calls and his distracted behaviour hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Again with the phone calls?” Isla teased, raising an eyebrow as Leonard muttered something into the receiver, his back to them. “You know, Leonard, you’re supposed to be helping us research, not... whatever it is you’re doing.”

Leonard ended his call and turned around, rolling his eyes but unable to suppress a grin. “I am helping. Multitasking, Isla. Ever heard of it?”

Isla shot him a playful glare. “Uh-huh. Sure, multitasking. That’s what we’re calling it now.”

Jeremy smirked, shaking his head at their back-and-forth.

Isaac chuckled softly, unable to resist a little jab of his own. “Come on, man. You’re just avoiding the research because you’re just as lost as we are.”

Leonard sighed dramatically as he flopped down into a chair at the table. “All right, fine. What brilliant ideas have we come up with in my absence?”

“Nothing,” Isla muttered, tossing her own book aside. “This is going nowhere.”

Elena sighed and pushed her chair back, standing up to stretch. "Caroline’s good at research. But..." Her voice trailed off, and a shadow passed over her face as she looked down at the table, lost in thought.

Isaac noticed the shift in her demeanour and spoke up gently. "You’re worried about her."

Elena nodded, her expression softening as she leaned against the edge of the table. "Yeah, I am. Caroline’s... she’s strong, but it’s not just about her physical strength. She’s better as a vampire than any of us were. When I first became a vampire, I struggled with control—especially with bloodlust. But Caroline, she had a handle on it so quickly. Sometimes I wonder how she does it, how she can keep it all together when I couldn’t."

There was a moment of quiet in the room, the weight of Elena’s words hanging in the air. Isla glanced at her, but for once, refrained from making a joke or a sarcastic jab.

Elena took a deep breath and continued, her voice quieter now. "Caroline and I... we’ve had our ups and downs. We’ve been friends since we were kids, but when we were human, things weren’t always easy. Caroline was... insecure. She used to get jealous of me, and I never understood why back then. I guess I took it for granted. When she became a vampire, it was like those insecurities just disappeared. She became confident, stronger. Our friendship got better—at first."

Isaac and Isla exchanged glances, both intrigued by Caroline’s past self.

"But then," Elena continued, her eyes downcast, "when I turned, everything changed again. I broke up with Stefan, and I started dating Damon, and Caroline hated it. She never liked Damon—always thought Stefan was the better brother. We argued, a lot, and things got worse when I turned my humanity off. I almost killed her mom, Liz, during that time. I even tried to stake Caroline once..." Elena’s voice faltered, the guilt evident.

Jeremy reached out and touched her arm. "But that’s all in the past now."

Elena nodded, offering him a faint smile. "Yeah. Somehow, we managed to get through all of that. We’re best friends again, and it feels like we’re even closer now than we were before. But... there’s still that part of me that’s jealous. Caroline has this control over her bloodlust that I never had. She makes being a vampire seem easy, and it’s not. Not for me, not for any of us. But for her, it just... works."

Leonard, who had been quiet for the past few minutes, stood up abruptly. "I’m going out," he said, brushing off the dust from his jacket.

Isla groaned and flipped her hand up abruptly, "How come you get to go out?”

Leonard flashed her a crooked smile. "Because I am the one with the daylight ring."

As the door closed behind him, the group was left in silence, the frustration of their lack of progress weighing heavily on them. Isaac flipped through another book with a sigh. "So, what do we do now? We’re not getting anywhere."

Jeremy leaned back, shaking his head. "I don’t know, man. I don’t know."

At around 2 hours before dawn, Caroline was stirred from a restless sleep by the soft but urgent touch of a hand on her shoulder. She blinked her eyes open, finding Naveeda standing over her, her face calm but edged with concern. Two other human servants hovered behind her, their expressions equally uneasy.

"Rise and shine, Lady Caroline," Naveeda said softly, though her voice carried a hint of urgency. "It’s time to prepare."

Caroline groaned softly as she sat up, her muscles stiff from the night’s rest. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she glanced around the dim room, disoriented. "What time is it?" she mumbled, her voice thick with grogginess.

"It’s just two hours before dawn," Naveeda replied, her tone respectful but hurried. "Lady Aurora is away and will not require breakfast. However, she has requested your presence for dinner tonight."

Caroline felt a knot of unease tighten in her chest at the mention of another dinner. Memories of the previous night’s gathering flickered through her mind—five vampire corpses being dragged out as a grim reminder of how dangerous these affairs could be. She shuddered slightly, forcing herself to focus.

"Dinner?" she asked, hesitating. "Is it like the last one? A... group event?"

Naveeda’s brow furrowed, her eyes flickering with concern. "No, my lady. It seems Lady Aurora requires your sole attendance this time."

Caroline’s breath caught slightly, though she quickly tried to suppress the anxiety bubbling up. She had barely survived the tension of the last gathering, where bloodshed had seemed as casual as drinking wine. The idea of being alone with Aurora at another meal was unnerving, but she straightened her shoulders, unwilling to show fear.

"How did the last dinner go?"

"It went okay, I suppose," Caroline said with a brittle smile, recalling the chaos of the previous evening and the fight with Genevieve. Her mind was racing with thoughts of how to navigate this new situation, but there was something else tugging at her memory—something important. The grand ball.

"Naveeda," Caroline began, a note of curiosity in her voice, "I could use your help with something. What can you tell me about the masquerade ball Aurora mentioned?"

Naveeda’s eyes lit up at the mention of the ball, and she moved to the edge of the bed, her face eager to share. "Ah, the masquerade. It’s an annual event, a highlight of the year for the Strix. But this year is different—it's the 900th anniversary of the Strix’s founding. No expense will be spared for this occasion."

Caroline raised an eyebrow. "How many guests are we talking about?"

"Normally, we host around a hundred or so vampires," Naveeda replied, her tone shifting to something more serious. "But this year, the guest list exceeds three hundred vampires. The ball is of immense importance—it’s not just a social gathering. It reaffirms the authority of the Strix leadership over the various factions within the organisation."

"Factions?" Caroline echoed, clearly confused. "What factions?"

Naveeda looked at Caroline oddly before realising Caroline was unfamiliar with the complex political structure of the Strix and began explaining. "The Strix is divided into several factions that each serve different roles. There are the Knights, the main fighting force; the Guard, which functions like military police and secret service; the Sisters, the coven of witches that serves the strix; the Wardens, responsible for the administration and upkeep of Mahal Khafa; and the High Council, which leads the Strix. This ball is more than just a party—it’s a display of power for Tristan."

Caroline’s mind raced as she processed the information. She had planned countless events in Mystic Falls—dances, parties, and even life-or-death vampire games—but nothing like this. The stakes were much higher here, with centuries-old vampires and power dynamics she barely understood. The pressure of organising a flawless event with over three hundred guests loomed large.

"So, the Wardens handle the administration?" Caroline asked, already planning her next move. "Are they the ones who can help me with the logistics?"

"Yes, the Wardens are your best bet for managing the details of the ball," Naveeda confirmed. "But unfortunately, they won’t be available until after sunrise—around two hours after, to be exact."

Caroline sighed, a mixture of frustration and determination settling over her. Thirteen days to plan an event for three hundred powerful vampires in a foreign dimension was a daunting task, but if anyone could pull it off, it was her.

"Okay, so we'll start with the Wardens as soon as they’re available. Have the invitations been sent out already?" Caroline asked, mentally ticking off things she would need to get done.

"Thankfully, yes," Naveeda replied, her expression growing more serious. "The invitations have been sent. But there’s still much to do—decorations, entertainment, seating arrangements, security..."

Caroline could feel the weight of the task pressing down on her, but she straightened her spine, refusing to let it overwhelm her. She had always been good at organizing under pressure, and this time would be no different.

"I’ll need pens, pencils, notepads, and access to the library," Caroline said, her mind already racing with plans. "We need to map out the entire event, down to the smallest detail. And if you three don’t have any other duties today, I could really use your help."

Naveeda gave a small, respectful bow. "I have no other duties, my lady. I will be at your side to assist in any way I can. We all have been assigned to you." The two other human servants, a young man and a young woman looked shocked and nodded at Caroline’s question.

Caroline took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts before giving a Miss Mystic Falls’ winning smile and replying. "Good. Because we’re going to need all the help we can get to pull this off."

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the dense woods in northern Louisiana. Tyler Lockwood walked at the head of his pack, his jaw clenched and his senses sharp. The mid-afternoon heat pressed down on them, but the humidity did little to ease the tension bubbling beneath the surface. The pack moved quietly, their steps careful and deliberate as they made their way deeper into the woods.

Behind him, Jessica, one of his trusted pack members, walked with her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Her cousin had gone missing two weeks ago—without a trace—and the rumors of wolves disappearing all over the globe were starting to feel too real. Tyler could sense Jessica’s growing unease, even as she tried to hide it. She hadn’t said much since they’d left, but the grim look on her face said enough.

"The last place her cousin was spotted should be just ahead," Tyler said, glancing back at the group. His voice was low, but it carried through the trees. "Stay close. We don’t know what we’ll find."

They pressed on for another mile, weaving through thick underbrush, until they finally stumbled upon an abandoned campsite. The area was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that set Tyler on edge immediately. The campsite itself was a mess—tents collapsed, campfires long cold, and personal belongings scattered haphazardly around as if the occupants had left in a hurry. But there were no signs of life.

Tyler came to a halt, his eyes scanning the surroundings carefully. "Spread out," he ordered, his voice firm. "Search the area for any clues. Be thorough, and keep your guard up."

The pack nodded in unison and quickly dispersed into smaller groups. The mood was grim as they combed through the remnants of the camp, looking for anything that could explain the sudden disappearance. Tyler stayed back, his mind racing as he considered the possibilities. The rumours of wolves disappearing weren’t just isolated incidents anymore—it was happening everywhere, and this camp felt like another piece of the same disturbing puzzle. Hayley had come and warned that there was a war between sirelines but that is to do with vampires, not werewolves.

As the others searched, Tyler pulled out his phone, his fingers trembling slightly as he dialled Bonnie’s number. They needed answers, and a locator spell was the only thing that made sense at this point. He held the phone to his ear, waiting impatiently for her to pick up.

"Come on, Bonnie..." he muttered under his breath. The line clicked, but to his surprise, it wasn’t Bonnie who answered.

"Hey, Tyler," came Jeremy’s voice on the other end, sounding a little tired.

Tyler frowned, his confusion quickly turning to irritation. "Jeremy? Why are you answering Bonnie’s phone?"

Jeremy sighed, and Tyler could almost hear the weight of whatever was going on through the speaker. "It’s... complicated, Tyler. Hold on."

"Complicated? What’s going on?" Tyler’s voice sharpened with worry as he paced the edge of the camp. There was a brief shuffle on the other end of the line before a familiar voice came through.

"Tyler, it’s Elena," she said, her tone quiet but serious.

"Elena?" Tyler’s anxiety spiked, and he stopped pacing, gripping the phone tighter. "What the hell is going on? Why isn’t Bonnie answering? Is Care there? Tell me what’s happening."

There was a pause on the other end, and Tyler could practically feel Elena hesitating. That only made him angrier. 

"Tyler, listen," Elena began, trying to keep her voice steady, but it wavered just enough to send a chill down his spine, it sounded defeated. "We need to talk. In person. I can’t... I can’t explain it over the phone."

Tyler’s stomach twisted into knots. "Why not? What’s going on? You’re scaring me, Elena. Just tell me!"

"Tyler, I—" she stopped herself, her breath audible over the line. "Where are you right now?"

"I’m in Louisiana," he said, his heart pounding. "North Lousiana. Wolf packs have been disappearing all over the US. Why? What does this have to do with anything?"

"Can we meet in Baton Rouge?" Elena asked, urgency creeping into her voice. "I’ll explain everything there."

Tyler gritted his teeth, his frustration building. "Baton Rouge? I can’t just drop everything and go to meet in Baton Rouge. Elena, just tell me now!"

"I’m sorry, Tyler," Elena said softly. "We’ll meet in Baton Rouge in twelve hours. I’ll come up with a place, and we can talk then."

Tyler was silent for a moment, the pit of dread in his stomach deepening. Whatever this was, it was bad—he could feel it. "Fine," he muttered, his voice strained.

"I’ll see you soon."

Tyler hung up the phone, his mind buzzing with unanswered questions and a rising sense of urgency. He turned to look at his pack, who were still combing through the abandoned camp, unaware of the conversation he’d just had.

Jessica approached him, her expression hopeful. "Any luck with your witch friend?"

Tyler shook his head, trying to hide the fear gnawing at him. "No, but I’m meeting Elena in Baton Rouge in twelve hours. Something’s going on, but she won’t tell me over the phone."

Jessica’s face fell slightly. "Twelve hours? That’s a long time, Tyler. What if something’s happening to the rest of the pack while we’re out here?"

Tyler exhaled slowly, glancing around the eerie, desolate campsite. "We can’t leave without looking for more clues. But we need to be smart about this. We’ll leave in six hours for Baton Rouge. Until then, we prepare." He turned to address the rest of the pack, his voice carrying authority and focus. "We’ll divide into three groups. A third of you will keep watch around the perimeter of the camp. Another third will search for more clues—anything that might tell us what happened here. The remaining third group will rest for a couple of hours. Then we cycle every two hours. We are going to meet with a few friends of mine who may be able to shine light on what’s going on. We leave for Baton Rouge in six hours."

The pack nodded, though the unease in the air was thick. They trusted Tyler, and that trust kept them moving, even through the tension and fear of what was happening to wolves all over the world.

As the pack split up and began their tasks, Tyler’s mind couldn’t stop racing. The abandoned camp, the missing wolves, and now whatever cryptic news Elena had for him—it all felt connected somehow. He couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out, and the weight of what was coming settled heavily on his shoulders.

The trip to Baton Rouge will take approximately four hours, that will give two hours to meet Elena and find out what’s going on. He could only hope that whatever he was about to learn wouldn’t tear his world apart even more than it already had.

The grand library of Mahal Khafa was eerily quiet, save for the faint rustle of papers and the scratch of a pen moving across parchment. Caroline Forbes sat at the large oak table, surrounded by piles of books and blueprints, each detail meticulously noted and categorised. She had been working since just before sunrise, pushing herself to stay focused and composed. The hours had ticked by, her mind laser-focused on the overwhelming task of organising the Strix's 900th-anniversary ball. Her attention to detail was a lifeline, not just for the ball, but for her survival—and hopefully, her escape.

The meeting with the Wardens at noon had been gruelling. They were thorough, demanding detailed explanations for every item she had requested, every decision she had made. Caroline had asked for a larger budget, materials, talent from the outside world—things she needed to craft a flawless event. The Wardens, while begrudgingly cooperative, had set strict conditions: a week’s notice and justification for each demand. They had also given her the blueprints to the castle, an invaluable tool, though they made it clear they expected her plans for the ball by the following day.

Caroline ran a hand through her blonde hair, feeling the weight of the tasks at hand as the red sun began. She was proud of what she had accomplished so far—she always had a knack for planning, a skill that had been honed through years of organising high school dances, charity events, and, of course, Miss Mystic Falls. But this was on a completely different scale. The Strix wasn’t a local event—this was an ancient vampire society, where one misstep could have deadly consequences.

Caroline glanced at the blueprints again, her fingers tracing the intricate lines of the castle’s design and the sheer size of it. The ball was a massive undertaking, but what concerned her more was how to use this knowledge for an escape. She had managed to order the steps in her head, her OCD working to her advantage as she created mental lists, contingency plans and focusing on every single detail. It was exhausting, but it kept her sharp. Every detail mattered, from the placement of the decorations to the logistics of catering to over 300 vampires. And beyond that—How did people come and go from this dimension to begin with?

She needed to know.

Caroline had also learned as many people’s names and the responsibilities they held. Her assigned human servants: Naveeda, Isabella, and Abidemi had been helpful, but she couldn't entirely trust them. She asked them questions and tried to build rapour but it was difficult. She needed allies. She heard a quote, “Trusting nobody is just as dangerous as trusting everyone.” But she couldn’t just tell them about the escape. Not yet. She would have to test their loyalty. Could they be bought? Could they be allies? Or were they loyal to Aurora, reporting everything back to her? For now, Caroline played the role of the diligent organiser, but she knew she was balancing on a knife's edge.

For a brief 30 minutes, Caroline had managed to slip away from them, leaving the pretense of needing to use the bathroom. She had found her way back to the boy in the cell. She had brought him some more food, offering a small act of kindness in a place filled with so much darkness. He hadn’t spoken or moved toward her, still huddled in the corner, but she had seen something different in his eyes today—less fear, maybe even a sliver of trust. That, too, had been part of her plan. Gaining trust so she can get that kid out of there without too much fuss and get him somewhere safe away from all of this.

Returning to the library, she dove back into her work, studying books on civil engineering, structural damage, and the intricacies of water systems. It wasn’t just the ball she was planning—it was her way out. The blueprints had shown her the castle’s hidden passages, its underground chambers, and the vulnerable points in the structure. If she could get more detailed maps of the surrounding grounds, she might be able to formulate a real escape plan. The problem was time, and the constant scrutiny she was under. She couldn't make any moves too soon. Everything had to be perfect.

Her meticulous nature, born from her obsessive-compulsive tendencies, was both a blessing and a curse. But right now, it was her greatest strength. Every detail had to be accounted for, every contingency planned for. There was no room for error. Without her prior experience and ‘education’ of living in Mystic Falls as a supernatural being, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle the complexity of the situation.

Well... as well as she had been doing anyway.

As she worked, her thoughts drifted to the dinner with Aurora tonight. It was scheduled for three hours after sundown, and she couldn’t afford to be late or unprepared. But there was still so much to do. She had a plan for the ball in her head, a rough outline that she had refined over hours of work. The Wardens demanded a fully detailed plan by tomorrow, and she was determined to give it to them. But more than that, she needed to test the loyalty of those around her. Genevieve, one of the Strix’s witches, was a particular concern. Was she truly willing to escape? Or was she loyal to Aurora?, manipulating the Tarot and helping Aurora toy with her for Aurora’s amusement? She didn’t know.

She glanced at Naveeda, Isabella, and Abidemi, who were quietly working at a nearby table, organising and completing their own assigned tasks. They were diligent and followed her orders without question, but Caroline wasn’t naïve. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down. She would have to observe them closely, test their loyalty in small ways, and see how they responded. If they were spies for Aurora, she’d know soon enough and act accordingly.

Caroline flipped through the book in front of her, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts, plans, and possibilities. The task in front of her was monumental, but if there was one thing she excelled at, it was keeping control—control over the situation, control over herself, and control over the outcome.

For now, she had to stay focused on the ball. Everything had to be flawless. But in the back of her mind, the real plan—the one for escape—was always ticking away, waiting for the right moment. She would find a way out of this, but only when the time was right. And when that time came, Caroline Forbes would be ready.

Sheriff Forbes sat alone in Rousseau’s, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her half-empty glass of bourbon as she leafed through a stack of police reports from Rosewood Springs. The reports were scattered across the small table, cluttering the dim booth where she had settled herself to work. Her eyes darted across the photos and files, picking apart the mundane details while searching for any hint of something supernatural. But nothing was standing out—no strange symbols, no mysterious disappearances, except for the three telltale signs: the burned symbol found on a tree, a corpse of a vampire and the massacre that took place at presumably the last place Caroline was at .

She exhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the photo of the body that had been dug up in the woods. The black veins boldly apparent on dead man’s pale skin, and the blood permeating from the eyes, nose, mouth was undoubtedly vampiric. The fangs were still visible poking out of the mouth and the corpse looked burned and still in pain. The vampire couldn’t have been much older than Caroline. The next folder of photos showed the massacre at the clearing: the dismembered and mutilated corpses of vampires who were killed in creative and violent ways. Her gut twisted with fear and dread as she studied the images. She wasn’t just a mother desperate to find her missing daughter. She was a sheriff, and Caroline’s disappearance had her spiralling into a whirlwind of terrifying possibilities.

But Sheriff Forbes wasn’t one to allow emotions to cloud her judgment. She had to stay sharp, no matter how much the fear gnawed at her insides. Being upset wasn’t going to save Caroline. But being a sheriff might.

She knew the longer Caroline was gone, the slimmer the chances of finding her alive—or, rather, unscathed. The thought made her chest tighten, but she shoved the panic aside and focused on the task at hand. As she jotted down notes and organized the next steps of her investigation, the door to the bar swung open, and a group of people entered, their chatter filling the quiet space.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw several people take seats at neighboring tables. But her attention snapped to the two men who took the booth directly across from hers. Klaus Mikaelson. And the man next to him—likely Marcel.

Liz’s heart skipped a beat, but she quickly composed herself, her instincts kicking in. Her hand reached down to her holster, and in one smooth movement, she placed her gun on the table beside her laptop, within reach but not too conspicuous. Her fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the table as she glanced up, meeting Klaus’s cold, angry stare.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t care how furious he was or what plans he has. Caroline’s life was on the line, she wasn’t going to back down.

Marcel, on the other hand, flashed an award-winning smile, oozing charm as he spoke. "Two whiskeys, neat," he ordered, nodding to the bartender before turning to Klaus. "I got that right, didn’t I?" Klaus smirked in response, clearly amused. Marcel chuckled and then turned his attention to Liz, his smile never faltering. "And for the lady?"

Liz raised her glass, her voice firm. "I’m good, thank you." The bartender gave her a nod and walked away, leaving the three of them in a tense silence. Liz’s eyes stayed on Marcel, sizing him up as she placed her glass back on the table.

Marcel leaned back in the booth, his gaze sharp but playful. "Sheriff Forbes of Mystic Falls. You’re a long way from home."

"You’re Marcel," Liz replied coolly, meeting his gaze head-on. "Leader of the vampires in New Orleans?"

Marcel’s grin widened, clearly pleased. "Indeed I am."

Liz nodded, cutting straight to the point. "I’m looking for my daughter. She’s a vampire, and she went missing three days ago. All signs are pointing to New Orleans."

Marcel’s eyes gleamed with amusement, though his tone took on a darker edge. "So I’ve heard. I have to admit, I’m surprised to see you here, Sheriff. After all, you’re married into the Forbes family, aren’t you? Or was. Known for their hatred of vampires. Your ex-husband was quite the infamous hunter. I think he wiped out four clans within a year, if I’m not mistaken. Quite the resume."

Klaus’s smirk faltered for a moment, his eyes flicking to Liz as Marcel continued.

"And you’re no stranger to hunting vampires either, Sheriff. So imagine my surprise when I hear that your daughter is a vampire, and conveniently missing." Marcel’s voice dripped with mock curiosity. "What am I to make of that?"

Liz clenched her jaw, her patience wearing thin. She leaned forward slightly, her voice calm but unyielding. "Let’s cut to the chase. You don’t want me here, and I don’t want to be here either. But I’m not leaving until I find my daughter. Do you know where she is?"

Marcel leaned back, crossing his arms casually. "I don’t know where she is. She hasn’t been sighted in New Orleans. Maybe you should take your investigation elsewhere."

Liz’s eyes narrowed, her hands itching to put a wooden bullet in each of their hearts, but she knew she was outmatched. "You know if something happens to me, it would cause nothing but trouble for you. Hunters don’t take kindly to the death of one of their own, no matter how estranged they might be."

Marcel’s eyes flickered with amusement, but Klaus’s cold stare hidden behind a grin remained locked on Liz, his anger simmering beneath the surface. Liz didn’t care. She only cared about getting Caroline back.

"I’m not leaving without my daughter," Liz said firmly.

Marcel’s smile faltered for a moment before an idea seemed to spark behind his eyes. He smirked, leaning forward with newfound interest. "Well," he said slowly, "I might have an idea on how to solve both our problems."

As the sun began to set on the quarter, the atmosphere in Marcel’s compound in the French Quarter was thick with tension and the lingering scent of old brick and candles. The flickering candlelight illuminated the courtyard as Marcel, Klaus, Sheriff Forbes, and a small group of Marcel’s vampires gathered around a table that had been set up in the centre. The table itself was covered in a large world map, and the glow of dozens of candles bathed the scene in an almost ritualistic light.

Marcel leaned back in his chair, casually sipping from his glass of whiskey, his smile easy, though his eyes remained sharp. "So, Sheriff, you and Klaus crossed paths back in Mystic Falls?" he asked, as though they were simply catching up over drinks.

Liz shot Klaus a quick look, her expression hard. "Yes. We’ve met," she replied, her tone flat. "He’s bitten my daughter twice and drowned my friend."

Klaus, sitting across from her, grinned, his blue eyes gleaming with amusement. "Ah, the memories," he said with a soft chuckle. "Good times." His laugh was low and dark, drawing a slight shudder from Liz, but she remained composed. She had no time for Klaus’s cruelty—her mind was fixed on Caroline.

Before the tension could escalate any further, Marcel’s men entered, escorting a distressed woman into the courtyard. She looked shaken but defiant, her dark curly hair framing her face as she struggled against the grip of the vampires holding her. Her many necklaces clashed noisily against each other and she was all but dragged into the compound.

"Ah, here she is." Marcel stood, spreading his arms in welcome. "The woman we’ve all been waiting for. This is Julia." He motioned toward the table. "Julia, meet Sheriff Forbes."

Julia yanked her arms free of the vampires’ grasp, glaring at Marcel with contempt. "What do you want from me?" she snapped, her voice edged with fury.

Marcel pointed to the table, his tone calm but firm. "You’re going to perform a locator spell. We need to find this woman’s daughter."

Julia’s jaw tightened, and she crossed her arms defiantly. "No."

Marcel sighed, turning to one of his daywalkers with a mock-ponderous expression. "Perhaps another round of rousting in the Cauldron is in order? I hear the witches are always looking for company."

Julia flinched, the threat hanging in the air. After a moment of hesitation, she relented. "Fine. I’ll do it," she muttered, casting a venomous glance at Marcel. "But since you’ve given me a world map, this is going to be a complex spell. I’ll need something personal. Blood from the daughter, if possible, or a blood relative. And... is the daughter supernatural?"

"She’s a vampire," Marcel answered with ease.

Julia’s lip curled in disgust at the mention of a vampire, but she nodded. "That will make it trickier." Liz handed over a vial of Caroline’s blood and one of Caroline’s bracelets, her hands shaking slightly as she did so. Julia took them both, eyeing the blood with distaste before pouring it in the centre of the map.

"Phasmatos Tribu, Nous zòt vérité, Suivez san mwen, Phasmatos Tribu, Nous zòt vérité, Suivez san mwen," Julia chanted, her voice low and filled with concentration as she clutched the bracelet in her hand.

For a long moment, nothing happened. The blood sat still on the map, not shifting or moving as it should have. Julia frowned, confusion crossing her face as she repeated the spell. She began to feel a strange heat spreading through her body, and she instinctively wiped at her brow, noticing the sweat forming there. Something was wrong. She could feel it.

Klaus, who had been silently watching, stiffened. He knew enough about locator spells to understand that they would only fail under two circumstances: either the person was dead, or they were being cloaked by a powerful witch or worse a whole coven.

Julia wiped the sweat from her brow again, her expression tight with frustration. "This should be working," she muttered, her breath coming quicker. "Even for a vampire."

Liz’s heart pounded in her chest, her fingers trembling as she clenched her hands into fists. "Do it again," she demanded, her voice wavering with the fear she had fought so hard to suppress.

Julia looked up, glaring at Liz. "I did the spell correctly," she spat. "Your abomination of a daughter is either dead or cloaked." The venom in her voice dripped with disdain.

Before anyone could react, Liz had pulled her gun from her holster and aimed it at the witch’s head. Her eyes burned with barely contained fury. "Do. It. Again," she hissed, her finger hovering over the trigger.

Julia’s eyes flicked between Liz, Klaus, and Marcel, noting the palpable tension in the air. Marcel’s jaw was tight, his easy charm fading into anger, while Klaus’s expression had darkened to something far more dangerous—a cold, furious glare. The other vampires in the courtyard shifted, restless, their aggression bubbling just below the surface.

"Phasmatos Tribu, Nous zòt vérité, Suivez san mwen, Phasmatos Tribu, Nous..." Julia chanted again, though this time, her voice shook as the blood on the map began to spread. But something was horribly wrong. Her nose started to bleed, and she doubled over, clutching her stomach as pain radiated through her body.

The blood on the map began to swirl, expanding in a dark crimson wave, covering the entire surface. Julia gasped as her veins began to glow a brilliant white, her eyes turning red with blood. Sweat poured from her, and she collapsed to her knees, her mouth trembling as she tried to speak.

"No... please..." she choked as blood gushed from her mouth, her voice barely a whisper. "DON’T... NO!" Her scream pierced the air as white flames erupted from her body, engulfing her in a fiery inferno. Something just happened, violently. She was consumed by the white flames, her body twisting in agony before her body collapsed to the ground As Julia died, the map caught fire, the edges curling and blackening until it, too, was reduced to smouldering remnants.

Sheriff Forbes stood frozen, her face pale as she tried to process the horror that had just unfolded. The smell of burning flesh and paper filled the air, and for a long moment, no one moved. Liz’s gun remained gripped tightly in her hand, her mind racing to understand what had gone wrong. What had she just witnessed?

Marcel took a step back, shaken by the unexpected brutality of the spell’s failure. His usually cool demeanour cracked, revealing a sliver of fear and unexpectedly recognition. He glanced at Klaus, who remained unnervingly calm, though his eyes burned with something cold and primal. Klaus, more than anyone, knew what the spell’s failure meant, and it was enough to make even him uneasy.

Thierry, one of Marcel’s trusted men, approached quickly, leaning in to whisper something in Marcel’s ear. Marcel nodded, his jaw clenching as he gestured for Thierry to leave, taking five other men with him as they hurried out of the compound.

Liz looked from Marcel to Klaus, her heart still racing. "What the hell just happened?"

Klaus, his face impassive but his mind racing, stood slowly. "Your daughter," he said solemnly, "is either dead...or more likely given what we just witnessed someone very powerful is making sure you can’t find her."

Chapter Text

Klaus stormed into his townhouse, the door slamming behind him with enough force to shake the walls. His fury was palpable, the air around him almost crackling with it. The sitting room was the first to fall victim to his rage. His hands curled into fists, he swept everything off a nearby table with a violent crash, sending books, vases, and glass shattering across the floor. The destruction felt good, but it wasn’t enough to quell the burning anger and fear that had settled deep in his chest.

Fear.

He hadn’t felt this kind of fear in nearly a thousand years—not for himself or his siblings. This fear was for Caroline, the woman who had somehow pierced the walls around his heart, the woman who had made him care again in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to in over a thousand year. It was a vulnerability he despised, and yet it was that very emotion that was driving him to madness.

He paced the room, growling low under his breath, his fists clenching and unclenching. He needed to calm himself, needed to think, but the fear gnawed at him relentlessly, twisting in his gut. He tried to paint, as he always had to soothe himself, but as soon as he picked up the brush, he flung it across the room in frustration. The studio was the next target of his destruction. He smashed canvases, ripped them from their frames, and tore through his unfinished works with savage abandon.

He could feel his control slipping as he trashed the space. He was a predator, and right now, he was cornered by his own emotions—panic, rage, fear. He threw another canvas to the ground and crushed it underfoot, sending paint splattering across the floor. His hands shook as he smashed a table, the wood cracking beneath his strength. Finally, his legs gave out and he sank to the floor, breathing heavily amid the wreckage he had created.

As his arm fell beside him, it brushed against something soft, something familiar. Klaus looked down to see the torn remains of a canvas—a painting. Caroline. He stared at the image of her face, now marred by the tears in the fabric, and something inside him broke. The rush of emotion surged through him—fear and pain, so intense it left him gasping for breath.

For a long moment, he simply sat there, staring at the ruined painting, feeling more vulnerable than he had in centuries. But vulnerability in Klaus never lasted long—it always transformed into rage.

His lips curled into a snarl. She wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be dead. The witch’s spell had failed because of the cloaking spell, not because Caroline was gone. He had to believe that. She was in danger, but she was alive. That much was certain. And whoever had her, whoever was responsible for this, would pay with their lives. Every last one of them.

The witch’s fiery death had unsettled him more than he would ever admit. The sheer power of the cloaking spell, the way it had backfired so violently, was a testament to whomever had Caroline. These witches were unlike any he had encountered before. They had the power to take down an Original—possibly the same ones who had attacked Rebekah. Klaus hated to admit it, but for the first time in a long time, he was afraid for his sister. He took solace only in the fact that she was an Original, and he still had the last remaining White Oak stake. But Caroline... Caroline wasn’t invulnerable like Rebekah. She could die and easily. And that thought was enough to drive him to madness.

He was still seething, still plotting his next move, when something shifted in the air. A whisper, barely audible, and the faintest shift in pressure. Klaus froze, his heightened senses going into overdrive. His hybrid nature kicked in, his predatory instincts coming to life. He narrowed his focus, using his acute hearing to zero in on the source of the disturbance. Heartbeats. Eight of them, faint and distorted, as if concealed by magic.

Witches.

A snarl curled his lips. Normally, he would have found the idea of someone trying to sneak into his home laughable. But not today. Today, he was in no mood for games. He needed to spill blood. Klaus picked himself up of the floor and silently made his way through the house. His stealth, honed from centuries of hunting, was unmatched. He moved like a shadow, a predator stalking his prey.

As he approached the reception room, the heartbeats grew louder, and so did the whispers of a chant. The witches were using a concealment spell, but their magic wasn’t strong enough to hide from a thousand year old Original Hybrid. He could feel them, smell them—fearful, trembling. Good.

Without hesitation, Klaus vamp-sped into the room, partially shifting into his hybrid form, his hands elongating into claws. With a brutal swipe, he ripped out two witches' throats in one swift motion. Blood sprayed across the room as the concealment spell broke, revealing the remaining six witches, all clad in black robes. They gasped in horror, but there was no time for them to react. Klaus was already on them, a whirlwind of death.

They aimed a pain spell at him, their hands raised, but Klaus was faster and the spell was not strong enough. His anger fuelled him, made him nearly unstoppable. With a snarl, he ripped the head off one witch, his claws tearing through bone and sinew. The others screamed as he tore through them with savage precision—spines, hearts, and throats ripped apart with terrifying efficiency. The bloodcurdling screams only spurred him on. When it was over, only one witch remained, crawling through her own blood, her leg nearly severed, her abdomen a gruesome mess. She tried to summon her magic, her hands trembling as she aimed for Klaus, but he was already on her. He hurled a piece of debris, impaling her hand against the floor. She screamed out in pain, but Klaus stood over her, his bloody smile cold and deadly.

“We’ll be back," the witch spat, blood dripping from her lips as she glared up at him.

Klaus crouched down, his hybrid features still on full display as he loomed over her. "I’ll be waiting," he said, his voice a cold, venomous promise. The witch’s eyes widened in fear, but before Klaus could finish her off, she grabbed a long shard of glass from the wreckage and stabbed herself in the heart, ending her life before Klaus could exact his full revenge.

Klaus stood over the bloody scene, breathing heavily as his anger simmered just below the surface. He had wanted answers, but all he got was more blood. Still, it was something. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and without even looking at the carnage, he snapped a few pictures of the witches’ faces, sending them to his contacts. Thirty seconds later, the witches bodies burst into white flame further confirming to Klaus what these witches had done.

He would find out who these witches were, and he would make them pay.

As he organised the cleanup of his home, Klaus’s resolve hardened. The time for subtlety was over. He would hunt them down, every last one of them, and he would find Caroline. And Rebekah. Whoever they were they had made a grave mistake by crossing him, and they would soon realize just how dangerous he could be when the ones he cared about were in danger.

With one last glance at the blood-soaked room, Klaus headed to shower and change. The hunt had only just begun.

Caroline made her way back to her quarters, walking briskly through the winding halls of the Grand Castle. Naveeda, Abidemi, and Isabella followed close behind, each carrying an armload of books, notes, and blueprints—evidence of the hours they’d spent planning the upcoming ball. Caroline felt a small sense of pride at how much she had accomplished so far—about seventy percent of the plans were completed, but there was still a long way to go.

She had a few minutes before she was scheduled to meet Aurora, but as always, time felt like it was slipping through her fingers. The deadline loomed over her, and yet, the thought of meeting Aurora brought its own set of anxieties. She adjusted her hair in the reflection of one of the polished mirrors lining the hallway, smoothing down any flyaways as she retouched her makeup. Her mind buzzed with details of the ball, but she forced herself to remain calm, focusing on what still needed to be done.

As they descended the grand staircase, Caroline’s attention was drawn to a loud voice coming from below. Adara was berating a group of servants, her sharp tone echoing through the halls. Caroline winced internally. Adara was always ready to lash out, her cruelty never far from the surface. She made a mental note to steer clear of her as much as possible.

But luck wasn’t on Caroline’s side today. Just as she and her group entered her quarters, arms full of paperwork, Adara followed them inside, her eyes already gleaming with that smug superiority Caroline had grown to loathe. Caroline pretended not to notice her, focusing instead on putting on a new jacket and retouching her lip gloss.

Adara, of course, didn’t miss a beat. She sauntered into the room, her fingers idly grazing over the stacks of books and notes before she picked one up, reading the title aloud. "Damp Indoor Spaces and Health," she said mockingly, flicking through the pages before carelessly tossing the book in Naveeda’s direction. The book hit her on the arm, causing her to stumble slightly.

"Apologies," Adara said with a mocking smile, though there was no sincerity in her tone.

Caroline’s blood boiled. She watched as Naveeda shrank back, clearly uncomfortable, her eyes flicking nervously toward Caroline. Adara picked up another two books, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Standards for the Repair of Buildings Following Flooding and Flushed: How the Plumber Saved Civilization. Last I checked, ball planning didn’t include books on plumbing."

Caroline’s lips twitched, her patience snapping as her head cocked slightly to the side. She turned to face Adara fully, her tone as sharp as glass. "Last I checked, a great ball doesn’t include dripping ceilings and a ballroom floor collapsing due to years of water damage." She took a step forward, her gaze steady and unflinching. "But I guess that’s the standard for you, isn’t it? No wonder Aurora handed the planning to me the moment I arrived here."

The air between them crackled with tension. Caroline was done playing nice, and it was clear that Adara had pushed her one time too many.

Adara’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and before Caroline could react, Adara struck. She backhanded Caroline hard across the face, splitting her lip open for just a moment before it quickly healed, the pain disappearing almost instantly. Caroline's vampire instincts flared, but she didn’t move. Instead, she chuckled dryly, wiping the blood from her lip, her expression hardening into a cold smile.

Naveeda, who had been frozen in shock, shook her head at Caroline, silently pleading with her to let it go. Caroline could see the fear in Naveeda’s eyes—fear of what Adara might do if Caroline escalated the situation.

Caroline inhaled deeply, composing herself, even though every fibre of her being wanted to retaliate. She wasn't going to give Adara the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, she straightened her posture, standing tall and looking Adara dead in the eyes. "Talking about Aurora, I should be heading up to see her now." She turned toward Naveeda, Abidemi, and Isabella, her voice softening. "You’re all free to do as you wish. I’ll see you tomorrow morning."

They nodded quickly, clearly eager to escape the tension in the room. They hurried out, leaving Caroline and Adara alone, the silence between them thick with unspoken threats.

Caroline held Adara’s gaze for a few more moments, letting the weight of her silent defiance settle. She wasn’t afraid of Adara and she wasn’t about to let her intimidation work. But she also knew that picking a fight now, so close to her meeting with Aurora, wouldn’t serve her well. So, with one final look, Caroline brushed past Adara and left the room, heading to Aurora’s quarters.

As she walked away, the sting of the encounter lingered, but Caroline pushed it to the back of her mind. She had bigger things to worry about than Adara’s petty games.

Bonnie stood with her arms crossed, her brow furrowed in deep concern as she watched the violent spell unfold before them. The witches, the white flames, and the raw destruction left behind had shaken her to her core. Next to her, Kol Mikaelson stood, his usually playful expression replaced with a sharp focus. He was concerned too—really concerned. The kind of concern that made his stomach turn, though he would never show it. They both watched as Klaus, in his rage, tore through the reception room and then the art studio, his fury unleashed as he ripped the witches apart, one by one.

Bonnie could feel the weight of it all—the magic, the darkness, the deep undercurrent of something far worse than what appeared on the surface. It wasn’t just about Caroline’s disappearance anymore. This was something ancient, something dangerous. The white fire had triggered a memory she had long tried to bury, and it left her feeling cold inside.

Kol glanced at her, noticing the tightness in her jaw, the way her hands trembled slightly at her sides. "You see it too, don't you, darling?" he asked quietly, his tone lacking its usual teasing edge.

Bonnie swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "The fire. It wasn’t just any fire."

Kol nodded slowly, his sharp eyes scanning the destruction as Klaus moved through the wreckage, still filled with rage. "No, it wasn’t," he agreed. "Witches and spells—they leave a signature. And this one… these witches… they have one as well."

Bonnie’s heart raced as the realization began to sink in. "The white flames," she murmured, more to herself than to Kol.

"Indeed," Kol said, his voice low as if afraid the very words might trigger something worse. "Normally, fire is a tool for purification. To cleanse. It’s dangerous and uncontrollable, yes, but in most cultures, white fire symbolizes purity." He paused, his eyes darkening as he continued, "But in witchcraft, it’s the complete opposite. White fire is ungoverned. Expansive. You may have heard of it before."

Bonnie’s mind flashed back to a dark place, memories resurfacing like a tide she couldn’t hold back. "Expression," she whispered, her throat tight with dread. She turned to Kol, her eyes wide with horror. "It’s Expression magic, isn’t it?"

Kol nodded gravely, his normally mischievous face now solemn. "Expression is extremely dark, Bonnie. It's a form of magic that draws on the most malicious energies in the universe. Unchecked, it could destroy the world." He glanced sideways at her, his expression unreadable. "You know that, of course. You’ve used it before."

Bonnie’s breath hitched. The memory of tapping into that power, of the raw, overwhelming darkness that had consumed her, was something she tried not to think about. "I know," she said softly. "I used it on you."

Kol’s eyes glittered for a moment with something unreadable—pain, perhaps, or nostalgia. "Yes, you did," he said with a small, tight smile. "I remember that quite well."

They fell into a tense silence as they began to walk, the echo of Klaus’s rampage fading as they ghost teleported back to a ‘ghost tour’, oh the irony, and followed a crowd of human tourists as they moved through the dark, narrow tunnels beneath the city. The tunnels, relics of Salem’s secret past, were cold and damp, their walls lined with centuries of history and hidden secrets. Every footstep felt heavier down here, every breath more laboured. Bonnie pulled her jacket tighter around her, the oppressive weight of the place closing in around her.

They hadn’t spoken for several minutes when Bonnie’s eyes caught something in the dim light. A small, poorly lit stall nestled in a shadowy corner. It was cluttered with all kinds of items—vials of strange-coloured liquids, herbs, trinkets, and so-called "magic" objects, all sold under the guise of witchcraft merchandise. A man stood behind the stall, leaning lazily against the stone wall, his expression bored as a few tourists browsed the strange wares.

Bonnie frowned, pointing toward the stall. "We’re in the wrong place, aren’t we? There’s no way we’ll find anything serious here. These people are selling fake potions and... fake noses."

Kol chuckled, but there was no humour in it. "Oh, trust me, love," he said, his voice laced with dark amusement. "Over the centuries I have learned that the truth is usually just below the surface." He gestured toward the stall with a knowing smirk. "Half of these frauds don’t know the first thing about real magic. But if you listen closely… some of them are much closer to the truth than you'd expect."

They moved past the stall, deeper into the tunnels, as Bonnie felt the pressure of the atmosphere shift. The air grew thicker, darker, the sense of something malevolent lingering just beyond sight. Bonnie could feel it—the faint buzz of dark magic pulsing through the stone walls, drawing her in.

"Expression magic," she murmured again, mostly to herself. The thought of it, the feel of it, was creeping back into her bones. She had touched that kind of power once before. It had killed her then, and now… now it was back. And it terrified her.

Kol glanced over at her, sensing her unease. "You feel it too, don't you?" he asked, his voice almost soft now. "That magic... It's not something you can easily walk away from. And whoever’s wielding it this time—well, they’re not playing around."

Bonnie nodded, her stomach twisting in knots. "I just don’t understand," she whispered. "Why now? Why this kind of magic? And how do we stop it?"

Kol’s smirk faded, replaced by a rare seriousness. "That, my darling, is exactly what we need to find out." He gestured ahead, to the depths of the tunnel where the air grew even darker and colder. As they walked deeper into the shadows, the weight of the world above them—and the looming threat of the dark magic ahead—pressed in on Bonnie. She had faced many dangers in her life, but Expression?

That was something else.

Something far darker and more powerful and she wasn’t sure she was ready to face it again.

The streets of New Orleans buzzed with life as night fully settled in. The scent of spices and the sound of distant jazz filled the air, but Leonard, Isaac, and Isla walked with purpose, their expressions grim, their destination far removed from the lively atmosphere around them. Klaus had summoned them to his townhouse, and none of them were sure what to expect. The sun had set an hour ago, and the streets were starting to empty of tourists as the more dangerous elements of the city began to stir.

The tension between them was palpable, each step they took bringing them closer to Klaus’s unpredictable wrath. Leonard kept his face carefully neutral, his thoughts racing. Isaac and Isla, on the other hand, exchanged uneasy glances, their nerves getting the best of them as they neared Klaus’s home.

When they entered Klaus's townhouse, the stench of death hit them first. The smell of burnt flesh and blood was overwhelming. Leonard's face remained impassive, though his instincts screamed for him to be cautious. Isaac and Isla weren’t as composed. Both of them stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of the charred corpses scattered around the reception area, the once-grand room now a scene of carnage. Blood painted the walls, and the floor was littered with debris and remains. Isaac pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to fight the nausea rising in his throat. Isla looked equally disturbed, her eyes wide with horror, but she swallowed hard and kept her composure.

Klaus, lounging near the back of the room, smiled at their discomfort. His smile was cold, devoid of warmth, but clearly entertained by their reactions. "Ah, the failure," Klaus sneered, eyes gleaming with malice as he looked directly at Leonard, "and Caroline’s wonder twins."

Isaac couldn’t hold it in anymore. "What the hell happened here?" he muttered, stepping carefully around a puddle of blood, trying not to step on anything that used to be a witch. His attempt at dignity only made Klaus smile wider.

Klaus stood, stepping forward with a slow, menacing grace. "Several witches," he said, his voice dripping with venom, "decided to enter my home uninvited. Naturally, I retaliated." His eyes flicked over to Isaac, and the cold amusement in his expression made Isaac shudder. "I’d suggest watching your step. It would be a shame for your...shoes to get ruined."

Leonard stepped forward, his voice measured and respectful despite the tension in the room. "You summoned us, my lord."

Klaus turned his full attention to Leonard, the mockery still lingering in his eyes but his tone now all business. "What progress have you made on locating Caroline?"

Leonard took a breath. He had prepared for this moment. "I have arranged for a witch in Chicago to perform a locator spell, I have Caroline’s blood already. However, I would like to request Isaac and Isla accompany me, as they are Caroline’s direct sirelings. A vampiric blood link could help strengthen the spell."

Klaus let out a cold, humourless laugh. "A locator spell?" He paused, his voice sharp with cruel amusement. "I’ve already tried one, Leonard. Using Caroline’s blood. The spell failed. Spectacularly, I might add. The witch conducting it burned alive, reduced to ash before our eyes. Caroline is being cloaked by an extremely powerful coven."

Leonard interjected quickly, hoping to shift the conversation away from Isaac, whose pale face showed he was clearly regretting his question. "If we can’t track Caroline directly, perhaps we can focus on the witches who cloaked her. I’ll ask my contact in Chicago to trace the magic used in the cloaking spell and go from there."

Klaus tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "And who, exactly, is this contact of yours?"

"Ava Kowalski," Leonard replied without hesitation. "She’s reliable."

Klaus considered this for a moment, then gave a short nod. "Fine. But what of the Mystic Falls lot? I hear they have been helping research as well."

Leonard answered smoothly. "They have. Elena and Jeremy Gilbert are meeting with a Tyler Lockwood in Baton Rouge at midnight. My contacts have confirmed that he is currently alpha of a small pack in the Appalachians by Tennessee. However, this information is a week old. Stefan and Damon Salvatore are accompanying the Gilberts, of course. The Sheriff is conducting her own investigation and is currently staying at my residence."

Klaus’ eyes narrowed at the mention of Tyler Lockwood. Of course, that mutt included himself. He would deal with that later. His focus now was entirely on finding Caroline. "Take the twins," he said, his voice low but commanding, "and make for Chicago. Meet your witch contact in the morning."

Isla spoke up, her voice cautious but steady. "We can’t meet them in the morning. We’ll burn in the sun."

Klaus’s eyes darkened, his expression turning murderous at her comment. For a split second, his temper flared, and Leonard instinctively stepped between Klaus and Isla, positioning himself protectively in case Klaus lashed out. Klaus glared at them, his anger barely held in check. But instead of violence, Klaus’s lips twisted into a sneer. "You needn't worry about the sun," he said coldly. "I have a witch in Brookhaven, Mississippi. Savanah Davis. She will provide you with daylight rings. Tell her I sent you."

Leonard exhaled silently, relieved that Klaus hadn’t acted on his temper. "Thank you, my lord." He bowed respectfully and motioned for Isaac and Isla to follow him.

Isla and Isaac both nodded hastily, eager to leave the blood-soaked reception room and Klaus’s simmering fury. They followed Leonard out, exchanging nervous glances as they exited the townhouse.

As they left, Klaus turned his back to them, walking to the table where a bottle of bourbon sat waiting. He downed the glass in one swift motion before refilling it. His mind was a storm of anger, fear, and frustration. As much as he despised feeling vulnerable, the thought of Caroline’s life being in danger gnawed at him, deeper than he cared to admit. He placed the glass down, steadying himself. His face remained expressionless, but inside, the rage continued to build. With one last glance at the mess of bodies and blood staining the walls, Klaus took a deep breath and made his way out of the townhouse.

Marcel burst through the attic door, his heart racing as he spotted Davina sitting by the large, dusty window, her back hunched over a sketchbook. She was surrounded by scattered pieces of charcoal, her hands smudged with black as she furiously scribbled on the page. The usually calm and composed young witch was visibly upset, her expression a mixture of anger and confusion.

"D!" Marcel called, his voice filled with concern as he rushed to her side. "What happened?"

Davina didn’t look up at first, her focus entirely on the chaotic swirls and lines she was drawing. Marcel could see her hands trembling, the charcoal smudging across the paper as her frustration poured into her work. When she finally spoke, her voice was shaky but laced with anger.

"Witches in the Quarter," Davina muttered, her eyes still glued to the page. "But they weren’t like any witches I’ve ever seen before. It was… so powerful, so dark, and then it just—" She stopped abruptly, her hand freezing mid-sketch. "It just stopped. Like someone cut it off. I don’t understand."

Her voice cracked as she set the charcoal down, her eyes flickering up to Marcel, filled with fear and confusion. "Marcel, it was like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It was hungry and dark and universal."

Marcel kneeled beside her, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. "You’re safe now, Davina," he said softly, trying to keep his voice steady, though worry churned inside him. "Whatever it was, I’m going to find out who’s responsible for it. No one’s going to hurt you. I promise."

Davina finally turned to look at him, her eyes wide with fear. "I tried to look into it," she whispered, her voice so quiet it was almost inaudible. "I tried to figure out what was behind it. But all I found was white-hot fire, Marcel. It was everywhere, and it felt like if I kept going, I was going to be burned alive."

Marcel stiffened at her words. White-hot fire. He had heard about that earlier in the day, during the locator spell that had gone catastrophically wrong. He glanced down at the drawing in Davina's lap—a chaotic, swirling mass of dark shapes and flames. His gut twisted as his mind pieced it together.

"Don’t look into it anymore," Marcel said firmly, his voice sharper than he intended.

Davina blinked, surprised by the sudden change in his tone. "Why?" she asked, her brow furrowing in confusion. She wasn’t used to Marcel shutting her down like that, especially when it came to magic.

Marcel hesitated for a moment, but he knew he couldn’t keep the truth from her. She had a right to know. He let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair before speaking. "Earlier today, when I mentioned a locator spell," Marcel began slowly, "it was to find a girl. A vampire. Her mom was in pieces over it—she’s been missing for days. From everything I’ve looked into, the girl seems innocent enough. Just caught in something way bigger than her."

Davina listened intently, her expression softening slightly as Marcel spoke. But as he continued, her face grew darker.

"The locator spell failed," Marcel said, his voice dropping lower. "And the witch who performed it… she died...burned alive. She went up in flames, Davina. White fire."

Davina’s eyes widened in horror. "White fire," she repeated softly, her breath catching in her throat. "That’s… the same thing I saw when I tried to trace the magic. Marcel, this is dark. It’s not just a regular coven. Whatever magic is behind this, it’s—"

"Ultra powerful," Marcel finished for her, nodding grimly. He clenched his fists, anger boiling beneath his calm exterior. "I know. And the coven behind it... they’re dangerous. More dangerous than I’ve seen in a long time."

Davina swallowed hard, the reality of the situation sinking in. She looked back down at her sketch, her fingers trembling slightly. "I can feel it, Marcel. Whoever they are, they’re hiding something. Something huge. And it’s not just about one vampire—they’ve tapped into something dark, something that’s not supposed to be touched."

Marcel placed a hand under her chin, gently lifting her face to meet his. "You listen to me," he said, his voice firm but full of care. "I don’t want you going after this. Not yet. It’s too dangerous. I know how powerful you are Davina. These witches, whatever they’re doing, it’s not normal. And I won’t let you get hurt because of it."

Davina’s eyes flickered with frustration, but she knew Marcel was right. She was powerful, but there was something about this magic that made even her feel small and vulnerable. Reluctantly, she nodded, though her mind still raced with questions.

"What do we do now?" she asked quietly, her fingers tracing the edges of the drawing in her lap.

Marcel stood up, his face hardening with resolve. "We find out more about these witches. But for now, I’ll handle the search for the girl. You focus on keeping yourself safe." He gave her a small, reassuring smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I’ll make sure this doesn’t touch you."

Davina nodded again, her eyes following Marcel as he moved toward the door. She still felt uneasy, the lingering feeling of the dark magic gnawing at her. But for now, she had to trust Marcel’s instincts. And deep down, she knew that the storm coming to New Orleans was far from over.

Davina met his gaze, her fear still present but tempered by a flicker of hope. "Be careful," she whispered.

Marcel gave her a small nod before disappearing into the night, leaving Davina alone in the attic, the dark and powerful forces swirling around her more present than ever.

Caroline made her way up the grand staircase, her heart heavy with the weight of anticipation. She had barely had time to catch her breath after the endless planning and preparations for the Strix's ball, and now Aurora had summoned her for what she could only imagine would be another twisted game. As she reached the top of the stairs, Aurora appeared in front of her, her presence commanding as always.

Aurora looked striking—dangerously beautiful in a leather jacket, dark trousers, and high-heeled boots. Her red satin top glimmered subtly in the low light, reminding Caroline of the first time she had met her, back when Aurora pretended to be Eve. Her smile was mischievous, her eyes gleaming with barely contained malice.

"Ah, there you are," Aurora greeted, her tone light but laced with a dark promise. "I decided it was time for a change in scenery. I want to show you some entertainment."

Caroline raised an eyebrow, already dreading what Aurora had in store. "I’d rather not. The last time you showed me ‘entertainment,’ it was a real-life, messed-up reenactment of Titus Andronicus," she replied, her voice sharp with sarcasm.

Aurora chuckled, tilting her head as if the memory amused her. "It’s not a play this time, little dove. Tonight, we’re going to The Pits."

Caroline’s stomach tightened at the unfamiliar name. "The Pits?"

"You’ll see," Aurora said with a sly smile before holding out her arm for Caroline to take. Caroline reluctantly takes Aurora’s arm and ignores the chuckle leaving Aurora’s lips.

They walked in silence, each step taking them out of the castle and into an inconspicuous building and descended more staircases. As they moved closer to their destination, the sound of muffled cheers reached Caroline’s ears, growing louder with every passing moment. It wasn’t until they descended a final staircase and pushed through a concealed door that the roar of the crowd hit her fully, the echoing noise crashing into her like a wave.

They stepped out onto one of the balconies overlooking The Pits. The underground arena was packed, hundreds of vampires gathered in a frenzy of bloodlust. The scent of vampire blood was thick in the air—metallic and sharp—filling Caroline’s nostrils as she gazed down at the scene below. Her stomach churned, but she kept her face neutral, refusing to show weakness.

In the centre of the pit, two vampires were locked in a brutal fight. One was clearly dominant, his fangs bared as he toyed with his opponent, who was already drenched in blood and barely able to stand. The crowd cheered wildly as the dominant vampire finally grew bored of the game. With a savage snarl, he sunk his fangs into the other vampire’s throat, draining him until his body went limp. Then, with a swift and brutal motion, he grabbed the vampire’s jaw in one hand and his shoulder in the other, twisting violently until the head was ripped clean off. Blood splattered across the floor, and the crowd erupted into ecstatic applause.

Caroline’s heart raced, but she schooled her expression, trying to appear indifferent. She wasn’t new to violence, but this—this was a different kind of savagery. This wasn’t about survival or self-defence. This was a spectacle. A punishment. A cruel display of power.

Servants rushed out, dragging the headless corpse away, leaving a fresh trail of blood staining the already crimson floor. The victorious vampire stood silently, not acknowledging the crowd’s cheers. His presence was commanding, his silence more menacing than any show of arrogance. It was clear that the crowd respected him.

As Caroline’s eyes swept the room, she spotted familiar faces emerging from the shadows. Aya, poised and graceful as ever, stepped forward, with Tristan at her side.

They moved to stand with Aurora, their presence adding an even heavier weight to the room. The vampire in the pit looked up, his eyes meeting Aya’s. She gave him a small, approving nod, and he inclined his head in response.

The noise of the crowd began to settle as another figure entered the pit—Mohinder, one of the Knights of the Strix. He moved with an air of authority; his eyes gleaming as he looked up at the crowd. Caroline could feel the energy in the room shift, the attention now solely focused on Mohinder.

He raised his hands, and the room fell into an anticipatory silence. "Brothers and sisters of the Strix," Mohinder began, his voice booming across the pit. "Tonight, we gather not only for blood and glory but to remind ourselves of the strength that binds us together as a brotherhood."

The crowd roared in approval; the excitement palpable. Mohinder’s serious stare pierced the audience, waiting for the noise to die down before continuing. "The Knights of the Strix are the finest warriors, the sword and shield of our creed. Through battle, we keep ourselves sharp. Through punishment, we keep ourselves strong."

He took a few steps, his eyes scanning the crowd. "Through strength, skill and cunning we survive and thrive. But one does not simply enter our ranks, that honour must be earned. However present tonight is a new vampire who has not yet proven herself in the eyes of the Strix."

Caroline felt her heart sink as Mohinder’s gaze locked onto her. She knew exactly where this was going.

"Caroline Forbes," he called out, his voice cutting through the crowd. "Step forward."

The crowd turned as one, eyes burning into her from every direction. For a moment, the world seemed to slow, and Caroline felt the weight of their gazes pressing down on her. Internally, she was screaming, her mind racing with a hundred thoughts—none of them good. But she should've expected something like this from Aurora. Of course, she wouldn’t bring her here just to watch. No, Caroline was part of the entertainment. With a steadying breath, Caroline set her face into a blank mask and stepped forward, making her way down to the pit. Each step was measured, each movement calculated to show no fear, even though her heart was pounding in her chest.

As she reached the edge of the platform, Mohinder almost smiled, a predatory glint in his eyes. "You are yet to prove yourself," he said, his voice low and menacing. "This event tonight specifically has no weapons, Caroline, vampire against vampire. A test of strength, skill, and cunning. So, tell me—who will fight you?"

Caroline met his gaze with a fiery intensity, refusing to back down. She squared her shoulders, her voice cold and steady, her eyes cold. "Do your worst."

The crowd buzzed with surprise. Some vampires laughed, others cheered, clearly amused by her defiance. But a few seemed taken aback, uncertain of how this would play out.

Mohinder’s almost smile turned into an actual smile, clearly pleased with her answer. "Do my worst, you say? Very well, if my lady insists." He stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with anticipation and he unbuttoned his blazer letting it hang loosely and doing a mock bow. "You’ll be fighting me." He smiled darkly, already certain of his victory. He was fast, strong, and incredibly skilled and had 900+ years on her. Caroline knew she was at a massive disadvantage, but she had had to make do. Quick thinking, attention to detail, and an indomitable stubbornness had kept her alive before, and they would keep her alive now.

"Good Luck," she had told him, her voice steady, her heart racing.

Mohinder chuckled, taking a step forward, and without warning, he lunged at her. He moved faster than most vampires she had faced, and his fist connected with her abdomen before she could even react. The force of the blow sent her flying across the pit, her back slamming into the stone wall with a sickening thud.

Pain exploded through her body, but she barely had time to register it before Mohinder was on her again. Caroline ducked just as his fist crashed into the wall where her head had been a second earlier. The impact shattered the stone, sending shards flying, but Caroline was already moving.

He swung at her again, but this time, Caroline was ready. She sidestepped him, her movements quick and calculated, and slammed her elbow into his ribcage with all her strength. Mohinder grunted in surprise, his body jolting back a step, but the smirk on his face never faltered.

Caroline didn’t give him time to recover. She moved with a brutal efficiency, launching herself at him again. She scratched at his face, her nails digging deep into his flesh, leaving long, bloody marks that oozed crimson. Mohinder roared in fury and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her off the ground with one hand.

Caroline gasped for air, her legs kicking out instinctively as she clawed at his arm. But instead of panicking, she remained focused. Her eyes darted around, taking in the environment—the cracked stone walls, the blood-slicked floor, the debris from previous fights.

With a swift, desperate move, Caroline utilised her flexibility and swung her legs up and wrapped them around Mohinder’s neck, using the leverage to twist her body and throw him off balance. He staggered, loosening his grip on her throat just enough for her to break free and land on the ground.

She knew she couldn’t win through brute strength alone. Mohinder was too powerful for that. But she could outthink him.

Outmanoeuvre him.

Caroline crouched low, her sharp eyes tracking every movement Mohinder made. He circled her, his lips twisted into a snarl of annoyance. He had expected an easy victory. Caroline was determined to prove him wrong. As he lunged at her again, Caroline spun on her heel, dodging his strike. She grabbed a shard of broken stone from the ground and drove it into his side, just under his ribs. Mohinder let out a guttural growl of pain, but his reaction was faster than she expected. His hand shot out, grabbing her arm, and with a vicious yank, he twisted it until the bone snapped.

Caroline cried out in pain, but the sound was lost in the roar of the crowd. The bone in her arm was broken, but she didn’t stop. Instead, she used the momentum of the pain to slam her good fist into his nose, breaking it with a sickening crunch.

Mohinder’s eyes gleamed with something like respect as he wiped the blood from his face. "You're the first vampire to draw blood from me in three centuries," he said, his voice a low growl.

But Caroline didn’t respond. Instead, she did something that shocked even the bloodthirsty audience watching from above. She ripped her own rib out—flesh tearing, bone cracking—and before Mohinder could react, she drove the jagged bone into his eye. He howled in agony, staggering backward as blood poured from the wound, but Caroline didn’t stop. Her vision blurred from pain, but her stubbornness drove her forward. She could feel the blood dripping down her side from where she had torn the rib, but the pain was a distant thing now. All she could think about was finishing the fight.

Caroline threw herself at Mohinder, her nails slashing across his throat, her fangs bared as she sunk them into his neck, tearing through flesh and muscle as she drank as much blood of his as she could. Trying to weaken him as much as he could. Mohinder howled, throwing her off with a brutal shove. She hit the ground hard, her vision flashing white, but she forced herself to get back on her feet.

Mohinder had lost a lot of blood but he was an old vampire. His healing factor at his worst was better than Caroline’s at her best and his wounds were already healed. He moved with terrifying speed, grabbing Caroline by the waist and throwing her into the wall again, cracking the stone behind her. This time, he didn’t stop. His hand ripped into her side, and in a horrifying display of strength, he pulled her kidney out, tossing it to the ground like discarded meat.

Caroline gasped in shock, the searing pain nearly overwhelming her. But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. She would pay him back. She reached up clawed the side of his head, ripping off part of his ear, the mangled body part in her hand.

She staggered back to her feet, blood pouring from her wounds, but her resolve was as strong as ever and attacked again but he had her in an arm lock. "Do your worst, huh?" Mohinder mocked; his voice hoarse with pain.

Caroline looked up, vampire features on full display and spat in his face. The bloody spit trailing down. Mohinder sneered and nodded to himself before tightening his grip and proceeded to rip the arm of her body.

The crowd gasped. Even the most bloodthirsty among them were taken aback by the brutality of the fight. She fell to the ground, the pain blinding, but she gritted her teeth and used her good hand to push herself up.

Mohinder turned, thinking it was over, but just as he began to walk away, Caroline—shakiliy standing as —grabbed her severed arm and threw it like a javelin, the sharp end of the bone impaling itself in Mohinder’s neck.

The crowd erupted in shocked cheers and gasps, their excitement reaching a fever pitch. Some even laughed at the absurdity of it.

Mohinder stumbled forward, his eyes wide with disbelief. He reached behind him, gripping the severed arm and pulling it out of his back with a laugh. "Well played, Caroline," he said, his voice filled with grudging admiration. "Well played." He tossed the arm back at her, blood dripping from the bone. "You can live another day," he said, gesturing for the servants to help her off the podium.

As Mohinder straightened himself out and made his way to his seat, Caroline finally let herself collapse to the ground or rather she couldn't hold herself up anymore. Four servants picked her up taking her off the stage, the last thing she saw being the blank expressions of the servants before darkness flooded her vision.

The dark highway stretched endlessly ahead as Leonard, Isaac, and Isla piled into the car, speeding toward Brookhaven, Mississippi. The atmosphere in the car was a chaotic mix of nerves and excitement. Isla had snatched the keys from Leonard and thrown herself into the driver’s seat with a grin, her energy almost palpable, while Isaac had sighed in defeat and Leonard had begrudgingly taken the back seat, silently fuming about his car being commandeered. It had been like this for three days now—Isla poking at Leonard, Isaac trying to learn more about everything, and Leonard grumbling under his breath, all while dealing with the immense pressure from Klaus.

As they sped down the highway, Leonard flipped through one of the grimoires he'd brought along, his brow furrowed in concentration. He had no time for jokes, no patience for the twins’ antics. His mind was focused on the grim reality that they were heading to meet Klaus's witch contact, Savanah Davis, to get daylight rings for Isaac and Isla. It was the next step in their mission to hopefully find Caroline and ensure his life.

The twins, though, were in a completely different mood.

"Daylight rings!" Isla practically sang, drumming her hands on the steering wheel as she swerved to change lanes. "Do you realize how amazing this is? No more hiding in dark corners like... I don’t know, a vampire."

Isaac chuckled, shaking his head as he glanced at Leonard through the rear-view mirror. "She's always been like this ever since we were kids. You’ve got no idea what I’ve had to put up with."

"Daylight rings! Daylight rings! Daylight rings!" Isla chanted, her voice full of glee as she swerved around a slower car, completely ignoring Isaac’s sigh of exasperation. "I am going to be walking in the sun, baby! WOOOO!"

Leonard rolled his eyes, still focused on the book. "Can you try not to kill us before we even get the rings?" he muttered. His voice was deep and gravelly, tinged with irritation. He didn’t mind driving fast—he’d had centuries of experience—but Isla was reckless. It was like she had no sense of self-preservation, something Leonard deeply valued.

"Lighten up, old man!" Isla called back, grinning at him in the rear-view mirror. "I’m a great driver."

"Isla, you ran over three cones on the way out of town and almost ran over an old lady," Isaac interjected, crossing his arms as he tried to ignore his twin’s enthusiasm.

"They were in the way," Isla responded dramatically, waving him off. "I’m practically a formula one driver."

Leonard sighed heavily. "This is my car, you know. Maybe you should let me drive."

Isaac shot him a sympathetic look. "I tried," he muttered. "But once Isla’s behind the wheel—"

"No one’s taking it from me!" Isla finished with a flourish, cranking up the radio to full volume and rapidly changing stations. The car filled with snippets of everything from classic rock to country until she found something upbeat and obnoxious. With a mischievous grin, she turned the dial all the way up.

"Can we not—" Leonard started, but his words were drowned out by the blaring music.

He leaned forward and swatted both Isaac and Isla’s hands away from the radio. "We are not changing the station again for at least ten minutes," he growled, the frustration clear in his voice. "I need at least that much peace before my head explodes."

Isla and Isaac exchanged a glance, amused at Leonard’s obvious irritation. They stayed quiet for a full ten seconds before a familiar song came on.

Isla’s eyes lit up, and without warning, she slapped the steering wheel playfully, turning the volume even louder. Isaac groaned, instantly recognizing the tune.

"Not again!" Isaac protested. "You've been playing this song for almost a year straight!"

Isla grinned wickedly, ignoring him as she belted out the lyrics.

"♪Today I don't feel like doing anything, ♪
♪ I just wanna lay in my bed, ♪
♪ Don't feel like picking up my phone, ♪
♪ So leave a message at the tone! ♪"

Isaac groaned louder, sinking deeper into his seat. "Why is this song your anthem?"

Isla didn’t answer, too busy singing at the top of her lungs. Leonard, still flipping through his grimoire, let out a long sigh, mock banging his head against the back passenger window in defeat.

"Is this what it’s going to be like until we get there?" Leonard asked dryly, rubbing his temples as if to stave off the headache already forming.

"Pretty much!" Isla said cheerfully, her voice muffled as she sang along, her fingers tapping against the steering wheel in time with the music.

Isaac, more used to his twin’s antics, glanced at Leonard with a half-smile. "You’ll get used to it," he said with a shrug. "Or not. I haven’t, and it’s been years."

Leonard wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or horrified by how much the twins could get under his skin. They had only known each other for three days, but in that short time, Isla had managed to tease, annoy, and frustrate him in ways no one else had in his long life. Isaac was the quieter of the two, more serious, but Isla—Isla was relentless. Still, there was something about her persistence, her refusal to give up or be quiet, that was beginning to grow on him. Not that he’d ever admit that.

As they sped down the highway, Leonard’s thoughts drifted to Caroline. He had been tasked by Klaus to protect her, and now she was missing—vanished without a trace. Klaus had been furious, nearly killing Leonard for his failure, and only Isla’s intervention had saved him. She had convinced Klaus to spare him, to let his death serve a purpose—finding the blonde.

Leonard wasn’t loyal to her. He barely knew her, and she had no idea he had been watching over her. But he knew one thing: if they didn’t find her, Klaus would torture him and Isla for centuries.

"Lenny!" Isla’s voice broke through his thoughts, startling him back to the present. He glanced up, realizing the song had finally ended. Isla was looking at him in the rear-view mirror with a teasing grin.

"Are you thinking about Klaus’s fangs in your throat again?" she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

Leonard glared at her, unamused. "No, I’m thinking about how I let two baby vampires drive my car while I sit in the back and contemplate my poor life choices."

Isla laughed, clearly enjoying her role as the designated annoyance. "Hey, I saved your life! The least you could do is let me drive your car."

Isaac snorted softly, and Leonard shook his head, returning to his book. "Just focus on getting us to Brookhaven in one piece," he muttered. "We need to meet this witch and get those daylight rings. We don’t have time for games."

Isla rolled her eyes but kept her grin. "Relax, Lennster. We’ll get there. And when we do, you’re going to be so happy when you see me walking in the sun."

Leonard huffed, but for the first time in three days, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Maybe, just maybe, these twins weren’t so bad after all. But as long as the blonde was missing, there was no room for comfort.

They still had a long road ahead of them, and the clock was ticking.

The abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Baton Rouge loomed ahead, a dark, hulking figure against the night sky. The atmosphere was heavy with tension as Stefan, Damon, Elena, and Jeremy approached. The crunch of gravel under their feet was the only sound cutting through the eerie silence, and the deeper they moved into the desolate area, the more Elena's nerves began to fray.

She pulled out her phone, her fingers trembling slightly as she dialled Tyler’s number again, her heart pounding in her chest. The call rang out, as it had all day. First at midday, then again at 6 in the evening, and finally at 11. No response. Nothing but the hollow ring of an unanswered call.

“Come on, Tyler, pick up,” Elena whispered under her breath, her voice shaky with worry. She left yet another voicemail, her voice barely above a whisper. "Tyler, it’s me. Please call me back. We’re here. Where are you?"

Damon, walking ahead, glanced back at her. His usual sarcastic bravado was missing tonight. He was quiet, too quiet. Stefan moved closer to Jeremy, eyes scanning the area for any sign of movement. The unease in the air was palpable, and the tension between them all grew heavier with every passing second.

Suddenly, Damon and Stefan stopped in unison, their bodies going rigid. Before Elena could react, both brothers vamped toward her and Jeremy, grabbing them and speeding them out of the path into the shadows. Elena gasped, barely catching her breath as she found herself crouched behind a stack of crates.

"What the hell, Damon?" she hissed, but before Damon could answer, Stefan raised a finger to his lips, signaling for silence.

From their hiding spot, they heard voices coming from inside the warehouse.

“We were supposed to give them all to Augustine,” one voice said, low and urgent.

Another voice responded, irritated, "The boy was a vampire-werewolf hybrid. You don’t think Augustine would’ve wanted him?”

A fourth voice snapped, "I was saving you from a hybrid bite."

A fouth vampire sighed loudly, clearly fed up. "C’mon, before it closes."

Suddenly, the warehouse lit up with a brilliant white flash, blinding them momentarily. The light felt unnatural, almost like a flashbang, disorienting and too bright for the night.

When the light faded, Damon stood frozen, his face pale as a sheet, his eyes wide with recognition and fear. He said nothing, but the look on his face was enough to send a chill down Elena’s spine.

“What the hell just happened?” Elena whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of confusion and fear.

Stefan’s brow furrowed as he glanced at Damon, who still hadn’t moved. “Damon? Are you okay?”

But Damon remained silent, his expression distant, almost disconnected.

Jeremy, his crossbow gripped tightly, shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe we should see what’s inside,” he muttered, glancing between Elena and Stefan.

Reluctantly, they made their way toward the warehouse. As they crossed the threshold, the sharp smell of blood hit them immediately, thick and nauseating. The metallic tang hung heavy in the air, and Elena’s stomach turned. Inside the warehouse, the scene was nothing short of a massacre. Blood was splattered across the floor and walls, along with pieces of flesh and bone, painting a grotesque picture of violence.

Stefan moved ahead, following the trail of blood that snaked through the warehouse. It led them to the centre of the room, where they found the bodies—two stacks of corpses, their forms twisted and broken, piled like trash. But it was the third body, lying between the stacks, that made Elena’s heart drop into her stomach.

Tyler.

He was propped up in a seated position, his chest torn open, his heart missing. His once strong, defiant face was pale and lifeless. Blood was smeared across the walls behind him, and above his head, written in blood, was a single word: FILTH.

Elena’s breath caught in her throat. "No," she whispered, stumbling forward, her hands trembling. "No, no, no, not Tyler."

Jeremy stood beside her, his face pale with shock, his eyes wide as he stared at Tyler’s mutilated body. “…No, no, no. No.”

Damon stood still, staring at the scene before him, his face drained of all color. Stefan, noticing his brother’s unusually pale complexion, glanced at him with growing concern. “Damon,” he said quietly, “Augustine?”

At the mention of that name, Damon flinched slightly, but he still didn’t speak, his mind clearly somewhere else. Elena stepped forward and gently placed a hand on Damon’s arm, her own eyes red with tears. "Damon, what’s going on? Who is Augustine?”

Damon blinked, as if snapping back to reality, his gaze shifting to Elena. His eyes met hers, but they were distant, cold, and filled with something that Elena hadn’t seen in a long time: fear.

“We need to go,” Damon said, his voice firm but hollow. “Now.”

Elena’s face twisted in disbelief. “What? No! We can’t just leave him here. We need to give him a proper burial. I owe him that.”

Damon’s jaw clenched. “Elena, we’re leaving. I’m not letting you stay here. This place—this is bad.”

“No!” Elena shouted, her voice cracking. She stepped closer to Tyler’s lifeless form, her hands trembling as she wiped the tears from her face. “I’m not leaving him like this.”

Damon’s patience snapped. He grabbed Elena’s arm, his grip firm but not painful. “Elena, we’re getting out of here, one way or another. You don’t know what this is.”

Elena’s eyes blazed with grief and anger, and before Damon could react, she reached up and cupped his cheek gently. For a brief second, it looked as though she was about to comfort him. And then, in one swift motion, she snapped Damon’s neck.

Damon crumpled to the floor, his body going limp as Elena stood over him, her chest rising and falling with a mix of fury and sorrow. Stefan blinked in shock, staring at his brother’s temporarily lifeless form.

“Elena—what are you—”

Before Stefan could react, Jeremy, with his supernatural hunter strength, stepped forward and snapped Stefan’s neck as well. Stefan collapsed, his body falling beside Damon’s, leaving Elena and Jeremy alone with Tyler’s remains.

Jeremy grabbed a nearby shovel and handed one to Elena. "We’ll bury him," Jeremy said quietly. "The way he deserves."

Elena nodded, tears streaming down her face as she took the shovel from her brother’s hand. Together, they began to dig, the sounds of their shovels hitting the cold earth the only noise breaking the silence of the night. Tyler’s mutilated body lay before them, a painful reminder of the brutality of the supernatural world they lived in.

As they dug, Elena’s thoughts drifted to Caroline—her best friend, who was still missing—and to the fact that her boyfriend was now dead. A part of her wondered if Caroline was suffering the same fate, or worse. But she pushed the thought away, focusing only on the task at hand.

They had lost too much already.

Caroline woke up abruptly, her eyes snapping open to the soft, early morning light. She blinked against the sunlight that streamed through the windows, groaning as she tried to make sense of where she was. Slowly sitting up, her mind raced to orient herself. She wasn’t in the dark, blood-soaked pit. She wasn’t in Mahal Khafa.

She was... outside?

Pushing the tangle of blankets off her, Caroline stood and moved toward the open window, her confusion only growing. Below her stretched the French Quarter of New Orleans, but something was off. She glanced down at her clothes—an old-fashioned dress, one she’d never worn before—and her heart began to race. The cobblestone streets below were busy, filled with people in vintage clothes, horse-drawn carriages mixed with old-fashioned cars trundling down the road. Everything felt wrong. The people, the atmosphere—it was so foreign to her.

What the hell is going on?

Stepping outside, the scent of the French Quarter hit her immediately—jasmine, old wood, spices, and a hint of decay. She walked cautiously through the narrow streets, her heart pounding as she tried to make sense of what was happening. As she passed a shopfront, she glanced at a weathered newspaper and froze. The date printed across the front page read November 3rd, 1918.

"1918?" she whispered to herself, shock rolling through her. How the hell was she in 1918?

As she moved down the street, her attention was drawn to a small figure huddled on a street corner. A little girl, wearing filthy rags, sat against the wall, coughing weakly. Her skin was pale, her eyes sunken, and she looked like she was barely clinging to life. Caroline's heart twisted at the sight. How could people just walk by without noticing her?

The sound of an approaching car pulled Caroline’s attention briefly, and she glanced at the vehicle—a sleek, black, old-fashioned model that looked like it belonged in a history book. But just as it sped towards Caroline, it was almost as if Caroline’s body didn’t move as her thoughts were telling her too. Just as Caroline braced herself for the impact, fear gripping her, it drove right through her, as if she wasn’t there at all.

Caroline’s blood ran cold.

"What...?" She stared at the car in disbelief, her stomach turning with unease.

The girl coughed again, drawing Caroline’s attention back to her. A nearby fruit stall owner finally noticed her, but instead of offering help, he scowled. "Get away from here!" the shopkeeper snapped, waving his hand angrily. "Filthy girl, go on, before you spread your sickness!"

The girl weakly got to her feet, coughing harder now, and Caroline felt a surge of disgust at the way she was treated. As the girl stumbled down an alleyway, Caroline instinctively followed her, her steps quickening with concern. What was this place? And who was this girl?

As she neared the alley, a voice interrupted her thoughts. "Influenza," a cool, detached voice said from behind her. "Or Spanish Flu, as it was called. Between October 1918 and April 1919, fifty-four thousand cases spread in New Orleans."

Caroline spun around to find Genevieve leaning against a nearby wall, casually biting into an apple, her red hair glowing in the morning light.

"Am I dead?" Caroline asked, her voice full of confusion and frustration.

Genevieve didn’t even look up, her voice annoyingly unconcerned. "You lost an arm... amongst other organs and body parts. But you're a vampire, so no, you’re not dead."

Caroline glared at her, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "Well, sorry to disappoint," she shot back sarcastically. "And I really don’t appreciate people getting in my head."

Genevieve finally met her gaze, her expression hardening into a sneer. "And I don’t appreciate having my freedom dictated by a weak baby vampire who can’t keep herself out of trouble."

Caroline faked a smile, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "What do you know about how the Strix vampires come and go from this dimension?" Her question was sharp, her patience wearing thin.

Genevieve’s eyes narrowed slightly as she crossed her arms, clearly uninterested in playing nice. "I don’t know."

"That’s funny if a little convenient.” Caroline shot back. "Why do I even need you again? And why are you in my head?"

Genevieve’s sneer deepened, her voice low and threatening. "One: you’re in my head. Two: it may not be in my best interest to kill you right now, but I am over a century old, and there’s a lot I can do to you beyond just killing you." She stepped closer, her eyes locked on Caroline’s. "And three: do you really want to waste what little time we have left arguing? Or do you want to talk business?"

Caroline stared back, her mind racing as she processed Genevieve’s words. She didn’t trust this witch—why would she?—but she needed answers. She needed to understand how the Strix were moving in and out of this twisted reality and, more importantly, how she could escape it. But there was something else nagging at her.

"What about the boy?" Caroline asked, her voice quieter now, though still laced with suspicion. "The one locked up in the cell. Why is he there? Who is he?"

Genevieve’s gaze flickered briefly, but she remained unreadable. "I don’t know."

"Of course, you don’t," Caroline muttered, her frustration mounting. "You're so helpful."

Genevieve smiled coldly. "I’m not here to help you, Caroline. I’m here because I’m bound to this place. But if you want to survive, you might want to stop wasting my time and talk escape."

Caroline clenched her jaw, the weight of Genevieve's words pressing down on her. She hated this—feeling powerless, trapped in a place she didn’t understand. But there was no choice now. She was in too deep, and Genevieve, whether she liked it or not, might be a valuable ally to getting out.

"Fine," Caroline said, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "Here’s what I got so far."

The antique shop sat on the edge of Brookhaven, unassuming and quiet in the late-night air. A small, weathered sign above the door read Brookhaven’s Antiques, and its windows were dark except for the dim glow of a few dusty old lamps. Leonard, Isaac, and Isla stepped out of their car, casting wary glances at the shop's faded exterior. Klaus had sent them here, instructed them to find Savannah Davis, the witch who could spell their daylight rings. They had no choice but to trust that Savannah would honour the debt she owed to Klaus, but none of them were exactly sure how this would play out.

“This is the place?” Isla asked, eyebrow raised in skepticism, her voice laced with curiosity as she looked up at the small, slightly run-down building. "Looks like it hasn’t been dusted since the '60s."

Leonard, always the serious one, gave a curt nod. “Klaus said this was where we’d find her. Stay focused. We need those rings to get to Chicago.”

Isaac, quieter and more watchful than his sister, kept his eyes on the shadows around the shop. “Let’s just get this over with. I don’t trust witches.”

They pushed open the creaky door, the bell above them jingling eerily as they entered the dimly lit shop. The smell of aged wood and dust hit them immediately, mingling with something else—something faintly magical, like herbs long forgotten in dark corners. The shop was cluttered, shelves overflowing with antique books, strange trinkets, and old, weathered objects. It was the kind of place that made you feel like time itself had gotten lost among the relics.

Isla wrinkled her nose at the mess. “Definitely hasn’t been dusted.”

They took a few tentative steps inside, the floorboards creaking under their weight. The air was thick, charged with something that made Leonard uneasy. Before any of them could speak, they all dropped to their knees, gasping in sudden, searing pain. It was as if their blood had caught fire, their bodies writhing under an invisible force.

"Isaac!" Isla gasped, reaching out for her brother, but she could barely move, her muscles tensing as waves of agony rippled through her. Isaac groaned beside her, his face contorted in pain. Leonard, breathing heavily through gritted teeth, struggled to maintain his composure, his mind racing.

From the shadows, a small brunnette woman in her 30s stepped out, her hands raised, whispering indecipherably under her breath. Her expression was one of fear, but her magic was sharp and deliberate. She wore an old, threadbare sweater, and her pale blue eyes were wide, filled with suspicion. Her hands trembled, but she didn’t lower them. The pain increased, bringing all three vampires closer to the floor.

The woman—the witch—began placing small silver pins into the gaps between the floorboards, whispering more urgently now. The moment the fourth pin hit the ground, a square of energy shimmered around Leonard, Isaac, and Isla, trapping them in an invisible box. Leonard slammed his fist against the invisible barrier, rage burning in his eyes as he felt the magical walls close around them.

"Enough!" Leonard roared through the pain, his voice cracking as his body fought against the spell. He pushed to his feet, slamming into the barrier again, his fury giving him strength. “You owe Klaus a favor! We’re here to collect!”

The witch—Savannah—flinched at the mention of Klaus’s name, her eyes wide with fear. Her hands shook, but she increased the power of the spell, making their pain even worse. Leonard felt as though his bones were being crushed, but he fought to keep his voice steady.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” Savannah screamed, her voice panicked, as if she was on the edge of losing control. The spell twisted tighter, and Leonard could see the strain in her as she struggled to maintain it.

Suddenly, a smooth, familiar voice drifted through the dim shop. "Now, now, Savannah. That really hurt my feelings."

All at once, the pressure lifted, the pain fading as Savannah froze in place. The air crackled with tension as she turned toward the source of the voice, her expression shifting from fear to disbelief.

“Klaus?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Standing casually in the doorway, Klaus grinned, his eyes glinting with that familiar mix of charm and menace. He stepped inside, surveying the scene with mild amusement, his hands tucked in the pockets of his leather jacket. His eyes landed on Savannah, who was still holding her spell in place, though her concentration was rapidly crumbling under his presence.

“Did you really think I’d send them here without coming to check on things myself?” Klaus asked, his tone light, but there was an edge to his words. "You owe me, Savannah. A debt I intend to collect."

Savannah’s lips trembled, and her eyes darted between the vampires trapped in the magical box and Klaus. She swallowed hard, lowering her hands slowly. The energy surrounding Leonard, Isaac, and Isla flickered and disappeared, releasing them from the spell. They all stood shakily, regaining their composure as the pain finally subsided.

“Forgive me, Klaus,” Savannah stammered, her fear now palpable. “I…I didn’t recognise them. I thought—”

"You thought you could renege on our deal," Klaus interrupted smoothly, his eyes narrowing as he approached her. "Do you want to find out whether I live up to my reputation?"

Savannah’s eyes dropped to the floor, her shoulders sagging in defeat. “I’ll make your rings,” she whispered, nodding toward the back of the shop. “It’ll complete the spell at sunrise since I need to conduct it in the daylight.”

Klaus smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Good. See that you do.” He begins to look around absently picking up some objects before turning back around enjoying the fear in her eyes. “In the meantime, you’ll be finding a vampire for me."

Savannah nodded fearfully and all but ran into the back of her shop. The room was heavy with tension as Savannah worked quietly, her hands trembling slightly as she gathered the necessary supplies for the locator spell. Klaus stood behind her, watching with the cold patience of a predator, his eyes flickering with barely contained fury. Leonard, Isaac, and Isla stood nearby, still shaken from the earlier pain spell but recovering quickly. None of them spoke; the air was thick with unease, and Savannah could feel it pressing in on her as she moved around the cluttered shop.

Savannah spread a large, worn map across the wooden floor, the edges curling up slightly from age. The dim light cast long shadows over the room, flickering as though responding to the magic in the air. Klaus finally broke the silence, his voice low and dangerous.

"Do you have everything you need?" he asked, his tone leaving no room for error.

Savannah nodded nervously, her eyes darting to Leonard, then back to Klaus. "I can try a locator spell, but… do you have any of the vampire’s blood?"

Klaus didn’t hesitate, his eyes cutting over to Leonard with a silent command. Leonard, ever obedient, produced a small vial from his jacket and handed it to Klaus, who passed it to Savannah.

She took the vial carefully, uncorking it and pouring about half the vial onto the map. As she did, the lights in the shop flickered again, and Savannah’s brow furrowed with concentration. She didn’t speak any incantation, simply allowing the magic to flow through her as she placed her hands on the map.

The room grew colder, the air charged with energy. Suddenly, Savannah gasped, her body tensing as her nose began to bleed. Her fingers trembled, and she staggered back, clutching her head as the flickering lights settled into a dim glow once more. The blood on the map sat motionless, and nothing happened.

Klaus’s face twisted in irritation. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, his voice sharp and impatient.

Savannah wiped the blood from her nose, breathing heavily. “They’re cloaked,” she said, shaking her head in frustration. "There’s an extremely aggressive protection spell surrounding them. It’s powerful—far beyond anything I’ve dealt with. I’m not strong enough to break it."

Klaus's temper flared, and the room seemed to darken as his anger grew. "So you can’t locate her?" His words were laced with threat, his patience waning.

Savannah hesitated, her eyes darting nervously to the vampires around her but Klaus more specifically.

“Please if there is anything you can do to save my friend, she’s innocent. Her name is Caroline, she has a mom that needs her and friends that need her too. She was murdered and turned against her will, she didn’t choose to be a vampire, but she is one but she doesn’t hurt people.” Isla begged, her hands holding onto Savannah’s as she tried to reach out to any conscience that the witch may have.

Savannah looked at Isla and then at Klaus and released a deep breath before saying, "I can't locate her directly... but I might be able to track the magic. It’s not guaranteed, but it’s a start. I can try to trace the spell to see where the power is coming from."

"Do it," Klaus ordered, his voice a low growl.

Savannah quickly gathered herbs—sage, mandrake, and dirt from a crossroads—and placed them into a mortar. She took the blood from the map and funnelled it into the bowl, mixing everything into a thick, pungent paste. Leonard, Isaac, and Isla watched closely as she laid out an even larger map on the floor, spreading it flat. The smell of herbs and blood filled the room as Savannah began to work, her movements careful and deliberate.

She took a golden bowl and slit the throat of a lamb, the blood spilling into the bowl with a sickening sound. Isaac’s face twitched at the sight, but he remained silent. Savannah moved quickly, placing four goblets of water at the north, south, east, and west points of the map. With the paste she had prepared, she smeared a small mark south-east of Australia, in the middle of the Indian Ocean. The air in the room seemed to grow thicker, more oppressive, as she dipped her hands into the lamb's blood.

Chanting under her breath, she placed her hands on the map and began to whisper, her voice growing louder with each repetition. "Roota en la terre, sang m’apelle, suivez l'ombre de ce sortilège." Her hands moved slowly over the map, the blood seeping into the parchment as her voice grew more insistent.

The water in the goblets ignited, small flames flickering atop the liquid. The paste began to burn, its edges curling as it spread like fire across the map. The room grew colder still, and Savannah repeated the chant, her voice shaking as the spell intensified. "Roota en la terre, sang m’apelle, suivez l'ombre de ce sortilège."

Suddenly, the blood from the bowl shot toward the paste, connecting with it in a brilliant flash. Savannah’s eyes remained closed as the blood began to spread, tracing lines across the map—at least seventy different points lighting up across the globe. The flames flickered wildly, casting eerie shadows across the room.

Savannah opened her eyes slowly, meeting Klaus’s furious gaze. Her face was pale, and her hands shook as she tried to steady herself.

Klaus’s eyes followed the blood, his rage barely contained as he realized what it meant. With a sudden, violent motion, he stood and smashed the chair he had been sitting on into pieces, the wood splintering against the floor. The sound echoed through the shop as everyone froze, watching him with apprehension.

Isaac, still processing what had just happened, asked in a low voice, "What does this mean?"

Savannah, still pale and trembling, looked at the map in defeat. “Those are major intersections of ley lines,” she explained, her voice shaky. "The magic cloaking her is drawing power from everywhere. It’s… it’s beyond me. I can’t find her. Not with magic like this."

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of her words sinking in. Klaus’s eyes darkened, his fury simmering just below the surface. He didn’t respond, merely glaring at the map in front of him.

The sun had begun to rise, casting faint rays of light into the room. Savannah stood quietly, her expression full of tension as she moved to the window. She pulled back the curtain, letting the light spill into the room, and retrieved two lapis lazuli rings from a small drawer. With a practiced hand, she performed the enchantment, the spell simple and wordless, requiring no incantation.

Isaac and Isla exchanged a look, their excitement clear as Savannah handed them the rings. Isla couldn’t help but grin, turning the ring over in her hand. “Guess we’ll be walking in the sun soon,” she said brightly, slipping it onto her finger. Isaac did the same, though his expression was more reserved.

“Thank you, Savannah,” Isla said genuinely before giving her a hug.

Savannah gave the dark-haired vampire a surprised smile and reciprocated the hug for a few seconds before letting go. As she turned to gather the rest of her supplies putting them in neat piles, she saw the worried look on Isla’s face and said softly to Isla, "Don’t worry the blonde will be fine."

The words hung in the air for only a moment, but it was long enough for Klaus’s eyes to flash dangerously. Leonard caught it too, his gaze snapping toward Savannah, and the unspoken tension in the room shifted instantly. Before anyone could react, Klaus moved with lightning speed, flashing toward Savannah. She barely had time to gasp before he struck, knocking her out cold with a swift blow. Her body crumpled to the floor, and the map beneath her was stained with more blood.

“Why did you do that? She did the spells!” Isla said jumping back, confused as to why Klaus attacked Savannah only for Leonard to give her the leave it be look.

“Collect as many grimoires and enchanted objects as possible,” Klaus ordered directly to Leonard, his voice ringing with barely contained rage as Klaus lifted Savannah’s limp form over his shoulder before turning around once more. “Then go directly to Chicago and meet the witch as planned.”

“Yes my Lord.” Leonard replied slightly scared at the look on Klaus’ face and bowing slightly. Klaus gives the shop one last look before flashing away leaving the three vampires in the shop, the weight of the evening still on their minds.

Chapter Text

Klaus stood in the centre of his art studio, his entire body drenched in blood. The dim light reflected off the crimson stains covering his shirt, his face, and even his hands, which were still gripping a brush that he had forgotten about. His eyes were fixed on the canvas in front of him, a violent swirl of reds and blacks that mirrored the rage simmering inside him. The symphony playing in the background reached its final crescendo, the delicate strings and horns tapering off into silence, leaving only the sound of Klaus’s heavy breathing.

He exhaled slowly, lowering the brush and stepping back from the painting. His gaze drifted to the door on his left, and without hesitation, he crossed the room and pushed it open. Inside was a scene of pure carnage. Sitting in the centre of the room, slumped in a chair, was Savannah. Her once clean brown hair was now matted with blood, her face swollen and unrecognizable except for the thin brown strands that had escaped the mess. Her clothes were torn and stained, her breathing shallow as she gasped for air, clearly struggling to stay conscious.

On the table beside her lay several blades and tools for torture, each one coated with fresh blood. Klaus stood at the threshold for a moment, his eyes sweeping over the scene as if assessing his work. Savannah’s head lolled to one side as she struggled to focus on him, her mouth twitching as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the strength.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling his attention away from the wreckage in front of him. A glance revealed several messages—informants checking in, providing updates and reports. Just as he was about to return to his task, a knock sounded at the door, and his butler entered, bowing slightly before addressing him.

"My lord," the butler said calmly, as if the bloody torture scene wasn’t something worth noting. "There are guests here to see you—Stefan and Damon Salvatore, Elena and Jeremy Gilbert, and Sheriff Forbes."

Klaus arched an eyebrow, but without turning away from Savannah, he waved dismissively for them to be let in. "Send them in."

Moments later, the door swung open, and the group cautiously entered the room. Stefan walked in first, followed by Damon, Elena, Jeremy, and finally, Sheriff Forbes. The sheriff’s eyes went wide the second she took in the sight before her—the blood, the tortured woman in the chair, Klaus standing there like a predator surveying his work. Her gasp echoed in the room, and almost instinctively, she drew her gun and pointed it at Klaus.

"Let her go!" Sheriff Forbes demanded, her voice trembling with anger. "And heal her. Now."

Klaus didn’t flinch. Instead, he turned to her slowly, a smirk curling on his lips as he watched her wrestle with both rage and fear. "Would you really want me to let go the only lead we have to finding your daughter?" His voice was cold, mocking.

The sheriff blinked, stunned. "What?"

Klaus’s smile widened, enjoying the tension in the room. He sauntered over to Savannah, placing his bloodstained hands on her shoulders. She gasped in pain at his touch, her body tensing. "This witch," he began, "can’t be compelled. Hence..." He gestured toward the torture tools on the table, "...other means of obtaining information were required."

With a sudden, sharp movement, Klaus bit into his wrist and shoved it against Savannah’s mouth, forcing his blood down her throat. Her wounds began knitting together, the magic of vampire blood healing her damaged body. Once satisfied, Klaus removed his wrist and, without hesitation, snapped her neck. Savannah’s body slumped forward, unconscious but alive.

The room was silent for a moment, save for Damon’s bored sigh. He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, clearly unimpressed. "Oh good," Damon drawled sarcastically. "Torture and theatrics. Haven’t seen this routine before."

Stefan, standing beside him, looked uneasy, his eyes darting between Klaus and Savannah’s lifeless body. "Klaus," he said cautiously, "let’s not escalate this."

Elena and Jeremy stood behind Stefan, clearly uncomfortable, their eyes glued to the bloodied room. Jeremy’s hand twitched near his crossbow, though he didn’t move. Elena’s face was pale, her eyes flicking from Savannah to Klaus in barely concealed horror.

Klaus ignored them all, his gaze settling on Stefan. "Why are you here?"

Stefan cleared his throat, his voice strained as he forced himself to meet Klaus’s icy stare. "Tyler’s dead. We think he’s been killed by the same people who took Caroline."

Klaus’s expression morphed into genuine shock. "The Lockwood boy is dead?”

Stefan pressed on. "When we went to meet Tyler, we saw vampires there. They vanished in a flash of white light, but before they did, we overheard them mention a name. Augustine."

Klaus’s eyes flicked toward Stefan with mild interest, but what truly caught his attention was Damon’s reaction. Damon’s normally smug expression faltered for a brief second, replaced with something Klaus rarely saw in him—fear. Damon looked detached, his eyes avoiding the others, his body tense.

A slow smile spread across Klaus’s face. He turned his full attention to Damon, his voice dripping with false concern. "Is there anything you’d like to add, Damon?"

Damon shook his head, plastering the sarcastic flippant act, but it was clear he wasn’t working. "Nothing at all," he said giving Klaus a smirk.

Klaus’s smile turned predatory. In an instant, he was across the room, his hand wrapped around Damon’s throat as he slammed him against the wall with bone-crushing force. Damon grunted in pain, his hands coming up to pry Klaus’s fingers off, but it was useless.

"I’d reconsider lying to me," Klaus snarled, his grip tightening. Damon’s face turned a shade paler, his cocky demeanour crumbling under the hybrid’s strength.

Suddenly, Klaus felt the cool press of a gun at his back, right where his heart would be. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. He smirked.

"I’m a hybrid, Sheriff," Klaus said without looking back. "A wooden bullet to the heart wouldn’t harm me in the slightest."

The sheriff’s voice was calm, but her resolve was clear. "No," she said, shifting the barrel of the gun to the back of his head, "but this would put your lights out for a little while."

Klaus felt a rush of anger, the hybrid blood in his veins screaming for violence. But this was Caroline’s mother, and hurting her would be unforgivable. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to release Damon, who fell to the floor with a grimace, rubbing his throat.

"Very well," Klaus said, his voice eerily calm. "You have until sunset today to tell me what you know, Damon." His eyes gleamed with malice. "I wouldn’t bother running… but I do love the chase."

The tension in the room hung thick as the group began to leave, Damon shooting Klaus a glare as he massaged his throat. Stefan, Elena, Jeremy, and the sheriff followed, all of them shaken by the encounter. As the door closed behind them, Klaus exhaled sharply, the rage he had kept in check simmering just below the surface.

He grabbed the nearest bottle of bourbon, pouring himself a glass and downing it in one gulp. The alcohol burned as it slid down his throat, but it wasn’t enough to dull the fury pulsing through him. His phone buzzed again, messages lighting up the screen, but he ignored them. For now.

Klaus set the glass down with a sharp clink, his mind already spinning with his next move. He reached for his phone and made another call. He needed answers—and soon. And he would stop at nothing to get them.

Caroline awoke to the soft rustling of fabric and the faint scent of herbs, sticky and pungent. Her body felt heavy, her limbs aching as she stirred, blinking slowly into the dim light of the room. Her fingers brushed against the bandages covering her arms and torso, patches of dried herbs sticking to her skin. She grimaced at the discomfort and smell, shifting slightly beneath the blankets.

From the corner of the room, she heard Genevieve’s voice, sharp and dismissive. "She should be fine and back to her insufferable little self, probably just aching."

The door clicked softly as Genevieve left the room. Caroline’s eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the sight of Naveeda, Abidemi, and Isabella moving quietly around the room, preparing a bath. The clatter of water being poured into the basin mingled with the crackling of a nearby fire, and for a brief moment, Caroline wondered where she was. Then, the pain hit her—an all-too-clear reminder of the brutal fight she'd endured.

She groaned softly, trying to move her right arm. To her surprise, it actually responded. A small victory, but the searing pain that followed made her bite her lip to suppress a scream.

From across the room, she heard a light chuckle. Aurora’s voice, dripping with amusement, pierced through the haze of her pain. "You are dismissed," Aurora said to the servants.

Caroline forced herself to sit up, ignoring the agony tearing through her limbs, which quickly alerted Aurora to her awakening.

"Good morning, little dove," Aurora greeted, her voice silky as she leaned against the wall, watching Caroline with an unsettling gaze.

Caroline groaned, her head still pounding. "Is it really a good morning if I’m in your presence?" she muttered, her tone flat but defiant.

Aurora, dressed in a simple robe, her usually styled hair hanging loose, laughed softly. "You really don’t quit, do you? Even after getting your organs and limbs removed, you still keep that same sharp tongue." Aurora's eyes gleamed with something like admiration. "Here I thought we could be great friends."

Caroline gave her a cold look, biting back the pain as she slowly sat up in bed. "Could?" she scoffed. "If you want my respect or friendship, you have to earn it—not throw your so-called future friends into the slaughter."

Aurora crossed her arms, her amusement not fading. "I have to admit, little dove, you impressed me. That move with ripping out your own rib to stab him in the eye? I haven’t seen anything like that in a long time."

"Why am I here?" Caroline demanded, trying to suppress the ache that pulsed through every inch of her body.

Aurora tilted her head, the amusement fading into something more serious. "In my quarters? Well, my quarters are much bigger and nicer," she quipped, though the sharpness in her tone was gone.

Caroline, feeling a rare moment of insecurity as her exhaustion weighed on her, sighed. "Why am I here? In Mahal Khafa, with all of you? I’m nothing special. We owe each other nothing. We’re nothing alike, and we could never be friends."

Aurora’s expression changed, something unreadable flashing across her face before she quickly masked it. For a moment, her smile faltered, replaced by something more vulnerable anguish. But it was gone in a heartbeat, replaced by her usual composure.

Aurora moved forward and extended a hand, helping Caroline out of bed. Caroline hesitated but took the offer, grimacing as the aches flared once again. Aurora led her to the bath, where Naveeda and Isabella were finishing their preparations. The water steamed gently, filling the room with a faint, soothing fragrance.

Caroline felt self-conscious as she undressed, her vulnerability sharp in front of Aurora. Abidemi left the room, but Aurora remained. Caroline slid into the bath, sighing with relief as the hot water embraced her aching body. The heat soothed her muscles, and she leaned back, trying to let go of the tension that had been building ever since she woke up.

She glanced over at Aurora, expecting some cutting remark, but instead, Aurora was silent. Her eyes had lost their usual spark, replaced by a distant, haunted look. For the first time, Caroline saw something raw in her—a flicker of pain so deep it shook Caroline to her core.

The look on Aurora’s face gave her pause. It was a look Caroline recognized all too well—the kind of pain that felt like it would never leave, no matter how many years passed. Caroline’s defences faltered, and for a brief moment, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of empathy.

Caroline cursed herself internally. This is Aurora, she reminded herself. She’s done terrible things. I shouldn’t feel sorry for her.

But the sadness in Aurora’s eyes was undeniable. Caroline turned to Naveeda and Isabella. "Leave us," she ordered softly, surprising even herself. "And prepare another bath for Aurora."

The two servants exchanged a quick glance but nodded and left the room without question. Caroline, now alone with Aurora, put her wet hair up into a clip and wrapped herself in a robe. She stepped out of the bath and approached Aurora, who still sat, frozen in place.

Without saying a word, Caroline wrapped an arm around her.

At first, Aurora stiffened at the contact, clearly surprised. But then, the dam broke. She began to sob—soft at first, then more violently as she buried her face in Caroline’s shoulder. Her body trembled as the weight of her emotions crashed over her.

Caroline held her in silence, her own eyes filling with tears she hadn’t expected. Aurora’s sobs grew louder, raw and unfiltered, her pain laid bare. Caroline felt one tear slip from her own eyes, tracing a path down her cheek as she held Aurora tighter, feeling every broken piece of the woman shaking in her arms.

The room was quiet save for the sound of Aurora’s sobs. Caroline said nothing, offering no words of comfort. She simply held her, both of them locked in a moment of shared vulnerability that neither could have predicted.

Damon sat in the back garden of Leonard’s home, surrounded by the remnants of his self-destruction—empty bourbon bottles scattered around him, alongside discarded blood bags. The night was quiet, but Damon’s mind was anything but. He tossed back another swig of bourbon, feeling the familiar burn that had long since stopped doing its job. The alcohol wasn’t enough to drown the memories this time.

The second Elena had asked him about Augustine earlier, he had vamp-sped away, his mind reeling. He was angry—at Stefan for telling Klaus, even though he knew it was necessary. Blondie was missing. Of course, they’d pull every string to find her. But Augustine. That name. That part of his life. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about, let alone explain.

He heard footsteps in the grass, and he didn’t have to turn around to know it was Elena. She was always coming after him, always trying to get him to talk, to open up in ways he wasn’t ready for. He heard her soft footsteps as she made her way over, sitting down beside him without a word.

Damon didn’t acknowledge her at first. He stared at the bourbon bottle in his hand, swirling the liquid slowly. "Saving Blondie, huh?" he muttered, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Guess we should add that to my list of good deeds."

Elena didn’t respond. Instead, she reached over, gently taking the bottle from his hand. She brought it to her lips and took a long sip, the silence between them stretching out. After a moment, she set the bottle down and looked at him, her voice soft but filled with worry.

"Caroline’s my best friend," she said quietly. “I’m worried, Damon."

He let out a bitter laugh, reaching for the bottle again. He took a deep drink before setting it aside. "If she’s with Augustine, they wouldn’t have killed her. They’re probably just… carrying out their grand tradition. You know, getting their kicks from vampire torture." His voice was cold, distant, the words sharp enough to cut.

Elena looked at him, her eyes filled with confusion. "Who… or what is Augustine?"

Damon sighed, leaning back against the chair. The weight of her question hung in the air, heavy and unavoidable. "Someone in my family sold me out to the Augustine in 1953," he began, his voice low and rough. "Every day for five years, this nut job named Dr. Whitmore tortured me. Cut into me, took pieces of my eyes out, pushed me to every limit he could imagine." He scoffed, a dark smile twisting his lips. "And let me tell you, Whitmore had quite the imagination."

The bourbon bottle slipped from his hand, rolling across the ground as Damon’s mind was flooded with images. He could almost feel the sting of vervain injections again, the sharp pain of scalpels slicing into his skin as Whitmore and his cronies watched, fascinated by the way he healed.

Elena reached out, her hand resting on his arm, grounding him back in the present. "Damon," she whispered, "how did you not go crazy?"

Damon stared at the ground, the memory of those cells still fresh in his mind. "Believe it or not," he muttered, "I made a friend."

1953, Augustine Cells

Damon was thrown roughly into the cell, his body battered and bleeding from the latest round of Whitmore’s sadistic experiments. His entire body screamed in pain, but the healing had already begun, slow and steady. He groaned, rolling onto his back, staring at the cold ceiling of the underground prison.

"Welcome to hell, mate," a voice called out from the next cell over. Damon turned his head slowly, squinting through the bars. A man was standing there, his dark hair tousled, his face lined with pain and experience. "Dr. Whitmore never gets tired of watching us heal, but he only gives us just enough blood to keep us alive. One glass a day. Pick yourself up, soldier."

Damon groaned, dragging himself to sit up, his body protesting every movement. The man extended his hand through the bars, offering a small, tired smile. "My name’s Enzo."

Damon looked at the hand for a moment before gripping it firmly. "Damon," he replied, pulling himself to his feet. "Nice to meet you… I guess."

Enzo chuckled darkly. "He’s been experimenting on me for ten years now. Figured I’d stick around long enough to see what new tricks he’s got."

Damon grimaced. "Ten years? How the hell did you end up here?"

Enzo leaned back against the bars, his expression darkening. "Dr. Whitmore was working at a battlefield hospital in Europe during the war. Found out I was a vampire, drugged me, and shipped me back here like some sort of war prize." He smirked bitterly. "I’ve been the entertainment ever since."

2011, The Garden

Elena sat beside Damon, her eyes filled with concern as she tried to make sense of everything he had just told her. The pain in his voice was undeniable, and the weight of the memories seemed to drag him deeper into himself. She placed a hand gently on his arm, hoping to ground him in the present.

“Damon,” she said softly, her voice cutting through the thick silence. “How did you survive all those years?”

Damon's gaze was distant, lost in the past, as he let out a heavy sigh. “Enzo,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Enzo’s friendship kept me alive. He gave me a reason to hang on to my humanity... even when I thought I'd be a prisoner forever.”

1953, Augustine Cells

Damon lay on the cold, hard floor of his cell, his body aching from the relentless torture. His healing abilities were the only reason he was still alive, but even they couldn’t erase the pain or the memory of the experiments. He groaned in agony, barely able to move, when a voice from the neighbouring cell cut through the darkness.

“You much of a sports fan, Damon?”

Damon didn’t respond at first. The pain was too intense, his body too broken. But the voice was persistent, carrying a strange sense of calm despite their situation.

“No,” Damon muttered, finally managing to speak. “Neither am I.”

The man in the next cell, Enzo, leaned closer to the bars separating them. His face was shadowed, but his eyes were sharp and full of life, an odd contrast to the bleakness around them. “Any other interests? Fine wines, travels, cars?” Enzo’s voice was casual, as if they were talking over drinks at a bar rather than lying in cells waiting for more torture.

Damon chuckled bitterly. “I’m partial to Jaguars,” Enzo continued, “convertibles, the kind you take on a Sunday drive to impress a pretty girl. Ever done that?”

Damon paused, wincing as he forced himself to sit up. “Once or twice,” he replied, his voice strained from the pain.

Enzo grinned, his tone teasing. “Come on, Damon. Got to be more than that.”

Damon let out a weak laugh. “Well, the girl I was trying to impress was more of a horse-and-carriage type.”

“One girl?” Enzo raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

Damon’s expression darkened slightly as he leaned back against the wall. “Never met another like her.”

Enzo nodded, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Fair enough.”

There was a brief pause before Damon shifted, wincing as he did. “What about you? Any pretty girls?”

Enzo leaned back, his face becoming more serious as he spoke. “Eh, too many to count.” But his voice softened as he continued, his smile fading. “Actually, there was one. Her name was Maggie.”

Damon looked over, curious despite the pain. “Where’d you meet her?”

“Here,” Enzo said with a faint smile, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “Of all places. She was working for Dr. Whitmore.”

Damon’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Charming.”

“Oh, she was. Very,” Enzo said, his eyes flickering with warmth. “She used to sit here in the hallway, taking notes while she observed me.”

Damon stared at him in disbelief. “That’s how you fell for her?”

Enzo let out a small chuckle. “Well, she was also stunningly beautiful.”

Damon smiled, though there was sympathy in his eyes. “You have to understand,” Enzo continued, “she wasn’t part of the torture, at least not directly. For the longest time, she didn’t even realize what Whitmore was doing to me. I didn’t have the heart to tell her. I was just so glad of her company, you know?”

Damon nodded, his heart aching in understanding. “Yeah, I get it.”

“When she finally realized what was going on, she couldn’t bear it,” Enzo added, his voice growing distant as the memory resurfaced. “She said she was sorry, and then she left.”

Damon shifted slightly, forcing himself to turn toward Enzo. “Well, you know,” he said softly, “it never really would’ve worked anyway. You’re a vampire, she’s a human. That relationship would’ve been doomed from the beginning.”

Enzo chuckled darkly. “You need a more positive outlook, mate.”

Damon smiled weakly at him, but before either of them could say more, they heard the echo of footsteps approaching. The sound of keys jingling made Damon stiffen as the familiar figure of Dr. Whitmore came into view.

Dr. Whitmore walked down the corridor between the cells, his expression cold and detached as he surveyed his captives. Damon and Enzo watched him tensely, both silent, waiting for the inevitable.

Whitmore stopped in front of Damon’s cell, his eyes scanning the vampire’s face with a cruel smile. “21051,” Whitmore said, addressing Damon by the number etched into his skin. “You seem to have more energy today.”

He stepped toward the cell, preparing to unlock it. But before he could, Enzo rattled the bars of his own cell, his voice sharp with mock indignation. “I take that as an insult! I have far more energy than my neighbour here.”

Whitmore paused, then turned toward Enzo’s cell, a twisted smile on his face. “Your turn, then.”

He unlocked Enzo’s cell and grabbed him roughly, dragging him out as Damon watched, his fists clenched in anger. The sound of the cell door slamming echoed in the small space as Whitmore led Enzo away for another round of experiments. Damon’s heart pounded in his chest as he heard the distant screams of his friend, the sickening sound of flesh being torn and bones being broken. He paced his cell, rage and helplessness boiling inside him. When Whitmore finally returned hours later, he threw Enzo’s limp body back into the cell without a word.

“Why are you doing this to us?!” Damon yelled, his voice cracking with desperation.

Whitmore stopped, turning to face him with cold, unfeeling eyes. “Because, 21051, I’m seeking the smallest indivisible unit of your biological makeup. Once I understand you from a cellular level, I can put you to use.”

Without another word, Whitmore turned and walked away, leaving Damon gripping the bars in frustration and fury.  

2011, The Garden

Elena sat beside Damon, her eyes locked on his, trying to process the weight of his words. But she needed to know more—needed to understand how he had survived, how he had escaped.

“Yeah, but you did escape,” she said softly. “How did you do it?”

Damon’s gaze flickered with memories, his voice dropping as he began to explain. “They let us out of the basement once a year.”

1957, The Augustine Society’s New Years Party

The Augustine Society’s annual party was in full swing, the air filled with the clinking of glasses and the hum of idle chatter. High-society guests mingled around, oblivious to the horrors hidden beneath the elegant exterior. In the far back of the ballroom, Damon and Enzo were locked in a cage, weak from years of torture and daily vervain injections. Their eyes, though weary, held the weight of a shared burden.

Damon glanced around the room, noting the looks of fascination on the faces of Whitmore’s esteemed guests. They weren’t just watching a party—they were watching a spectacle. They were the spectacle.

"Every New Year's Eve," Damon thought bitterly, his mind narrating the grim scene to Elena, "the Augustine people had a little cocktail party with a vampire buffet on the side. We were weak from vervain injections, half-starved from living on a glass of blood a day, chained up like animals."

The iron bars of the cage rattled as Dr. Whitmore approached, his eyes gleaming with the excitement of the annual demonstration. He unlocked the door and reached for Enzo, roughly dragging him out of the cage.

"Time for the show," Whitmore said with a twisted smile.

Damon watched, his hands gripping the bars, helpless to do anything as Enzo was led toward the centre of the room. Whitmore gripped Enzo's wrist tightly, drawing a knife and slicing deep into his skin. Blood flowed freely from the wound, and Whitmore collected it in a glass, holding it up for his guests to see.

“Mrs. Fell,” Whitmore called, beckoning to a woman standing nearby. “Would you be so kind?”

Mrs. Fell stepped forward, her hands trembling as Whitmore sliced a small cut across her palm. She winced as he handed her the glass of vampire blood, her hesitation palpable. But curiosity—and social pressure—won out. She drank, her eyes widening as the cut on her hand healed instantly.

“The dermal layer is completely healed,” Whitmore said, his voice brimming with pride as he showed off her unmarked hand. “No nerve damage. No muscular damage.”

Applause rippled through the room, the crowd marvelling at the miraculous healing power of vampire blood. Damon’s stomach twisted in disgust; his hands clenched into fists.

"That’s how they got their kicks," Damon narrated bitterly to Elena, watching the spectacle unfold. "But on the plus side, that’s how Enzo came up with his plan."

1958, The Augustine Cells

Later, back in their cells, Enzo held up his daily glass of blood, a determined glint in his eyes. “Well, the thing about our daily ration of blood,” he said, his voice low but steady, “is that it’s barely enough for one vampire to survive on. But if one of us were to drink two rations every day for the next year, they’d be able to build up their strength. By the time next New Year's Eve comes around, that one vampire will be ready to fight.”

Damon stared at him, processing the enormity of the plan. "Are you sure that will work?" he asked, a flicker of hope in his voice.

Enzo nodded. "I’m sure. It’s the only chance we’ve got. We’ve just got to decide between us."

The two men exchanged a look, the weight of their decision hanging between them. There was no easy way to choose who would live and who would wither away, but they knew they had to try. Damon set his glass of blood down, nodding in agreement.

“All right,” Enzo said, raising his hand. “Scissors, paper, stone. Let’s keep it simple.”

They played three rounds, the tension thick in the air. Finally, Damon drew paper, and Enzo drew rock. Damon couldn’t hide the small smile of triumph, though it was bittersweet.

“Paper covers rock,” Damon said quietly.

Enzo nodded, a resigned smile on his face. “A win’s a win.” He lifted his glass, passing it through the bars to Damon. “Here’s my ration. Now we’ve got 364 days to get you ready for the party.”

Damon took the glass, pausing for a moment before drinking it down. “Cheers,” he muttered, the taste of blood bitter on his tongue.

“Cheers,” Enzo echoed, watching as Damon drank his only lifeline.

2011, The Garden

Elena sat beside Damon, her brow furrowed with worry as she processed everything he had told her about Augustine, about the torture he endured for five long years. The pain, the suffering—it was unimaginable. But one thing gnawed at her.

"So, did it work?" she asked softly, hoping for a sliver of hope.

Damon looked serious, his expression distant as he stared at the ground. "More or less," he replied, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

Elena wasn’t satisfied. She wanted to know how he had managed to survive, how he had managed to escape. "How did you get out?" she pressed, her voice quiet but insistent.

Damon’s gaze flicked to hers for a moment before shifting away again. "It doesn’t matter, Elena. I got strong. I got out," he said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. "It wasn’t pretty. All you need to know."

But that wasn’t enough for Elena. The thought of Caroline being subjected to the same horrors Damon had endured twisted her heart. She is her best friend—she needed to help her, to do something.  

"If Caroline is getting tortured the same way you and Enzo were," she began, her voice rising with frustration, "then maybe we can send her a message. Let her know we’re coming for her."

Damon shook his head, his jaw tight. "You don’t want to know, Elena."

"Why?" she snapped, her eyes searching his face for answers. "You think I’m going to judge you?"

Damon didn’t respond, his silence louder than any words he could have said. He stared ahead, his face tense, irritation flickering in his eyes as he kept himself closed off. Elena moved herself in front of him reaching up and putting a hand on his cheek. "Damon," she said, her voice gentle now, "I love you. These people tortured you for five years. Whatever you had to do to survive, I don’t care. I love you. Do you hear me? I love you."

Damon’s expression softened slightly, but the darkness in his eyes remained. He sighed, running a hand through his hair before speaking again, his voice quiet. "All right," he murmured, before continuing, louder this time, "All right." He removed Elena’s hand from his cheek kissing her palm before holding her hand in his own.

His gaze turned distant as he recounted the past, the memories washing over him like a dark tide. "The Augustine’s next party was in 1958."

1958, The Augustine Society’s New Year’s Party

The Augustine Society’s New Year’s Eve celebration was in full swing. The elite guests, dressed in their finest attire, mingled, unaware—or uncaring—of the horror that lay beneath their polished exterior. Damon stood in a cage beside Enzo, just as he had the previous year, but this time, he was stronger, more determined. He had been drinking Enzo’s rations for a year, and the extra blood had given him the strength he needed.

"I’d been drinking Enzo’s rations for an entire year," Damon explained to Elena, his voice a dark whisper. "He kept just enough to keep himself alive, but the rest? It made me stronger."

Damon’s eyes met Enzo’s, and Enzo offered a slight smile, the kind of smile shared between soldiers before battle. The plan was set.

Tonight was their night.

It was time.

Dr. Whitmore sauntered between the guests, a twisted grin on his face as he addressed the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "as it is almost midnight, I think it fitting that we toast the New Year with a glass of vampire blood. Wouldn’t you agree?"

The crowd murmured in approval, their curiosity piqued.

Whitmore unlocked the cage and reached for Damon, pulling him out and locking the door behind him, leaving Enzo inside. But Damon was ready. As soon as he was free, he pushed his hand through the cuffs, snapping his own bones to slip out of the restraints. Whitmore’s eyes widened in shock as he realized what was happening, but it was too late. Damon’s hand healed almost instantly, and with a predatory grin, he grabbed Dr. Whitmore by the head.

"Now you see it," Damon growled, his voice dripping with rage.

Without hesitation, Damon dug his thumbs into Whitmore’s eyes, the sickening squelch of bone and tissue filling the air as Whitmore screamed in agony. Blood poured down his face, but Damon wasn’t finished. He sank his fangs into Whitmore’s neck, draining him dry as the guests watched in horror.

Panic erupted in the ballroom. Guests screamed, stumbling over each other in their attempts to flee. One of them knocked over a candelabra, and within seconds, the highly flammable rug had caught fire, the flames spreading rapidly through the room.

But Damon didn’t care about the fire. He was a man possessed, a hurricane of violence. He tore through the guests, biting, breaking necks, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. Blood splattered across his face, his clothes, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

"Enzo!" Damon heard the voice over the chaos, and he turned to see his friend still trapped in the cage, his face pale as the flames crept closer.  

Enzo leaned against the cage, his face pale from the prolonged starvation, cried out to his friend, "Damon! We’ve got to get out of here!"

Damon rushed to the cage, his hands gripping the bars. But the moment he touched them, a sharp, searing pain shot through his body. "Vervain," he spat, his teeth gritted in frustration.

They both tried, again and again, to break the vervain-laced bars, but the pain was too much. Damon could feel his strength draining as the fire raged around them.

"Damon!" Enzo’s voice was desperate, and Damon’s heart clenched with guilt. Damon looked around, panic rising as the flames closed in. The fire was out of control, and there was no way he’d get another chance like this. If he didn’t escape now, he’d be trapped again—forever.

Damon’s jaw tightened as he looked directly in Elena. "I knew if I was going to save myself," he said, his voice cold, "I had to stop caring about Enzo."

Enzo’s voice shook with desperation. "Damon, don’t do this," he pleaded, his eyes wide with fear. "Please!"

Damon’s face hardened, and he backed away from the cage, shaking his head. "I’m sorry, Enzo," he whispered, his voice devoid of emotion.

"No," Enzo shook his head, banging on the bars. "Don’t—don’t leave me here!"

Damon stared at him for a long, agonizing moment, his eyes dark and unreadable. And then, without another word, he turned his back and walked away.

"Damon!" Enzo’s voice was raw with desperation. "Damon, please! Don’t go!"

But Damon didn’t stop. He didn’t even look back. He just kept walking, his footsteps echoing in the burning room, the flames casting long shadows across his path.

"I left my friend to die," Damon’s voice cracked, the memory of that night still fresh in his mind. "I had to turn it all off. My humanity… everything. I had to stop caring. Lights out. It was the only way I could survive."

2011, The Garden

Damon sat next to Elena, his face shadowed by the weight of the memories he was about to share. The bourbon bottle in his hand had long since lost its burn, but the past? The past was still fresh, still a searing fire beneath the surface. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if bracing himself, and when he opened them, they were darker—haunted.

“After I left Enzo behind,” he began, his voice low, “I let go of everything that made me human. But I had one task, one thing that kept me going."

Elena’s eyes stayed on him, her heart aching with the weight of his words.

“It was 1958, after the fire,” Damon continued. "Enzo was dead. And that meant I had to carry out our revenge plan solo.”

1953, Augustine Cells

The cold, stone walls of Damon’s cell were familiar, but this time, there was something different. He and Enzo had spent countless days discussing revenge, feeding off that one singular hope that they could someday destroy the people who had broken them. Damon’s eyes focused on the rock in his hand as he carved into the wall—his initials, D. S., and the year: 1953. His fingers tightened around the stone as it dropped to the floor, echoing in the small cell.

"Yes, I can see it," Damon had said, he slid down the wall to sit on the floor, his back against the wall, his voice thick with the thrill of imagining his vengeance. "After I’ve taken out the entire Augustine society, I’ll kill every member of the Whitmore family.”

Enzo, ever the voice of entertainment, had scoffed from his cell next door. “Boo! I said use your imagination.”

Damon’s eyes had sparkled with a dark excitement. “Except one person,” he had said, his smile growing. “I’ll let that person grow up, start a family, and then I’ll start killing Whitmores again. And then I’ll take out the generation after that, leaving only one person to carry on the name. And then I’ll take out the next generation… and then the next… and so on…and so on…and so on.” Damon’s grin had been feral, his smirk slow and deliberate. He had savoured the thought of eternal revenge, of making the Whitmore family suffer for generations to come.

And that was exactly what he did.

2011, The Garden

Damon’s voice turned cold. “And that’s exactly what I did.”

Elena’s breath hitched, the revelation sinking in like a weight pressing on her chest. Her voice trembled when she finally spoke, trying to comprehend the scope of his confession. “How many Whitmore’s have you killed?”

Damon’s eyes flickered, as if recalling the endless names and faces that had become a blur of blood and death over the years. He shrugged, his tone casual, as if the number didn’t matter. "Since 1958? I lost count."

Elena’s heart pounded, but Damon wasn’t done.

“However,” he continued, “that stopped in 1997.”

Elena’s brow furrowed. “Why?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Damon leaned back, his expression unreadable. “I was hunting Aaron Whitmore—either the third or fourth, I don’t remember. Him and his wife. It was at some camping grounds south of Knoxville. I had them right where I wanted them—ready to end another chapter of the Whitmore legacy.”

His eyes darkened further as the memory washed over him.

“I was in the middle of killing them both when I was suddenly repelled backwards. It was like an invisible force hit me, and the next thing I knew, my head felt like it was about to explode, like it was on fire.”

Elena’s grip on his hand tightened but didn’t interrupt.

Damon’s jaw clenched. "I tried to kill the witch who had cast the spell, but something stopped me—an invisible barrier. I couldn't get through. Then, out of nowhere, other vampires showed up. I didn’t know who they were or what they wanted or risk getting captured again so I fled."

He paused, his voice dropping even lower. "At the last moment, I looked back. There was this white light—flashing so bright it nearly blinded me. When the light disappeared, the only thing left standing was there six-year-old son."

Elena’s eyes widened in shock. “The parents?”

“Dead,” Damon said flatly, his tone emotionless. "I left the boy alive. He was the last Whitmore.”

Leonard gripped the steering wheel tightly, his eyes focused on the road as the landscape of Illinois blurred past them. After another brief stop at the gas station, he had managed to wrestle back control of the car from Isla, who had been far too enthusiastic behind the wheel for his liking. Now, with sunglasses perched on her nose and bubble gum being noisily chewed, Isla sat in the passenger seat, practically bouncing with energy as she sang along to the radio.

“If you like piña coladas, and gettin' caught in the rain...” she belted out, completely unbothered by the disapproving looks Leonard shot her way.

In the backseat, Isaac sat where Leonard had been earlier, flipping through an old grimoire they had picked up from Savannah’s shop. His brow was furrowed, deep in thought as he studied the trinkets and enchanted objects scattered across his lap. Something about Savannah still bothered him—how she had seemed so normal, so innocent, yet was powerful enough to have played a part in Caroline’s kidnapping.

Isla, noticing his brooding expression, paused mid-song and blew a large bubble with her gum, popping it loudly. “You’re ruining the fun, broody,” she teased, taking a Snickers bar from the glove compartment, and tossing it at Isaac. He caught it without looking up from the grimoire, but didn’t respond.

Leonard let out a low huff from the driver’s seat. “What’s wrong?” Isla asked, her voice light, though she clearly knew something was weighing on both of them.

Leonard didn’t miss a beat, his tone as dry as the desert. “What’s not?”

Isla, ever the troublemaker, blew another obnoxiously large bubble with her gum and popped it right next to Leonard’s ear, making him flinch and cringe. She grinned at the reaction, satisfied with her small victory, before turning back to Isaac, who still hadn’t cracked a smile.

“Alright, moody," she said, poking at her twin’s side. "What’s bothering you? Is it the burnt corpses in Klaus’s living room or the cat lady vampire kidnapper?”

Isaac finally looked up; his expression thoughtful as he leaned back in his seat. “She just... looked so normal,” he muttered. “Like she could’ve been a librarian or someone’s quirky aunt. How does someone like that end up powerful enough to kidnap Caroline?”

Leonard chimed in, his eyes still on the road but his voice steady. “You’d be surprised what people are capable of. Power doesn’t always come from the people who look the part.”

Isaac mulled that over, turning one of the enchanted trinkets over in his hand, before his curiosity got the better of him. “So, who’s this witch contact we’re going to see?” he asked, his voice cutting through the sound of Isla’s music.

“Ava Kowalski,” Leonard replied, his tone short, almost dismissive. “She’s... an acquaintance.”

Isla wasn’t satisfied with that answer. She cocked an eyebrow, glancing at Leonard with a mischievous smirk. “An acquaintance, huh? And...?”

Leonard shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his leather jacket creaking as he did. His hands tightened on the steering wheel for a moment before he let out a long sigh. “It’s a long story.”

Isla grinned, crossing her arms as she leaned back, looking far too pleased with herself. “We’ve got time.”

Klaus sat at his desk, freshly showered and dressed in clean clothes, his body radiating tension as he hunched over the laptop. His eyes were narrowed in focus, scrolling through messages and reports from his network of contacts. The world map spread out across the desk marked with the nexus points of the ley lines Savannah had revealed in her spell. He studied the locations carefully, trying to piece together how this all connected to Caroline’s disappearance. The leylines—sources of great magical power—had to hold some answers, but so far, Klaus had come up empty-handed.

Anger simmered just beneath the surface as his research on the name Augustine led to nothing concrete. He slammed his laptop shut with a growl, tossing it aside, and turned to the world map again. He had already sent his minions to investigate the leyline points marked on the map, demanding they return with any useful information, but the lack of progress gnawed at him. His patience was wearing thin.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. His butler entered with a respectful bow, "Sir, Damon and Stefan Salvatore, along with Sheriff Forbes, Elena Gilbert, and Jeremy Gilbert are here to see you."

Klaus waved his hand dismissively. "Let them in."

The group entered, tension filling the air. Klaus remained seated at his desk, his fingers tapping impatiently on the map, eyes cold and calculating as he took in the sight of them. His focus barely wavered from his research, but his presence was as imposing as ever, the room filled with an undercurrent of violence barely restrained.

“Well,” Klaus began with a sarcastic edge to his voice, “let’s hear it. I assume you're not here for social pleasantries.”

Damon, standing with his usual swagger, rolled his eyes. “Always so pleasant, Klaus. It’s a wonder you have any friends at all.”

Klaus shot him a cold look. "And you’ve come all this way just to throw weak insults, Damon?"

Before the bickering could escalate, Sheriff Forbes stepped forward, no-nonsense and determined. “Enough! I’m here to find my daughter, and this... petty arguing is not helping.”

Klaus’s eyes shifted from Damon to Liz, and his expression darkened slightly. “And I’m waiting for Damon to tell us all about the Augustine Society, which I’m sure he knows plenty about.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Why don’t you educate the room, Damon? I’m sure everyone is just dying to know.”

Damon’s smirk faltered for a second, his bravado cracking just a bit, but he recovered quickly. "Fine, if you insist," Damon said sarcastically, "Augustine was a little secret society that operated out of Whitmore College. Their specialty? Experimenting on vampires for fun. You can imagine how fond I am of those people."

At the mention of Whitmore College, Elena gasped, her eyes flickering between Damon and Klaus. “Whitmore College? That’s... that’s where Caroline and I were going to—”

"Yep," Damon cut in, his expression darkening as memories of Augustine's cruelty flickered through his mind. “It’s where they liked to keep vampires locked up and experimented on. Let’s just say 50s wasn’t my best decade.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, but underneath, there was genuine bitterness. “And the witches... well, let’s just say they liked playing with the bright white light. The same bright white light we saw just before a group of vampires slaughtered a hybrid and a large pack of werewolves.”

Before anyone could respond, a loud gasp echoed from the other room.

Everyone’s heads snapped toward the sound, and Klaus rose to his feet, his face tightening with dark anticipation. Savannah had woken.

“Excuse me,” Klaus said, his tone laced with menace as he strode into the next room. There, Savannah sat, chained to a metal fixture on the floor with spelled chains, her face pale and her body racked with a ravenous hunger, eyes wide in terror as she realized the extent of her situation. She yanked at the chains, but they didn’t budge.

The group followed Klaus, the tension in the air thickening as they laid eyes on the disheveled, newly turned vampire ex witch. Savannah’s breath came in short gasps, her eyes flicking around the room in desperation. Before she knew it, Klaus sped forward blood bag in hand and shoved the human blood down her throat. She tried to resist drinking the blood but it was too late. She felt her canine teeth stretch into fangs and a rush of emotions and senses. She noticed the daylight creeping through the edges of the curtains, and without thinking, she vamp-sped toward them in a futile attempt at ending her vampiric existence.

Klaus anticipated her move in an instant, slamming her to the floor with one hand. His voice was low, dangerous. "You're not going anywhere. I will obey my every command, to tell only the truth, and to do no harm to anyone or yourself unless I command it.”

Savannah's face twisted in horror as she felt the compulsion take hold. Her eyes darted around the room, landing on Liz. “Please,” Savannah begged, her voice weak but filled with desperation. “You’re a sheriff. If you have any morals, any humanity, you’ll shoot this monster where he stands.”

Liz stepped forward, her hand on her gun, her face conflicted. For a brief moment, Savannah thought Liz might actually protect her, but the sheriff’s expression hardened, and her voice was steady when she asked, “Where is my daughter?”

Savannah's eyes flicked back to Klaus, her mouth pressed into a thin line. She said nothing, her eyes filled with defiance.

Klaus’s expression darkened, and with a sharp command, he ordered, "Answer the sheriff’s questions. Truthfully."

Savannah looked to Liz, hesitating before speaking softly, too quietly for anyone to hear. Liz leaned in closer to catch her words, but in a flash, Savannah lunged at the sheriff, trying to attack her. Klaus was faster, intercepting Savannah before she could reach Liz, his hand gripping Savannah's throat as he threw her back to the floor.

"Way to go with the compulsion," Damon said from the doorway, his tone dry. "Performance anxiety, Klaus?"

Klaus’s eyes flashed gold, and he took a step toward Damon, fully prepared to attack him, but Liz's voice cut through the tension. “Where is my daughter?”

Savannah let out a bitter laugh, her voice filled with mockery as she replied, “Somewhere you will never find her.”

Liz’s face crumpled, her voice softening with a plea. “Please, I’m just trying to find my daughter. She’s innocent in all of this.”

For a moment, Savannah’s expression softened, as if she was going to offer something helpful. “Okay," she said, almost sincerely. "I can give you this. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her, but I can tell you one thing...” Her voice shifted, venom dripping into her words as her eyes glittered with malice. “Death is a mercy for what we’re going to do to her.”

Without hesitation, Liz drew her gun and fired, the bullet ripping through Savannah's leg. Savannah screamed in pain, her face contorting as she clutched her wound.

“You know,” Savannah gasped, “I heard she keeps trying to save human lives even after she was kidnapped. I’ve never seen a vampire so intent on sparing human lives—she’d rather suffer a thousand deaths than hurt anyone innocent.” Savannah grinned through the pain, her voice turning cruel. “Shame, I can still hear her screams.”

Klaus’s patience snapped.

In a blur, Klaus was across the room, his hand wrapping around Savannah’s throat. He lifted her off the ground with one arm, his eyes glowing gold with fury as he growled, “You know, I’ve been killing witches for centuries, but you? I will break you.”

With savage precision, Klaus flung open the curtain, the daylight pouring into the room. Savannah's body began to burn instantly, her skin bubbling under the sun’s rays as she screamed in agony. After a few seconds, Klaus closed the curtain again, her body charred but still alive. With one swift movement, he snapped her neck, her body slumping in his grasp before he unceremoniously dropped her to the floor, chains clinking.

Liz stood still, her body shaking with barely restrained grief and anger. Her face was tight, her lips pressed together as she fought to hold herself together. She glanced at Damon, Stefan, Elena, and Jeremy, her voice breaking as she asked, “What now?”

Klaus answered before any of them could speak. “You lot will go to Whitmore College. Find out if any remnants of the Augustine society remain there. Investigate the white light.”

Damon raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And what will you be doing, Klaus? Torturing more answers out of your lady friend over there and here I thought you were into blondie?"

Klaus’s lips curled into a dangerous smile before he vamped forward before anyone could blink and ripped out Damon’s liver, causing Damon to drop to the floor. "What was that?”

Stefan stepped forward, placing a hand on Damon’s shoulder, and all but dragged him toward the door. "Let’s go," Stefan said quickly, sensing the danger in pushing Klaus any further.

Once they were out of the room, Klaus moved Savannah’s limp body to the basement, where the real interrogation would begin. He had already wasted too much time. Caroline needed to be found, and he was done playing games. He was yet to find Rebekah as well, which he hated to admit, made him even more afraid. Preparing himself mentally, Klaus took a deep breath and pushed down any reservation or hesitation.

He would act.

Chapter Text

The atmosphere in Aurora's apartment was heavy, filled with an unfamiliar quietness that felt almost foreboding. Aurora sat slumped by the window, her face turned away, her usually coy and taunting demeanour replaced with a weary expression. The Aurora who took such delight in Caroline’s discomfort, in mocking her at every turn, wasn’t present. Instead, she seemed hollow, her gaze distant, shoulders sagged as if carrying a weight unseen. Caroline watched her for a moment, thrown off by this version of Aurora—vulnerable, almost childlike in her sadness. But she quickly reined herself in; she couldn’t afford to let her guard down. Not now.

“Aurora?” Caroline ventured carefully, breaking the silence, her voice laced with careful neutrality as she moved to the desk and pulled out the final blueprints for the ball. She exchanged a glance with Naveeda, who nodded in silent understanding, and they began arranging the plans as quietly as possible.

Aurora gave no reply, still lost in thought, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the window. Caroline noted her silence but kept working, inwardly hoping that by maintaining the normalcy of their routine, she could keep the situation under control. It was the only way she’d stay grounded, the only way she could ensure her survival and gather the information she needed to get her and the child out of there.

Turning to Naveeda, Caroline asked, “Could you ask Isabella and Abidemi bring breakfast for Aurora?” Her tone was steady, controlled, as if this were just another day. Caroline had no intention of letting Aurora sense her unease.

A few minutes later, Isabella and Abidemi returned, bringing in platters of pancakes, pitchers of blood, poached eggs, bacon, bread, sliced tomatoes, and a fruit basket. Caroline arranged the food on the table with deliberate precision, as though the act of organizing breakfast could stabilize the fragile energy in the room. Aurora finally turned away from the window and sat down at the table, but she was still eerily quiet.

Caroline couldn’t stand the silence any longer. Taking a seat across from Aurora, she forced a smile, adopting an upbeat tone. “Enough! This is depressing. We need to do something. We should have a picnic.”

Aurora’s eyes flickered to Caroline’s, a spark of amusement breaking through her gloom, but she quickly masked it with a small huff as she refilled her goblet with blood.

Caroline pressed on, determined to shake her out of this funk. “Come on. You need out of this place, and so do I.”

Aurora raised an eyebrow, giving Caroline an incredulous look. "You’re not leaving Mahal Khafa,” she replied flatly, taking a sip from her goblet. “But nice try.”

Caroline took a calming breath, her voice playful but steady as she pushed forward. “I’m talking about leaving the castle and the town. Surely there’s somewhere in this dimension that we can picnic at.”

She flashed an exaggerated, award-winning smile, even throwing in her best version of puppy dog eyes. To her satisfaction, Aurora scoffed but seemed to consider the idea, her expression softening just a bit.

“Come on… please…” Caroline pleaded mockingly, adding just the right touch of drama to her voice.

Aurora’s laughter rang through the room, a short, genuine sound that felt almost out of place. “You refuse to beg for your life,” she said with a small shake of her head, “but you beg for a picnic because you’re bored.”

Caroline’s grin widened, leaning into the levity. “Soooo… I take that you don’t object, Rora?”

Aurora’s amusement faded, her eyes narrowing. “It’s Lady Aurora,” she corrected with a faint edge in her voice.

Without skipping a beat, Caroline turned to Isabella and asked, “Could you prepare a picnic basket with fruits, wine, and blood bags, please?” She made no effort to respond to Aurora’s correction, her casual disregard an act of defiance that was small but satisfying.

Aurora’s eyes flashed with irritation as she repeated more sharply, “I said it’s Lady Aurora.”

“You did say it… twice…” Caroline replied innocently, biting into a berry before turning to Naveeda. “Could you also deliver the plans to the Wardens for me?”

Aurora’s irritation melted into laughter, her curiosity piqued as she observed Caroline with an almost fascinated expression. Caroline felt her nerves ease ever so slightly, relieved to see Aurora’s spirits lifting, even if only for a moment. She needed to take control.

Casian, the leader of the Wardens, sat in his austere study, surrounded by towering shelves filled with ancient tomes and records. The scent of old paper and ink filled the dimly lit room as he leafed through reports, his mind half-focused as he reviewed the details of the day. The recent strain of organizing the Strix’s 900th anniversary ball had placed more pressure on the Wardens than he cared to admit. And now, Aurora’s new pet had somehow clawed her way into the centre of it all.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. One of his underlings entered, bowing respectfully as he approached Casian’s desk, a thick scroll in hand.

“As requested, sir,” the underling said, placing the roll of paper before him. “The plans for the ball, courtesy of Lady Aurora’s... companion.”

Casian barely acknowledged him, his fingers already unrolling the paper as he muttered, “Aurora’s pet.” The word dripped from his lips with a hint of disdain.

He studied the plans for a few moments, his brows knitting together as he took in the meticulous detail. Despite his best efforts to dismiss her, it was obvious that Caroline knew exactly what she was doing. Her confidence, her spitfire attitude, and, most irritating of all, the way she carried herself as if she belonged at the same station as any of them—it all grated on his nerves. It was more than just a guest’s insolence. There was calculation behind her gaze, the way she spoke, the way she observed everything around her with unyielding focus.

Casian had questioned her just the day before, pressing her on every detail, testing her intentions under the guise of “assistance.” And still, she had somehow navigated his interrogation with grace and poise, deflecting him at every turn until he was forced to relent and grant her access to the blueprints. Her unwavering confidence and sharp tongue, paired with the fact that she had passed the witches’ test at dinner with such ease, had only fuelled his unease.

He scowled, his lips curling as he reviewed her plans. A laugh escaped him, harsh and quiet.

“The little bitch…” he muttered to himself, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Her audacity was infuriating. Caroline was clearly up to something—her every move felt like a challenge, as if she was subtly declaring herself their equal, even as a prisoner. It was almost impressive, if it didn’t grate on him so deeply.

Casian snapped his fingers, calling the underling back to his side. “Reach out to Lord Tristan,” he instructed, his tone as smooth as it was unyielding. “Tell him I request an audience. There are matters we need to discuss regarding our new guest.”

The underling nodded quickly, bowing again as he left to carry out the orders.

Casian leaned back in his chair, casting a final glance at Caroline’s plans spread before him. She was clever, he had to give her that. But clever was often dangerous, and Casian was not about to let Aurora’s new pet disturb the balance of power within the Strix.

Klaus and Marcel walked side by side, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet of swamp vegetation as they trekked deeper into the outskirts of New Orleans. The night air was thick with the scent of damp moss and the occasional ripple of water nearby. Klaus cast a sidelong glance at Marcel, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Where exactly are you taking me this time?” Klaus asked, the impatience in his voice unmistakable.

Marcel chuckled, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “All in good time, old friend.”

They continued walking until they arrived at a weathered wooden door with two nightwalkers standing guard, their faces tense and wary. A man was standing near the door, visibly shaking, and despite his age—well into his eighties, maybe nineties—he seemed in good health. The smell of crabs and seafood wafted from the small, dimly lit house, mixing with the cool night air. Klaus took it in with mild curiosity.

Thierry was already waiting there, his arms crossed, a steely gaze fixed on Klaus. His expression was hard, his eyes a mixture of resentment and reluctance as he nodded toward the door.

“Invite them in,” Thierry said to the old man.

The human old man looked nervously between the two vampires and then slowly nodded, opening the door wider for them. He wrapped a threadbare blanket tighter around himself, his frail shoulders hunching under the weight of whatever had him so afraid.

Klaus raised an eyebrow at Thierry’s defiant expression and began to take a threatening step toward him, but Marcel held up a hand, stopping him. “Easy,” Marcel said, his tone light but firm. “Let’s not make this more complicated than it needs to be.”

The tension dissipated slightly, and Klaus relaxed, his eyes still narrowing at Thierry before he turned his attention back to the man. Marcel pulled a chair across from the old man, motioning for him to sit as he opened a cupboard, retrieving a bottle of bourbon and a couple of glasses. He poured a glass for himself and one for the human, who took it with a shaky hand and downed it in a single gulp.

Marcel settled back, studying the man before him with a calculating look. “I hear you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a bind. Mr…?”

“Benoit,” the man replied, his voice hoarse. “Waylon Benoit.”

Marcel nodded, flashing a small, reassuring smile. “Waylon Benoit. Well, as you probably know, my name is…”

“Marcel,” Waylon interrupted, his voice surprisingly steady despite his shaking hands. “I know who you are and that you’re older than me. I’ve seen your kind since I was a boy.”

Marcel laughed, a quiet chuckle that held no real humour. “So you know what my kind are capable of. What I am capable of.”

Waylon nodded slowly. “I do.”

Marcel leaned forward, his gaze intensifying. “What did you discover?”

Waylon took a deep breath, dropping the blanket as he rose to his feet and made his way to the backyard, which opened onto a weathered dock overlooking the murky swamp. Marcel and Klaus followed, their expressions growing wary as they neared the dock and saw a group of nightwalkers standing guard over something at the edge of the water.

At the end of the dock, five bodies were suspended just beneath the water’s surface. Four of them were nightwalkers, their faces barely visible in the dark, and one was a daywalker, a daylight ring still glinting on his finger. Marcel’s jaw clenched, his face hardening as he took in the sight, while Klaus observed with detached curiosity.

The corpses were half-burned, their flesh charred and twisted, yet preserved in the water. Waylon moved to a large, rusted winch beside the dock, grabbing the handle and turning it until the bodies began to rise from the water, glistening in the moonlight. As soon as the corpses left the water completely, they ignited, the flames flickering a blinding white. Waylon quickly lowered them back into the water, extinguishing the eerie fire.

Klaus’s expression changed, a flash of recognition crossing his face as he registered the flames—the same white flames he’d seen before. They were connected to the spell Savannah had used, the witches protecting Caroline, and possibly even the people responsible for Rebekah’s disappearance. He glanced at Marcel, who wore a similar expression, the pieces coming together in both their minds.

Waylon cleared his throat, his voice steady despite the fear lingering in his eyes. “I caught them this afternoon and called your friend Mr. Vanchure when I recognized the fangs.”

Marcel’s face was a mask of cold anger as he turned to Thierry. “Take them out and gather everyone at the Compound. Now.”

Thierry nodded sharply, glancing at Klaus before directing the nightwalkers to handle the bodies.

Marcel gave a curt nod to Waylon. “Thank you for the tip, Mr. Benoit. Your discretion is appreciated.” He motioned for his men to leave, his mind already racing with questions and strategies.

As they walked back down the dock, the tension between Klaus and Marcel was thick, the weight of what they’d just seen settling heavily over them.

The forest was dense, each step muffled by the layers of fallen leaves underfoot, and Caroline moved silently alongside Aurora, wondering where exactly they were headed. The oppressive white sky above seemed to press down on the treetops, bathing the woods in an otherworldly red glow that filtered through the branches. Eventually, they emerged from the tree line and into a wide, open clearing on a cliff face. Caroline paused, taking in the sight before her.

The landscape was breath-taking. Below, a large lake stretched out, its dark waters shimmering under the eerie light. Across the lake, nestled within a cluster of trees, was an island with a solitary lighthouse standing tall, casting a distant, silent watch over the horizon. A small stream trickled nearby, its surface catching the glint of the red-tinted light. Caroline let out an impressed sigh, absorbing the view in quiet awe.

Aurora, however, was unfazed, casually pulling a wine bottle from her bag along with two glasses. She handed one to Caroline and poured them each a drink. The rich, red wine swirled in Caroline’s glass, its scent mingling with the cool, crisp air. She took a sip, savoring it as she looked out over the scenery.

As they drank, Aurora’s gaze drifted toward the lighthouse, and a small, wistful smile touched her lips. “My brother and I used to come out here,” she began, her voice softer than usual. “It was… an escape, I suppose. A place just for the two of us.”

Caroline glanced over, surprised by the vulnerability in Aurora’s tone. She’d seen it when Aurora broke down, but she didn’t predict she was see it again so soon. She was about to respond when, in her wine glass’s reflection, she saw Aurora pull out a staff. In an instant, Aurora swung the staff toward her, and Caroline ducked, dropping her glass in surprise. It hit the ground, cracking as she vamped backward to gain distance.

“What the hell?” Caroline exclaimed, her voice a mix of confusion and irritation.

Aurora smirked, her eyes alight with challenge. “My brother took me here to teach me how to fight,” she said as she tossed a metal staff to Caroline, who caught it clumsily. “You’ve got spirit, anger in spades… but you fight with no skill.”

Before Caroline could respond, Aurora lunged forward, her staff swinging in a precise arc. Caroline managed to block, but the impact jolted her, and Aurora wasted no time, aiming another blow at Caroline’s jaw. The hit landed with brutal accuracy, breaking her jaw and sending her sprawling to the ground with a cry.

Aurora didn’t let up, moving with a fluidity and power that showed just how practiced she was. Caroline grimaced as she snapped her jaw back into place and vamped backward, her heels skidding to a stop at the cliff's edge. Loose rocks crumbled beneath her feet, tumbling into the depths below.

“Afraid of heights?” Aurora taunted, rushing forward.

Caroline sidestepped just in time, but Aurora’s staff struck her leg, shattering the bone. Pain shot up her body, and before she could recover, Aurora spun and delivered a powerful blow to her head. The impact cracked her skull, and she went flying backward, her body landing with a painful splash in the stream below.

The vervain in the water seared her skin, and Caroline screamed, involuntarily swallowing some of the bitter, burning liquid. She struggled to pull herself out, her body steaming as the vervain continued to corrode her clothes and flesh. She barely had a second to steady herself before Aurora’s staff came hurtling toward her face. Caroline dodged, gripping her own staff tightly as she swung back. Aurora dodged easily, spinning to her side before ramming her staff straight into Caroline’s stomach, impaling her.

The force drove Caroline to the ground, her vision blurring as pain radiated from the wound. Aurora didn’t stop; she pulled out a metal stake and drove it directly into Caroline’s heart. Caroline inhaled sharply, her body going limp as a cold numbness washed over her.

Aurora leaned over, her tone mocking. “Now you are dead,” she said, withdrawing the staff and taking a step back, readying herself in a defensive stance. “Do you give up, Little Dove?”

Caroline coughed, spitting blood onto the ground before she struggled to her feet. The pain was overwhelming, but she refused to give Aurora the satisfaction of surrendering. Straightening herself and ripping the metal stake out of her heart, she mirrored Aurora’s stance, her gaze sharp, defiant.

“What do you think, Rora?” Caroline shot back, the nickname a deliberate challenge.

Aurora’s mouth curved into a slow smile; a gleam of respect mixed with amusement flashing in her eyes. She didn’t waste another second, lunging forward, her staff slicing through the air as she attacked again.

The car hummed along the highway, the faint glow of the streetlights casting shadows over Leonard’s tense face. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands, his jaw tight, looking as though he was bracing himself for impact even though the road ahead was clear. Riding shotgun, Isla sat cross-legged, one hand tapping restlessly against the window as she occasionally popped a lollipop into her mouth, she got bored of the bubble gum and made it a point to throw the wrappers at Isaac. Behind her, Isaac glanced up from the grimoire he’d been studying, his sharp eyes narrowed at Leonard.

“Out with it,” Isla demanded, her voice laced with impatience.

Leonard sighed, finally giving in to the pressure. “Her and I dated about two years back.”

Both Isla and Isaac stared at him, waiting for more, but Leonard remained silent, his eyes fixed firmly on the road as if he could somehow escape their interrogation.

Isaac leaned forward, eyes fixed on Leonard. “And?”

Leonard glanced at him in the rearview mirror, feigning innocence. “And?”

Isla rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t be this shifty if she was just an ex. What did you do?”

Leonard huffed, his shoulders slumping defensively. “What makes you think I was the one who did anything?” he replied, his tone verging on childish.

Isla raised an eyebrow, her expression deadpan. “What. Did. You. Do?”

Leonard exhaled heavily, his fingers tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel before finally admitting, “I slept with her sister.”

Silence filled the car as Isla’s jaw dropped. With a sound of utter disbelief, she whipped a lollipop from her stash and threw it at Leonard’s head.

“What the hell, Leonard?” she spat, her voice rising in exasperation. At the same time, Isaac shook his head, sighing, “Dude…”

Leonard winced, rubbing the side of his head, and glancing at the flying lollipop before stuffing it into the glove compartment. “It was after we broke up.”

Isla wasn’t appeased. She leaned toward him, her voice sharp. “How long after?”

Leonard went silent, his eyes fixed on the road, but his silence only irritated Isla further. With a glare, she flung another two lollipops at him. Leonard barely dodged the first, cringing as he reached to toss them in the glove compartment along with the others.

“How long, Leonard?” Isla demanded, her eyes narrowing.

“The same night,” he muttered, so low it was almost inaudible.

Isaac closed his grimoire, his lips pressing together in disapproval. “Dude…”

Isla let out a loud, exasperated breath. “O,” she said, punctuating each letter with another lollipop aimed at Leonard’s head, “M… G. You are a Grade A-level douchebag, Leonard. Her sister. On the same night. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Leonard let out a helpless groan. “It was a mistake.”

Isla threw up her hands in frustration, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, really? Did you just accidentally slip on a banana peel and land in bed with her sister the same night you broke up? You are a six hundred and eighty four year old boy. Give me a break!”

Isaac held up a hand, attempting to calm his sister down. “Is—”

“Don’t ‘Is’ me, Isaac,” she shot back, undeterred. “Our chances of finding Caroline might be totally screwed because this guy”—she pointed an accusatory finger at Leonard, tossing another lollipop his way—“can’t keep it in his pants.”

Leonard’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his eyes flicking toward Isla sitting beside him, frustration and embarrassment etched across his face. “Ava will help,” he insisted, though his voice wavered slightly. “She’ll help.”

But the look on his face said he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

Tristan sat at his desk, his posture rigid and composed as he eyed the group assembled before him. Around him, the leaders of the Strix factions stood, each in their designated place, watching him with varying degrees of respect and anticipation. Beatrice, the head of The Sisters, stood at the forefront, her black robes pooling around her feet, her face a mask of indifference, though something about her demeanor hinted at restrained irritation.

Tristan’s gaze flicked to Beatrice, his tone commanding but measured. “You requested our audience. Speak.”

Beatrice took a deep breath, her piercing brown eyes sweeping across the room before meeting Tristan’s gaze. “Several days ago, we encountered multiple magical attacks against our faction. Most notably, there have been powerful locator spells cast to locate one of us. While the spell failed to produce results, they succeeded in tracking its origin.” She hesitated for a moment, her lips tightening. “One of these locator spells was performed by one of our own: Savannah Davis. Attempts to locate her have traced her to New Orleans before her magic became… untraceable. She is either dead or cloaked.”

Tristan’s eyes narrowed. “And the other locator spells?”

Beatrice’s expression remained calm, though there was a flicker of annoyance. “Also originating from New Orleans. As you know, the Original Klaus resides there, along with his progeny, Marcellus Gerard, who commands his own faction. The Original Elijah has not been sighted in days. As per your orders, we attempted strikes on both Klaus and Kol, but they were unsuccessful.”

Tristan’s voice was icy. “Is that all?”

Beatrice’s lips pressed together as if steeling herself. “No, my lord.” She took a breath, her gaze sharpening. “There have also been attacks on the other side. Witches—those who dare claim they uphold the balance”—she sneered at the notion—“are destabilising our defenses. They have begun corrupting the nexus points that keep our dimension secure. We have tried to intercept, but they are drawing on the power of their living and dead alike. It is only a matter of time before they overpower a node and jeopardize our realm.”

A murmur rippled through the room, a mix of anger and anxiety.

Casian’s voice rose above the noise, a sharp edge to his tone. “We’ll simply kill the living witches. Root them out and sever their magic.”

Beatrice’s tone was sharp as she countered, “Killing them will do little. They’ll just channel their dead, their bloodlines would still remain intact alive or dead to amplify magic on the other side. Alive or dead, they will keep pulling from their ancestors’ power.”

A thoughtful expression crossed Tristan’s face. “What if… they weren’t witches?” His gaze sharpened, and all eyes turned to him, curious and intrigued. “If the witches were turned into vampires, the magic on the other side would be rendered useless. No? A vampire’s soul would sever the line from the Other Side upon death, severing the bloodline from its power source.”

Beatrice considered this, her expression flickering with reluctant respect. “It’s possible. But to do so effectively, to completely render it severed, you would need to target every witch of every significant bloodline as quickly as possible. Not to mention, the threat from New Orleans remains. This would start a war.”

Tristan nodded, a calculated gleam in his eye. “We are already at war and we need to strike first quickly and swiftly. As for New Orleans, it will be neutered soon enough.” He shifted his gaze to Shen Min, Mohinder, and Aya, who straightened, awaiting their orders. “Track down the primary bloodlines of witches across our territories. Rip them out, root and stem, and find the family of Savannah Davis. They will serve as an example.”

He turned his gaze on each member of the room, his tone ice-cold. “Dismissed.”

The assembly began to disperse, but before Beatrice could leave, Tristan called out, his voice low and menacing. “And Beatrice… if another witch betrays us under your watch, and you fail to detect it again…” His eyes hardened, glinting with barely restrained fury. “Your death will last centuries.”

Beatrice inclined her head, her expression hardening. “Yes, my lord,” she replied, before turning and leaving the room without a trace of emotion.

Once the others had left, only Casian and Shen Min remained, and Casian took a step forward, a stack of blueprints and annotated maps in his hand. “My lord, there is something you’ll want to see.” He unfurled the plans on Tristan’s desk, revealing carefully detailed maps and notes marked for the upcoming ball. “These are the plans that your Lady sister’s…companion Caroline prepared for the anniversary event. She has requested access to the Catacombs and the old sewage network running beneath the castle as well as additional resources for the preparations.”

Tristan’s interest was piqued, and he leaned in, his eyes scanning the detailed notes and markings. He nodded to Shen Min, and a small, knowing smile crept across his face. “What reason has Caroline given for this access?”

Casian’s lips twisted in a barely suppressed smirk. “The plans were delivered by her maidservant this morning, not Caroline herself. She’s likely trying to keep her distance.”

Tristan glanced at Shen Min, his gaze sharp. “Where is she now?”

Shen Min’s response was swift. “As of an hour ago, she was at the cliffs with your sister. They were engaged in… training,” he said, a slight hint of amusement in his voice. “Shall I retrieve Caroline now?”

For a moment, a flicker of nostalgia softened Tristan’s expression—a brief memory of himself and Aurora training on those very cliffs—before he regained his composure, the warmth gone as quickly as it had appeared. “No. Leave them be. Intercept Caroline later when she has finished with my sister.”

Shen Min gave a curt nod. “Understood.”

Tristan shifted his gaze to Casian, a quiet warning in his eyes. “You will be summoned later. Be prepared.”

Casian inclined his head in obedience, though his mouth twitched as he tried to contain a grin. “Yes, my lord.” He turned on his heel, barely keeping the smirk off his face as he exited the room, leaving Tristan to ponder Caroline’s plans.

Daisy leaned back on the worn patio chair, her head resting against John’s shoulder as they watched the sun sink lower in the sky, casting streaks of pink and gold across their small Alabama farm. She took a sip of her beer, nudging John with a playful smirk.

“You know,” she drawled, her voice teasing, “I think I remember you saying you’d fix that fence out back before the end of spring. Spring’s long over, John.”

John chuckled, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll get to it, Dais,” he replied with a grin. “But you know I’d rather spend my time right here with you.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, lingering there, and Daisy swatted at him, feigning annoyance.

“Well, you’re lucky you’re cute,” she teased, giving him a small shove. “Otherwise, I’d probably go off and find me someone who actually fixes fences.”

John laughed, pulling her closer. “Oh, Daisy, don’t pretend you’d find anyone near as handsome. Or as smart.”

She rolled her eyes, but a smile played on her lips. “Well, I can’t deny the handsome part,” she said, laughing softly, “but don’t get ahead of yourself on the smart thing, now.”

Just then, a low rumble echoed down the dirt road. They both turned their heads as three black SUVs barreled toward their home, raising a cloud of dust behind them. Daisy’s smile dropped, her eyes narrowing.

John straightened, tense. “Who the hell drives out here like that?”

“No one who knows us,” Daisy muttered, her voice low. She stood up, pulling him up by the hand. “Let’s go. Now.”

They hurried to their truck, John fumbling with the keys as the SUVs closed in. He threw open the driver’s side door, and Daisy slid in beside him, her heart pounding as she glanced over her shoulder at the vehicles speeding toward them.

“Come on, John!” she urged, her voice tight.

“I’m trying!” he grunted, finally getting the engine to roar to life. He slammed the truck into reverse, but it was too late—the SUVs had surrounded them, their headlights blazing like silent threats.

Daisy’s eyes darkened as she saw several men emerging from the vehicles. Her voice hardened, and she whispered a chant under her breath. “M’shunah Morsinu Pyrai Alluk”

The words barely left her lips before a few of the vampires fell to their knees, clutching their heads in pain, their veins turning black and their true faces showing. She felt a small surge of triumph, but it was short-lived. One of the vampires moved faster than she could blink, charging forward and jabbing a needle into her arm. She tried to scream, tried to resist, but her strength was draining as the sedative coursed through her veins.

“Daisy!” John shouted, pulling a gun from under his seat and aiming it at the vampires. He fired, but the vampire were faster—the closest vampire simply smirked, ripping the gun from his grip and injecting him as well.

As Daisy’s vision faded, the last thing she saw was John slumping against the wheel, his hand reaching out to her, and then… darkness.

The forest clearing was quiet, the light dimming as the hours of relentless sparring wore on. Caroline stood, battered and bruised, her vampire body barely keeping up with the constant barrage of wounds that were healing slower with each hit. Blood smeared her clothes and face, her skin pale and eyes flashing with exhaustion and fury, but she refused to back down. Aurora, too, was worse for wear, a single strike from Caroline having landed earlier and catching her in the side. It had sent her to the ground, and though she recovered quickly, a spark of anger and something else simmered behind her eyes.

Caroline could feel the toll of the fight wearing on her, a weight pressing down on her body and mind. Every instinct screamed at her to stop, to retreat, to let her vampire instincts shut down and heal, but she pushed on, determined not to give Aurora the satisfaction of seeing her quit. If she was to survive this place and these people, she needed to keep Aurora’s curiosity, to keep her invested in keeping Caroline alive. Survival here meant more than obedience; it meant power and control, even if it was just the illusion of it.

Aurora stopped mid-attack, her eyes clouded in thought, the staff resting loosely in her hands. Caroline noticed the sudden pause and considered striking, but something held her back. She kept her grip tight, her breath ragged, but she didn’t move.

“Why didn’t you hit me?” Aurora’s voice broke through the silence, her gaze fixed on Caroline, piercing.

“It didn’t feel quite right to,” Caroline replied, the honesty slipping out before she could think better of it.

Aurora tilted her head, a mad gleam of something Caroline couldn’t place sparking in her eyes, and without warning, she lunged at Caroline with renewed force, her strikes faster and harder. Caroline barely managed to block the attacks, gritting her teeth as each blow resonated through her bones. Aurora shouted with each powerful strike, her strength magnified by sheer rage and frustration. The next blow caught Caroline under the chin, the force of it sending her flying backward into the rocky ledge. Her spine cracked sharply, and she let out a gasp, her vision blurring.

She lay there for a moment, her body painfully realigning itself as her spine healed. Dazed, she managed to push herself back up, confusion and anger swirling within her.

“Why didn’t you rip my heart out?” Caroline’s voice was quiet but sharp, tinged with frustration and bewilderment.

Aurora scoffed remembering Caroline’s first breakfast, her tone bitter. “You said it yourself. Boredom.”

“No,” Caroline replied, shaking her head. “This morning, after I woke up and the witch healed me. You helped me out of bed… led me to the bath. Why didn’t you rip my heart out or punish me then?”

Aurora’s expression twisted, her face hardening. “What makes you think I’m not punishing you now?” she replied, a hint of mockery in her voice.

Caroline took a shaky breath, pressing on despite Aurora’s venomous gaze. “I don’t think this is punishment. Not really. If you wanted to punish me, you’d do it somewhere else… somewhere that doesn’t hold any meaning. I see the look on your face when we’re here, Aurora. This place—it means something to you. You wouldn’t taint it with punishment. You’d do it somewhere else.”

A flicker of something passed over Aurora’s face—surprise, irritation, maybe a flash of regret—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. She lowered her staff, the muscles in her jaw clenching and unclenching.

“You think you understand me?” she asked, her voice deceptively soft.

Caroline met her gaze evenly, not breaking her stance. “I don’t know what I understand about you yet. But I know that there’s more to this than your sadistic enjoyment. You seem to love inflicting pain, but that’s not all of it… is it?”

Aurora’s eyes darkened, her face hardening, and she stepped closer to Caroline, her voice ice-cold. “You know nothing. We’re leaving.”

The air was thick with tension, the compound crammed with vampires pressed shoulder to shoulder, the din of voices filling every inch of the place. Four hundred vampires filled the courtyard below as Marcel stood on the balcony above, flanked by Thierry and several other daywalkers. Klaus stood beside him, arms crossed, surveying the crowd with an almost amused expression, his eyes gleaming with dark anticipation.

Thierry leaned over to Marcel, his voice low and direct. “Everyone is here.”

Marcel nodded, lifting his hands and motioning for silence. Slowly, the crowd began to quiet, a mix of confused, angry, and fearful faces staring up at him, their attention sharpened by the intensity of the moment. Marcel's voice cut through the hush, powerful and commanding.

“Now, it’s not usual that I summon every one of you here at once,” Marcel began, his voice echoing off the walls. “But today, we have a situation on our hands. A serious one.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “I called you here because five of us have been found dead.”

An immediate uproar broke out. Gasps, curses, and whispers filled the air as the crowd surged with rage. Marcel held up his hand again, silencing the growing clamor. His gaze was dark as he continued, “The nightwalkers: Charlotte Duval-Leblanc, Luc Fontenot, Harper Sinclair Greene, Tanner Thorne—and one of our daywalkers, Remy Beauregard St. Clair.”

At the mention of each name, a ripple of grief and anger moved through the vampires below. Some cursed under their breath, others clenched their fists in rage, their expressions a mirror of Marcel's own fury.

“When we recovered their bodies,” Marcel continued, his voice low and steady, “they were found in the swamps. But here’s the strange part—when we dragged their corpses out of the water, they combusted into white flames. Magic flames. Flames that reeked of witchcraft.” His voice grew harder. “Every one of you can smell the magic in this. And over the last few weeks, eight more of us have disappeared without a trace.”

A few vampires shouted in anger, their cries feeding the growing energy in the crowd. Others looked terrified, and a murmur of unrest stirred through the compound. Klaus glanced down at them, his expression cold and calculating, but a gleam of satisfaction sparkled in his eyes as Marcel stoked their anger.

Marcel paced along the edge of the balcony, his eyes scanning the sea of faces below him. “I won’t let them get away with this,” he declared, his voice like steel. “The witches have been too quiet lately. They may not have lit the match, but they know something. And I intend to get to the bottom of it.”

The crowd’s anger began to crescendo, voices rising, fists shaking. Marcel stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over them, his voice dropping to a sinister edge as he delivered the final incitement. “So how do you feel about a rousting in the Cauldron?”

A roar of approval swept through the crowd, drowning out the rest of his words as cries of “Yes!” and “Burn them!” and “Let’s string up some witches!” erupted in a frenzy. Marcel walked off the balcony, and the vampires below immediately began funnelling toward the exits, ready to release their pent-up anger, ready to exact revenge. Klaus watched, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he followed Marcel, a twisted smile playing at his lips.

Caroline stumbled through the dim corridors, every step heavy, her muscles aching with exhaustion. The beating she’d endured at Aurora’s hands left her feeling raw, every inch of her body throbbing as her wounds healed at a glacial pace. Blood had dried in sticky patches across her skin, her clothes torn and smeared with grime, and the vervain embedded in the fabric clung painfully to her flesh, itching and burning with every movement. She ignored the stares of passing servants who quickly averted their eyes, unable—or unwilling—to look her way.

Reaching her quarters, she let out a breath, half-relieved, ready to wash off the filth and patch herself back together. But the moment she opened the door, she froze.

Her room was in disarray. Her belongings had been rifled through, her bed stripped bare, and the few possessions she had managed to keep close were now scattered and broken across the floor. The faint scent of vampire blood and something darker hung in the air, and every instinct in her flared with alarm.

Before she could react, a powerful grip seized her shoulders, and she was slammed into the wall with brutal force, knocking the breath from her lungs. Her vision blurred, stars sparking in her eyes, and as she tried to turn, another hand shot out, gripping her chin and jerking her head back painfully. She barely had time to register the cold, mocking presence behind her before a quick, sharp twist sent a sickening crack echoing through the room, and darkness swallowed her whole.

Chapter Text

The night was filled with blood and screams as the Strix vampires moved in brutal unison, sweeping across covens like a plague, eliminating witches with ruthless efficiency. Mohinder, Aya, Vasil and other high ranking Strix vampires led the charge, each with their own twisted sense of purpose, leaving nothing but carnage and broken bloodlines in their wake.

Mohinder moved through the shadowed woods outside a farmhouse where an entire coven had taken refuge. His expression was cold, detached, as he broke through the front door and was met with a flurry of pain spells hurled by the terrified witches inside. With deadly precision, he overpowered the pain and sidestepped their attacks, faster than their eyes could track, and lunged forward. His hands gripped the shoulders of the coven’s leader, forcing her mouth open as he forced his wrist to her lips, letting his blood seep into her. The moment she drank, he snapped her neck, her body crumpling to the floor as her family looked on, horror etched on their faces.

He stood back, watching as his vampires began turning the coven members one by one, screams and useless hastily put together counter-attacks. But Mohinder's eyes held no mercy. He waited with the rest of his vampires for the witches to awaken, a few of his vampires had taken some unsuspecting humans from a neighbouring village ready for the next phase. It was a couple of hours until the coven leader’s eyes snapped open and awoke with a gasp before he shoved the now compelled human’s wrist to the vampire forcing her to transition. As soon as she did, he drove his hand through her chest, tearing her heart out in one clean motion. The rest of the coven awoke shortly thereafter and they also died as vampires.

Meanwhile, in a small mountain village, Aya tore through the doors of an old, stone-walled sanctuary, the candles within flickering wildly at her entrance. A coven of young witches stood there, their hands raised in defensive formation, murmuring incantations. Aya smirked, nodding at the group of Strix vampires behind her, and they surged forward, flanking the witches and cutting off any chance of escape. Aya took a young witch by the throat, her eyes gleaming as she whispered, “This won’t take long.”

She forced the witch to swallow her blood and then took her nail slitting her throat with it, watching as she died and her and her men did the same with the rest. One by one they awoke a couple of hours later, in transition. Aya circled her, taunting, as the ex-witch desperately screamed and saw her dead friends and family dead around her. Aya grabbed a glass that was partially shattered and filled it with the blood of a compelled human before shoving it towards the witch. The witch tried to resist, but eventually, her thirst overcame her, and she drank. The moment the witch finished, Aya leaned in close, a twisted smile playing on her lips, and ripped out her heart.

Vasil led a group in a northern town, breaking into the secluded home of a respected witch elder. The man met them at the door, incanting spells that sent all of them flying into the wall, a few including Vasil quickly arose and sped toward the man. The man rose his hands and sent them all in pain to the floor. But Vasil barely flinched, pushing forward through the pain and grabbing the man’s hands and breaking them before biting into his wrist. He forced his blood down the elder’s throat and snapped his neck. The vampires managed to overpower them and do the same before waiting for them to awake and forcing them to transition before killing them again permanently.

Elsewhere, entire families of witches fought back with desperation, some managing to repel the vampires with sheer force of will, others with protective wards that forced the Strix into retreat.

A coven in a coastal town managed to drive back an entire group of attackers, their combined power overwhelming the vampires with wave upon wave of magic imbued by the spirits. But their victory was short-lived, as reinforcements quickly arrived, led by seasoned Strix members, who tore through the coven’s defenses with brutal determination, ensuring no surviving or dead witches remained to carry on the bloodline.

By the time dawn approached, the Strix had decimated half a dozen major bloodlines, scattering any witches who managed to escape and extinguishing entire bloodlines. Mohinder, Aya, and Vasil regrouped in Mahal Khafa, their faces and clothes stained with blood, their eyes cold and unfeeling. The night had been a success by Strix standards, an efficient, deadly operation, and each of them felt the weight of the victory as they looked over the smoldering remains of what had once been powerful covens.

The Other Side was in chaos. Shadows of long-dead spirits flickered through the eerie landscape, and the entire dimension seemed to pulse and tremble. Dark cracks veined through the sky above, and the ground beneath Bonnie’s feet was trembling, vibrating as if in anticipation of something catastrophic.

Kol gripped her arm, his usual flippant expression replaced with one of genuine fear. “This is bad, Bonnie. If the Other Side collapses… us coming back from the dead? Practically impossible,” he said, his voice tense, almost frantic.

Bonnie took in his words, her stomach churning, but she pushed forward, pulling Kol along as they navigated through the crumbling terrain. Suddenly, she stopped short, eyes widening as she spotted two familiar figures moving through the smoky haze.

“Tyler? Ric?” she whispered, disbelief colouring her tone.

Tyler Lockwood looked up, his face etched with shock and relief. “Bonnie? You’re dead too?” he asked, eyes widening. “Bonnie?” Alaric uttered in disbelief at seeing her on the otherside.

Bonnie nodded, and her and Tyler embraced quickly, a desperate hug in the middle of the disarray. “Everything’s going out of control here,” Tyler said, glancing around nervously.

Kol rolled his eyes, folding his arms impatiently. “This reunion is absolutely heartwarming, but we need to move. Now.”

Bonnie glanced at him, the urgency in his voice spurring her into action. She grabbed Tyler’s hand, and the three of them hurried through the shifting, crumbling space. As they ran, more figures began to appear, faces Bonnie recognized. Suddenly, Tyler stopped short, his eyes brightening.

“Mason! Jules!” he called, and two figures approached them through the flickering, fractured landscape. Tyler ran to them, wrapping his arms around his uncle and Jules, who looked tense, her face set with worry.

Kol frowned, watching the exchange with mild curiosity. “Who are they?” he asked, a hint of annoyance lacing his voice.

Bonnie shot him a look. “Mason’s Tyler’s uncle. Jules… she’s a werewolf who tortured Caroline and was later used in Klaus’s sacrifice.” Her tone was icy, making her dislike for Jules abundantly clear.

Jules crossed her arms, glancing around at the shaking terrain. “The Other Side is collapsing. Vampires are killing werewolves and witches left and right,” she said. “Now they’re forcing witches to turn into vampires, then killing them again, ripping out bloodlines.”

Kol’s face blanched, and he took a step back, processing her words. “They’re… killing all witches?” he whispered, realization dawning on him. “They’re severing all the witches bloodlines and nullifying the power of the witches here and by extension the Other Side’s anchor. That’s why this place is falling apart.”

Before he could process further, a brilliant white light appeared, illuminating the hazy greyness, growing brighter until it was almost blinding. The ground trembled violently, cracks widening beneath them, and rubble began to fall from the dark, ominous sky.

“Run!” Mason shouted, shoving Tyler forward as he took off, and the group sprinted away from the light. They dodged falling debris and leapt over widening chasms that opened beneath their feet, the blinding light getting closer, brighter, spreading through the landscape in destructive waves.

But before they could get much farther, a second beam of light appeared ahead, blocking their path. Bonnie squinted as the light spread, illuminating everything in stark, painful brightness. In front of her, Jules froze, her eyes wide with terror.

“No!” Jules whispered, trying to shield herself, but the light overtook her. She let out a scream as her body was engulfed in white flames, the fire consuming her form, burning her from the inside out. The others could only watch in horror, unable to help as she was reduced to ashes.

The group backed away, fear etched on their faces. Alaric pulled them all of them behind him, his eyes wide in fear as the light began moving towards them all. Bonnie felt a chill run through her as she clutched Tyler’s arm, her mind racing as the Other Side continued to disintegrate around them. She turned to Kol, her voice shaky. “What do we do now?”

Kol swallowed, casting one last glance at the bright flames where Jules had been. “We keep running,” he said, his voice steely despite the panic in his eyes. “And hope we can get out of here while there is still something left to stand on.”

Caroline’s head throbbed as she regained consciousness, a faint ache from where her neck had been snapped only moments before. She blinked, slowly focusing on her surroundings and taking in the faces around her: Tristan seated at his desk, his gaze piercing and cool; Casian, with a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face; Shen Min standing at attention, his face blank but his stance alert; and the guards posted throughout the room, all staring at her in unyielding silence. In the corner, Caroline spotted Naveeda, Abidemi, and Isabella, all looking terrified, their faces pale as they tried to avoid her gaze.

With a tired sigh, Caroline straightened herself and took in the room, shaking off the disorientation. "Y’know," she drawled, flashing Tristan an irritated look, "if you wanted my presence, you could just requested it. I am capable of walking up the stairs without the whole neck-snapping routine.”

The room stayed silent, eyes fixed on her, and Caroline squared her shoulders, her gaze locking onto Tristan’s. She moved purposefully to the bar cart and poured herself a glass of amber liquid, taking a seat across from Tristan. Lifting her glass in a mock toast, she sipped and crossed one leg over the other, unfazed by the tension surrounding her. "All right,” she said, giving them all an expectant look. “Why am I here?"

Casian stepped forward, his gaze full of smug satisfaction. “You requested access to the Catacombs, the old sewage network, and quite an impressive amount of construction workers. Care to explain why?”

Without missing a beat, Caroline met his gaze coolly. “One, I requested access to the Catacombs as a transport route for servants to discreetly bring food, alcohol, and other supplies to the ball without disrupting the main corridors. Two, the old sewage network is collapsing, so yes, I requested more construction workers to stabilise it. Seems rather obvious, doesn’t it?”

Casian’s smirk faded, irritation flashing across his face. “Why would you need to stabilize the old sewage network?”

Caroline rolled her eyes, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Mmmm…I don’t know. Maybe because I don’t want the floor collapsing under the guests?”

Casian’s patience was clearly thinning as he countered, “This is ludicrous. The floor isn’t going to collapse. And how exactly would you know any of this?” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not sneaking around doing some extracurricular activities of your own, are you?”

Caroline’s expression hardened. She pushed herself up, striding to her belongings, pulling out two hefty books, and tossed them at Casian. “Castles: Their Construction and History,” she began, pointing at the title, “and Roman Plumbing. Maybe they’re a little advanced for you, but let me summarise.” She crossed her arms, looking at him with feigned patience. “When one builds a castle, a common methodology to start is Ashlar masonry, used for building castle walls. Big, heavy stones, carefully arranged for stability. However, one doesn’t stack stones and call it a day. For any place to be liveable it needs proper hygiene and, historically, castles were disgusting places to live. But as I would have imagined the strix aspiring to ‘excellence’ would want to surpass this and install proper plumbing, wouldn’t they? And the Romans did it best.”

She turned, facing Tristan as she continued. “On my first day here, I noticed the leaking ceilings, corroding foundations, and that the water here is vervain-free compared to what’s outside the castle, which tells me you have your own water source. From there, it was easy to figure out the connection between the castle’s foundations and its sewage system, which the blueprints confirmed.”

Pulling the map out, she circled a few key areas with a pink marker and added a few arrows for emphasis. “To my estimate, this castle is approximately eight hundred to nine hundred years old and it needs to be reinforced. I am surprised that this place is still standing. The ball is in less than two weeks. There is a reason why soldiers break stride on a bridge, if enough people are dancing in unison, the resonance could be enough to bring this castle down.”

Casian’s mouth dropped open slightly, his shock visible as he processed her explanation. He gestured to Tristan, clearly skeptical. “She’s not an engineer, and there’s no need for a separate tunnel network just for servants to carry trays.”

Caroline let out a dry laugh, her gaze unyielding. “There’s a reason I’m the one planning this event, not you. This is the 900th anniversary of the Strix, not a garden barbecue”. She turned back to Tristan, her tone more serious. “This has to be addressed. The moment people start dancing, it could be the last straw. And then, this castle crumbles on everyone’s heads.”

Casian scowled, folding his arms as he glared at her. “If this was so pressing, why didn’t you deliver the plans yourself?”

Caroline rolled her eyes again, exasperated. “I was with Aurora, as assigned. I did my job by handing my work off to my servants. Anything else?”

Tristan studied her face, his expression unreadable as he watched her with keen interest. After a long moment, he handed the blueprints back to her. “Proceed with your initial plan,” he said coolly, turning to Casian. “Ensure she has everything she requires to see this project through. You will have access to the old sewage network,” he confirmed to Caroline, casting a final look around the room.

Turning to the assembled group, he dismissed them. “Everyone, dismissed.”

Caroline turned to Naveeda, Abidemi, and Isabella, giving them a reassuring smile. “Let’s grab all of these things and go.” The servants quickly gathered her scattered belongings, relief, and gratitude evident in their expressions as they followed her from the room.

The Cauldron was alive with chaos as vampires tore through the witch shops, smashing windows, overturning shelves, and scattering spell ingredients across the cobblestone streets. Marcel led the charge, his vampires rounding up every witch they could find, though many had already fled to the sanctuary of the cemetery. Vampires dragged a struggling Sophie Deveraux, along with a few other witches, toward the centre where Marcel and Klaus waited. Sophie thrashed against the nightwalkers holding her, her face twisted in defiance.

Marcel crossed his arms, his expression cool as he watched her struggle. “Now, colour me confused,” he began, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Five of my nightwalkers end up dead, magic’s the cause, and yet, the witches of the Quarter have gone as quiet as the grave. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

Sophie glared up at him, her voice laced with fury. “We haven’t done magic, and you know that! Get your hands off me!” she spat at the nightwalkers holding her.

Marcel raised an eyebrow, ignoring her outburst. “I know you haven’t done open magic,” he replied, his tone almost casual. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not plotting. Maybe you’re working with outside witches, or remnants of the wolves out in the Bayou?”

“This is ridiculous!” Sophie’s anger faded suddenly, and her face went slack. A chill swept over her, as though something had died, and she stilled, looking around in shock. The other witches mirrored her expression, exchanging nervous glances. She dropped to the ground, her hands braced against the cobblestones. In the eerie silence, every candle flickered out, streetlights shattered, and the ground began to shake.

Marcel tightened his grip on Sophie’s neck, his eyes flashing with anger and a hint of worry. “I suggest you stop this before I snap your neck right now,” he growled.

Sophie looked up panicked, her voice barely producing a whisper. “It’s not me!”

Marcel’s eyes narrowed. “Then what is it?”

Sophie swallowed, her gaze distant. “Witches are dying,” she said hoarsely, horror creeping into her voice. “So many witches… snuffed out all at once.”

Marcel released his grip on her neck, watching her warily. “Witches die all the time,” he said dismissively, but a glimmer of unease flashed in his eyes.

Sophie rubbed her throat, catching her breath, her tone frantic as she looked between Marcel and Klaus. “No, it’s not just witches dying,” she insisted. “Entire bloodlines are being turned into vampires, and then killed. It’s destroying our connection to our ancestors, severing the power we draw from them.”

Klaus cocked an eyebrow, his expression twisted in a mocking grin. “Ah, and that’s a problem because…?” he smirked, glancing at Marcel, who chuckled.

Sophie’s eyes blazed as she stared up at them, her voice laced with dread. “The very existence of the Other Side—the veil that separates us from the dead—is powered by the earth and magnified through our ancestors. Through our blood,” she emphasized, her voice shaking. “If that’s gone, if those bloodlines are wiped out, there’ll be nothing left holding the Other Side together. Nothing to stop the supernatural dead from popping right back into the world of the living.”

Klaus’s smirk faltered, the weight of her words settling in like a stone. His mind flashed to memories of his mother, his father, and countless enemies, each one a potential nightmare come back to haunt him. A flicker of fear passed over his face, but he masked it quickly, though his mind was racing. No way. Not now. Not ever.

Marcel, too, felt the weight of her words, his own history of enemies and skeletons buried with painstaking effort. He masked his concern, but the tightness around his mouth betrayed his thoughts. "So you're saying, if these bloodlines are all severed..."

Sophie met his gaze, her expression grim. “Then everyone—every single enemy you thought you buried—will have nothing keeping them from coming back.”

The night air was tense as Leonard, Isla, and Isaac approached Ava’s apartment complex. Leonard’s face was tight with nerves, while Isla and Isaac exchanged a look, each subtly bracing themselves. Isaac cleared his throat, glancing sideways at his sister.

“Be careful in here, okay?” he murmured, his tone softer than usual. “I know you’re strong, but…we’re both still brand new to all this, Isla. Hell, we didn’t even know Caroline well before we turned. And now we’re in the middle of—” He trailed off, gesturing at the world around them as if it could somehow encompass the chaos they were swept into.

Isla nodded, her eyes sharp. “I know. We’re in the thick of it now, and I don’t like it any more than you do. But there’s only one way through this: forward.” She shrugged, trying to keep her voice steady. “And maybe, just maybe, this witch can help us get to Caroline. So let’s see this though, okay?”

Isaac gave a slight smile and a nod as they reached the building, slipping into silence as they climbed the stairs. Outside Ava’s apartment door, they caught sight of a delivery man stepping away, while a woman with chestnut hair and piercing brown eyes handed him cash and took the pizza. Leonard’s face twisted with regret as he watched her, a haunted look shadowing his eyes.

Leonard took a deep breath and knocked, and Ava turned, distracted as she dug through her purse. “I’m sure I paid enough,” she muttered, pulling out some loose bills.

“Ava…” Leonard’s voice was quiet, filled with guilt. “Hello.”

Ava froze, her face hardening as she looked up, anger and pain darkening her features. “Motus,” she hissed, and Leonard was thrown backward into the hallway wall with a force that shook the floor beneath them.

“Ave, please,” he whispered, raising his arms in surrender as he pulled himself off the ground.

Ava’s voice was sharp with contempt. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to forget you? How long it took me to look my sister in the eye again?” She spat the words like venom. “My sister, Leonard!”

“Ava…”

“No!” she interrupted, her voice almost a growl. “You don’t get to say my name! You don’t get to do anything—not after everything you did! And who the hell are they?” She gestured at Isla and Isaac, her eyes narrowing.

Leonard swallowed hard, looking at her, desperate. “We need your help.”

Ava laughed coldly, her gaze chilling. “Help? After everything you’ve done?” She raised a hand, sending a wave of searing pain through Leonard’s body. He clenched his jaw, stifling a scream as his knees buckled.

“Hey!” Isla’s voice rang out, snapping Ava’s attention away from Leonard.

Ava’s glare shifted to her, irritation clear on her face. “What?” she snarled.

Isla didn’t back down, though her face was tense. “I know he’s an absolute asshole, and he deserves everything you’re giving him and more, but our friend is in danger. And we need your help.”

Ava’s face hardened. “I don’t care.”

Isla shook her head, visibly restraining herself from saying more. Meanwhile, Isaac’s eyes shifted as he caught something out of the corner of his vision—a group of people moving quickly up the stairwell. They looked like ordinary humans, but their eyes were predatory, and they carried pocket knives, each blade glinting with eerie intent. But, what was more concerning was their heartbeats which were not human.

Isaac vamped forward toward the stairwell, watching the group with unease. “There are a lot of vampires coming up,” he announced. “And they don’t look friendly.”

Ava released Leonard from the pain spell, her face morphing from anger to alarm. “How many?”

Isaac hesitated, his voice a touch fearful. “At least ten.”

Leonard stepped forward, shaking off the residual pain as he looked at her urgently. “Can you put up a barrier?”

Wordlessly, Ava nodded and threw her hand up, whispering a spell as an invisible shield shimmered over the doorway and along the hall. “This way,” she instructed, leading them through her apartment to the fire escape. Isla and Isaac hesitated at the doorway, stopped by the threshold, and Ava sighed with a touch of annoyance. “Fine, I invite you in,” she muttered, gritting her teeth and inviting them in.

Once on the fire escape, they vamped down as quickly as they could, landing on the ground with a thud before sprinting for the car. The second they slid inside, Isaac hit the gas, peeling out of the parking lot and speeding down the darkened road. Ava was still catching her breath, casting nervous glances out the back window as vampires burst into her apartment, tearing it apart in search of them.

Ava’s expression hardened, and she turned on Leonard with fury in her eyes. “What the hell did you bring to my house? You’ve ruined everything! I—”

Her words stopped abruptly as the ground started shaking and a streetlamp flickered overhead, then burst, sending sparks flying. Leonard’s face fell, glancing between Ava and the shattering lights.

"Oh shit."

Caroline slipped into the dim hallway where the boy way being held, closing the heavy door softly behind her and approached the cell, a small satchel handing from her shoulder. Luckily, Caroline was able to lose Naveeda, Abidemi and Isabella sending them to do tasks that would keep them busy for a while and pick up some essentials. The boy sat on the ground, curled into a corner, his dark eyes wary as they flicked up at her approach. She offered a small, apologetic smile, aware of the sight she must have been covered in so much blood due to the injuries she sustained.

“Uh, sorry,” she began, motioning to herself with a weak smile. “I know I look... kind of horrifying right now, but I promise—no one else’s just mine. I’m fine, I swear.” She cringed, catching the look of alarm in his eyes, and took a deep breath. “I mean… I’m okay. Really. I heal fast, it’s… all part of being a vampire.” She took a step back, giving him some space, keeping her voice gentle. “I brought you some food and a few things, if that’s all right.”

The boy didn’t respond, but his gaze followed her as she laid out a small cloth with bread, some fruit, and a bit of cheese. Beside it, she placed a small pile of books. “And if you get bored,” she continued, glancing over to the stack, “I brought some books, too. I, um, wasn’t sure what language you might prefer, so I just brought a little of everything.”

Slowly, cautiously, he reached forward, his gaze never leaving her as he took the bread, and Caroline took a step back, raising her hands to show she wasn’t a threat. He took another careful glance at her before biting into the bread, chewing slowly, his eyes flicking to her every now and then as if expecting her to do something. She just stood there, hands at her sides, keeping her movements relaxed.

As he ate, she spotted the crumpled packaging from his last meal pushed into a corner. “Oh—do you mind if I take that back with me?” she asked softly. “I don’t want you getting in trouble for it.”

He hesitated, but then gave a small nod, his movements shifting slightly as he handed it to her. In the dim light, she saw how thin his arms were, the faint outline of his ribs beneath his shirt. Her heart ached at the sight, and she quietly made a mental note: More food. More often.

Trying to ease the tension, she sat down cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the cold stone wall. “You know,” she began conversationally, “I grew up an only child, but I was lucky enough to have two best friends—Bonnie and Elena. They were pretty much sisters to me. We did everything together.” She smiled at the memory, her gaze softening as she lost herself in it.

“One time,” she continued, “we decided we wanted a dollhouse—our dollhouse, no help from adults allowed.” She chuckled, glancing at the boy, who was chewing more steadily now, his eyes fixed on her. “We gathered up a ton of cardboard, tape, paint, you name it. Worked on it for days, and, well… it turned out terrible.” She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Painted this bright yellow, held together by too much tape and glue. It looked like a yellow box, but it was ours, and I guess that made it special.”

Caroline felt a bit of warmth in her chest, a happy tear coming down her face, remembering their younger days, and noticed that the boy’s gaze hadn’t left her. Encouraged, she continued. “We even collected twigs and leaves to make it feel ‘realistic.’ That’s when we found an ant nest. I was so excited and gathered a bunch of twigs and leaves from around it, and the ants, of course, swarmed right up my leg.” She made a face, laughing. “I freaked out, ran halfway across the yard, flailing my legs like a crazy person, trying to get them off. I must’ve looked ridiculous.”

The boy’s eyes flickered with the faintest glimmer of something—maybe amusement? Curiosity? It was hard to tell, but Caroline held onto it, feeling a small sense of accomplishment. She kept her voice soft, light, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he’d start to feel that not every person here was a threat.

“Anyway,” she added, leaning back against the wall and glancing at him warmly, “if you get bored, feel free to pick any of the books. I’ll keep bringing different ones, and, you know, I’ll try to look a little less terrifying next time.” She winked, hoping to coax even the tiniest smile.

The boy remained quiet but nodded almost imperceptibly, turning his attention back to the bread. Caroline watched him in silence, simply keeping him company as he ate, hoping that a little trust might just be starting to grow.

The air in the basement was damp and thick, an almost suffocating stillness clinging to the dark stone walls. Klaus descended the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the silence. He could hear Daisy’s voice, soft and hopeful, her words punctuated by her husband John’s low reassurances. Savannah, chained and still, held a glare that could melt glass.

Klaus’s lips curved into a dark smile as he reached the bottom step, his gaze flicking from Savannah to Daisy and John, savouring the tension in the room.

“Ah, don’t let me interrupt,” he drawled, feigning politeness as he took in the scene.

Savannah’s glare only intensified, her eyes sharp and defiant. Daisy and John mirrored her expression, hate burning in their eyes, the only noise in the room being the clinking of Savannah’s and Daisy’s chains and their angry breathing.

“Let my wife and sister-in-law go, you bastard,” John spat, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage.

Klaus raised his hand to his chest, mock shock painted on his face. “Oh, the hostility,” he replied smoothly. “I suppose family is a strong bond for some.” He looked pointedly at Savannah. “And a curse for others.”

Savannah’s face twisted in anger. “You will regret this.”

“Oh, on the contrary,” Klaus murmured, moving closer to Daisy, his gaze dancing with menace as he entered her and John’s cell. “This”—he gestured to Daisy and John—“is a merely a consequence of your actions. I have questions which you haven’t been answering and I trust you’d like to prevent this from being a very painful experience for everyone involved.”

Daisy’s voice was thick with revulsion. “You turned my sister into a monster. You’re nothing but evil, and I swear—”

Klaus’s smile twisted as he drew a thin, silver blade from his pocket, letting it glint in the dim light. “Well, if you find Savannah’s new state so detestable, I’d hate to think what you’ll think of the next part.” He ran the blade slowly along Daisy’s cheek, letting the threat linger. “Perhaps Savannah doesn’t mind a bit of pain, but let’s see if you, dear Daisy, do.” Her husband lunged for Klaus however Klaus grabbed him by the neck unphased by his struggling.

“Klaus—don’t!” Savannah’s voice was low and trembling, desperation breaking through her hatred. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, but I think I do.” Klaus turned to John, who tensed and moved forward instinctively. “Ah, no.” Klaus’s eyes dilated, compelling John in an instant. “You’ll stay right where you are, John. I’d hate for this to get messy.”

John froze, struggling against the compulsion as his body refused to obey. “Please,” he forced out, his voice raw. “Just stop this.”

“Then tell me what I want to know,” Klaus replied coldly, looking back at Savannah. “Where is Rebekah and Caroline?”

Savannah clenched her jaw, her face defiant despite the fear flickering in her eyes. “I don’t know who Caroline is, and I don’t know where Rebekah is!”

Klaus raised an eyebrow, his gaze darkening. “That’s a lie, now, isn’t it? You knew Caroline was blonde despite never meeting her apparently meeting her.” He paused, savouring the realisation that flashed across her face. “So I suggest you stop wasting my time.”

Without hesitation, he pressed the blade to Daisy’s skin, carving a shallow cut along her arm. Daisy let out a muffled cry, her face pale, her voice barely above a whisper. “Savannah, please…”

Savannah’s expression faltered, but she held firm. “I swear, I don’t know—”

“Lies,” Klaus muttered with a smirk, tracing another line across Daisy’s forearm. “Do you know,” he murmured, almost to himself, “there’s a certain rhythm to pain. A way it flows like music, coaxing screams in different tones. I have to confess, I’ve missed this.” He twisted the blade, drawing a sharper cry from Daisy.

Savannah flinched, her voice panicked. “Stop! Please, I don’t—”

Klaus’s eyes flashed. “Then answer me. Where is Caroline? Where is Rebekah?”

Savannah swallowed, a flicker of rage and pride breaking through the fear in her face. “Caroline… well, I can’t say I won’t miss her screams. The agony she was in… Wow.” Her voice twisted, thick with malice. “But I think miss is the wrong term, enjoyed however...”

Klaus’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he drew the blade slowly across Daisy’s skin, each stroke deeper than the last. Daisy’s screams echoed off the stone walls, raw and pleading, and he relished the sound, the fury in Savannah’s eyes only feeding his twisted satisfaction.

“Oh, don’t stop talking now,” he sneered at Savannah. “I think we’re just getting to the good part.” He drove the blade deeper, letting Daisy’s blood spill freely, her anguished cries filling the room.

The hunger gnawed at Caroline, a sharp and persistent ache that had grown worse with every step back to the castle. She’d been keeping her cravings in check around the boy, but now, with each fresh bruise, broken bone, and the endless abuse, her body screamed for sustenance. Blood. She needed it more than anything, but sleep came in a close second.

The sun was setting as she slipped into the castle, hoping to make it to her quarters unseen. Her mind was singularly focused on resting, her body too exhausted to protest. But as she rounded a corner, she skidded to a halt, coming face-to-face with Vasil. He leaned against the wall, a blood-splattered smirk spreading across his face as he cocked his head.

"Woah,” he drawled, mock surprise in his tone. “Isn't someone in a hurry."

Caroline tried to move past him, but he sidestepped in front of her, blocking her path. He leaned in closer, the scent of fresh human blood wafting off him, making her stomach twist with hunger.

“Oh, look at that. Both of us covered in blood.” He leaned down, inhaling deeply as he caught the scent of her hair. “Yours, I’m guessing.”

“Get out of my way,” Caroline spat, her voice tense as she struggled to keep her fangs from showing. But the smell of blood was overwhelming, and she could feel her control slipping.

Vasil’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he noticed the tightness in her jaw. “Are you hungry?” he whispered, his voice tauntingly soft. “You look hungry. You look really hungry.”

“Move,” she growled.

He let out a low chuckle. “Are you sure?” Vasil’s gaze shifted, and Caroline followed it, seeing a young woman walk by, unaware of what was happening. In a flash, he vamped over, catching her by the arm and pulling her toward Caroline. The woman’s eyes went wide with terror as Vasil compelled her, his voice dripping with mock concern.

“Stay still. Don’t make a sound,” he ordered. The woman’s expression froze, her body stiff as a board, but her eyes were wide with terror.

Caroline took a step forward, horror and hunger warring in her expression. “Let her go!” she demanded, her voice trembling as her bloodlust threatened to surface.

Vasil pressed a switchblade to the woman’s throat, smirking as he nicked her skin just enough for blood to bead and trickle down her neck. The scent hit Caroline like a slap, her fangs aching, her self-control fraying. She gritted her teeth, swallowing hard as she forced herself to stay still.

Vasil lifted a finger to the blood on the woman’s neck and brought it to his lips, tasting it with a twisted smile. “Delicious,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming as he watched Caroline struggle. “Are you sure you won’t like a taste?”

“No,” she said, her voice hard and strained. “Now move and let her go.”

“If you insist,” Vasil smiled, still holding the woman close, and for a moment, it looked as if he might comply. But with a cold gleam in his eye, he casually tightened his grip, then twisted sharply, snapping the woman’s neck with a sickening crack.

Caroline let out a gasp, her shock quickly turning to fury. “You—!” Before she knew it, she lunged, her fangs bared as she launched herself at him. But Vasil was ready, and he caught her in mid-air, slamming her hard into the stone floor. Pain shot through her body, but she didn’t care; her rage was all-consuming.

Without hesitation, she sank her fangs into his leg, a desperate bite that gave her just enough leverage to twist free and rise to drive an elbow into his ribs. He grunted, staggering back, and they both braced for another strike, circling each other, eyes blazing.

Just then, a pair of guards rounded the corner, their eyes taking in the scene before letting out derisive chuckles.

“Oh, what’s this now?” one sneered. “Our little lady vampire throwing a tantrum?”

The second guard snickered, exchanging a look with Vasil. “Guess the bird doesn’t know her place, huh?”

Vasil adjusted his collar, not bothering to hide his amused smile. “Looks like it.”

The guards continued to laugh, their voices dripping with disdain as they watched her. Caroline’s fists clenched, her face burning with anger, but she forced herself to back down, swallowing her pride even as their words stung. She was so close to snapping, the hunger clawing at her, but she knew better than to let her anger get the best of her here.

Giving them all a final, furious glare, Caroline turned and stalked away, the guards’ mocking laughter echoing down the corridor behind her. Each step felt like a painful reminder of her own vulnerability, of how small they tried to make her feel, the hunger gnawing at her insides and how it’s all now fuelling her rage.

As Caroline entered her quarters, she was greeted by the faint, comforting scent of lavender and rosemary. Her belongings were neatly arranged, and waiting by the side of her bed was a silver tray, a domed cover concealing something underneath it. Naveeda and Isabella stood nearby, their faces neutral, though Caroline thought she caught a flicker of unease in Naveeda’s gaze.

Without a word, Caroline began to undress, the day’s exhaustion tugging at every muscle in her body. She stepped into the bath, sighing as the warm water soothed her bruised skin. Isabella stepped forward, handing her a silver chalice filled with blood, and Caroline accepted it gratefully, taking a sip. "Thank you," she murmured, giving a small nod to Isabella before turning back to the comfort of the water.

Then, Naveeda approached, handing her an envelope with ‘Little Dove’ written on it, its seal bearing Aurora’s seal. It read, ‘The cliff face at sunrise. Don’t be late.’

A shiver ran down her spine as she recalled Aurora’s “training” earlier. Her skin seemed to prickle at the memory of every hit, every broken bone, but she forced herself to school her expression, hiding any trace of fear or discomfort. Showing weakness here, to anyone—even to Naveeda, who had shown small kindnesses—was dangerous.

Pushing the thoughts away, she glanced at Naveeda and said, “Could you book me a dress fitting tomorrow afternoon with Batima for the ball?”

Naveeda nodded but hesitated, her mouth opening as though she wanted to say something.

Sensing her unease, Caroline turned to Isabella, “Could you please get a pitcher of blood and some human food as well please?”.

“Of course my Lady,” Isabella said before turning and leaving.

When she was left the room, Caroline looked back at Naveeda. "Is something wrong?"

Naveeda fidgeted slightly, then took a breath. “It’s about earlier today,” she said, her voice hushed. Caroline waited, keeping her expression neutral, though her heartbeat quickened. “The servants who serves the witches… they were talking. Something’s coming. Something big. I heard them say that spells were done to find someone inside… in New Orleans.”

New Orleans. The words sparked a flicker of hope that Caroline tried desperately to bury. Her mind raced, trying to conceal her reaction. It could mean anything, anyone. It didn’t have to mean Klaus. But still, she couldn’t ignore the possibility.

“Oh. Okay,” she said, her tone purposefully casual.

Naveeda’s eyes were searching, as though looking for a crack in Caroline’s demeanour, some confirmation that this news meant something to her. Caroline kept her face carefully blank.

“Are you okay after… earlier?” Caroline asked, shifting the focus back to Naveeda. “Anything else wrong?”

Naveeda seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then shook her head. “No, I’m fine. That’s all.”

Isabella returned, carrying a tray loaded with bread, fruits, cheese, a pitcher of wine, and a jug of human blood. She placed the tray on the table and, with surprising precision, poured more blood into Caroline’s chalice before laying out a clean nightgown on the chair nearby.

As Caroline finished rinsing her hair, she turned to both women, seeing the surprise in their eyes when she gestured to the food. “Help yourselves. I’ll be fine finishing up on my own,” she said, keeping her tone light, watching as they hesitated before finally settling down to eat.

Caroline finished her bath and toweled off, pulling on the soft nightgown that Isabella had laid out. She felt exhaustion deep in her bones, a weariness that even a hot bath and the blood couldn’t completely ease. She took another sip from her goblet, feeling her energy slowly replenish.

She glanced back at Naveeda and Isabella, both watching her carefully as she began to braid her hair. “I apologize for earlier,” she said quietly. “I don’t mean to bring trouble to either of you, and I want you to know that you don’t need to be afraid of me.”

They exchanged glances, relief touching their expressions, but a trace of caution remained in their eyes. They nodded as Caroline set down her goblet, crossing over to her bed. “I’ll be meeting Lady Aurora at sunrise tomorrow,” she added, managing to keep her voice steady. “Could you wake me at the usual time?”

“Of course, my lady,” Naveeda replied, her tone respectful.

Caroline climbed into bed, tugging the blankets over her tired body. “Take the rest of the food with you,” she murmured, stifling a yawn as her body finally began to surrender to sleep. “Good night.”

Naveeda and Isabella gathered up the remaining food, quietly slipping out of the room as Caroline’s eyes drifted shut, the faintest flicker of hope lingering just on the edge of her dreams.

Caroline’s breath came in ragged gasps as the dream shifted, memories of pain and the sharp sting of vervain flashing behind her eyes. She was back in the filthy, stifling cell in the mobile home the werewolves had kept her in. The metallic scent of her own blood clung to the air, her skin burning with the remnants of wood and vervain bullets. Her throat raw from the screams she was releasing and the corroding vervain burning through her flesh. But just as quickly as it began, the scene dissolved, and she was standing in a bustling courtyard, the sounds of laughter and jazz music filling her ears.

She blinked, taking in her surroundings with confusion. Elegant people in period clothing mingled around her, their laughter carrying through the courtyard. Caroline looked down, realizing she was dressed in a blue silk gown with her hair swept up in an intricate style. It was a dress straight out of a 1919 New Orleans soiree.

Just then, a voice pulled her from her thoughts.

“That dream was depressing,” Genevieve said, appearing at her side with a vintage champagne glass in hand, her voice filled with detached amusement. She looked stunning in her red historical dress, red curls framing her face.

Caroline stiffened, shooting Genevieve a wary look. “I’m assuming this is also 1919,” she replied coolly, glancing around, her gaze lingering on a stone column with an unfamiliar crest. It bore the letter "M." Scanning the crowd, her eyes settled briefly on Rebekah, a young Genevieve, and a brunette girl weaving through the throngs of people. Why was Rebekah here? She schooled her thoughts and kept her recognition to herself, she has more pressing matters, “Why are you in my dreams again?” Caroline added, turning back to Genevieve.

Genevieve gave a slight smirk, sipping her champagne. “It’s too dangerous for me to visit you in person. Dreams are the next best thing.”

Caroline took a steadying breath, trying to keep her tone even. “I heard there’s been some trouble with the witches. What’s going on?”

Genevieve's expression darkened; suspicion evident in her eyes. “What’s going on is that someone’s been performing locator spells, looking for someone inside this place. Normally, I wouldn’t mind, but they were detected, and now one of us is being accused of betrayal and is nowhere to be found. The spirits on the Other Side are attacking this dimension, and in retaliation, the Strix are slaughtering witches—entire covens are being wiped out.” Her gaze sharpened, accusation flashing as she added, “Not to mention, I’ve been trying to keep you cloaked during these visits of yours with that boy in the cell, but even I have my limits.”

Caroline’s heart sank, fear knotting in her stomach. “What do you mean witches are being slaughtered?” She tried to keep her voice steady, but her mind flashed to Bonnie. What if she was caught in this?

Genevieve’s eyes narrowed, her tone dripping with suspicion. “Why the sudden concern for witches?”

Caroline hesitated, but she couldn’t hide her fear. “My best friend is a witch. She’s powerful… She could help us.”

Genevieve tilted her head, sceptical. “Who is she?” Her voice was hard, each word a challenge. “If you give me her name, I could try to reach out to her.” Caroline shifted uncomfortably, dodging Genevieve’s stare, not wanting to endanger her friend. Genevieve took in a deep breath keeping herself calm and not freak on Caroline, “She could help us and I can try and protect her from the strix but I can’t do that if I don’t know who she is.”

Caroline steadied herself and mumbled, “Bonnie. Bonnie Bennett.”

At the name, Genevieve’s face softened slightly, though her tone remained cold. “The last Bennett witch is dead, Caroline.”

“No,” Caroline whispered, her throat tightening. “You’re wrong. She is alive. She’s not dead. She’s traveling with her mom. She’s very much alive.”

Genevieve’s expression was almost pitying as she replied, “Every witch felt her death. The last of the Bennett line died with her.”

Caroline’s heart plummeted, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “When?” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“In your time,” Genevieve answered, her voice low, “June 14th this year.”

“No.” Caroline’s voice trembled, her whole body beginning to shake as her denial filled the dreamscape. The day she took down Silas and the day that Jeremy miraculously came back from the dead. No. Bonnie cannot be dead. “No, you’re wrong.” Around them, the people stopped moving, the music faded, and the ground beneath them began to shake.

Genevieve's face flickered with fear as she grabbed Caroline by the shoulders. “You need to calm down,” she urged, though her own voice was shaking.

Caroline broke down, a strangled cry escaping her as she collapsed to the floor. “MY BEST FRIEND IS DEAD!”

Genevieve tightened her grip, her expression a mix of sympathy and urgency. “Listen, Caroline,” she said, her voice surprisingly soft. “The Other Side is falling apart. The magic holding it together is collapsing. If we can get out in time… Bonnie could cross back to the living.”

Caroline’s mind whirled, a fragile hope igniting within her. “She could come back?”

Genevieve nodded. “But only if we can escape. We need to return to the real world.”

Caroline took a shaky breath, a glimmer of determination in her tear-streaked eyes. “Today, I was summoned to Tristan’s office, grilled about my plans for the ball. They were suspicious of my requests—especially my interest in the catacombs. They didn’t want me anywhere near them. There’s something down there. Something they’re hiding.”

Genevieve’s eyes narrowed, intrigued. “Do you know what it is?”

“No,” Caroline replied, her voice laced with conviction. “But we need to find out. Whatever’s down there… it could be our way out.”

Genevieve considered her for a long moment before replying. “Then go. Find out what’s there.”

Caroline shook her head, her tone resolute. “I won’t be able to do this alone. Whatever they’re hiding, it’s bound to be guarded. I need your help.”

Genevieve’s face hardened. “I’m under heavy scrutiny, Caroline. One wrong move, and we’re both done for.”

Caroline met her gaze firmly. “If you don’t help, I won’t be able to get close. We go together, or I won’t go at all.”

Genevieve exhaled sharply, irritation flashing in her eyes as she nodded, her voice edged with warning. “Tomorrow night,” she agreed.

“Wait…” Caroline’s voice came out stronger than she expected, and she reached forward, holding Genevieve’s gaze.

Genevieve turned back to her, eyes narrowed with frustration. “What now?”

Caroline swallowed, choosing her words carefully. “Before I was kidnapped and dragged here, I was trying to learn as much as I could about magic and the supernatural. There was a protection spell in Bonnie’s grimoire—meant to shield and cloak whoever used it. It’s a strong spell. Might help you keep out of sight if more witches start searching for ‘traitors’ like what you did during the dinner.”

Genevieve’s gaze sharpened with interest despite herself, and she crossed her arms, waiting.

“It calls on nature and uses rosemary, mugwort, salt, lavender, and the person who's to be protecteds blood,” Caroline continued, using her hands to illustrate her instructions. “You make a circle with salt, crush the other ingredients into a paste, and draw a four-sided Celtic knot symbol. Then say the incantation once: ‘Coimirce mo chroí, fola agus luaithrigh, dúscadh an neart gan chlaochlú.’ Drip your blood onto the symbol, then say the incantation again. If the spell works, the salt will set aflame. You’ll feel it—it’s powerful. It’ll help keep you safe.”

Caroline could’ve sworn she saw a fleeting hint of a genuine smile on Genevieve’s face, a glimmer of something almost appreciative.

But before Caroline could blink, the dreamscape abruptly shifted, and she found herself back in the vacant halls of her high school. Familiar shadows and flickers of movement passed just outside her line of sight, the eerie silence settling like a heavy weight. The usual cycle of nightmares began again, haunting her with twisted memories. A torment that had returned every night since the day she was turned.

Chapter Text

Genevieve sat alone in her dimly lit quarters, Caroline’s words echoing in her mind. The instructions for the protection spell had been remarkably precise, as if Caroline had spent hours studying the craft instead of simply being a vampire’s pet. She eyed the collection of sage, rosemary, mugwort, lavender, and salt she’d gathered, laying each carefully on the table before her. She could practically feel the power humming in the air, almost daring her to proceed.

She sighed and took a bundle of sage, lighting it and slowly waving the smoke around her room, its pungent scent filling the air. She moved deliberately, eyes narrowed as she willed herself to believe the spell might actually work. Carefully, she created a perfect salt circle on the floor, then crushed the rosemary, mugwort, and lavender into a paste, drawing a rough but recognizable four-sided Celtic knot in the center. She repeated the incantation as Caroline had described:

“Coimirce mo chroí, fola agus luaithrigh, dúscadh an neart gan chlaochlú.”

Taking a breath, Genevieve nicked her finger, watching the blood well up before she let a single drop fall onto the symbol. She recited the incantation again, her voice low but steady.

The salt ignited, pale blue flames encircling her as the spell activated. She gasped, feeling the power surge through her, stronger than she’d expected. Caroline had actually told the truth.

Genevieve stepped back, watching the flames flicker out, and a dark, bitter rage stirred within her. Her mind drifted to that day long ago when she’d first learned how cruel the world could be. Rebekah had made her and Clara sick, both of them left to suffer, coughs wracking their bodies as the influenza ravaged them. Her closest friend, an innocent soul who had been rightfully cautious but trusting nevertheless, had died in agony, just as she had. Clara had been innocent; they both had. And yet Rebekah had used them and tossed them aside as if they were nothing.

The Strix had found her and offered salvation from that curse of death, but it hadn’t taken long to realize the price. Her freedom, her life—endless servitude to those vampires who claimed to value loyalty and honour. She clenched her fists as the memory surfaced, a long-buried pain twisting into a steely resolve.

But now, for the first time in what felt like ages, she felt powerful, shielded. The protection spell’s energy buzzed beneath her skin, its magic a warm, persistent hum. This spell was different; she could feel it like armour wrapping around her, whispering that she was strong, that she could survive.

Her mind returned to Caroline. Despite herself, she felt a pang of unexpected gratitude. Perhaps this spell would help her to stay cloaked from the Strix’s prying eyes. Tomorrow night, she would be ready. Caroline’s plan, foolish as it seemed, might be her best chance at freedom. She needed out of this cursed dimension, needed to be free, and nothing—not even those who had kept her bound for so long—would stand in her way.

Her lips curled into a cold smile as she extinguished the flames, feeling a spark of hope rise for the first time in years. She would survive this. And when the time was right, she would get her revenge.

As Caroline made her way through the quiet town, the first hints of sunrise colored the horizon. The sky shifted from the inky black of night to an enchanting ombre of purples and oranges, the edges turning soft and white as the sun began to creep up. She clutched the picnic basket in her hand—a bundle of blood bags, wine, glasses, crackers, fruit, cheese, and cinnamon buns, and she felt strangely prepared for whatever this morning might hold. She could still smell the hint of lavender from the perfume Naveeda had shown her earlier, and the scent gave her an oddly comforting sense of freshness.

Caroline’s emotions swirled as she walked: sadness over Bonnie, frustration and longing for her freedom, and a spark of determination that pushed her forward. She had to get out of this place. She needed to survive, not just for herself but for her friends, her mother, and even the boy she’d been trying to help in the cell. She couldn’t afford to give up—not now.

When she reached the cliff clearing, she spotted Aurora sitting on the rocks, back turned to her, gazing out at the sunrise. Her silhouette was framed by the glow, her hair loose and wavy as it caught the morning light. She wore her usual dark leather jacket and boots, every inch of her exuding power. Aurora didn’t turn as Caroline approached.

“You’re late,” Aurora remarked coolly, her gaze still fixed on the horizon.

Caroline raised an eyebrow, pouring two glasses of blood from the wine bottle in her basket. She walked over and handed one glass to Aurora before settling herself on the rock beside her. “No, I’m not.”

Aurora’s lips quirked into a slight smile as she took the glass, finally turning to look at her. “I said sunrise. The suns have risen.”

Caroline glanced at the horizon, then shrugged. “You didn’t specify which sunrise. The one in the castle happens in about two minutes.”

“People don’t tend to argue with me,” Aurora said with a bemused glance.

“Argue is a strong word,” Caroline replied smoothly, taking a sip of her blood. “I’m simply having a morning glass of wine, looking at that beautiful horizon, and enjoying life.” She ended her statement with a sassy smile, relishing the opportunity to keep up with Aurora’s games, even if just a little.

Aurora scoffed, but a small chuckle slipped out, which caught Caroline slightly off-guard. “Here’s to enjoying life,” Aurora said, raising her glass for Caroline to clink.

“Cheers,” Caroline replied, tapping her glass against Aurora’s. They drank in silence for a moment before curiosity got the better of her. “De Martel. Your last name—where is it from?”

Aurora glanced sideways, her usual suspicion softened by the blonde’s genuine curiosity. “Take a guess, little dove.”

“Well,” Caroline started, tapping her chin thoughtfully, “the ‘de’ in your name sounds European…”

Aurora nodded, encouraging her. “Go on.”

“I took Italian in high school,” Caroline explained, “and your name sounds similar to ‘martello,’ the Italian word for hammer, but it doesn’t quite sound Italian.”

Aurora’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and she seemed genuinely entertained. “You’re right; it’s not Italian.”

“‘Martel’ could be derived from Spanish or French,” Caroline continued, studying Aurora’s face, “However looking at your appearance and age, I’d wager it’s old French.”

Aurora smiled, raising her glass to Caroline again. “Well done,” she said, clinking her glass against Caroline’s once more. After a brief pause, she looked at Caroline thoughtfully. “What is that smell, little dove?”

Caroline smiled, pulling out the small lavender perfume bottle from her basket and handing it over. “Lavender. Thought I’d try something new.”

Aurora sprayed a little on her wrist, taking in the scent as her expression softened, memories flickering briefly in her gaze. Caroline noticed but looked away, allowing Aurora her moment. For a fleeting second, Aurora almost looked… human.

But Aurora’s face hardened, her guard snapping back into place. She rose from the rock with calculated grace, her gaze cold and commanding once again. “Well, little dove, do you know why I brought you here?”

Caroline adjusted her posture, forcing herself to stay calm. “I assumed it was to redo yesterday’s activities.”

Aurora let out a quiet hum, considering Caroline’s response. “Hand-to-hand, or weapons?”

“Up to you,” Caroline replied, summoning every bit of courage she could muster. She carefully put her glass down and walked forward with purpose, masking her unease.

Aurora’s eyes narrowed as she studied Caroline’s composure. “Why would you let me choose the medium by which we fight? Why give up even a sliver of control?”

Caroline met Aurora’s gaze steadily. “That question was an illusion of choice. I never really had control here. The staffs aren’t where they normally are, which tells me they’re either behind the tree you keep eyeing or we’re doing hand-to-hand. Either way, it’s up to you.”

Aurora tilted her head, mildly impressed, and reached behind the tree to reveal two long metal staffs. She held them for a moment, then dropped them to the ground, curling her fists and lunging forward.

Caroline barely dodged the first strike, scrambling to block the next as Aurora pressed her advantage with swift, punishing blows. The hits were relentless, each one landing with enough force to leave a human crumpled and broken. Caroline’s jaw cracked as Aurora struck her hard, sending her staggering backward.

Aurora quickly closed the gap, slamming Caroline into a headlock. Gritting her teeth, Caroline took the metal staff lying on the ground and, with a burst of adrenaline-fueled desperation, drove it through her own shoulder, piercing Aurora’s stomach behind her. Aurora gasped in surprise, her hold loosening for just a moment.

Without hesitating, Caroline ripped out the staff and reached up and snapped Aurora’s neck, her own body aching as she stumbled back, panting. Adjusting her broken jaw, she forced herself to maintain a calm exterior, her mind swirling with relief and fear. Thoughts flickered through her mind, daring her to finish Aurora for good but she knew that killing Aurora now would bring unwanted consequences.

Instead, she waited, schooling her face into an unreadable mask, bracing herself for when Aurora’s eyes would flutter open once more.

The atmosphere in the Salvatore boarding house was thick with tension. Damon poured himself another drink and dropped heavily into an armchair, while Stefan sat across from him, arms crossed and jaw set tight.

“So, Augustine. Care to explain why you never told me?” Stefan’s voice was low, edged with accusation.

Damon took a sip, feigning nonchalance. “Oh, you know, just one of those little things I forgot to mention. You were so busy brooding, didn’t think you'd notice.”

Stefan’s eyes darkened. “Not this time, Damon. I mean it—why did you keep it from me? We’ve been through every possible mess together. Why not this?”

Damon’s face hardened, a hint of bitterness in his eyes. “Because you didn’t even notice I was gone, Stefan. I was locked up for five years, and you were too wrapped up in your own misery to see it.”

Stefan flinched but didn’t back down. “That’s not fair. You know that’s not true.”

“Maybe,” Damon shrugged, his voice cold, “but I survived those years without you, so I’m not exactly jumping to relive them.”

The brothers locked eyes, the resentment hanging thickly between them. Their glares softened, however, when footsteps sounded down the stairs, and Elena and Jeremy entered, each carrying bags packed for the trip.

“Are you two seriously doing this now?” Elena asked, her gaze narrowing in frustration. She set her bag down, looking pointedly at both of them. “This isn’t the time.”

Jeremy cleared his throat and gave the room a nervous glance. “Uh…Bonnie’s here.”

Instantly, Elena, Damon and Stefan’s expressions shifted from irritation to alarm. They looked around, trying to find where she might be.

“Bonnie?” Stefan asked, scanning the room. But it was only Jeremy who seemed to see her, his gaze fixed on an empty corner.

Jeremy’s voice was thick with emotion as he spoke, “Yeah, I can see everyone. Bonnie, Tyler and Alaric.”

“The Other Side is collapsing,” Bonnie said, her voice desperate and scared. “People are turning witches into vampires before killing them, severing the witch bloodlines. The spiritual magic that holds the other side together… it’s weakening. There isn’t much time.”

“Bonnie says that the other side is collapsing. People are turning witches into vampires before killing them, severing the witch bloodlines. The magic holding it together is weakening. There isn’t much time before everything collapses.” Jeremy told the rest of the room.

Damon leaned forward, urgency replacing the irritation that had darkened his face just moments taking in Bonnie’s words and seeing the look of fear on Elena’s face. “Then we get a witch, figure out a way to poke a hole through the veil. Maybe bring a few people back.”

Kol materialised beside Bonnie, his signature smirk still intact despite the chaos around him. “Salem’s your best bet. All you need is for a nexus vorti to occur and witch that can channel Salem’s nexus point.” He looked pointedly at Jeremy and Elena, a flicker of resentment crossing his face, at seeing a look of surprise on Jeremy’s face. “But don’t think I’m doing this for you Gilbert.”

Ignoring Kol’s comment, Jeremy’s mind was already moving, his gaze intense. “Kol is here too. He says that Salem is our best bet. We need something called a nexus vorti and a witch.”

“What’s a nexus vorti?” Elena asked curiously.

“A magical object maybe?” Jeremy answered equally confused.

“It’s not a magical object you idiot.” Kol interjected his voice venomous; Jeremy gave Kol a death glare.

“It’s a magical event, something rare and powerful so that a witch can channel it. It can be a full moon or an astrological event or something else,” Bonnie interjected, positioning herself inbetween Kol and Jeremy.

“It’s a magical event, like a full moon or an astrological event.” Jeremy explained to his sister, giving another death glare at Kol before focusing back on the rest of the room.

Elena nodded, her face a mix of determination and hope. “We can bring Bonnie back, and Tyler and Ric. We can bring them all back.”

Damon turned to Stefan, eyebrow raised. “What’s the call, little bro? Whitmore or Salem?”

Stefan clenched his jaw, his gaze flicking from Elena to Jeremy. “And Caroline? We’re just giving up on her?”

Jeremy jumped in, his voice steady. “Bonnie hasn’t got much time left. The other side is collapsing. If we can get Bonnie back, then we have a real shot at finding Caroline.”

Stefan’s face tightened. He looked between them, his instincts fighting against their logic. “Fine. I’ll meet you in Salem.” Without another word, he turned, disappearing out the front door.

As he left, Damon downed the rest of his bourbon and looked at Elena and Jeremy. “Well, looks like Salem it is.”

Genevieve moved slowly, minding each careful step as she tended to the garden, pruning herbs and thinning seedlings. She was determined to stay under the radar today, conserving her strength for tonight. A faint, growing thrum in the air pulsed like an old wound flaring to life. Something big was happening, she could feel it—the magic was twisting and contorting around her, pooling in a way that made her skin itch with alarm.

Just as she bent to dispose of a bundle of dried herbs, three vampires appeared without warning, seizing her roughly by the arms and dragging her out of the garden. She struggled at first but quickly collected herself, letting her face go slack and neutral.

The vampires shoved her forward into Beatrice’s main courtyard. Already there was a sizable gathering, a mixture of her fellow witches and several vampires watching from the perimeter. Beatrice stood in the centre, flanked by an elaborate ritual setup: a massive icosagon drawn in salt, with candles flickering at each point. At each vertex sat a golden bowl, polished to a shine that only accentuated the ominous setting.

A cold dread pooled in Genevieve’s stomach. She looked around at the other witches, catching the nervous glances exchanged by some while others stood proudly, their gazes locked adoringly on Beatrice. Genevieve kept her own expression carefully controlled, forcing a look of respect she didn’t feel.

Beatrice stood tall, her hands clasped in front of her as she began to speak, her voice carrying a quiet fervour.

“My sisters, my brothers, you are here because we are loyal,” she intoned, her gaze sharp and unyielding. “We are powerful. And together, we fight for the betterment of our world. Vampires and witches, side by side—working to create the life we deserve.”

Genevieve watched Beatrice’s face, cold and determined. Beatrice’s words oozed conviction, but the sneer in her voice as she continued betrayed a deeper anger.

“The witches of old claim to work for the balance of nature, but they are hypocrites, thieves, and liars,” she sneered. “They hide behind righteous ideals while corrupting our power and stealing from us. They are weeds, and they must be ripped out, root and stem!”

A murmur of agreement passed through the witches, some nodding eagerly while others shifted uncomfortably. Genevieve kept her face blank, watching Beatrice with carefully masked disdain.

Beatrice’s eyes scanned the crowd with chilling calm. “Savannah Davis is one of these weeds. But she wasn’t the only one.”

A vampire dragged forward a familiar figure—a witch named Alandra, broken, bruised, her face a mask of suffering. They threw her down in front of the altar, and Genevieve felt a flicker of sadness and anger churn in her gut. But she swallowed it down, willing herself to remain steady. If she showed weakness, it could be her next.

“For our coven’s safety, we must detect this treachery before it festers,” Beatrice said, looking each witch in the eye. “As leader, I must act swiftly to protect us.”

Genevieve’s heart thudded as she noticed a blade at her feet. She caught her breath, her gaze flicking to Beatrice as the order came.

“Now, each of you will take the blade,” Beatrice instructed, gesturing at the knives around them, “cut your palm, fill your bowl with your blood, and place your hand within.”

One by one, witches complied, some reluctantly, others with grim determination. When it was Genevieve’s turn, she gripped the blade tightly, fighting the instinct to shiver under the weight of the vampires’ stares as she sliced her palm and let her blood drip into the bowl, then pressed her hand to the cold metal.

Beatrice retrieved a snake, slicing into it and letting the blood pool on the ground, filling the carved symbols before slitting Alandra’s throat, her blood joining the intricate pattern on the stone floor. As the blood met the salt, flames erupted along the lines, connecting each bowl in a circle of searing fire.

Genevieve flinched, feeling a deadly burn creeping into her skin, like white-hot fire meant to tear her apart from the inside. She didn’t burn, thanks to the protection spell she had completed the night before, but she didn’t doubt that she would’ve perished without it. Her heart thudded as she kept her gaze steady and calm, forcing herself to remain composed.

Beatrice’s voice rose as she chanted, “Tonn flanm dife, fèm wè lyen trayizon an, zye yo limen nan flanm pou netwaye.”

The spell’s heat surged through the witches around her, and then came the screams—four witches, igniting in bright, white flames. Their agonised cries cut through the courtyard, reverberating in Genevieve’s mind even as she held her face stoic and indifferent, though fear clawed at her insides.

“The fire purifies the wicked,” Beatrice said calmly, the satisfaction in her eyes chilling. “While the righteous remain untouched.”

The air was thick with horror, but as Beatrice surveyed the crowd, awe glimmered in the eyes of those around her. Genevieve mirrored their placid expressions, watching Beatrice with practiced admiration, although inside, she fought the tremors of terror and disgust.

When Beatrice finally dismissed them, Genevieve healed her hand with some hastily gathered herbs, determined to conserve her strength for tonight. She dared not think of how close she had come to burning like the others. Her thoughts turned to the protection spell and to Caroline waiting for her that night. She clung to the plan, her mind cold and calculating as she strode away from the courtyard.

No matter what, she would escape this dimension, find her freedom, and live. But most of all she would make them all pay.

The quarry was quiet, save for the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze and the distant lapping of water against the rocks. Stefan Salvatore sat on the edge of the cliff, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared out at the tranquil expanse of water below. The air was crisp, carrying with it the scent of pine and earth. It should have been peaceful. It should have been a moment of solace.

But Stefan’s mind was far from peaceful.

His thoughts churned with the weight of recent revelations. Caroline, his best friend, was missing—vanished without a trace. Bonnie, the anchor of their group, was dead, her magic extinguished forever. Tyler, his old friend, was gone, his life brutally ended. And now, his brother Damon and Elena—the love of his life, his ex-girlfriend—were together. Again. It was a bitter twist in an already unbearable story.

Another apocalypse loomed on the horizon, and Stefan felt every ounce of its weight pressing down on him. He was tired—so tired. Tired of the endless cycle of pain, betrayal, and loss. Tired of fighting to survive in a world that seemed determined to strip him of everything he loved.

His gaze dropped to the water below, and his mind drifted to the last apocalyptic force they had defeated: Silas, the ancient and powerful immortal. Stefan’s lips curled into a bitter smile at the memory of their victory. Silas, the so-called “big bad,” now lay at the bottom of this very quarry, sealed in a body-sized safe where he could no longer harm anyone.

“Don’t bother,” a voice said, shattering the stillness. “I’m not there.”

Stefan stiffened, his blood running cold. He turned sharply, standing to face the figure approaching from behind.

It was Silas. Or, rather, it was Elena—or so it seemed, until Stefan noticed the unsettling way her features shifted in the dim light. His jaw tightened.

“Silas,” Stefan said, his voice low and disbelieving. “You were stone. They saw you. The spell worked.”

Elena—no, Silas—smirked, her tone mocking as she stepped closer. “That’s the funny thing about spells,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “They’re bound by Nature. And Nature demands balance, Stefan. Every spell has a loophole. The spell that turned me into stone? It was bound by a witch—a living witch. So when that witch died, the spell weakened. And now spirit magic is coming undone. Well…”

Stefan’s eyes widened in horror as the implications hit him like a freight train. “No… that can’t be…”

Silas interrupted him with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It doesn’t matter, does it?” She stopped, tilting her head, and a cruel smile spread across her face. “Here’s where the mystery of me comes full circle. Two thousand years ago, I created the immortality spell. I can never die. But Nature, always so clever, needed balance. So, Nature created a version of me that could die—a shadow-self. A doppelgänger.”

Stefan’s breath caught as his mind raced. “So… this is finally your real face?” he asked, his voice filled with dread. “You’re another one of them?”

Silas’s grin widened. “Not exactly.”

Stefan’s gaze flickered to the side, catching a glimpse of Silas’s reflection in the car window parked nearby. His heart stopped. Silas’s true form was revealed—a face identical to Stefan’s. Silas allowed the transformation to complete, his features morphing until he was Stefan’s perfect mirror image.

“Hello, my shadow-self,” Silas said with dark amusement.

Before Stefan could react, Silas lunged forward. Pain exploded in Stefan’s gut as Silas drove a stake deep into him. Stefan gasped, staggering backward as the blood began to seep through his shirt.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to starve for two thousand years?” Silas hissed, his voice cold and sharp. He let go of the stake, allowing Stefan to crumple to his knees.

Stefan struggled to stay conscious, but his strength was waning. Silas moved quickly, dragging the body-sized safe out of the shadows. Stefan’s bloodied hands clawed at the ground as Silas heaved him inside the cold, unforgiving metal box. Stefan thrashed weakly, but it was no use. Silas slammed the lid shut, locking it with an ominous click.

Stefan’s world spun as he felt himself being lifted. The safe tipped, and gravity took hold. Stefan’s muffled screams filled the confined space as the safe plummeted over the edge of the quarry.

The impact with the water sent a deafening shockwave through the safe. It sank rapidly, the sound of rushing water filling Stefan’s ears. He pounded on the interior, shouting for help, but the cold water began seeping in through the seams. His breaths came quicker, panic setting in as the water rose higher and higher.

“Help!” he screamed, his voice muffled and desperate. The water covered his chest, then his neck, then his face.

His shouts turned to gurgles, and then there was silence. The quarry returned to its tranquil state, the ripples fading into stillness.

Above, Silas stood on the edge of the cliff, gazing down with a cruel smirk. “Goodbye, shadow-self,” he muttered before turning and vanishing into the night.

Aurora's eyes snapped open, her vampire features sharp and angry as she quickly took in the scene. Caroline was sitting against a tree nearby, drawing in the dirt with a small branch, her face calm and collected as if she hadn’t just snapped Aurora's neck. Her bloodied wine glass sat beside her, half-filled with clear water that Caroline had sipped despite the painful sting of vervain.

Aurora rose to her feet, her fangs bared. “You know,” she said, her voice low and deadly, “I haven’t felt pain like that since the 1700s. For that, I will make you suffer.”

Caroline looked up at her with a raw, broken expression, the question slipping out before she could stop herself. “Why?”

The genuine pain in Caroline's voice caught Aurora off guard. She froze, the fierce fire in her gaze fading as a strange pang of guilt twisted in her chest. Unsure what to say, Aurora held her ground, but something softened in her as she watched Caroline. Slowly, she sat down beside her against the tree, their eyes drifting toward the horizon where the red morning light bathed the white sky in soft oranges and golds.

Aurora’s gaze landed on the glass of water stained with human blood. She picked it up curious, taking a sip and coughing at the corrosive liquid. “Why do you drink something that hurts you?” she asked, almost curious.

Caroline shifted, shrugging slightly. “Two reasons: one, to build resistance… and two, to keep Original vampires from compelling me.”

Aurora raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. “You know about Originals?”

“Yes,” Caroline replied, looking away. “I was compelled as a human. I won’t ever be controlled like that again.”

For the first time in a while, Aurora's interest seemed genuine, she leaned forward. “And how were you turned?”

Caroline gave a bitter, dry chuckle. “I was turned by Katherine Pierce, so I could be served up as Klaus’s vampire sacrifice.”

Aurora's mouth twitched into an amused smirk. “Then how are you alive now?”

Caroline’s face flickered with a flash of pain, and she pulled two bottles of wine from her basket, passing one to Aurora and holding the other. “Because the same vampire who compelled me saved my life.” She hesitated, taking a swig, not quite able to look Aurora in the eye. “It’s something I don’t want to talk about.”

Aurora studied her, her expression softening for the first time. “Hmm,” she murmured, taking a swig of her own wine, her face haunted. She seemed to drift back to a memory, and Caroline watched her intently, sensing the story beneath her silence.

“How were you turned?” Caroline asked, filling the quiet space between them.

Aurora’s laugh was bitter, and she took another deep drink. “I fell in love with a vampire,” she said quietly. “But my brother… he refused to let me be with him. I slit my wrists to escape.” Her voice hardened slightly, but she pressed on. “His sister healed me with her blood. Wanting to be like him, to join him in the darkness, I threw myself from my window, falling to my death.”

“And then?” Caroline pressed gently.

Aurora’s face twisted with pain as she tried to keep her composure, drinking deeply before shaking her head. “That… is a story for another time,” she whispered, her gaze slipping back toward the horizon, as though the distance could bury the memories.

Caroline took another sip, her voice barely audible. “Do you regret it? Becoming a vampire?”

Aurora looked at her, and for a moment, the mask slipped. “No,” she replied softly, a faint smile appearing. “Do you?”

Caroline let out a breath, the truth sitting heavily on her shoulders. “…No, I don’t.”

A rare smile spread across Aurora's face, and she lifted her wine bottle. “Then here’s to not regretting the lives we’re left with,” she said, clinking her bottle against Caroline’s.

“Cheers,” Caroline replied, clinking back and taking a long drink. With a mischievous glint, Aurora flung her empty bottle at a nearby rock, watching it smash with satisfaction. Caroline laughed and tossed hers as well, grinning as it shattered against the stone.

They both laughed, the sound echoing across the cliffside. Unbeknownst to them, Tristan watched from the shadows at a distance, his expression unreadable as he observed his sister laughing beside Caroline. Aya stood beside him, her gaze hard and calculating.

Aya reached into her jacket, pulling out a thick folder and handing it to Tristan. “You were right,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tristan glanced down at the folder in his hands, his smile fading as he looked at the contents. He clenched his jaw, his gaze darkening. “Find out who else is involved,” he commanded softly, a cold determination settling into his eyes. “I want to know everything.”

Without another word, they vanished into the forest, leaving the faint sound of laughter lingering on the air.

Caroline let out a shaky breath, standing in front of her mirror and quickly swapping her bloodstained clothes for a fresh, light blue floral top and soft pink jacket. She gently wiped away the dried blood from her healed wound, barely able to look at herself as she processed the morning. Her fight with Aurora had ended more unpredictably than she’d anticipated, the balance of violence and rapport with Aurora leaving her both rattled and intrigued. But she couldn’t let her guard down again. If she became complacent, if she showed weakness like that again, she wouldn’t live to regret it.

As she fastened the buttons, Naveeda entered, joined by Abidemi and Isabella, all three watching her as she flipped through stacks of blueprints. Caroline’s mind was working overtime, racing through strategies as she poured over each document. Casian—finally, she knew his name now—had pulled stunts in the past, challenging her authority at every step, and she was certain he’d try to undermine her again today. He’d essentially summoned her to meet in the mid-afternoon. Fortunately, Batima had scheduled her for noon instead, so with any luck, she’d be prepared.

She eyed the old blueprints, realising with a flash of annoyance that they’d taken away the catacomb maps. If she missed a turn or a passage, it could mean disaster tonight. Her survival depended on keeping a flawless memory, and thankfully, detail was something her mind fixated on effortlessly. She closed her eyes, letting the memory of the catacomb paths flood her mind, piecing together every winding route, every hidden turn, imprinting them in her mind.

Her hyper-focus, something she once used to ace high school exams or compete in idle high school rivalries, was now the sharpest weapon she had. She would dumb down her intelligence as a way to attract boys and one up Elena and the rest of the girls. She looked back at what she was before and shook her head at herself. She needed to be a better person, she couldn’t lose herself here. But she needed to get out of here and her best weapon was her mind. She was too weak physically compared to these ancient vampires, she had to outthink and outmanoeuvre them, that was her only chance.

She needed to get her strategy into place, though, if she were going to make it through tonight unscathed. And that meant more than just maps; she needed information on the others in the castle. Allies, hidden in plain sight, would be her only way out. She knew in a place like this, someone would be overlooked—the people in the background, the servants, the people who drifted through the halls unnoticed. People like Naveeda, Abidemi, and Isabella. She wanted to trust them. They were kind and helpful, but kindness and allegiance were two different things.

It was risky, but it was perfect. If she could set a few pieces in motion, she could finally figure out who she could trust. She straightened up as Naveeda softly reminded her of the time—noon. Perfect. She’d see Batima, but she’d also use this opportunity to set her plan into motion. It was time to start positioning the chess pieces.

She turned to Naveeda, nodding her thanks. “Let’s go,” she said, her voice steady as she sent Abidemi and Isabella to gather the books she needed. As she made her way toward her appointment, her mind was buzzing, every step bringing her closer to understanding who was loyal, who could be trusted. She had to make this her game, and she was ready to play it.

Caroline made her way to Batima’s dress shop alongside Naveeda, taking in the quiet between them for a moment before she broke it.

“I wanted to say... thank you,” Caroline began, looking at Naveeda with genuine warmth. “I know things have been rough here, and that you’ve seen me at my worst more than once. But you’ve treated me with nothing but kindness.” Naveeda glanced at her, a bit surprised but pleased.

“It’s not been easy for you, I can tell,” Naveeda replied softly.

“Thank you,” Caroline said, managing a small smile. “I really mean it. I’d like us to be friends, Naveeda. Actual friends. I don’t want to see you as a servant, and I don’t want you to feel like you don’t have a choice. Mahal Khafa is… dangerous, but I will protect you however I can. I want to make sure you’re safe. It’s just… really important to me.”

Naveeda looked down as she processed this, her eyes softening. “It means a lot, Caroline. Really.”

“Then maybe you’d help me with something? A secret favour, but you don’t have to say yes.” Caroline took a steadying breath, glancing around as they turned a corner. “I need to bury something in the lower basement. I’ll need you to keep watch… and not to tell anyone.”

Naveeda looked nervous at first but finally nodded. “What is it?”

“It’s for a spell,” Caroline said, giving Naveeda a reassuring smile. “No one can know. But if you don’t want to do it, please, say no. It won’t change what I said about wanting you safe and as my friend. You will always have a choice.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Naveeda nodded. “I’ll help you,” she said, her voice steady.

“Thank you,” Caroline said, genuinely relieved. Just then, they arrived at Batima’s dress shop. As they entered, Caroline noticed two familiar faces waiting inside. Aurora was lounging on a chair with her usual smugness, while Adara paced idly, a sly grin on her face as she spotted Caroline.

“Oh, look who finally arrived,” Adara sneered. She laughed, feigning surprise. “I am surprised that old bag is still alive.” she added, her tone laced with cruelty. “I must say, you did looked so darling at the dinner, Caroline. Keeping Batima all to yourself, I just had to learn your secret.”

Caroline could feel her patience wearing thin as she caught Adara reaching toward Batima with an all-too-familiar predatory look. Without hesitation, Caroline vamp-sped forward, grabbing Adara by the shoulders and tossing her across the room. She followed up by driving a metal rod into Adara’s stomach, pinning her to the stone floor with enough force to crack it.

“Pro-tip, Adara. Don’t eat the dressmaker if you want her to make your dress,” Caroline said with a sarcastic sweetness.

Aurora laughed, watching the scene unfold with a glass of champagne in hand. “Little Dove, do let Adara go.”

Caroline feigned a pout, twisting and driving the rod further into Adara causing her to let out a whine. “Do I have to?”

Aurora’s laughter grew. “You’re actually asking for my say-so?”

Caroline shrugged with a smirk. “Just keeping things interesting.” She released Adara and stepped back, watching as Adara scrambled to her feet, glaring murderously.

Caroline turned to Aurora. “So, what colour are you thinking of for your dress?”

Aurora’s gaze softened for a moment as she contemplated it. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Adara?” Caroline asked, turning her attention to her.

Adara crossed her arms, her gaze icy. “I don’t know.”

Caroline smiled and politely asked Batima, “Could you bring out some dresses for us and start the fitting? Apologies for adding more guests at the last minute.”

Batima nodded, her face neutral but respectful as she bowed. “Of course, my lady.” She motioned for Naveeda to assist, and the two slipped into the back room.

Caroline took a seat on a nearby sofa, breaking the silence. “Aurora, with your features and your last choice of green, I’d suggest something in deep blue with hints of indigo and silver or jeweled accents,” she said thoughtfully. Turning to Adara, she added, “And for you, a peacock teal with gold jewelry would be… fitting.”

Adara scoffed, but Aurora looked intrigued, contemplating Caroline’s suggestion.

Just then, Batima returned with several racks of dresses, along with fabric sample books for each of them. She handed one to each, and Caroline watched as Aurora flipped through the blues with more interest than she’d shown before. Adara flicked through the book avoiding the teals like the plague before settling on the pinks, matching a shade with her skin.

Curious, Caroline turned to Batima. “What colour do you think I should wear?”

Batima took the sample book from her and flipped through with care, finally settling on a gunmetal grey. Caroline tilted her head, considering it, as Aurora, noticing, added, “Do the same for me.”

Batima nodded, asking, “What colour did you last wear, my lady?”

“Emerald green.”

After a moment’s thought, Batima selected a sapphire blue for Aurora, who gave a small nod of approval. Adara huffed impatiently, staring at Batima. “Well? Do me, too.”

Batima merely stood still, and Adara’s face twisted in irritation. “Do the same for me!”

With a barely concealed sigh, Batima obliged, choosing a rich plum purple that made Adara scoff but consider it nonetheless. She turned to Caroline, with a told you so look at Caroline’s ‘incorrect’ assessment, but all she got in return was Caroline’s smirk. Adara was about to lunge for Caroline in anger but that was quickly quelled.

“Adara, calm down,” Aurora commanded, giving her a pointed look. Then she dismissed Batima and turned back to the racks of dresses.

As they tried on gowns, Caroline sipped her champagne, watching Adara attempt to flatter Aurora with compliments. Aurora eventually stepped out in a new dress, one that Adara fawned over.

Aurora turned to Caroline. “Well?”

Caroline assessed the dress with a steady gaze. “It’s nice,” she said slowly, “but it’s not you.”

Aurora raised an eyebrow. “And why not?”

“Because,” Caroline explained, “it doesn’t match your elegance and power. When you walk into the ball, you need to exude presence, strength. That dress is more suited for a high school dance, not the 900th Strix Ball.”

Aurora’s thoughtful expression turned into a smirk, and she nodded, slipping out of the dress and selecting another. As she returned to the fitting room, Caroline stood up, her time here nearly over. Caroline made her way toward the entrance to the back of the shop and saw Naveeda there before gesturing for her to leave.

“I must take my leave,” she announced, “I have a meeting with the Wardens.”

Before she left, she arranged several dresses on the rack by Aurora’s seat. Giving a smile and a mini curtsy, she offered, “You’re welcome.” before turning on her heel and leaving, the hint of a satisfied smile on her face.

Naveeda, Abidemi, and Isabella led Caroline down the corridors toward Casian and the wardens, along with the builders she’d requested. The group walked in silence as the heavy footsteps of workers and guards echoed around them. Caroline could already feel the weight of the task ahead—these workers looked exhausted and worse off than she’d imagined. Upon arriving, she faced Casian, whose expression was taut with suppressed anger.

Casian sneered as he caught sight of Caroline. She could almost see the indignation bubbling in him, likely offended by the thought of a young female vampire issuing commands, even more so since Tristan had given her the authority to carry them out.

“Well, here they are,” he said, with a tight smile. “The builders, just as you demanded.”

Caroline met his gaze, unflinching. "Thank you, Casian. I’ll see to their setup and ensure they’re prepared for the work ahead.”

Casian’s expression darkened, but he said nothing, nodding grudgingly. He and the other wardens watched with barely concealed scorn as Caroline began organising the workers, assessing their needs and wounds. The sun set quickly as she worked, the hours blurring together.

It didn’t take long to see just how dire the situation was. The builders were half-starved, bruised, and exhausted. She set up a makeshift camp on the outskirts of town, scrounging up food and water for them. She even created a makeshift soup kitchen and stocked it with as much bread, water, and stew as she could get. She instructed Naveeda, Abidemi, and Isabella to distribute supplies and ensure that each worker had what they needed.

Moving from group to group, Caroline encouraged them to eat, rest, and take care of their injuries. Many looked at her with stunned gratitude, clearly unaccustomed to such treatment, but she kept her gaze steady and her tone reassuring.

She gathered them together as dusk approached and established an initial plan. A few of them, went down to the old network with Caroline and began putting together braces and supports throughout the network as Caroline seriously feared the structural integrity of the tunnels. She added little supports of metal throughout and used her newly read knowledge in the civil engineering books she had read to put these in the optimal positions.

Though little building had been done, the rest of the night would be for recuperation. With food in their bellies and a bit of sleep, tomorrow would begin the real work. She watched the workers with a solemn expression as they settled in for the night, bandaged and fed, for perhaps the first time in ages.

At last, with a weary but satisfied sigh, she glanced at Naveeda, Isabella, and Abidemi. Their faces mirrored her own exhaustion.

“You’ve done more than enough today,” she said, a gentle smile on her lips. “Get some rest. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

They nodded, grateful for the reprieve, and as they walked off, Caroline waited until they were gone before she made her way to the kitchens. She gathered bread, cheese, ham, a container of stew, and a large bottle of water, loading them carefully into a cloth-lined basket and made her way towards the boy in the cell.

Caroline made her way quietly down the dimly lit hall, her footsteps barely a whisper against the cold stone floor. As she approached the cell door, she took a deep breath, calming herself before stepping inside. The boy was huddled in the corner, eyes wide and shadowed with fear. At first, he didn’t recognise her; panic flashed in his face, but then, gradually, his expression softened into something tired and resigned.

“Hey, it’s just me,” Caroline said softly, keeping her voice as gentle as she could manage. “It’s okay. I brought more food.” She held out the basket and waited as he eyed it for a moment before slowly accepting it. She offered him a soft smile. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here. But if not, that’s okay, too. Just... eat something, alright? You’re safe now.”

He didn’t respond, just looked at her with a sorrow that ran deep. She settled herself on the floor across from him, crossing her legs and resting her back against the wall, trying to ease the atmosphere with her quiet presence. She watched him eat, taking a deep breath to center herself in the silence that followed.

Her gaze shifted to the small pile of belongings near him, and she spotted a comic book peeking out, with a page carefully folded three-quarters of the way through. She recognized the cover right away—a classic Avengers comic. A small smile crept onto her face.

“Oh, that’s one of my favorites too,” she said, motioning toward it. “My... my boyfriend Tyler used to read those, too. He’d even draw his own characters sometimes. Black Widow was always my favorite—one Halloween, I even got a red wig and dressed up as her. I think I might have nailed it, too,” she joked, waving her hands in an exaggerated motion as though mimicking some of the moves.

For the first time today, she saw a spark of amusement in his eyes, and she grinned. “I’ll have you know, I was a pretty decent Black Widow. I had a few moves down,” she added, going through a few mock punches and kicks with a grin, and the boy’s eyes lit up, a small hint of amusement breaking through.

She raised an eyebrow, “So... who’s your favourite?”

He looked as though he wanted to answer but faltered, his eyes darting to the ground. Undeterred, Caroline kept going, animatedly guessing.

“Okay, let’s see... the Hulk?” He shook his head, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. She tried again, “Captain America?” Another shake. “Thor?” She asked, watching him closely, and his face lit up as he nodded enthusiastically.

“Thor, huh? I wouldn’t have expected that,” Caroline said, cocking her head thoughtfully.

He gave her a look that asked, Why not?

She chuckled. “I don’t know, I guess you just don’t seem like a Thor kind of guy. I always thought you’d be more of a Hulk guy.”

He looked scandalised at the idea, shaking his head, and for the first time, Caroline saw the faintest hint of a smile.

She glanced at her watch and sighed. “I’ve got to go now,” she said reluctantly, reaching out to take the empty plate and cup. His smile faded, and a familiar sadness returned, one that tugged at her heart.

“I’ll be back, though,” she promised gently. “I’ll bring more food, water, maybe some new comics, too. And...” she lowered her voice, her tone as reassuring as she could make it. “We’ll get out of here. I swear it.”

He watched her closely, sadness clouding his eyes, but he nodded, clutching the comic book a little tighter as he held her gaze. She gave him one last, comforting smile before slipping out, leaving him to the fading glow of the flickering torchlight as she walked away, feeling more determined than ever to keep her word.

Caroline made her way back to her quarters, moving quietly, trying not to draw attention. Yet, as she passed by the servants, their eyes followed her. They weren't hostile but watchful, their gazes lingering, curious, as though they were trying to discern something. She ignored it as best as she could, keeping her expression neutral until she reached her room. But as she opened the door, she froze—Genevieve was already inside, looking anxious and a bit annoyed, a half-burned bundle of sage smoldering beside her.

Genevieve looked up, her expression hardening. "My, my, isn't it Mother Teresa. Healing the poor and feeding the needy," she said dryly, her eyes narrowing.

Caroline didn’t react to the bite in Genevieve's tone. "Look, I get it. You’re a witch, you hate vampires. But we need to focus. Let's figure out what they're hiding in those catacombs."

Genevieve shifted uncomfortably but nodded, a glimmer of frustration and apprehension in her expression. "I don’t know much about them myself. All I know is that the catacombs are massive, and they’ve been abandoned for ages. You sure you know the way?"

Caroline pulled out her notepad, flipping it open to a carefully hand-drawn map. She held it out for Genevieve to see. "I’ve memorized the blueprints. Here it is."

Genevieve studied the map, her brows furrowing. "So what’s your plan? Just stumble through every tunnel until we run into something?"

"No, there are only a few areas big enough to house anything significant. We’ll start here." Caroline pointed to an entrance noted near the west wing on her map. "We can enter through this passageway. There’s a staircase down to the catacombs from here."

Genevieve crossed her arms. "There are guards stationed at nearly every doorway, including that one."

Caroline gave her a meaningful look. "That’s where you come in."

Genevieve’s eyes narrowed. "I'm not killing them. They'll know it was a witch."

"Could you knock them out and make them forget? Just long enough for us to get by?"

Genevieve sighed, looking away as she considered it. "Yes," she said finally, her tone tense. "I can manage that."

Caroline watched her, noticing the strain on Genevieve’s face and the tremble in her hands. She opened her mouth to ask, "Are you... okay?"

Genevieve’s head snapped up, and her eyes flashed. "I’m fine," she snapped, the frustration in her voice cutting through the air. Her features softened as she composed herself, though she still looked tense. "Let’s just go," she muttered, impatience prickling her words as she pocketed the sage and brushed past Caroline toward the door.

Caroline followed, her mind racing with questions but knowing better than to ask.

Genevieve and Caroline moved swiftly through the dark corridors of the west wing, their footsteps softened by the layers of dust that had settled over time. Just before they rounded the first corner, Caroline’s jaw clenched—the guards stationed nearby were the same ones who’d belittled her after her scuffle with Vasil. Her hands curled into fists, but Genevieve shot her a look, muttering an incantation under her breath.

Without hesitation, Genevieve reached out, grabbing Caroline’s hand, and they both moved past the guards, who remained frozen, their gazes vacant, unaware of the two passing by.

Caroline’s heart pounded as they slipped down the narrow, winding stairs into the catacombs. Once underground, the air turned thick and humid, the walls damp and slick with condensation. Water dripped from unseen sources, echoing through the dark corridors, amplifying the tension. Caroline took out her hand-drawn map, her eyes scanning for landmarks as she and Genevieve ventured deeper.

They encountered three more pairs of guards, each time slipping past them undetected. Caroline gradually realised that Genevieve was keeping her hand held, the warmth of her grip the only reassurance amid the chilling cold of the ancient underground tunnels. After several turns and hidden passageways, they came to a sudden halt.

“It’s a dead end,” Caroline whispered, studying the unyielding stone wall in front of them, her voice laced with frustration. She glanced at her map. "The blueprints say there should be another turn here.”

Genevieve scanned the area, her brow furrowed, then gestured silently to a narrow opening just barely visible behind a stack of crumbling stones. They squeezed through the narrow gap, which led them down a twisting passageway until they reached an open chamber. It was dimly lit by a series of flickering torches along the walls, casting long shadows that danced eerily across the cold stone floor.

As they moved forward, Caroline’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she halted suddenly. In the centre of the clearing, surrounded by vigilant guards, was an ancient coffin—ornate and intricately carved, its surface marked by strange symbols that seemed to pulse faintly in the darkness.

Genevieve’s eyes widened, a look of shock and horror flashing across her face. Caroline glanced at her, her own curiosity turning to dread as she looked down at the coffin.

With a slow, steadying breath, Caroline reached out and lifted the heavy lid, pushing it open just enough for them to peer inside.

Both women gasped, a mixture of disbelief and horror on their faces.

Chapter Text

Genevieve and Caroline’s gaze fell on the lifeless figure lying in the coffin. Rebekah Mikaelson’s body was a shadow of its former self, her skin ashen and drawn tight across her bones, blonde hair dulled, almost brittle, against the rich red velvet of the coffin lining. A long, gleaming mystical dagger pierced her chest, plunged through her heart, its silver-and-black blade shimmering faintly with dark magic. Caroline traced the blade’s ominous glow with her eyes, feeling both curious and horrified.

“I thought only silver daggers could do this to an Original,” Caroline whispered, her voice echoing slightly.

Genevieve saw the look on Caroline’s face and immediately shook her head, her mouth setting in a grim line. “No. No, no, no. We are not releasing her.”

Caroline tore her eyes away from Rebekah and looked at Genevieve. “Genevieve, listen—”

“No!” Genevieve snapped, her tone resolute. “Leave her to rot, Caroline. It’s what she deserves.”

“She could be useful,” Caroline replied, standing firm. “We’re in over our heads, and we could use all the help we can get.”

Genevieve scoffed, eyes narrowing. “Rebekah is a snake. She’ll betray us the first chance she gets. It is all she does.”

“We all need to get out of here, Genevieve,” Caroline countered, her voice pressing yet steady. “And she’ll cooperate if it means her freedom. She’ll play ball if it suits her own self-interest.”

Genevieve’s expression darkened, her voice dripping with bitterness. “You think she cares about our escape? She’d only save herself. She’s poison, Caroline. Rebekah cannot be trusted under any circumstances.”

Caroline clenched her jaw, refusing to back down. “I’m not strong enough to take on all of them, and neither are you. She’s an Original, Genevieve. She’s stronger and older than every vampire in this place. She’s indestructible—”

Genevieve cut her off, her voice spiked with anger and fear. “No. No way. If she goes rogue, what are you going to do? She’ll kill us without blinking an eye.”

Caroline met Genevieve’s gaze, her voice a murmur that held both desperation and conviction. “We’re at death’s door every day, Genevieve. Rebekah is the trump card we need.”

Genevieve took a step back, disbelief and bitterness in her expression. Her words came out in a harsh, almost haunted tone. “She killed my best friend, Caroline. Nearly killed me. Sentencing us to weeks of suffering in quarantine. Rebekah is the reason I was dragged into this hell for almost a century.” She turned, pointing a shaky hand at the desiccated form in the coffin. “Trusting her is a risk that isn’t worth taking.”

Caroline squared her shoulders. “How long do you think it’ll be until you’re discovered as a traitor, Genevieve? How long till I am discovered a traitor? How long until we’re both killed regardless?” She paused, her gaze unwavering. “Staying here spells death, or worse. We need to take a leap of faith.”

Genevieve’s eyes blazed with fury, her voice bitterly mocking. “That leap is a death dive into a pit of vipers. Rebekah cannot be trusted.”

“We don’t need trust,” Caroline shot back, a steely edge in her voice. “We need allies.”

Genevieve fell silent, her gaze wavering as she looked from Caroline to the desiccated Rebekah. The seconds stretched, a tense silence settling between them.

Caroline took a steadying breath. “We don’t have the luxury of picking safe allies right now. Rebekah could tip the scales. She’s a weapon, Genevieve. And if we don’t take the risk, we’re as good as dead.”

Genevieve shot her a scathing look. “So we free her, then what? She can’t just walk around. The second she’s seen, every witch and vampire in this dimension will be after her—and they’ll come for us next. You know they’ll hunt down whoever released her.”

“Then we hide her,” Caroline said, exhaling slowly, a tentative hope shining through her desperation. “Do you know any place in this dimension, anywhere abandoned, where she can stay hidden?”

Genevieve’s face shifted, her defiance softening just a fraction, as if the fight had begun to slip from her grasp. She hesitated, then let out a frustrated sigh. “There’s one place I know.”

Caroline’s gaze turned pleading, raw with vulnerability. Genevieve glared, still torn, but finally let out a resigned scoff. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Genevieve stepped forward and wrapped her hand around the dagger, her face hardening as she yanked it free with a swift, brutal motion. Rebekah’s body slumped slightly, and Caroline stepped in quickly, taking Rebekah’s limp form, putting her over her shoulder and closing the coffin. Genevieve muttered an incantation, her words soft and urgent. Around them, the candles flared, their flames roaring high before settling back down.

“Leave the coffin,” Genevieve instructed, her tone resigned but tinged with frustration. She reached out, grabbing Caroline’s free hand.

Together, carrying Rebekah’s body, they slipped back into the shadows, navigating the winding tunnels of the catacombs, every step taking them back toward the surface.

Caroline and Genevieve maneuvered through the dense, shadowed forest, the mist thickening with each step. Rebekah’s desiccated body weighed on Caroline’s shoulders, her skin brushing against the cold, damp air. They finally approached a narrow entrance hidden by a tangle of roots and vines. Slipping through, they entered a winding cave network, the echo of dripping water filling the air.

As they reached an opening, the space suddenly widened into a grand hollow within the cliff face, a sanctuary carved from stone. The far wall was open, overlooking the horizon where faint red lights began to break through the black sky, painting everything in a foreboding red glow. Ash, ever-present in this dimension, drifted down and clung to their hair, a reminder of the bleak world they were trapped in.

“What is this place?” Caroline asked, her voice softened by awe as she took in the cave’s haunting beauty.

Genevieve glanced around with an expression that blended anger with something close to reverence. “This is my sanctuary,” she replied. “A quiet place in a world like this…though I should’ve known better than to bring you here.”

Caroline felt the tension ripple from Genevieve and murmured, “I understand that you’re angry—”

“No,” Genevieve interrupted, turning on her sharply, her voice laced with bitterness. “You understand nothing, Caroline. This was a mistake. She will only bring more trouble, and you, naïve and stupid as you are, have signed us up for it.”

Caroline held her gaze steady, absorbing the accusation. “Fine,” she said finally, looking back at Rebekah’s withered form. “I need to get her blood before she wakes.” She stepped outside, searching the forest, and returned moments later dragging a deer behind her, its lifeless body offered up as their only option.

Genevieve’s gaze hardened. “Rebekah won’t touch animal blood. Originals are too stuck up to stoop that low.”

“This is the best I can do without making waves,” Caroline replied, her voice edged with finality as she set the deer down beside Rebekah. “It’s this or nothing.”

Genevieve gave a resigned scoff. “You’ve got maybe three hours until sunrise. I assume you need to be back by then?”

“Forty-five minutes, actually,” Caroline answered, taking a glance at the dim horizon. “My servants start waking me up two hours before dawn. How long do you think she’ll take to wake up?”

Genevieve only shrugged, her eyes transfixed on the dagger she’d yanked from Rebekah’s chest. She ran her fingers over its intricate hilt, an almost trance-like look in her eyes.

After a quiet moment, Genevieve broke the silence. “You’re being considered, you know.”

“Considered?” Caroline echoed, looking at her blankly.

Genevieve rolled her eyes. “For someone who calls herself the ‘mastermind’ of this little operation, you really do live up to the dumb blonde stereotype.”

Caroline shot her a withering glare but shook her head, suppressing her irritation.

Genevieve let out a frustrated sigh. “They’re considering you for membership, Caroline. The Strix.”

Caroline’s face twisted in confusion, tinged with disdain. “I’m just a regular vampire,” she replied.

“Don’t be coy with me,” Genevieve said sharply. “I saw you fight in the pits. The way you handled yourself—they organised it specifically to test you, to see if you were worth their time. And they’re not finished yet.”

Caroline’s fists clenched. “I’d never join them. I hate everything they stand for.”

Genevieve shook her head. “Naïve, through and through. They always get what they want. Whether you’re willing or not, they’ve put you through the first of many trials. You’d better watch your back.”

Caroline’s face softened in reluctant curiosity as she looked at Genevieve. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

Genevieve’s face flickered with an emotion she quickly tamped down, and she answered reluctantly, “The witches did a spell to reveal any traitors in their ranks. I would’ve died if it hadn’t been for the spell, you taught me.”

Caroline’s face showed her surprise, and she opened her mouth to respond when suddenly a faint gasp echoed from across the cave.

Both women whipped around, their attention snapping to the desiccated form of Rebekah. Her withered chest heaved in a shallow, painful breath as she slowly sat up.

Rebekah’s eyes fluttered open, and the confusion and anger that flickered across her desiccated face quickly turned to shock as she took in her surroundings. Her eyes narrowed at Caroline, and she barked, “Where the hell am I?” Her gaze snapped to Genevieve, holding the dagger in her hand, and Rebekah’s fury ignited. “You bitch!”

With a snarl, Rebekah lunged at Genevieve, ready to strike, but Genevieve’s hand shot out, her lips moving in a rapid chant as Rebekah was instantly overwhelmed by a pain spell. Rebekah’s face contorted, her body stiffening against the invisible flames coursing through her veins.

“Stop it! Both of you!” Caroline shouted, stepping between them and shoving Rebekah back. She looked at Genevieve, her voice sharp. “Enough.”

Genevieve released the spell, but her eyes held a searing intensity as she glared at Rebekah.

Rebekah, still seething, rounded on Caroline, her expression a mix of confusion and resentment. “You’re supposed to be dead! How is she—” Rebekah spat, her words cutting off as her glare returned to Genevieve.

Genevieve’s smirk was thin and cold. “Don’t worry. You got close. But, as you see...here I am.”

Unmoved by Caroline’s attempts to hold her back, Rebekah tried to push forward again. “Get out of my way, Caroline. This is between her and me.”

“Oh, really?” Caroline shot back, still blocking Rebekah’s path. “What do you think you’re going to do?”

Rebekah’s expression hardened. “I’m going to kill her. Then I’m going to get out of this wretched cave.”

Caroline’s voice rose in frustration. “Look outside, Rebekah!” She gestured to the wide opening of the cliff’s edge, revealing the red horizon beyond, the distorted landscape of twisted forest, lake, and lighthouse looming faintly through the dim, eerie light.

Rebekah’s fury softened for a split second as she took in the view. Her eyes darted over the unfamiliar terrain, her confusion momentarily winning out over her anger. “What the…?”

Caroline seized the moment, picking up a goblet of blood and thrusting it toward Rebekah. “Now, you can keep trying to kill Genevieve—or you can drink some of this, sit down, and listen to what I have to say.”

Rebekah looked down at the goblet, wrinkling her nose in distaste as she sniffed it. “I’m not drinking that,” she muttered, disgust evident on her face.

Genevieve rolled her eyes, barely hiding her scorn. Rebekah’s glare cut to her immediately, and Genevieve smirked, clearly enjoying Rebekah’s discomfort.

“Enough,” Caroline snapped, her patience wearing thin. “It’s this or nothing, Rebekah. I can’t get you human blood right now without getting noticed.”

Rebekah looked back at Caroline, a flicker of realisation starting to dawn as she began to grasp the seriousness of their predicament. Her tone was cold and sceptical. “Noticed by whom?”

Caroline sighed, glancing quickly at the horizon, shoved the goblet of deer blood toward Rebekah. “I have thirty minutes before I’m noticed missing. So, you can either keep complaining about the blood, or we can talk about how you’re going to help us get out of here.”

Rebekah’s eyes lingered on Caroline, her expression simmering with wariness and anger. Finally, she snatched the goblet from Caroline’s hand, giving it a reluctant swirl before taking a small sip, the distaste evident on her face. Her fingers clenched around the cup as she stared into the swirling liquid, as if it held answers to her predicament. “Alright, I’m listening. But make it quick.”

Caroline took a deep breath, steadying herself. “This place—it’s not the real world.  It’s called Mahal Khafa, a twisted dimension run by The Strix. I was kidnapped and brought here by Aurora de Martel and The Strix. Genevieve and I are working to break out. We found you down in the catacombs.”

“Fantastic,” Rebekah muttered, casting a sidelong glance at Genevieve, who watched her with a mix of disdain and silent satisfaction. “And you’re proposing we all work together? Like one happy family?”

Caroline’s jaw tightened. “Whether you like it or not, you need her help—just like I do. They didn’t bring you here just to leave you rotting in some coffin. There’s a purpose to this. They wouldn’t have you here with all this security if it were just about holding you captive.”

Rebekah scoffed. “And why is that? The Strix have never had an ounce of loyalty, but my death—and the deaths of my siblings—would end the vampire species. Aurora is my direct sireling. If I die, so does she.” Her eyes darted to Genevieve, malice evident. “But to trust her? I’d rather go it alone.”

Genevieve cut in, her voice cold. “That’s rich. Do you think you’d last five minutes on your own out there? They’ll know you’re missing soon enough, and believe me, they’ll have you daggered and back in a coffin in a heartbeat if you try.”

Caroline spoke up before Rebekah could retort. “If we’re going to have any chance of getting out, we need to stick together—for now, at least. The Strix has complete control of this place, Rebekah. If you try to make a break for it alone, it’s game over.”

Rebekah cast a skeptical look between the two, suspicion in her eyes. But after a tense silence, she nodded reluctantly. “Fine. I’ll play ball.”

Genevieve’s lips curled into a slight smirk, though her tone remained acidic. “A wise choice.”

Caroline exhaled, relieved. “Good. Here, you’ll be able to stay hidden. I’ll bring you human blood as soon as I can, along with books and a change of clothes.”

Rebekah narrowed her eyes at Caroline. “And you’re certain we can trust her?” she asked, jerking her chin toward Genevieve.

“We don’t have to trust each other,” Caroline replied firmly. “We just need to get out of here. After that, you can go your separate way and do as you please.”

Genevieve rolled her eyes. “How diplomatic.”

Caroline ignored her, glancing at the horizon where the dark sky bled into a dim red light. She turned back to the two women, her face set. “Here’s the plan I have so far: we stay out of sight during the day, gather information, and look for weak points in their security. Schedules, details, even things that would seem mundane could be the key—if there’s something to know, I want to know it. I’m overseeing the castle refurbishments and organizing the 900th Strix Anniversary Ball. I’ve found a potential weak point in the castle’s old sewage network. It might be crucial for our escape, but we need more intel. If we don’t work together, we can kiss any chance of escape and survival goodbye.”

Rebekah let out a resigned sigh, downing the rest of the goblet, her face scrunched in distaste. “Fine. But mark my words, Caroline—if this plan fails, it’s on your head.”

Caroline nodded. “If it fails, you’ll be daggered again, and Genevieve and I will be dead.”

Genevieve watched them both, her expression unreadable, but beneath her cool exterior, there was a glint of something dangerous. “Us girls, sticking together, huh?”

Caroline slipped back into her quarters as quickly as she could, her steps careful and deliberate to avoid suspicion. Inside, she moved with urgency, pulling on her sleepwear, picking ash from her hair, and scruffing it up to look as if she’d just rolled out of bed. She weighed the option of feigning sleep, but decided against it, grabbing The Most Ancient and Noble Order of the Strix: The Rule of Law, Volume One instead. It was a painfully dull read, but right now, she needed every piece of knowledge, every advantage she could store in her arsenal. Her mind was racing with thoughts of Genevieve and Rebekah, two powerful enemies forced to work together—a volatile pairing if ever there was one. Her thoughts skittered to a halt as the door swung open with a loud boom, cutting her off. Caroline's head shot up to see Aurora standing there, her posture rigid and regal, with Naveeda, Isabella, and Abidemi behind her.

Aurora was immaculately dressed, her elegance almost ridiculous against Caroline’s current state of disarray.

“Morning, Little Dove. Is this the squalor you call home?” Aurora’s gaze drifted around Caroline's quarters with an eyebrow raised in distaste.

Caroline set her book aside, letting her expression shift to a sassy grin. “Why are you here? Isn’t this beneath you?” she asked, her tone laced with playful defiance.

Aurora let out a low laugh, unperturbed. “I have been on this earth for over a thousand years, Caroline. I’ve seen my fair share of squalor. But you’re right, it is.” She plucked a berry from a nearby bowl and popped it into her mouth, giving Caroline a pointed look as she grabbed two goblets from the sideboard and poured blood into each, handing one to Caroline.

Meanwhile, Naveeda, Abidemi, and Isabella began setting up a bath, Abidemi carrying in a folding privacy screen as they moved about with practiced efficiency. Caroline took a silk robe and slipped behind the screen to change before stepping into the warm water. Aurora perched herself on Caroline’s bed, flipping through the pages of the heavy Strix book.

"The Most Ancient and Noble Order of the Strix: The Rule of Law. Volume One,” Aurora scoffed, her gaze skimming across the dry text. “God, do you really have to read something this boring?”

Caroline rolled her eyes, washing her arms in the steaming water. “You didn’t answer my first question.”

“Well, you and I—and a few others—are going on a little journey today.”

Caroline’s brow furrowed. “I have duties,” she said bluntly, though her mind raced with the thought of being observed while she inspected the old castle foundations—a nuisance, but perhaps an opportunity, if she played it right.

Aurora waved her hand dismissively. “Those will be taken care of for the day. You serve me, and I’m telling you we’re going out.”

Caroline’s lips curved into a challenging smile. “I don’t know if you know me well enough yet, so let me reintroduce myself. My name is Caroline Forbes, and I don’t serve anyone. What I do offer is loyalty—but that has to be earned.”

Amusement flickered across Aurora’s features, laced with a hint of anger. “Tell me, Caroline, what part of my behavior or tone indicates that you have a choice in the matter?”

Caroline’s gaze didn’t waver. “I always have a choice. But I’ll admit I’m curious...where is this little journey taking us?”

“Rome,” Aurora replied, watching as Caroline’s eyes widened.

“Rome? Like real-world Rome? Blue skies, ancient buildings, that Rome?” Caroline twisted in the tub in surprise, splashing water over the sides.

“Yes, that Rome,” Aurora confirmed with a smirk, laughing at Caroline’s obvious excitement. “But don’t get your hopes too high—we won’t be there long. It’s not for sightseeing.” Aurora’s tone turned serious.

Caroline’s shoulders slumped slightly, but she kept her expression inquisitive. “So, why are we there?”

Aurora made a face, her tone bored. “A group of vampires have been conspiring against The Strix, blah blah blah. You’re coming to observe how we ‘manage’ things.”

Caroline leaned back into the water, rolling her eyes as she lathered shampoo into her hair. “I’m sure you can handle some mass murder on your own.”

“We could,” Aurora agreed, her smirk sharp. “But like I said, you’re coming with us.”

Caroline sighed, rolling her eyes again as she massaged the shampoo through her scalp. “Fine. When do we leave?”

“In an hour or so,” Aurora answered, looking around the room with distaste. “Are you certain you want to stay here? I can arrange better quarters for you.”

Caroline rinsed her hair, squeezing water from it before applying conditioner. “I like the location. It’s quite accessible to the rest of the castle. And it’s not…that bad.” She glanced up at the water-stained ceiling as a droplet plopped onto the floor.

Aurora gave her a sceptical look, her attention drifting to a book on Caroline’s bedside table. “‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll,’” Aurora read, flipping the cover open. Her eyes danced with amusement. “Ah. ‘But I don’t want to go among mad people,’ Alice remarked.”

Caroline, still rinsing her hair, grinned. “‘Oh, you can’t help that,’ said the Cat: ‘we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.’”

Aurora leaned forward, intrigued, her lips twisting into a wry smile. “‘How do you know I’m mad?’ asked Alice.”

“‘You must be,’” Caroline replied, her voice softening, “‘or you wouldn’t have come.’”

As Caroline sank back into the water to rinse the last of the conditioner, the words settled between them with a strange weight. She felt their truth too deeply, and a pang of something like longing twisted in her chest as she realized how fitting they were.

Aurora raised her glass in a silent toast, her gaze thoughtful.

Caroline after her bath she had changed into a white leather jacket with silver studs on the shoulders over a light pink top, blue jeans, and light brown Timberland boots. She braided her hair into two Dutch braids, keeping her makeup light, accented with soft pinks and a high-shine gloss on her lips.

She knew she looked out of place against all of the dark clothed Strix but she didn’t care.

She wasn’t one of them.

She never will be.

Just as she made her way down the hall with Aurora, she noticed a group gathering in the castle courtyard. Aya, Tristan, Shen Min, Vasil, and Mohinder were already assembled along with several other Strix members. Caroline took in their expressions, mostly unreadable or indifferent, except for Vasil, who smirked the moment he saw her approach.

Caroline leaned over to Aurora, her voice low and unimpressed. "I thought you said a few," she muttered, eyeing the crowd.

Vasil overheard and chuckled, his expression arrogant. "Didn’t think your little pet had the stomach for this, Aurora."

Caroline gave him a cold look. "Keep talking about me like I’m not here, and you won’t have a stomach at all," she snapped, her tone cutting.

Vasil laughed, glancing at Aurora for approval, who laughed as well. "Your pet has more bark than bite,” he sneered.

Rolling her eyes, Caroline met the stares of the other Strix members watching her. She gave them a hard look, crossing her arms. "If you all have something to say, say it. Otherwise, are we going or not?"

Tristan, Aya, Shen Min, and Mohinder shared a glance, communicating silently. Finally, Tristan stepped forward, pulling an unusual object from his coat pocket. The device was crafted from an intricately carved gemstone, its facets gleaming as it caught the light. It seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly energy as he pricked his finger on a sharp edge, letting a single drop of blood fall onto the central gemstone. As soon as it touched, the device whirred to life, the dials turning on their own, and Tristan held it out toward an empty wall. A beam of white light shot forward, revealing a faint shimmer that formed into a portal. The light itself bended as it bled back down, pooling inwards like a picture a model of Einstein’s relativity as it bent towards a source, however this concentration was broken as Aurora placed a firm hand on the small of Caroline’s back, nudging her forward into the light. Caroline kept her eyes straight ahead as the light engulfed her senses, disorienting her with the feeling of the world flipping upside down.

By the time the brightness faded, she looked up to see a blackened night sky overhead. They were standing in what appeared to be the rough side of town, surrounded by dilapidated buildings, some with neon signs flickering faintly, and the unmistakable smells of booze, blood, and sex filled the air.

They stepped forward, moving across a dimly lit balcony. Below them, the sounds of raucous laughter, shouting, and moans mixed with blaring music. Caroline looked down, her stomach twisting at the sight of people slumped against walls, needles scattered at their feet, while others engaged in a chaotic mix of drinking and fighting. She walked past several couples and groups of people having sex and talking drugs and tried to not see but it was too dangerous for her to turn off in enemy territory. She forced herself to stay composed, though the sheer volume of the depravity around her made her stomach twist.

Vasil grinned as he leaned over Caroline’s shoulder whispering in her ear. “Feeling shy, Little Hero? Your cheeks are all flushed."

Caroline didn’t even look at him. “I suggest you back off, or I’ll make you.”

Smirking, Vasil backed away, raising his hands in a mock surrender.

They continued walking toward a narrow clearing in the buildings. Just as Caroline moved forward, she felt a hard shove at her back. She crashed through a flimsy wooden door, stumbling into a dimly lit room. Inside, a man was hunched over a scantily clad woman, his mouth stained with her blood, while two others sat at a nearby table, playing cards amidst a handful of scattered lines of cocaine. More bodies lay sprawled across the floor, all in various states of undress and lifelessness. The smell of blood, sex and sweat filled the room as an Italian song played in the background.

The man feeding on the woman dropped her corpse to the floor like trash and looked up, his eyes raking over Caroline’s form with a lascivious grin. “I prefer brunettes,” he sneered, “but you’ll do.” Caroline’s expression hardened, disgust flashing across her face.

“For all the Strix’s talk of retribution, they send one little blonde whore?” he taunted, glancing back at his companions, who chuckled, oblivious to Caroline’s assessing hearing as she counted eleven vampires spread throughout the house. Grunts and cries emanated from the rooms above and all she felt was rage. Her eyes fluttered back to the woman who he just killed and tossed the floor, her eyes looking blankly towards Caroline although she knew that the woman was dead. It was like a cosmic joke, as her eyes fluttered between the dead people, she knew what she had to do.

The man continued, a sick grin spreading across his face. “If you’re looking for your companions, only vampires from my bloodline can pass the threshold. Didn’t they tell you that?”

In a blur, he was in front of her, his hand gripping her braids, yanking her head back, and making her grunt in pain. His friends only laughed, unbothered turning back to their cards, as he leaned close, his hand tracing down her body and grabbing her breast roughly, making Caroline wince. “I like it when females struggle. It really turns me on.”

She couldn’t hesitate. Caroline forced her voice into a soft purr, her gaze lidded as she took her hand and moved it slowly along his chest.

“Do you want to know what turns me on?” Her voice was smooth, her eyes deceptively soft, as her hands reached into his shirt and touched his bare skin. His eyes filled with curiosity and his mouth quirked into a smile as he opened his mouth to respond. But before he could respond, she drove her hand as hard as she could into his chest, her nails digging in, and tore his heart from his chest in one swift motion.

“This.”

Before his body dropped to the floor, Caroline descended towards the pair of vampires at the table who were now scrambling to their feet, alarmed. She didn’t hesitate, launching herself at them and ripping their hearts from their chests simultaneously.

The sounds of scuffling upstairs caught her attention, and she quickly broke the leg off a chair, fashioning a makeshift stake. Turning up the blaring music to drown out any noise, she moved through the house, staking and slashing her way through the remaining vampires, her mind going numb as she fought her way through. Blood sprayed across her, and a small voice at the back of her mind screamed at the brutality of it, but she crushed it. These vampires were complicit in this, every one of them, and if she stopped now, she’d be the one dead. But it was beyond just survival, these vampires would pay.

There was no hesitation, no pause, just death.

By the time she stepped out, her bloodied hands clenched around a blood-soaked axe she’d found in the kitchen, her entire being was covered in blood and Caroline knew she looked like she came straight out of a horror movie.

She walked back to the courtyard, her gaze empty as she took in the gathered Strix. Just as she was going to say something, her ears picked up on a vampire coming toward them. Without a word and a moment of hesitation, she raised her arm, hurling a wooden stake at an unfamiliar vampire. It struck true, piercing his heart. The vampire crumpled, dead.

None of the Strix reacted, only watched her with silent approval as Tristan held up the ascendant. In a white flash, they were back in Mahal Khafa.

Arriving back in Mahal Khafa’s courtyard, Caroline blinked against the harsh sunlight, realizing that while barely twenty minutes had passed in Rome, six hours had slipped away here. Her body felt heavy, blood crusted across her clothes and hands, the weight of the axe still firm in her grip. She caught the others glancing at her, their expressions blank but observing, and she turned sharply to Aurora.

“Am I dismissed?” Caroline’s voice was quiet but edged with an unmistakable bitterness.

Aurora raised a brow, ignoring Caroline’s defiance as she tilted her head toward the castle. “Come with me.”

Aurora led the way inside, and Caroline followed, her footsteps echoing in the wide halls. Human servants cast curious glances at her as she passed, and Caroline caught a few who looked both awed and horrified at the blood-streaked girl clutching an axe, moving with an icy calm behind Aurora. But she couldn’t bring herself to care—she was seething inside.

When they reached Aurora’s quarters, Aurora barked orders at a nearby servant, who rushed off to bring a bath. She poured two glasses of bourbon, holding one out for Caroline, who didn’t take it. Instead, Caroline’s gaze lingered on her bloodied hands and the axe she still gripped, feeling the weight of everything that had happened.

Aurora took a nervous sip, her calm facade beginning to slip, but Caroline’s voice cut through the silence, quiet but hard. “Why?”

Aurora stilled, her eyes darting up as she hesitated. “Why what, Little Dove?”

“Why throw me to be slaughtered?” Caroline’s words were laced with venom, and though Aurora scoffed, Caroline stepped closer, her voice rising. “Why?”

Aurora’s mouth twisted as she drained her glass, setting it down with forced composure. “You weren’t going to be slaughtered.”

“No?” Caroline’s anger flared again. “You deliberately shoved me into a house where I was outnumbered with no chance of backup.”

“Now, now,” Aurora began dismissively, waving her hand as if to brush away Caroline’s accusation.

“Did you know no other sireline could pass the threshold?” Caroline’s voice was biting, her eyes fixed on Aurora, waiting for her answer. Aurora hesitated, a brief flicker of something crossing her face, and that hesitation was enough for Caroline. “Did you know?” Caroline demanded, pressing.

Aurora’s lips parted, and after a moment’s silence, she gave a curt nod. “Yes.”

Caroline nodded in turn, lips pressing together as she moved to leave. Behind her, the maids filed in, carrying steaming water for the bath, and Aurora’s look turned stormy.

“I didn’t say you could leave!” Aurora’s voice rose in fury, but Caroline didn’t stop, her footsteps even as she headed for the door.

With a strangled scream, Aurora’s frustration erupted as she grabbed the edge of the bath, tipping it over in a surge of scalding water that splashed across the floor and doorframe, crashing into the door. Water spilled out, steaming around Caroline’s boots as she turned, the shattered door hanging askew in its frame.

But Caroline just cast a final glance at Aurora before turning away, stepping through the broken threshold, leaving Aurora and her rage behind as she walked out, unflinching.

Caroline made her way through the castle’s winding halls and down into the bowels of the old sewage network where she was supposed to meet the builders. Casian and a few of his wardens were there, shouting at the workers, who were painting over the dilapidated walls. She felt her pulse surge at the sight of him.

Casian turned, seeing Caroline covered in blood, and let out a mocking laugh. “I didn’t expect you to come back alive.”

Caroline didn’t dignify it with a response. Her voice was steady, cutting through the noise. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Casian's smirk widened as he looked her over. "Well, little girl, I don’t care about your ‘request.’ Lord Tristan put me back in charge after your… let’s call it disappointing progress yesterday.” He thrust a decree toward her, stamped with Tristan’s seal.

Caroline glanced over the letter and then back up at him, before pocketing the letter and traces her hands over the walls where her supports and bracing were place. “Are you seriously referring to the workers I fed and healed yesterday?” Caroline looked at the cracks that permeated the walls and the pillars, buckets of plaster and a large concrete drill.  “A concrete drill and l… really…So you think slapping paint and plaster over a crumbling foundation will fix it?”

“Your opinion does not matter,” Casian sneered, giving her a dismissive wave. He nodded toward his guards, and in an instant, they gripped her arms, pulling her back.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!” she snarled, jerking her arms free.

Casian raised a brow, but Caroline turned on her heel, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. She cast one last glare over her shoulder. “When the castle collapses just before the ball, we’ll see how Lord Tristan will react.”

Caroline stormed back to her quarters, her mind already spinning with a fierce determination to confront Casian, to undo whatever slight or sabotage he’d decided was his due for her. But when she reached her floor, she froze. The hallway was crowded with human servants, each one lugging her belongings in haphazard loads down the corridor. Her door was open, and her room—her entire floor, it seemed—was stripped bare.

Inside, Naveeda, Isabella, and Abidemi stood amid the wreckage, their faces tense, shoulders hunched with a mix of frustration and fear.

Caroline stepped inside, her anger softening only for a moment as she took in their expressions. “Are you all okay?” she asked, forcing herself to remain steady.

Naveeda looked up, her voice shaking. “My lady, the wardens came through and… they trashed everything. They kept asking questions.”

Caroline’s jaw clenched. “What questions?”

Abidemi stepped forward hesitantly, his eyes cast downward. “They wanted to know which books you requested, who you’d seen, and where you’d been going…” His voice faltered. “I… I…”

Caroline placed the bloodied axe on the floor with a dull thud and knelt in front of him. “Listen, you say whatever you need to say to survive. That’s all that matters.” She gave them each a reassuring nod, unbraiding her hair absently as her mind kept turning. The blood in her hair had hardened, matting into sticky, clotted curls. “I understand,” she added gently.

Naveeda shifted uncomfortably and then took a deep breath, pulling out a folded piece of parchment. “There’s one more thing.” She passed it to Caroline, and Caroline took the letter, unfolding it with a cold sense of dread.

Her eyes scanned the lines, and her face hardened as she read it aloud,

“Miss Forbes,

In light of recent security measures and in response to your limited progress with the renovations, I have seen it fit to reassign you to alternative lodgings and to reassign your staff to better serve The Strix. The accommodations provided will better align with your current abilities and offer you all the peace you’ll require to continue with more domestic pursuits as you serve the Lady Aurora.

You’ll be pleased to know the wardens and staff will oversee the foundational repairs—though, rest assured, we’ll be handling the important matters.

Your presence has been noted, Miss Forbes, as has your interesting take on leadership and decorum.

Should you find the move overwhelming, the wardens have been instructed to escort you to your new quarters. Perhaps they’ll even offer you a bit of insight on how matters are best managed around here.

I trust these change in circumstances will settle your mind and ease you back down to your proper place,

— Casian Rinaldi, Head Warden, Member of The High Council ”

The letter practically sneered, dripping with condescension between every word. Caroline folded it back with a slow, simmering rage and pocketed the letter. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that now, more than ever, she would have to play dirty. She was glad she had tipped the first domino, it’s only a matter of time.

This man would not get away with this.

Naveeda straightened and met her gaze, voice steady. “We’ve relocated your belongings to your new lodgings. We’ll take you there now, but we… we’ll have to leave you there,” she said reluctantly. “They’ve assigned us to new posts.”

Caroline’s eyes softened for a moment, a pang of guilt threading through her fury. She nodded, picking up the axe again, and followed them down the hall, each step sparking fresh resolve.

But Casian and the Wardens had no idea who they’d just crossed, they will be dead by nightfall.

As Caroline stormed through town, she felt the burning stares and heard the sneers directed at her. Whispers and insults—“upstart,” “whore,” “blonde bitch”—pursued her through the streets, but she didn’t let them break her stride. Finally, she reached the crumbling house that had been designated as her quarters, just across from the boy’s cell. A flicker of happiness lit her face as she noticed the proximity, but she masked it quickly, entering the dilapidated building.

The state of her new quarters was dismal. A section of the roof was missing, leaving the floor covered in ash that drifted in from above. Her bed was a mere blanket and cushion tossed onto the floor. Her belongings had been dumped in a careless heap in the corner, but at least her books and papers were there. Alone in the dusty silence, she walked to the shattered stained-glass window, taking in the view of Mahal Khafa’s grim, endless ash-covered expanse. With a resolute sigh, she grabbed a towel, a change of clothes, and some toiletries, and made her way into the cramped bathroom.

Caroline caught sight of her reflection in the broken mirror and recoiled. Blood was caked into her hair and around her whole face, her clothes were stained, and the exhaustion she felt was etched into every line of her face. She inhaled sharply, forcing back the swell of emotions that rose within her. Shaking her head, she stripped off her clothes and stepped under the cold, stinging spray of the shower.

As she massaged conditioner through her hair, the ground shook with a violent rumble, followed by distant screams and the unmistakable roar of a collapse. She glanced out of the broken bathroom window and saw a tsunami of dust and debris barrelling toward her. Instinctively, she crouched into a ball as dust poured into the bathroom, clouding her vision and scratching her throat. She remained there until the dust began to settle, then quickly rinsed her hair, tied it up, and threw on clean clothes.

The ashy fog outside was so dense that it was nearly impossible to see through. She pocketed the letter from Casian, steadying herself for whatever was next. Only moments later, five Strix vampires burst through the door, each looking grim and coated in dust. They grabbed her roughly by the arms and dragged her into the streets, guiding her through the whiteout of dust until she was unceremoniously dropped to her knees before a lineup of Strix leaders.

In front of her stood Tristan, Shen Min, Aya, Mohinder, and Aurora, along with several others who eyed her with a mix of suspicion and contempt. Their formerly pristine attire was covered in white dust, and Casian stood nearby, shifting nervously.

Caroline glared up defiantly, gripping the axe still clutched in her hand. “What the hell is—”

A Strix guard struck her across the face, breaking her nose. Blood spilled down her face, but she merely spat, lifting her chin to meet the guard’s gaze with a furious glare.

The Strix guard sneered. “You will not speak.”

Caroline held back the urge to retort, but as she glanced around, her expression turned to one of shock and amusement. The sight of the castle, or what was left of it, made her burst into laughter. A large section of the ancient structure had collapsed, leaving a pile of rubble and destruction in its wake.

She laughed louder, her voice cutting through the silence. “I hate to say I told you so, but I told you so.”

The leaders exchanged looks, some furious, others wary. Aya’s face twisted in anger, and she lunged, gripping Caroline by the neck and choking her.

“What did you do?” Aya demanded.

Caroline, gasping, glared back. “I didn’t do anything. I was in the shower rinsing off the blood of those vampires you sent me to be slaughtered by. Tristan had me replaced and relocated.”

Tristan narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t give any such order.”

Caroline shot him a sardonic smile. “Your seal was on the decree given to Mr. Rinaldi here…” Her eyes moved to Casian, who blanched under her scrutiny. “Oh…wait.” Seeing Casian’s guilt and Tristan’s mounting fury, Caroline let out a delighted laugh. “Ohhh, this is too good!”

Aya released her, and everyone turned to Casian, his face twisted in a nervous scowl.

“My lord,” Casian stammered, his voice cracking, “the castle was in terrible condition… I took charge for the good of the Strix—”

Caroline shook her head, her laughter fading into a contemptuous smirk. “You did it for power. And because of petty jealousy.” She retrieved the letter from her pocket, holding it out to Tristan. “Here’s the note he gave to me. Show him the original decree you gave me, Casian.” She watched Casian squirm, enjoying the realisation dawning across the faces of the gathered Strix.

Seeing him trapped, she continued, her voice dripping with mockery. “Or maybe you can explain why you broke Strix Law: Volume One, Part Three, Section Nine…‘Any person who with intent to deceive impersonates a member of the High Council shall be guilty of an offense and liable to punishment dictated jointly by the Council. Or more so, why you removed my support braces I put in yesterday?’” She glanced back at Tristan, smirking. “But hey, as much as I enjoy watching this drama unfold, this is your mess now.” She gave a little bow, “Good day.”

She turned on her heel to leave, but the Strix guards blocked her. Tristan’s voice was cold, halting her in her tracks.

“You are not dismissed.”

Caroline glanced back, unimpressed. “Are you serious? You made your bed; now lie in it.” She turned to leave again, but then she heard a gastly cracking and ripping sound and then a thud. She glanced back to see Tristan clutching Casian’s heart in his hand, dropping it to the ground with a look of pure disgust.

Tristan fixed his gaze back on her, his eyes cold. “You will take the remaining builders and fix this.”

Caroline scoffed. “Get over yourself! I warned you that the castle was on the verge of collapse, but you chose to leave it to the hands of disputing parties instead of ironing out the dispute there and then. It doesn’t matter that he,” she pointed dismissively at Casian’s corpse, “was the one to pull the metaphorical trigger. This happened under your watch. You’re the leader. You. Are. Responsible. And now you expect me to salvage this impossible project in time for your precious ball?” Her eyes flashed. “I don’t serve you. I don’t serve your sister. I don’t serve any of you.” Her words hung heavy in the air as she glared at him. “If you want my loyalty, my allegiance, earn it. Now, Good Day.” She pushed past the Strix, ignoring the shocked silence as she strode away, leaving them all behind in the settling dust.

Caroline sped across town, moving so fast the world blurred around her. At the laborers’ camp, she swiftly collected a loaf of bread, a hunk of cheese, and a small flask of water, wrapping them neatly before zooming back to the boy’s cell. She slipped in, taking a breath to calm herself as she approached his corner. He looked up, startled, but his expression softened when he recognised her.

“Brought you some food,” she said softly, handing him the bundle. “Sorry, I probably can’t stay long.”

The boy took the food gratefully, but his shoulders slumped a little, and Caroline felt the weight of his silent disappointment. She settled onto the cold floor across from him, watching as he ate with small, careful bites. Suddenly, she felt a crunch in her pocket. She fished it out—a folded note from Genevieve, scrawled in quick, urgent handwriting: “Get to the cave. Now. -G.”

Caroline sighed, tucking the note away. She looked back at the boy, his eyes full of quiet understanding but touched with sadness. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m working to get us both out of here,” she said, her voice as steady as she could manage. “I don’t know how much longer this’ll take, but I swear to you, I’ll make sure you’re free and away from these monsters.”

He nodded slowly, though the sadness never left his gaze, and moved closer towards her. She reached out slowly, asking with her face if it was okay to touch him, he nodded and gently touched his shoulder. “Tomorrow,” she promised, “I’ll come back with a gift for you, something special. And we’ll talk more. Okay?”

He handed her the empty food containers, and she gave him one last reassuring smile before standing. “I’ll get you out of here,” she murmured, her voice fierce with determination. Then, with one last glance, she left, her heart heavy but her resolve unbreakable. She had a meeting to attend.

Caroline made her way cautiously to the cave, her senses on high alert after the recent dust-up in the courtyard. She finally entered to find Rebekah and Genevieve locked in a mutual glare that could have ignited the stone walls around them. She took a deep breath, steadying her voice.

"Alright, enough!" Caroline’s voice cut through the tension, both women turning toward her with equally intense expressions.

Rebekah was the first to break the silence. "What the hell is going on?"

Caroline let out a tired sigh, glancing between them. "Part of the castle collapsed."

Genevieve’s face twisted with suspicion. "What did you do?"

Caroline crossed her arms, meeting Genevieve’s gaze unflinchingly. "Casian took over the construction and refurbishing of the castle, kicked me off the project. He removed the support structures and braces I put in place yesterday."

Rebekah’s eyebrows shot up. "So he took down part of the castle?"

"No," Caroline replied, pulling a small, twisted metal piece from her pocket and tossing it to Rebekah, who caught it, inspecting it. "I did."

Rebekah looked at Caroline, a spark of shock and reluctant admiration flashing in her eyes. "Why?"

"Casian’s been out to sabotage me since day one," Caroline said. "But this collapse also gets us access to the old sewage network. And, as an added bonus, it gives us leverage against the witches."

Genevieve raised an eyebrow. "How do you come to that conclusion?"

"The 900th Ball is just over a week away," Caroline explained. "That event is supposed to demonstrate the strength and prosperity of The Strix under Tristan De Martel’s leadership. After all this damage, he’ll have three choices: cancel the ball, move it to a lesser venue, or…"

"Or make more time," Genevieve finished, her eyes lighting with understanding.

"Exactly," Caroline said with a nod. "But delaying time in this dimension would require a significant spell. The Strix witches, powerful as they are, don’t have an endless well of power. They’ll be weakened, giving us the perfect chance to exploit the weakened defenses."

Rebekah frowned, trying to follow. "You mentioned the sewers."

"I went with some Strix higher-ups to Rome today," Caroline continued.

Genevieve looked momentarily startled. "They let you outside?"

"Not exactly a vacation," Caroline replied with a shrug, "but it was enough to learn a few things. Tristan had this strange gemstone contraption—a device he used to open a portal."

Genevieve’s eyes narrowed with recognition. "An Ascendant... But it’s impossible to replicate here. It’s crafted from a snake stone, a real snake stone. So rare it’s exists only in myth, it’s enchanted in the real world under specific celestial circumstances. So it can be used to come and go an infinite amount of times,"

Caroline shook her head. "I don’t need the Ascendant itself. When Tristan activated it, I noticed something in the way the energy flowed—it was like water down a drain. The magic is funnelling toward a nexus somewhere outside the castle."

Rebekah’s eyes widened as realisation struck. "The lighthouse."

Caroline nodded. "Exactly. And guess where the old sewage network leads?"

Genevieve and Rebekah shared a look of dawning hope, and Genevieve smirked slightly. "The lighthouse."

"Four days after the witches cast their time-dilation spell, we make our move," Caroline said confidently. "Genevieve, you’ll need to gather as much magic as possible."

Genevieve nodded. "There’s a full moon coming in two days—it’ll strengthen our spells and probably be used by the witches for their own magic. Or in this case extending the time in this dimension."

"Perfect. We leave shortly after, before they recover enough to sense anything off," Caroline confirmed. "Now, there’s one more thing. I need a protection charm made for the boy in the cell next to my quarters. I’m not sure if he’s human, but I can’t leave him here."

Genevieve looked sceptical. "This is risky enough without another person."

Caroline’s face steeled, her voice unyielding. "He’s coming with us."

Rebekah grabbed Caroline’s upper arm, her face angry. "We are not risking it.  I am not risking it. Three people and that’s it."

"If you insist on three people, we can easily leave you behind," Caroline snapped, levelling a cool gaze at Rebekah. "Genevieve’s needed for the spell. I’m the one with the plan. And I promised the boy I’d get him out…I don’t need you."

Genevieve lifted her hands, interrupting the argument. Rebekah looked like she was going to murder Caroline and Caroline was welcoming Rebekah to try. As Rebekah stepped forward, Genevieve’s voice boomed across the room. "Enough. I’ll make the charm for him, but it will take time."

Caroline gave a satisfied nod. "Good. Is everyone clear on the plan for the four of us?"

Both women nodded. With one last glance, Caroline slipped out of the cave, her mind already calculating her next steps.

Caroline sank down by the edge of the pond, her mind an endless swirl of thoughts, exhaustion weighing on her as she struggled to focus. The dark red glow in the white sky reflected in the water, casting a surreal light over the damp leaves scattered on the ground. She noticed the odd dampness beneath her fingers. Why was it so wet? she wondered absently, her thoughts slow to settle.

Footsteps approached, soft but deliberate. She turned slightly to see Aya casually approaching, her expression unreadable yet curious.

Without turning fully, Caroline let out a dry chuckle. "Are you here to kill me? If not… feel free to take a seat," she motioned toward an old tree trunk beside her.

Aya’s mouth twitched in a half-smile. "I haven’t decided that yet."

Caroline looked back at the leaf in her hand. "Decided whether you want to sit down, or whether you want to kill me?"

Aya let out a quiet laugh and settled against the trunk, crossing her arms. "Nine hundred years," she murmured thoughtfully. "Nine hundred years I have lived as a vampire. I’ve watched empires rise and fall… Do you know what all those empires had in common?"

Caroline stared at a leaf, tilting it toward the dim light. "No."

"They collapsed in on themselves. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link," Aya continued. "And here you are—less than a week in this place, and suddenly the west wing collapses, a high council member is executed for treason… and you survive it all, like a cockroach."

Caroline met Aya’s eyes steadily. "There are a lot of misconceptions about cockroaches," she replied quietly. "They’re seen as dirty, but they’re actually quite clean… and they just want to be left alone."

Aya narrowed her eyes, her mouth set in a cold line. A snake slithered by her feet, and with a calm motion, Aya took a vial, positioning it between her thighs. She nudged the snake with a nearby stick, prompting it to climb before gripping it firmly, bringing a dagger to one fang. Caroline watched as Aya expertly extracted the venom, letting it drip slowly into the vial. Aya met Caroline’s gaze, almost amused by her curiosity.

"Are you aware of what this venom can do to a vampire?" Aya held up the small vial, a strange, yellowish liquid swirling inside.

"Kill them?" Caroline replied, her voice steady.

Aya nodded, smirking as she dripped some of the venom onto her blade before sealing the rest of it in the vial and tucking it into her pocket. "I’ve come to give you an offer."

"Not interested," Caroline replied coolly, pushing herself to stand and adopting a ready stance, bracing for what was coming.

Aya smirked, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous excitement. "I’ve been instructed not to leave until you accept."

"Good luck with that."

In a flash, Aya launched forward. Caroline met her strikes with determination, though each blow Aya delivered proved just how outmatched she was. Aya’s movements were fluid, calculated, and fierce, every step leaving Caroline barely enough time to defend herself. But Caroline didn’t relent, fighting back with every ounce of strength.

As Aya twisted her arm into a lock, Caroline shifted her weight, sending both of them crashing into the pond. Their skin sizzled in the vervain pond, both vampires gritting their teeth against the searing pain. Aya’s wounds healed quickly, but Caroline struggled, her skin still raw as they pushed themselves to their feet at the same time.

Aya gave her an appraising look. "I have to say, I’m impressed. Given I’m forty-five times your age, you held your own better quite well."

Caroline managed a weak, defiant smile. "Well, What can I say? I just don't know when to quit. "

With a sudden move, Caroline lunged at her again, but Aya dodged her attacks easily and caught her by the neck, hoisting her off the ground. Caroline struggled, gasping as Aya tightened her grip, her nails digging into Caroline’s skin.

Aya watched her coldly. "I imagine we could keep this up for quite some time. But, as I said, I’m here to make you an offer. Since you seem intent on resisting at every turn, perhaps I’ll help you see things my way."

With a flick of her ring, Aya sliced across Caroline’s face, leaving a shallow, stinging wound. She dropped Caroline to the ground, watching as Caroline staggered, her vision blurring and splitting until she saw multiple Aya’s swimming before her eyes. The forest spun, darkening at the edges, and she felt herself crumple onto the forest floor as she drifted into unconsciousness.

Caroline groggily opened her eyes, her head pounding as she took in her surroundings. The room was unfamiliar, grand and open, with the early afternoon sunlight pouring in from a massive balcony that overlooked the sea.

She blinked, trying to steady her vision as she noticed Aurora and Tristan in the adjoining kitchen, casually cooking together as though it were any other afternoon. Her eyes darted toward the horizon beyond them, taking in the blue skies and endless blue waters. For a moment, the sight of something other than that oppressive, red-glowing sky almost made her forget where she was.

A blood bag landed in front of her, snapping her out of her daze. Instinctively, she picked it up and began to drink, letting the cool liquid clear some of the haze clouding her thoughts.

“Come, take a seat, Little Dove,” Aurora called from the balcony, her voice both warm and insistent.

Caroline hesitated, but she followed, taking the glass of red wine a servant poured and sipping it carefully. She glanced warily at Aurora and Tristan as she sat down, her tone flat as she replied, “Thank you.”

Aurora flashed a smile in a clearly good mood. “Let’s play a game, Little Dove. Where do you think we are?”

Caroline’s eyes were hard, betraying no amusement. “I don’t know.” She took another sip, keeping her anger contained beneath the surface, her gaze unyielding.

Aurora’s pleasant expression tightened slightly, her voice cold. “Come now.”

But Caroline’s hurt boiled over, her anger flashing in her eyes. “No, You don’t throw your friends under the bus.”

Aurora’s gaze faltered, a shadow of sadness flashing across her face. She muttered, almost to herself, “I thought you didn’t want to be friends.”

Caroline clenched her fists, her frustration and confusion mounting as she glanced at Tristan, who watched them both with amused curiosity. The servants placed their meals on the table, but no one touched the food.

Trying to steady herself, Caroline finally asked, “Why am I here?”

Tristan leaned back in his chair, giving her a measured look. “We’re here to make you an offer. First, you will finish restoring the castle for the upcoming ball…”

Caroline scoffed, raising her hand to interrupt. “Sure. And would you also like me to turn water into wine?” She smirked sarcastically as Aurora chuckled beside Tristan, whose expression darkened. “To save us all some time—no. To both.” She placed her empty blood bag down and looked at the servant with a polite nod. “Thank you.”

Tristan’s calm facade slipped, irritation creeping into his tone. “I don’t think you understand the situation.”

“No, I don’t think you understand. I’m not your servant. I’m not here to obey you or your sister without question. If you want my loyalty, you’re going to have to earn it.”

Tristan’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he considered her carefully. “And what would that take?”

Caroline shook her head, incredulous. “You can’t buy loyalty. Not real loyalty. God, you’ve never even seen real loyalty, have you?”

Tristan bristled at her tone, his gaze darkening further. “You’re mistaken—”

“No, I’m not,” she interrupted firmly. “When I was human, I was at the mercy of others. Forced to obey without a choice. I won’t be forced again. So unless you start listening to me, do whatever you’re going to do.” Her voice rang with defiance as her stare bore into him. She saw Aurora and Tristan exchange a look, a silent communication passing between them. A servant hurried away at Tristan’s silent command, and a few moments later, Shen Min entered the room, holding a struggling woman in his grip.

Caroline’s gaze shot to the woman, and recognition flickered as she took in the woman’s panicked expression. She was a human or a witch. Caroline’s stomach dropped. “Your problem is with me. Let her go.”

The lady looked between them, surprised, while the vampires exchanged bemused glances.

Aurora raised a calming hand. “Relax, Little Dove. She’s here of her own accord, to give you a gift.”

Servants began arranging spell ingredients on the floor, and the witch, trembling, began to work, forming a pentagram within a circle and placing candles at each of the star's points.

The witch cast a terrified look at Caroline. “She… she has to kneel in the circle. Hold her still.”

Caroline’s expression darkened, her hands waving in a harsh rejection. “Hell no! I’m not doing this.” She took a step back, her voice turning sharp. “No. No, thank you.”

Shen Min shot forward, seizing her arm before she could move. Caroline fought back with all her strength, managing to land a punch that sent one of his teeth flying and shattered his jaw. But the witch’s voice rose, sending a pulse of pain through Caroline’s mind. She fought the spell, her vision blurring, but Shen Min held her in place, eventually dragging her into the pentagram as she cursed them, her fury spilling over.

The witch crushed herbs in a mortar, her voice shaking as she directed, “I need her blood.”

With swift, brutal efficiency, Shen Min drew a blade across Caroline’s wrist, blood pouring from the deep gash. Caroline struggled against him, but he held her tightly, her blood dripping into the mortar until the witch nodded in satisfaction.

Caroline’s voice was hoarse, filled with anger. “Let. Go. Of. Me.”

But the witch ignored her, dipping her fingers into the blood and beginning to chant.

“Ix’balan cha’k, utz’ir naq sol’tun, ts’ak t’abal ix winaq’och, ku’al ik’ral.”

Caroline’s scream pierced the air as searing, unimaginable pain exploded in her head. She was held firm, Shen Min’s grip like iron, as the witch pressed her fingers against Caroline’s temples, the incantation slicing through her mind with scalpel precision. She writhed in agony, blood seeping from her eyes, nose, and mouth. It was relentless, like her brain was being shredded from within, and she thought death would be a mercy—but it never came. The pain only intensified, the witch’s voice chanting faster, her fingers pressing deeper as if carving the spell into Caroline’s soul.

The witch stopped chanting, releasing her, and Shen Min stepped back. Caroline dropped to the floor, breathing in shallow gasps, her body trembling. She forced her head up, looking through a haze of agony. “What… did you… do?”

Aurora stepped forward, a pleased look on her face as she clasped the witch’s hand. “Thank you, darling,” she murmured.

The witch’s face lit up with hope. “Will you release me?”

“Of course darling. I’ll do that right now”, Aurora’s smile turned cold, her fangs flashing as she drained the witch dry, letting her lifeless body crumple to the floor. Caroline recoiled, staring at the blood seeping into the floor tiles, the witch’s vacant eyes staring accusingly at her.

“What did you do to me?” Caroline asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her head still spinning, her body wracked with chills.

Aurora’s expression was calm. “I’ve given you a gift.”

“What. Did. You. Do. To. Me?” Caroline demanded, her voice a broken tremor as she tried to hold back tears.

Aurora placed her hands on either side of Caroline’s head, and Caroline flinched as a sudden, strange chill settled over her, soothing the pain. “You can no longer be compelled,” Aurora explained. “No one can enter your mind.”

Caroline’s face softened, the dam of emotions breaking, hope and disbelief flooding her expression. “You’re lying,” she whispered, memories of Damon’s control over her flooding her mind as tears spilled down her cheeks. “You’re lying… Why?”

Aurora watched her, a faint, almost genuine smile touching her lips. “I did it because we’re friends, Little Dove.”

Caroline leaned back, distancing herself from Aurora, her voice firm yet weary. "Thank you... but you can’t buy my loyalty or my friendship. You just can’t."

She pushed herself up, crossing the room to the liquor tray, pouring herself a heavy drink and downing it. The burn was welcome; it cut through the fog of emotions swirling within her.

Aurora’s face hardened, the anger simmering beneath her polished exterior bubbling up. "I just removed the possibility of compulsion from you, and this is how you respond?"

"Is this what you want?" Caroline replied, her tone raw. "Bought friendship and loyalty? … I’ve got a hell of a lot wrong with me, I’ve done things I’ll never atone for, but I’m not going to owe you. You’re not my saviour. You are not the star in the sky that I follow blindly."

Aurora’s face darkened, her control slipping. "I spared your life. I—"

"You kidnapped me, dragged me to Mahal Khafa, and treated me like a pet," Caroline shot back, her voice sharp and clear. "Don’t pretend you spared me! You don’t own me!"

Aurora’s expression shifted, and Caroline could see the familiar, volatile anger crackling behind her eyes. Tristan noticed it too; he hesitated before moving to Caroline’s side, trying to intercept the tension, but Caroline wasn’t finished.

"You can’t just flip between violence and commands and friendship and companionship whenever it suits you, Rora!" Caroline continued. "You can’t have both!"

At that, Aurora’s simmering restraint snapped, and she stormed out. Tristan’s hand shifted inside his coat, and Caroline’s eyes caught the glint of a needle. He moved to follow his sister.

“Tristan,” she said, shaking her head in warning. But Tristan’s eyes flickered with tension, ignoring Caroline as he pressed the needle to Aurora’s neck. Aurora’s eyes flashed in betrayal before the sedative took hold.

The scene left Caroline breathless and frustrated. "How the hell is that going to help?" she demanded, voice edged with exasperation. She looked at Tristan, who met her gaze with a mix of resolve and remorse. She shook her head in disbelief, thinking bitterly, What the fuck is wrong with this family?

Tristan’s face tightened, his expression hardening as he turned to her. "You’re going to fix the castle."

Caroline’s brow lifted, her tone flat. "And how am I supposed to restore the entire castle in just over a week? You do understand nobody can do that."

“I can give you more time,” he said calmly, an edge of command behind his words. “How long do you need?”

She eyed him, weighing the possibility of an impossible job. "To rebuild that part of the castle, reinforce foundations, redo the sewage network, and plan the ball? Eight months absolute minimum. A year, to be safe. That’s not even considering the materials and the labour.”

“Then you’ve got eight months.”

Caroline’s gaze didn’t waver. “I never said I was doing this.”

Tristan’s eyes flickered with something dark as he gestured to the doorway. Shen Min entered, along with several other vampires from The Strix. They lined up on either side of her, a silent threat. Caroline shook her head in disbelief.

"Seriously?"

"You’ll soon understand what a favour I’m doing for you,” he replied coldly, taking out a strange device, a beautiful stone mechanism with carved gemstones and intricately moving cogs. He pricked his finger on his fang, letting a drop of blood fall onto the centre gemstone, activating the device. A shimmering white portal appeared, and without further words, he lifted his sister’s limp form into his arms. Shen Min grabbed Caroline’s underarm pulling her with him.

With a final, unreadable glance, Caroline and The Strix vampires stepped through, the portal closing behind them, leaving nothing but the compelled servants to dispose of the witch’s corpse.

Chapter Text

The sudden blinding white of the transition between realms was disorienting, but Caroline used it to her advantage. She wrenched her arm free from Shen Min's grip, shooting him an annoyed glare as she stumbled forward. Shen Min's face remained blank, utterly unbothered, but Caroline could feel his eyes on her as they landed back in Mahal Khafa.

It was night now, the ash-choked sky casting an eerie glow over the courtyard. Caroline inhaled deeply, steadying herself before calling out.

“I want something in return!” she demanded, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

Tristan, who had just passed Aurora’s unconscious body to his aides, paused mid-step and turned to face her. One eyebrow arched high, his lips twitching in faint amusement. “What do you want?” he asked smoothly, his tone cautious yet curious.

Caroline squared her shoulders, her exhaustion eclipsed by a fiery determination. “If I’m going to fix your mistakes,” she began, her voice firm, “then I want something in return. I want the benefit of the doubt. If anything goes wrong, or if you have a problem with me, you will give me the chance to speak. I’m not asking for a free pass—I’m asking for a fair say.”

The courtyard went silent, the other Strix members looking between Caroline and Tristan like spectators at an unfolding drama. Tristan’s expression didn’t waver, though his gaze sharpened. “We are the Strix,” he began, his tone filled with centuries of authority. “I am dutied—”

“I want your word,” Caroline cut in, her tone like steel.

Tristan hesitated, visibly stunned by her audacity. His lips parted as if to argue, but Caroline’s unwavering gaze stopped him.

“I am dutied…” he tried again, trailing off as if he was struggling to comprehend her nerve.

“I want your word,” she repeated, her voice rising, pushing through the weight of his authority.

A long silence followed. Finally, Tristan took a deep breath, his sharp features softening just a fraction. “I give you my word,” he said, his voice heavy with reluctant agreement.

Caroline nodded, her posture relaxing slightly. “Thank you,” she said, her tone quieter but no less resolute. “And I give you my word that I will restore the castle and design this ball, provided you give me enough time.”

She turned to leave, her steps measured, but she was quickly stopped by two of Tristan’s men stepping into her path. She sighed and looked back at Tristan.

“I also give you my word on this,” he said coldly, his tone like ice. “If you are found guilty, they won’t find what’s left of you.”

Caroline met his gaze head-on, refusing to flinch. “I expect nothing less,” she replied, her voice calm and composed, masking the storm of emotions brewing inside her.

As she left the courtyard, her footsteps quickened, and she took an alternate route through the castle grounds. Her mind raced with the weight of what she’d just done. Asking Tristan for his word had been risky—too risky. She had likely sparked suspicion, and she was kicking herself for the potential miscalculation. 

But there was no time to dwell on regrets. Discipline was the key now…disciplined actions, but with enough unpredictability to keep her secrets hidden. She made her way toward Genevieve and Rebekah, she kept herself determined, she had to.

Every move from this point on had to count.

Caroline pushed open the heavy door of the cave-like room, her boots echoing faintly against the stone floor as she entered. The tension in the air was palpable, as always when Rebekah and Genevieve shared the same space. Rebekah sat at a makeshift table, her delicate hands thumbing through a weathered grimoire while her eyes flicked occasionally to a map sprawled out before her. Across the room, Genevieve worked at a mortar and pestle, grinding herbs into a paste with slow, deliberate movements, her lips set in a firm line. Neither acknowledged Caroline’s entrance.

“I have news,” Caroline announced, breaking the strained silence. She glanced between the two, waiting for some sort of reaction.

Rebekah rolled her eyes, not bothering to look up from her map. “Announce it louder, Caroline. I don’t think I heard you.”

Genevieve paused her grinding and looked up, her sharp eyes immediately narrowing as they scanned Caroline’s face. “What spell did they do on you?” she asked, her voice tight with suspicion.

Rebekah finally turned her attention to Caroline, her gaze honing in on the faint streaks of dried blood trailing from Caroline’s eyes. Her expression shifted from irritation to mild concern as she leaned forward, studying Caroline’s face.

“They said it’s to prevent me from being compelled or having my mind invaded,” Caroline explained, brushing off the dried blood with her sleeve. “Aurora called it a peace offering, but I’m not sure. Can you check?”

Genevieve’s brow furrowed, and she nodded slowly. Reaching for a bundle of sage, she replaced the almost-burnt-out stick in the bowl on the table, the room filling with the sharp, earthy aroma as she murmured a spell under her breath. The air shimmered faintly, the privacy spell reinstated.

“This is going to hurt,” Genevieve warned, her tone clinical. She turned to Rebekah. “Hold her still.”

Rebekah smirked as she stood, crossing the room to grab Caroline’s arms with an iron grip. “Try not to scream too loud, Caroline,” she quipped, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice.

Caroline nodded, bracing herself. “Just do it.”

Genevieve stepped forward, placing her fingers on Caroline’s temples. The moment she began the spell, Caroline felt an intense, searing pain in her skull. It was as if someone were dragging a jagged scalpel through her mind, tearing apart every thought and memory. She clenched her jaw to keep from screaming, her body trembling as the agony consumed her.

Genevieve murmured softly, her magic probing and pulling. After what felt like an eternity, she nodded to Rebekah, signaling her to let go. Rebekah released her grip, and Caroline collapsed to the floor, gasping for air as the pain began to subside.

Genevieve stepped back, her expression neutral. “The spell is as they said. Your mind can’t be invaded, and you can’t be compelled,” she confirmed before shooting a glare at Rebekah. “A pity for some, I imagine.”

Rebekah scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Where are we on the plan?” she asked, returning to the table and the map.

Caroline pulled herself up, brushing dust off her knees. She walked over to the table, grabbing the map Rebekah had been studying and a pink pen from her pocket. “As I said before,” she began, circling the lighthouse on the map, “the final spell will be conducted here. Tristan has agreed to give more time for the ball.”

Genevieve looked up sharply. “How much more time?”

“Eight months.”

Genevieve nodded slowly, her brow furrowing in thought. “That’s good. Possible, but exhausting for all of us—especially me. You said the final spell would take place in three days. Have you made progress?”

Caroline hesitated. “Yes and no.”

Rebekah raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yes and no? Fantastic.”

“I have the basis and the ingredients,” Caroline explained, her tone growing defensive, “but I’m still working on the incantation. And I have a problem.”

“Which is?” Rebekah prompted impatiently.

Caroline frowned, her gaze darting to the map. “I’m worried that ‘I put my foot in it’ so to speak. I think they’re going to have me followed. If they haven’t already.”

Rebekah groaned, throwing up her hands. “Of course. This is your problem, not mine. Figure it out. And make progress on this spell, or we’re not getting out of here. And if we’re not getting out of here...” She leaned in closer, her voice low and threatening. “I’ll kill you myself.”

Caroline didn’t flinch, just held Rebekah’s glare. She would not flinch to anybody.

No way.

She looked to Genevieve, whose face remained carefully composed. “When do you need the spell?”

Genevieve didn’t look up from her work. “I need the spell by tomorrow. Otherwise, I can’t do this.”

“I’ll get it to you,” Caroline promised, her voice firm despite the knot of anxiety tightening in her chest. She turned and left the room, the weight of their expectations pressing heavily on her shoulders.

Klaus stood before his easel, paintbrush in hand, the deep reds and dark blues he swirled onto the canvas mimicking the blood still splattered across his skin. His shirt was torn and stained, his face an unreadable mask of intensity. The raw fury from his earlier “session” in the dungeon lingered in the air, a palpable storm that hadn’t yet fully erupted.

John was bleeding out in chains, his cries echoing faintly through Klaus’s mind, while Daisy sat bound by nullifying restraints, her magic rendered useless. Klaus had left them there to rot, to reflect on their pain while he sought some semblance of clarity in his painting.

The ringing of his phone interrupted his concentration. He growled low, setting down his brush. With his free hand, he grabbed the phone, the caller ID flashing Alfonso.

“Cosa c'è?” Klaus answered sharply, his voice clipped.

“Mio Signore, abbiamo un possibile avvistamento del vampiro biondo che avete richiesto nelle prime ore di questa mattina,” Alfonso began, his tone tense but professional.

Klaus’s eyes narrowed, his grip on the phone tightening. “Continua.”

“Una serie di filmati sono stati ripresi dalle telecamere e dai microfoni nascosti che avete ordinato al clan di Giovanni. Te li invio subito.”

“Fallo subito.” Klaus ended the call abruptly, tossing the phone onto his desk.

He strode to his laptop and opened it, his mind racing. Pouring himself another bourbon, he leaned back into his chair, waiting. Thirty seconds later, an email notification pinged. It was from Alfonso, attached with a video file labelled Rome, Giovanni. His jaw clenched as he opened it, his mouse hovering over the play button.

For the first time in a long while, Klaus hesitated. What if? He shook his head and pressed play.

The footage flickered to life. The first shot was grainy, but it clearly captured a blonde woman with her hair in two neat Dutch braids. She walked with purpose, but there was a hint of unease in her stance. Behind her, a woman with striking red hair—Aurora. Klaus’s heart twisted violently at the sight of her. Aurora, the woman who had once consumed his heart, now nothing but a bitter shadow of pain, hatred and bitterness.

Aurora shoved the blonde woman into a doorway, forcing her past the threshold. The camera angle switched, giving him a full view of the blonde’s face.

It was Caroline.

Klaus’s breath hitched in his throat. It wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t some cruel mirage. It was her. But the emotions that flooded him—relief, hope—were quickly eclipsed by an all-consuming rage as the scene unfolded.

In the video, a man stepped forward, his voice sneering and full of arrogance.
“I prefer brunettes, but you’ll do,” Giovanni said with a smirk.

Klaus’s fingers curled into fists.

“For all the Strix’s talk of retribution, they send one little blonde whore?” Giovanni taunted.

Klaus felt the glass in his hand crack, but he couldn’t look away. The Strix? So, this is who had her.

“If you’re looking for your companions, only vampires from my bloodline can pass the threshold. Didn’t they tell you that?” Giovanni blurred forward, grabbing Caroline by her braids, and yanking her head back. She grunted in pain, her face hardening as his hand began to roam down her body.

“I like it when females struggle. It really turns me on.”

Klaus’s bourbon glass shattered in his hand, shards embedding into his palm, but he didn’t care. His eyes were fixed on the screen, fury coursing through his veins like wildfire.

Caroline’s voice interrupted his spiralling rage. Her tone was soft, smooth, innocent—strangely so.

“Do you want to know what turns me on?”

Klaus’s brows furrowed, watching as she gently guided her hand downward, then suddenly plunged her hand into his chest, ripping out his heart.

“This.”

A rare smile ghosted across Klaus’s lips as Giovanni’s lifeless body hit the floor.

The video showed her moving through the house like a vengeful storm, her movements precise, merciless. She ripped out hearts, decapitated vampires with an axe, and left a trail of destruction in her wake. She didn’t hesitate, and Klaus felt a twisted sense of pride in how ferocious she had become.

The camera shifted to the courtyard. There stood the familiar figures of Tristan, Shen Min, Aya, Mohinder, Vasil... and Aurora.

The smile vanished from Klaus’s face, replaced with a cold, calculating rage as he saw Caroline exit the building, blood-soaked and clutching an axe. She hurled a wooden stake into the chest of another vampire, killing him instantly.

Klaus’s eyes darkened as he focused on the scene. The Strix—the remnants of Elijah’s prideful experiment. And Aurora. Always Aurora.

Klaus leaned back in his chair as the video ended. His thoughts were a whirlwind. The Strix had her. They had her under their thumb. Aurora was there, involved. And now, he had a name. The Strix. He had their faces. And soon, he would have Rebekah and Caroline back.

And then he would have retribution. Painfully.

Caroline moved swiftly through the dense woods, her eyes darting to every shadow and movement. She had chosen this route for a reason—it was less conspicuous and gave her a better chance to detect if anyone was tailing her. As she moved, her sharp ears picked up faint cursing behind her. Her suspicions were confirmed.

A man was following her.

She glanced back subtly and caught sight of him stepping into a puddle. His face twisted in pain as he hissed and cursed under his breath. A vervain puddle, Caroline thought, biting back a smirk. She quickened her pace and made a sharp turn toward the pond, hoping the man would give up. The sound of him retreating, his footsteps and muttered curses growing fainter, signalled that she’d succeeded—for now.

Reaching her pond area, she sat by her, her focus drawn to a single leaf resting by nearby root, right where she left it. She picked it up, turning it in her fingers. The leaf was wet. Wetter than before. Why? Her thoughts spiralled as she sat down, holding the leaf between her fingers and gazing at it intently.

Her mind raced. Why is snake venom deadly here? It shouldn’t kill vampires. Not in the real world. It might irritate them, sure, but it wouldn’t be lethal. The truth is simple, she mused. It’s this dimension. This cursed, twisted place.

The realization struck her like a lightning bolt. The Elderglow Fern. She remembered seeing it earlier, its pale golden fronds glowing faintly under the eerie red glow in the skies. It was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It killed snakes and destroyed underwater vervain, altering the properties of natural toxins. The fern was the key.

If she could harness it—study it—she might be able to peel back the layers of this dimension. It was a start.

But it wasn’t enough.

Caroline’s thoughts shifted. She needed more than just a way to weaken the dimension; she needed a spell. She needed to understand the ascendant and the strange gemstone device Tristan had used. Why did it only respond to him? Was it the blood? The incantation? The dimension’s tethering? Her mind buzzed with questions, each one begging for an answer.

Her contemplation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

She tensed and turned, her hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. Emerging casually from the shadows, Aya appeared, her expression unreadable as she made her way toward Caroline.

Aya tilted her head as she approached. “What is so interesting about that leaf?”

Caroline blinked, realizing she was still holding it. “It’s wet,” she said, deadpan, raising the leaf toward Aya.

Aya quirked a brow, her gaze flicking between the leaf and Caroline’s face. “It is wet,” she agreed, her voice matter-of-fact, as if humouring a child.

Caroline’s lips twitched in frustration. “Touch it.”

Aya hesitated for a moment before taking the leaf from Caroline’s hand. She held it delicately, her fingers brushing over its surface. “It’s wet,” she repeated, her tone mocking.

“Exactly,” Caroline said, her voice sharpening with intrigue. “But why isn’t the water burning your hand? It’s different from the vervain-tainted puddles and streams.”

Aya looked at her as though she had lost her mind. “Why does this interest you so?”

“One,” Caroline began, holding up a finger, “I’m rerouting the sewage network and fixing the castle. Knowing how water works in this dimension is useful, especially since the water’s properties caused the foundations to weaken in the first place. And two…” she paused, her lips curving into a mischievous smile and looking at Aya with a sly look, “I’m bored. And curious.”

Aya smirked faintly. “Curious about the leaf or curious about me?”

Caroline shrugged, leaning back against a tree trunk. “Why not both? Now, what’s your reason for being here?”

Aya’s smirk widened, but her eyes narrowed slightly. “Do I need a reason?”

“No,” Caroline admitted, “but we both know you have one. So, what is it?”

Aya crossed her arms, her expression shifting into something unreadable. “Why would I tell you that?”

“Why not?” Caroline replied with playful defiance.

Aya chuckled softly but didn’t answer. Instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the ring on her finger, holding it up for Caroline to see. “Do you want to know what I scratched you with earlier?”

Caroline tilted her head. “I assumed some concentrated vervain, although it lacked the usual sizzle of vervain so I am probably mistaken.”

Aya smiled proudly. “A toxin of my own devising. Kicks like a mule, doesn’t it?”

Caroline nodded thoughtfully, her curiosity piqued. “How long did it take you to make it?”

“Four decades,” Aya said, a hint of pride in her voice.

Caroline’s lips curved into an intrigued smile. “Impressive.”

Aya eyed her with suspicion. “What’s that look for?”

Caroline leaned forward, her tone casual. “Snake venom—it’s a crude ingredient for you, isn’t it? Like how polymers are synthesized from crude oil. You’ve extracted the venom’s hallucinogenic and tranquilising properties while isolating the deadly aspects. Of course, that’s just one of many ingredients, I assume.”

Aya’s expression softened, a flicker of respect crossing her face. “You’re sharper than you look.”

Caroline stood, brushing herself off. “I have to be.” She dropped the wet leaf into Aya’s hand. “Enjoy the view.”

Before Aya could respond, Caroline turned and walked back toward the path leading to her quarters.

The labour camp was eerily quiet, save for the occasional clang of metal and the murmurs of workers shuffling about their tasks. Caroline picked up a bundle of food—a mix of bread, fruit, and some soup—before turning toward the path leading back to her quarters. Her mind was racing, but her face remained calm. You can’t let them see anything. Keep your mask on. Always.

As she walked, she spotted several servants moving through the streets, their arms laden with supplies. One in particular caught her eye—a blonde girl carrying a large jug of water and several cups stacked neatly in a basket. Caroline paused for a moment, narrowing her eyes, something about the girl tugging at her subconscious. But she pressed on, chalking it up to her overactive paranoia.

The feeling of being watched followed her like a shadow.

Caroline’s instincts kicked in when she noticed a man in the corner of her vision. He was just far enough to appear casual but close enough to make her uneasy. Let’s test this, she thought. Taking a sharp right turn, she entered a narrow alley, then another right, and another. Four turns later, the man was still behind her, though now he looked irritated, muttering curses under his breath.

Her grip on the food tightened as she made her way back toward her quarters, taking an even more convoluted route. The man was persistent, but what stopped her in her tracks was the sight of the blonde servant again. This time, the girl was loitering at the end of the street, her head turned as though scanning the area.

Two people? Or is it coincidence?

Caroline’s jaw clenched. She couldn’t afford to take risks. Her plans were precarious enough without added complications. Ignoring her growing frustration, she altered her route yet again, weaving through streets and alleys, until finally, she reached her quarters. The blonde girl was there, just a few steps behind her.

Caroline moved quickly, grabbing the girl by the arm and pulling her inside. She ignored the girl’s protests, slamming the door shut and grabbing a broken shard of stained glass from the windowsill.

“Why are you following me?” Caroline demanded, holding the jagged glass close enough to make her point without actually touching the girl.

The girl’s eyes widened in panic. “I… I don’t know what you mean!”

“Don’t lie to me.” Caroline’s voice was sharp, but she forced herself to take a calming breath, lowering the glass and stepping back. What was she going to do? Torture or threaten the girl? No. She tossed the glass onto the table. “I’m not going to harm you. But you are following me, and I don’t need more enemies. Why?”

The girl’s breathing was shallow and quick. “I… I’m just bringing water and cups. That’s all.” Her words were quick but carried a shaky defiance.

Caroline studied her. She’s lying. She’s scared but trying to act brave. Why?

With a sigh, Caroline grabbed a cup from her stash and poured some water, handing it to the girl. “Here. Drink.”

The girl’s lip trembled, but she shook her head. “It’s not for me.”

“Just drink,” Caroline pressed, her tone firm but not unkind.

“It’s not for me,” the girl repeated, her voice rising slightly, her fingers clenching the edge of her basket.

Caroline frowned but shrugged, pulling the cup back. “Fine. Take your water and go.” She turned away, but as the girl reached the door, Caroline’s hand shot out, grabbing her arm in an iron grip—not painful, but enough to make the girl freeze.

“Don’t follow me again,” Caroline said softly, her voice laced with warning.

The girl nodded quickly and hurried out the door, her basket rattling with the force of her retreat.

Caroline stood in the doorway, watching as the girl disappeared down the street. Her attention shifted upward to a ledge where the man who had been tailing her earlier stood, his arms crossed as he watched her quarters. He didn’t even bother hiding his presence.

Her heart sank. She couldn’t visit the boy today.

Too many eyes. Too much risk.

Shutting the door, Caroline leaned against it, her mind racing. I need to handle this, but not now. Focus on the plan, Caroline. Stay disciplined. You’ll see him tomorrow. You’ll find a way. You have got more to focus on.

Caroline sighed as she looked around her quarters for the first time properly since the west wing collapse, the thin layer of dust coating nearly every surface. The stale air smelled faintly of ash and mildew, a constant reminder of the decay surrounding her in Mahal Khafa. She pushed away her frustration, deciding to focus on cleaning up her space.

Grabbing a tattered cloth, she began wiping down the surfaces, coughing as a plume of dust puffed into the air. Every swipe of the cloth felt like a futile effort; the grime seemed endless. She found herself obsessively scrubbing at one particular stain on the floor, her hands growing red from the friction, but it didn’t budge. It needed to go away. The Stain needed to go away.

It doesn’t matter. Just make it livable.

Caroline moved to the corners of the room, using a small broom she’d found to sweep away cobwebs and ash. Her mind aches if that was even possible, she was so tired. But she kept working, refusing to stop until the quarters looked marginally better.

Once she had done as much as she could, Caroline pulled off her dusty cardigan, shaking it out and folding it neatly. She placed it on the floor, creating a makeshift pillow. The tile beneath her was cold and unyielding, but it was the best she had.

Lying down, she shifted uncomfortably, her body protesting the hard surface. Her mind refused to quiet, thoughts of the boy in the cell, the people who are watching her, and the spell that Genevieve needed so desperately.

You’ll figure it out, she told herself. You always do.

But as much as she tried to hold on to that thought, doubt clung to her like a second skin. Her eyelids grew heavy, her exhaustion finally catching up to her. She curled up slightly, wrapping her arms around herself, and let the darkness pull her into an uneasy sleep on the cold, unforgiving tiles.

Caroline’s sleep was broken by a soft knock and the sound of voices. She groaned, rolling over on the hard tile floor, her body aching from the night’s uncomfortable rest. As her vision focused, she saw Naveeda, Isabella, and Abidemi standing in her quarters, trays of breakfast in hand.

"Morning, my lady," Naveeda greeted with a warm smile.

Caroline sat up, rubbing her eyes, her body far from satisfied by the sleep she’d managed. She forced a smile. “It’s good to see you all. What are you doing here?”

“We’ve been reassigned,” Isabella said, setting a tray down on the table.

Caroline blinked, surprised but genuinely happy. “Reassigned? Well, I’m glad you’re here. It’s been lonely without you.”

Naveeda stepped forward, holding out an envelope. “This arrived for you.”

Caroline nodded, taking the letter but tucking it aside for now. Her stomach rumbled at the sight of the trays laden with food and blood. “Let’s eat first. It’d be a shame to let this go cold.”

She poured herself a goblet of blood, and they all began to eat. Naveeda broke the comfortable silence. “You’re expected to serve Lady Aurora her breakfast this morning.”

Caroline’s expression soured momentarily before she masked it. “Of course, I am. I’ll handle that soon.” She glanced at Naveeda, her tone shifting. “Do you know what was destroyed in the collapse?”

Naveeda hesitated, her face darkening. “The extent of the damage hasn’t been fully assessed. Nor the casualties.”

Caroline’s heart sank, her chest tightening at the thought. How many nameless humans had died because of her sabotage? The guilt swelled, but she forced it down, determined not to let it consume her. Too many people were depending on her to lose focus now.

Straightening, she addressed her staff. “Today, we’ll begin assessing the damage, identifying the next steps, and burying the dead. If any of you need to step away, to breathe or compose yourselves, you’re welcome to. This won’t be easy.”

They nodded solemnly, their expressions reflecting the weight of her words.

Caroline smiled gently. “Eat up. You’ll need your strength. I’m going to take a quick shower.”

She gathered her old clothes and slipped into the small bathroom, her mind spinning with thoughts. Quietly, she buried the evidence of her sabotage beneath a loose tile, ensuring it was hidden before stepping under the cold spray of the shower. The chill bit at her skin, but she relished the moment to clear her mind.

When she returned, she found Naveeda looking tense while Abidemi and Isabella were more at ease. Caroline gestured to the pair. “Could you bring more blood for me and food for everyone? I think we’ll need it.”

As they left, Caroline turned on her old stereo, letting the soft hum of a song she didn’t recognize fill the room. She increased the volume, filling the room with noise and preventing eavesdroppers before turning to Naveeda.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice soft but firm.

Naveeda hesitated, her hands twisting nervously before she finally spoke. “A lot. Mostly that I’m in a bind I can’t get out of without your help.”

Caroline’s brows knit in concern. “What happened?”

Naveeda took a deep breath, her tone steady but resigned. “Adara ordered all of us to spy on you. We’re supposed to report on your movements and everything you do.”

Caroline’s heart sank. She should have expected this. “What changed?”

Naveeda met her gaze squarely, her eyes hardening into an expression which sent chills down Caroline’s spine. “I know you’re planning to escape, and you’ll be taking me with you.”

Caroline stiffened. “How do you know this?”

“It was a hunch at first,” Naveeda admitted. “But one of my responsibilities is feeding the boy in the cells. I noticed someone else was giving him extra food, and it wasn’t hard to figure out who. All I had to do was wait to hear you to come by ‘while apparently on a long bathroom break’ making promises to get him out.” Naveeda’s eyes narrowly and she chuckled hollowly. “You really care for him, don’t you?”

Caroline’s lips pressed into a thin line. “If I say yes, how do I know you won’t betray me? That you haven’t already told Adara?”

Naveeda let out a humourless laugh. “You’re thorough and intelligent, I’ll give you that. But I’ve survived this long because I know which horse to back. Adara will kill me the second I outlive my usefulness. My only value to her is spying on you. If I tell her you’re planning to escape, the moment you’re dead, my usefulness ends. Regardless, I have been here long enough to know the only way I can survive in the long term is to escape here altogether.”

Caroline didn’t say anything weighing her words carefully.

“And as for me betraying you…” Naveeda shrugged. “I can give you no assurances other than I will do whatever it takes to survive.”

“Or I could kill you, the dead don’t talk,” Caroline said, her tone dark and dangerous.

“You could,” Naveeda agreed. “But the dead still has friends and an alive friend of mine will deliver a letter to Adara detailing everything I know and the means to expose you entirely.”

Caroline’s jaw tightened as her mind raced.

“So to be clear, you will take me with you, or I will blow the whistle on your escape,” Naveeda said simply, her voice cold and steady.

“This is blackmail,” Caroline bit out.

Naveeda smirked faintly. “Call it what you want. I don't enjoy doing this but I have to put myself first.”

Before Caroline could respond, Isabella and Abidemi returned with fresh trays of food and blood, and Naveeda’s face changed from one of calculation to one of soft obedience. The tension in the room dissipated as they all focused on the task at hand, but Caroline’s mind churned, grappling with her next move.

As they sat and ate, she forced herself to smile, her thoughts racing toward how she could navigate this unexpected complication. It wasn’t long until the remnants of breakfast had been cleared and the trays stacked neatly to one side.

Naveeda turned to Abidemi and Isabella, her voice brisk. “Get a fresh tray ready for Lady Aurora’s breakfast. I’ll do Lady Caroline’s hair.”

Abidemi and Isabella nodded, quickly gathering the empty dishes and leaving the room.

The air crackled with instability, the old clearing in Salem now a tempest of destruction. Ghostly winds howled, whipping through the spectral remnants of the Other Side, as the fabric of spiritual magic unravelled. White flashes of light ripped through the collapsing world.

Tyler stumbled, his hand clutching Mason’s arm as the ground beneath them splintered. "We have to move!" Mason shouted over the deafening roar, his eyes scanning the disintegrating horizon.

Behind them, Alaric was dragging a panicked Tyler forward. Kol and Bonnie sprinted ahead, dodging as beams of energy carved through the trees and shattered the landscape.

Suddenly, the white light surged again, closer this time. Mason turned, his face grim. “Go! Tyler, go!”

“Mason, no!” Tyler screamed, but Mason pushed him hard, sending him stumbling toward Alaric just as the light consumed Mason.

“Mason!” Tyler yelled, but it was too late. The light swallowed him whole, his form disintegrating into nothingness.

Alaric grabbed Tyler by the collar and yanked him forward. “If you stop, you’ll die too!” he bellowed, his voice sharp with urgency.

Kol kept running with Bonnie in tow, his expression grim but focused as he called over to the remaining party. “We’ve got to go!”

Another crack of light tore through the ground, splitting it apart as Bonnie threw up her hands, summoning a burst of magic to shield them. “Keep moving!” she yelled, her magic barely holding back the chaos.

They sprinted toward an old clearing as the flashes behind them grew brighter, the howls of wind deafening. Finally, they broke into the open space, collapsing onto their knees as the ground steadied beneath them. For now, the destruction was at bay.

Caroline sat down in front of the small, cracked mirror, still conflicted by her earlier exchange with Naveeda. Naveeda moved behind her, her hands deftly weaving through Caroline’s hair, starting to curl and style it. For a moment, the room was quiet except for the soft hum of the stereo.

“So...” Naveeda finally broke the silence, her voice edged with anticipation.

Caroline sighed, her reflection tense in the mirror. “Fine. But I need your help.”

Naveeda let out a cold, humourless chuckle, shaking her head as her fingers worked. “It’s my silence for a seat in the getaway car. You know how dangerous it is here.”

“There won’t be a getaway car without your help,” Caroline countered sharply.

Naveeda’s hands paused briefly before resuming. “Not gonna happen. You are resourceful, you can figure it out.”

Caroline’s tone hardened. “Then you’ve just blackmailed yourself into an escape that no longer exists.”

Naveeda’s grip on Caroline’s hair tightened ever so slightly before she forced herself to relax. “What do you want?” she gritted out, her voice low and frustrated.

Caroline didn’t hesitate. “I’m being followed. If we’re going to escape, I need two hours alone today in a workshop, certain materials, and a few specific books from the library—undetected.”

Naveeda let out a bitter laugh. “I’m just a servant. What you’re asking for is impossible.”

“You’ve been here for years,” Caroline pressed, turning slightly in her chair to meet Naveeda’s gaze. “I know you have connections. Get me this, and your place in the escape is guaranteed. You have my word.”

Naveeda narrowed her eyes, considering. Her hands stilled in Caroline’s hair for a moment as she thought, then she asked, “Who’s following you?”

Caroline turned back to the mirror, her voice steady. “A male vampire with ginger hair, wearing a suit. Slightly clumsy. And a female servant with blonde hair.”

Naveeda’s expression darkened slightly, and she nodded. “Fine. I can get you two hours, that’s all.” She pulled out a small notebook from her apron pocket. “Write down everything you need. During those two hours, you’ll tell me everything about the escape.”

Caroline picked up a pen and began scribbling her list quickly, her emotions swirling—a storm of anger, hurt, distrust, and a flicker of reluctant hope. When she finished, she handed the list to Naveeda.

“Thank you,” Caroline said, keeping her voice calm and measured, though the words felt bitter on her tongue.

Naveeda studied the list, her face unreadable. Then she set it aside and began applying the finishing touches to Caroline’s hair. Neither spoke for several minutes, the tension in the room palpable. Naveeda added some light makeup to Caroline’s face, the silence stretching between them until the door opened again.

Abidemi and Isabella returned, carrying the fresh tray for Aurora. Naveeda glanced out the window, noting the soft glow of the rising sun.

“It’s time for you to breakfast with Lady Aurora, my lady,” Naveeda said, her tone formal once more.

Caroline stood, smoothing her dress and fixing her expression into something polite and neutral. The four of them made their way to Aurora’s chambers, but Caroline’s mind raced ahead, mapping out the next steps, the risks, and the choices she would need to make in the coming hours.

Three days later

Caroline stood at the edge of the room watching as the dim light of Mahal Khafa's perpetual twilight began to shift. Her reflection in the cracked glass betrayed her exhaustion—even though she was a vampire the exhaustion bled into her bones, her skin paler than usual, and her hair hastily tied back into a messy bun. She had spent the night poring over plans, writing letters, and finalising every small detail.

There was no room for error today.

She turned away from the window, glancing at the makeshift ascendant on the table. It was a fragile, jumbled contraption of pocket watch cogs and a pebble Genevieve had enchanted from the vervain pond. It was ugly, imperfect, and precarious, but it was the best she could manage. This had to work.

Genevieve sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, conserving her energy. The faint hum of her magic pulsed in the air. Rebekah stood against the wall, her arms crossed and her face a mask of indifference, though Caroline knew better. The tension between Rebekah and Genevieve crackled like electricity.

Caroline placed a hand on the ascendant softly, its cold surface grounding her momentarily. "It’s not perfect." she said, breaking the silence.

Genevieve opened her eyes, meeting Caroline’s gaze. “It doesn’t need to be perfect. It needs to get us from A to B.”

Rebekah shook her head, looking at what she could only describe as junk, and scoffed pushing herself off the wall. “That’s the spirit. Leap into the unknown and hope for the best. What could possibly go wrong?”

Caroline shot her a warning look. “We’re all here because we don’t have a choice. So do us a favour and drop the smartass for five minutes while we smooth everything over.”

Rebekah’s eyes narrowed in anger, and she took a step forward but stopped after seeing how tired Caroline was.

Three Days Earlier

Caroline had spent hours placating Aurora while simultaneously standing her ground and keeping things interesting. The woman was mercurial, swinging between moments of genuine vulnerability and volatile fury. But somewhere in the chaos, they had grown closer. It was a connection Caroline couldn’t fully understand, let alone explain. Aurora’s moods were infectious, and despite herself, Caroline found her walls weakening around her.

Aurora had pulled her into her chambers after another volatile breakfast, pouring them both wine and blood as she launched into tales of her childhood in late 10th-century France. Caroline had laughed along at the absurdities, but a pit had settled in her stomach.

This isn’t real.

None of this is real.

But why did it feel so real?

Even now, days later, the guilt lingered. Aurora trusted her in her own way. If she discovered the truth, if she found out what Caroline was planning…

Caroline shook off the thought, returning to the present.

The Present

Caroline recognising the time, gestured for Naveeda to enter, and the moment she stepped inside, the air thickened with tension.

Genevieve’s eyes narrowed while Rebekah turned her icy gaze to Caroline, her voice cutting. “Who in the bloody hell is this?”

Caroline held up her hand to silence them. “This is Naveeda. She’s been helping me.”

Genevieve stood, the pestle in her hand still dusted with herbs. “You brought someone new into this? Without telling us?”

Rebekah pushed off the wall, her anger palpable as she grabbed Caroline by her upper arm. “Are you out of your mind?”

Caroline remained still, her tone firm but calm. “Naveeda has been spying on me for Adara and has been reporting my movements to her.”

Both women’s reactions were immediate.

Genevieve’s lips pressed into a thin line, the candles becoming brighter as Genevieve became more and more angry. “You brought a spy into our escape plan?”

Rebekah’s face twisted in rage and she grabbed Caroline by the throat slamming her into the wall. “You trust a spy who has been reporting your movements?”

Caroline remained steadfast and didn’t bother struggling against Rebekah. “Naveeda has blackmailed herself onto this escape. Without her, we wouldn’t have made it this far.”

Genevieve’s magic surged as she stepped closer to Naveeda, Genevieve’s eyes flashing dangerously. “We could have made it just fine without her. This is on you Caroline.”

Naveeda, trembling at the approaching Genevieve but trying to hold her ground, raised her chin. “If I don’t come with you, my friend will tell Adara everything about this escape. Do you really want to risk that?”

Rebekah released Caroline and turned to Naveeda, her voice low and menacing. “I could rip your head off before you utter a word, and your friend would be next.”

Naveeda’s resolve wavered, but she didn’t back down. “And then what? You’ll be exposed. You don’t know which person is my friend? Even if you kill every human in this dimension, how long till your very actions alert the strix? You need me just as much as I need you.”

Rebekah and Naveeda locked eyes, tension sparking between them, when Caroline slammed her hand on the table.

“Enough!” Caroline’s voice rang out, silencing them both. She turned her sharp gaze on Rebekah and Genevieve. “We don’t have time for this. The escape is tonight. Sundown. We need to focus.”

Rebekah muttered something under her breath but stepped back, still glaring daggers at Naveeda. Genevieve exhaled sharply, her magic settling, but her irritation was clear.

Caroline took a deep breath and continued. “Here’s the plan. At sundown, the suns will allign momentarily, creating a temporary Nexus Vorti. This is our only chance to draw enough power to break through the dimension’s walls.”

Naveeda frowned but nodded. “And the spell itself? How does it work?”

Caroline looked at Naveeda directly ignoring the death glares from Genevieve and Rebekah. “The spell draws power from the dimension itself rather than the witch. You’ll act as a guide, not the power source. It simultaneously strengthens the ascendant and weakens the walls of Mahal Khafa.”

Genevieve folded her arms, considering this. “And while I’m casting?”

“I’ll fetch the boy from the cells,” Caroline said. “It has to happen simultaneously. If I bring him too early, someone may walk into an empty cell and alert the Strix. If I’m late…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “The spell will finish just as I return with him—or slightly before. Either way, the ascendant will be primed and ready for use.”

Rebekah arched an eyebrow. “And this fragile little trinket of yours is supposed to get us out of here?”

Caroline held up the ascendant. “It’s a one-way ticket. It won’t last another go and will most likely disintegrate once we’re in the real world. But since none of us plan on coming back here, it shouldn’t matter.”

Naveeda frowned. “Doesn’t a witch need to activate something like that? A magical object?”

Caroline shook her head. “The spell will activate the ascendant. But to operate it, someone needs to turn it on using vampire blood and a strong connection to a Nexus Vorti. That’s where I come in.”

Genevieve looked at her curiously. “You?”

Caroline nodded, her focus unwavering. “I was born on a Nexus point. I’m connected to it. That connection should be enough to drive the ascendant.”

Genevieve and Naveeda both nodded, seeming to accept the explanation.

As Caroline explained, her eyes were fixed on the ascendant in her hand, its surface cold and unyielding. She missed the shift in Rebekah’s expression—the mix of determination, sadness, and guilt that flickered across her face.

Rebekah spoke up, her voice quieter than before. “And once it’s activated?”

Caroline looked up. “Once it’s activated, we all link hands and we go home.”

Silence fell over the room as the weight of the plan settled on all of them.

“Then we better hope this works,” Genevieve said finally.

Caroline met her gaze. “It will. It has to.”

She tightened her grip on the ascendant, ignoring the turmoil brewing in the room.

As they caught their breath, the air shifted again, this time with a strange calm. The faint shimmer of a familiar figure appeared—Sheila Bennett, Bonnie’s grandmother, her face lined with sorrow.

“Grams?” Bonnie asked, her voice trembling with exhaustion and relief.

Sheila stepped forward, her form flickering faintly. “Many nodes have fallen, Bonnie. Spiritual magic is unravelling, and with it, the Other Side.”

“We know that!” Bonnie snapped, rising to her feet. “That’s why we need to find a way to cross back to the land of the living.”

Sheila’s gaze softened. “Child, you’ve died. Even now, balance must be maintained.”

“To hell with balance!” Bonnie shouted, her frustration boiling over. “Caroline is in danger!”

Sheila’s expression turned grave. “Your friend has been in danger for a while now, Bonnie. But fate must run its course.”

Tyler, his voice thick with grief and anger, stepped forward. “What do you mean by that? What does that even mean?”

Sheila sighed, looking at Tyler with a mixture of compassion and sadness. “We all must make peace with our deaths. What comes of Caroline will come, and there is nothing you can do.”

Kol sneered, stepping closer. “So that’s it? The great ancestors just sit idly by as magic itself crumbles into dust?”

Sheila looked at him sharply. “The ancestors care. But balance must be maintained.”

“Balance?” Kol scoffed. “Do they care about what’s at stake? If the Other Side falls, if spiritual magic collapses completely, you know what happens. Silas will be free again.”

Bonnie’s head snapped toward Kol, her stomach sinking. “No. I turned Silas to stone.”

Kol gave her a bitter smile. “Using expression and spiritual magic. When you died, the expression element of the spell died with you. Now that spiritual magic is collapsing, it’s only a matter of time before he rises. And when he does, there won’t even be an Other Side to trap him.”

Sheila’s face tensed, her form flickering.

Kol pressed on. “Expression made Silas what he is, and he now has a potential ally to exploit: the Strix Coven. And let me tell you, love, they’ve already marked their unifying enemy. You.”

Bonnie’s breath hitched, and Tyler swore under his breath.

Sheila’s voice was firm. “There is more at play than just Silas.”

Bonnie took a step toward her. “Then we’ll deal with it. Whatever it takes, I’m getting back. My friends needs me, Caroline needs me and I’m not abandoning her.”

Sheila’s gaze lingered on her granddaughter, conflicted.

Kol smirked, sensing an opening. “Here’s our offer: the remaining witches gather enough power to let us cross over. Once we’re back, we’ll protect the remaining bloodlines, eliminate the Strix Coven, and restore as much power as we can to stabilise the balance. You have tried stopping the Strix, haven’t you? My guess is that they retaliated by killing and turning your bloodlines. You have no dice left. We are your only shot.”

Sheila hesitated, her form flickering more violently. “There is no guarantee—”

Kol interrupted, his voice sharp. “There’s no guarantee of anything if the Other Side collapses. Take this offer back to the ancestors. It’s their only chance to salvage what’s left.”

Sheila looked at Bonnie, her face heavy with unspoken words.

“Please, Grams,” Bonnie said softly. “We can fix this. Just give us the chance. Before it’s too late.” Sheila’s expression was unreadable as she finally flickered out of sight, leaving them in silence.

The abandoned lighthouse loomed against the eerie twilight, its walls streaked with age and neglect. Dust hung in the stagnant air, illuminated by the dim red glow of the twin suns as they began their slow eclipse. Cobwebs clung to every corner, and the faint sound of waves crashing against unseen rocks added a haunting rhythm to the moment.

Caroline stood in the centre of the room, her presence commanding despite the tension hanging heavy over the group. Her gaze darted to each of them—Genevieve, calm and focused; Rebekah, cold and bristling with restrained irritation; and Naveeda, trying to appear calm but visibly nervous.

“It’s time,” Caroline said, her voice steady despite the undercurrent of urgency.

The group stiffened as Caroline moved closer to Genevieve, the makeshift ascendant clutched tightly in her hand. She passed it to the witch, their fingers brushing for a brief moment.

“Now, to reiterate,” Caroline began, her tone crisp and authoritative. “Genevieve, you will start with the spell the moment the suns fully eclipse one another. You’ll draw power from the dimension, but not from yourself.” She looked Genevieve in the eye, her expression hard. “You’re the guide, not the fuel. This will protect you from burning out.”

Genevieve nodded, gripping the ascendant tightly. “I can feel the energy here. It’s... potent.” Her voice held a note of awe, and a faint smile tugged at her lips. “This could work.”

Caroline returned the smile, small but encouraging. “Good.“

Her gaze shifted to Rebekah and Naveeda. “Rebekah, Naveeda, your job is simple: ensure Genevieve isn’t interrupted. Once she starts, the witches will pick up on her magic. The spell should cloak her initially, but it won’t last long. If we’re discovered before we leave, you eliminate the threat. No hesitations.”

Rebekah scoffed, her arms crossed. “I wasn’t planning to hesitate.”

Naveeda fidgeted, nodding quickly but avoiding eye contact.

Caroline turned to Naveeda, her hand outstretched. “Keys.”

Naveeda fumbled with her pocket before handing the keys to Caroline.

Caroline clenched them tightly. “I’ll be as quick and discreet as possible, I’ll grab the boy and come back here.” she said, her tone more serious now. She looked at each of them one last time, her gaze lingering on each one of them. “Good luck.”

Genevieve squared her shoulders, taking a deep breath as she turned to the makeshift ritual circle she had prepared earlier. “See you soon,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of determination.

Caroline gave her a curt nod before vamping away, the rush of air stirring the dust and cobwebs around them.

Genevieve knelt in the centre of the circle, the ascendant resting in her lap as she began chanting softly. The air around her grew thick with power, and the faint hum of magic filled the room.

Rebekah stood near the entrance, her sharp blue eyes scanning the darkened horizon beyond the broken windows. Naveeda lingered closer to Genevieve, her hands trembling slightly as she fiddled with the edge of her sleeve.

“I don’t trust her,” Rebekah said suddenly, her voice low but cutting.

“Who? Geneveive, Caroline or me?” Naveeda shot back, trying to sound defiant but betraying her nerves.

“All of you,” Rebekah replied, her tone icy.

Naveeda bristled, turning toward Rebekah with a glare. “I’ve done everything I can to help this escape. Without me, you wouldn’t even have a chance—”

“Without Caroline, none of us would,” Rebekah interrupted sharply. “You blackmailed your way into this, and don’t think I’ve forgotten it.”

Genevieve, her voice tight with concentration, hissed, “Enough. Both of you.”

Rebekah stepped closer to Naveeda, her movements slow and deliberate. “If this goes wrong because of you—”

“It won’t,” Naveeda said, cutting her off. But the crack in her voice betrayed her fear.

Rebekah sneered, about to retort when Genevieve slammed her hands down onto the ascendant. A ripple of wind burst outward, silencing them both.

“Stop acting like children,” Genevieve snapped, her hands glowing faintly with power. “We have minutes before this starts. If we’re discovered because you two are bickering, I’ll make sure neither of you leave this dimension alive.”

Rebekah’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she stepped back, giving Genevieve her space. Naveeda swallowed hard and turned away, her face pale but resolute.

The room fell into tense silence, broken only by the quiet sound of ash hitting the windows and the distant crash of waves.

The suns continued their slow dance toward total eclipse, the red glow deepening and casting ominous shadows across the decrepit walls.

It was time.

Genevieve knelt in the centre of the salt pentogram and held the ascendant in her hands. She took a deep breath and watched as the red light from the suns became a singluar dimmer red beam that shone through the broken glass windows of the lighthouse. She took one last deep breath and began to chant,

"Aná scátha, berid in brollach, ceilid mo rún fo étrocht nré …"

The wilderness was still, the faint rustling of leaves barely audible over the rush of Caroline’s thoughts. She moved silently, her vampiric speed making her little more than a blur among the shadows of trees and undergrowth. Her senses prickled, alert to the faint sound of hurried footsteps not far behind.

The ginger-haired man cursed softly, clearly frustrated, and Caroline realized he must have just picked up her trail again. This was bad—very bad. She’d hoped to shake him, but he was persistent. Her mind raced as she kept moving, her steps deliberate to keep his attention on her path.

Coming to a halt near the edge of town, she bent down, pretending to adjust her shoe. She glanced sideways, confirming his position. He was still following her, his gaze narrowing as he tried to act casual.

Taking a steadying breath, Caroline walked into town, sticking close to the corners and shadows. She could feel him trailing behind, his presence a heavy weight on her mind. She couldn’t let this continue. No hesitations, right?

Turning into a narrow alley, she adjusted her expression, slipping on the charm like a mask. As the man turned the corner, she faced him, her best Miss Mystic Falls smile lighting up her face.

“Hello, handsome sir,” she said, her voice light and disarming. She stepped toward him casually, watching his surprise at her sudden confrontation. “Is this the way to the kitchens? Nobody tells me anything around here.”

She began walking closer toward him, her tone airy and harmless. His confusion deepened as she continued talking.

“You know, yesterday I had the most amazing cinnamon buns. People say it depends on how many times you let the dough rest—some say several—but I only let mine rest once, and I can tell you, they were delicious. The centre of the buns was just…” She let out a soft, pleased moan, her voice dipping as she reached out, tugging lightly on his tie. Her fingers played with the fabric, keeping him distracted.

“And I just wanted something…” Her hand slid down his chest as if tracing a line, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, “…tasty.”

In a single swift motion, her hand shot into his chest. His eyes widened, the shock freezing his features as she ripped his heart out with brutal precision. The still-beating organ slipped from her fingers, and she shoved his lifeless body into a nearby dumpster, closing the lid with finality. Her heart pounded as she stepped back into the shadows, a mix of guilt and cold necessity roiling inside her.

She had no choice.

He would have compromised everything.

With her composure barely intact, Caroline made her way to the tower. Moving swiftly, she vamped to the upper floors, keys in hand. The boy was sitting in the far corner of his cell, his expression one of shock and disbelief as she approached.

“Hi,” Caroline said, her voice urgent but soft. “We need to go now, kid.”

He stood immediately, though he looked like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

“We need to move quickly,” she continued, crouching to his level. “I’ll have to carry you. Is that okay?”

He nodded, his small hands trembling as he reached out. Caroline picked him up securely, cradling him close to ensure he wouldn’t be jostled as she moved.

“Hold on tight,” she murmured before vamping them out of the tower and into the night.

The air in the chamber was heavy, charged with an unnatural tension. Beatrice stood in the center of the vast stone room, her hands pressed flat against the altar as she chanted under her breath. Around her, the energy of the dimension thrummed uneasily, like an unbalanced scale threatening to topple. The other witches exchanged nervous glances, their murmurs filling the space as they noticed the growing disturbance.

“Madame,” a young witch named Alice said hesitantly, her voice breaking through the hushed whispers. “Something’s wrong. The energy—it’s destabilising.”

Beatrice’s jaw tightened. She didn’t need Alice confirmation to know that something was amiss. She could feel it deep in her bones, a pull that was both foreign and familiar. For a moment, she thought it might be the ancestors—but the sensation wasn’t ancient. It was raw, reckless, and dangerously alive.

“No,” Beatrice said sharply, her words silencing the room. “This isn’t the ancestors. It’s coming from inside the dimension.”

The gathered witches gasped, their unease shifting into outright fear. One of the older witches, Lysandra, stepped forward, her face pale. “Inside? But how? Everything here is sealed—nothing can bypass the barriers without our knowledge.”

Beatrice snapped her head toward Lysandra, her gaze fiery. “Then explain why I feel an energy surge building within our very walls!”

The witches began whispering again, their voices rising in pitch as panic set in. Beatrice raised a hand, silencing them once more.

“We need to locate it,” she commanded, her voice cold and authoritative. “Alice, Lysandra, and the rest of you—focus your energy on scrying. I don’t care if you have to drain every ounce of power from this room; I want to know where this disturbance is coming from.”

The witches immediately moved to obey, forming a circle around the room. Beatrice stepped back, watching them as they closed their eyes and extended their hands. The air grew denser as they began to chant in unison, their voices weaving together in a powerful incantation.

Beatrice’s eyes flicked toward the centre of the altar, where a crystal sphere sat. It remained dark, unresponsive to their efforts. The energy was cloaked—cleverly so—and it was slipping through their grasp like smoke through fingers.

“It’s cloaked,” Lysandra said after a tense moment, her voice trembling with frustration. “I can’t pinpoint it.”

Alice’s brow furrowed. “Neither can I. It’s as if the energy is… everywhere and nowhere at once.”

Beatrice slammed her palm on the altar, her patience snapping. “Enough excuses! If you cannot locate it, then we have no choice but to escalate.”

She turned to a younger witch standing near the edge of the room, her expression fierce. “You, fetch Tristan. Now.”

The young witch nodded quickly and hurried out of the chamber, her footsteps echoing down the stone halls.

Beatrice exhaled sharply, gripping the edges of the altar as her thoughts raced. The witches were scattered throughout the dimension, assigned to their various tasks, and the likelihood of gathering them all in time was slim. Still, she had to act.

“Lysandra,” she barked, “light the emergency beacon. Now!”

Lysandra hesitated but obeyed, rushing to the far side of the room where a tall brass brazier stood. She pulled a small vial from her robes, pouring a viscous liquid into the bowl before muttering an incantation. The brazier flared to life, emitting a bright blue flame that shot high into the air, visible through the cracks in the chamber’s ceiling and far beyond.

The emergency beacon was lit. Its meaning was clear to all witches within the dimension: gather immediately.

“We’re out of time,” Beatrice muttered, her voice low but audible enough to be heard by the witches around her. “Whatever is causing this… it’s moving faster than we can react.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken dread. The witches continued their chanting, their desperation mounting as they struggled to break through the cloak. But Beatrice knew they were already too late. Something was happening.

The lighthouse stood silent and imposing, the cobwebbed structure heavy with tension. Inside, Genevieve knelt on the cold stone floor, her chanting a steady hum as her hands moved over the softly glowing ascendant. The object pulsed with a faint white light, its power gradually growing with each spoken incantation.

Rebekah and Naveeda moved in slow circles around her, their eyes scanning every corner of the shadowed room. Both were hyper-alert, their movements methodical, though the strain of the moment was etched on their faces.

As the spell continued, a sudden burst of blue light shot up into the night sky, piercing the darkness like a beacon. Rebekah froze, her sharp intake of breath cutting through the quiet. Naveeda stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening.

“We have a problem,” Naveeda said, her voice shaking as she moved swiftly toward Genevieve.

Genevieve’s chanting faltered for half a second, her focus momentarily breaking as her eyes snapped open to see the blue beam. Her heartbeat quickened, the panic evident in her gaze.

Rebekah noticed immediately, her voice sharp. “What does that mean? What did you do?”

Genevieve inhaled deeply, forcing her attention back to the ascendant. “It’s not me. It’s the witches—Beatrice must have lit the beacon. But we’ll be gone before they notice anything else. It’s done.”

Rebekah’s brow furrowed. “We’re done done?”

Genevieve nodded, her voice steady despite her exhaustion. “It’s enchanted, yes. But Caroline needs to be back here quickly, or we’re finished.”

Genevieve pushed herself up from her kneeling position, swaying slightly as the strain of the spell hit her. Naveeda rushed to her side, catching her and leaning her against the wall. But as soon as Genevieve settled, Rebekah blurred forward, snatching the ascendant from the floor.

“What are you doing?” Naveeda shouted, stepping toward her.

Rebekah’s face was a mask of guilt, but her voice was firm as she tightened her grip on the ascendant. “I’m ending this.”

Genevieve’s eyes narrowed in realisation. “Don’t you dare.”

In a flash, Rebekah lunged, fangs bared and ready to kill. Genevieve reacted instantly, grabbing a fistful of salt and muttering a quick incantation. A shimmering barrier erupted between them, sending Rebekah skidding back but not stopping her glare of pure determination.

“You’ve lost your mind!” Naveeda hissed, rage twisting her features. “What are you doing? Only Caroline can activate it!”

Rebekah’s expression darkened, her voice cold and resolute. “She’s not the only one born on a Nexus Vorti.”

Genevieve’s face paled as Rebekah’s meaning sank in.

“No,” Genevieve whispered, stepping forward until the barrier stopped her.

Rebekah’s jaw tightened. She raised the ascendant, biting into her finger and letting the blood drip onto its surface. The intricate mechanism within began to shift, the glow intensifying as it responded to her blood.

“You’ve killed us all!” Naveeda spat, her voice trembling with fury and horror. “The Strix are going to come down on us like a hurricane!”

Genevieve’s eyes burned with accusation. “That’s what she wanted.”

Rebekah’s lips pressed into a thin line. She looked at them both, guilt flickering across her face before she hardened her expression. “I would say I am sorry but I am not.”

The room filled with a blinding white light, drowning out everything as the ascendant activated. Genevieve and Naveeda shielded their eyes, the force of the magic rattling the walls.

And then it was gone.

The light dissipated, leaving the room eerily quiet. Rebekah was gone. The ascendant was gone.

The silence was shattered by the sound of hurried footsteps. Caroline appeared in the doorway, the boy in her arms. Her face was a mix of confusion and urgency as her eyes swept the room.

“What happened?!” she demanded, looking between Genevieve and Naveeda. “Where’s Rebekah? Where’s the ascendant?!”

Genevieve leaned against the wall, her expression a blend of anger and defeat. “She’s gone. She took the ascendant and left us for dead.”

Naveeda looked at Caroline, “What do we do now?! Caroline. What do we do now?!”

Caroline’s grip tightened on the boy, her mind reeling as she tried to sort her thoughts. Her eyes flicked to the white residue of magic still lingering in the air. Her jaw clenched as the realisation hit her—Rebekah had betrayed them, and now they were out of time.

Chapter Text

The white light faded as Rebekah appeared in the deserted hallways of Mystic Falls High School. The air felt heavy and still, the quiet eeriness of the empty building pressing against her chest like a weight. Her hands trembled as she looked down at the ascendant, now cracked and melted, its intricate gears fused into a jagged mess. It was useless now, its magic spent.

Her breathing was uneven as she clutched the broken object, her mind swirling with guilt and rationalisations.

I had to do it. I had no choice.

Her eyes darted around the familiar space, the tiled floors, the rows of lockers. It was a stark reminder of a simpler time long passed—her human lost to time and replaced with something far darker.

Rebekah leaned against a locker, her legs threatening to give out beneath her. The weight of what she had done pressed down on her, suffocating and inescapable. She closed her eyes, her mind replaying the scene over and over: Genevieve’s face contorted in anger and Naveeda’s accusations and Caroline’s last words to them.

Good Luck.

Rebekah’s throat tightened, her stomach churning. She gripped the broken ascendant tighter, her knuckles white. Genevieve had to die. Genevieve couldn’t be allowed to live.

Her mind spiralled to that secret—a shadow that had loomed over her for a century.

She could still feel the cold fire of Mikael’s rage as he descended upon New Orleans in 1919, summoned there by her own hand. A moment of weakness. A desperate act for her own selfish happiness. She had wanted to punish Klaus for his unending cruelty, his suffocating possessiveness, his endless lies and power grabs. She had wanted to see him brought to his knees.

But she hadn’t understood the cost. Not then.

And now, if Genevieve lived, that secret would resurface. Klaus would know.

The thought of what he would do to her if he discovered the truth sent a shiver down her spine. It would destroy everything.

Her heart ached as Caroline’s face flashed in her mind—her fire, her resolve, her relentless drive to do the impossible. Rebekah clenched her teeth, willing the guilt away.

“Collateral damage,” she muttered to herself, trying to force her voice into something steady. “It’s done now. It’s too late to change it.”

But the guilt lingered, a clawing presence she couldn’t shake.

With a deep breath, she straightened, steeling herself. The high school was empty, but she couldn’t linger. If the Strix caught wind of her escape, if they traced her here, she would be captured and it would all be for nothing.

Elijah had summoned her to New Orleans. That’s where she needed to go. To take down the Strix, to ensure Genevieve’s death—and anyone else who knew what she had done.

As long as no one learned the truth, it would be worth it.

Rebekah forced her trembling hands to loosen their grip on the broken ascendant, letting the shards clatter to the floor. Her steps echoed through the silent halls as she turned toward the exit, her heart heavy with the weight of betrayal, guilt, and a resolve forged in desperation.

As long as no one learned the truth, it would be worth it.

The dim light in the house flickered as Leonard paced, his phone glued to his ear. He spoke in clipped tones, the strain in his voice evident. The others watched him with varying degrees of annoyance and concern. Ava, her nerves stretched to the breaking point, sat with her arms wrapped around herself, while Isaac returned from a quick run with a cooler of blood bags, and Isla distributed pizzas she’d brought back.

“Leonard,” Isla said sharply, shoving a blood bag at him, “sit down and eat. We all know you’re not actually doing anything productive.”

Leonard opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, Ava’s voice cut through the tension.

“Sit down. Now.”

Her tone left no room for argument as she kicked the chair opposite her. Leonard hesitated, his face falling into a defeated scowl, but he complied, slumping into the chair like a chastised schoolboy.

Ava’s anger dissipated as quickly as it had come. Her eyes clouded over, the colour bleeding into a milky grey, and she gasped. Her body convulsed violently, and the room plunged into darkness as the lights flickered and burst.

“Ava!” Isla and Isaac vamped to her side in an instant, their movements a blur. Leonard, shaken but quick to act, gently eased Ava into the recovery position, his concern overriding his usual stoicism.

For thirty agonizing seconds, Ava shook uncontrollably, her breaths shallow and ragged. Then, as abruptly as it began, the seizure ceased. Her movements stilled, but her eyes remained cloudy. Slowly, she sat up, her hand reaching for the coffee table, where an old map had been carelessly tossed aside.

Ava grabbed a knife and sliced her palm without hesitation, letting her blood drip onto the map. Isaac started to speak, his voice full of worry, but Isla raised a hand to silence him, her eyes fixed on Ava. Leonard, meanwhile, watched silently, his expression unreadable but his attention sharp.

The blood began to pool unnaturally, shifting and spreading in deliberate, unnatural patterns. Without warning, the map ignited. Flames consumed it entirely except for a single unburned section.

“Salem,” Leonard said quietly, his gaze locked on the unmarred spot.

Ava collapsed, her eyes returning to their normal hue as she woke with a gasp. Isla caught her before she hit the floor.

“What happened?” Isla asked gently, her grip firm but comforting.

Ava blinked, her voice shaking as she answered, “The spirits… they want me to go to Salem.” Her trembling hand pointed to the untouched part of the map.

Isaac furrowed his brow. “Salem? As in the Salem? Salem witch trials?”

Leonard snorted. “They were human. None of those convicted were witches.”

Ava turned to him, her expression grim. “None of those convicted.”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed. “You’re saying witches were actually in Salem?”

“I don’t know,” Ava replied, pushing herself upright. “But clearly something happened. Something important if the ancestors are pointing us there.” She grabbed her cardigan and bag, her movements determined.

Leonard stepped forward, his voice laced with frustration. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To Salem,” Ava replied firmly, moving toward the door.

Leonard blocked her path, his tone softening but still pleading. “Ava, please. It’s too dangerous.”

Her eyes flashed with defiance. “I have to do this.” She raised her hand and uttered a single word: “Motus.”

The spell sent Leonard flying backward, slamming him into the plaster wall. He groaned, recovering quickly, but Ava was already at the door.

“You can come with me,” Ava said without looking back, her voice steady, “or not.”

Leonard sighed, brushing off the dust from his coat. “Fine.” He grabbed his jacket and a sliver brief case, his movements begrudging but resigned.

Isaac scrambled to grab the portable ice box full of blood bags, while Isla nodded and followed, pizza box still in hand. The four of them stepped into the cold Indiana night, and piled into the car, on the way to Salem.

Caroline held the boy tightly, his small frame trembling against her. The lighthouse felt colder than ever, its abandoned walls echoing the betrayal that had unfolded moments earlier. Naveeda paced nervously, her hands wringing as Genevieve leaned against the wall, visibly drained from the spell. The glow of the enchanted ascendant had been snuffed out, and with it, their hope.

Caroline’s voice was tight with barely contained anger. “What happened?!” she demanded, her gaze darting between Genevieve and Naveeda. “Where’s Rebekah? Where’s the ascendant?!”

Genevieve’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression a mix of fury and defeat. “She’s gone. She took the ascendant and left us for dead.”

Naveeda turned to Caroline, her voice quaking. “What do we do now, Caroline? What do we do?!”

Caroline’s grip on the boy tightened as her mind raced. The realisation of Rebekah’s betrayal hit her like a knife twisting in her heart. The boy’s hands clung to her jacket, his wide, frightened eyes fixed on hers as if she held the answers to everything.

A voice interrupted the tense moment.

“Well, that’s up to you,” Vasil drawled from the doorway, leaning against the frame with an air of nonchalance. “Or, more specifically, her.” His sharp eyes flicked toward Caroline.

Caroline shifted the boy behind her, her stance protective, her veins rippling beneath her eyes as she prepared to strike.

“Relax, little hero,” Vasil said smoothly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “If I wanted to hurt the boy, he’d be dead already.”

The boy’s heartbeat quickened, and his grip on her jacket tightened. Caroline forced her features to shift back to human, her composure like a thin sheet of glass ready to shatter.

Vasil’s gaze swept over the room. “I must say, I’m impressed. You’ve been here less than two weeks and already orchestrated an escape. Too bad the Original ruined it for you.”

“You’re not here to praise me,” Caroline snapped. “What do you want?”

Vasil’s smirk didn’t falter. “The Strix is changing. War is coming, and I have seen the writing on the wall, it’ll leave us all dead. I don’t care about your lives, but I care about mine. I need out of here, and so do you.”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed. “There is no ‘out’. Rebekah took the way ‘out’. It’s only a matter of time before the Strix come to kill us.”

“For now, it’s gone,” Vasil conceded. “But if you could devise a way out once, you can do it again.”

“Did you miss the part where the Strix are going to kill us?” Caroline’s glare was cold.

“They’ll come,” Vasil agreed. “But if your witch gets back to base and makes herself useful, she might avoid suspicion for a while. As for the boy, I know a place to hide him. The higher-ups will assume he escaped with Rebekah.”

“Why would they think that?”

Vasil shrugged. “He’s important. They might think he’s useful to her.” He turned his calculating gaze back to Caroline. “But you’re a different story. You killed the vampire tailing you. The Strix don’t know it was you, but they’ll suspect. With no alibi, they’ll take you for interrogation to determine your guilt.”

Caroline’s stomach sank. “Interrogation?”

“Torture,” Vasil said plainly.

“I won’t say anything.”

“This isn’t just about spilling secrets,” Vasil said darkly. “It’s a test. And since your mind is blocked, torture will be their only way to extract anything.”

“I can handle it,” Caroline said, her voice steely.

“You think so,” Vasil countered. “But the interrogation chamber they’ll use isn’t just torture—it’s The Tombs. Time moves differently there. What’s hours here will feel like years there, thanks to the time dilation spell you manipulated to pass.”

The air seemed to be sucked out of the room as his words settled in.

Genevieve stepped forward. “I can cast a spell to stop her from giving anything away.”

Vasil shook his head. “It’ll be detected immediately, and she will be killed onsight. She has to do this willingly. You need to hold out and buy me as much time as possible to frame someone else for this fiasco.”

Caroline’s mind spun. “What about Naveeda?”

Vasil smirked dangerously and vamp sped toward her, but Caroline blocked his path.

“She needs to die,” he said coldly.

“No,” Caroline said firmly.

“I’ll make it quick.” Vasil argued, moving forward eyes fixed on Naveeda.

“No way. You want ‘out’. Here’s the deal. I’ll take you with us when we escape, but you ensure their safety—all of them.” She gestured to Genevieve, Naveeda, and the boy.

Vasil’s glare turned icy. “Fine,” he said after a long pause. “But they need to leave now, and the boy comes with me.”

Caroline crouched and turned to the boy, her voice soft but firm. “I’ll come back for you, okay? I promise.” Her eyes met his tear-filled ones. “Nod for me. Show me you understand.”

Reluctantly, the boy nodded, and Caroline nudged him toward Vasil. She stared daggers at the vampire. “If anything happens to him, they won’t find what’s left of you.”

Vasil smirked, picked up the boy, and vamped away.

Genevieve set the equipment ablaze, the flames casting ominous shadows. Naveeda gave Caroline a solemn nod before leaving. Caroline handed her bag to Genevieve.

“Please, look after this,” she said softly.

Genevieve nodded, her gaze heavy with unspoken words before she took the bag and ran. Genevieve’s heart pounded as she darted through the woods toward her hideout. She threw down Caroline’s bag and picked up a yellow satchel and ran toward the blue beacon. The satchel she clutched tightly contained freshly picked agrimony, its yellow blossoms a perfect alibi. She knew her timing had to be impeccable; anything less than convincing urgency would be disastrous. Her mind raced as she reached the small, hidden entrance to her base and slipped inside.

Grabbing a handful of the flowers from her satchel, Genevieve adjusted her expression to one of controlled panic. She couldn’t afford to seem too collected—they’d notice.

Bursting into the larger central chamber, she was met with chaos. Witches buzzed with nervous energy, their hands flying to prepare materials, eyes darting between grimoires and each other.

“What’s going on?” Genevieve asked, her voice rising just enough to convey alarm.

Alice, a senior witch, rounded on her. “What took you so long?”

Genevieve held up the agrimony. “Collecting Agrimony! You told me you needed it as soon as possible.” She set her satchel down on a nearby table with a satisfying thud. “You know how far out I have to go to get it. I ran here the moment I saw the beacon. What’s going on?”

Lysandra, one of the elder witches, gestured toward the group forming in the centre of the room. “We don’t know but it’s stopped. Join the circle.”

Genevieve nodded, scrambling into position. She linked hands with Alice and Lysandra, glancing at the map laid out in the circle’s centre. Its edges curled slightly, already reacting to the spell’s gathering energy.

The witches began chanting in unison, their voices weaving into a rhythmic pulse. Genevieve recognized the incantation immediately, her stomach tightening. A locator spell. As the flames erupted in the middle of the map, her sharp eyes caught the distinct shape of a specific area being consumed by the white fire.

Her chest tightened. It was the lighthouse.

She forced herself to mirror the confused looks of those around her, maintaining her carefully constructed mask of innocence. Calm. Stay calm. Don’t give anything away.

“Where is that?” Alice asked, her voice tinged with urgency.

Genevieve furrowed her brow, pretending to study the burned section alongside the others. “I’m not sure,” she said, her tone matching their confusion.

The room fell silent as Beatrice, the head witch, gasped audibly. Everyone turned as the chamber doors burst open, revealing Tristan, flanked by Aya, Shen Min, Vasil, and other Strix members. Their presence was suffocating.

Tristan’s sharp eyes locked onto the smouldering map. His face darkened as recognition dawned.

“They know,” Beatrice said grimly, turning to Tristan.

“Shut everything down,” Tristan barked to Vasil, his voice razor-sharp. “Nothing comes in or out. I want everyone accounted for.”

Vasil nodded curtly and left, his long coat billowing behind him.

Tristan turned his icy gaze to Aya. He didn’t need to say anything. Aya nodded, accepting the unspoken command, and disappeared with another squad of Strix vampires.

Genevieve stood frozen, her fingers itching to act, her mind scrambling for options.

Tristan pointed to the witches. “Go there now and kill everyone there.”

Beatrice inclined her head. “Yes, my lord.”

Without hesitation, she linked hands with Alice and Deborah, both fanatics in Genevieve’s opinion. Their chanting began immediately, and Genevieve felt the air around them shift violently, when she opened her eyes she saw not a large chamber but an abandoned lighthouse.

The ash fell like a silent snowfall, each flake landing gently on Caroline’s hair, shoulders, and the pond’s still surface. She sat at the edge, her knees pulled to her chest, staring at the blackened skies streaked with the faint red glow of the distant sunset. The air was crisp and cold, a quiet reminder of her frailty in a place so merciless.

This was her moment, her last taste of solitude before the storm. Caroline dipped her hands into the pond, the vervain-laced water biting at her skin like fire. She hissed softly, watching the blood swirl into the water, dissipating like her fleeting hopes. The pain grounded her, kept her from spiralling into the abyss of what-ifs and could-have-been.

Her reflection wavered in the pond, and she stared at it for a moment, unrecognizable with bloodshot eyes, tousled hair, and a haunted expression. She looked like a woman about to be dragged to hell—and maybe she was.

Her hands trembled as she splashed the burning water onto her face, washing away the grime and blood. The sting was sharp, but it felt good, almost cleansing, like a punishment she deserved. She tilted her head back, letting the air fill her lungs. The ash clung to her skin, and the glow of the sunset bathed the treetops in hues of red and gold, a striking contrast to the darkness overhead.

Rebekah.

The thought of her name made Caroline’s jaw tighten.

This was her fault. The boy, Genevieve, herself—they could all be free now. Free to save Bonnie, to see her mom, her friends again. Free to find their way back to the lives they had been ripped from. But Caroline had vouched for Rebekah. She had extended her hand to someone who was always too willing to betray to protect herself.

"Stupid," Caroline muttered under her breath.

A snake slithered near the edge of the pond, its black scales glistening in the dim light. It paused, its head tilting in her direction before continuing past her, uninterested.

Even a snake knows, she thought bitterly, that it doesn’t have to kill something that’s already dead.

Her lips quirked in the ghost of a bitter smile, but the humour died quickly.

No. She wasn’t dead. Not yet.

“I am Caroline Forbes,” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling but gaining strength with each word. “I will survive. I will thrive. And I will get out of here.”

The straightened her back and scanned the trees, their dark branches twisting against the dim red glow of the fading suns. Her story wasn’t over. She would see her friends again. Her mom again. She would make the Strix pay.

This?

This would be a blip in her immortal life.

Her resolve settled like steel in her bones. She stared at the water’s surface again, her reflection clearer now, more determined.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp snap of a branch behind her. Caroline froze, her senses alert, her mind racing. The rapid crunch of footsteps followed, closing in fast.

Her body tensed, and she started to turn, but it was too late. A firm hand grabbed her jaw, and a split second later, her neck snapped.

The world immediately snapped to black.

Genevieve crouched in the dimly lit corner of her workshop in the witches tower, carefully grinding a mixture of herbs and roots with a pestle and mortar. The scent of agrimony and vervain filled the air, sharp and earthy. Her hands worked methodically, but her thoughts were restless, tangled in the many threads of deceit and danger that surrounded her.

A faint rustling behind her made her freeze. Before she could react, a low voice cut through the stillness.

“Pick a witch.”

She spun around, clutching the mortar like a weapon. In the shadows, Vasil leaned against the wall, his expression cold and calculating.

“What the—”

“Pick a witch.” His tone was calm, but the steel beneath it was unmistakable.

Genevieve’s heart skipped a beat. “Pick a witch to…?”

Vasil stepped closer, his sharp eyes locking onto hers. “I need a witch with ties to Anwar.”

Genevieve swallowed, trying to mask her panic. “Mohinder’s second-in-command?”

He nodded, his smirk barely visible in the dim light.

Her mind raced. “Mariam. She and Anwar had a fling two years ago. They were in love—or at least something close to it.” She hesitated, her voice dropping. “But she doesn’t deserve to die.”

Vasil’s expression hardened instantly, the smirk vanishing like a flame snuffed out. He stepped closer, his presence oppressive.

“You can choose. Her or you.”

Genevieve’s breath hitched. She searched his face for a shred of mercy, but there was none. The gravity of his words hit her like a blow. Her hands trembled as she set the mortar down, nodding reluctantly. “What do you need me to do?”

Vasil pulled a small object from his pocket and held it out. “You need to put this in her stuff.”

Genevieve stared at the object in confusion as she took it. “A… phone? Why?”

“You know why.” His voice was low, and his gaze was unrelenting.

Her grip tightened on the phone, her nails digging into her palm. “You’re setting her up.”

Vasil’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t look so glum. This will be over soon enough. Just don’t get caught, and don’t use magic.”

Genevieve glared at him, anger simmering beneath her calm exterior. “You enjoy this, don’t you? Playing puppeteer. Destroying lives.”

“I enjoy living,” Vasil said flatly. “And if you want to keep doing the same, you’ll do exactly what I asked.”

With that, he vamped away, leaving Genevieve alone in the suffocating quiet. She looked down at the phone in her hand, her fingers trembling.

“Mariam, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. With a deep breath, she turned back to her table, steeling herself for what she knew she had to do.

The Tombs – Six Years, Five Months and One week and 3 days later

Caroline leaned her head against the damp, cold wall of her cell, her arms limp at her sides. Her hair, which once shone golden, was now matted, tangled, and filthy, the blonde hidden beneath layers of grime, blood and pieces of her own flesh. It reached nearly to her feet now, and in better circumstances, she might’ve been impressed by how much it had grown. But here, in this suffocating dungeon, it was just another reminder of how long she'd been trapped—how long she'd endured.

Six years.

Six years of Shen Min's calculated cruelty. His blade was precise, leaving no cell in her body untouched by pain. Her blood had soaked the stone floors more times than she could count, and still, they hadn’t broken her. They couldn’t get into her mind, so they relied on the physical, but even that was beginning to feel routine.

And then there was the dripping. The maddening, ceaseless dripping of water somewhere in the distance. It drove her closer to the edge than any knife could.

Her torturer, Shen Min, was an enigma. Cold and meticulous, he rarely spoke, but when he did, it was to recount stories of his time serving Genghis Khan. Apparently, he'd been a "torture consultant," if such a thing existed. Caroline hated the way he described his craft like it was an art form, but she never let it show. Instead, she used her voice—endlessly asking questions, making up stories, prattling on about anything and everything that garnered no value.

Sometimes it felt like she was just talking to keep herself sane. Other times, she knew it annoyed him. His expression never betrayed it, but she could feel it in the slight hesitation of his blade, the brief clench of his jaw. She lived for those moments.

When she wasn’t being dragged off for another session, Caroline filled her days with her own kind of madness. She celebrated Christmas with a tree drawn in the grime of her cell walls, her birthday with made-up candles on imaginary cakes. She gave herself pep talks for Thanksgiving and imagined a parade for New Year’s. It was ridiculous and desperate, but it was hers.

The neighbouring cells were another source of distraction—though not always a welcome one. The man directly in front of her had snapped a few months ago, decapitating himself with a sharp edge he’d found in his cell. His absence left an unsettling silence that Caroline couldn’t fill no matter how much she talked. The haunted look in his eyes kept her awake for weeks.

The woman to her left, however, was a different story.

At first, the woman had been a source of idle conversation. She’d asked about Caroline's life, her past, why she was here. But over time, her questions grew sharper, more pointed. There was something off about her—a calculated edge beneath her friendly exterior.

“Why are you here, Caroline?” the woman asked one day, her tone light but probing.

Caroline, lying on the cold stone floor, closed her eyes. “They say I’m guilty of something, but I don’t know the crime.”

The woman chuckled, a sound that set Caroline’s teeth on edge. “Come on, you must know what you did. People don’t end up here for nothing.”

“I don’t know,” Caroline repeated firmly, though she felt her patience fraying.

“We’re friends,” the woman pressed. “You can trust me. I won’t tell them.”

Caroline sat up, her tired eyes narrowing. “I said I don’t know.”

The woman fell silent, but her presence lingered like a bad smell. Before Caroline could stew on it further, the sound of heavy boots echoed down the corridor. The door to her cell screeched open, and she knew what was coming.

Another session with Shen Min.

She shot the woman a glare as two guards grabbed her by the arms and hauled her away.

Whatever that woman wanted, Caroline wouldn’t give it to her. She didn’t know what crime had brought her here, but she did know one thing: she wouldn’t break. Not now, not ever.

The heavy iron doors slammed shut behind Caroline as she was dragged through by the guard she’d nicknamed Dick. It wasn’t out of affection, and it certainly wasn’t meant as a joke—it was the only name that seemed to fit his misogynistic, vile demeanor. He’d beaten her countless times and tried to take things further, but Caroline had nearly taken his head off the first time he’d tried. Since then, they’d kept her in chains, but Dick had never missed an opportunity to remind her of his presence, his control, his hatred.

The atmosphere shifted as they crossed a threshold, and Caroline immediately recognised the suffocating, eerie air of Mahal Khafa. She was still within the dimension, though the specific location was unfamiliar. The new cell had an arched entryway, and as Dick shoved her forward, her sharp wit sparked through the haze of exhaustion.

“Oh, look,” she said, gesturing sarcastically to the arch, “this one has an arch. Boy, am I lucky!”

“Shut up, bitch,” Dick snarled, kicking her into the cell.

Caroline stumbled but recovered, turning her middle finger toward him with a dramatic “Oooooh,” which only earned her another sneer and the slamming of the cell door. The loud clang echoed as Caroline laughed to herself, brushing the grime from her chains.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she noticed something. A set of bars on the far side of the cell... and an arm.

“Please tell me there’s someone attached to that arm,” she muttered, shuffling forward, “please, please, please…”

She poked the arm several in rapid succession, which twitched in response. A soft chuckle came from behind the bars, and Caroline leaned in to see a man looking at her, clearly amused.

“I’ve never seen someone so positive and cheery after leaving The Tombs,” the man said, his voice rich with a british accent.

“Oh my, an accent,” Caroline said with a grin.

The man chuckled again, tilting his head. “And I’ve never seen someone with such a sense of humour in a place like this. Who are you gorgeous?”

“Caroline,” she said, smiling despite the ache in her muscles. “And you are?”

“Enzo,” he replied with a smirk.

Caroline’s grin widened. “When’s your birthday, Enzo?”

Enzo raised a brow. “Why do you ask?”

“More things to celebrate,” Caroline said, shrugging. “When is it?”

“August 17th,” he replied after a moment.

“Well, then. Belated happy birthday, Enzo. Well I think anyay.”

“Guess so,” Enzo said, his smirk growing.

Their light exchange was interrupted by distant screams. Caroline cringed, her eyes darting toward the sound, while Enzo mirrored her expression.

“This isn’t The Tombs,” Caroline said, her voice tinged with unease. “What the hell is this place?”

Before Enzo could answer, the familiar sound of heavy boots approached. Dick reappeared, carrying a plastic cup of blood. He walked past Caroline’s cell and handed it to Enzo through the bars, but not before sneering at Caroline.

“Come now,” she called out with mock cheerfulness. “It’s my birthday.”

Dick scoffed, his lip curling.

“No? What about him?” she pressed, motioning toward Enzo. “His birthday was only fifty-four days ago.”

Enzo chuckled softly, though his sharp gaze never left Dick.

Dick stepped closer to Caroline’s cell, holding the cup mockingly. “Here’s your gift,” he said, pouring the blood onto the filthy ground before dropping the empty cup at her feet.

Caroline’s expression hardened.

“You know,” she said, her tone suddenly icy, “I always wondered why you’re still just a guard. All those promotion requests you put in—what was it? Three? Four? Each time rejected… You tell yourself that it’s coming, don’t you? That if you work hard enough, maybe someday you’ll be recognised, uplifted out of this place. But here’s the truth—you’re just as trapped as we are. No one cares about you. You can take it out on us all you want, but it doesn’t change the inadequacy you feel when you look in the mirror and realise you’re not even worth the air you breathe.”

Dick’s face twisted with rage.

“That’s it!” he roared, storming into the cell.

Caroline's vampire features emerged as she gripped her chains tightly, biding her time. The moment he stepped close enough, she swung the heavy chains at his legs, sending him sprawling to the ground with a thud. She used her remaining strength and speed to lunge, gripping his jaw.

With no hesitation, she ripped his head clean from his shoulders, blood splattering across the cell walls. His lifeless body crumpled as Caroline panted, adrenaline coursing through her.

Wasting no time, she grabbed his keys, undid her chains, and unlocked Enzo’s cell.

“We need to go,” she said breathlessly, unlocking his door.

Enzo stepped out, a mix of admiration and urgency in his eyes.

“Lead the way,” he said, his tone serious now.

Caroline nodded, and together, they bolted into the labyrinthine corridors, leaving the bloodied remains of Dick behind.

The heavy oak doors to Tristan’s office slammed open as Aurora strode in, her dress flowing behind her like a storm cloud. Her heels echoed sharply against the polished floor, and her green eyes burned with fury. A guard stationed inside flinched at her sudden entrance but straightened, awaiting instruction.

“What did you do?” Aurora demanded, her voice sharp and unrelenting as she motioned toward the guard. “Leave us.”

The guard hesitated, his eyes darting to Tristan. With a subtle nod, Tristan dismissed him, and the guard exited, closing the door firmly behind him.

Aurora closed the distance between herself and her brother, planting her hands firmly on his desk. “I see you’ve sent your lapdog to torture her.”

Tristan sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Rory…”

“Don’t Rory me!” Aurora snapped. “She’s my friend. She didn’t do this.”

“Rebekah Mikaelson is gone, and so is the boy,” Tristan said coolly, his tone calculated. “They must have had help.”

“I agree, but Caroline wouldn’t have even known of Rebekah or the boy’s existence!” Aurora shot back, her voice rising in frustration.

Tristan’s gaze darkened. “I sent Angus to watch her, Rory. He was found dead in a dumpster with his heart removed.”

Aurora crossed her arms, glaring. “That could’ve been Rebekah. She’s perfectly capable of killing Angus if it means securing the boy. You know that as well as I do.”

“Until Caroline Forbes is cleared, she will remain in The Tombs,” Tristan said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Before Aurora could respond, a sharp knock echoed through the room.

“Enter,” Tristan called.

The door opened, and Vasil entered, holding a dossier in his hands. He strode forward, bowing briefly before speaking. “My lord, here is a list of servants who had access to the boy. The servants highlighted in green have confirmed alibis; the others do not.”

Tristan took the dossier and began scanning the list, his eyes narrowing at the names marked in amber. “What do these mean?” he asked, gesturing at the highlighted sections.

“The names in amber represent individuals with alibis that have yet to be confirmed,” Vasil explained. “I cross-referenced authorisations from The Wardens with issued timetables and tracked down the alibis individually.”

“What else have you gathered?” Tristan pressed, his tone clipped.

Vasil shook his head. “Other than this, nothing concrete.”

The door opened again, and Aya and Shen Min entered the room, their expressions grim. Aya was the first to speak, her voice curt and focused. “Caroline Forbes escaped while being moved to The Labs. She killed a guard and freed another prisoner in the process.”

Tristan’s gaze snapped to Shen Min. “Did you extract any information before this?”

Shen Min’s face was unreadable as he answered, “No, my Lord.”

Aurora let out a scoff and shook her head in disbelief. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Well, I’m going to find her. If you want this handled properly, it’s clear I’m the only one capable of doing so.”

“Vasil,” Tristan said before she could leave. “Go with her.”

Vasil bowed and nodded before following Aurora out the door.

Aya remained, her lips pressed into a thin line as she approached Tristan’s desk. “You knew this farce would’ve only lasted so long,” she said. “Now that she’s escaped, it’s only a matter of time before they know we’re onto him.”

Tristan met her gaze evenly. “They most likely suspected all along.”

Aya straightened, her expression grim. “I’ll find Caroline Forbes and bring her back to heel.”

Tristan gave her a curt nod, and Aya left the room, her steps purposeful and swift.

Shen Min lingered, his face thoughtful. “You were there for six years, and you got nothing?” Tristan asked, his voice tinged with annoyance as he poured himself a glass of whiskey and then offered one to Shen Min.

Shen Min accepted the glass and answered, “She has a very stubborn and insolent attitude, my Lord. It wouldn’t have mattered if we were there for ten times that duration—she wouldn’t have cracked.”

Tristan sighed and took a sip of his drink. “It’s all coming to a point now,” he muttered.

“May I speak freely, my Lord?” Shen Min asked, his tone cautious but firm.

Tristan nodded, swirling his whiskey in his glass.

“I don’t think it’s worth keeping him alive,” Shen Min said, his voice low but resolute.

Tristan’s gaze turned steely. “As of now, only Aya, yourself and I know of his betrayal. However, we need to see the extent of his treachery first. He’ll be dead before long, but not yet.”

Shen Min nodded in understanding, the two men sharing a moment of silent agreement as they drank their whiskey, their thoughts heavy with what was to come.

Caroline and Enzo moved through the dense forest at vampiric speed, weaving between towering trees and leaping over fallen branches. The air was cool, tinged with the dampness of ash and soil. Ahead, the faint outline of the lighthouse loomed, a beacon of hope on the horizon.

Caroline’s sharp ears caught distant shouts carried on the wind. “Caroline Forbes!” came the calls, desperate and furious.

She smirked, whispering to Enzo as they continued their flight. “As if I’m going to suddenly shout, ‘Over here!’”

Enzo gave a quiet chuckle but kept his focus forward. “What’s the play, then?”

Caroline hesitated, her eyes darting between him and the shadows stretching across their path. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice edged with tension as she cast him a wary glance.

Enzo stopped abruptly, grabbing her arm roughly, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You cannot be serious! We have the cavalry at our backs, and you’re pulling this now?”

Caroline wrenched her arm free, glaring. “I don’t know if I can trust you, Enzo.”

His expression darkened, frustration mingling with disbelief. “You’re questioning my loyalty while they’re hunting us?”

Before either could say more, a faint whizzing sound cut through the air. Suddenly, both gasped in pain as vervain darts embedded in their necks. Caroline’s vision blurred almost immediately, the powerful toxin searing through her veins.

She dropped to her knees, her limbs sluggish, her body betraying her as unconsciousness pulled her under. The last thing she saw was Enzo collapsing beside her, his hand still outstretched toward her. From the bushes, camouflaged figures emerged. A familiar voice echoed through her fading awareness. “Secure them both. Quickly.”

Darkness engulfed them both.

Aurora stormed through the dark halls of the castle, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor as Vasil hurried to keep pace. Her face was a mask of fury, her eyes blazing with determination.

“My Lady…” Vasil began, but Aurora didn’t acknowledge him, striding purposefully into her quarters.

Once inside, she tore a painting from the wall, revealing a concealed compartment behind it. Without hesitation, she pulled out a series of boxes, tossing them onto the floor. She opened one with deft fingers, revealing an exquisitely crafted bow and a set of deadly arrows.

“We are going hunting,” she declared, her voice as sharp as the blade of a dagger.

Vasil frowned, watching as she slung the quiver over her shoulder. “You think you’ll find her so easily? Caroline Forbes may be young, but she is not a fool.”

Aurora spun to face him, her bow in hand, her expression cold. “And you think I am?”

He stiffened but held his ground.

She didn’t wait for a reply, striding past him and out of the room. “She will be found sooner rather than later.”

Vasil followed her as she marched into the woods, the moonlight filtering through the canopy above. Shadows danced across their faces as Aurora scanned the terrain, every muscle in her body tense with purpose.

“Do you think she did it?” Aurora asked abruptly, her tone icy yet demanding.

“My Lady, I am not at liberty—”

She whirled on him, her eyes narrowing. “You are at liberty if I say you are. Now, do you think she did it?”

Vasil hesitated, his jaw tightening. “No. I don’t think she did.”

In a flash, Aurora grabbed him by the collar, slamming him against a nearby tree with inhuman strength. Her grip tightened around his throat, choking off his air, and she ripped an arrow from her quiver, pressing the sharp tip against his neck.

“What are you hiding?” she hissed, her voice low and dangerous.

“I think…” Vasil croaked, gasping for breath as she drove the arrow slightly deeper. “I think we’re doing this wrong.”

Aurora’s grip tightened, her nails digging into his neck. “Elaborate. Quickly.”

“Caroline Forbes will be found,” he rasped, blood trickling from the edge of the arrow's cut. “But regardless of whether it’s us or them, Tristan will just throw her back into The Tombs.”

Aurora’s eyes flickered with hesitation for the briefest moment. “So what’s your point?”

“We need to prove her innocence,” Vasil continued, his voice hoarse. “That’s the only way we can ensure she won’t go back there.”

Aurora stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then, with a sharp motion, she released her grip and stepped back. Vasil coughed, clutching his neck, but straightened quickly.

“How do we do that?” Aurora demanded, her tone softer but no less commanding.

Vasil met her gaze, his own determined. “We need to find out who really organised the escape.”

Aurora’s jaw clenched, and she nodded once. “Do you have any ideas?”

Vasil smirked and nodded.

Caroline groaned as consciousness returned, her vision blurry. She blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the dimly lit room. Enzo’s voice, edged with worry, cut through the haze.

“Caroline, wake up.”

She squinted, the dim light resolving into two familiar figures standing a short distance away. Her heart sank as she realized where they were. The faint smell of herbs and old wood confirmed her suspicions. She was in the basement of Batima’s shop.

Caroline pushed herself upright and forced a strained smile. “Hello again, Naveeda,” she said, her voice dry as sandpaper.

Enzo, still behind the bars of his cell, shot her a sharp glance. “You know them?”

Caroline nodded, her body stiff from the lingering effects of the vervain. “What’s going on?”

Genevieve’s sharp voice interrupted. “You weren’t supposed to be out right now. And who is this?” She pointed at Enzo with a cold glare.

Caroline gestured toward Enzo, her exhaustion barely concealed. “This is Enzo. I busted us out of that lovely vacation spot, as you might imagine. And as for why I’m out, I saw an opportunity and took it.” She rubbed her temples. “You can let us out now.”

Genevieve crossed her arms. “No.”

Caroline frowned. “No?”

Genevieve’s voice hardened. “You’re a wanted fugitive in a closed dimension. It’s only a matter of time before you’re found. Not to mention your uncanny ability to trust people who shouldn’t be trusted.” She gestured at Enzo. “He could be a spy, and now he’s seen all our faces. I’m not taking any more chances.”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed. “Genevieve…”

Genevieve interrupted, her tone brooking no argument. “No, Caroline. Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going back to the Tombs until we’re ready to get you out, and he needs to be taken care of.”

Enzo’s eyes darkened, and before Caroline could react, he grabbed her, shoving his hand into her chest. His grip closed around her heart, making her gasp in pain and collapse to her knees.

“No, this isn’t how this is going down,” Enzo growled. His voice was ice and steel. “You will include me in whatever’s going on and ensure my life. If you don’t…” He squeezed her heart slightly, eliciting a groan from her.

“Enzo…” Caroline gasped, her hand gripping his wrist as her knees buckled.

Genevieve raised her hand, beginning a pain spell, but Enzo only chuckled. “I’ve been tortured for nearly a century, darling. You’ll have to do better than that.”

Caroline wheezed, her voice strained but steady. “Enzo, listen to me. If you kill me, you won’t leave this cell alive. And even if you somehow did, my friends would never stop hunting you. But work with me, and you’ll have my friendship—and your freedom. I look after my friends, Enzo.”

He hesitated, his grip loosening slightly. “If I release you, I’m dead.”

“Genevieve, after what’s happened, the plan has changed,” Caroline said, locking eyes with the witch. “I need Enzo onside. And, Enzo, the only way Genevieve can get what she wants most is through me—and that means through you.”

Genevieve scoffed. “You’re not in charge anymore.”

Enzo’s grip tightened again, Caroline coughing blood this time.

“He will kill me, Genevieve! And with my death goes everything you want. I have a plan, but you need to listen.”

Genevieve’s jaw clenched. “What plan?”

Caroline’s voice cracked. “One that requires Enzo to release my heart and you to stand down.”

Enzo sneered. “Fine.” He released her heart, but before Caroline could catch her breath, his hand moved to her jaw. “I let go of her heart, but I can still rip off her head. Now, Genevieve, stand down.”

Genevieve hesitated but relented with a nod.

Caroline gasped, her body trembling. “The problem Genevieve and I have is that we don’t know if we can trust you, Enzo. But Genevieve can verify your story—if you agree to a mind invasion spell.”

Enzo tensed. “And if I don’t?”

“Kill me now,” Caroline said flatly. “Because I won’t work with another traitor and neither will she. So, Do you accept the terms?”

He searched her eyes, then nodded reluctantly. “Fine. I accept the terms.”

Caroline turned to Genevieve and Naveeda. “Do you both accept the terms?”

Genevieve looked at Naveeda who nodded before unlocking the cell door..

“No fast movements, please,” Caroline cautioned.

Genevieve approached Enzo, her expression grim. “Kneel. This is going to hurt.”

Enzo knelt reluctantly, and Caroline held him steady. As Genevieve began the spell, Enzo screamed in pain, thrashing against Caroline’s grip.

Finally, Genevieve withdrew her hands. “He’s telling the truth.”

Enzo lunged toward Genevieve, but Caroline restrained him, her voice firm. “Easy, Enzo. Easy.” His glare softened slightly, and Caroline released him.

She straightened, wiping blood from her mouth and adjusting her hair. “Now, let’s talk business.”

Caroline sat on the edge of a worn wooden chair, her trembling hands gripping the fabric of her jacket. The dim room felt suffocating, her breath shallow as her mind betrayed her with flashes of the horrors she had endured. She could still feel it—her flesh being sliced open, the sickening crackle as flames seared her skin, the metallic clink of chains rattling against stone as she was restrained. The phantom pain crawled through her body, her nerves screaming with remembered agony.

Her chest tightened, and the sound of her own ragged breathing filled her ears. The chains. Always the chains. They were cold and unyielding, biting into her wrists and ankles as if to mock her futile struggles. She could still hear the distant laughter of her captors, the cruel whispers that cut deeper than the blades.

Focus. She gritted her teeth, forcing the memories to the back of her mind. The room around her came back into focus—its simple furnishings, the muted voices of the others nearby. She clenched her fists, feeling her nails bite into her palms, grounding herself with the sharp sensation.

She wasn’t there anymore. She was alive. She was free. Barely.

Caroline straightened her back and inhaled deeply, the trembling in her hands stilled by sheer force of will. She tied her much-longer hair into a tight bun, her motions steady and deliberate. Her reflection in the cracked mirror by the wall caught her eye. Her pale skin bore the faintest hint of color, and though her eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, they gleamed with something deeper—determination. She wasn’t about to let her past dictate her future.

Enzo leaned casually against the table across from her. His freshly laundered clothes, though slightly oversized, were free of the grime and blood that had been their constant companions. He watched her in silence for a moment, a flicker of admiration in his dark eyes.

“I’m impressed,” Enzo said, his voice carrying a note of sincerity.

Caroline’s eyes flicked to him. “All until I trusted the wrong people. But that’s in the past. We have pressing business now. Our lives. We’re fugitives.”

Naveeda stood near the doorway, glancing at the clock nervously. “Batima will be back in just under an hour. You have to go soon.”

Genevieve paced by the wall, her expression tight. “Where can they go? The Strix won’t stop until they’ve found her. We can’t wait out the storm.”

“They have to run or hide somewhere!” Naveeda argued.

Caroline turned sharply, her gaze lit with determination. “No, we don’t.” Enzo raised an eyebrow as Caroline’s expression shifted, the weight of an idea dawning on her. “Running will only delay the inevitable,” Caroline said, her voice firm. “We need to prove my innocence.”

“And if you do?” Enzo crossed his arms. “What’s stopping the Strix from hauling me back to Augustine?”

Caroline’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Tristan made a promise to me and broke it. That’s leverage. I can use that to negotiate for your release—permanently.” She grabbed her jacket and slung it over her shoulder. “That’s our only play.”

Genevieve stepped forward, her arms folded. “Where are we going to go?”

Caroline met her gaze. “You need to be as boring and as unremarkable as you can. I need to go to the Wardens. I need timetables, logs—anything that gives me a loophole to exploit.”

Genevieve hesitated. “Vasil came to me earlier. He said they’re looking to frame Anwar, Mohinder’s second-in-command.”

Caroline’s brow furrowed. “Then we use that. Vasil’s overconfidence may be the edge we need.”

She moved toward the door, but Naveeda stepped in front of her. “Wait!”

“What is it?” Caroline asked impatiently.

“Anwar’s servant is Youssef Ali. If they’re targeting Anwar, you’ll need to find Youssef.” Naveeda’s tone was urgent. “And you’ll need someone who knows their way around the Warden’s database. Aisha Karimi—she’s a genius with computers. You’ll find her working in the kitchens in the East Wing. There’s an entrance to it through the east courtyard.”

Caroline gave her a nod, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “Thank you, Naveeda.” She turned to Enzo, who raised an eyebrow in amusement. “What you do is up to you,” Caroline said, her tone daring him to step up.

Enzo smirked. “The more help you get, the better, gorgeous. Let’s get moving.”

Caroline opened the door, Genevieve and Enzo following closely behind. Naveeda lingered for a moment, her expression a mix of worry and resolve, before locking the door behind them. The clock ticked on, but for Caroline, time was already running out.

The city lights of New Orleans blurred into streaks of gold and white as Rebekah Mikaelson vamped through the streets, her legs burning with the strain of the journey. Every muscle in her body screamed for rest, but she couldn’t stop now—not when she was so close. Exhaustion clawed at her, her steps growing heavier with each passing block, but she pushed forward.

The humans she drained along the way were an unfortunate necessity. Their blood coursed through her veins, keeping her strong enough to continue, though the guilt lingered in the back of her mind like a faint shadow. She shoved it aside. Survival was more important than sentiment right now.

Her thoughts raced faster than her feet. What would she tell Nik? She couldn’t tell him the truth—that she betrayed Caroline and Genevieve. If he discovered her hand in their fates, he wouldn’t stop until she was punished and daggered for centuries. But if she spun the narrative carefully, if she redirected his rage toward The Strix, she might just escape with her head and freedom intact.

Caroline. Rebekah’s jaw clenched at the thought. She never particularly liked the girl, and they had clashed more often than not. Yet, she couldn’t deny there was something about Caroline—her stubborn loyalty, her unyielding humanity, her capacity to inspire devotion. Rebekah couldn’t fathom why Nik had fallen for her, but perhaps she could understand how.

It didn’t matter now. Caroline was dead. She had to stay dead.

The familiar humid air of New Orleans wrapped around her as she slowed her pace. The French Quarter was within reach, the cobblestones and wrought-iron balconies bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. But she needed to steady herself. Think. Plan. She veered toward the first bar she spotted, a dimly lit dive tucked into a quiet corner.

Inside, Marcel’s vampires lounged, their loud voices and careless laughter cutting through the haze of alcohol and cigarette smoke. Rebekah stepped in, her heels clicking against the sticky floor as she drew their attention.

“Tell me the quickest way to the French Quarter,” she demanded, her voice sharp and unyielding.

The nearest vampire, a cocky brunette with a smirk too wide for his face, leaned back in his chair. “You’ve got legs, don’t you sweetheart? Use ‘em.”

Laughter erupted around the table, but it died the instant Rebekah blurred forward, her hand gripping the brunet’s throat like a vice.

“I asked nicely,” she hissed, her accent cutting through the room like a blade.

Another vampire lunged at her, and in one swift motion, Rebekah ripped off his head in an instant and turned to dispatch the others. Chairs crashed, tables splintered, and bottles shattered as she moved like a storm through the room. One by one, she killed them all, their lifeless bodies crumpling to the floor.

She stood amidst the wreckage, brushing stray locks of her hair from her face. Without another glance at the mess she’d left, she walked out and headed straight for the Quarter.

When she finally reached her brother’s townhouse, her exhaustion had reached its peak, but she kept moving. The faint light spilling from the windows gave her a flicker of hope. She didn’t knock—there was no time for pleasantries. Rebekah kicked the door open, the wood splintering beneath the force of her blow.

The house was quiet, the scent of oil paint and bourbon clinging to the air. Paintings adorned the walls, their colours muted in the dim lighting.

A figure emerged, but it wasn’t Nik. A tall, thin man in a neatly pressed suit appeared from the shadows, his expression startled but composed. The butler.

“Miss Mikaelson,” he stammered. “You—”

Rebekah cut him off, storming past him toward the nearest shelf, where a bottle of bourbon sat waiting. She grabbed it, uncorked it with one motion, and downed half of it in one go.

She slammed the bottle on a nearby table, her piercing blue eyes locking on the butler. “Where are my brothers?” she demanded, her voice cold and commanding. “Where is Niklaus? And Elijah?”

The butler hesitated, his mouth opening and closing as though searching for the right words.

“Speak now!” she barked, her voice echoing through the townhouse.

And then the room went silent, the tension hanging thick in the air as she awaited his answer.

The darkened streets of the town were eerily quiet, save for the occasional rush of footsteps or muffled voices. Caroline and Enzo stayed low, weaving through alleys and shadows as Strix vampires poured into the woods, their focus split between the forest and the town. The blue emergency signal blazed overhead like a beacon, casting an ominous glow on the surroundings.

Caroline crept toward a corner, her sharp hearing picking up voices just around the bend. She hesitated, her instincts screaming to retreat, but before she could act, Enzo grabbed her arm and yanked her back into the shadows.

“Don’t go rushing to your death, sweetheart,” Enzo whispered, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Caroline scowled at him but didn’t argue. They waited for the patrol to pass, their footsteps fading into the distance. With a shared nod, they slipped out and continued toward their destination.

The east courtyard loomed ahead, bathed in the dim glow of flickering lanterns. They could see the kitchen entrance just across the open space. It was quiet, but not deserted—Caroline’s vampire vision picked up five figures inside, moving about the room.

“This is it,” Caroline whispered as they crouched near the doorway. “We need to get Aisha out without raising an alarm.”

Enzo smirked. “Subtlety isn’t my strong suit, love.”

Before Caroline could protest, Enzo stood and walked boldly into the kitchen, his vampire face on full display.

“You know what I am,” he growled, his voice carrying authority and menace. “Everyone into that corner quiety. Any sudden moves and you die.”

Caroline gasped as chaos erupted in the small kitchen. Pots clanged to the floor, and the workers whimpered as they scrambled to obey, pressing themselves into the farthest corner of the room. Enzo loomed over them, his presence oppressive, compelling each one silently and systematically to remain compliant.

Caroline stepped forward, her jaw tight. “Can Aisha Karimi step forward? Our quarrel isn’t with you. Please.”

A trembling woman hesitantly stepped out of the group, her hands clutching her apron as though it might shield her from danger.

“Are you Aisha?” Caroline asked gently.

Before the woman could speak, Enzo’s voice cut through the tension. “You may speak to answer any questions my friend and I ask,” he said smoothly, compelling her.

“Yes,” Aisha said robotically, her eyes wide with fear. “I’m Aisha Karimi.”

Caroline nodded, relief flooding her. “We can compel them all to forget this happened,” she began, glancing toward Enzo. “But if they’ve been compelled before, we’ll need a witch to—”

Her sentence was cut short as Enzo moved like lightning. His hand shot out, snapping the neck of the nearest worker. In an instant, knives flew, and the remaining workers collapsed to the ground, their lifeless bodies sprawled across the floor.

“Why did you do that?!” Caroline whisper-shouted, her voice a mix of horror and fury.

Aisha stood frozen, her body shaking violently as tears streamed down her face.

Enzo turned to Caroline, a dark smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Because I’m a murderous vampire,” he said flatly. “Surprise.”

Caroline’s fists clenched, her glare cutting through the tension like a blade. “You didn’t have to kill them.”

“I did, and you know it… Oh don’t look so judgy,” Enzo replied, unfazed by her anger. He grabbed Aisha by the arm, pulling her roughly toward the door. “Lead the way, sweetheart. Or do you want to stand here and chat until the Strix show up?”

Caroline’s eyes flashed with fury as she stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on Aisha’s shoulder. “You’re okay,” she said gently, her voice soothing. “We’re not going to harm you.” She compelled Aisha with care, though the woman’s quiet sobs persisted.

Enzo rolled his eyes. “You’re wasting time.”

Caroline glared at him but bit back a retort. “Let’s go,” she said coldly, ushering Aisha out of the kitchen as they slipped back into the shadows.

The butler stood at attention, his back rigid as Rebekah glared at him. Her patience was wearing thin, and the exhaustion from her journey was doing nothing to temper her mood.

“Mr. Klaus is in his art studio, Miss Mikaelson,” the butler replied with forced composure. “Mr. Elijah is away on business.”

Rebekah narrowed her eyes. “What business?”

“Business,” the butler repeated, his tone deliberately vague.

“Elijah doesn’t just disappear on business.” Her voice sharpened, her anger bubbling to the surface. “Which means Niklaus has done something dastardly and… Klaus-like.” She turned away, storming toward the nearest doorway and shouting, “Klaus! Get out here and tell me what you've done with our brother, you narcissistic, back-stabbing wanker!”

A pair of double doors swung open with an audible creak, and Klaus emerged, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. He held a paintbrush in one hand, its tip flecked with crimson oil paint, his smock loosely tied around his waist.

“Enough with all the shouting,” Klaus drawled, his blue eyes gleaming. “Little sister, I should have known. I assume the six dead vampires were your doing?”

Rebekah crossed her arms, unapologetic. “They were very rude.”

“Were they now?” Klaus arched a brow, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“They were trying to victimize a poor, innocent girl just trying to find her way to the Quarter.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “So sorry—were they friends of yours? Oh, that’s right, you don’t have any friends.”

Klaus smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I do have friends. I have Marcel. You remember him, don’t you? Yes, of course you do.” His smile grew wolfish. “He fancies himself the King of the Quarter now, and he has these tedious rules about killing vampires. It’ll be fun to see what sort of punishment he comes up with for you.”

Rebekah rolled her eyes. “I don’t care about Marcel or his rules. Elijah doesn’t just disappear. What did you do to him?”

Klaus gave a nonchalant shrug, stepping further into the room. “Perhaps he’s on holiday… or taking a long summer nap upstairs.” His grin turned taunting. “Well, go on. Take a look around. You remember this house as well as I.”

Rebekah, who had started toward the staircase with every intention of searching for her missing brother, froze mid-step. Slowly, she turned back to Klaus, her eyes narrowing. “I remember everything.”

The weight of her words lingered in the air, and for a moment, Klaus’s casual mask slipped, replaced by a flicker of unease.

“I wonder,” she continued, her voice low and dangerous, “do you?”

The dim light of the Warden’s office control room cast long shadows across the room as Caroline, Enzo, and Aisha worked against the clock. Caroline’s hands flew over the filing cabinets, her sharp eyes scanning the labels for anything that could help. The tension in the air was palpable, and even the smallest sound seemed deafening.

Enzo, standing near the cameras, kept his gaze sharp, flicking between the feeds. His figure exuded menace as he glanced over at Caroline. “You’re cutting it close, darling.”

“Close is the only option we’ve got,” Caroline shot back, her voice low but tense. She turned to Aisha, who sat nervously in front of the computer, fingers hovering uncertainly over the keyboard. “Aisha, you can speak freely, but you cannot alert anyone to us or our presence. Do you understand?”

Aisha nodded shakily but didn’t speak.

“Good,” Caroline said, softening her tone slightly before pressing. “We need everything you can find. Get us into the system.”

Aisha hesitated. “That’s a lot of data. It’s going to take time.”

“You have five minutes,” Caroline replied sharply. She turned to Enzo, her patience wearing thin.

Enzo, smirking, leaned down to Aisha’s level. In one swift movement, he spun her chair toward him. “You’re going to do what she asks,” he said in a low, dangerous voice, his vampire face coming to the surface. “If you send for help or alert anyone of our presence, I promise they won’t find your body.” He straightened, the threat hanging heavy in the air as Aisha gulped and turned back to the computer.

Caroline glared at Enzo. “Really? Was that necessary?”

“Quite,” Enzo replied, unfazed. “You’re welcome.”

Caroline sighed and returned to the filing cabinets. She flipped through folders, pulling out her own file and then one marked Lorenzo St. John. “Is this you?” she asked, glancing at Enzo.

“That would be me,” he said with a faint smirk, his tone dipping into sadness. “It’s been over a century, give or take.”

Caroline looked at him for a moment, her expression softening. “For me, it’s only been six years,” she said quietly. “I can’t imagine a century.”

She moved to the next file and froze. Her hand trembled as she flipped through the pages of a file labeled Tyler Lockwood. The image inside—a photograph of Tyler’s mutilated body with the word FILTH written in blood—made her stomach twist. Her grief surged, but she forced herself to swallow it down. This wasn’t the time for tears. If she could bring Bonnie back, she’d bring Tyler back too. She had to.

“Four minutes,” Enzo called, snapping her back to the moment.

Caroline nodded and called over to Aisha, “One minute left!”

Aisha shook her head. “I need better equipment—this is going to take more time.”

“We don’t have that luxury,” Caroline said firmly, but then froze as her gaze flicked to the camera feed. On one screen, Aurora and Vasil were entering the Warden’s office entrance. Her heart sank.

“Enzo,” she whispered, pointing at the screen. He looked and groaned, already moving toward the door to barricade it.

“They’re early,” he muttered, grabbing stakes from a supply locker.

Caroline turned to Aisha. “We have seconds before they’re in here. You need to hurry.”

“I need at least two more minutes, or this is all for nothing!” Aisha replied, her voice rising in panic.

Caroline and Enzo exchanged a look. “Fine,” Enzo said, grabbing a few stakes and starting to position barriers against the door. “But if they get through, don’t expect me to hold back.”

“No killing them,” Caroline snapped. “We need them alive, or we’re dead.”

Enzo gave her an incredulous look but said nothing as he continued fortifying the room. Meanwhile, Caroline activated the security barriers on the entrance, locking Aurora and Vasil inside reception.

On the camera feed, Aurora tilted her head and smiled, her eyes locking with the lens. “Hello, Little Dove,” her voice crackled through the speakers.

Caroline’s stomach dropped as Vasil began slamming against the barrier, the vibrations rippling through the walls. She turned to the comms and pressed the button. “Hello, Rora.”

Aurora smirked. “Let us in, Caroline. We can help you.”

Caroline’s jaw clenched. “The best thing you can do for me is back off.”

Aurora’s expression darkened. “I’m your best chance at getting out of this alive.”

Caroline glanced at the download bar—65%. Aisha held up one trembling finger. One more minute.

Caroline took a deep breath and spoke through the comms again. “I’ll take my chances.”

Aurora’s smile vanished, and she aimed her bow at the camera. With one shot, the screen went black.

“They’re coming,” Enzo warned as he tipped over a heavy locker to block the doors. “What’s the plan?”

“Buy time,” Caroline said, grabbing more equipment and smashing the remaining screens. “No evidence.”

The sound of breaking doors echoed through the building as Aurora and Vasil made their way closer. Aisha’s voice trembled as she called out, “I’ve got it!” She disconnected the laptop and held up a thumb drive. “It’s all here.”

“Let’s go!” Caroline grabbed the files she had taken, and Enzo scooped Aisha into his arms. They leapt through the window just as the final barricade fell.

By the time Aurora and Vasil stormed into the control room, Caroline, Enzo, and Aisha had disappeared into the woods. The room was a wreck, the equipment smashed, the files gone. Aurora stood in the wreckage, her fury simmering beneath her calm façade.

“She’s getting smarter,” Aurora muttered, tightening her grip on her bow.

“They clearly were here to exonerate Caroline,” Vasil said. “It’s only a matter of time until we find out where they are headed next.”

The tension in the room was palpable as Rebekah stormed through the Mikaelson townhouse, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. Her fingers twitched as she glanced at Klaus, a small, twisted part of her craving to tell him the truth—that she was the one responsible for Caroline’s death. The thought of seeing the devastation on his face, the realisation that his beloved sister had been the one to kill the person he loved like he did hers countless times, was tempting. But she knew better. That revelation would earn her centuries in a coffin, daggered and forgotten. She had to keep her cool.

Instead, she directed her anger toward steering Klaus in the direction of The Strix. It was the only way to deflect suspicion and keep her own secrets buried.

Klaus, watching her closely, raised an eyebrow. “Where are you going?”

Rebekah whirled on him, her glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Didn’t you just tell me to look for Elijah’s daggered corpse? Or the fact that our daggered brother is the very founder of our family’s imminent threat? Or that you so flippantly throw away familial ties for your own ends!”

Klaus’s eyes narrowed, his tone suspicious. “What do you know of The Strix?”

“That they attacked me, Nik. Daggered me and kept me in a coffin.” Her glare darkened, her voice dripping with venom. “Sounds familiar?” She turned on her heel and ascended the staircase, her anger radiating off her like a storm.

“How did you get free?” Klaus asked, his suspicion growing with every word.

“I got lucky,” Rebekah snapped, not looking back. She hesitated briefly before adding, “Someone who shouldn’t have freed me and didn’t realise their mistake until I got out.” She kept her tone steady, sticking as close to the truth as she dared. Lies would only trip her up.

Klaus’s gaze hardened, his voice low and probing. “Where are they?”

“It’s not that simple.” Rebekah stopped halfway up the stairs, gripping the bannister. Her frustration boiled over, and she let some of it show. “The Strix were in a separate world—a dimension. There are no entries or exits unless they create them. They have witches strong enough to incapacitate me and create a dagger that can take down an Original!” Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the fear and frustration she truly felt.

Klaus studied her, his expression unreadable but his suspicion evident. He gave a small nod, seemingly satisfied for now, and Rebekah continued her ascent. She paused on the first landing, though, when she heard his voice again.

“Did you see anyone that you recognised there?”

His tone was soft—too soft for Klaus. It was uncharacteristically measured, almost... hopeful. Rebekah froze, understanding immediately who he was really asking about. Caroline. The name didn’t leave his lips, but it didn’t have to. The vulnerability in his question made her heart tighten. She knew what he was hoping for, but she couldn’t let him know the truth.

Rebekah turned to face him, keeping her expression neutral. “I saw Aya,” she said carefully. “Elijah’s protégé from the late 11th century. Other than that, nobody else.”

Klaus nodded slowly, his face firm, though she caught the faint flicker of disappointment and fear in his eyes. He turned away without another word.

“Where are you going?” she called after him, her frustration bubbling to the surface again.

Klaus smirked over his shoulder. “Getting changed and then going out for a drink. I’ll send your regards to Marcel.”

Rebekah let out a furious scream, grabbing a nearby vase and hurling it at the wall by his head. The porcelain shattered, pieces flying in every direction. Klaus’s smirk only widened, and with a chuckle, he disappeared down the hallway, leaving Rebekah seething in his wake.

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she stared at the fragments of the vase on the floor. She needed to keep him focused and furious on The Strix. That was the only way to protect herself—and to ensure that Klaus never uncovered the full truth.

The castle loomed against the backdrop of the crimson sky as Aurora and Vasil trudged through the gates, their steps heavy with frustration and exhaustion. The trail had gone cold hours ago, and Aurora’s fury simmered like a volcano on the brink of eruption. Every step she took felt like a blow to her pride. Caroline had eluded her. Worse, Caroline had chosen not to trust her. Aurora repeated in her mind that Caroline’s betrayal didn’t matter. She was just another pawn. And yet, the knot of anger in her chest refused to loosen.

Vasil trailed behind her in silence, his calculating eyes scanning their surroundings as they entered the main hall. Aurora stormed up the stairs and made her way toward her quarters, but something caught her attention. Tristan’s voice. She paused, her sharp ears picking up the conversation.

Tristan stood at the entrance to his quarters, flanked by Shen Min and several guards. Aya approached him, carrying a stack of files.

“The information you requested, my lord,” Aya said crisply, handing over the documents.

Tristan flicked through the papers with an impatient sigh, his lips thinning as he snapped the file shut and narrowed his eyes at Aya. “Find her.”

Aya hesitated. “She is nowhere to be found, my lord. All the evidence we’ve uncovered is before you.”

“Find her. Now,” Tristan growled, his voice icy enough to chill the air. Aya bowed, quickly motioning to five other vampires as they left to resume the search.

Aurora smirked darkly as she walked toward Tristan, her high heeled boots clicking against the stone floor, with Vasil close behind her.

“Well, isn’t this entertaining, beloved brother?” Aurora’s voice dripped with sarcasm, masking the whirlwind of emotions threatening to surface.

Tristan sighed, waving off most of the guards until only Shen Min and two others remained. “Let’s take this conversation inside,” he muttered, opening the door to his quarters.

As the door creaked open, everyone froze in shock.

Caroline was seated at the grand dining table, a goblet of blood in one hand, casually cutting into a cherry pie. The table was cluttered with plates of food: fries drowned in ketchup, cinnamon buns, chocolate milkshakes, and empty pitchers of blood. Across from her sat Enzo, devouring a steak and sipping bourbon as if he were at a fine restaurant. Between them, they shared the cherry pie, Enzo stealing a piece from Caroline’s plate.

“Pie stealer!” Caroline gasped in mock outrage, her hand flying to her chest as though she’d been gravely insulted.

Enzo smirked, unfazed. “You snooze, you lose, love.”

The shock on Tristan’s face was mirrored by Aurora, Vasil, and the remaining guards. Even Shen Min’s stoic expression faltered for a fraction of a second. Caroline, utterly unfazed, raised her goblet with a sly smirk.

“What a wonderful idea, Tristan. I’ll start,” Caroline said, her voice dripping with amusement as she toasted to their arrival.

Enzo followed suit, raising his bourbon glass with a smirk of his own. “Cheers, mate.”

Chapter Text

The atmosphere in Tristan’s quarters was suffocating, charged with unspoken tension. Shen Min stepped forward, ready to attack Caroline, but Tristan raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks. Aurora’s narrowed eyes burned with anger, the intensity of her emotions almost palpable in the room.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Tristan’s voice, though calm, carried a dangerous edge, betraying his simmering anger.

Caroline, unfazed, leaned back in her chair and gestured to the table before her. “To clear the air,” she said, plucking another French fry from the plate in front of her. “Given the manhunt, this was the one place you wouldn’t turn inside out trying to find Enzo and me. Please, sit.”

Tristan regarded her with a mixture of intrigue and caution, his lips pressing into a thin line. After a moment’s pause, he moved to the head of the table and sat. The others followed his lead, save for the guards who stood vigil behind him.

“Whatever you think you’re doing, Caroline,” Tristan said, his voice low, “you will not succeed.”

“I’m not here for anything unreasonable,” Caroline replied, her tone casual as she cut another piece of cherry pie. Her unshakable composure seemed to irritate everyone in the room, yet it commanded a grudging respect. “Before we go any further, let me introduce everyone. You know me, of course. Caroline Forbes. And this is Lorenzo St. John.” She motioned to Enzo, who inclined his head with a smirk. “At the end of the table is Aisha Karimi, and on the floor is Mariam Begum. Now, as for why I’m here—it’s to settle everything, once and for all.”

Aurora, her expression a volatile mix of fury and something Caroline couldn’t identify, picked up a goblet of wine that had been placed in front of her and took her seat. “Go on then,” she said coldly.

Caroline nodded to Aisha, who began typing rapidly on a laptop before passing it over. Caroline took the device and slid it across the table to Tristan. “You already know I’m not guilty of the mess you’ve blamed me for,” she said, her voice steady. “This file contains everything you need to prove that Anwar is the real culprit. But let’s not kid ourselves—you’ve already pieced that together. No, the reason I spent six years in The Tombs wasn’t because of my guilt. It was because you needed time. Time to uncover how far the leak goes. Shame that only translated to less than a day here but A for Effort.”

Tristan scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Why should I entertain this farce?”

“Because you gave me your word,” Caroline shot back, her tone firm. “You promised to hear me out if I restored the castle. Then you broke it.”

Tristan leaned back in his chair, studying her with narrowed eyes. “You want your freedom.”

“That’s the price you pay for breaking your promise,” Caroline said coolly. “I’ll finish restoring the castle and preparing the ball. But the deal now includes granting Enzo his freedom and ensuring his life.”

“It’s not that simple,” Tristan said, his tone hardening.

Caroline leaned forward, her voice sharp. “Don’t insult me, Tristan. You know it’s that simple. You can release Enzo with a snap of your fingers as the leader of The Strix. And as for Mohinder and Anwar, it’s obvious that Aya’s not-so-subtle investigation has already put a target on their backs. You’ll need to act soon, or risk disaster.”

“If I don’t?” Tristan challenged, his gaze icy.

“Then it would be a waste,” Caroline said bluntly. “You can throw me back into The Tombs, send Shen Min to torture me, but I have no information to give you. Fulfilling the original deal is your most logical move.”

Tristan’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “I can agree to your freedom, but Lorenzo St. John must return to the labs.”

“Then you have no deal,” Caroline said flatly.

Aurora laughed, a cruel edge to her voice. “You cannot be serious.”

“I gave my word that I would help Enzo gain his freedom,” Caroline replied, her voice unwavering. “Unlike you I keep my word.”

Shen Min moved in a blur, a stake in hand, pressing its tip against Caroline’s chest. Enzo leapt to intervene, but Vasil restrained him, shoving him into the wall with brutal force. The stake pressed deeper into Caroline’s chest, but her expression didn’t falter.

“If you want me to fix your castle, if you want me to be of use to you, this is the price,” she said evenly. “Kill me, Tristan. Go on, do it. But know this—the deal is set.”

For a moment, the room was still, the tension suffocating. Then Tristan raised his hand, and Shen Min withdrew the stake, letting Caroline fall unceremoniously to the floor. She rose immediately, brushing herself off and meeting Tristan’s gaze with defiance.

“You have my word,” Tristan said at last. “You and Lorenzo St. John will have your freedom and safety, so long as you continue your work on the castle and the ball. But if Lorenzo steps out of line, I will send you both to the labs.”

Caroline looked at Enzo, who had been released from Vasil’s grasp. He nodded. Turning to Aurora, Caroline caught an unreadable expression on her face—anger, guilt, and something else that made Caroline uneasy.

“I give you mine,” Caroline said, her voice steady. “We have a deal.”  

Tristan leaned back in his chair, his calculating gaze lingering on Caroline for a moment longer before he finally spoke.

“Guards,” he commanded, his voice smooth but firm, “escort Miss Forbes and Mr. St. John back to her quarters. Ensure the servants prepare suitable accommodations for Mr. St. John’s quarters immediately.”

Two guards stepped forward, their postures rigid, and gestured for Caroline and Enzo to follow.

Caroline rose slowly, smoothing her clothes with an air of nonchalance, though her sharp eyes briefly flicked toward Aurora. Aurora’s face was a storm of conflicting emotions—anger, frustration, and perhaps something else, something softer buried beneath her hardened exterior. Her lips parted as if she wanted to speak, but the words never came.

Caroline held Aurora’s gaze for a fleeting second, but she said nothing, her expression unreadable. Without a word, she turned and walked toward the door, Enzo following close behind with his usual smirk.

Aurora’s eyes burned into Caroline’s back as she exited, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. The tension in the room grew unbearable until, at last, Aurora let out a sharp exhale and stormed out in the opposite direction. Her heels clicked furiously against the marble floor as she disappeared down the corridor, her emotions left unsaid and unresolved.

Tristan remained seated, his fingers steepled in thought as the door closed behind Caroline, Enzo, and the guards. The silence lingered, heavy and charged. Without sparing a glance in Aurora’s direction or making any effort to stop her, Tristan eventually rose from his chair, his movements deliberate.

“Vasil,” he said, his tone clipped, “bring Aya to me. Immediately.”

Vasil inclined his head in acknowledgment and vanished in a blur of speed.

Tristan turned back to the table, his expression unreadable as he regarded the now-empty room. The goblets of blood, the scattered remains of the cherry pie, and the faint scent of tension hung in the air like ghosts of the confrontation that had just taken place.

The witches’ quarters were dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of herbs and incense. Genevieve stood at her workbench, her hands steady as she ground a mixture of dried roots and petals with a mortar and pestle. The rhythmic motion was soothing, a careful façade of concentration she had perfected over her years in The Strix’s dimension. She blended in, neither too weak nor too ambitious—a survivor’s instinct honed from nearly a century of captivity.

Across the room, Beatrice, the head of the coven, flitted from station to station, her flustered demeanor growing more pronounced with every passing moment. She barked instructions to the other witches, her tone teetering between frantic and authoritative. Genevieve watched her out of the corner of her eye, keeping her expression neutral, her motions methodical. She couldn’t afford to show anything but detached competence.

She missed home. A real coven. Real friends. That had been stolen from her twice—first nearly a century ago, and most recently by Rebekah Mikaelson. The pain of that betrayal still stung, a wound that never truly healed. And then there was Caroline. A vampire who had trusted her, who had made the same mistake Genevieve herself had made a century ago: trusting someone who could so easily destroy you.

Was she angry at Caroline? Yes. Did she understand her? Also yes. But understanding didn’t make the situation easier. Genevieve wondered what Caroline thought of her. Were they allies? Friends? Could she trust another vampire after everything she had endured? The questions lingered in her mind like a storm cloud, but her thoughts were interrupted by the sharp sound of a grimoire slamming onto her workbench.

Genevieve looked up to see Alice standing there, her expression a mixture of superiority and disdain. The massive book had seven pink bookmarks sticking out at odd angles. Alice, ever the sycophant, had been a thorn in Genevieve’s side for decades. Where Genevieve hid her ambition to survive, Alice flaunted hers, despising what she perceived as Genevieve’s weakness.

Alice tapped her foot impatiently, a smug smile playing on her lips. “Oh, don’t look so pitiful, Genevieve,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension.

Genevieve placed her tools down, maintaining a calm demeanour. “Can I help you, Alice?” she asked, her voice steady and polite.

Alice gestured dramatically to the grimoire. “I want to do the spells in the chapters I’ve marked.” She pointed to the pink bookmarks, her tone sharp. “When will the materials be ready?”

Genevieve picked up the book, flipping through the marked chapters with deliberate slowness. She could feel Alice’s gaze boring into her, the sound of her tapping foot grating on her nerves. Finally, she looked up, her voice even. “Two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Alice repeated, her voice rising. “I could collect the materials for it all within one week.”

“You are free to do that,” Genevieve replied smoothly, closing the book and setting it aside without missing a beat. She returned to her tools, her focus unwavering.

Alice stuttered, clearly unprepared for Genevieve’s nonchalant response. She glanced around, but the other witches were busy with their own tasks, ignoring the exchange. Before Alice could form a retort, the heavy doors to the quarters burst open, and a group of vampires strode in, led by Tristan.

Beatrice froze, her flustered demeanour giving way to outright panic. She stepped forward, her hands wringing nervously as she addressed Tristan. “My lord,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “We have yet to locate the escaped vampires, but we have found the Davis family. They are in New Orleans. As for Savannah, her magic is completely undetectable. She may be cloaked or dead.”

Tristan’s gaze was cold and unyielding as he studied her. “Have you heard the expression ‘Un poisson pourrit par la tête’?” he asked. Beatrice blinked in confusion, her lips parting slightly.

“No... my lord,” she stammered.

Tristan’s tone was icy, his words deliberate. “Translated literally, it means, ‘The fish rots from the head.’ A weak and incompetent leader spreads their failures downward, infecting everything beneath them.”

“My lord, please—” Beatrice began, her voice breaking.

In a blur, Tristan flashed forward, his hand plunging into her chest and ripping out her heart. The wet, visceral sound was met with gasps from some of the witches, while others remained stoic or nodded approvingly. Beatrice crumpled to the floor, lifeless, as Tristan regarded the room with chilling indifference.

“There is no room for incompetence, weakness, or treachery in The Strix,” he declared, his voice carrying authority that dared no one to challenge him. “Select amongst yourselves a leader. They will present themselves to me at sundown tomorrow.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode out, his entourage following in his wake.

The room remained silent for a long moment after his departure. Genevieve stared down at her workbench, forcing her hands to stay steady as she resumed grinding herbs. Inside, her thoughts churned with a mixture of fear, anger, and determination. She needed to get out—now more than ever. But survival required patience, and patience required restraint.

Alice lingered by her side, a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips. “Looks like there’s a leadership vacancy, Genevieve,” she said mockingly. “Maybe you should apply.”

Genevieve didn’t look up, her voice calm and measured. “I’m quite content where I am, Alice.”

As Alice walked away, Genevieve clenched her jaw, her mind racing. This wasn’t a place for ambition—it was a place for survival. And survival meant knowing when to stay in the shadows... and when to step into the light.

Caroline and Enzo stepped into her quarters, the sight of the trashed room stopping them both in their tracks. Her belongings were thrown about haphazardly—books ripped apart, furniture overturned, shattered stained glass glittering on the floor. Clothing was strewn everywhere, some of it torn, and even the paintings on the walls had been slashed.

Caroline let out an exasperated sigh, and she picked up a shard of stained glass. “I liked the windows.”

Before Enzo could comment any thing, a flurry of servants poured into the room, their arms loaded with supplies to clean and replace the destruction. Among them walked Naveeda, Abidemi, Isabella, and Adara, their presence commanding attention despite the commotion.

Adara took one look at the room, her lips curving into a slow, sardonic smile. “I have to admit, I’m impressed.”

Caroline arched an eyebrow, her tone dry. “Surprised you’d admit that.”

Adara shrugged, her gaze sharp and deliberate. “Not everything is about you, Caroline,” she replied, her attention shifting to Enzo. “I was referring to him.”

Enzo’s lips twitched into a devilish grin as he stepped forward, the weight of Adara’s gaze clear. “And here I thought I’d gone unnoticed,” he said smoothly, his voice dripping with charm. “Lorenzo St. John, but you can call me Enzo.”

Adara’s smirk deepened. “Adara. And trust me, Enzo, you don’t go unnoticed.”

Caroline rolled her eyes as the two locked eyes, the charged energy between them almost palpable. “Really? We’re doing this now?” she muttered under her breath, more to herself than anyone else.

The servants worked quickly to clear the mess, replacing damaged furniture with new, pristine pieces and restoring some semblance of order to the room. Despite the flurry of activity, Adara and Enzo continued their flirtatious exchange, seemingly oblivious to everyone else.

“You seem… different from the usual crowd around here,” Adara remarked, her tone teasing.

“And you seem far too charming for a place this dreary,” Enzo quipped back, stepping closer. “What’s a woman like you doing in a world like this?”

Adara chuckled, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Making sure people like you don’t get too comfortable.”

Caroline folded her arms, her patience wearing thin as the banter continued. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Adara ignored her, turning to one of the servants who approached. “The apartments across the street are ready for Mr. St. John. Everything he needs has been prepared.”

She turned back to Enzo, a playful smile on her lips. “Care to see it? I can show you the way.”

Enzo tilted his head, his smile widening. “By all means.”

Caroline scoffed, watching as the two left the room together, their chemistry undeniable and irritating in equal measure. Adara’s voice carried back as they walked out, her laughter mingling with Enzo’s smooth drawl.

The sounds of laughter and thuds of furniture moving came from the apartment across the street not long after. As some of the noises grew louder, Caroline clenched her fists, willing herself to focus on the task at hand.

Abidemi shot her a sympathetic glance, while Naveeda raised an eyebrow. “You okay?” she asked cautiously.

“I’m fine,” Caroline replied tightly, bending down to pick up a broken photo frame. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The servants worked tirelessly to restore her quarters, and while the chaos outside continued, Caroline threw herself into directing them, determined not to think about what was happening across the street. Whatever Adara and Enzo were doing, she had bigger problems to deal with.

Caroline watched as Adara and Enzo left together, their laughter echoing down the hall. Her eyes lingered for a moment before Naveeda discreetly stepped closer and slipped a folded piece of paper into her hand.

“You should probably take a shower,” Naveeda said softly, her tone nonchalant but her gaze meaningful.

Caroline nodded, her expression neutral, and slipped the note into her pocket as she moved toward the bathroom. Once inside, she locked the door and unfolded the paper. It had only one word: Aisha?

Caroline’s stomach tightened. Her hand trembled slightly as she turned the shower on, letting the water run hot, then cold, before holding the note under the stream. The ink blurred and washed away, leaving the paper blank. She tore it into tiny chunks, smaller and smaller, until the pieces were unrecognizable. Only then did she let the water carry them down the drain.

As the water cascaded over her, memories surged forward like an unrelenting tide. She remembered the torture—hot and cold water laced with vervain, her skin blistering, her screams echoing in the cold stone chambers. She could still feel the searing heat and the bone-deep chill, the sting of the vervain in her veins.

Her hands shook as she steadied herself against the shower wall, tears mingling with the water on her face. She couldn’t stop the flashbacks: the tearing, the cutting, the burning. She could still smell her own flesh charring, hear the crackle of flames as they seared her skin. The agony was as real now as it had been then.

“I am Caroline Forbes,” she whispered to herself through the tears, her voice trembling but determined. “I survived. I will not break.”

She scrubbed her body thoroughly, washing away the grime and blood. Her hands moved to her hair—her much longer hair. It fell to her knees now, a stark reminder of how much time had passed. She had never had hair this long in her life. Never.

She rinsed it clean, letting the suds swirl down the drain, and finally stepped out of the shower. Wrapping herself in towels, she padded back into the room where Isabella and Naveeda waited.

Naveeda handed her a soft, luxurious dressing gown. “Here,” she said gently.

Caroline slipped into it, pulling the fabric tight around her body. As the two began working on her hair, Naveeda asked, “Would you like us to cut it?”

Caroline hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, but keep it long. Just above my hips. And style it into curls.”

They worked quickly and efficiently, trimming her hair and shaping it into soft, elegant curls that framed her face. Isabella stepped back, admiring their work. “What would you like to wear?” she asked, gesturing toward the wardrobe.

Caroline moved to the wardrobe and scanned her options. Her gaze fell on a white leather jacket, a pink dress, and white knee-high high-heeled boots. She pulled them out and smiled faintly, the outfit feeling like a defiant declaration.

“I will not be like them. I will not look like them,” she said to herself in her head. “I am Caroline Forbes, and I am still me.”

Once she was dressed, Isabella and Naveeda began applying her makeup, enhancing her natural features without overdoing it. Abidemi returned, carrying a tray of food. “Breakfast,” she said with a smile, setting it down. “What’s the plan for today?”

Caroline sighed, brushing a curl back from her face. “I need to go to the library to pick up more books and start planning for the castle repairs and the ball.”

Abidemi frowned. “The majority of the construction force was killed during the manhunt. The vampires needed something to snack on.”

Caroline’s jaw tightened, but she swallowed her anger. “Fine,” she said curtly, her voice carefully controlled. “We’ll figure something out.”

She turned to Isabella. “Who’s in charge of the Wardens now?”

Isabella grimaced. “The position went to Robert Neville, his deputy.”

Caroline groaned inwardly. “Fantastic. Back to square one.”

“Well,” she said, her voice steady despite her frustration, “let’s get to work.”

As they walked out of her quarters, heading toward the library, the sounds of laughter and muffled moans drifted from the apartment across the street. Caroline’s lips thinned, her pace quickening as she tried to block out the noise.

Naveeda gave her a sidelong glance but said nothing. Caroline lifted her chin, her resolve hardening. She had too much to do, too many battles to fight, to let herself be distracted. The sound faded as they moved further away, and Caroline focused on what mattered: reclaiming her life, getting out of this hell dimension, and getting her friends and family back and safe.

The soft hum of jazz floated through the bar, mingling with the low murmur of conversations and the clinking of glasses. Klaus Mikaelson sat alone in a corner booth, a glass of bourbon cradled in his hand. The dim light cast shadows across his chiseled features, accentuating the weight of his thoughts. His mind was a storm of frustration and worry, though he wouldn’t dare let it show.

Rebekah was no longer in enemy hands, a relief he would begrudgingly admit to himself. Yet, her return had come with an unease he couldn’t shake. She was hiding something—he was certain of it. But whatever secrets she harbored, they paled in comparison to the anguish gnawing at him over Caroline’s disappearance.

Caroline Forbes. The baby vampire who had defied him with her unshakable loyalty to her friends and a complete lack of self-preservation. It was maddening and yet so... her. She wasn’t equipped for this world—not yet. No defenses, no real understanding of the dangers she faced. The thought of her lost, vulnerable, or worse, dead, clawed at him in a way he hadn’t felt for more than a thousand years.

It was fear. Fear for someone who wasn’t his family.

He downed his drink in one swift motion, setting the glass back on the table with a sharp clink. He couldn’t stop the fear. Caroline’s absence loomed larger by the day in his mind.

She was alive. She must be alive. Klaus refused to entertain any other possibility. Her mother, Liz Forbes, had been relentless in her efforts to track her daughter, going as far as targeting The Strix’s assets. But her attempts had been fruitless. Liz Forbes couldn’t help her daughter any more than he could at the moment. And that, above all, infuriated him.

If Caroline was dead... No, she wasn’t. He wouldn’t allow it. He would find her, and if anyone had harmed her, he would ensure their destruction was swift and merciless.

His dark reverie was interrupted as Marcel Gerard slid into the booth across from him. Klaus didn’t look up at first, swirling the remnants of his bourbon before speaking.

“I know that face,” Klaus said, his voice tinged with dry amusement. “Woman trouble.”

Marcel sighed, shaking his head. “You’re a dick, you know that? Why didn’t you tell me your sister’s back in town?”

Klaus smirked, finally lifting his gaze to meet Marcel’s. “I thought it’d be more amusing for you to find out for yourself.”

Marcel’s expression darkened, irritation flashing in his eyes. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Only that she’s grown considerably more insane in the last century,” Klaus replied, the smirk never leaving his lips.

Marcel leaned forward, his tone dropping to something more serious. “Or maybe that it was her who killed my guys.”

“Doubtful,” Klaus said, waving the accusation away with a lazy flick of his wrist. “Unless that biker bar is frequented by small-town high school quarterbacks, I can’t imagine she’d be interested.”

“I don’t have time for Mikaelson family drama,” Marcel snapped, his frustration boiling over. “You’re my guest. Keep your sister in line.”

Before Klaus could retort, Diego appeared at Marcel’s side, leaning down to whisper something in his ear. Marcel’s eyes narrowed as he listened, and without another word, he stood up and headed for the door.

“I’d have a greater chance of draining the Mississippi with a straw!” Klaus called after him, his voice dripping with mockery.

Marcel didn’t respond, disappearing into the night. Klaus leaned back in the booth, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He poured himself another drink, his thoughts returning to Caroline and the storm brewing with The Strix.

The wheels were already turning. Klaus would find her. And when he did, no force on this earth—or beyond it—would stand between him and the retribution he would unleash.

For now, he raised his glass, toasting silently to the chaos to come.

The cool night air brushed against Rebekah Mikaelson’s face as she stood on the balcony, gazing out over the dimly lit streets of New Orleans. The city pulsed with life below her, the distant sounds of jazz and laughter carrying on the breeze. But her thoughts were far from the lively streets—they were consumed by worry for her brother Elijah, the impending confrontation with The Strix and the people she left for dead.

“You always did have a flair for the dramatic,” a familiar voice called from behind her.

Rebekah turned, her sharp blue eyes narrowing as Marcel Gerard stepped onto the balcony. His hands were casually stuffed into his pockets, but his posture betrayed a readiness for whatever confrontation might come.

“Rebekah Mikaelson,” he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Come to teach me another lesson? Last time I saw you, Royal Street was burning, and you lot were fleeing the city from your daddy.”

Rebekah’s expression softened, just slightly. “I thought you were dead.”

Marcel raised an eyebrow, his smirk fading into something colder. “You never looked back to find out.”

Silence hung between them for a moment, the weight of their shared history palpable in the night air.

“Why are you here?” Marcel asked, his tone sharp and to the point.

Rebekah hesitated, then took a step closer to him. “Elijah,” she said quietly. “I think Klaus has done something to him.”

Marcel’s face hardened immediately. He held up a hand, stopping her before she could say more. “Stop. Stop right there. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you Mikaelsons, it’s this: don’t get in the middle of family feuding. Doesn’t end well.”

Rebekah’s gaze turned icy, her voice laced with quiet disdain. “Even after all you’ve achieved, you’re still scared of him.”

Marcel scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not scared of anyone.”

Her lips curved into a cold smile. “If I find out you know where Elijah is, you needn’t fear Klaus—I’ll kill you myself.”

Marcel’s eyes flickered with something unreadable—a mix of nostalgia, irritation, and something deeper. He shook his head and let out a dry chuckle. “Nostalgia’s a blast and all, but I can’t help you, Rebekah. It was nice seeing you, though. Good luck finding what you’re looking for.”

Before she could respond, Marcel stepped back onto the balcony railing and, with a graceful leap, disappeared into the shadows below. Rebekah moved toward the edge, as if to call after him, but stopped herself. Instead, she let her gaze drift back to the bustling streets of New Orleans, the city that had seen so much of their shared history.

She stood there for a moment, her elegant features etched with frustration and loss. Marcel was gone, just like that, leaving her with more questions than answers. As she stared out at the city, she felt the familiar ache of isolation—caught, as always, in the tangled web of her family’s endless battles.

The music and laughter from below seemed almost mocking as she turned away, retreating into the darkness of the room behind her. There were no easy answers in New Orleans, not for a Mikaelson.

Caroline walked briskly through the corridors of the Warden’s headquarters, her expression calm and composed. Behind her, Naveeda, Isabella, and Abidemi followed silently, their presence lending weight to her entrance. As they approached the main hall, the scene unfolded before her: servants bustling to repair the damage she and Enzo had left behind. Cameras were being recalibrated, shattered doors were being replaced, and debris swept away into neat piles.

A pang of guilt tugged at her chest as she took in their efforts. It wasn’t fair that the servants had to clean up the mess she’d caused. Still, she shoved the thought aside. This was necessary, even if the price fell on their shoulders.

Her gaze shifted to the vampires milling about, their eyes tracking her every step. The looks they gave her varied: accusations burned in some, while others radiated hatred. But what surprised her most were the few gazes tinged with admiration—and even fear. She straightened her back, letting their reactions roll off her like water. If they wanted to hate her, admire her, or fear her, she didn’t care. She had bigger problems to deal with.

She reached the reception desk, where a vampire sat typing away at a sleek computer. Caroline could feel the tension in the air as she approached, the weight of a dozen pairs of eyes still following her.

“I would like to talk to Robert Neville,” she said, her voice even but firm. “Sooner rather than later.”

The receptionist barely glanced up, his fingers continuing to move across the keyboard. “He is in a meeting,” he replied curtly.

Caroline’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though there was no warmth in it. “That’s lovely,” she said lightly. “But this conversation will be quite quick.”

The receptionist’s hands paused, and he looked up, meeting her sharp gaze. “Miss Forbes, as I—”

“Fantastic,” Caroline interrupted, her voice sweet as honey but laced with steel. “You know who I am, which means you must also be aware of why I’m here and the importance of the task set for me.” She reached over the desk, turning the monitor toward herself with a deliberate motion. The receptionist stiffened, but she ignored him, her eyes scanning the screen. Her smile widened as she pointed at Neville’s calendar. “And I see you must also be aware of the five hours of his very busy day that are currently unoccupied.”

The receptionist bristled, his voice tight. “I assure you, Mr. Neville is a very busy man—”

“Of that, he’ll be,” Caroline interrupted smoothly, already turning on her heel and walking toward Neville’s office.

As she did, her vampire hearing caught the receptionist muttering under his breath, “Blasted whore.”

A cold anger surged through her at the words, but she pushed it down. They will pay, she thought, the promise burning quietly in her chest as she continued toward the office.

The door opened before she reached it, and a man she didn’t recognise stepped out, blocking her path. He was tall, with dark hair neatly combed back, his posture rigid and unyielding. His gaze swept over her with a mix of disdain and disgust.

“Mr. Neville will see you shortly,” he said, his tone clipped. “Take a seat.”

Caroline tilted her head, studying him for a moment before speaking. “Who are you?”

The man’s lip curled slightly, his disdain evident. “Edward Cavendish.”

Caroline’s amusement flickered to life. She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing with mock curiosity as she leaned toward him. Edward stiffened, his disgust at her audacity written all over his face.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked sharply.

Caroline didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she reached past him and plucked a bright red apple from the fruit bowl behind him. She took a deliberate bite, the crunch echoing in the tense silence.

“You’re in the way,” she said lightly, her voice laced with amusement.

Edward’s face darkened. “Excuse me?”

“I said,” Caroline replied, her smile widening as his anger grew, “you’re in the way.” She gestured toward the fruit bowl, her tone turning playfully condescending. “I wanted more apples… No?”

Her grin broadened as Edward’s frustration visibly mounted. She reached for the bowl, her fingers brushing his as she lifted it. Returning to her seat, she handed apples to Naveeda, Isabella, and Abidemi before setting the bowl beside her.

Edward’s glare burned into her as a servant exited the office, opening the door for her. Caroline rose gracefully, picking up the crystal bowl with one hand. As she moved past Edward, she let the bowl slip slightly, forcing him to catch it before it smashed on the floor.

“Till we meet again, Edward,” she said sweetly, a sly smile on her lips as she brushed past him and entered the office, leaving him fuming in her wake.

Sheriff Forbes sat in the dimly lit corner of Rousseau’s, the once comforting hum of conversation and clinking glasses now an unbearable backdrop to her turmoil. Piles of papers and documents were spread across her small table, her laptop open but dormant. She rubbed her temples, exhaustion threatening to overwhelm her. Days had passed, and she still had nothing.

Her search for Caroline felt like grasping at smoke—one lead fading as soon as it materialised. Rome. The video had placed her there, but the trail had gone cold. That video haunted her, every frame burned into her memory.

Liz had watched it relentlessly, frame by frame, emotions warring within her. Shock at the raw brutality Caroline had unleashed, fighting for her survival. Fear for her daughter’s safety, knowing the situation was far more dangerous than she’d first imagined. Sadness at the violence her child had been forced to endure. But above all, relief. Caroline had been alive in that moment. She clung to that hope as fiercely as she did her badge.

And Klaus. He’d been an unexpected ally in this mess. She didn’t fully understand the connection between him and her daughter, but his actions spoke volumes. He’d sent her the video, warning her, helping her piece together what she could. She hated needing him. Hated that this city, this world, left her feeling so powerless.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the clink of a glass being placed on the table. She glanced up to see a waiter standing there, holding an envelope.

“I didn’t order this,” she said, her brow furrowing. “And what’s with the envelope?”

The waiter shrugged, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t know, ma’am. She gave me a hundred bucks to deliver it to you. Just doing my job.” Without waiting for her response, he moved on to the next table, leaving Liz no room to argue.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up the envelope. Her heart raced—was this finally a lead? Tearing it open, she pulled out a single folded note. The handwriting was sharp, deliberate, every word a dagger.

Sheriff Forbes,
I have information on your daughter’s whereabouts. If you want answers, come to Bienvielle Park, near the old fountain, at 10PM. Come alone, or I walk away taking the information with me.
No tricks, no delays.
Your daughter’s life depends on it.

Liz’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes scanned the note again, ensuring she hadn’t missed anything. Bienvielle Park. 10PM. She quickly glanced at her watch. 8:00PM.

She folded the note, shoved it into her jacket pocket, and began gathering her things. Her pulse quickened. The rational part of her screamed to call for backup, but she silenced it. There wasn’t time. The stakes were too high. She couldn’t risk scaring off this mysterious informant or worse, losing a chance to find Caroline.

Throwing a few bills on the table, she grabbed her car keys and headed for the door. As she stepped out into the night, the cool New Orleans air hit her, heavy with the scent of rain-soaked pavement and jasmine. Her thoughts raced. Who was this? Was it a trap? Would she find answers—or another dead end?

Liz didn’t care about the danger. She’d face anyone, anything, to bring her daughter home.

The clock was ticking.

Caroline stepped into Robert Neville’s office with Abidemi, Isabella, and Naveeda close behind her. The room, though familiar in layout, carried an air of sterility. It was similar to the space that once belonged to his predecessor, Casian, but without the clutter of personal trinkets or the warmth of character. Everything in Robert’s office felt cold, calculated, and meticulously arranged.

Robert Neville didn’t bother hiding the disdain in his expression. His sharp eyes raked over Caroline with anger and disgust, his lips pressed into a thin line. But Caroline had expected no less. She walked with confidence to the chair across from his desk, sat down, crossed her legs, and continued eating her apple with an air of casual defiance. Robert didn’t look up immediately; he was writing something down, his pen scratching against the paper in terse, deliberate strokes.

Finally, he set the pen down and leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “Are you in my office to annoy my staff, survey the damage you left to my headquarters, or simply to raid our fruit bowl?”

Caroline smiled sweetly, taking another bite of her apple. “I’m here to discuss business, but the rest are happy accidents.”

Robert’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained icy and controlled. “How you aren’t dead is one of life’s biggest mysteries.”

Caroline’s smile widened. “You know, you sitting in that chair reminds me of your predecessor. How comfortable he was? Sat like he owned the sky above his head and the ground he walked on.” Her tone turned pointed, her words carrying a sharp edge. “Now, isn’t it one of life’s biggest mysteries how he didn’t die sooner?”

Robert’s face darkened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “What do you want?”

Caroline leaned forward slightly, her tone turning brisk. “I want several things. My labour force back, materials, food and water, and accommodations provided for the labour force. Not to mention the things I’ll need for the ball. I’ll drop off the finalised plans tomorrow, and I need all of this delivered within the next few days.”

Robert’s eyes narrowed. “The next few days is impossible. I can do it in the next week, assuming you provide the plans within two days—due to the amount of damage you caused to our building and servers.”

Caroline didn’t blink. Her voice remained calm but firm. “Any later than this time next week, and I’ll have to raise this to the High Council.”

Robert’s lip curled into a sneer. “I sit on the High Council, girl.”

“Yes, you do,” Caroline said smoothly, unfazed. “And my task is more important than the restoration of your building and servers. But hey, if you disagree, then please, be my guest.”

The tension in the room thickened, Robert’s eyes locking onto Caroline’s with a barely concealed malice. His smile was sharp and cold, a weapon in itself. “You don’t want to be threatening me. I am not an enemy you want to make.”

Caroline tilted her head slightly, her gaze unwavering. “Do you feel threatened?”

For a long moment, the room was silent save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Then Robert leaned forward, his malice-filled smile growing wider. “Have a good day, Caroline.”

Caroline rose gracefully, her expression composed and confident. “Good day, Robert.” She turned on her heel, the sound of her heels clicking against the floor as she left the office. Naveeda, Abidemi, and Isabella followed closely behind her, their silence a show of quiet solidarity.

The streets of the Quarter were alive with muted chaos, the kind that only sharpened Liz Forbes’ nerves as she made her way through the narrow alleys and uneven cobblestone paths. Her steps were measured but brisk, her hand gripping her phone tightly. She glanced around, her gaze darting to every shadow, every corner. The sensation of being followed clung to her like a second skin, though every time she turned to check, the street was empty.

It’s nothing, she told herself. But her heart wasn’t convinced. Her pulse thrummed in her ears as she checked her phone again, double-checking the directions to Bienville Park. The screen dimmed, then went black. Her battery had died.

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath, stuffing the phone into her bag. She rifled through it, hoping against hope that a map would magically appear, but there was nothing. Her frustration mounted, and she glanced around, looking for someone to ask.

Spotting a passerby, she approached cautiously. “Excuse me, could you help me? I’m looking for Bienville Park.”

The stranger barely glanced her way before muttering something under their breath and hurrying off. Liz stood there, momentarily stunned by their abruptness. Guess not.

Her eyes scanned the street until they landed on a small shop with its light still on. Relief washed over her. Maybe they’ll have a map—or at least someone willing to help. She made her way toward the shop, quickening her pace as the shopkeeper, a young woman, stepped outside and started locking the door.

“Hey, excuse me!” Liz called out, trying to catch her before she left.

The shopkeeper, Katie, turned, her hand still on the door’s lock. “We’re closed, sorry.”

“I just need one quick thing,” Liz said, her tone as polite as she could manage. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

Katie hesitated, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied Liz. “What do you need?”

“A map,” Liz explained, her voice calm but urgent. “One that shows Bienville Park, its entrances, exits, monuments, and the surrounding streets in detail.”

Katie raised an eyebrow, suspicion flickering across her face. “A map? What for?”

Liz offered a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just a little exploring. It’s for… historical research.”

Katie didn’t look convinced, but after a pause, she nodded. “Bienville Park? That’s an odd request, but give me a minute.”

Unlocking the door, she disappeared inside, leaving Liz standing on the dimly lit sidewalk. The faint hum of neon lights buzzed in the background, the air thick with the scents of the Quarter—faint spices, smoke, and the sour tang of spilled beer. Liz glanced over her shoulder, the earlier unease creeping back in.

When Katie returned, she was holding a folded map. “This should do it. It’s detailed enough to get you through the park, but fair warning—it’s not the safest area after dark.”

Liz accepted the map gratefully and reached into her pocket, pulling out a few bills. “Thanks. I’ll be careful.”

Katie shook her head, refusing the money with a small gesture. “You’re not from around here, are you? People don’t just go wandering into places like Bienville Park unless they’ve got a reason.”

Liz met Katie’s gaze, her smile polite but firm. “Thank you.”

She turned and walked away, the map tucked securely under her arm. Her steps were purposeful, but her mind churned with thoughts. This has to lead somewhere, she told herself. If they know where Caroline is, I have to find them.

Behind her, Katie’s eyes followed her retreating figure, her expression darkening with suspicion. Once Liz disappeared into the shadows, Katie pulled out her phone and dialed quickly.

“Hey,” Katie said, her voice low but urgent. “You want to score points? Let Marcel know that the Sheriff is planning something tonight in Bienville Park.”

She hung up, her gaze lingering on the empty street for a moment before she locked the shop door and disappeared inside, the faint glow of the light extinguished.

Meanwhile, Liz continued her path through the Quarter, clutching the map as if it held all the answers she sought. The night felt heavier now, the darkness pressing closer, and every sound seemed amplified in the quiet streets. But Liz pushed forward, her resolve unshaken. Caroline’s out there, she thought. And I’m going to find her.

The day had stretched endlessly, a gruelling blur of calculations, planning, and strategy. Caroline sat in the grand library, surrounded by maps, engineering journals, and architectural diagrams. The large wooden table before her was covered with papers—materials lists, time frames, blueprints, and every other detail required to restore the castle and host the elaborate ball.

Abidemi, Naveeda, and Isabella worked diligently alongside her, their faces etched with exhaustion. The eight-month estimate Caroline had given Tristan seemed feasible at first, but as she ran the numbers and refined the plans, it became clear they could finish in six months, maybe even less. Yet, even knowing the challenge was surmountable, the weight of the task bore heavily on her.

As she pored over the documents, Caroline couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. The servants in the library seemed to glance at her more than usual, their eyes lingering for a moment too long. Abidemi and Isabella, in particular, paid closer attention to everything she did, their questions bordering on prying. She knew they were spying for Adara—there was no doubt about it.

Unlike Naveeda, Abidemi and Isabella weren’t on her side. And Caroline had no intention of letting them suspect that she was aware of their loyalties. If they reported back to Adara or, worse, Aurora, it would complicate matters further—a risk she couldn’t afford.

The library’s large windows framed the night sky, now glowing red with the ethereal light of the realm. Caroline stifled a yawn, her energy waning after hours of intense focus. She glanced at the others and noticed the toll of the day on them as well, especially because they were human.

“That’s enough for tonight,” Caroline said, her voice carrying a note of finality. “Let’s move all the plans to my quarters. Then you’re all dismissed. We’ll reconvene tomorrow two hours before sunrise.”

The group nodded, too tired to argue, and gathered the scattered documents. Together, they carried everything to her quarters, placing the plans on a table before Caroline dismissed them.

“Goodnight,” she said softly as they left.

When the door clicked shut, she let out a sigh of relief and began preparing to unwind. She untied her hair and rubbed her temples, her mind buzzing with unfinished thoughts. Just as she reached for her nightwear, the door swung open without warning.

Caroline spun around, her eyes narrowing as she spotted the intruder. “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.

Enzo leaned casually against the doorframe, his smirk infuriatingly relaxed. “Relax, love. We’re not here to trouble you.”

“We?” Caroline’s voice sharpened. Her gaze darted behind him just as Vasil stepped into the room, his expression calm but unsettlingly focused.

“Are you nuts?” Caroline hissed, her voice low but furious.

Vasil raised his hands in mock surrender, his lips curling into a sly smile. “Relax, little hero,” he said smoothly. “These used to be my old quarters.”

“That’s lovely,” Caroline snapped. “You can leave now.”

But Vasil ignored her and stepped closer. His voice dropped, low and conspiratorial. “We all need to talk. And don’t you want to see the boy again?”

The mention of the boy froze Caroline in place, her anger shifting to alarm. She glanced toward the walls instinctively, her mind racing. “I’m being watched,” she said quietly, her voice laced with warning.

“Not right now, you aren’t,” Vasil countered, his tone confident. He moved toward the bathroom, leaving Caroline puzzled. A faint sound of metal scraping against stone caught her attention, and she turned to see him lifting the sink. To her astonishment, beneath it was a concealed ladder leading down into a tunnel.

Caroline stared, her shock evident. “I told you,” Vasil said with a smirk, “these were my old quarters.” He motioned toward the opening. “Let’s go.”

For a moment, Caroline hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to refuse. But the weight of Vasil’s words and the promise of seeing the boy again gnawed at her resolve. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, casting one last wary glance at Enzo before descending into the unknown.

The narrow, dimly lit tunnels seemed to stretch endlessly, each bend taking Caroline, Enzo, and Vasil deeper into the hidden labyrinth. The cool air was thick with the scent of damp stone, and the faint echo of their footsteps amplified the oppressive silence. Caroline’s mind raced as she followed closely behind, her instincts on high alert. Every shadow felt like a threat, and every turn seemed to tighten the noose of her growing suspicion.

Finally, they approached a door at the end of the tunnel. Its wooden surface was weathered but unyielding, intricate carvings etched into its frame. Without hesitation, Caroline reached for the handle, but before her fingers could close around it, Vasil flashed forward, gripping her wrist firmly.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said, his voice calm but sharp with warning.

Caroline narrowed her eyes. “Let go of my wrist, Vasil.”

“The door is protected by an enchantment,” he explained, his grip steady. “If you open it, you’ll combust into flames and die.”

Her expression remained defiant as she stared him down, but Vasil released her wrist with a faint smirk, stepping forward. With a deliberate motion, he opened the door. The faint shimmer of a spell dissipated as he crossed the threshold. “Come in,” he said, his tone almost mocking.

Caroline and Enzo exchanged a wary glance before following him inside. The room was small but furnished with care—a sofa, a low table, and shelves lined with books and supplies. Genevieve was seated on the sofa, her lips curling into a sly smile as she spotted Caroline. Naveeda stood nearby, offering a nod of acknowledgment. But it was the boy—his face lighting up with pure joy—who transformed Caroline’s guarded expression into a full laugh.

In an instant, the boy sped toward her, jumping into her arms and hugging her tightly. Caroline staggered back slightly, laughing as she caught him. “Woah, woah, woah!” she said, hugging him tightly in return. “I missed you too. I missed you too.”

Setting him down, she crouched to his level, inspecting him carefully. “Has he been treating you okay? Have you eaten? Are you okay?”

Before the boy could answer, Vasil’s smooth voice interrupted. “So many questions for the poor boy.”

Caroline and the boy turned to glare at him in perfect unison, and Vasil raised his hands in mock surrender. “You even have matching glares,” he muttered. The disapproving looks from the rest of the room made him sigh dramatically. “Fine, fine, fine. I’ve taken the liberty of bringing the gang together, so to speak,” he said, gesturing around the room. “We have a few hours until people start raising alarms.” His gaze shifted to Caroline, his tone turning serious. “You told Genevieve, Naveeda and Enzo you had a plan. What is it?”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed. “Are you serious? I don’t like you, and I don’t trust you.”

Vasil stepped closer, his voice low and measured. “I saved the kid and looked after him.”

Caroline’s voice dropped, laced with venom. “Maybe to find out what the plan is, tell The Strix, and be hailed as a hero. You’d probably even be made leader of the Knights for your efforts. The boy will be recaptured, and we’ll be tortured for the rest of our days until we’re driven to madness. Does that sound familiar?” Her tone grew colder, each word cutting deeper. “I remember what you threatened me with: ‘You’ve made a powerful enemy. And I assure you, your life—however long or short it lasts—will be filled with pain.’”

The room fell silent, the weight of her accusation lingering in the air. Vasil met her gaze, unflinching. “We only have a few hours, sweetheart, and you have no idea the lengths I went to to protect you and the plan.”

Before Caroline could retort, Genevieve’s voice cut through the tension. “Caroline, enough!” she snapped. “He is in on the plan. What have you got?”

Caroline glanced around the room, seeing the unified expressions of agreement from everyone present. Her frustration bubbled over as she let out a scoff, her hands on her hips. “Seriously?” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. “Fine.”

She took a deep breath, her sharp gaze sweeping over the room. “Here’s what I’ve got…”  

Caroline sat by the pond, her knees drawn up to her chest as she stared at the red glow illuminating the night sky. Two crescent moons hung ominously above, their crimson light dancing on the pond’s surface. Ash fell like a silent snowfall, coating everything in a pale, eerie dust. The world around her was quiet, save for the rustling of trees in the gentle night breeze.

She had tried to sleep earlier, but the ghosts of her past kept her awake. Her mind lingered on the boy. She had left him in the tunnels, a place safer than the cell he had endured, but it was no life for a child. He deserved freedom, deserved the sun on his face and the chance to be a kid. And yet, due to her misplaced trust in Rebekah, she had failed him.

Rebekah.

The name burned like the vervain pond water corroding her hands as she dipped a leaf carefully into it. The sting was sharp, but negligible compared to the horrors she had endured in The Tombs. Physical pain had become almost meaningless—a cruel gift from her torturers.

Her gaze drifted to the pond again, watching the water ripple as the leaf floated on its surface. Memories clawed at her mind: Tyler Lockwood’s mutilated body, the word filth written in his blood. Her breath hitched as the image seared into her consciousness once more. She shook her head, trying to push the thought away, but the sound of soft footsteps interrupted her torment.

Aya emerged from the shadows, her steps measured and deliberate. Caroline didn’t flinch; she had heard Aya’s approach long before she appeared.

“There was a mini-manhunt looking for you,” Aya said, her voice calm but tinged with amusement.

“And why was that?” Caroline replied, not looking away from the pond.

Aya observed her for a moment, her lips curving into a faint smile. “You know you’re under surveillance.”

“You guys aren’t very discreet.”

Aya tilted her head, her gaze flickering to the pond. “What’s so special about this pond? You’re always here.”

“I like the peace,” Caroline said simply, her tone devoid of emotion.

“In comparison to the backstabbing and politics of The Strix,” Aya added smoothly.

Caroline smirked, finally glancing up at her. “Your words, not mine.”

“You don’t agree?”

“Oh, I do,” Caroline said, her voice edged with sarcasm. “I just wanted to highlight that you said it too.”

Aya stepped closer, her dark eyes scanning the pond’s surface. “You angered The Wardens. We had a meeting today, and Mr. Neville was very angry over your demands.”

Caroline shrugged, her expression unbothered. “Do you want the castle built or not?”

Aya chuckled softly. “You know, I’ve wondered what’s so special about you. What allowed you to survive attempt after attempt.. And I think I’ve figured it out. You’re clever, bold, a talented strategist… And should you join us, you’d be the very first member sired not from Elijah, but from Klaus.”

Caroline’s smirk widened, though her eyes remained wary. “Still offering me a position in The Strix? Doesn’t it bother you? A vampire from Klaus’s sireline—I’ve heard the rumors.”

Aya’s expression didn’t waver. “What rumours?”

“Your men were talking quite loudly during the manhunt,” Caroline said, leaning back on her hands. “The last three remaining sirelines are at war. One Original’s death to wipe out an entire sireline of enemies. And now you’re welcoming me, a young, inexperienced vampire from a rival sireline, no less, into your ranks. What am I to make of that?”

Aya smiled faintly, her gaze steady. “Death is inevitable, even for those such as we. Acknowledging that makes even the longest or shortest of lives all the more intoxicating. We are the strongest and most powerful organisation in the supernatural world, but we are limited to the life of our sire and caught in the pitiful wars between the sirelines. We think you could help us put this war to bed.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow. “I have no influence, no power, no supporters. I’m not known or admired. Regardless of your compliments on my strategy, I’ve won no battles and fought no wars. I have nothing to offer The Strix, and it appears you have nothing to gain.”

Aya’s smile deepened. “Do you know why the sigil of The Strix is the owl?”

Caroline tilted her head slightly, her curiosity piqued. “I think I read somewhere that in Greek and Roman mythology, a strix was a bird of ill omen that fed on human flesh and blood.”

“It is the owl,” Aya began, her voice low and resonant, “because it is the watcher in the night. Silent, calculating, and ever-present. It brings death and destruction, yet it is also a symbol of wisdom. The owl sees everything, Caroline. It adapts, it waits, and when the moment comes, it strikes with precision.”

Aya leaned forward slightly, her gaze piercing. “You are an owl. You may not see it yet, but you are.”

Caroline held her gaze, the weight of Aya’s words settling over her. She turned back to the pond, the reflection of the red moons rippling as the ash continued to fall.  

The note Aya had handed her was still clutched in Caroline’s hand as she leaned against a tree near the pond. The crimson hue of the moons had dimmed slightly, the ash still falling gently like a haunting snowfall. Caroline unfolded the slip of paper and read it again: “Come to my study tomorrow evening. Two hours after sundown. Don’t be late.” It was cryptic, calculated—just like Aya. But her mind wasn’t on Aya’s note. Her thoughts were elsewhere, buried in pain she couldn’t shake.

Reaching into her pocket, her fingers brushed against the worn edge of the page she had taken from Tyler Lockwood’s file. Her throat tightened as she pulled it out, the creased paper feeling heavier than it should. She didn’t want to look at it again, but she couldn’t stop herself.

The image stared back at her, as haunting as it had been the first time she saw it: Tyler’s body, lifeless and desecrated, the word FILTH scrawled in blood next to him.

Her breath caught, and the tears began before she could stop them. They fell silently at first, her body trembling as she clutched the paper. Then the dam broke, and the sobs wracked her. Tyler had been her boyfriend—or maybe her ex-boyfriend. They hadn’t officially ended things before everything had gone to hell. But she had loved him, and he had loved her. And now he was gone.

The thought of his last moments—the agony he must have endured—was more than she could bear. It clawed at her chest, sharper and deeper than anything she had endured in The Tombs. The pain of her own torture felt like a dull ache in comparison to this raw, overwhelming despair.

She lowered herself to the ground, unable to hold herself upright as the weight of it consumed her. Through the haze of her grief, she glanced down at the paper again. The names listed next to the mission filled her with a rage so pure and fiery that it scorched through her despair.

They would die.

Each and every one of them. Supervisor Mohinder Gupta, Anwar Ghazi, Angelica di Fiore, Bridget O’Caelan, Ibrahim al-Khatib, Gregor von Falkenstein, Takahiro Masuda, and Sven Jorgensson.

Some names she recognized. Most she didn’t. It didn’t matter. Familiar or not, they were complicit, and she would ensure they paid for what they had done. Slowly, she folded the paper and shoved it back into her pocket. Her tears hadn’t stopped, but her resolve was steady now. They would not survive this.

Caroline rose shakily to her feet and made her way back to her quarters. The hallways were quiet, the ash-muted light casting eerie shadows on the walls. Inside her room, she collapsed onto the bed, her tears still streaming as she tried to pull herself together. But the grief was suffocating, clawing at her chest until she couldn’t breathe.

Her gaze drifted to the window, where she saw the faint glow of Enzo’s quarters across the street. His light was still on. Without thinking, she slipped on her boots and crossed the street. Her fists trembled as she knocked on his door.

Enzo opened it with his usual smirk, but the moment he saw her tear-streaked face, it fell. He stepped aside silently, letting her in. Caroline barely glanced at the room—empty liquor bottles were strewn across the table, and the faint scent of bourbon lingered in the air.

She grabbed a bottle without a word and uncorked it, tipping it back and drinking deeply. Enzo watched her, his expression shifting between concern and curiosity.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly.

Caroline shook her head, her tears spilling over again as she drank more. She didn’t trust her voice, didn’t trust herself to explain without breaking completely. Enzo didn’t press. Instead, he put his arm around her shoulders, a quiet gesture of support, and took a drink himself.

They sat there, drinking in silence, the tension between them heavy with unspoken pain. Caroline drank bottle after bottle, her body swaying with exhaustion and alcohol. Eventually, she passed out, her head resting against Enzo’s shoulder.

But sleep brought no peace. Her dreams were filled with nightmares—vivid flashes of her time in The Tombs, the searing pain of vervain-laced water, the cuts, the burns. And then Tyler’s lifeless eyes, staring back at her, empty and accusing.

She woke with a start, her body drenched in sweat and her breath coming in shallow gasps. Enzo was still there, his face lined with worry, but he didn’t say anything as she reached for another bottle. He didn’t stop her as she drained it, nor the next. He knew better than to try.

When she passed out again, the nightmares returned, relentless and unforgiving. But this time, she didn’t wake up. She stayed locked in her mind’s torment, haunted by the past and consumed by the grief that felt like it would never end.

Chapter Text

Enzo looked down at Caroline, passed out on the floor of his much larger apartment. He shook his head in mild amusement, wondering why the Strix had given him a space that was practically palatial compared to Caroline's cramped quarters. It was an odd choice, but he decided not to dwell on it.

He carefully lifted Caroline into his arms and carried her to the plush sofa, laying her down gently. Her breathing was steady, but the smell of alcohol lingered heavily on her. Just as he was adjusting a pillow under her head, he noticed movement outside the window. Three figures entered Caroline’s apartment across the street. One of them—he thought her name was Naveeda—looked flustered as they realized the quarters were empty.

Enzo smirked and opened his window, calling over to them. “Looking for someone?”

The trio turned in unison, their expressions a mix of confusion and nervousness.

“Caroline’s here,” Enzo said, motioning for them to come over. He waited by the door, and soon Naveeda, Abidemi, and Isabella arrived, their steps hesitant. They froze at the sight of Caroline sprawled on the sofa, surrounded by empty bottles.

Naveeda was the first to speak, her voice tinged with worry. “We have a lot of things to do today, my lady... I mean, Caroline.”

Enzo chuckled. “I can see she’s very prepared for that,” he said sarcastically, gesturing to the unconscious vampire. “But no matter. Let’s start with some breakfast for her. I’ll need human food, a jug of blood, and a jug of ice-cold water.”

Abidemi nodded and left the apartment without a word, moving with purpose. Enzo turned his attention to Isabella, leaning casually against the back of the sofa. “And what about you? Any plans to keep me company while we wait?”

Isabella flushed but kept her composure, her lips twitching into a small smile. “I think you’re doing just fine entertaining yourself, Mr. St. John.”

Enzo grinned, clearly enjoying himself, but before he could respond, Abidemi returned carrying a tray laden with the requested items. He placed it on the coffee table, his expression neutral as always.

Enzo’s grin widened. “Perfect timing, mate.” Without further warning, he grabbed the jug of water and poured it unceremoniously over Caroline’s head and body.

The reaction was immediate.

Caroline shot upright, sputtering and gasping. “What the—!” Her wide eyes darted around the room, taking in the amused faces of Enzo and the trio of servants, who collectively gasped in shock.

“Morning, Gorgeous,” Enzo said with a devilish smirk.

Caroline groaned, wiping her face with one hand. “Ugh, you suck.”

Naveeda stepped forward, her tone gentle but firm. “We should get back to your quarters, my lady.”

“It’s Caroline,” she corrected, her voice hoarse. “And we should. My mouth tastes like an ashtray.” She tried to stand but promptly collapsed back onto the sofa with a groan.

Enzo crouched beside her, shaking his head. “Oh, love. A vampire hangover. It’s not a good look for you.” Without waiting for permission, he scooped her up effortlessly.

“Enzo, put me down,” Caroline protested weakly, though she made no real effort to fight him off.

“Not a chance,” he replied cheerfully, carrying her toward the door. “Let’s get you back to your quarters before your entourage starts panicking.”

He carried her across the street, the servants trailing behind. Once inside Caroline’s quarters, he gently set her down on her bed and turned to Naveeda, Abidemi, and Isabella. “She’ll sober up quickly with some human food and blood. I’ll leave her in your capable hands.”

The three nodded their thanks and immediately set to work, tending to Caroline as she muttered complaints under her breath about loud noises, bright lights, and Enzo’s obnoxious grin.

As he left the room, Enzo glanced over his shoulder, his smirk still firmly in place. “Don’t have too much fun without me, Gorgeous.”

Caroline groaned again, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at the closing door. It missed by a mile, drawing quiet chuckles from her attendants as they set about helping her recover.  

The twin suns cast a faint crimson glow through the heavy velvet curtains, painting Aurora’s grand bedroom in hues of red and gold. Aurora groaned, burying her face deeper into her pillows as the faint sound of footsteps echoed around her chamber. Her attendants hovered nervously at the doorway, unwilling to disturb their mercurial mistress.

“Go away,” Aurora mumbled, her voice muffled by the pillow. She waved a dismissive hand, refusing to acknowledge their presence.

“I relate to that,” came a familiar, drawling voice from across the room.

Aurora froze, her body going rigid as her sharp ears registered the unwelcome intruder. Her eyes snapped open, and she bolted upright, her wild hair cascading in disarray around her face. Her piercing gaze locked onto Caroline Forbes, lounging lazily on the sofa at the foot of her bed. A half-empty bottle of bourbon dangled from Caroline’s fingers, and a goblet of blood rested on the table beside her.

“What the—” Aurora snarled, crossing the room in a blur. Her hands wrapped around Caroline’s throat in a blur of motion. “You’re drunk?”

Caroline groaned, her head tilting back as she raised the bourbon with her free hand. “Best way to get over a hangover,” she rasped, taking another long swig without even flinching at Aurora’s grip.

Aurora’s expression twisted in disbelief as she tightened her hold. “I didn’t realize you’ve become a drunk now.”

Caroline, unperturbed, simply smirked. “Says the one who drinks red wine for breakfast.”

Aurora released her with a huff, stepping back and crossing her arms as she regarded Caroline with a mix of irritation and suspicion. “Why are you here?”

Caroline tilted her head, her smirk softening into a faint smile. “Bored of our back-and-forths already? I was just starting to enjoy myself.”

Aurora’s jaw tightened, her patience fraying. “Why are you here?”

Caroline sighed dramatically, rising from the sofa and meandering to a tray of fruit on a nearby table. She plucked a piece and bit into it before wandering toward the curtains. With a swift pull, she opened them, flooding the room with light. “You wake up at this time,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ve been made to adjust.”

Aurora muttered under her breath, grabbing her silk dressing gown and wrapping it tightly around herself. She approached, her sharp gaze never leaving Caroline. Snatching a piece of fruit from Caroline’s hand, she bit into it with deliberate defiance. “What a tragedy that must be for you.”

Caroline laughed softly, her eyes glinting with amusement. She moved to Aurora’s bar, pouring herself a fresh goblet of blood. “Why did you go looking for me?” she asked casually, swirling the blood in her glass.

Aurora raised an eyebrow, her tone light but edged. “Some may call it boredom.”

Caroline’s gaze sharpened, her smirk fading. “Some may call it lies.” She took a long drink, her words hanging in the air like a challenge.

“You forget yourself,” Aurora snapped, her voice biting.

Caroline met her glare head-on. “Nope. I’m right here.”

Aurora’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You know what I mean.”

Caroline’s playful demeanor faltered, the weight of her thoughts pulling her expression into something more guarded. Aurora stepped closer, her tone quieter but no less firm. “Why are you drinking so much now?”

Caroline tensed, her fingers tightening around the goblet. For a moment, it seemed as though she wouldn’t answer. Then, with a sigh, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Wordlessly, she handed it to Aurora.

Aurora unfolded the paper, her sharp brows furrowing as she examined its contents. Her eyes scanned gruesome photos of a mutilated corpse and what remained of a slaughtered pack. “Who is this?” she asked, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Caroline’s face crumpled, despair breaking through her usual composure. “My boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend, I suppose.”

Aurora’s expression flickered with surprise before settling into mild discomfort. She flipped through the pages again before tossing them onto a nearby table. Walking to the bar, she grabbed two bottles of bourbon, uncorked them with ease, and handed one to Caroline.

“Death is the endpoint,” Aurora said softly, her tone unusually gentle. “His journey and suffering have ended.”

Caroline took the bottle with trembling hands, swallowing hard before taking a long drink. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “Our relationship was... complicated. I loved him, and he loved me, but circumstances pulled us apart. And now he’s gone.” Tears welled in her eyes. “He deserved so much better than me, so much better than what he had. I hope you’re right. I hope his suffering has ended. I really do.”

The two women sat in silence for a long moment, the tension between them softened by shared humanity. The crimson light of the setting suns spilled across the room, casting elongated shadows that seemed to hold their secrets.

After a while, Caroline broke the silence. “Why did you try to help me?”

Aurora turned to her, a faint smirk playing on her lips. “What makes you think I wanted to help you?”

Caroline arched an eyebrow, her expression sceptical but tired. “We’re sitting here, drinking our problems away in your destroyed quarters. Don’t give me that.”

Aurora sighed, her gaze drifting toward the shattered remains of her room. “We’re friends.”

Caroline’s tear-streaked face softened. For the first time that morning, her lips curled into a faint smile. “Friends,” she murmured, leaning her head against Aurora’s shoulder.

Aurora stiffened at the unexpected gesture, caught off guard. But after a moment, her lips curved into a reluctant smile. They sat there, two broken souls sharing a rare moment of vulnerability amidst the chaos.

The bright light of the streetlamps filtered through the moss-draped oaks of Bienville Park, casting dappled light across the weathered stone fountain at its centre. Sheriff Liz Forbes sat on a bench by the fountain, her posture tense and her senses sharp. The soft sound of water trickling from the fountain did little to calm her nerves.

Her fingers tightened around the handle of her gun, concealed but ready. She was nervous, yes, but she was also a sheriff—and a hunter. Her daughter’s life was at stake, and she would not cower. Not now. Not ever.

A shadow moved behind the fountain. Liz’s heart rate quickened as Katherine Pierce emerged, looking uncharacteristically dishevelled. Her hair hung loose in messy waves, her clothes wrinkled and smeared with dirt. Yet even in this state, there was something calculated in her steps.

“Hello, Mama Forbes,” Katherine drawled, her voice laced with mockery. “Did exactly as you were told. Shame your daughter didn’t get the memo.”

Liz’s breath caught for a moment before realisation set in. Her grip tightened on her gun, and she drew it swiftly, levelling it at Katherine. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right now.”

Katherine raised her hands, palms outward, and arched an eyebrow. “I have the information you want,” she said coolly. “And besides, I’m not supernatural anymore. I thought you only went after supernatural beings. Hunters and all…”

Liz’s lips curled in disdain. “You’re over five hundred years old, Katherine. You’ll always be a supernatural being. I know it was you who murdered my daughter.”

Before Katherine could respond, a branch snapped somewhere nearby. Liz’s body went rigid, her instincts taking over. She scanned the area, her eyes darting between the shadows of the park. When she turned back, a vampire was suddenly in front of her, his fangs bared.

“Dumb move meeting with in the quarter, Sheriff,” the vampire sneered. “You’re both coming with me.”

Liz, her patience worn thin by years of supernatural threats, let her frustration bubble to the surface. “I’ve had it up to here with vampires telling me what to do,” she snapped.

With practiced precision, she raised her gun and fired, the bullet striking the vampire’s knee. He crumpled with a howl of pain. Liz turned swiftly to see Katherine struggling with another vampire, her human strength no match for his. Liz didn’t hesitate. She aimed and fired again, the bullet striking the vampire in the head. He fell to the ground, temporarily incapacitated.

But Liz’s moment of triumph was short-lived. Two more vampires appeared, flanking her. Before she could react, one of them lunged—but a blur of motion cut him short. In an instant, his neck was snapped, and he crumpled to the ground. The second vampire barely had time to turn before his heart was ripped from his chest.

Liz stared in stunned silence as Rebekah Mikaelson stood over the bodies, her expression one of cold satisfaction. “Now, that is no way to treat a lady,” Rebekah said, tossing the heart onto the grass with a look of disdain. “I do hate bad manners.”

The sheriff gaped at Rebekah, her shock evident. It wasn’t every day she witnessed such effortless brutality, even in the supernatural world.

Katherine, who had finally scrambled free of her fallen attacker, stood to the side, her usual smirk absent. As a human, she was far more vulnerable—and it showed. She glanced at Rebekah warily, her posture tense.

Rebekah turned her piercing gaze to Katherine, her lips curling in a sneer. “Now, what are you doing here?” she asked, her tone icy.

Katherine’s mouth opened as if to respond, but no words came out. For once, the former vampire seemed at a loss for her usual quick-witted retorts.

Liz, still clutching her gun, looked between the two women, her breath coming in short bursts. The adrenaline coursing through her veins was matched only by her confusion. The park had grown quiet again, save for the faint sound of the fountain’s water. But the tension in the air was palpable.

As Rebekah’s question hung unanswered, Liz couldn’t help but wonder what exactly she had stumbled into—and whether she was truly prepared for the consequences. 

The aroma of freshly brewed espresso and the faint crunch of biscotti filled Robert Neville’s office. The Warden leaned back in his chair, savouring the tranquil moment before the chaos of the day began. His assistant, Edward Cavendish, stood near the desk, going over the morning's brief with meticulous precision.

“The servers are back online, and construction efforts are progressing, though at a slower pace than anticipated due to—”

The door swung open, interrupting Edward mid-sentence. Caroline Forbes entered with her usual air of confidence, her companions Naveeda, Isabella, and Abidemi trailing behind her. Edward’s face twisted in indignation at the intrusion.

“You can’t just—” Edward began, but Caroline brushed past him and sauntered over to Robert’s desk.

Without waiting for an invitation, she plucked Robert’s untouched espresso and biscotti off the desk and made herself comfortable in his chair. She took a deliberate sip of the espresso, then bit into the biscotti, leaning back as if she owned the place.

“I’m trying to picture how long you ranted about me to the Council,” Caroline said casually, tapping her chin as if deep in thought. “...Oh my apologies, High Council.”

Edward’s face reddened with indignation. “Have you no respect?!”

Caroline ignored him, taking another bite of the biscotti. “Damn, these are good. You should’ve told me you had such excellent taste in snacks, Robert.”

Robert Neville watched her impassively, his calm demeanour unshaken. “What do you want?”

Caroline smirked and reached into her bag, pulling out a thick folder. She tossed it onto his desk, the weight of it landing with a thud. “The files,” she said. “Don’t worry, they’re color-coded.”

Robert eyed the folder briefly before looking back at her. “Mr. Cavendish will review them later,” he said evenly. “Now, is there a reason you’re still in my office?”

Caroline leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. “When will I receive all the resources I requested?”

Robert took a measured sip from his now-empty hand, glaring briefly at the absence of his espresso. “The estimated timeframe will be finalised by tomorrow evening.”

Caroline tilted her head, feigning surprise. “Tomorrow evening? I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“You can do so,” Robert replied smoothly, his calm tone unbroken, “but it will still be finalised by tomorrow evening.”

Caroline grinned, standing and brushing the crumbs from her lap. “More time I get to spend with you, Robert. I can’t wait.”

As she turned to leave, Naveeda, Isabella, and Abidemi following close behind, Caroline reached for an apple from the waiting room’s fruit bowl. She tossed it to Edward, who fumbled before catching it awkwardly.

“You know what they say,” Caroline said over her shoulder, smirking, “an apple a day keeps Caroline away.”

The door closed behind her, leaving Edward glaring at the apple in his hand and Robert shaking his head in exasperation.

The backgarden was eerily silent save for the rustling of leaves in the warm New Orleans breeze. The golden light of the outdoor garden lamps stretched long shadows across the cracked stones as Klaus threw another body onto the growing pile in the centre of the the backgarden. Blood stained the ground beneath the heap of vampires, their lifeless faces frozen in horror.

Klaus turned sharply, his fury directed at the two women standing nearby—Rebekah, her arms crossed and her defiance palpable, and Liz Forbes, who kept her hand close to her holstered gun, her gaze unflinching.

“This,” Klaus spat, gesturing to the pile, “is why I told you to leave finding Caroline to me. Vampires loyal to Marcel roam the Quarter like a plague, and here you are, leaving a trail of bodies like a road map to my door! Stay back!” he barked as Rebekah began moving toward the one vampire still groaning in pain.

Rebekah stopped mid-step, her jaw tightening. “If I hadn’t overheard this lot bragging about ambushing the sheriff, everyone here would be dead by now,” she retorted, her voice steady and biting. “And don’t give me that crap about your plan, Nik. You’ve had all the time in the world to execute it, and what have you done? Nothing! Elijah made a promise to protect this family, to save you from your selfish, rotten self. But what have you done to honour it?”

Klaus’s eyes flashed with anger. “I have done everything,” he growled, stalking toward her. “Let me spell it out for you. From the day I arrived, Marcel hasn’t trusted me. Day One, little sister. His vampires ingest vervain religiously, protecting them from my compulsion. And yet…” He turned, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “I found a way.”

The humans Tina and Josh sit with their hands stamped with the monogrammed 'M'.  Klaus snaps their necks without a moment of delay.  Klaus continued, "I needed a spy, someone on the inside with me who Marcel would never suspect. So, I created a Day Zero and got there first. Marcel had just lost six vampires, thanks to your little murder spree, and he needed new recruits. So, I made the new one mine, before he'd had even a drop of vervain."

In a dimly lit car, Klaus leaned toward a young vampire, Josh, who sat nervously in the passenger seat. “Now,” Klaus said smoothly, “let’s have a little chat about what you can do for me.”

Liz’s eyes narrowed, her grip on her gun tightening. “You killed two teenagers to play spy?” she asked coldly.

Klaus ignored her, turning to Rebekah. “But we both know the real way to a man is through his heart so...”

In a crowded bar, Klaus leaned against the counter beside Cami, his charm on full display. “So, my mate Marcel. Nice bloke, don’t you think?”

Cami rolled her eyes. “No. He's charming, sexy, confident, incredibly hot. But let's be honest – he's a bad boy, right? Like you. And right now, I only need good in my life, not someone who's –.”

"Tragically wounded and damaged by demons he can't escape." Klaus cut in softly.

“The damaged ones. They're not good,” Cami replied softly, her voice laced with sadness and past trauma. “Not for me at least.”

Cami laughed bitterly and moved to leave, but Klaus grabbed her hand gently. “I understand, I do. However” he whispered, compelling her, “give him one chance, then I need you to tell me where he goes, and who he sees."

Rebekah’s voice cut through his recollection. “And this one?” She gestured to the groaning vampire on the ground.

Klaus crouched, his tone icy. “I’ll drain him of vervain, compel him to say his mates found religion and moved to Utah. That should try to explain why Marcel lost several more vampires tonight.”

Klaus dragged the vampire inside, with Rebekah and Liz following. The tension in the air was thick, but before Rebekah could demand more answers, Klaus turned abruptly, his anger redirected.

“Katerina,” Klaus hissed, “what were you doing in the French Quarter?”

“She apparently has information on Caroline and the threat we face,” Rebekah interjected quickly.

“You stay out of this!” Klaus snarled before turning his gaze back to Katherine. “Well... Answer me!”

Katherine shifted uncomfortably, knowing that staying useful was her only card to play. Fixing Klaus with a venomous glare, she hissed, “I have information about your precious Caroline. But if you’d rather I walk away, go ahead—leave her to die.””

Klaus’s rage shifted instantly, the gold in his eyes flashing briefly before he runs at her with vampire speed and pins her to the door by the neck. She gasps for air.

“I should’ve killed you centuries ago,” he snarled.

“Nik! NIK!” Rebekah screamed. She darted forward, pushing Klaus off Katherine and grabbing him by the shoulders. Katherine fell to the floor, coughing and massaging her throat.

“Keep your hands off her! She is human, for God's sake!” Rebekah’s voice snapping everyone out of the moment. “You’re so quick to lash out, so eager to destroy everything. Think! If you kill her, we lose our only lead to Caroline and to The Strix.”

Klaus’ anger simmered, but he stepped back, his eyes burning with unshed tears. He collapsed onto the stairs, his shoulders heaving as he tried to regain control. Rebekah sat beside him, her tone softening.

“You’re angry because you care. It’s okay to care, Nik. It’s okay to want something better.” She hesitated, then added, “That’s all Elijah ever wanted for you. For all of us.”

Klaus’ voice was barely above a whisper. “I gave Elijah to Marcel.”

Rebekah froze. “What?”

“Marcel was nervous. Two Originals back in town? His people were getting restless. He wanted Elijah gone. So, I gave him a peace offering.”

“You bartered our brother?” Rebekah’s voice was icy.

“I have a plan,” Klaus snapped, his anger rekindling. “Gain Marcel’s trust, dismantle his empire, honour Elijah’s wish to protect our family, and find Caroline. If you don’t like it, there’s the door.”

Klaus rose and left the room, his footsteps echoing through the compound. Rebekah leaned back against the stair railing, her work cut out for her. If she wanted to protect herself, find Elijah, end the Strix and keep her secrets buried, she’d have to outmanoeuvre Klaus himself.

The day had flown by in a blur of blueprints, plans, and endless deliberations. Caroline stood in the library, surrounded by an array of parchment, sketches, and architecture journals. The grand vision of the castle slowly began to take form under her direction. Though planning grand events was her forte, building and restoring a structure steeped in centuries of tradition and history was another beast entirely. Still, she met the challenge head-on.

What made the task manageable was the lack of a strict budget. She’d argued fiercely for the finest materials, emphasizing the importance of ensuring the castle’s endurance for another millennium or two. The architecture she designed had to blend seamlessly with the existing structure, preserving the essence of the Strix’s legacy. Yet this wasn’t just about building a castle; it was about understanding the culture of the Strix and the weight of their traditions. Her “research” required reading every historical document she could get her hands on, even the ones written in languages she barely understood.

As Caroline packed up for the day, her thoughts turned to her upcoming meeting with Aya. The clock ticked down, each passing second adding to her unease. Unlike Aurora, whom Caroline was beginning to understand—if only slightly—Aya was a complete mystery. Ruthless, cunning, and calculating, Aya operated with an agenda Caroline couldn’t quite grasp. And that terrified her. Why did Aya want her in the Strix? Did she truly want her there, or was this some elaborate ploy?

She needed more information. More pieces of the puzzle. Caroline had tasked Enzo with infiltrating the ranks of the knights. His charm and wit made him an ideal spy, and they desperately needed to know where the tides within the Strix were turning. Genevieve and Naveeda had their own roles to play, while Vasil moved in the shadows, playing a game all his own. Caroline felt the weight of it all pressing down on her, the intricate web of schemes and counter-schemes threatening to unravel at any moment.

"Naveeda, Abidemi, Isabella," she called, her voice cutting through the quiet exhaustion that had settled over the library. The three servants looked up from their work, weariness etched into their features.

“We’re done for the day,” Caroline said, offering a small smile. “Help me bring the plans back to my quarters. Then you’re dismissed.”

The trio exchanged grateful looks before moving to gather the scattered papers and sketches. Together, they carried the materials through the winding streets of the town, the ash-streaked sky glowing faintly red above them. Caroline noted the sideways glances they received from townsfolk—some curious, others resentful. It didn’t matter. She had bigger concerns.

Once they arrived at her chambers, Caroline dismissed them for the night. “Get some rest,” she told them. “Tomorrow’s another long day.”

After they left, Caroline stood alone in the dimly lit room. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She had no idea what Aya wanted from her, only that she couldn’t afford to appear weak or unsure. This meeting wasn’t just a conversation—it was a test, another piece of the Strix’s dangerous game.

Caroline walked to her dresser and caught her reflection in the mirror. Her face looked calm, her eyes steady, but she could feel the tight coil of nerves in her chest. Shaking it off, she smoothed her dress and squared her shoulders.

It was time to meet Aya.

Caroline reached Aya’s quarters just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a crimson hue over the darkened cityscape. The ash continued to fall softly, coating everything in a fine, ghostly layer. The servant who accompanied her announced her arrival with a stiff bow before withdrawing. She stepped into her apartments, noting their size—just as grand as Aurora’s, though half of the space was dedicated to her personal lab and training center.

As she walked further in, she found Aya seated on the balcony, her silhouette backlit by the eerie twin crescent moons. A table was set with a bottle of absinthe—Hapsburg Super Deluxe, no less—and a single glass. Beside Aya stood a servant, his arm outstretched and pale as death, blood dripping from his wrist onto the table. His lifeless blue eyes reminded Caroline of Matt, a memory that made her stomach twist.

Aya didn’t look up. “You’re late.”

Caroline sighed, walking toward the table and taking the seat opposite Aya. “Of course I am.” Her eyes flicked to the bottle of absinthe. “Hapsburg Super Deluxe Absinthe, 89.9%. Fancy choice.” She watched as Aya tipped her glass back and drank, unbothered by the burn. “Didn’t a man claim innocence for killing his wife and children because he consumed a couple of ounces of that stuff?”

Aya smirked faintly. “Jean Lanfray. During lunch on August 28, 1905, he consumed seven glasses of wine, six glasses of cognac, one coffee laced with brandy, two crème de menthes, and two glasses of absinthe after eating a sandwich. He returned home drunk, argued with his wife, and asked her to polish his shoes. When she refused, he retrieved a Vetterli rifle and shot her in the head.”

Aya swirled the absinthe in her glass. “His four-year-old daughter ran into the room, and he shot and killed her as well as his two-year-old daughter. He then shot himself in the jaw, carried the two-year old's body to the garden, and collapsed. He survived and was later put on trial.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow. “Is this the part where you tell me that’s what the public knows, but actually The Strix—” She poured herself a glass of the absinthe, took a sip, and coughed violently. “That’s not even enjoyable. Why are you drinking it?”

Aya smiled, a glimmer of amusement in her cold eyes. “The Strix couldn’t care less about a human French labourer living in Switzerland. I just find the story quite quaint.”

Caroline set the glass down and leaned back. “Why am I here?”

Aya tilted her head, studying her. “How did you identify Mariam as the mole so quickly? You got there before we did.”

Caroline gave a faint smile. “Money. In this century, everything leaves a trace, and everything is motivated and run by money. I knew whatever occurred was big. When I got out of The Tombs, I began combing through any connections to the outside world. Mariam was one busy lady—and rich too. One of the companies Mariam owned was responsible for shipping items. I had Aisha hack the logs.”

Caroline paused, meeting Aya’s gaze. “The company had only two shipments. The first was from Hong Kong to Speyer, carrying fragile and expensive items. The second, from Speyer to New Orleans, arrived that same day… carrying dead bodies. The company was liquidated as soon as the last shipment left Speyer, and its assets were absorbed by Yousef Ali, Anwar’s personal servant. I did some digging into Yousef, and everything unraveled. When I went to question Mariam, the rest became history.”

Aya’s expression darkened. “The leak goes deeper.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Caroline asked warily.

“Mariam was interrogated, but she didn’t know anything about the phone, the companies—nothing,” Aya said.

Caroline leaned forward. “The phone?”

Aya nodded. “She had damning messages from Yousef and Anwar on her phone. But Yousef was found dead that evening—an apparent suicide. Mariam was sent to The Tombs and interrogated by Shen Min, but nothing useful was uncovered.”

Caroline frowned. “Then maybe she really didn’t know anything. You said the leak goes deeper. Perhaps her knowledge of the event was erased—liquidated, like her company. Maybe she was compelled.”

Aya shrugged. “A witch cannot be compelled. No matter now. She killed herself by taking a piece of glass and slitting her throat.”

Caroline bristled but kept her composure as Aya drained the last of her absinthe. Then, without hesitation, Aya grabbed the servant by the neck and drank deeply from his wrist, ignoring his lifeless eyes as she killed him. His body crumpled to the floor.

Caroline’s voice was icy. “I see you all kill humans as if it’s nothing. Vampires too, if I think about it. How do you deal with all the bodies? Wouldn’t the local authorities notice something?”

Aya smirked faintly, wiping her lips. “You said it yourself. Money.” She stood gracefully and gestured for Caroline to follow. “Come with me. I have something else to show you.”

Caroline hesitated but rose from her seat, following Aya as she left the quarters. The air outside was cold, but Caroline’s thoughts were colder. The pieces of Aya’s puzzle were falling into place, but the full picture remained maddeningly unclear.

The evening air in New Orleans was thick with tension and secrets as Rebekah sat on the back porch of the town house. The night was still, save for the distant hum of jazz wafting in from the Quarter. She twirled a wine glass in her hand, the liquid catching the dim glow of the porch light. Her thoughts were a cacophony—Caroline, Genevieve, Elijah, the Strix. All her sins wrapped up in layers of guilt and dread.

Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of the back door creaking open. Liz Forbes stepped out cautiously, her face etched with gratitude and fatigue. Liz’s journey to New Orleans had been fraught with danger, and she’d barely survived the encounter with Marcel’s vampires. Rebekah had seen to that.

Liz cleared her throat, and Rebekah turned, raising a sceptical eyebrow. “I just wanted to say thank you,” Liz began, her voice firm despite the undercurrent of emotion. “For saving my life. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Rebekah’s lips twitched into a tight smile. “Us girls have got to look out for each other,” she said, echoing her usual refrain, though the words felt hollow to her. She couldn’t shake the pang of guilt as Liz’s eyes shone with desperation. Liz was searching for her daughter, Caroline, with a determination that only a good mother could muster.

And Rebekah knew the truth—or at least thought she did. Caroline was dead. Rebekah had made sure of it to protect her own secrets, to bury the trail of blood and betrayal that always seemed to follow her. She couldn’t let Liz know. Not now. Not ever.

The porch creaked again as Katherine Pierce emerged from the shadows. The ever-cunning vampire leaned against the wooden railing, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief and something more elusive: determination. “Well, isn’t this a touching scene?” Katherine drawled, earning a sharp glare from Rebekah.

“What do you want, Katherine?” Rebekah asked, her voice tinged with impatience. Katherine smirked and reached into the folds of her coat. She pulled out a bundle wrapped in cloth and tossed it onto the table between them. Rebekah frowned, her curiosity piqued. She unwrapped the bundle to reveal two silver daggers, their surfaces glinting menacingly in the dim light.

“Where did you get these?” Rebekah demanded, her voice low but shocked.

“Let’s just say I have a knack for finding things people want to keep hidden,” Katherine replied, crossing her arms. “Consider them a gift. You’re going to need them if you want to keep the Strix at bay. And… if you’re serious about finding Elijah.”

Rebekah’s breath caught. She traced a finger over the ornate hilts of the daggers. These were the very tools that had been used to subdue her and her siblings for centuries, to silence and imprison them. The weight of them in her hands felt heavy with memory and purpose.

“Why are you giving these to me?” Rebekah asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Because I need Elijah as much as you do,” Katherine said, her voice uncharacteristically sincere. “And because I know that if you are going to do what needs to be done, you’re going to need the threat from Klaus gone.”

Rebekah’s thoughts churned. She knew Katherine’s motives were never altruistic. The daggers were a means to an end—her end, Elijah’s end, perhaps even Klaus’s. But Rebekah couldn’t deny that they were a lifeline in her current predicament. The Strix had daggered her once before and left her vulnerable. They could do it again if she didn’t act first.

“Fine,” Rebekah said, slipping the daggers into the folds of her coat. “But don’t think for a moment that I trust you.”

Katherine smirked again, but there was no humour in it. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

Liz watched the exchange in silence, her brow furrowed. Finally, she broke in, her voice trembling with urgency. “So, what now? How do we find Caroline?”

Rebekah’s chest tightened in guilt, one thought swirling in her head, she’s already dead. She avoided Liz’s gaze, focusing instead on the dark horizon. “We follow the leads we have,” she said carefully, “and we don’t stop until we get answers.”

Liz nodded, though her expression was a mix of hope and fear. Rebekah felt a pang of guilt twist in her gut. Liz deserved the truth, but the truth could unravel everything. Caroline had to stay dead. It was the only way to keep her own past buried, to keep Klaus’s rage focused on the Strix and not on her.

Aya waited for her in the corridor, her expression unreadable. Together, they walked in silence toward the large hall where the meeting was being held. As they entered, Caroline immediately noted the atmosphere. It felt less formal than the last gathering—another dinner party of sorts—but the tension in the air was palpable.

The grand hall of the Strix was alive with the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of crystal glasses. The setting was lavish, with ornate chandeliers casting a golden glow over the room, illuminating vampires dressed in elegant but understated attire. The atmosphere was refined, yet the tension beneath the surface was unmistakable—powerful individuals mingling, each vying for dominance in subtle ways.

Caroline Forbes stood near a table laden with finger foods and goblets of blood, her face a mask of calm despite the storm raging within. She knew she was surrounded by enemies, some of whom she couldn’t yet identify. This dinner party wasn’t about celebration; it was about politics, alliances, and survival.

Aurora approached Caroline, her movements graceful yet deliberate. She wore a sly smile, her sharp eyes scanning Caroline with amusement.

"Ah, little dove," Aurora greeted, her tone dripping with mock affection. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Do you want me to lie to you?" Caroline replied smoothly, picking up a small canapé from the table and inspecting it before taking a delicate bite.

Aurora smirked and leaned in slightly. "Allow me to introduce you to some of the more... prominent members of this illustrious organisation." She gestured toward a nearby group of vampires, each exuding an aura of authority and danger.

"Angelica di Fiore, Bridget O’Caelan, and Ibrahim al-Khatib," Aurora said, motioning to each in turn. Caroline’s heart clenched as the names hit her like a blow, but she forced her expression to remain neutral. The names from the file. The ones who killed Tyler and his pack.

Angelica was striking, with dark hair cascading over her shoulders and a confident smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Bridget looked gruff, her posture stiff and her gaze critical. Ibrahim stood tall and imposing, his eyes sharp and calculating.

Caroline shook each of their hands, her grip firm despite the rage boiling beneath her skin. "Caroline Forbes," she introduced herself, her voice steady and composed.

Angelica smiled, seemingly impressed. "We’ve heard quite a bit about you. Your fight with Mohinder was... innovative."

Caroline tilted her head, her smile polite but distant. "Innovative?"

"The move with the rib," Angelica clarified, her tone almost admiring. "Very creative."

Bridget rolled her eyes and muttered, "Enough, Ange. You’re smothering her. Come help me raid the bar."

Angelica laughed lightly and followed Bridget toward the drinks, leaving Ibrahim to nod politely before walking away.

Caroline turned to Aurora, her eyes narrowing. "Are you serious right now?"

Aurora’s smile widened, her amusement evident. "Come now, little dove. Everything will be revealed in time."

Before Caroline could press further, Aurora casually added, "Did you know Mohinder trained them all? He taught Angelica, Bridget, and Ibrahim everything they know about combat. The same discipline he passed to Aya. They’re quite the elite group."

Caroline’s jaw tightened, but she kept her tone measured. "Impressive. What about you?"

Aurora arched an eyebrow, clearly enjoying Caroline’s discomfort. "I didn’t have the honor of training under Mohinder. My methods are more... instinctual. But they’re disciplined. You might say they’ve mastered the art of self-control."

"Self-control?" Caroline asked, her curiosity piqued.

Aurora’s eyes gleamed as she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "They only drink vampire blood—those they’ve defeated in combat, of course. Mohinder’s teachings demand nothing less. They can go weeks without feeding and never feel the pangs of hunger. Such is their control over body and mind."

Caroline felt a chill run down her spine, but she masked it with a wry smile. "Sounds... delightful."

At that moment, the sharp sound of a champagne glass being tapped echoed through the room. Tristan stood at the head of the hall, commanding attention with his presence. The room fell silent, all eyes turning toward him.

"Shall we?" Tristan announced, motioning toward the grand dining table set at the centre of the hall.

Caroline didn’t miss Aurora’s smirk as the vampires began taking their seats. She deliberately chose a seat far from Aurora, finding herself across from Tristan and near Robert Neville, who was glaring at her with open disdain. Caroline smirked back, relishing his discomfort.

As the dinner began, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of the stares from Angelica, Bridget, and Ibrahim. Her resolve hardened. They wouldn’t live for long, she promised herself silently. But for now, she would play the part, smiling and engaging in conversation, keeping her enemies close as the night unfolded.

The council members moved to take their seats. Caroline, deliberately avoiding Aurora, chose a spot on the opposite side of the table. Aurora’s smirk widened, and Tristan looked amused as he watched the subtle power play. Robert Neville, however, was less entertained, glaring daggers at Caroline. She responded with a smug smile, relishing his irritation. Shen Min sat stoic as ever, while Edward Cavendish glowered openly.

Robert cleared his throat. “My lord, I don’t believe it’s appropriate for Caroline Forbes, who isn’t even a fully-fledged member of the Strix, to be present at this meeting. She is, after all, the sole reason for the destruction of The Warden’s Headquarters.”

Caroline leaned back in her chair, feigning shock. “The sole reason? Why, thank you!”

Edward scoffed. “You little whor—”

“And you,” Caroline interrupted coolly, “are a virgin.”

The room fell silent for a heartbeat before bursting into muffled snickers. Even Shen Min’s lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile.

Edward’s face flushed crimson. “I am not!”

Caroline’s smirk deepened. “Oh, please. No woman or man in their right mind would touch you with a six-foot barge pole, let alone sleep with you. No wonder you’re so wound up.”

Tristan raised a hand, his tone sharp but laced with amusement. “Enough! We’re here to discuss the threat to the Strix, not trade insults.”

The laughter subsided, though the mood remained light. Tristan continued, his voice commanding. “Anwar has still not been captured.”

Aya leaned forward. “We’ve issued a worldwide alert for his capture. However, due to the time dilation in this dimension, it will take weeks for the message to be received, and longer for reports to return.”

Vasil scoffed. “Then remove the dilation. Why do we need it anyway?”

Caroline spoke up before Tristan could answer. “The time was dilated to give me enough time to repair this castle for the 900th-anniversary ball.”

Vasil rolled his eyes. “Clearly, we have more pressing concerns than a bloody ball. Anwar is Mohinder’s second. It would be foolish not to assume Mohinder is aware of Anwar’s actions. If The Knights have been compromised, it must be dealt with immediately.”

The room murmured in agreement. Caroline met Aurora’s gaze across the table, noting the vampire’s smirk as she raised her glass in a silent toast.

Caroline returned her attention to Tristan. “I can’t speak to the Strix’s security concerns. I don’t know Mohinder beyond our fight, nor do I understand the internal politics. But if you want this castle repaired and the ball prepared, I need eight months to do it.”

“Eight months?” Vasil echoed incredulously.

“Yes,” Caroline replied firmly. “Bring in all the engineers and architects you want—they’ll tell you the same, if not longer.”

Robert sneered. “You’re not an engineer.”

“And neither are you,” Caroline shot back. “Look what happened to the west wing when you disregarded the supports I put into place.”

Aya intervened, her tone sharp. “Security must come first. We need boots on the ground to reestablish order. Once the threat is neutralized, the festivities can proceed.”

Tristan’s gaze darkened as he addressed the room. “Loyalty is the blood of the Strix, and betrayal is its poison. With the power vested in me as Leader of the Strix and her High Council, I declare Ἡ Ἐντολὴ τοῦ Ἀτρεπτου Λίθου.”

The room fell into stunned silence, save for Aurora, who smirked knowingly at Caroline. Caroline’s confusion was evident, but she kept her expression neutral as Tristan continued. “Summon Lysandra Shirazi and Alice Lindholm. This matter cannot wait.”

The meeting broke into murmurs as servants brought out food and wine. Caroline found herself seated with Aya, who turned the conversation to toxins, leaving Caroline to stew in the undercurrents of power and intrigue swirling around her.  

The car hummed softly as it sped down the empty highway, the late-night glow of streetlights casting fleeting shadows across the occupants’ faces. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension, the kind that made every small noise—each creak of the seats, every bump on the road—feel amplified. Ava sat in the back seat beside Leonard, her fingers twisting anxiously in her lap. Isaac gripped the wheel tightly, his knuckles pale against the dark leather, while Isla leaned against the passenger door, her gaze flicking between the road ahead and the silent group.

The silence was unbearable.

“Isn’t this cosy?” Isla finally said, her voice light but tinged with sarcasm as she broke the stillness.

“Not now, Is,” Isaac muttered, his focus on the road unyielding.

“Not that I don’t enjoy this little trip to Witch Murder Town,” Isla continued, ignoring Isaac’s admonishment, “but I have a few questions. Namely, why are we going there?”

Leonard sighed, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Questions that will be answered now,” he said. His tone was clipped, betraying his own nervous energy. He pressed the call button and switched to loudspeaker, the tension in the car spiking as the line connected. After two rings, Klaus Mikaelson’s voice filled the car.

“What do you have for me?” Klaus asked, his tone cold and imperious.

Ava visibly tensed at the sound of his voice, her breath hitching. Leonard straightened his posture as if Klaus could see him, though the fear in his eyes was unmistakable.

“The ancestors invaded Ava’s mind,” Leonard said carefully, “and gave her a message. They want us to go to Salem, but we don’t know why.”

Klaus’s laughter echoed through the speaker, dark and unsettling. “How convenient,” he said, his amusement sharp enough to cut.

Leonard frowned, exchanging a puzzled glance with Ava. “My lord?”

“The Mystic Falls lot,” Klaus explained, his tone laced with derision, “plans to bring back their friends from the dead. And it just so happens that Salem is where they are headed.”

Ava’s eyes widened in confusion, and Isla raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Isaac kept his eyes on the road, his grip on the wheel tightening.

Leonard hesitated before asking, “What would you like us to do?”

Klaus’s voice turned colder. “Go to Salem. Ensure that my brother Kol is brought back from the dead and safely taken to New Orleans.”

There was a pause, and the weight of the silence made Ava’s heart pound faster.

“And,” Klaus continued, his voice soft but menacing, “if Caroline is also on the other side, ensure she is brought back as well. If she is not, then after delivering Kol to New Orleans, you will continue your search for her.”

“Yes, my lord,” Leonard said quickly.

The line remained quiet for a moment before Klaus’s tone shifted, dripping with malice. “And Leonard. Should you fail this time, you will meet an end so cruel that even the devil will weep.”

Leonard swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly. “Understood, my lord.”

The call ended abruptly, leaving the car in stunned silence. The only sound was the faint hum of the tires against the road.

“Well,” Isla said, breaking the quiet with a mock-cheerful tone, “that was comforting. So, mission set: go to Salem, resurrect this Kol guy, and possibly Caroline, then bring them both back to New Orleans. If not, continue the hunt. What could possibly go wrong?”

Isaac snorted softly but didn’t respond, his focus still on the road.

Ava, however, turned to Leonard. “Klaus mentioned Kol was his brother. Who is he?”

Leonard exhaled deeply, his gaze distant as if recalling a particularly grim memory. “An old, immortal vampire. Just as vicious and unhinged as Klaus, if not more. Kol is a wrecking loose, one of the most powerful beings in the supernatural world. The only one of Klaus’s siblings who isn’t afraid of him—and one of the few whose cruelty might surpass his.”

Isla tilted her head, her expression skeptical. “If this guy is so powerful, how is he dead?”

Leonard shook his head. “I’m not sure. All I know is that we have orders from Klaus. Our usefulness—and your association with Caroline—is the only reason we’re still breathing.”

Ava’s voice was barely a whisper, but the confined space made her words clear. “If he’s that bad, how can we help him come back to life?”

Everyone heard her. The car fell silent again, the weight of her question hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

Isaac was the first to respond, his voice quiet but firm. “Sometimes, we have to make deals with devils to save the world. Because if we don’t, the axe will fall anyway, and we’ll be too dead to do anything about it.”

“Some things are more important than survival,” Ava said softly, her tone carrying more conviction.

Isaac glanced at her through the rearview mirror, his expression grim. “Maybe. But you’ll need to stay alive to figure out what those things are—especially with the world collapsing around us.”

Isla rolled her eyes, grabbing a blood bag from her bag and holding it up like a toast. “And to think all of this started because of one missing blonde vampire. Cheers.”

Leonard sighed heavily, leaning his head against the window as the car sped toward their destination, the weight of their task pressing on all of them.

The grand hall buzzed with anticipation as the witches Lysandra and Alice entered, their presence commanding attention. The room quieted briefly before Tristan rose from his seat at the head of the table, champagne flute in hand. His posture was regal, his voice smooth and commanding.

“Distinguished friends,” Tristan began, his words dripping with elegance. “Despite the circumstances and tretchery lain before us it’s so rare that so many of us of the highest regard are able to come together like this, to dine for one night in the company of true equals.” His gaze swept over the room, lingering on each guest, his smirk growing. “Now, I’d like to take a moment to welcome a very special guest—Caroline Forbes.”

Caroline, seated a few places down the table, raised her glass and nodded in acknowledgment, a polite smile on her face as a smattering of applause filled the hall.

“Thank you,” she said with poised confidence. “I’m honored. Thank you.”

Tristan’s smile widened, an edge of amusement flickering in his eyes. “Of course,” he said smoothly, “before we tell Caroline all of our secrets, there’s one small piece of business to which we must first attend. We must determine her worth.”

Caroline frowned, her composure faltering for a fraction of a second. “That’s funny,” she said, her voice tinged with sarcasm. “I seem to recall you being the one knocking on my door. And having me literally fix yours.”

Laughter rippled through the room, but Tristan’s smirk only deepened. “You’ll notice, Miss Forbes,” he said, his tone shifting to something darker, “that over the course of the evening, someone has managed to take something quite dear to you… Your daylight ring.”

Caroline’s heart skipped a beat. She glanced down at her right hand and saw her index finger bare where the ring should have been. Her pulse quickened as she tried to keep her rising worry hidden.

Tristan tilted his head, savouring her reaction. “The test is quite simple. First, you need to deduce the identity of the thief. Then, you are simply to take back what is yours... Although,” he added, his smirk sharpening, “I doubt the prize will be easily relinquished. After all, despite our refinement, we’re still a rather violent bunch.”

A ripple of cruel amusement ran through the crowd, their murmurs buzzing like static in Caroline’s ears. She gulped but maintained her composure, her jaw tightening as she straightened in her seat.

“In victory,” Tristan concluded, “you become one of us. In failure… you meet your death. You have a few hours until dawn. I wish you the best of luck.”

The weight of his words settled over the room, thick and oppressive. Caroline offered no immediate reply, her eyes narrowing as Tristan resumed his seat, his gaze fixed on her with predatory intensity. 

Caroline stood at the bar, pouring herself a drink in deliberate defiance of the whispers and snickers echoing around her. The other vampires watched her like circling wolves, their faces alight with mocking curiosity.

Edward Cavendish sidled up beside her, his presence as unwelcome as it was unavoidable. He ordered himself a drink, his movements slow and deliberate as he turned to look at her directly.

“Look around, girl,” Edward sneered, his voice low but cutting. “All of us here are many centuries older than you. I wonder—how are you supposed to beat one of us?”

Caroline didn’t immediately respond, taking a long sip from her glass instead. Her mind raced, piecing together her next move even as she forced her face to remain calm.

Before she could muster a reply, Tristan appeared behind them, his entrance smooth and calculated. He placed a hand on Edward’s shoulder, a gesture that managed to convey both camaraderie and authority.

“With guile,” Tristan said, his voice dripping with amusement, “courage, perhaps a bit of trickery. Admittedly, it’s a long shot, but then…” His smirk widened. “Sometimes the new candidates surprise us.”

Edward grunted, clearly unconvinced, but Tristan merely clapped him on the shoulder. “Come now, old friend. Let’s leave Miss Forbes to her own devices.”

With that, Tristan guided Edward away from the bar, leaving Caroline alone with her thoughts and her glass. She took another sip, her grip tightening on the stem as she glanced around the room, her mind racing to determine who had taken her ring—and how she was going to get it back.

The soft glow of candlelight danced on the walls of the cozy restaurant as Marcel set a bottle of wine on the table. The room was empty save for one table near the center, where Cami sat, her arms folded loosely. Marcel pulled out a chair and slid into it with practiced ease, his charming smile firmly in place.

“I sent everyone home for the night,” he said, pouring two glasses of wine. “I am your humble host.”

Cami arched a brow, picking up her glass. “Oh... okay. Extra points for flair.”

Marcel chuckled. “And the night’s just started. What made you decide to come?”

Cami tilted her head, her expression softening slightly. “Everyone deserves a chance.”

The atmosphere was warm, tinged with the quiet intimacy of an evening just beginning. But before either could take a sip, the doors to the restaurant swung open with a loud crash, shattering the tranquil mood.

Rebekah Mikaelson strode in, her steps purposeful and her expression thunderous. Her long blonde hair trailed behind her as her sharp eyes locked onto Marcel.

“You lied to me,” she said, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. “Where’s my brother?”

Marcel leaned back in his chair, entirely unfazed. “Hello to you, too. Cami, Rebekah—Rebekah, Cami.”

Rebekah’s eyes flicked to Cami briefly before returning to Marcel. “I see you still have a thing for blondes.”

“Hey,” Cami protested, but Rebekah didn’t even glance her way. Instead, she moved with inhuman speed, grabbing Marcel by the neck and slamming him against the wall on the far side of the room.

“Tell me where Elijah is,” Rebekah demanded, her voice low and dangerous.

Cami shot to her feet, her eyes wide. “What the hell is going on?”

Rebekah ignored her, tightening her grip on Marcel’s throat. “Tell me where he is, or I will kill you.”

Marcel met her furious gaze calmly, a flicker of something softer passing between them. For the briefest moment, Rebekah’s mind was invaded by the memory of a time they had passionately kissed, a memory Marcel seemed to push toward her deliberately.

“No, you won’t,” Marcel said, his voice steady.

Rebekah faltered, her grip loosening slightly as she stepped back. “Perhaps you’re right,” she murmured.

The silence that followed was tense, broken only by the sound of Cami’s nervous breathing. Before anyone could react, Rebekah vamp-sped across the room and pinned Cami against the wall by her throat.

“But I will kill her,” Rebekah said coldly, her fingers tightening around Cami’s neck.

Cami gasped, clawing at Rebekah’s hand as she struggled for air. “Stop!” she choked out.

Marcel stepped forward, his composure finally cracking. “Let her go,” he said, his voice firm but pleading. “You won. I’ll take you to see Elijah.”

Rebekah’s grip didn’t falter at first, her eyes searching Marcel’s face for any sign of deception. Finally, after a long moment, she released Cami, who fell to the floor, gasping for breath.

“What the hell are you people?” Cami managed, her voice trembling with fear and confusion.

Marcel crouched beside her, his expression softening. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders. “Shh, it’s okay,” he said soothingly. His gaze locked onto hers, and his voice dropped to a commanding tone. “Go home, forget all this, and just know that I will make it up to you. I promise.”

Cami’s tense body relaxed as the compulsion took hold. She nodded, her eyes glassy, and stood, walking toward the door without another word.

Marcel straightened, turning back to Rebekah. “You wanna see Elijah? Fine. Follow me.”

Rebekah said nothing, her eyes narrowing as she trailed after him. The two exited the restaurant, leaving the shattered peace—and Cami’s compelled curiosity—behind.

The grand hall shimmered with low lights and soft music, the din of murmured conversations filling the air as Caroline Forbes weaved her way through the crowd. Her sharp eyes scanned the room until they landed on Aurora, who was leaning gracefully against a marble column, sipping from a goblet of red wine, her presence as commanding as ever. Caroline’s lips curled into a tight smile as she approached.

Without missing a beat, she slipped her arm through Aurora’s and pulled her aside. Before Aurora could protest, Caroline vamp-sped them both into a dimly lit hallway, slamming Aurora against the wall with one hand around her throat. Aurora’s goblet clattered to the floor, spilling its crimson contents like spilled blood.

Caroline’s voice was low and venomous. “Is this how you people get your kicks? Killing your friends for sport?”

Aurora, unfazed, smiled lazily. “Take your hand off of me, or I will tear your arm from its socket.”

Caroline tightened her grip, her blue eyes burning with anger. “My life may seem inconsequential to you, but at least I have a code. I don’t kill my friends. I don’t lead them to the slaughter. After everything we’ve been through, after everything we’ve seen, there’s something universal in my small life that I’ve learned. Everything begins with loyalty—something you clearly don’t give a damn about.”

Aurora’s smirk deepened, her amusement only growing. With a swift, fluid movement, she overpowered Caroline, spinning them both so that Caroline was now pinned against the wall, Aurora’s hand wrapped firmly around her throat.

“Life’s fragility,” Aurora purred, her tone dripping with sardonic charm, “only sharpens its pleasures, don’t you think? It makes every moment—even this one—pulse with something far more exquisite than mere survival.”

The air between them was charged, their eyes locking in a battle of wills. Beneath the tension lay something raw, unspoken, and electric. For a moment, neither moved, the intensity crackling like a live wire. Then, in a burst of impulsive defiance, Caroline lunged forward, capturing Aurora’s lips in a passionate kiss.

Aurora stiffened at first, but then she responded with equal fervour, her free hand tangling in Caroline’s hair. As their bodies pressed together, Caroline’s hands began to roam, searching Aurora’s body for her daylight ring. Her touch was firm, deliberate, and desperate, but Aurora, quick to sense her intent, broke away abruptly with a sly smirk.

“Mmm…” Aurora drawled, her voice a silky taunt. “A fine effort, Little Dove, but I don’t have your daylight ring. I do hope you’re able to find it, though. What little time remains.”

With that, Aurora released her and stepped back, her smirk widening as she watched Caroline struggle to mask her frustration. She turned and strode away with the elegance of a predator, her footsteps echoing down the hallway as she disappeared around a corner.

Caroline leaned back against the wall, her chest heaving as her mind raced. Her fingers itched to tear something apart, her rage and anxiety swirling together into a storm of desperation. Then, suddenly, an idea began to form—a realisation clicking into place. She straightened, her eyes narrowing as her mind worked rapidly. But before her thought process could fully materialise, she froze. A figure stepped out of the shadows, his presence filling the dim hallway with an oppressive weight. The corners of her mouth tightened into a grim line as her gaze met his.

“Vasil,” she murmured, her voice low and laced with suspicion.

The man’s lips curled into a wolfish grin however his dark eyes glinted with alarm. “Well, well,” he drawled, his voice smooth as velvet. “I must say, Little Hero, you’ve got yourself into a bind.”

The creak of the attic door echoed through the silent space as Marcel pushed it open and stepped inside. Rebekah followed closely behind, her heels clicking against the floor. Her sharp eyes scanned the room, her tension mounting as she caught sight of a coffin in the corner.

“Elijah,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her steps quickened toward the coffin, but just as she reached the doorway, she stopped short, her body unable to cross the threshold. A magical barrier shimmered faintly, barring her entry.

“Invite me in,” Rebekah demanded, her voice clipped and impatient.

Marcel turned to her, his expression calm but unreadable. “Gotta ask the lady of the house.” He raised his voice slightly. “Davina, come on out, sweetheart.”

From the shadows, a young girl emerged. Her dark hair framed a pale, youthful face that held an unsettling confidence. She moved with measured steps to stand beside Marcel, her sharp gaze flickering between him and Rebekah.

Marcel inclined his head toward Rebekah. “Invite her in.”

Davina hesitated, her expression skeptical, but finally, she said, “Come in.”

The barrier vanished, and Rebekah strode into the room, wasting no time as she approached the coffin. She lifted the lid, her heart aching at the sight of her brother lying still within. Elijah’s face was pale and serene, the dagger embedded in his chest a cruel reminder of his current state. Without hesitation, Rebekah grabbed the dagger and began to pull it free.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Davina said, her voice cutting through the moment.

A sharp pain shot through Rebekah’s arm. Against her will, her hands moved, shoving the dagger back into Elijah’s chest. She staggered back, her body trembling as the magical compulsion released her. Turning sharply, she fixed Davina with a glare.

“Who the hell are you?” Rebekah demanded.

Davina tilted her head, her expression unimpressed. “Davina.” She glanced at Marcel. “She’s an old one, isn’t she?”

Marcel nodded. “Yeah. Rebekah is an Original, which means she can’t be killed.”

Davina’s lips curled into a faint smile. “She doesn’t seem very nice.”

“She can be,” Marcel said with a casual shrug, “but she hasn’t been very nice to me tonight.”

Davina turned her attention back to Rebekah, her voice cool and firm. “Then I’m afraid it’s time for you to leave.”

Before Rebekah could react, a force slammed into her, propelling her backward. She hit the wall with a bone-rattling impact, then was thrown again and again, her body a ragdoll in Davina’s unseen grip. Finally, the force sent her crashing through the doorway, the door slamming shut behind her with a resounding thud.

The warm glow of the chandeliers in the grand hall cast an opulent light over the evening’s festivities. Caroline Forbes leaned against the bar, her fingers loosely cradling a glass of Tequila. The air was filled with muted laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the hum of whispered conversations. But for Caroline, the din of the party faded into the background. Her plan was in motion, the dice cast, and all she could do now was wait.

After what felt like an eternity, a shadow fell over her. She turned to see Aya, flanked by Bridget and several other prominent members of the Strix. Aya’s sharp gaze locked onto her, and her lips curved into a polite yet dangerous smile.

“If you’d please come with us, Miss Forbes…” Aya said smoothly.

Caroline took a deep breath, her steely gaze meeting Bridget’s icy stare. Her jaw tightened, but she gave a curt nod and pushed off the bar. Aya led the group through the hall, their passage drawing the attention of the room. Curious onlookers whispered among themselves and began to follow, intrigued by what was to come. Among them was Vasil, his expression inscrutable as he moved with the crowd.

They ascended the grand staircase, the murmurs growing quieter as the group approached a private chamber. When the doors opened, they revealed Tristan standing at the head of the room, surrounded by several other high-ranking members of the Strix. He was all smiles, his demeanour cheerful and composed as always, but his presence was laced with an unmistakable edge of authority.

“Miss Forbes!” Tristan greeted warmly, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “It’s time.”

Caroline’s brow furrowed, confusion flashing across her face. “I have another hour.”

Tristan spread his hands in a mock display of regret. “And I’m afraid that an inability to improvise is the most common of failings. Either you have an answer, or you don’t.”

The room fell silent, all eyes fixed on Caroline. The weight of their gazes pressed down on her, but she refused to falter. She straightened her shoulders, her sharp eyes scanning the faces around her. Aurora’s name burned on the tip of her tongue, but she hesitated, considering her options.

After a long, tense moment, she finally spoke.

“Aurora,” Caroline said, her voice clear and unwavering. “Aurora took my ring.”

SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER

Aurora led Caroline through the grand hall, her movements graceful and deliberate. The faint sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses echoed in the background, but Caroline’s focus was on the conversation.

“Are you serious right now?” Caroline muttered under her breath, glaring at Aurora as they walked.

Aurora’s smile widened, her amusement evident in the mischievous glint of her eyes. “Come now, little dove. Everything will be revealed in time.”

As they moved, Aurora’s hand slid smoothly over Caroline’s right hand, her touch seemingly innocent. Caroline, distracted by her growing frustration, didn’t notice as Aurora expertly slid the daylight ring off her index finger and into her own palm.

PRESENT TIME

Caroline stood in the middle of the room, her confident gaze fixed on Aurora. The tension in the air was palpable, and every eye in the room was on her. Aurora tilted her head, her expression a mixture of amusement and feigned innocence.

“I’m sorry, little dove, but I don’t have your ri—” Aurora began, but Caroline cut her off with a triumphant smile.

“I wasn’t done.” Caroline interjected, raising a hand. “I said you took it. I didn’t say you still have it.”

The room shifted, murmurs of intrigue rippling through the gathered vampires. Aurora’s smirk faltered slightly as Caroline continued.

“See, after you took it from me, you gave it to one of the wonder triplets.” Caroline gestured toward Bridget, her voice sharp and confident.

Tristan’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his expression remained composed. “Miss Forbes,” he said calmly, “you must identify the individual who currently holds your ring.”

Caroline’s smirk deepened as she pointed directly at Bridget. “Her.”

Aurora’s expression darkened, though her tone remained light. “Because?”

Caroline’s lips curled in a sly smile. “The other two are currently enjoying the perks of not having hearts... in a storage closet.” She smirked slightly, although under the smirk was cold rage.

SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER

Aurora continued walking with Caroline, casually chatting, as Bridget drifted closer. Aurora’s movements were smooth and calculated, a predator on the hunt.

“They only drink vampire blood,” Aurora said softly, her tone dripping with intrigue. “Those they’ve defeated in combat, of course.”

As Aurora spoke, she discreetly handed the ring to Bridget. The exchange was seamless, and Bridget slipped away just as quietly as she had approached.

PRESENT TIME

The room went silent as all eyes turned to Bridget. For a moment, she stood motionless, her face impassive. Then, with a faint sigh, she reached into her pocket and produced Caroline’s daylight ring. She held it up, the silver band  with a blue lapis lazuli stone gleaming in the soft light.

Tristan’s lips curved into a pleased smile. “Well done!” he said, his tone warm but edged with an undercurrent of expectation. “Of course, as you know, that was only half the challenge.”

Tristan strode past Caroline, clapping her on the shoulder with an almost affectionate air as he passed. Aurora followed him, her smirk firmly back in place as she glanced over her shoulder at Caroline.

The room crackled with tension as Caroline and Bridget circled each other. Vampires from all ranks of the Strix stood silently, watching the scene unfold. At the far end of the room, Tristan leaned toward Aurora and whispered, his tone low and amused.

"Let’s see how she does."

Aurora’s smirk deepened as her eyes followed Caroline, gleaming with anticipation. This was the moment of truth.

Caroline paused mid-circle, tying her hair back into a ponytail with deliberate calm. Her gaze never left Bridget as she bounced lightly on her heels, psyching herself up.

Bridget’s voice was calm, controlled, and laced with condescension. “There’s no shame in dying at the hands of one’s superior.”

Caroline’s lips curved into a sharp, mocking smile. “Oh, that’s funny. I told Angelica and Ibrahim the same thing.”

Bridget stripped off her jacket and tossed it aside, her every movement precise and deliberate. Caroline inhaled deeply, grounding herself, then abruptly stopped moving. She stepped forward and, in a calm voice, declared, “I’m not going to fight you.”

Bridget froze, her brow furrowing in confusion as she turned to Tristan for clarification. Before she could fully process Caroline’s words, Caroline exploded into action. Her first punch landed squarely on Bridget’s jaw, snapping her head to the side. The second struck her stomach, forcing her back a step.

Bridget stumbled but recovered instantly, glaring daggers at Caroline.

With a blur of movement, Bridget retaliated. Her backhanded slap struck Caroline across the face, sending her flying across the room like a ragdoll. Caroline collided with a stone pillar, the impact reverberating through the air.

Bridget flashed forward, her hand closing around Caroline’s throat as she lifted her off the ground. With brutal efficiency, Bridget slammed her into the pillar again, the stone cracking under the force.

Caroline grimaced, her chest heaving, but refused to cry out. Instead, she spat a glob of blood into Bridget’s face. The unexpected act momentarily distracted her opponent, giving Caroline a fraction of a second to regain her footing.

As Bridget lunged forward, aiming to land a devastating blow, Caroline sidestepped. Her smaller size and agility gave her just enough of an edge to dodge Bridget’s attack. Spotting a broken piece of wood on the floor, she snatched it up and drove it toward Bridget’s side. The jagged end tore into her flesh, narrowly missing her lung.

Bridget snarled and grabbed Caroline’s wrist, twisting it until the makeshift weapon clattered to the ground.

With a feral growl, Bridget grabbed Caroline’s leg and, with horrifying strength, tore it off at the knee. Blood sprayed across the room as Caroline crumpled to the floor. Her face twisted in pain, but she clenched her teeth, refusing to scream.

As Bridget loomed over her, Caroline lunged upward on her one remaining leg with her fangs, ripping into Bridget’s throat. A chunk of flesh tore free, and blood gushed from the wound. Bridget let out an enraged scream, clutching her neck.

Caroline, driven by desperation, grabbed hold of Bridget’s chest with her remaining leg and arm. With every ounce of strength she could muster, she tore into Bridget’s chest, ripping out one of her lungs. Bridget screamed and staggered but remained upright, her centuries of experience allowing her to recover quickly. She pinned Caroline to the ground and began pummelling her mercilessly.

Caroline was bleeding profusely, her body barely able to move under the relentless onslaught. Bridget, fuelled by rage and hunger, sank her fangs into Caroline’s neck. She drank deeply, her victory assured.

But then, Caroline began to laugh weakly.

Bridget yanked her head back, furious. “You fought to the bitter end. Accept your defeat.”

Caroline, her face battered and bloodied, chuckled hoarsely. “I will if you will. Or do you still not know?”

The room grew quiet as everyone watched, intrigued by Caroline’s cryptic words. Tristan and Aurora exchanged a curious glance. Aya raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued.

Caroline’s voice was rasping, but her tone was triumphant. “You must have tasted it in my blood.”

Bridget froze, her expression shifting to confusion, then discomfort. She groaned slightly, her body wobbling unsteadily. A low gagging sound escaped her lips as she clutched her stomach.

“Oh, now you’re starting to feel it, aren’t you?” Caroline whispered. “That burning sensation? Mahal Khafa’s very own snake venom. A little going-away gift from me. I may not have beaten you, but you lost all the same.”

Bridget staggered, her face contorting in pain as the venom coursed through her veins. She growled, her fury mounting. “A desperate ploy! A lie!”

Caroline, her strength fading, lifted the sleeve of her left arm to reveal the faint puncture mark from the injection. “See for yourself,” she murmured, her laughter weak but satisfied.

The room fell into stunned silence as Bridget dropped to her knees, visibly trembling. Tristan stepped forward, his face betraying no emotion. Aurora smirked, intrigued by the turn of events.

Caroline, lying in a pool of her own blood, closed her eyes with a faint smile. “Guess we’re both dead women walking.”

TWENTY MINUTES EARLIER

Caroline stood near the bar, surveying the room with a practiced eye. A ginger-haired woman dressed as a servant approached, a tray of champagne glasses balanced effortlessly in her hands. Caroline took a glass, her fingers brushing against the two syringes tucked beneath the tray. With a subtle nod of thanks, she pocketed them.

The servant moved away, disappearing into the throng of elegant vampires. Moments later, she slipped through a side door. Once outside, the woman removed her mask, revealing the familiar face of Genevieve. Her expression was unreadable as she melted into the shadows, her purpose fulfilled.

Back inside, Caroline took a steadying breath and downed a double shot of Tequila, her gaze darting toward Vasil, who lingered on the other side of the room. His usual stoic demeanor was replaced by a nervous, disheveled energy. She rolled up her sleeve, revealing her pale arm, and jabbed one of the syringes into her vein, injecting herself with Mahal Khafa’s snake venom. The sting was sharp, but she kept her face impassive as Aya and the others approached, her plan now in motion.

PRESENT TIME

Caroline lay pinned beneath Bridget, her body battered and her vision swimming. But as Bridget’s strength waned, her movements slowed, and Caroline took her chance. With a surge of desperation-fuelled strength, she flipped their positions, slamming Bridget against the floor and pinning her there.

Caroline raised her hand, her fingers poised over Bridget’s heart, her voice steady but sharp. “I don’t know why they want you dead, but clearly, they do.”

The room was silent, every eye on the two women. Caroline pushed herself off Bridget and staggered upright, glaring at Tristan, Aya, and Aurora.

“Why else tell me all about her little feeding habits? Or have me fight their master? Or tell me all about the Snake Venom?” Caroline’s voice was dripping with disdain. “All I had to do was observe. And of course, you gave me the perfect opportunity to do your dirty work.”

Aya and Tristan exchanged a glance, intrigue flickering in their eyes. Aurora stood at their side, her lips curling into an amused smirk however under the surface Caroline could see the conflict in her eyes.

“But I’m done being controlled by you bastards,” Caroline continued, her voice cracking with exhaustion. “You want her dead? Do it yourself. As far as I can see, the only thing she’s done to you is be loyal.”

Caroline leaned heavily against a column, her body bleeding profusely and her skin pale as death. Across the room, Vasil stood frozen, his face betraying alarm.

Bridget, meanwhile, was succumbing to the venom coursing through her veins. Blood trickled from her mouth as she clutched at her chest, her face twisted in horror. She glanced at Tristan with wide, pleading eyes.

Tristan moved forward, his expression unreadable as he approached Bridget. He crouched beside her, cupping her face with one hand. His touch was almost tender as he patted her shoulder. Bridget’s expression shifted, a flicker of hope breaking through her despair.

That hope was shattered in an instant.

With blinding speed, Tristan stood and plunged his hand into her chest, ripping out her heart. Bridget crumpled to the floor, her lifeless body collapsing in a heap. Tristan held the heart for a moment before letting it drop with a wet thud onto the stone floor.

The room was deathly silent. Caroline stared at the scene, her exhaustion momentarily replaced by shock. At the back, Vasil’s eyes narrowed in concern. Aurora and Aya, however, looked pleased, their smiles cold and calculated.

Tristan turned to Caroline, his expression shifting into a smile that was equal parts charm and menace. “You chose well. Now, I assure you, she did deserve it. She’s been plotting unspeakable crimes against her sworn brothers and sisters. Of course, you couldn’t have known.”

He stepped closer, bending to retrieve Caroline’s daylight ring from Bridget’s pocket. With an almost theatrical flourish, he held it out to her.

“Beating such a worthy opponent is proof of your strength and courage,” Tristan continued. “But your restraint—your refusal to kill without cause—demonstrates a rare integrity. You see, Caroline Forbes… this was the test.”

Caroline reached out with trembling fingers to take the ring, but her body was failing her. Tristan’s sharp eyes noticed her condition immediately.

“Welcome to The Strix,” he said with a hint of amusement. “Provided, of course, you survive your own gambit.”

Caroline’s fingers fumbled with the remaining syringe in her pocket. She pulled it out, her hand shaking as she injected the elderglow fern extract into the infected injection point. A searing pain ripped through her body, every nerve ablaze with golden fire. She gasped, her muscles spasming as the world around her blurred. The last thing she saw before the darkness claimed her was the faint smirk on Aurora’s face and unknown hands reaching for her.

The petrol station hummed with an air of uneasy quiet, its flickering neon sign casting intermittent light over the small lot. Inside the store, Isaac strolled through the aisles with a cooler filled with blood bags, a faint smirk on his face. He grabbed a basket, tossing in chips, canned drinks, and anything else that looked remotely appetizing.

“Good news,” Isaac announced as he passed Isla, who leaned against a shelf, sucking lazily on a lollipop. “The clinic two blocks down had blood bags. Enough to last us the next few days at least.”

Isla rolled her eyes, the red of her lollipop matching her lips. “Not to ruin your mood of adventure, but where exactly are we supposed to go?”

Ava, standing near the window, shifted nervously, her eyes scanning the horizon as if expecting trouble. “North East,” she replied curtly, her tone tense and distracted.

“North East where?” Isla pressed, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

Ava spun around, her eyes flashing dangerously. “I don’t know!” she snapped, her voice trembling with frustration. “I only go where the ancestors tell me to go.”

The ground beneath their feet rumbled slightly, a faint tremor that silenced Isla instantly. She raised her hands in mock surrender, her expression shifting from irritation to wary respect.

“Yes, ma’am,” Isla muttered. “I’m gonna get more candy.”

As she moved toward the station’s entrance, a car pulled into the lot, its headlights cutting through the darkness. Isla froze mid-step, her body tense as the driver exited the vehicle. Her breath hitched in recognition. The driver spotted her, his movements slowing as he shut the car door.

“Well, well,” Damon drawled, his smirk equal parts amusement and menace. “Wonder Twin A?”

Isla blinked, trying to keep her cool. “Name’s Isla. But, uh, thanks.”

Jeremy emerged from the car, his crossbow held casually but ready. “Something tells me you’re not here for the tourism.”

Isla hesitated, but before she could answer, Ava appeared at her side, her presence commanding. “The ancestors told me to come here.”

Damon’s smirk faded slightly, his gaze hardening. “And why is that?”

Ava’s voice was calm but firm, her piercing eyes meeting Damon’s glare unflinchingly. “I’m here to do what the ancestors want. If they want me to help you, I will. If not, I won’t. I don't answer to you.”

Leonard stepped forward, his stance protective, as Isaac joined Isla, both siblings eyeing the newcomers with caution. Elena moved beside Damon, her expression softer, yet still guarded.

Isaac held up his hands placatingly, his tone smooth. “Look, I don’t see why the ancestors would send us here unless it was for a reason. Let’s just make our way to the destination and figure it out from there. Sound good?”

Elena glanced at Damon, her hand gently squeezing his arm. Damon’s eyes scanned the group, calculating the risk, before his gaze finally landed on Isaac.

“Okay, Wonder Twin B,” Damon said, his tone deceptively casual as he grabbed Isaac roughly by the arm. His expression darkened, and his voice dropped an octave. “If this is a trap, I don’t care if Blondie turned you—I will end you and your sister.”

Isaac nodded, his voice steady despite the tension. “Got it.”

Elena’s fingers lightly tugged Damon’s arm, pulling him back. “We’ll follow. But if they try anything…” she trailed off, her meaning clear.

Ava, calm as ever, inclined her head. “Let’s go.”

The group began to move, their truce tenuous, the air thick with suspicion. The North East awaited, but no one could shake the feeling that danger lingered just out of sight.

Time became meaningless in the haze of pain and unconsciousness. Rebekah groaned softly as she stirred, her head throbbing and her body aching from the magical assault. She blinked against the dim light, her surroundings slowly coming into focus. The familiar walls of Marcel’s compound greeted her, though they were tinged with a sickening sense of violation.

Marcel leaned casually against the doorway, watching her awaken with a smirk. “Welcome back, Rebekah. You were out for quite a while.”

Rebekah sat up slowly, wincing at the stiffness in her limbs. “Where am I?” she asked, her voice hoarse. “How’d I get here?”

“You upset Davina,” Marcel said, his tone amused. “I’m glad you two finally got to meet. Now you know what you’re dealing with.”

Rebekah glanced around the room, recognition dawning as her eyes settled on the details—the antique vanity, the ornate mirror. “Is this my old room?” she asked, her tone sharp with suspicion.

“Oh, it’s mine now,” Marcel said, his grin widening. “Just like this town is mine. Davina’s mine. Elijah is mine—until I feel like giving him back.”

Rebekah’s jaw tightened, her anger bubbling just beneath the surface as Marcel stepped closer, his confidence infuriating.

“What was once yours,” he continued, his voice low and cutting, “what was once your brother’s—it’s now mine.”

Marcel turned toward the door, but before leaving, he paused, casting one last look over his shoulder. “And don’t ever touch Cami again.”

With that, he was gone, leaving Rebekah alone in the room that was once hers, the weight of her failures and the sheer audacity of Marcel’s claim hanging heavily in the air.

The room was quiet save for the soft strokes of Klaus’s paintbrush against the canvas. The colors blended together in abstract swirls, each movement precise yet raw with emotion. His mind churned as he painted, the events of the last few weeks replaying relentlessly. The phone call with Leonard lingered in his thoughts. Kol could be brought back—Leonard’s latest report had assured him of that—but it wasn’t Kol who haunted him now.

It was Caroline.

If she was dead… Klaus’s hand stilled for a moment. He refused to dwell on the possibility, though the fear and pain gnawed at him. He pushed it down, turning the despair into a sharper, more focused anger. He needed to stay calculating, to assemble the pieces of his plan with ruthless precision. If Caroline was lost, he would bring her back. And when he had her and his family, the Strix would know a horror that would make the last thousand years seem like a mere footnote.

He dipped his brush into a dark crimson hue, dragging it across the canvas in jagged lines as his thoughts darkened. The Strix. He would burn them all.

The sudden, thunderous slam of a door jolted him from his reverie. He froze for half a second before moving in a blur, flashing downstairs. There, in the parlor, stood Rebekah, her chest heaving with uneven breaths. Her hair was wild, and her expression was an uncharacteristic mix of fear and fury. She poured herself a large glass of bourbon, her shaking hands spilling a few drops before she downed the drink in one go.

“Rebekah,” Klaus said, his voice cold and sharp, though his eyes betrayed his concern. “What has happened?”

Rebekah turned, finally noticing him. Her lips pressed into a thin line before she spoke. “You were right,” she said, her voice tight. “The girl, Cami—she’s the key. Marcel likes her, and because of that, I got to see the secret weapon of his that you’ve been going on about.”

Klaus took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Well, don’t stand on ceremony. What is it?”

Rebekah’s gaze darkened, her words slow and deliberate. “It’s not a ‘what.’ It’s a ‘who.’ A girl. Davina. She can’t be more than sixteen, and I have never felt power like that.”

Klaus’s jaw tightened. “A witch.”

Rebekah nodded, pacing the room now, her agitation mounting. “Not just any witch. She’s something I’ve never seen before—something beyond powerful. And now, because of you, she has Elijah. Who knows what she could do to him.”

“Where is she?” Klaus demanded, his voice cutting through the air like a whip.

Rebekah froze, her brow furrowing as she tried to recall. Her confusion deepened, and she finally looked up at him, her frustration palpable. “That clever bitch. I don’t know.”

“What’s wrong?” Klaus pressed.

Rebekah exhaled sharply, slamming her glass onto the table. “She wiped my memory of the location. Marcel possesses a weapon bigger and more powerful than an Original, and you handed our brother to him!” Her voice cracked with emotion. “How many times will Elijah forgive you? How long until his hope for your redemption finally dies?”

Klaus’s fists clenched at his sides, his own frustration bubbling to the surface. “I did what I had to do!” he shouted. “Marcel took our home!”

“And our home is worthless without family!” Rebekah shot back. She stepped closer to him, her blue eyes blazing with determination. “I am finding Elijah—whatever it takes. Are you going to help me?”

The siblings stared at each other, the tension between them almost palpable. Finally, Klaus’s expression softened, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Whatever it takes."

The attic was dimly lit, with streaks of late afternoon sunlight filtering through the cracked, dusty windows. The air hummed with an unearthly energy, a vibration that seemed to radiate from the young girl at the center of the room. Davina sat at an easel, her charcoal-stained fingers gliding across the paper in rhythmic, almost frantic strokes. The vast power coursing through her veins was intoxicating, guiding her hand as if the magic itself had a will of its own.

The drawing on the easel was abstract, chaotic—a swirl of shapes and symbols that only made sense to her. She was lost in the magic’s thrall, her mind consumed by its whispers, until a shift in the atmosphere pulled her attention away. She stilled, her fingers halting mid-stroke as she felt Marcel approaching.

She turned as he entered, her sharp gaze fixing on him. Marcel stopped a few feet away, his expression soft but guarded.

“I’m sorry about that unpleasantness,” he said, his voice low and apologetic.

Davina arched a brow, her youthful features betraying none of the vulnerability her age might suggest. “She doesn’t scare me,” she replied, her voice steady and cold. “None of them do.”

Marcel smiled faintly, a flicker of pride crossing his face. “I didn’t think they would, honey. But the thing is, it seems like they’re here to stay.”

Davina’s eyes narrowed, her hand tightening around the charcoal. “They don’t belong here,” she said firmly, her tone laced with venom.

Marcel nodded, stepping closer, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “Might be kinda tough to convince them of that... which is why I need to ask you for a favour.”

Davina tilted her head, watching him closely.

Marcel met her gaze, his tone hardening slightly. “I’m gonna need you to figure out how we kill an Original.”

Chapter Text

Caroline’s consciousness flickered like a dying flame, her body heavy and feverish, her skin damp with sweat. The world around her blurred in shades of light and shadow, her perception clouded as though submerged underwater. Every muscle in her body throbbed with raw pain, her nerves alive with a searing fire that refused to relent.

Voices broke through the haze, distant yet sharp, like echoes carried on a faint wind.

“The toxin? You are certain it’s gone?” Aurora’s voice, smooth and edged with caution, came first, tethering Caroline faintly to reality.

Genevieve answered, her tone clipped and formal. “Injecting Elderglow Fern was a masterstroke. It will scar her internally, and it’s left her body severely weakened, but yes, the toxin is gone. What she needs now is blood—a significant amount, and quickly.”

Genevieve’s voice shifted slightly as if preparing to leave. “I will take my leave now, my lady.”

Caroline heard the soft rustle of fabric, followed by the quiet click of a door closing. Silence returned, save for the dull, rhythmic thrum of her heartbeat echoing in her ears. The sound pulsed in sync with the heat coursing through her veins.

A low moan escaped her lips as she stirred, her body resisting every movement. Fire licked at her insides, each flicker of it unbearable. She tried to shift, but her limbs felt weighed down, her strength sapped.

“Now, now, little dove.” Aurora’s voice was closer now, calm but firm. “You need rest.”

Caroline blinked, her eyelids heavy, as her vision struggled to sharpen. The world slowly came into focus. Aurora sat by her bed, her fiery auburn hair catching the faint light of the room. Her expression was composed but watchful, her gaze fixed on Caroline with quiet intensity.

“How… long has it been?” Caroline croaked, her voice barely above a whisper, rough and raw.

Aurora’s head tilted slightly as she regarded her. “Two days.”

Frowning, Caroline forced herself to glance around. The familiar outlines of her own quarters came into view—her safe haven, though it hardly felt like one now. Her gaze flickered back to Aurora, suspicion curling in the back of her mind despite her exhaustion.

“How long have you been here?” she rasped.

Aurora shrugged elegantly, her movements unhurried. “Only a few minutes.”

Caroline’s lips twitched into a faint sneer as anger surged faintly through her pain. The fire in her veins seemed to flare. “I told you about Tyler in confidence,” she bit out, her voice hoarse. “You betrayed me.”

Aurora’s expression darkened, her lips curling into a faint, cruel smile. “I gave you what you needed. Closure.”

Caroline’s breath hitched, the emotional pain momentarily eclipsing the physical agony. “He’s dead,” she murmured, the words breaking in her throat.

Aurora’s tone was sharp, cutting. “Exactly. He’s dead. Three of his killers are now without hearts. Justice is served.”

A bitter laugh escaped Caroline’s lips, rasping and weak. “And if I hadn’t figured it out?”

Aurora leaned back in her chair, her smile cold and unrelenting. “Then the servants would be cleaning your burnt husk off the marble floors.”

The bluntness of the response sent a shiver down Caroline’s spine, though she scoffed to cover her discomfort. “Lovely,” she muttered, her voice thick with sarcasm.

Aurora leaned forward, her voice dropping to a low murmur, sharp with conviction. “I did what I had to do.”

“And that was?” Caroline asked through gritted teeth, her jaw tightening.

Aurora rose gracefully, pacing the room as her heels clicked faintly against the floor. “To save your life.”

Caroline let out a disbelieving laugh. “I fail to see how.”

Aurora sighed, exasperation flickering across her face. “Do you think you’d last much longer here without membership? Especially with Ἡ Ἐντολὴ τοῦ Ἀτρεπτου Λίθου in place?” Confusion clouded Caroline’s tired features and Aurora chuckled darkly. Aurora stopped pacing, her gaze sharp as she met Caroline’s eyes. “Do you really think their wouldn’t be changes after everything that happened? Of course you didn’t. It means ‘The Unturned Stone Mandate.’ No stone will be left unturned. Anyone deemed even a minute risk will be eliminated. Whether you meant to or not, you’ve made massive waves. The only way you could survive this was to prove you were worthwhile. Your survival could only be justified if you are one of us.”

Caroline’s already pale face seemed to drain further of colour as she continued to stare at her, shock and vulnerability flickering across her features. For once, she was speechless.

Aurora reached out, her movements uncharacteristically tender. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Caroline’s cheek. Her hand brushed against Caroline’s cheek, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The look on Aurora’s face was so raw that Caroline’s breath catched. “Rest now, little dove,” she murmured, her voice almost soothing.

As Aurora straightened and walked toward the door, Caroline’s eyelids grew heavier, her body succumbing to its exhaustion. The last thing she heard before slipping back into the darkness was the soft click of the door closing behind Aurora.

Katherine sat cross-legged on the floor of Elijah’s dimly lit bedroom, a leather-bound journal resting heavily on her lap. The faint scent of aged paper and polished wood filled the air, a reminder of Elijah’s meticulous nature. Her dark hair, once styled to perfection, now hung slightly mussed around her face, framing her sharp features. She traced the edges of the parchment with her nails, her gaze locked on the elegant handwriting. Each line felt like a whispered secret, as though Elijah himself were speaking the words.

August 1359. I have noticed a difference in my siblings. Our bond strains beneath the pressure of our life as vampires. Each day removes them further from the humanity we once possessed. My sweet sister, Rebekah, has grown quite indifferent to brutality.

Katherine’s mind drifted to a memory the words conjured—Rebekah, calm and ruthless, dispatching enemies with a cold efficiency that belied her once softer heart.

However, the true problem remains my brother, Niklaus.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as another image surfaced: Klaus, stoic and detached, pouring gasoline over a pile of bodies. The flames that followed reflected in his eyes, but they revealed nothing of the turmoil Elijah often insisted lingered within.

He continues to hide his loneliness with cruelty. Still, I cling to the hope that I, as their eldest brother, can lead them down the correct path, a path charged with the power of a family united. For if I fail, our family’s legacy will end in darkness.

The words weighed on her as she closed the journal with a sigh. Elijah’s faith in his siblings was maddeningly idealistic. She gripped the journal tightly and rose to her feet, only to wobble slightly as her high-heeled boots caught the edge of a rug. Muttering a curse under her breath, she steadied herself, brushing her hair back into place with a flick of her hand. The frailty of her human form felt like a bitter joke, but she refused to let it show.

In the foyer, Klaus and Rebekah were mid-conversation, their words carrying the sharp edge of sibling rivalry. Liz Forbes lingered in the shadows, leaning casually against the wall. She appeared relaxed, but her piercing green eyes betrayed her intent focus. She listened intently, dissecting every word, every shift in tone. She was desperate for any clue that might lead her to Caroline.

Rebekah pouted, her arms crossed. “I cannot believe you disposed of those vampires without me. You know how I love to set things on fire!”

Klaus smirked. “Was I supposed to leave them in the front yard to rot? Besides, they were my responsibility.”

Rebekah rolled her eyes, her tone dripping with mockery. “How noble. You, taking responsibility for something? That must be a first.”

Liz’s lips tightened as she watched their exchange. It was clear that Klaus held the reins in whatever scheme they were concocting, but Rebekah’s frustrations hinted at deeper fault lines in their alliance.

The sharp click of Katherine’s heels echoed through the space as she entered, her posture rigid and defiant despite her slightly disheveled appearance. Both siblings turned to her, their conversation halting. Klaus’s expression shifted, his eyes gleaming with amusement and malice.

“Ah, Katerina,” he drawled, his tone mocking. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Come to share another one of your tedious schemes?”

Katherine tilted her head, her lips curling into a smirk of her own. “Elijah’s words,” she said, holding up the journal. “They’re a reminder of what’s at stake. Do you two even have a plan, or are you just wandering blind?”

Klaus’s smirk widened as he took a step closer, his voice dripping with derision. “That depends, love. Are we talking about my plan for global domination? Or Rebekah’s endless quest to find true love in a cruel, cruel world?”

Rebekah grabbed a pencil from a nearby desk and hurled it at Klaus. He caught it effortlessly, spinning it between his fingers with infuriating ease.

Katherine sighed, her sharp tone cutting through their banter. “The plan to rescue Elijah. You know, the good brother? The one you handed over to Marcel after stabbing him in the back.”

Klaus’s smile never faltered. “In the front, if we’re being precise.”

Liz’s breath hitched slightly at the mention of Marcel, and her mind raced as she filed the name away. She watched Katherine closely, noting the tension in her stance.

Katherine’s voice sharpened. “You said you would get him back. Was that a lie, or do you actually have a plan?”

Klaus shrugged, his tone maddeningly casual. “Firstly, Marcel is not my mortal enemy. He’s a friend—albeit one who doesn’t yet realize I’m dismantling his entire regime. And secondly, I daggered Elijah to gain Marcel’s trust. If I’d known he’d hand my brother to a particularly nasty teenage witch, I might have reconsidered.”

He gestured to Rebekah, his smirk growing. “Sister, do enlighten our human friends.”

Rebekah crossed her arms, her voice tinged with disdain. “The plan, as it stands, is for Niklaus to simply ask Marcel to return Elijah.”

Katherine’s incredulous laugh filled the room. “That’s... that’s the plan? Seriously?”

Rebekah scoffed. “Oh, please. Klaus may be insufferable, but he’s also diabolical. There’s always a Plan B.”

Katherine’s eyes narrowed. “And what exactly is Plan B?”

Klaus’s smile turned razor-sharp as he closed the distance between them. “War.” 

Caroline awoke with a sharp gasp, her body wracked with molten fire coursing through her veins. Her limbs thrashed against the restraints holding her down, but the effort sent another wave of agony through her. Blinking through the haze, she focused on her surroundings. This wasn’t her quarters. The cool, damp air and jagged stone walls revealed she was in Vasil’s hidden lair—a cave hidden deep in the folds of the dimension.

“Calm down, calm down,” Vasil said firmly, his strong hands pinning her shoulders. Enzo stood on the other side, equally resolute in keeping her restrained.

Caroline took a shaky breath, her vision sharpening. She saw Genevieve nearby, a syringe in hand, her expression both wary and frustrated. Naveeda was preparing herbs at a small makeshift station, while the boy stood watching, wide-eyed with worry. The pain raged on, but Caroline forced herself to breathe deeply, swallowing the groan threatening to escape.

“I’m okay,” Caroline rasped, her voice barely above a whisper. She swallowed hard before continuing, “You can let go of me.”

Both Vasil and Enzo hesitated but eventually released her, their movements cautious. Caroline pushed herself upright, wincing as pain flared through her body like wildfire. She felt the burn in every muscle, every bone. It was a miracle she was even alive.

Genevieve was the first to speak, her voice sharp but laced with concern. “What the hell were you thinking? You almost died with that snake venom.”

Caroline’s lips curled into a faint sneer. “I was thinking of surviving. There was no chance of beating Bridget fairly. You know that.”

Vasil crossed his arms, leaning against the cave wall with a sardonic smirk. “Well, now you’re one of us. How does it feel, Little Hero?”

Caroline’s glare was ice cold. “I will never be one of you.”

Vasil chuckled darkly. “Too bad, sweetheart. You don’t really get a choice in the matter anymore.”

Genevieve, ever practical, interjected, “We don’t have time for this. We have thirty minutes maximum before they notice we’re missing.”

Caroline nodded, brushing her hair out of her face with trembling fingers. “When are the witches reversing the time dilation spell?” she asked, her voice firmer now.

“Tonight,” Genevieve replied.

Caroline’s gaze turned to Vasil. “Have you done what I asked regarding The Labs?”

Vasil’s expression darkened. “If you haven’t noticed, we’re under lockdown. Not to mention the million other tasks you’ve set me to do.”

Caroline’s jaw tightened. “We’ll be even more locked down tomorrow. We need to go to The Labs today.”

“You’re in no state to go anywhere,” Vasil snapped, his voice unusually harsh.

Caroline gestured to the boy, her voice softening but filled with conviction. “We need to know what they want with him. I’m not leaving until I understand how much danger he’s in. You’re holding something back.”

Vasil sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. His usual bravado faltered as he explained, “A few months ago, the council met with some powerful witches. After that, everything changed. The dimension itself shifted. All the guards and witches involved were killed immediately after the meeting. Then they started extracting blood from the boy and passed a law ensuring his life at all costs. Whatever they’re planning, it’s tied to him.”

Caroline’s breath caught in her throat. She glanced at the boy, whose face had crumpled into a mix of sadness and fear. Without hesitation, she pulled him into a side hug, her hand running comfortingly through his hair. “We need to know why,” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her eyes.

“It’s too dangerous,” Enzo protested, his voice tortured as he looked at her.

Caroline turned to him, her gaze unwavering. “We don’t have a choice. We don’t know enough. It’s only a matter of time before they realize he’s escaped with Rebekah. Once they find out, they’ll turn this dimension inside out until they have him back.”

Her words hung in the air like a death knell. The room went silent, the weight of her revelation settling on everyone present.

“We don’t have eight months,” Caroline continued, her voice grave. “We have less than eight hours.”

Everyone froze, the urgency suddenly magnified. Naveeda gasped, and Genevieve’s hands faltered over her herbs. Vasil’s smirk was replaced with a grim frown.

“Has the bait been set?” Caroline asked, her sharp gaze flicking between Genevieve and Vasil.

“It has,” Vasil replied reluctantly, “but there’s no guarantee they’ll fall for it.”

“It’s a long shot,” Genevieve admitted, “but yes.”

“Are there magical barriers in The Labs?” Caroline asked.

“No,” Genevieve said, “but they have guards. Many guards.”

Enzo stepped forward, his voice firm. “Absolutely not. You’re not going.”

Caroline gave him a small, affectionate pat on the shoulder. “I have to, Enzo.”

“They’ll kill you if you get caught,” he said, his voice hard and unyielding.

Caroline gave him a weary smile as she stood. “I’ll have answers for you,” she promised, turning to the boy and resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Then, she looked around at the rest of them, her resolve solidified. “We move to Plan B. You all know what to do. Get ready.”

Naveeda looked panicked. “We don’t have enough time!”

Caroline’s voice hardened. “We don’t have a choice. We get this done or we die trying. There’s no turning back.” As she opened the door, she paused, her gaze sweeping over the group one last time. Guilt flickered across her face before she whispered, “I’m sorry,” and stepped out into the darkness. 

The dim glow of the compound’s lights cast a warm hue over the room as Marcel stood on a small platform, his arms outstretched while a tailor worked diligently to perfect the fit of his suit. The smooth fabric hugged his frame, and Marcel caught his reflection in a nearby mirror, smirking.

“Damn, I do look good in a suit,” he remarked, his tone light and self-assured.

Thierry, lounging in a chair nearby, chuckled as he lazily watched the television. The screen flashed images of Tina McGreevy and Joshua Rosza, the tourists Klaus had killed after compelling them to drink vampire blood at Marcel’s party. Thierry’s amusement faded, replaced by the focus of a man managing a crisis.

“My guy at the docks is gonna come forward as an eyewitness,” Thierry said. “He’ll say he saw those two drunkenly fall into the Mississippi. They’ll be dredging for weeks. No one will come looking around here.”

Marcel nodded approvingly. “That’s good, considering one’s dead in a dumpster behind the county morgue, and the other one is a vampire now. Anything else?”

The tailor, distracted by the conversation, pricked her finger on a pin and winced. “Ow!”

Marcel’s attention shifted instantly. “Allow me, darling,” he said smoothly, kneeling to gently take her hand. His charm was effortless as he brought her finger to his lips and sucked the drop of blood away with care.

Thierry, however, wasn’t so easily distracted. He leaned forward, his tone growing serious. “One thing,” he began hesitantly. “I sent four nightwalkers to look into Sheriff Forbes whereabouts in the Quarter. I haven’t heard from them since.”

Marcel’s brow furrowed slightly as he stood, brushing invisible lint from his suit. “That makes ten dead nightwalkers in the last week,” he muttered. “You think the hunters are back in town trying to start some trouble?”

Thierry hesitated, glancing at Marcel before continuing. “Look, I know you and Klaus are friends, but the fact is, since the Originals showed up—”

Before Thierry could finish, the doors swung open, and Klaus strode in, his presence commanding and his expression sharp with amusement.

“Oh, come now, Thierry,” Klaus interrupted, his tone laced with mockery. “You’re not still upset about that little, toxic werewolf bite I gave you, are you? I thought we were at bygones.”

Thierry turned to Marcel, his annoyance evident. “I see you’ve given him free rein of your compound now, too.”

Klaus’s smirk widened. “Yes. Well, seeing as my family and I lived here—built the place, in fact—”

Marcel raised a hand to cut off the brewing tension. “All right, come on,” he said firmly. “You both know the drill. Thierry’s my guy, inner circle. Klaus is my old-time friend and sire. He’s also a guest here. Peace, all right?” His gaze shifted to Klaus. “What do you need, my brother?”

Klaus sighed, a flicker of exasperation breaking through his composed exterior. “I’m afraid my sister Rebekah is insisting I demand Elijah’s return. She’s quite worked up about it.”

Marcel raised an eyebrow. “I’ll say.”

Thierry scoffed from his seat. “We’re not gonna have three Originals walking around town, are we? Half our guys think the sister killed the nightwalkers.”

Klaus’s cold blue eyes fixed on Thierry, his voice dropping to a dangerous tone. “Is that an accusation against an Original?”

Thierry stood, bracing for confrontation, but Marcel stepped between them, his voice calm but firm. “What did I say about peace?” He turned to Klaus and gestured toward the balcony. “Come on. Walk with me.”

Klaus cast a smug glance at Thierry as Marcel steered him out of the room. They stepped onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard, the quiet night air doing little to mask the tension between them.

“Your inner-circle man lacks a sense of humour,” Klaus remarked, his tone clipped.

Marcel chuckled lightly. “He’s a little overprotective, but loyal to a fault. I saved his life back in the ’40s, found him dying of a war wound outside a VA hospital. He’d kill for me and die for me. Plus, that boy can play the trumpet like you wouldn’t believe. Maybe I’ll have him play a little tonight at the party.”

Klaus’s smirk returned, though it lacked true amusement. “How can I miss my chance to meet the city councilman as he accepts your gigantic charitable donation?”

Marcel laughed. “Oh, he’s a schmuck, but he lets us do our thing in exchange for certain community services—like keeping our fangs out of the locals.”

The humour in his voice faded slightly as he hesitated, his tone turning serious. “Listen, about your brother... I would love to help you out, but Thierry’s right. My guys are on edge. They see the Original family moving in, vampires dying—it makes them nervous. If I hand Elijah back now, it might give the wrong impression about who’s really in charge here. You know what I mean?”

Klaus’s expression tightened, but his voice remained smooth as he forced a polite smile. “You understand—I had to ask.”  

Caroline awoke in the dense forest near the labs, the moonlight filtering through the branches above. She crouched low, her keen vampire senses sharp as she assessed the guards pacing outside the entrance. Their conversation carried through the quiet night air.

“Charlie switched shifts with me again,” one of them grumbled, his voice laced with irritation.

The other guard scoffed. “Again? He switched with me yesterday. I swear, he owes me three shifts already.”

Caroline stayed hidden behind the tree, adjusting her position as she formulated a plan.

“This is the last time we switch with him, the bastard,” the first guard muttered.

The second guard chuckled dryly before lowering his voice. “Did you see the fight with Bridget and the blonde slut?”

“Didn’t see it,” the first replied. “I was stuck on guard duty here, but I heard she used snake venom to poison herself and Bridget, then injected herself with some antivenom.”

“There is no antivenom,” the second guard scoffed.

Caroline smirked to herself, spotting a thick tree branch on the ground. Not far away, a snake slithered lazily along the forest floor. Carefully, she used the branch to nudge the snake toward the drainpipe near the entrance, guiding it like an expert.

“I heard she killed Angelica and Ibrahim,” the first guard continued.

“Damn. We’re all dropping like flies. My advice? Keep your head down and keep to yourself.”

The snake slithered unnoticed into the drainpipe, and moments later, the first guard froze. “What the—”

The second guard screamed, his voice high-pitched as he felt the snake coil around his leg. “What the hell is that?! Get it off me!”

Caroline seized the opportunity, slipping past the guards as they frantically tried to rid themselves of the serpent. She ducked into a shadowy nook just inside the entrance as more guards ran toward the commotion, their shouts echoing through the night.

Breathing deeply to steady herself, she crept further into the corridor. A bloodcurdling scream pierced the air, freezing her in place for a moment. Her heart sank, but she forced herself to move. She had to know what was happening here.

Navigating the hallways, Caroline came across a large room filled with metal cages. Her eyes immediately landed on a woman inside one of the cages. Blood poured from her eyes, her fangs bared in agony as her body convulsed violently. Across the room, shelves of clear plastic boxes held vials of a deep red liquid, white vapor curling ominously from them. Caroline grabbed one of the boxes, tucking it under her arm, and noticed a logbook nearby. Flipping through it, her stomach churned. Every name listed had the word “failure” scrawled next to it. Except one, that was yet to be written—Elizabeth Poirier.

Her attention snapped back to the cage as the woman groaned in pain. Their eyes met, and Caroline’s heart clenched. “Hey, hey,” she called softly, crouching near the cage. “Elizabeth? Lizzie?”

The woman’s pained eyes lit up with faint recognition. “Hey, V,” she mumbled, delirium evident in her voice. “How are you here?”

Caroline’s throat tightened. She realized Elizabeth was hallucinating, trapped in a torment of her own making. “Lizzie, what did they do to you?”

“They… injected me with something,” Elizabeth groaned. “It hurts. It hurts so much.” She sobbed, clutching her head.

Caroline tried to open the cage, but the door wouldn’t budge. “I’m sorry, Lizzie. I can’t get it open.”

Elizabeth’s groans turned to broken sobs. “I’m sorry, V. I didn’t mean to drive that night. I’m so sorry. I killed you. It was my fault.”

Before Caroline could respond, Elizabeth lunged at her, rabid and wild. Caroline jumped back, narrowly avoiding her hands. She watched in horror as Elizabeth’s form flickered, her body phasing in and out of existence.

“I’m sorry, V,” Elizabeth whispered, her hand reaching out weakly. When her fingers brushed Caroline’s, the touch sent a flash of memories into Caroline’s mind—Elizabeth leaving a nightclub, a stamp on her arm. A young girl begging her for a ride to her friends’ sleepover. A car swerving out of nowhere. The morgue, her body awakening in transition beside her sister’s corpse. The anguish and guilt were overwhelming.

Caroline’s voice cracked as she whispered, “I forgive you, Lizzie.”

Elizabeth smiled weakly through her tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Caroline murmured. “I know. It’s okay.”

Elizabeth burst into white flames, her scream echoing in Caroline’s ears. Caroline stumbled back, letting go just in time to avoid the searing heat. Her hands trembled as she grabbed the box and continued deeper into the building, seeing more cages, more experiments. Each sight left her more horrified than the last.

As she made her way to the exit, her path was suddenly blocked by a guard. The box slipped from her hands, but before it could hit the ground, a blur of motion caught it. Vasil appeared, his expression grim and angry at her.

Vasil grabbed her arm and vamp-sped them out of the building, evading the guards and slipping into the forest. They didn’t stop until they were back in Caroline’s quarters. Vasil set the box down carefully, hiding it in a hole in the wall, turning to her with rage as she leaned heavily against the wall.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he muttered before vamping away.

Caroline didn’t respond. Her mind was still replaying Elizabeth’s final words and the screams of the other vampires as she sank onto the floor, her head in her hands.

Rebekah’s heels clicked against the cobblestones of the French Quarter as she strolled through the dimly lit streets, her expression both irritated and amused. She held her phone to her ear, her tone exasperated as she addressed her brother.

“Niklaus, for the love of Mary Magdalene, how long does it take to ask a simple question?” she drawled, weaving through the throngs of tourists who were oblivious to the power that walked among them.

Far below the Mikaelson townhouse, Klaus stood in the cold, damp dungeon. The scent of blood and fear filled the air, the tortured cries of the unfortunate few who hung limply in their cells echoing faintly. Three men and two women, their faces unrecognizable from the torment they had endured, bore the marks of Klaus’s particular brand of torture. Klaus himself paced methodically, his phone pressed to his ear as his sharp eyes roved over his handiwork.

“Much longer than you’d think,” he replied to Rebekah, his voice calm, almost bored. “Considering the answer was, as expected, ‘No.’ Marcel’s man, Thierry, is suspicious. He thinks you killed ten nightwalkers.” 

Rebekah smirked as she turned a corner, the buzz of life in the Quarter a sharp contrast to the horrors Klaus orchestrated. “Well, that’s a lie!” she said, feigning offense. “I only killed eight. Should I make Thierry the ninth?”

Klaus’s tone sharpened slightly. “Marcel is playing friendly. We can’t kill the favorite son, or he’ll catch onto us.”

Rebekah rolled her eyes, though her smile remained. “So, war it is, then?”

“Indeed,” Klaus confirmed. “Do you know what to do with the witch?”

Her smirk widened. “I believe I do.”

“Good. You manage Sophie Deveraux. I’ll take care of the next step.” Without waiting for her response, Klaus ended the call and slipped his phone back into his pocket.

In the corner of the dungeon, Joshua, a newly turned vampire, stood nervously beside one of the cells. His eyes darted between Klaus and the mutilated vampire inside, Max, who hung limply, his body still seeping blood from multiple wounds. The sight made Joshua shiver.

Klaus turned his attention to him, his icy blue eyes narrowing. “I ordered you to drain him of blood,” he said, his tone dangerously calm. “What’s taking so long?”

Josh stammered, his voice betraying his unease. “Sorry. I’m not, like, medieval-torture-expert-guy.”

Klaus sighed in annoyance. He strode over to the table of instruments, his movements slow and deliberate, before picking up a rusted pitchfork. With a swift motion, he drove the weapon through Max’s torso, eliciting a pained groan from the vampire.

Joshua flinched at the sight, his horror evident. “What did he do to you, anyway?” he asked hesitantly.

Klaus glanced at him, a faint smirk curling his lips. “It’s not about what he did. It’s about what he’s going to do when we’re done here, which is whatever I want him to, just like you.”

Before Josh could protest, Klaus locked eyes with him, his voice soft but commanding. “For example…” His tone shifted, carrying the unmistakable power of compulsion. “…drive this through his torso.”

Klaus removed the pitchfork from Max’s abdomen and handed it to Josh, who stared at it with wide eyes. Despite his fear and revulsion, his body moved of its own accord. His grip tightened on the weapon, and he thrust it into Max, the sound of metal piercing flesh echoing in the damp air.

Josh recoiled as soon as the act was done, his voice shaky. “That is crazy. I didn’t want to do it, but I did it anyway.”

Klaus smiled faintly, pleased by the reaction. “It’s called mind compulsion. Vampires can compel humans. Originals, like my siblings and I, can also compel vampires, and no one can compel Originals. You following?”

Josh nodded slowly, the fear in his eyes palpable. “Good,” Klaus continued, his tone almost conversational. “That is how a brand-new nightwalker such as yourself is here doing my bidding with no one the wiser.”

Josh frowned, his confusion breaking through his fear. “But I never had my guts drained out of me.”

“Ah, yes,” Klaus said, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. “That, young Joshua, is because I got to you before you had even a drop of herbal vervain in your system. You see, vervain prevents compulsion. Marcel has had his whole crew taking it since I returned to town, and that is why our friend here…” He gestured to Max, who let out a weak groan, “…needs to be bled dry of it, so I can compel him to follow my every command. And with my brother currently in captivity awaiting rescue, we can’t afford to be gentle about it, can we?”

Klaus didn’t wait for an answer. He took the pitchfork back from Josh and, with a flick of his wrist, drove it through Max’s abdomen once more, twisting it mercilessly. Blood poured from the wound, and Max’s groan turned into a guttural scream.

Caroline walked into the bathroom, her reflection in the mirror nearly unrecognizable. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion, and streaks of dried blood marred her skin. The bandages wrapped around her body bore testimony to the violent ordeal she had endured, their presence a stark reminder of how close she had come to death.

With a shaky breath, she began unwrapping the bandages, each layer revealing angry, inflamed skin underneath. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, every movement igniting fresh pain. But she didn’t falter. She was out of the woods now—alive, if barely. A member of the Strix.

She stepped into the shower, turning the water on. As it hit her skin, searing pain jolted through her body like lightning. She clenched her jaw, suppressing a scream, her trembling hands gripping the wall for support. The water was relentless, cleansing her wounds and washing away the dried blood and herbs, but it felt like liquid fire. Her hand shook as she picked up a cloth and began scrubbing the remnants of the past two days from her skin.

Her mind betrayed her as the events replayed in vivid flashes: the fight with Bridget, her leg being ripped off, the venom coursing through her veins. But it wasn’t the physical torment that lingered—it was the emotional vulnerability. She felt hollow, exhausted to her very core. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to wake up from this nightmare, to be anywhere but here.

She saw the injection site on her arm, marked by a faint lightning-shaped scar. Curious, she touched it, and a jolt of pain so intense that it brought her to her knees shot through her. She curled into the fetal position, breathing heavily as she rode out the waves of agony. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not now. Not here.

Eventually, Caroline forced herself back to her feet, her determination stronger than the pain. She washed her hair and rinsed her body one final time before stepping out of the shower. Wrapping herself in a towel, she padded into her quarters, her movements slow and deliberate. She braided her hair into a bun, ignoring the stiffness in her arms and shoulders, her focus sharpening as she tried to centre herself.

Then, she heard it—a rapid pounding on her door. She tensed, zoning in on the sound of hurried footsteps outside. Someone was running.

The pounding grew louder, and Caroline exhaled sharply, composing herself before opening the door. A group of people stood there, their expressions ranging from nervous to alarmed. They didn’t expect her to be in.

Caroline raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Can I help you?” she asked coolly.

The group was stunned into silence, unsure how to proceed. Finally, a man in a suit stepped forward, his face tense. “Where were you?” he demanded.

Caroline’s expression hardened, her annoyance thinly veiled. “In the shower,” she replied flatly.

The man frowned. “In the shower?”

“Yes,” Caroline said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “I was recovering from snake venom and having my leg ripped off. What’s with the Spanish Inquisition?”

The man sighed, exasperated. “We need your help.”

The crowd parted, revealing a guard leaning heavily on another for support. Caroline immediately recognized him as the one she had distracted with the snake earlier. His face was pale, his body trembling, sweat pouring down his face.

“He’s been bitten by a snake,” the man explained urgently.

Caroline nodded, stepping aside. “Bring him in.”

The man, the bitten guard, and a few others entered her quarters while the rest lingered by the door. Caroline cleared her table with quick, efficient movements, grabbing cushions and placing them under the man’s head as he groaned in pain. The others looked to her expectantly.

“The snake venom can be neutralized by a golden yellow plant,” Caroline began, her tone firm and authoritative. “It’s rare but highly effective.”

“How did you figure this out?” the man asked skeptically.

Caroline’s gaze didn’t waver. “I spend a lot of time by a pond in the woods. The snakes avoid that plant like the plague. A few days ago, I observed it closely. When a snake attacked me, it disintegrated on contact with the plant. I took a chance with Bridget, and it worked. I survived. She didn’t.”

A woman in the group interjected, her tone accusatory. “You mean you killed Bridget?”

Caroline shook her head. “Tristan did,” she corrected. “He said she had conspired against the Strix. Her punishment was death.”

The group murmured among themselves, but Caroline cut through their chatter. “Your friend has less than an hour, maybe less. I have no more of the plant. If you want to save him, you’d better start searching now.”

The group scrambled out of her quarters, leaving only the man in the suit, the bitten guard, and one other behind.

“Where’s the bite?” Caroline asked briskly.

The other guard rolled up the man’s pant leg, revealing the inflamed wound. “His right leg.”

Caroline nodded. “Get me a table and set out those herbs over there,” she instructed. The man in the suit moved with vampiric speed, arranging the materials. Caroline crushed a salve Genevieve had used before, applying it carefully to the wound and wrapping it in fresh bandages.

The bitten guard groaned in agony, his body trembling violently. Caroline grabbed a cold compress, placing it on his forehead while the others held him down.

“What’s the salve supposed to do?” the other guard asked.

“It should alleviate the pain and buy us time,” Caroline replied grimly. “But I don’t know if it will be enough.”

“How much time does he have left?” the man asked.

Caroline met his gaze, her voice heavy. “An hour, at best.”

The bitten guard groaned again, hallucinating. “No, Bill, don’t!” he cried, his voice raw with fear.

Rebekah stood outside the modest witch’s shop, her arms crossed and her expression an artful mix of impatience and disdain. The bustling street of the Quarter felt too bright, too loud, for the irritation simmering in her chest. She caught sight of Sophie approaching down the cobblestone path, her pace steady but clearly unhurried.

“Oh, so glad you could make it,” Rebekah quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Elijah only lies daggered and rotting whilst you dilly-dally.”

Sophie rolled her eyes, her irritation barely concealed. “You’re lucky I came at all. What do you want?”

Rebekah’s expression sharpened. “Liz Forbes was attacked last night by Marcel's crew because somebody decided to rat out her presence in the Quarter. On her route she only went into one shop. Whoever served her here gave her up.” She paused, a dangerous smile curling her lips. “Watch and learn.”

Without waiting for a response, Rebekah turned and strode into the shop, her heels clicking sharply against the wooden floor. Sophie sighed but followed reluctantly, her nerves taut as she glanced around the room.

Inside, Katie emerged from a back room carrying a box of dried herbs. Her face lit up when she spotted Sophie.

“Hey, Soph,” Katie greeted warmly, placing the box down on the counter.

“Hey, Katie,” Sophie replied, her tone more cautious.

Katie’s attention shifted to Rebekah, who stood by a display of necklaces, casually fingering the pendants as though they were beneath her notice. Katie showed no sign of recognizing her but moved closer.

“That one’s filled with marigold—great for attracting the opposite sex. It would look awesome on you!” Katie said brightly.

Rebekah’s icy blue eyes flicked to her. “I very seriously doubt that. I am more interested in maps, more accurately the Sheriff you sold it to?”

Katie’s cheerful demeanour faltered, replaced by confusion. “Sheriff? Why would I know that?”

In an instant, Rebekah vamp-speared forward and grabbed Katie by the throat, lifting her off the ground with inhuman strength. Katie gasped and clawed at Rebekah’s wrist, her box of herbs tumbling to the floor.

“Please do not play dumb with me,” Rebekah hissed, her tone dangerously low.

Rebekah slammed Katie onto a nearby table, the wood creaking under the force. Katie coughed and gasped, her face contorted in fear, while Sophie stepped forward, her voice rising in alarm.

“Rebekah! Stop!” Sophie’s words hung in the air, unheeded.

Katie choked out a desperate explanation. “I just sold her a map of Bienville Park. That’s all—I swear.”

Rebekah leaned in closer, her grip tightening. “Are you lying to me, Katie? I suggest you answer my question honestly.”

Katie’s voice was strained, her words barely escaping her lips. “Sophie—”

Sophie sighed, her shoulders slumping in resignation. “Just answer her, Katie. Please.”

Katie’s resolve broke as tears welled in her eyes. “Yes,” she admitted shakily. “I told someone, but you don’t understand. I—I love him.”

Rebekah’s expression twisted with contempt. In one swift motion, she flung Katie to the floor, sending herbs scattering across the room. Katie crumpled in a heap, coughing and clutching her throat. Rebekah didn’t give her a moment to recover before pinning her to the floor, the heel of her stiletto hovering precariously close to Katie’s neck.

“And tell me,” Rebekah purred, her tone both mocking and menacing, “who is this vampire Romeo of yours? Shall I count to three?”

Genevieve sat at her workstation, the flickering candlelight casting long, jagged shadows on the walls of her small chamber. Her hands moved deftly over a parchment, sketching intricate symbols, but her mind was far from the task at hand. The weight of the past days was suffocating.

Caroline Forbes was now a member of the Strix, a move that sent ripples through the delicate power structures of the coven and the supernatural world beyond. The escape plan, meticulously devised and fraught with risks, was imminent. Every step had been set into motion, yet uncertainty gnawed at her.

Genevieve had executed Caroline’s instructions to the letter, but the pieces on this dangerous chessboard moved in ways even she couldn’t fully anticipate. So many variables. So many potential failures. And as each day passed, her anxiety grew. She had been through decades of turmoil and seen leaders rise and fall, but nothing had prepared her for the precarious balance she was trying to maintain.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the rising cacophony echoing through the stone corridors outside. The witches’ debates had gone on for days, growing more volatile with every meeting. Each passing moment threatened to tip the scales into full-blown chaos.

Setting her quill down with care, Genevieve smoothed the crimson fabric of her robes. The threads felt rough under her fingertips, a small grounding comfort. Taking a deep breath, she stood and moved toward the doorway. The distant clamor became sharper with each step she took, the voices swelling into a crescendo of accusations and arguments.

Genevieve reached the threshold of the main chamber and lingered in the shadows. The hall was alive with tension, the witches gathered in two distinct factions. She scanned the room, her gaze settling on Lysandra and Alice, the two women vying for leadership.

Lysandra stood tall, her black hair framing her stern face, her commanding presence impossible to ignore. Her words boomed across the room. “I have served this coven for over one hundred and fifty years. If anyone knows what this coven needs, it’s me! And that is a strong and stable head to lead it!”

A roar of applause erupted from her supporters. Across the chamber, Alice’s faction responded with mutters of protest. Genevieve’s eyes shifted to Alice—a wiry figure with long blonde hair and fiery determination etched into her features. She stepped forward, her voice sharp and biting.

“Strong? You don’t have half the grit or passion necessary to do what it takes,” Alice declared. “We are at a time of war. You are weak, Lysandra. Ask Beatrice what happened to weak leaders.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd, Alice’s boldness igniting a fresh wave of murmurs.

Lysandra’s jaw tightened, but her voice remained steady. “You don’t know the meaning of grit. You came at a time of comfort—a mere five decades ago—and had everything handed to you on a silver platter, little girl.”

Alice’s eyes narrowed, her voice rising with indignation. “That’s funny, because last I checked, when the coven was in dire straits, you let witch after witch die while you sat in the background, where it’s warm and comfortable. Beatrice’s weakness let the cancer of betrayal infect our coven!”

Genevieve saw the subtle shift in Lysandra’s expression, the cracks beginning to show. “I learned the value of loyalty,” Lysandra said, her tone cutting through the noise. “While you were not yet conceived, I was serving our coven and acquiring the knowledge necessary to lead us into the next age.”

Alice sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. “The only thing you know is how to talk everyone to death. I promise you this, sisters: I will bring fire, pain, and death to our enemies. I will restore this coven to what it should be—the powerhouse it truly is!”

The room erupted into chaos, both factions shouting over one another. Genevieve pressed herself against the cool stone wall, her sharp eyes darting between the two women. The balance of power felt as though it could collapse at any moment.

Suddenly, a diminutive figure stepped forward. Mima, the coven’s elder, raised her hand. The chamber trembled, a subtle but undeniable warning that silenced the room. All eyes turned to her, her emerald-green eyes flashing with centuries of authority.

“Enough,” Mima said softly, her voice carrying effortlessly through the chamber. “It is clear from this discourse that a significant majority cannot be reached. Under such circumstances, a Trial by Three must commence.”

The words sent a ripple of anticipation through the room. The crowd buzzed with whispers, their tension palpable.

Mima turned first to Alice. “Do you accept the terms?”

Alice stepped forward, her chin high. “I do accept.”

Mima’s gaze shifted to Lysandra. “Lysandra, do you accept?”

Lysandra straightened her shoulders, her voice calm but resolute. “I do accept.”

Nodding, Mima moved toward the ancient altar at the center of the room. From the folds of her robes, she produced a small vial filled with shimmering liquid. She uncorked it with deliberate care and poured its contents onto the altar. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a soft whoosh, the liquid ignited, casting a warm yellow flame that illuminated the chamber.

Genevieve’s heart pounded as she watched the flames. The trial would decide everything, but it also signified the beginning of inevitable conflict. Whatever happened next, there would be no turning back.

As the witches began to disperse, their whispers filling the air like a swarm of restless bees, Genevieve slipped away. Her mind was racing, the weight of her role bearing down on her. There was no room for error now. The Trial by Three would determine more than a leader—it would determine the survival of them all.

Caroline’s hands worked quickly but steadily, her focus unwavering as she applied the cold compress to the bitten man’s forehead. The sweat pouring down his face mirrored the rising tension in the room. The bitten guard’s shallow breaths and faint groans filled the air, punctuated by the nervous murmurs of those crowded around.

The man who had been assisting her earlier straightened, his eyes scanning the growing commotion. “I’m going to help with the search,” he said abruptly, glancing at Caroline. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Caroline nodded, sparing him only a fleeting glance. “Go.”

Now left with the other guard, she continued to monitor the bitten man. His condition was deteriorating rapidly, his skin pale and clammy. People darted in and out of the room, their hands full of random plants, their faces etched with frustration and worry. Each failed attempt to match the correct herb only heightened the anxiety.

The breaking point came when a man lost his temper, shouting and slamming his fist into the nearest piece of furniture—Caroline’s chair. The sound of splintering wood echoed through the room. Caroline didn’t even flinch, her eyes remaining fixed on the man’s pulse. Another person quickly intervened, grabbing the man by the shoulders and dragging him away.

“This isn’t the time!” they snapped, trying to de-escalate the situation.

Caroline exhaled sharply, her patience stretched thin but her resolve unshaken. She turned back to her task, preparing the pestle and mortar with cold water as the minutes slipped away. The bitten man had less than ten minutes left, and the room felt like it was teetering on the edge of despair.

Then, the door burst open. A younger man stumbled in, gasping for breath, his hands clutching a golden yellow plant.

Caroline’s head snapped up. “There it is!” she exclaimed, drawing everyone’s attention.

Without hesitation, she grabbed a cloth and a bowl of water, passing them to the nearest person. “Take the salve and bandages off the wound—fast!” she ordered.

Using her vampire speed, Caroline crushed the elderglow fern into a paste, mixing it with water until it formed a thick, injectable liquid. She readied a syringe, her hands steady despite the urgency.

“Ready?” she asked sharply, glancing at the woman who had unwrapped the wound.

The woman nodded and stepped back. Caroline plunged the needle into the man’s leg, injecting the mixture directly into the bite. The bitten guard let out a blood-curdling scream, his body convulsing violently.

“Hold him down!” Caroline shouted, her voice cutting through the panic. She threw herself over the man, keeping him steady as the other guard pinned his shoulders.

“Stay with us!” Caroline urged, her voice softer but insistent. She looked at the remaining guard. “What’s his name?”

“Thomas,” the guard replied, his tone strained.

“Stay with us, Thomas,” Caroline whispered, her eyes darting to his face as his convulsions subsided. His body went limp, his breathing shallow but steady.

Caroline pressed two fingers to his neck, feeling for a pulse. The rhythmic thumping beneath her fingertips made her exhale in relief. “I think it’s working,” she said, looking up. “But he’s so weak, we can’t be sure yet.”

The guard’s face was taut with worry. “When will we know?”

“If he survives the next hour, he’s probably out of the woods,” Caroline replied.

The tension in the room began to dissipate as people started to filter out, their anxious energy giving way to cautious hope. The other guard sank into a nearby chair, his face lined with exhaustion.

Just as Caroline was about to sit down herself, a familiar, mocking voice filled the room.

“If it isn’t our very own Florence Nightingale,” Adara drawled, leaning casually against the doorframe, her smirk radiating amusement.

Caroline rolled her eyes and sank onto her sofa. “What do you want?”

Adara strode into the room, her movements predatory and deliberate. “To give you this.” She held out a letter.

Caroline took it with a smirk of her own. “And if it our very own isn’t Postman Pat,” she quipped, crossing her legs and pouring herself a drink. “You can leave now.”

Adara’s smirk twisted into something more dangerous. “How’s the leg? I heard it got ripped off.”

Caroline didn’t miss a beat. “Heard? Oh, that’s right—you weren’t invited, were you? But hey, maybe your invite got lost in the mail.”

Adara’s eyes flashed with fury, and she took a threatening step forward. Caroline raised a hand, pointing toward Thomas. “Ah ah ah, Patient in here,” she said nonchalantly.

Adara clenched her jaw, her anger palpable, but she spun on her heel and stormed out.

Caroline turned to the remaining guard, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Do you want a drink?”

The guard blinked, caught off guard. “What is it?”

Caroline took a sip from her glass. “Something flammable.”

The guard chuckled softly. “Why not?”

Caroline poured him a drink and handed it over. They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the evening settling around them.

“Did you kill Angelica and Ibrahim?” the guard asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

Caroline tilted her head, considering him. “I did.”

The guard downed the rest of his drink, his expression unreadable. “Why?”

Caroline hesitated, the true answer bubbling just below the surface. Instead, she kept her tone light, her face unreadable. “Because it was necessary for my initiation.”

“They were over 800 years old,” the guard said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Probably,” Caroline replied, her voice nonchalant.

The guard chuckled, his expression shifting from wary to amused. "You know, I’m starting to understand why there’s so much division about you." He tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You don’t care who you piss off, do you?"

Caroline raised her eyebrows in mock offense, pressing a hand to her chest. "That hurt my feelings." Her sarcastic tone only made the guard laugh more, though Thomas groaned loudly in frustration, breaking the moment.

Caroline vamped to his side in a blur, her expression shifting to one of clinical detachment as she checked his pulse and examined the bite on his leg. The faint, jagged mark resembled her own, still fresh and painful.

"You’ll scar," she said simply, her voice matter-of-fact. "But you’re out of the woods. Stay off the leg for a few days and apply this salve regularly." She handed him a small, worn pot of ointment, her tone as casual as if she were offering a stranger a cup of coffee.

Thomas sneered as he snatched the salve roughly, not bothering with a word of thanks. His resentment was palpable.

Caroline didn’t miss a beat, her voice dripping with mock gratitude. "Oh, well, thank you very much, Caroline. Really appreciate the help." She grinned brightly, her sarcasm cutting through the room like a knife.

Thomas sneered again, but he didn’t reply. The other guard struggled to suppress his own laughter as he helped Thomas hobble out of the room.

"You’re welcome, guys," Caroline called after them, her voice light but tinged with sharpness. "Really enjoyed having my peace interrupted by your snake bite. Let’s do it again sometime!"

The door closed behind them, leaving Caroline alone in the quiet room. She sighed deeply and looked around, her gaze falling on the scattered remnants of her interrupted morning. She moved to clear the table when her eyes caught sight of an envelope that hadn’t been there before.

She picked it up, recognizing the elegant handwriting immediately. Opening it, she pulled out a single piece of parchment. Her eyes scanned the words:

Little Dove,

Come join me at the cliffs at sunrise tomorrow. Don’t be late.

-Aurora

Caroline stared at the note in her hands, the elegant handwriting curling in a way that was unmistakably Aurora’s. She sighed and set it on the table, her fingers tracing the edges of the parchment as if it could somehow offer clarity.

A torrent of emotions swirled in her chest, each one more suffocating than the last. Tired. Exhausted. Her body was a patchwork of pain, a constant reminder of the torment she had endured over the past few days. Yet, beneath the physical agony, an entirely different ache churned within her—an emotional exhaustion far harder to overcome.

Aurora had saved her life. That fact alone left Caroline reeling. After everything Aurora had done—kidnapping her, humiliating her, forcing her into an innitiation that nearly cost her everything—Aurora had chosen to intervene, to ensure her survival. It didn’t make sense. And yet, there was something in the way Aurora had spoken to her afterward, something in the kiss she’d pressed to her cheek, that lingered like a ghost in the back of Caroline’s mind.

She felt angry and hurt, the scars from Aurora’s manipulation still fresh and raw. Aurora had inflicted so much pain on her, mentally and physically, but there were moments—fleeting, confusing moments—when Caroline couldn’t deny there was a sliver of warmth beneath Aurora’s cold exterior. A warmth that Caroline had started to care about, that she stupidly clung to.

And that terrified her.

Caroline groaned, dragging her hands down her face. "This is a disaster," she muttered to herself. She could feel herself slipping into dangerous territory, the kind of emotional vulnerability she’d sworn to avoid at all costs. Aurora was a ticking time bomb, volatile and unpredictable. Yet here Caroline was, caring about her.

It was all too familiar. The confusion, the intensity, the magnetic pull toward someone who had hurt her more than she cared to admit. It reminded her of Klaus. She’d hated him for what he’d done to Tyler, for the way he’d manipulated her friends and treated people like pawns in his grand schemes. And yet… she’d cared for him. She’d seen the good in him, no matter how deeply it had been buried beneath layers of cruelty and ambition.

But Klaus had never abused her. He had never forced her into anything like Aurora had. He had hurt her indirectly through her friends, yes, but not like this. The Strix had taken Tyler’s life, shattered her sense of stability, and now they had drawn her into their games of power and survival. And yet… Aurora wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t like Tristan, with his calculating smirks and veiled threats, or like Aya, ruthless and unwavering. Aurora was something else entirely both better and worse.

Caroline clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to centre herself. The guilt gnawed at her, sharp and unrelenting. She was going to betray Aurora. She was going to escape. And when that happened, the fragile thread of connection between them would snap, likely forever. It was the right thing to do—the only thing to do—but the thought still made her chest tighten.

She shook her head, trying to focus, to ground herself. She didn’t have the luxury of getting lost in her emotions, not now. There was too much at stake. She had people depending on her, a plan that needed executing, and no room for second-guessing.

Caroline moved toward the bathroom mirror, meeting her own reflection. She looked pale, worn, and fragile. But deep in her eyes, there was still a spark of determination, a refusal to give in to the chaos swirling around her.

Her heart still felt heavy, the tangle of emotions refusing to loosen its grip on her. But as she slipped the note into her pocket and prepared to leave, she made herself a promise: no matter what happened at the cliffs, she would remain true to herself. She had to. It was the only way to survive this nightmare.  

The damp air of the cellar was suffused with the scent of blood and rust. Klaus pulled the pitchfork out of Max’s abdomen with a sickening squelch, the vampire groaning weakly as the weapon was yanked free. Klaus handed the bloodied tool to Josh, who hesitated, the grim task at hand reflecting in his nervous eyes.

“Be quick about it,” Klaus commanded, his tone sharp with impatience. He flicked a glance at Josh as he added, “I have an army to build, and one compelled minion does not an army make.”

Josh swallowed hard, gripping the pitchfork as though it might burn him, before reluctantly stepping closer to Max’s trembling form. Klaus paid him no further mind, his attention drawn instead to the persistent buzzing of his phone in his pocket. Pulling it out, he answered with a swipe, his expression shifting to mild amusement when Rebekah’s voice crackled through the line.

In the Quarter, Rebekah stood near the edge of a bustling street, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd even as she spoke into the phone. Her tone was clipped but triumphant, carrying the satisfaction of having uncovered something useful.

“You were right about the traitor,” she began without preamble. “Luckily, she’s just a kid, and she doesn’t know anything about us or what we’re up to. Do you want to hear the part that’s going to please you the most?”

Back in the cellar, Klaus’s lips curled into a predatory smile. “Oh, do tell.”

Rebekah leaned casually against a wrought iron railing, her eyes glinting with mischief. “She’s in love with someone in Marcel’s inner circle. Guess who it is?”

Klaus tilted his head slightly, the smile deepening. “Right-hand-man type, favours silly caps?”

Rebekah let out a low chuckle. “Two points for you. Thierry is fraternizing with the enemy.”

Klaus’s expression shifted into something colder, more calculating. His mind churned with the possibilities this revelation presented, each more deliciously devious than the last. “Well,” he mused, “that means he just unwittingly became the key to our entire plan.”

“I told you you’d be pleased,” Rebekah said, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

“Oh, to be young and in love,” Klaus drawled, his voice rich with mockery. “In a city where witches and vampires are at war. How very tragic.”

Caroline paced her quarters, moving with the frenetic energy of someone whose mind was racing at a thousand miles per hour. Every object she picked up—a book, a stray piece of fabric, or an empty glass—was hastily tidied away, her hands working on autopilot while her thoughts churned ceaselessly.

It had to be perfect. One misstep, and they were all dead.

The waiting was the worst part, leaving her feeling powerless, trapped in a cycle of uncertainty. Her chest tightened as she thought of Tyler and Bonnie—both gone because of her failures. The image of Tyler’s mutilated body flashed in her mind, and she stopped mid-step, gripping the back of a chair for support.

When we get out of here, she resolved silently, I’ll take the boy to New Orleans. We’ll be safe there. From there, she could work on finding her mother and bringing Bonnie and Tyler back.

If that was even possible.

The weight of her own desperation pressed down on her.

She was still lost in thought when a sudden knock jolted her out of her reverie. Her head snapped toward the door, her body instinctively tense.

She opened it cautiously, and her eyes widened in surprise.

Aurora.

“Come in,” Caroline said, her voice laced with shock as she stepped aside.

Aurora swept into the room with her usual air of self-assured grace, her sharp eyes scanning the space before making a beeline for Caroline’s wardrobe. She threw the doors open, rifling through its contents with obvious disdain.

She turned to Caroline, scrutinizing her from head to toe before she yanked out an outfit and tossed it toward her.

“Get changed, Little Dove.” Aurora sat down on the sofa with an elegant flourish, reaching for a decanter of booze and pouring herself a generous glass.

Caroline caught the bundle of clothing, staring at it incredulously. “I’m already changed.”

Aurora didn’t even look up. “Your clothes belong in a fire. Chop chop.”

"You know, normal people just say 'you look nice' or 'maybe change your shoes.'" Aurora took a delicate sip from her glass, unfazed. Grumbling under her breath, Caroline stalked toward the screen, muttering about the absurdity of the situation as she began to change. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

"Neither can I, considering your previous offenses against fashion." Caroline yanked the fabric into place before stepping out, her discarded clothes still in her arms. Before she could say anything, Aurora snatched the bundle from her hands and, without hesitation, tossed it into the fire burning in the corner of the room.

"Hey!" Caroline protested, her jaw dropping.

Aurora silenced her with a sharp gesture, as if the matter was already forgotten.

Instead, she leaned forward, studying Caroline with a tilted head.

"Have you made a sigil yet?"

Caroline frowned, thrown by the sudden shift in conversation. "Yeah... I have."

She walked to her desk, opening the old leather-bound book she had been sketching in. Inside, etched in dark ink, was her sigil—a dove clutching an elderglow fern in its beak.

Aurora hummed in approval, running her fingers lightly over the design.

Caroline crossed her arms, watching her carefully. "Hmm it’s okay or Hmm you are going to throw that into a fire too?"

Aurora merely smirked, amusement glinting in her eyes. "What’s your motto?"

Caroline hesitated. "I... don’t have one yet."

Aurora gave a slow, knowing nod. "It will come to you."

Caroline wasn’t sure if that was comforting or ominous.

Aurora stood gracefully, draining the last of her drink before setting the glass down. “I didn’t just come here to judge your wardrobe choices.”

Caroline arched a brow. "Could’ve fooled me."

Aurora ignored the comment, instead smoothing down the silk fabric of her dress. “I’m inviting you to lunch.”

Caroline squinted. "Lunch?"

Aurora smiled. "Not just lunch. An important meeting. It’s very important to my brother, although I find the event very tedious."

Caroline's entire body tensed at the mention of Tristan, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. "I’m new to the Strix," she pointed out. " And last I checked I’m not exactly loved by vampires here or away."

Aurora’s smile widened slightly. "That, my dear, is what has kept you alive."

There was an undeniable truth in her words, and Caroline hated how much it made sense. Aurora took a step closer, reaching up as if to adjust a stray curl in Caroline’s hair. "Come, Little Dove," she said softly. "Put on your best mask and join us. You might learn something."

Caroline studied her, searching for the hidden meaning beneath the words. After a long pause, she sighed, exasperated. "Fine."

Aurora’s grin widened, triumphant. "Good. Now, let's go introduce you to the world, shall we?"

The courtyard was buzzing with tension. More guards than usual stood watch, their hands resting lightly on their weapons, their expressions unreadable but tight with restraint.

At the centre of it all stood Tristan, his jaw tight, his eyes burning with barely-contained anger. Beside him, Aya, ever composed, watched the scene with careful calculation. To Tristan’s left stood Shen Min, his arms folded over his chest, his expression neutral but observant. And just beyond them, leaning lazily against a pillar, was Vasil, looking utterly unbothered. Standing slightly apart from the others was Robert Neville, the Head of the Wardens, his piercing gaze assessing the tension in the air like a man who had seen too many betrayals in his time.

Everywhere Caroline looked, the atmosphere was thick with barely suppressed hostility. Tristan barely spared Caroline a glance before turning his focus to Aurora, offering her a tight, thin-lipped smile as she stepped forward to greet him.

“Dear brother of mine,” Aurora greeted warmly, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Tristan, ever the practiced diplomat, returned the gesture with cool precision. “Dear sister.”

Aurora tilted her head, her smile sharpening with intrigue. “Whatever’s the matter?”

Tristan exhaled slowly, his expression carefully schooled. “Nothing’s the matter, Rory.” His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it. “We’ve simply had to kill five traitors over the last two days, and now we are entertaining him.”

Caroline raised a brow, intrigued. Who is he? she wondered. Whoever it was, Tristan clearly despised him.

Before she could press for details, Aya approached her, her steps measured, her expression as unreadable as ever. “How is membership faring?” Aya asked, her tone polite but direct.

Caroline shrugged. “Nothing exciting, save recovering from the initiation. How are you?”

Aya’s lips curved slightly. “Well, considering the circumstances.” Her eyes flicked toward the guards before settling back on Caroline. “They haven’t introduced you to your faction, have they?”

Caroline frowned. “They haven’t.”

Aya nodded once, her expression thoughtful. “You belong to the faction of The Guard.”

She gestured for Caroline to follow her, and the two of them moved toward the seating area, away from the main gathering.

Caroline’s mind turned over Aya’s words as they sat. She glanced at the other woman, curiosity plain on her face. “Why am I assigned to The Guards? Last I heard, The Guard was military police and secret service.”

Aya’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “The Guard is more expansive than that. In time, you will learn. You will be under my direct command.” Aya leaned in slightly, her voice quieter, but tinged with curiosity. “How did you manufacture the anti-venom?”

Caroline chuckled softly. “You.”

Aya’s eyebrow arched, intrigued.

Caroline elaborated, “I noticed by the pond, the snakes you introduced me to avoided a particular plant like the plague. At the foot of the tree you sat by, I noticed a golden plant growing on the dark side. As I was observing it up close, a snake attacked me. In the scuffle, the snake made contact with the plant and disintegrated. I tried my luck at the initiation, guessing the plant could counteract the venom. I got extremely lucky.”

Aya hummed in thought, her expression unreadable.

Caroline leaned forward slightly, her tone turning deadly serious. “Can I ask you an important question?”

Aya’s brow furrowed slightly, sensing the shift in tone. “You can ask. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

“Do you guys know who killed JFK?”

Caroline’s face broke into a grin, mischief dancing in her eyes. Aya chuckled softly, shaking her head in amusement.

Caroline leaned back, her smile fading slightly as she took in the unease in the air. "Why is everyone so on edge?"

Aya’s gaze flickered toward the centre of the courtyard, where Tristan stood like a coiled viper. “We are meeting with a potential ally.”

Caroline's eyes narrowed slightly. “Hmmm.”

Aya cocked her head in question. “What?”

Caroline tapped her fingers against the armrest of her chair, her gaze sweeping over the assembled Strix. “Well, given the looks on Tristan’s, yours, and everyone else’s faces, it seems that none of you want to be here.”

Before Aya could answer, a gust of wind swept through the courtyard, sending leaves and dust spiraling into the air. A low hum filled the space, vibrating against the stones, and Caroline’s stomach dropped as she watched a white glow form in the centre of the courtyard. The glow intensified, swirling with pulsing energy, and within seconds, a portal began to open, light crackling along its edges like lightning in a storm. Aya’s eyes remained fixed on the portal as it began to solidify, her voice calm but laced with warning.

"You'll see."

The portal crackled, an eerie glow illuminating the darkened courtyard as figures emerged from the rift, stepping onto the stone path. The Strix guards tensed, hands poised on weapons, hostile glares locked onto the intruders. Then, the last figure stepped forward.

A man, tall and lean, his dark brown hair meticulously groomed, hazel eyes alight with amusement as he surveyed the scene before him. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, dressed in black and gray, the fabric of his coat undoubtedly expensive but with a devil-may-care looseness to it.

Beside him, a woman stood slightly behind, her presence somehow more disconcerting than his.

Caroline’s gaze flickered to her, immediately uneasy. She wasn’t a vampire—that much was clear. A human, then? A witch? And yet, there was something off about her, something that made Caroline’s instincts bristle.

She was barefoot, her red robes flowing elegantly around her, arms marked with symbols carved into her skin. Her long hair framed her face, and she smiled easily, as though this meeting were nothing more than a pleasant gathering.

Then, her eyes locked onto Caroline and she grinned wider.

Caroline stiffened.

Oh hell no. No way. Whatever this woman was, Caroline wanted no part of it.

Lucien strode forward, his gaze locking onto Tristan, though for a brief moment, his eyes softened when they landed on Aurora. "Aurora," Lucien murmured, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to it. Aurora’s eyes flickered, betraying something unspoken before she withdrew her hand with a teasing smile.

Tristan’s voice cut through the moment like a blade.

"Welcome to Mahal Khafa."

The air was thick with tension, bodies poised for attack, hands lingering near weapons. Lucien turned his smirk on Tristan, letting the moment stretch before he exhaled dramatically.

"Shall we proceed?"

At the long table, Lucien sat at one end, Tristan at the other, their respective followers filling the seats between them. Caroline sat between Aurora and Aya, her expression calm, though she could feel the weight of the courtyard pressing down on her. Aurora caught her gaze and rolled her eyes, her silent message clear: This is going to be tedious. Caroline smirked slightly, but her own nonchalance was forced.

Something felt off.

At the head of the table, Tristan leaned forward, voice smooth but sharp. "As you know, we have entered the next phase. Yet here you are, summoning me to meet. Why?"

Lucien rested his elbow on the table, his fingers tapping lightly against the surface. "My seer has had a new revelation," he said casually, but there was an edge to his voice. "The game has changed, and you need to prepare."

Tristan scoffed. "I don’t need to do anything, Lucien."

Lucien’s grin widened. "You should." His voice was almost amused. "Word has it your man Mohinder has rebelled... and is still breathing. Your Strix are weak."

The Strix guards tensed, eyes darting to Tristan, waiting for his response. Caroline noticed Aya’s jaw tighten, her fingers curling slightly on the table. "Last I checked," Tristan said slowly, "we have the numbers, the age, and dominion over the supernatural world. You may have a sliver of influence in your bloodline, but mine controls the field."

Lucien let out a mocking chuckle, shaking his head. "You control nothing." He tilted his head, his gaze glinting with amusement. "While I upheld my end of our arrangement, you have yet to create a successful serum. Despite having the boy for how long now…?"

At that, Caroline’s attention snapped up.

The Boy?

Lucien continued, eyes never leaving Tristan. "Oh wait—you lost the boy. And the Original sister. And now you are losing control of your own people." The room shifted, bodies tensing as guards reached for their weapons, the line between diplomacy and violence blurring.

Tristan’s lips curled, his voice quiet but seething. "I have enough control to be able to wipe your second-rate army off the face of the earth."

Before the tension could snap, Caroline exhaled dramatically, leaning back in her chair. "Woahhhh. Dial it both down, will you?" She gestured lazily around the room. "The testosterone in this room is off the charts."

Dead silence.

Every head turned to her.

Lucien barked out a laugh, clearly amused, while Tristan looked entirely unimpressed. Lucien cocked his head toward Tristan. “Who is this?"

Tristan sighed. "One from your bloodline, actually. Our newest member of the Strix."

Lucien’s smirk deepened. "How did that happen?"

Caroline flashed a grin. "I pissed off the right people, I suppose."

Lucien hummed in thought.

Then, the woman in red stood up. Caroline stiffened as the woman moved toward her, slow, deliberate, her gaze piercing. Something about her felt wrong, but Caroline kept her posture relaxed, unreadable. The woman reached out, her fingertips grazing a lock of Caroline’s hair, tucking it behind her ear. "It is good to see you again, Little Dove."

Caroline’s brows furrowed, confusion flickering in her eyes. "I’ve never seen you before in my life."

The woman smiled, unbothered. "But I have seen you, Caroline Forbes”

At that, the room shifted, curiosity flickering across Aurora’s and Aya’s faces, while Tristan simply observed. Caroline’s gaze dropped to the woman’s necklace. A serpent eating its own tail. Her fingers reached up to touch the pendant only for it to burn Caroline’s fingers but instead of withdrawing her fingers, her eyes met the woman’s and her fingers tightened around the pendant despite the agony flowing through her body.

She had seen that symbol before.

Her voice was quiet, but firm. "Where have I seen this symbol before?"

The woman’s smile didn’t falter. "It is common throughout the world."

Caroline shot her a flat look. "Hmm…What do you want, Witch?

The woman chuckled. "My name is Samara." She took a slow step forward making them being basically nose to nose. "What I want is balance." Caroline’s eyes narrowed. Samara tilted her head. "You don’t believe me? Have a drink." She turned her head, exposing her bare neck.

Caroline stared taken off guard. She hadn’t fed on people for food since she turned and she weren’t about to now. She doesn’t want to hurt people. She had too much blood on her hands already. She looked into Samara’s eyes and took a step back, "I’m not going to bite you."

The woman reached out and grabbed Caroline’s forearm. Caroline’s vampiric features flashed briefly before the woman smiled and softly asked, "Why?"

Caroline’s jaw clenched and she came up with an excuse. "Your blood could be poisoned."

Samara’s smile never wavered. "Like yours was during your initiation?"

Caroline stilled. Samara’s voice was silk and steel.

"Nay. That isn’t your thoughts. You don’t want to harm me. Adorable."

Caroline’s mask faltered, just slightly. And then, without breaking eye contact, she sank her fangs into Samara’s neck.

The moment Caroline’s fangs pierced Samara’s skin, the world fractured.

Darkness swallowed her whole.

A roaring wind tore through the void, carrying whispers too ancient to understand. The scent of blood and burning flesh filled her lungs.

She saw—

A city drowning in fire. Towers of stone and steel crumbling as flames licked the sky, turning it black as pitch.

A castle wrapped in thorns, its walls slick with crimson, an altar at its heart where something screamed.

The Virgin Mary wept. Her statue stood in the ruins of a church, her stone eyes bleeding, her hands in prayer.

Corpses—thousands, millions—sprawled across the land, fanged mouths open in silent horror. Vampires and beasts, all slaughtered, their bodies rotting under a sun that burned too brightly.

A tide of dark smoke, moving like a living thing, consuming the sky until only shadows remained.

A bloodied handprint smeared across the pages of a forgotten grimoire, the ink writhing and shifting as if it were alive.

And then—

The hooves.

The sound shook the heavens, rattling her bones, making the ground split. Four riders rode across the ruins of the world, their figures blurred, but their presence undeniable. War. Famine. Pestilence. Death.

And behind them, something worse.

"The balance shatters, the tether breaks,
One returns, and all shall wake.
From dust and bone, the dark shall rise,
A shadow born beneath cursed skies.

A hooded figure, standing at the peak of a mountain of skulls, eyes burning red, a crown of iron and ruin upon its head.

"A beast shall feast, the angels weep,
Immortals fall, the graves grow deep.
The end is near, the game is set,
Now the Tower pays its debt."

A dagger, golden and wreathed in flame, plunged into the heart of a shadowed figure, and the world screamed.

Then—

Nothing.

The vision shattered like glass.

Caroline staggered backward, panting, her hands shaking. She looked at Samara, horrified.

"What the hell?"

Samara simply watched her with calm amusement, as if she had not just dragged Caroline through the end of days. "It will be," she said smoothly, "if we don't work together to fix it."

Caroline's mind raced, her body still trembling from the images seared into her skull. She barely noticed as Samara turned to Lucien, who gave a small, knowing nod.

Then, without hesitation, Samara presented her wrist to Tristan.

Tristan’s expression darkened, but after a beat of silence, he took her wrist and bit deep. The moment her blood touched his tongue, his entire body stiffened. The whites of his eyes vampiric red, his pupils contracting as the flood of visions overtook him.

This time, Samara did not speak.

The images slammed into him like waves of a storm, raw and unfiltered. His breath came in short, ragged gasps as he pulled away sharply, blood smeared across his lips. His eyes were wide—for once, Tristan de Martel looked shaken.

And then his expression twisted into rage. He grabbed Samara by the throat and slammed her against the table, rattling the entire room. “How do I know this isn’t a parlor trick?" he snarled, his grip tightening around her slender throat.

Samara didn’t struggle. She only smiled. "My visions come from those within," she murmured, voice unbothered despite the fingers crushing her windpipe. "I have no part in what you saw. The longer I am around the subject of said visions, the more they reveal." Her lips curled, almost taunting. "Kill me, and you'll never know the rest."

The room tensed.

Lucien’s gaze flickered between Samara and Tristan, his amusement waning into something worried. The Strix guards were gripping their weapons tighter, unsure if violence was about to explode between their leaders. Finally, Tristan released her, his nostrils flaring as he stepped away. His composure returned, but his eyes were still wary. "Everyone leave," Tristan commanded, his voice sharp.

Lucien straightened, then nodded to his own men who also left. Aya was the first to move. She stepped forward, grabbed Caroline’s arm, and pulled her toward the exit. Caroline cast one last look toward Aurora, Lucien, Tristan and Samara, all four still seated at the long table, the tension between them thick as smoke.

As they left, she could still hear the whispers of the prophecy clawing at her mind.

It couldn’t be happening.

The end was coming.

The air outside was thick with tension, a volatile mix of distrust and barely restrained hostility. Everyone hated one another, alliances fraying at the edges as guards hovered like specters in the cold night. The meeting had lasted for what felt like an eternity, but after twenty agonizing minutes, Lucien finally emerged from the chamber, Samara gliding beside him like an eerie shadow. Aurora and Tristan followed closely behind, their expressions unreadable.

Lucien turned to Aurora, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Till next time," he murmured, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a lingering kiss against her knuckles.

Aurora tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes, but she said nothing as he turned away. Samara, who had been quiet through the exchange, suddenly glanced over her shoulder, locking eyes with Caroline. There was something in her gaze—something knowing, something unsettling—but before Caroline could even begin to decipher it, Samara pivoted on her heel and disappeared into the night behind Lucien.

Caroline barely noticed the stares she received as she stood frozen in place, her mind still spinning from the prophecy Samara had forced into her veins. Images of smoke, blood, altars, burning cities, bodies stacked like monuments to death, war, and famine haunted the corners of her vision. The world drowning in darkness. The Originals falling. The End of Days. She felt like she was still choking on the horror of it. She was supposed to be focusing on getting escaping here, taking down The Strix and resurrecting Tyler and Bonnie.

Now this?

A whisper cut through the murmur of dispersing bodies. Shen Min, standing beside Tristan, spoke softly in his ear. Tristan’s face remained impassive, but he nodded once, and with that single motion, the silent command was given. The guards began to move, peeling away into the shadows, taking their tension with them. Aya gave a sharp glance toward Vasil, who nodded in response before they, too, vanished. Leaving only Aurora and Caroline.

The silence stretched between them, thick and palpable. Caroline turned to Aurora, her voice steady but laced with unease. "Did you see what I saw?"

Aurora’s gaze flickered, her mask slipping just for a moment before she covered it up with an easy smile. "Yes."

Caroline exhaled sharply, rubbing her forehead as if trying to scrub away the lingering images. "I don't trust her, Rora."

Aurora’s expression darkened, her voice smooth but grave. "Neither do I."

Caroline crossed her arms, searching Aurora’s face for something—anything—that would ground her in all this madness. "So, what are we gonna do?"

A small, knowing smile curled at the edges of Aurora’s lips, something almost fond in the way she looked at her. She reached out, taking Caroline’s arm with a gentle squeeze. "You didn’t disappoint."

Caroline blinked, taken aback. "I made a scene."

Aurora’s smile widened. "Yes, you did."

Then it hit her. Oh. She hadn’t been just a participant in that meeting—she was a tool. A distraction. Her eyes narrowed as realization settled in, sharp and clear. "You wanted me there to make a scene..." she trailed off, piecing it together. "So I’d break the tension. So I’d distract everyone from the power plays at the table."

Aurora tilted her head, her gaze playful but unwavering. "You’re quick, little dove." Caroline barely had time to process her own irritation before Aurora reached up, tucking a loose tress of blonde hair behind her ear with a touch far too tender for the chaos they had just witnessed. "The world is supposed to be ending now, little dove," Aurora murmured, her voice a whisper between them.

Caroline huffed out a breath, her lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. "All part of life’s fragility, right?" she threw back, reminding Aurora of her own words from days before in the intiation. The moment hung between them, charged and unspoken, as Aurora’s expression faltered—just slightly—as if remembering that moment as vividly as Caroline did.

Before she could respond, Caroline’s voice broke through again, softer now. "Why did you spare my life?" she asked, her throat tight. "Back in Rosewood Springs. Why?"

Aurora stiffened slightly, the walls rising in her gaze, but then something in Caroline’s face—something honest, something raw—made her pause. For once, she didn’t hide behind a sneer, didn’t turn away. Instead, she hesitated, her voice quieter, almost... uncertain.

"I—I… I couldn’t let you die," Aurora admitted, her eyes searching Caroline’s as if admitting it aloud made it real. "You wouldn’t lay down and die. Something that you did touches something in my soul that I haven’t felt for a very long time."

Caroline swallowed, her pulse hammering against her throat. "And that is?"

Aurora didn’t answer.

Instead, she kissed her.

It was quick, a brush of lips that could have been fleeting—but it wasn’t. The moment stretched, lingered, until Caroline responded, until the kiss deepened, until it turned into something else entirely. It was desperate, burning, like neither of them wanted to think, like the weight of the world didn’t exist in this second.

Aurora was the one who vamped them back to their quarters, her hands firm on Caroline’s waist. The door slammed behind them, but neither of them noticed.

And then, the world fell away.

Katherine stood in the dimly lit hallway, her back pressed against the cold wall. Her sharp ears were tuned to the muffled voices behind the closed door of the study. She had no illusions about trust within the Mikaelson household—knowledge was survival, and she intended to stay one step ahead of everyone. She carefully adjusted her position, her heels silent against the wooden floor as she leaned closer.

Unbeknownst to her, Liz Forbes was also listening. In her upstairs room, the small listening device she had planted earlier crackled faintly with the ongoing conversation. Seated at a simple desk, Liz’s green eyes were fixed on the small recorder, her face a mask of focus. Every word spoken below was another piece of the puzzle that might lead her to Caroline.

In the study, Sophie paced anxiously, her frustration palpable. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, and her expression was one of incredulity. “Are you out of your mind? No way.”

Rebekah, seated elegantly in one of the room’s ornate chairs, rolled her eyes and waved a dismissive hand. “It’s very simple—we need you to perform a teeny, tiny locator spell to help us find our brother.”

Sophie scoffed, her voice rising. “Witches who practice magic in this town get caught, and then they get killed.”

Klaus, standing by the window, turned to face her, his hands clasped behind his back. His tone was deceptively calm. “Yes, about that. It seems you left out a crucial detail when we made our deal—Marcel’s secret weapon, the way he knows when a witch is using magic…”

Rebekah smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Girl about yea high, cute as a button, anger issues?”

Sophie froze, her eyes widening as she pieced it together. “Davina? Where have you seen her?”

“I don’t know,” Rebekah replied, her tone dry. “The little brat erased my memory right after she threw me out a window with her bloody mind.”

Klaus stepped closer to Sophie, his gaze sharp and calculating. “Let me cut to the chase. Davina has Elijah. You witches, I assume, want to get Davina away from Marcel. We don’t know where she is. Ergo, we need magic.”

Sophie shook her head, her tone firm. “Davina would sense it.”

Rebekah raised an eyebrow, her expression filled with cold amusement. “Unless, of course, another witch—say, a traitor to the cause, Katie for example—was to perform much more powerful magic at the same time. That would create a smokescreen, concealing your very small spell from Davina.”

Sophie’s jaw tightened, and her voice dropped, heavy with guilt and defiance. “Katie doesn’t deserve to die.”

Klaus’s calm exterior cracked as he slammed his hands on the table, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot. He rose to his full height, his voice cold and unyielding. “Sophie Deveraux! You’re in no position to be so principled. You can’t win a war without a few strategic losses, no matter how regrettable they may be.”

He leaned closer, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Sophie’s. “How many times have the vampires been one step ahead, known something they shouldn’t? Your sister, executed in the public square for practicing magic—who knew she’d be caught? Did she even attempt to flee?”

Sophie’s resolve wavered as Klaus’s words dug into her, unearthing a painful truth. Her lips parted as realization dawned. “…She was caught hiding in a cargo hold of a freighter before it set sail down the Mississippi.”

Klaus straightened, his voice taking on a mocking lilt. “And who, pray tell—of Marcel’s valued inner circle—manages his business at the docks?”

Sophie’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her. “Katie’s boyfriend, Thierry.”

The evening air was thick with the scent of embers and jasmine, drifting in through the open balcony doors. The golden glow of lanterns cast warm light over the tangled sheets, but Caroline was barely aware of anything except the lazy, blissful exhaustion coursing through her body. She felt like wet pudding—boneless, melted into the mattress, utterly undone.

Aurora lay beside her, half-draped over her, one hand absently tracing slow, aimless circles along Caroline’s back. There was something lulling about it, something that made Caroline feel weightless, like she was floating. If she thought too much about it, she might start having feelings, and that was definitely not what she needed right now.

Not when it had been… well, what it had been.

Sex with Aurora was incredible. And new.

Caroline had never been with a woman before. She hadn’t expected it to be so much. She’d expected passion, maybe a bit of competition. But what she hadn’t expected was how deep it felt, how completely Aurora had unravelled her, pulling apart all her sharp edges until she had no choice but to just feel.

And that was dangerous.

She turned her head, peeking at Aurora through heavy-lidded eyes, only to find the other woman already watching her.

"You're staring," Caroline murmured.

Aurora smiled lazily, dragging her fingers up to play with a loose tress of Caroline's hair. "Admiring, actually. You look absolutely ruined, ma chère."

Caroline let out a soft, breathy laugh, her body still too wrecked to even attempt her usual snark. "Yeah, well, you fight dirty."

Aurora grinned wickedly, shifting closer, pressing a lingering kiss just below Caroline’s ear. "It’s not fighting if we both win."

Caroline rolled onto her back with a satisfied sigh, stretching her limbs out like a cat. "I can’t feel my legs. Which, by the way, rude."

Aurora chuckled, slipping an arm around her waist, tugging her closer. "And yet you’re still complaining. I must be losing my touch."

Caroline turned to look at her, smirking. "I think round five proved otherwise."

Aurora hummed, clearly pleased with herself. But before she could reply, a sudden glow outside the window caught her attention. Aurora lit up. "Ah! Finally!" she gasped, sitting up abruptly, her entire body humming with excitement.

Caroline groaned, burying her face in the pillow before cracking one eye open. Outside, a yellow beacon burned against the darkening sky.

"That’s the Sisters’ beacon," Aurora said, utterly delighted.

Caroline, still sprawled and boneless in the sheets, gave her a flat look. "Oh, really? Wow. Thank God you were here to tell me. Never would’ve figured that out myself."

Aurora’s laugh was bright and genuine, and despite herself, Caroline liked the sound of it.

"Come on, get up!" Aurora threw a bundle of clothes at her.

Caroline did not move. Instead, she smirked, stretching leisurely, letting the sheets pool low on her body. "Mmm, yeah, see… I was actually thinking we could just go for round six instead. Or is it seven? Honestly, I lost count somewhere in the middle."

Aurora laughed outright, the sound rich and giddy as she leaned over, pressing a quick, teasing kiss to Caroline’s lips before pulling away just as fast. "Oh, we’ll have plenty of time for that later, you brat!”

Caroline made a dramatic groan of protest, but when she did sit up, there was something warm in her chest she didn’t want to think about. "Are you going to tell me what the beacon actually means?" she asked, pulling the shirt over her head and tossing her hair free.

Aurora’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she laced up her boots. "Now, where’s the fun in that?"

Caroline narrowed her eyes. "You are so lucky I’m too blissed out to strangle you right now."

Aurora smirked and vamped to the door, casting one last mischievous glance over her shoulder.

"Try to keep up, little dove."

With an exasperated sigh, Caroline swung her legs over the side of the bed and followed.

The courtyard buzzed with restless energy, a thick hum of whispers weaving through the gathered masses. Hundreds of vampires and witches filled the vast expanse, their dark silhouettes shifting under the pale glow of the moon. The Strix had gathered.

Caroline couldn’t shake the feeling of unease as she and Aurora stepped into the open space. There was something commanding about the sight before her—so many powerful beings, ancient and new, all in one place. The air was charged, thick with the scent of torches burning and something else… something like expectation.

The moment they entered, a ripple spread through the crowd. Whispers rose like a tide, eyes turning toward them, tracking their every movement. The sea of bodies parted, clearing a path for them.

Caroline’s gaze flicked through the throng of faces, her sharp eyes searching. Naveeda stood among them, her posture deceptively relaxed, but her keen eyes missed nothing. On the other side, Enzo met her stare. There was something wordless exchanged between them—a shared understanding, a silent warning.

But Vasil and Genevieve were nowhere to be seen. That set her on edge.

Aurora, however, moved forward with commanding grace, her hair catching the firelight in flickers of red gold. They ascended toward the raised platform where the leadership waited. Tristan stood at its center, flanked by Shen Min, Aya, Robert Neville, Edward, Adara, and Vasil, who had finally appeared.

The moment Tristan’s gaze landed on them, Caroline knew.

His sharp eyes narrowed, flicking from Aurora to Caroline, assessing their proximity, the ease between them, the way Aurora was still glowing with some barely restrained amusement. Suspicion sharpened his features, but when he caught Aurora’s expression—a rare look of peace—his stance loosened, just barely.

"You're late," Tristan remarked coolly.

Aurora smiled sweetly, looping her arm through Caroline’s. "We were busy."

Caroline bit back a smirk, watching as Tristan’s lips pressed into a thin line.

"And we haven’t even started yet," Aurora added, her voice mocking with just enough sweetness to make it a challenge.

Caroline felt the weight of another stare. Her eyes flicked across the platform until they locked onto Vasil, who, upon meeting her gaze, wiggled his eyebrows with undisguised amusement. He knew.

Caroline’s stomach dropped. She glared. Vasil just smirked.

Before she could murder him with her eyes, a deep blast of horns cut through the night, silencing the last of the murmurs.

The beacons surrounding the stage flared to life, their golden flames illuminating the courtyard in stark contrast to the twilight sky. The crowd stilled, anticipation crackling in the air like a brewing storm.

Aurora leaned in closer, her breath brushing against Caroline’s skin as she murmured, "Come now, Little Dove. The show’s starting."

Caroline barely had time to process the words before Tristan stepped forward.

The Strix’s leader stood tall, his imposing form bathed in the yellow firelight, his voice ringing clear across the expanse.

"Tonight, we honor tradition," Tristan declared, his words slow and deliberate, the weight of centuries pressing into each syllable.

"The Trial by Three is not merely a test of strength but of power, will, and the capacity to lead. Our coven stands at a precipice, and the leader who emerges must embody the virtues that will carry us forward."

A chill slithered down Caroline’s spine. A leader. This was about more than just status. This was about control.

Tristan gestured toward Lysandra and Alice, both stepping forward, their expressions carved from stone. Behind them, their factions roared in support, the sound deafening in the courtyard.

"The first trial," Tristan continued, "is the Trial by Power. It is a display of raw magical strength and dominance, one of the three fundamental qualities of leadership."

As if in answer to his words, the runes carved into the arena’s floor flared to life, their fiery glow illuminating the intricate labyrinth that had been set. The paths twisted and shifted, a constant flux, while constructs of magic materialized—twisted creatures of fire, shadow, and stone, shaped by pure witchcraft.

Caroline could feel the power rippling in the air, the dark hum of ancient spells breathing life into the battlefield.

"This," Tristan said, his voice brimming with grim satisfaction, "is where you prove your worth."

The weight of those words settled over the crowd.

Lysandra and Alice locked eyes, their hatred for one another palpable.

The audience braced itself.

The air shifted.

Tristan raised his hand, his sharp smile like a blade as he let the moment stretch.

"Begin."

And the courtyard erupted into chaos.

The courtyard of Marcel’s compound was alive with activity. Vampires milled about, stringing up lights, arranging decorations, and preparing for the evening’s event. In the midst of the hustle, Thierry stood on a raised platform, a trumpet in hand, its golden gleam catching the soft glow of lanterns. He played a smooth, soulful tune, the melody threading through the air and silencing idle chatter. A few vampires paused to watch, the haunting beauty of the music drawing them in.

Klaus leaned casually against a stone column, his sharp eyes watching Thierry with calculated interest. Marcel stood beside him, a glass of bourbon in hand, his expression one of casual pride.

“You’re right,” Klaus admitted, his tone grudging but amused. “He’s good.”

Marcel grinned, tipping his glass toward the musician. “Right? Music man, I call him. Ladies love him, but he’s spoken for. Knocks around with this pretty little witch. Says he loves her, but I don’t know.”

Klaus arched an eyebrow, his scepticism clear. “Your brightest soldier is fraternising with your enemy, and you don’t care?”

Marcel shrugged, a nonchalant air about him as he took a sip of bourbon. “Well, of course I care. But Thierry’s a grown man. He makes his own choices, and I get some good intel out of it. Besides, he's not gonna do anything to jeopardise what we're doing here. I mean, check this out-— a vampire hosting a ritzy charity event? We’ve got a real community here. No one’s gonna mess that up.”

Klaus’s gaze darkened, his tone dropping to something more foreboding. “Still… you don’t want the witches to get too bold, given that a witch’s tip about the sheriff led to the disappearance of your nightwalkers.”

Marcel stilled slightly, his easy demeanour faltering for just a moment. Klaus pressed on, his voice soft but sharp. “I’m sure you’ve considered the possibility that it could’ve been a trap.”

Marcel’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as though the thought had only now occurred to him. He nodded slowly, finishing his drink in one swig before straightening. “Well, maybe I’ll send a little message.”

He turned and raised his voice, cutting through the music and chatter. “Thierry!”

The trumpeter’s melody ceased abruptly, and Thierry lowered his instrument, looking over with mild surprise.

“Take a team of nightwalkers to the Cauldron tonight,” Marcel ordered, his voice carrying an edge of command. “Do a little rousting… Oh, and Thierry? Make it nasty.”  

The Trial by Power began with a surge of energy so intense it reverberated through the very air of the courtyard. Lysandra and Alice, their factions flanking them, stood at the epicenter of a brewing storm of magic. Both witches’ hands moved with precise, furious gestures, their voices chanting in an otherworldly harmony that sent shivers down Caroline’s spine. The ground trembled beneath her feet, the energy crackling with dangerous intensity as they pushed themselves to new heights of magical prowess.

As the two witches rivaled and outmatched one another, their eyes locked in a battle of wills, something unspoken passed between them. To everyone’s shock, they turned to face the gathered crowd, their powers now combined. A dense wave of shimmering energy formed between them, and with a sudden, deafening explosion, a shockwave tore through the dimension. The fabric of reality rippled and groaned under the pressure.

The sky cracked, splitting into webs of golden and white light, and the ground beneath Caroline’s feet began to disintegrate into dust.

Suddenly, chaos erupted.

Mohinder and Anwar stormed in from the shadows, leading an army of vampires and witches. The crowd, already on edge, fractured in an instant as hidden traitors among them rose to attack. Screams echoed as spells and weapons collided, the courtyard becoming a battlefield drenched in chaos and blood.

Caroline’s heart raced as she spotted Robert Neville on the platform. His face twisted with determination as he lunged at Tristan, a stake in hand. Shen Min intercepted him in a blur of motion, taking said stake and jamming it into Robert’s heart with brutal efficiency before turning to assess the battlefield.

Edward Cavendish, however, was already closing in on Caroline, his eyes blazing with hatred. He lunged, his stake aimed for her heart. Caroline twisted at the last moment, but pain exploded in her chest as the stake pierced her lung instead. She let out a gasp, yanked the stake out with a growl, and hurled it with deadly precision. It struck Edward in the heart, and he crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

More attackers swarmed the platform. Caroline caught sight of Aya decapitating two vampires and ripping the hearts of another with ease. A witch sent a fireball hurtling toward the center of the platform, and Caroline barely had time to react. She grabbed Aurora, shoving her aside as the fireball exploded. The force of the blast sent both of them sprawling to the floor.

The dimension itself groaned under the strain, white light with golden undertones bleeding through the cracks in the air. Suddenly, a beam of blinding energy shot between Caroline and Aurora, hurling them in opposite directions. Caroline hit the ground hard, her vision swimming as she scrambled to her feet.

Her mind raced as she scanned the chaos, desperate to find Genevieve, Enzo, or Naveeda. Instead, pain seized her head, sharp and unbearable. A vampire loomed over her, grabbing her by the neck as she struggled. Nearby, a witch chanted furiously, maintaining the pain spell that paralysed her.

The agony abruptly ceased as a sickening crack echoed across the courtyard. Caroline’s captor faltered, and she blinked through the haze to see Shen Min snapping the witch’s neck. Another vampire turned on him, and they collided in a vicious melee.

Caroline forced herself to move, sidestepping the vampire who lunged at her. She spun and drove her hand through their chest, ripping out their heart in one clean motion. She barely registered the squelch of another heart being torn free as she turned to see Shen Min standing victorious.

In the distance, Caroline’s eyes locked onto Genevieve, struggling against a witch. She didn’t hesitate. Charging forward, she killed Genevieve’s opponent with a swift blow. As Genevieve gasped for breath, Caroline turned to Shen Min, her expression a mask of mistrust.

She sneered, dropping into a defensive stance. “Don’t tell me you’re a traitor too.”

Shen Min’s face twisted with genuine disgust. “We need to regroup,” he said, his voice calm despite the chaos.

Before Caroline could respond, a flash of movement caught her eye. Vasil appeared, his hand driving a wooden stake through Shen Min’s back piercing his heart. The former torturer gasped, his eyes wide with shock, before collapsing to the ground a greyed corpse. Vasil then ripped off Shen Min’s head and placed it in a bag leaving it by a nearby statue of an angel.

Caroline froze, momentarily stunned. Her hatred for Shen Min warred with the reality of his sudden death. But there was no time to process. Another vampire surged toward Genevieve, and Caroline moved on instinct, killing them before they could land a blow.

Vasil didn’t waste a second. Grabbing both Caroline and Genevieve, he vamped them out of the courtyard in a blur of motion, leaving the chaos behind as the dimension itself began to crumble into white light.

Rebekah perched gracefully at the bar in Rousseau's, her elegant fingers drumming against the counter as she watched Cami work. The bartender moved with practiced ease, pouring drinks and dodging flirtatious remarks from the patrons. Her name tag caught Rebekah’s attention: Camille, written in neat, bold letters.

“I moved back here to be closer to my brothers,” Rebekah began, her voice casual but deliberate. “Because, let’s face it, family’s important. Right, Camille?”

Cami glanced up from the drink she was mixing, her expression amused. “Cami,” she corrected lightly. “I really need to change this name tag—drunk guys keep hitting on me in French.” She paused, tilting her head as she studied Rebekah. “Are you sure you haven’t been in here before? Your face looks really familiar.”

Rebekah froze for a split second, a flash of memory searing through her mind: Cami pinned against a wall, gasping for breath under Rebekah’s iron grip. Marcel’s voice compelling her to forget the encounter. Shaking off the thought, Rebekah shrugged with feigned nonchalance. “You must’ve seen me out and about.”

She changed the subject swiftly, her smile turning sly. “Aren’t you dating Marcel Gerard? He’s a pal of mine... sort of. I heard he had a crush on the blonde bartender at Rousseau’s.”

Cami huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes. “I would hardly call it dating. He’s wooing me... sort of. I don’t know. He’s very charming, which probably means I should run for the hills.”

Rebekah leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m in an on-again, off-again thing myself.”

Cami chuckled, nodding knowingly. “Those are the worst, aren’t they? The ones you can’t shake, even though you know better. And you always know better.”

Rebekah smirked. “I like you, Cami. Most girls have the unfortunate tendency of being whiny little twits.”

Cami raised an eyebrow, smiling wryly. “Thanks... I think.”

Rebekah tapped her fingers on the bar, as though considering something. “Hey, I’m supposed to go to this posh charity thing tonight. It’s thrown by this philanthropist—bit of a Gatsby type, throws a mean party. Any interest?”

Cami shrugged, her smile polite but noncommittal. “I’ll think about it.”

Vasil moved with inhuman speed, his grip firm on both Caroline and Genevieve as they blurred through the crumbling remnants of the dimension. The chaos from the courtyard still echoed in Caroline’s mind—shouts, blood, betrayal. As they arrived at Caroline’s quarters, she wrenched herself free, her body trembling from the strain of the fight.

Vasil immediately moved to the hidden compartment in the wall, prying it open to retrieve the serum Caroline had stored there. Turning back, he grabbed her roughly by the arm.

Caroline’s eyes blazed with fury as she pulled against him. “No! We need to find Enzo and Naveeda.”

Vasil’s face was a mask of cold determination. “We need to go now.”

Caroline’s voice rose, her tone edged with desperation. “Where are they?”

For a moment, Vasil hesitated, glancing toward Genevieve. Caroline’s eyes followed his gaze, and in that split second of distraction, Vasil moved. His hand took a needle from his pocket and injected Caroline with it. Caroline’s body crumpled into his waiting arms, unconscious.

Genevieve gasped in shock. “What the hell are you doing?”

“She’ll thank me later,” Vasil said dismissively, hoisting Caroline over his shoulder like a sack of flour. He turned to Genevieve, his tone clipped and urgent. “Move the sink. We need to go.”

Genevieve hesitated, her conflicted expression warring with the urgency of the situation. Finally, she nodded and helped him shift the sink aside, revealing the narrow ladder that descended into the tunnels. They moved quickly, the echoes of their descent swallowed by the suffocating darkness.

At last, they reached the hidden underground lair where the boy waited nervously, his small frame trembling with fear. When Vasil unceremoniously dumped Caroline onto the floor, the boy rushed forward, his wide eyes filled with panic. He knelt beside her, shaking her shoulders as if trying to rouse her.

“Relax,” Vasil said dryly, crouching nearby and watching the boy with a raised eyebrow. “She’s just having a nap.”

Genevieve frowned, her hands shaking as she began to unpack her materials for the spell. She glanced up at Vasil, her expression a mix of anger and unease. “What about Enzo and Naveeda?”

Vasil straightened, his jaw tightening as he avoided her gaze. “I don’t know where Enzo is. Naveeda is... insurance.”

Genevieve paused looked up at Vasil with an accusatory look, her hands stilling over the spell components. “What do you mean, insurance?”

A FEW HOURS AGO

Vasil’s sharp eyes glinted in the dim light as he stood in front of Naveeda. His voice was calm, measured, as he spoke. "You know what you need to do," he said, his pupils dilating unnaturally as he compelled her.

Naveeda’s breath hitched, her own eyes glazing over. She nodded slowly, her expression devoid of emotion. "I know what I need to do."

Vasil’s lips curled into a faint, cold smile. "And that is?"

Naveeda’s voice was flat, robotic. "Take this poison and the bag you will leave for me by the angel statue and give this message to Tristan."

Vasil stepped closer, lowering his voice as he pressed the vial of poison into her hand. "Good Girl. No deviations. No mistakes."

THE PRESENT

“Do the spell,” Vasil snapped, his voice sharp. “I’ll explain later.”

Genevieve’s lips thinned, but she resumed her preparations, muttering incantations under her breath as she worked. The boy stayed beside Caroline, his silent presence a heavy weight in the room.

“She’s not going to be pleased,” Genevieve said quietly, casting a wary glance at Caroline’s still form.

Vasil let out a dry, humourless laugh. “Her plan was brilliant, but even faced with the worst of this place, her faith in people blinds her to what needs to be done.”

Genevieve looked up briefly, her eyes narrowing. “And you think injecting her with vervain was the solution?”

“I think,” Vasil said, his voice cold, “that surviving means making the hard choices. She’ll understand that soon enough.”

The air in the underground lair thickened, crackling with power as Genevieve’s incantations deepened. The dim space was cast in flickering candlelight, the only illumination against the creeping darkness of the stone walls. The spell was taking hold, the energy pulsing like a heartbeat, vibrating beneath their skin.

Caroline still lay motionless, her body limp from the vervain coursing through her veins. The boy’s small hand clung to hers, desperation radiating off him in waves. His face was tight with worry, his wide eyes flicking back and forth between her still form and the energy building in the room. Vasil stood off to the side, his arms crossed as he watched the ritual unfold, his expression unreadable.

Genevieve’s chant rose in intensity, the magic swirling above them in golden strands, thickening into something solid and alive. The bowls of their sacrificed blood glowed, the light refracting off the surfaces in a mesmerizing white-gold hue.

The glow began to shape itself, twisting and morphing, forming into something more than just light—a concentrated sphere of raw power, hovering above them, its intensity growing by the second.

Then, Caroline’s breath hitched.

Her eyes flew open—vampiric features on full display for half a second before returning to blue. A sharp gasp left her lips as she was dragged back into consciousness. The boy let out a small, relieved sob, immediately throwing his arms around her, pressing his face into her shoulder. Caroline’s body ached, her limbs felt like lead, but the moment her senses returned, she instinctively took in everything at once—the hum of magic, the scent of blood, the thick air filled with something unnatural.

She turned her head and saw Vasil standing there, watching.

Her fury ignited instantly.

Caroline shoved herself upright, ignoring the weakness clawing at her muscles, her eyes flashing as she glared at Vasil.

"You—"

Her rage was cut off as the spell suddenly shifted, the magic growing unstable.

The once-contained ball of white-gold energy flickered violently, erratic sparks shooting off like lightning bolts, striking the walls. Caroline's sharp gaze snapped to Genevieve, who was struggling to maintain control. "It's going too fast," Genevieve gasped, her fingers trembling as she tried to redirect the flow. "The energy is rebounding!"

A crackling noise filled the air, and suddenly, the ball of light erupted outward, sending a bolt of wild lightning hurling toward the boy.

Caroline didn’t think.

She moved on instinct.

Though weak from vervain, her body reacted faster than her mind—she lunged forward, her arms wrapping around the boy, shielding him just as the bolt of magic slammed into her.

A searing pain tore through her body. Agony unlike anything she had ever known ripped through her veins, spreading like wildfire, consuming her nerves. Her vision exploded in white-hot light, every part of her body screaming from the sheer force of the spell burning through her like living flame.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard Genevieve scream her name—

"Caroline!"

Then, everything went dark

The darkened woods around Salem hummed with an eerie stillness, broken only by the sound of Kol kicking a loose stone. It skittered across the ground, the sound grating against the tense atmosphere. Bonnie sat cross-legged on the ground, her fingers brushing the damp earth absently. Tyler paced back and forth, his movements sharp and agitated, while Alaric leaned against a tree, his arms crossed, scanning the forest with a guarded gaze.

Alaric let out a frustrated sigh. “Would you stop doing that?”

Kol grinned mischievously, his boot already moving to kick the stone again. He gave Alaric a mocking look, sending the rock skittering farther. “I’m bored.”

“We’re all bored,” Tyler snapped, his tone sharp. He stopped his pacing to glare at Kol. “Are you sure the spirits are even gonna bring us back?”

“Patience,” Alaric said firmly, his voice tinged with warning.

“Patience?” Tyler repeated incredulously, his frustration bubbling over. “The whole world is going down the drain, the spirits who are supposed to bring us back are ghosting us, and Caroline’s been kidnapped by the very people who killed me and my pack.”

A voice, cold and familiar, interrupted the tense conversation. “Which pack would that be?”

The group turned sharply, and from the shadows emerged Kim, flanked by fourteen other hybrids. Their expressions ranged from wary to openly hostile. Kim’s piercing gaze settled on Tyler as she strode forward.

“Kim…” Tyler said warily, his body tensing.

“It seems that every pack you touch dies,” Kim sneered, her words dripping with venom.

Bonnie and Alaric stood up immediately, their movements deliberate, while Kol leaned against a tree, his eyes sparkling with dangerous amusement. The air grew thick with tension as the hybrids fanned out behind Kim.

“There were more of us,” Kim said, her voice softer, though still edged with bitterness, “but they were picked off by the light.”

Bonnie took a cautious step forward. “Whatever it is you want to do—”

“Relax,” Kim interrupted, her tone sharp. “We don’t want to fight you. We just want to live our lives.”

Kol straightened, his expression darkening. “Not buying what you’re selling, darling. You can go now.”

Kim flashed her hybrid features, her eyes glowing, fangs bared. The other hybrids mirrored her, dropping into fighting stances. The tension crackled like a live wire, setting everyone on edge.

Tyler quickly stepped between them. “We don’t have to fight. We can all make it across the veil.”

Kol smirked, his tone casual but dangerous. “We don’t have to fight, but I want to.”

A young man stepped forward from the hybrids, his youth and vulnerability stark against the aggression surrounding him. He looked at Bonnie and Alaric, his voice steady but pleading. “Look, we just want to live. We don’t want any part in this.”

Bonnie hesitated, guilt flickering across her face as she glanced at Alaric. The other hybrids began murmuring similar pleas, their desperation palpable.

Alaric vamped forward, cutting through the mounting chaos. “Enough!” His voice carried a sharp authority that silenced the crowd. He turned his gaze to the hybrids. “When the time comes, you can join. But you must swear to stay out of any supernatural business. No harming us or our loved ones.”

Kol scoffed, his disbelief evident. “Absolutely not.”

Bonnie’s voice was gentle but firm. “Kol, please.”

“They’re far too dangerous to allow to live,” Kol growled, his body coiling with restrained anger. “Absolutely not.”

Alaric turned to Kol, his own patience wearing thin. “So are you.”

Kol spun to face Alaric, his hands balling into fists, ready to lunge. But before the confrontation could ignite, the wind picked up violently. The light began to appear again, beams shooting down from the heavens with an ominous brilliance.

“Run!” Alaric shouted.

Everyone scattered as the beams of light rained down, igniting the ground wherever they touched. A hybrid shoved Kim out of the way just as a beam engulfed him in white flames, his agonized scream piercing the air. More beams followed, striking down others.

Alaric grabbed Kol, pulling him out of the path of a descending beam. Tyler flashed to Bonnie’s side, dragging her as they ran. The ground was chaos, screams and fiery destruction surrounding them.

Then Bonnie tripped on a tree root, falling hard to the ground. “Bonnie!” Tyler yelled, doubling back to help her.

A blinding beam of light descended just as he reached her. Tyler pushed her away, but he couldn’t escape in time. His body was engulfed in flames, his agonized scream cutting through the chaos.

“TYLER!” Bonnie’s voice broke, raw with anguish. She tried to run to him, but Alaric yanked her back, dragging her away as tears streamed down her face. “NOOOO!!!!”

By the time the light faded, five hybrids, including Tyler, were nothing more than ashes scattered across the ground. The survivors stood frozen, their faces pale with shock and fear. Even Kol, normally smug and confident, was left speechless.

Bonnie dropped to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. The loss weighed heavily on everyone, the devastation and hopelessness seeping into the air like a poison.

Naveeda stumbled across the courtyard, her face pale and blood dribbling from the corners of her mouth. In her trembling hands was a brown cloth bag, its fabric darkened by the blood seeping through and dripping to the ground with every step. The crowd parted before her, whispers and uneasy glances rippling through the gathering of vampires.

She reached the group standing at the centre—Aya, Aurora, Tristan, and a few other high-ranking vampires. Her unsteady movements caught their attention, and they turned toward her.

A vampire nearest to her stepped forward, narrowing his eyes. "What’s this? Who is it for?"

Naveeda struggled to lift her arm, gesturing the scroll toward Tristan. Her voice was raspy, strained. "For... Lord Tristan," she managed before a violent cough wracked her body. She doubled over, choking as blood spilled from her mouth.

Tristan frowned but stepped forward, snatching the scroll from her grasp. Naveeda’s body gave one final convulsion, and then she crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Her death passed without a flicker of emotion from the vampires, though the intrigue over her delivery loomed heavy in the air.

Aya glanced at the bag dripping with blood. "What is this?" she murmured.

Tristan ignored her, his sharp eyes focused on the scroll. As he broke the seal, the crowd hushed, tension thick in the air. The message was written in bold, deliberate strokes, its tone brimming with menace:

The Strix are mine now. You are weak, Tristan, a shadow of what a leader should be. Incompetent. The death of Mariam was only the beginning. For her blood, I will send pieces of your sister’s companion to her.

If you doubt my words, look inside the bag.

You are corrupt, a coward hiding behind your title. You do not deserve to lead, and soon your people will beg for your head, if only to stop the plague I will unleash upon you all. You have no idea how deep my reach goes, no idea how far my influence spreads. I have taken the dimension you cower behind, and soon I will take everything else you hold dear.

Expect Us,
Mohinder.

The courtyard fell into stunned silence as they waited for Tristan to act. Without a word, he gestured to one of the vampires to open the bag. The crowd leaned forward, their curiosity tinged with dread.

The vampire untied the cord, pulling back the cloth to reveal its gruesome contents—a severed head. Gasps of shock rippled through the onlookers as the face of Shen Min stared back at them, his lifeless eyes wide and unseeing.

Tristan’s jaw tightened, his face hardening as he suppressed the surge of rage threatening to break through his carefully maintained composure. The murmurs in the crowd grew louder, fear radiating through the gathered vampires like a rising tide.

Aurora stepped forward, her expression contorted with fury. "Brother?" she demanded, her voice sharp.

Tristan passed her the note silently. As she read, her face darkened with every word. By the time she finished, her rage was palpable. She gripped the parchment so tightly it crumpled in her hand.

The ground beneath their feet trembled slightly, a subtle but growing sign that the dimension was beginning to crumble.

Tristan’s voice cut through the fear and murmurs like a blade. "Round up all of the survivors," he commanded, his tone cold and commanding. "The dimension will fall at any moment."

He paused, his eyes scanning the crowd, landing on Aya, then Aurora, before returning to the trembling masses before him. "If Mohinder wants all-out war, that is what he will get. He will not survive this."

Chapter Text

The world shifted in an instant.

Vasil, Genevieve, Caroline, and the boy landed hard on damp earth, the air cool and sharp beneath a blackened sky. There were no skyscrapers, no familiar glow of streetlamps—only distant trees, the rustle of leaves, and the soft roar of ocean surf.

Wherever they were now—it was nowhere.

Thick forest loomed on one side. On the other, a windswept clearing stretched toward a sliver of moonlit sand.

All around them, others dropped like stones from the sky—ten, maybe fifteen people in total. Five vampires. Two witches. Several humans. All blinking through the fog of sudden displacement, all of them stunned.

Except Caroline.

She wasn’t moving.

She lay crumpled in the grass, her skin pale as bone, blood leaking from her mouth, her breathing shallow and fading. Torn clothes clung to her like shrouds. She looked like a corpse left behind by the storm.

The boy got to her first. He dropped beside her with a choked breath, shaking her shoulders, panic etched into every line of his small face. His mouth opened—silent, soundless.

Genevieve knelt at Caroline’s other side. Her hands hovered over Caroline’s chest, eyes wide with fear. “She’s not healing,” she whispered. “The magic—it’s devouring her from the inside.”

Vasil turned sharply, scanning the newly arrived crowd.

And then the screaming began.

One of the witches reached for her magic. Another vampire snapped to attention, fangs bared. Confusion twisted into chaos.

Vasil didn’t hesitate.

He moved like lightning, his body a weapon honed for death. The witch fell first—her neck broken with a crack that echoed through the trees. The second witch never screamed, her heart ripped from her chest before she could speak. Blood painted the dirt.

The vampires came next.

But they weren’t fast enough. Vasil was a force of nature—cutting them down one by one in flashes of red and silver. Limbs snapped. Throats tore. The forest became a silent witness to carnage. The humans fled into the trees, screams trailing behind them like smoke.

Genevieve kept working.

Her voice trembled as she muttered a counterspell, her eyes turning white as she pressed them to Caroline’s sternum. “Come on. Come on…”

For a terrifying moment, nothing happened.

Then—Caroline gasped.

It was broken, ragged, barely even breath. But her fingers twitched. Her head turned. Her lips moved.

Genevieve nearly collapsed in relief. “She’s alive,” she whispered.

Caroline’s eyes opened—but they were wrong. Too bright. Burning at the edges with something foreign. Magic still laced her veins like poison, and she flinched when she moved, a quiet moan of pain escaping her throat.

“I can’t—” she breathed. “It hurts.”

“You’re still here,” Genevieve said softly, helping her sit up. “You’re not out of the woods yet, but you’re still here.”

Caroline gritted her teeth. Her vision swam. Her limbs felt like lead. “Where… are we?”

Vasil returned, covered in blood, face expressionless. “Doesn’t matter. We’re alive. That’s enough for now.”

He helped lift Caroline to her feet. She stumbled, her strength gone. The boy clung to her side, still silent, eyes shimmering.

“We need to get away from here,” Vasil said. “I’ll find a car.”

Genevieve nodded, still keeping one hand pressed to Caroline’s back, feeding stabilizing magic into her spine. “We need to get her somewhere safe. She’s still dying… just more slowly now.”

As Vasil disappeared into the darkness, Caroline leaned heavily into Genevieve. She stared down at her trembling hands, the faint white glow under her skin pulsing like a warning.

Klaus sat in the Mikaelson townhouse, poring over a pile of documents. The dim light of the desk lamp cast long shadows across his sharp features as his phone buzzed. Picking it up, he smirked when he saw Rebekah’s name.

“Little sister,” he greeted smoothly.

“Well, brother,” Rebekah replied, her tone tinged with satisfaction. “I believe I’ve made certain Marcel will be properly distracted tonight.”

Klaus leaned back in his chair, intrigued. “Dare I ask?”

“Let’s just say his attention won’t be on us,” she said, her voice smug. “I did my bit. What are you doing to ensure Elijah’s safe return?”

Klaus’s smirk deepened, his voice taking on a darker edge. “Currently, I’m preparing insurance against the tenderhearted.”

“Meaning?”

“We need proper motivation for Katie to cast a powerful spell tonight. I’m creating that motivation. Marcel has ordered a rousting of the witches.”

The atmosphere at the Cauldron was pure chaos. Vampires leaped from balconies, shattering tables and scattering terrified witches. Klaus’s orchestration was in full effect, the chaos designed to unsettle and enrage.

Amidst the mayhem, Thierry slipped quietly through a back door into the Jardin Gris. Katie was already waiting for him, rushing forward to wrap her arms around him in relief.

“Hey!” she said breathlessly. “What’s happening out there?”

Thierry glanced back at the chaos, guilt flickering across his face. “Oh, it’s Klaus. He’s convinced Marcel the witches are planning to make a move against him. Marcel wants us to send a message.” He hesitated, then knocked over a shelf of potion bottles, spilling their contents across the floor.

Katie stared at him, her expression shifting from concern to incredulity. “What are you doing?”

“If he thought I was playing favourites because I’m in love with a witch—”

Katie interrupted him with a small smile. “Say that again.”

Thierry paused, then met her gaze. “I love you, Katie. And all this is gonna be okay. I promise.”

Katie’s face softened, her fear momentarily forgotten as she kissed him. Behind them, a figure loomed.

Thierry stepped out of the Jardin Gris, his moment of peace shattered when he came face to face with Max, the vampire Klaus had compelled earlier.

“I already got that one,” Thierry said, motioning toward the chaos inside. He moved to pass by, but Max ignored him and pushed into the shop.

A moment later, Katie’s screams ripped through the air. Thierry turned, his heart sinking as he saw Max dragging Katie into the courtyard, slamming her against the restaurant’s wall. Without hesitation, Thierry lunged, ripping Max off of her and throwing him across the courtyard. The crowd of vampires gathered, their eyes wide as Thierry drove a broken table leg through Max’s chest.

Max crumbled to the ground, a greyed corpse, leaving Thierry standing alone in the silence. The other vampires stared at him, their expressions a mix of shock and suspicion. Even Katie looked horrified, her hand pressed to her bleeding neck.

Back at the townhouse, Klaus leaned back in his chair, his smirk triumphant. “Marcel may not be concerned with Thierry’s romantic entanglements,” he mused aloud. “But there are other crimes which he’ll be less inclined to forgive. Killing a vampire, for example. That would be unforgivable.”

The scene cut back to the Cauldron, where Thierry stood frozen amidst the carnage. Diego and the other vampires circled him like wolves closing in on prey, while Katie stared at him with wide, tearful eyes.

Klaus’s voiceover continued. “If Katie hopes to save her one true love from Marcel’s punishment? Well, a rescue mission like that will require something positively magical. But then... what’s worth dying for, if not love?”

The stench of blood still lingered in the air as Vasil returned, the headlights of a battered black SUV slicing through the darkness. He parked crookedly at the edge of the ruined clearing, engine idling low.

Without a word, he popped the trunk, yanked out a red plastic gas can, and began dousing the corpses—witches, vampires, strangers—all soaked in the gasoline’s acrid bite. The boy turned his head away, clinging to Caroline’s side as she lay propped against a rock, her skin pale and clammy, her breaths shallow and pained.

Genevieve stood beside her, a hand lightly resting on Caroline’s shoulder, feeding her stabilizing threads of magic. It wasn’t enough. But it was something.

With a flick of a match, Vasil set the clearing ablaze.

Flames roared to life, reflecting in his eyes like twin suns. No hesitation. No ceremony. Just a necessary purge.

By the time the fire crackled high, they were already in the car—Genevieve in the passenger seat, Vasil behind the wheel. The boy helped ease Caroline into the back beside him, his small hand never leaving hers.

The vehicle rattled as Vasil pulled away from the burning field, gravel crunching under the tires.

"Roanoke Island," he said after a beat, glancing at the rearview mirror. “That’s where we landed.”

Caroline blinked through her haze, voice hoarse. “Where all those colonialists vanished, right?”

Vasil’s expression remained fixed. “Doesn’t matter. We’re leaving. Heading to New Orleans.”

“No,” Genevieve said softly.

Caroline frowned. “What do you mean no?”

“I’m not coming with you.”

“What? Why not?” Caroline asked, forcing herself upright, though the effort drained her.

Genevieve’s gaze stayed forward. “Because Rebekah will be there. And I… I’ll make my way there eventually. But not yet. There are things I need to settle first.”

Caroline’s brow furrowed. “Where are you gonna go?”

Genevieve smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Safer for everyone if I don’t know. But if you can get me to an international airport... I’ll figure the rest out.”

Caroline, trying to focus, leaned forward and popped open the glove box. Inside, she found a crumpled paper map—creased, outdated, but usable. She unfolded it across her lap.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” she muttered, scanning the routes. “There’s Charlotte, Greenville, Wilmington—oh. Atlanta. That would be best.”

Genevieve raised a brow. “Why Atlanta?”

Caroline tapped the map with a weak finger. “Extremely well-connected to anywhere you want to go. And… my dad’s ex-fiancée lives there. We can grab supplies and—”

“That’s a nine-hour drive,” Vasil interrupted, his fingers flicking across the car’s GPS screen. “We don’t have time for you to catch up with your family. We need to get to New Orleans.”

Caroline’s eyes flashed, her voice still quiet but steel beneath it. “The spell dumped people at nexus points around the globe—including New Orleans. If we show up right now, we’ll be flagged as traitors. We’ll lose whatever head start we have on the Strix.”

Genevieve shifted slightly, listening now.

Caroline pressed on, “We need to assume the Strix witches and vampires stationed there survived. That means we clean house—quietly—before we walk back in. And for that? We need a cloaking spell. We need a witch. And you, Vasil—” she met his gaze in the mirror “—need to stick your head underground and find out who the spies are.”

Vasil let out a low, bitter exhale. “I know a witch who can help. But the spies? That’s suicide.”

Caroline didn’t flinch. “If you don’t do it, the plan falls apart. And if it falls apart… you’re dead anyway.”

The car was silent for a moment, save for the hum of tires on damp asphalt.

Finally, Vasil ground out, “Fine.”

Caroline slumped back into her seat, the adrenaline that fuelled her unravelling fast. Her limbs ached. Her chest felt like it was full of broken glass. Talking had drained what little energy she had left.

The boy looked at her, his brows drawn in concern. Caroline gave him a tired but warm smile and placed a hand on his small shoulder.

“It’ll be okay,” she whispered.

She reached into her bag, rummaging slowly until her fingers closed around something soft and familiar. A comic. The newest edition of Iron Man/Thor #4

She handed it to the boy with a small smile. “It’s going to be a long drive.”

The boy stared at it for a second, then smiled. Caroline returned the smile and sat back, she was tired.

The air inside the party pulsed with dark energy. Acrobats twisted gracefully above the crowd, their glittering costumes catching the flickering light of chandeliers. Dancers moved with serpentine grace, their hands trailing leashes attached to exotic animals. Confetti rained down, sparkling like stars against the deep shadows of the room. It was an opulent scene, befitting the night’s sinister undertones.

Klaus and Rebekah entered arm in arm, their striking presence turning heads immediately. Klaus was clad in a tailored black suit, the sharp lines accentuating his regal posture. Rebekah wore a black peplum cocktail dress, her ensemble completed by a headpiece adorned with black feathers and beads. They exuded an aura of authority and danger, their connection undeniable even amidst the chaos.

Klaus let his gaze wander, his sharp eyes taking in the spectacle. A sly smile tugged at his lips. "Well," he mused, "this certainly is a fitting backdrop for tonight’s events."

As they surveyed the crowd, Rebekah’s eyes lit up with mischief. “Darling, look who decided to grace us with her presence.”

Klaus turned to see Cami enter the room, her blonde hair shimmering under the lights. She wore a vintage white beaded dress paired with angelic wings. For a moment, Klaus’s mind flashed to someone else—Caroline. Her soft blonde curls, piercing blue eyes, and the light she brought into the darkness of his life. The memory made his smile falter.

“What’s she doing here?” Klaus asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

Rebekah shrugged, her smirk widening. “What better way to distract Marcel than to put his very human new girl in a room chock full of vampires?”

Klaus didn’t hide his displeasure, his expression darkening as he followed Rebekah through the courtyard to greet Cami.

“Hello, darling,” Rebekah cooed as they approached. “You look precious.”

Cami smiled, albeit nervously. “This party is ridiculous, but I think I went a bit splashy with this dress.”

Her eyes flicked to Klaus, who had just joined them. She nodded in acknowledgment before turning back to Rebekah. “Is he the infamous on-again/off-again?”

Klaus interjected, his voice smooth but tinged with sarcasm. “I’m the brother, actually. And my sister is right—you do look stunning.”

Cami offered a modest smile. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

Klaus’s smirk deepened. “Don’t be fooled, love. I’m the devil in disguise.”

Rebekah clapped her hands together. “You two chit-chat. I need booze.”

As Rebekah headed to the bar, Klaus extended his arm to Cami. “Shall we?”

“Okay,” she replied, placing her hand on his arm.

At the bar, Rebekah ordered a scotch and leaned against the counter, surveying the crowd. Marcel appeared beside her, his expression unreadable.

“You trying to be cute, inviting her here?” he asked, unimpressed.

Rebekah swirled her drink, meeting his gaze with a sardonic smile. “I think she’s darling. I can tell you fancy her pure heart. Perhaps I’ll feed it to you?”

Marcel chuckled, though his tone carried an edge. “Jealousy looks good on you, Bekah.”

Rebekah merely raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her drink.

Across the courtyard, Klaus and Cami engaged in light conversation, though Cami’s attention occasionally drifted toward Marcel and Rebekah at the bar.

“So, the guy your sister mentioned… Marcel, I’m guessing?” Cami asked, her tone casual.

Klaus waved off the question. “Ancient history.”

Cami studied him for a moment before shrugging. “I’m beginning to think your sister is a bit of a bitch.”

Klaus laughed heartily. “It’s as though she invented the term.”

Their conversation was interrupted when Marcel approached, his focus solely on Cami. “Cami,” he greeted, his voice warm.

“Hey! Killer party,” she replied.

Marcel smirked. “Oh, it’s more of a work thing. I would’ve invited you—”

Cami cut him off with a playful wave. “Oh, no. We’ve been on one date. No explanation necessary. You do your thing, I’ll entertain myself.”

Marcel’s smile widened. “What, leave you alone, looking the way you do? Hell with that.”

He took her hand, and they began to dance. From afar, Klaus observed the pair with thinly veiled disdain, while Rebekah rejoined him, her drink in hand.

“You really are a hideously evil little thing, aren’t you?” Klaus remarked.

“Nonsense,” Rebekah replied, a sly grin on her face. “They’re perfect for each other. You wanted Marcel distracted? Voilà.”

Meanwhile, Diego entered the courtyard, his face tight with urgency. He whispered something in Marcel’s ear, and the vampire’s demeanor shifted instantly. His jaw clenched as he scanned the crowd, his eyes locking onto Thierry, who stood off to the side, fidgeting nervously.

Marcel turned to Cami, his tone apologetic. “Excuse me.”

As he strode toward Thierry, his anger boiled over. Grabbing Thierry by the throat, Marcel shoved him away from the party.

“What the hell did you do?” Marcel growled.

Diego quickly intervened, his voice low but firm. “Whoa, not here. No, not here.”

Marcel glared at Thierry before reluctantly releasing him, though the fury in his eyes remained. Klaus, watching the scene unfold, allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. Cami, however, stood frozen on the dance floor, her unease growing with each passing second.

The mausoleum was cold, its stone walls casting flickering shadows under the dim light of dozens of candles. The faint scent of incense hung in the air, mingling with the dampness that seeped from the ground. Katie stood in the center of the room, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as sobs wracked her frail body. Sophie, though stiff and distant, stepped closer, her expression conflicted as she attempted to console her.

“I know you think he’s a monster,” Katie choked out, her voice trembling with desperation.

Sophie crossed her arms, her gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the candles. “It doesn’t matter what I think,” she replied, her tone firm but not unkind. “Thierry killed another vampire. He broke Marcel’s biggest rule. You’ll never see him again… unless we do something.”

Katie blinked at her, confusion and hope warring in her tear-streaked face. “We?” she whispered.

Sophie took a deep breath and turned her sharp eyes toward Katie. “I want to save our people. You want to save Thierry. There’s only one way we can do both.”

Katie hesitated for a moment, the weight of Sophie’s words sinking in. Then, she nodded, her resolve hardening. They moved in unison, gathering items for the ritual that would change everything.

A little while later, the two women knelt in the cemetery outside the mausoleum. The air was heavy, the night silent except for the faint rustle of leaves. Sophie laid out a carefully arranged tableau of herbs, stones, and symbols etched into the dirt. Katie sat beside her, her hands trembling as she sprinkled sand over the arrangement.

Sophie glanced at her. “You ready?” she asked, her voice low.

Katie swallowed hard and nodded, though her fear was evident in her wide eyes. She began to chant softly, her words blending with the rising wind. The magic in the air was palpable, crackling like static as the ritual took hold.

Far across the Quarter, in the attic of St. Anne’s Church, the whispering began.

Davina stirred in her bed, her brows furrowing as the dissonant voices swirled around her. They grew louder, more insistent, tugging at the edges of her consciousness until she thrashed restlessly under the weight of the disturbance.

Suddenly, she bolted upright, her eyes wide and alert. “Marcel,” she whispered into the empty room, her voice sharp with urgency. “Something’s coming.”

Without hesitation, Davina rose and crossed the room to her easel. Grabbing a piece of charcoal, she began to sketch furiously, the lines and shapes coming together with maddening speed. Her hand moved instinctively, guided by flashes of visions that burned behind her eyes. Images of Katie chanting, of magic swirling in the air, spilled onto the paper in jagged strokes.

Finally, she stopped, staring at her work as the whispers died down.

“Magic,” Davina murmured, the word heavy with foreboding. She knew what it meant. Someone was casting a spell—a powerful one—and it was coming for them.

The sun hung low over the backyard, casting a warm glow on the pool’s surface as Liz Forbes walked alongside Katherine. The water shimmered with golden hues, but Liz’s mind was far from the idyllic setting. Her focus remained on her daughter and the information Katherine was withholding.

“You clean up nicely,” Liz remarked, glancing at Katherine, who was teetering slightly in her high heels but maintaining her usual air of confidence.

Katherine smirked. “Well, you know me—always making the best of a bad situation. But let’s not pretend you’re here to compliment my wardrobe choices. You want to know what I know.”

Liz stopped walking and faced her. “Are you going to share it, or do I need to start guessing?”

Katherine’s smirk faltered for a brief moment before she sighed. “Caroline is alive.”

Liz’s breath hitched, and she exhaled sharply, her relief evident. “Thank God. Is she... is she safe?”

“Safe?” Katherine said with a shrug. “No. She’s still in danger—last I heard, anyway. But she’s alive, and that’s what counts for now, right?”

Liz nodded, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly. “That’s all that matters to me.”

As they continued their walk, a voice broke through the quiet.

“Very noble,” came a smooth tone, and both women turned to see Sabine approaching them with a serene smile.

Liz straightened, her protective instincts kicking in. “Can I help you?”

Sabine tilted her head, her dark eyes alight with curiosity. “I couldn’t help but overhear. You’re looking for your daughter. It’s admirable, really. Not every parent would go to such lengths.”

“She’s my daughter,” Liz said firmly. “What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t?”

Sabine raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “The Forbes family are hunters, aren’t they? How do you feel about your daughter being a vampire?”

Liz’s jaw tightened, but she held her ground. “Caroline may be a vampire, but she doesn’t harm innocent people. That’s what matters.”

“Interesting,” Sabine murmured, her smile growing faintly. “Do you want to find out if she’s okay?”

Liz frowned. “I thought witches couldn’t use magic in the Quarter.”

Sabine laughed softly. “It’s not magic. Just a little trick my grandmother taught me. A mother and her child share a unique connection. I could... help you sense her.”

Liz hesitated; her scepticism evident. “And I’m supposed to believe you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Believe what you want,” Sabine replied smoothly. “The question is—are you willing to try?”

Liz glanced at Katherine, who gave her a small shrug, though her sharp gaze remained fixed on Sabine, clearly distrustful. After a moment, Liz nodded cautiously. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Follow me,” Sabine said, her voice gentle but with a hint of mischief. She gestured for them to follow as she led the way deeper into the garden.

Katherine narrowed her eyes but trailed behind them, her scepticism mirroring Liz’s. Whatever Sabine’s game was, they were about to find out.

The corner of the courtyard was dimly lit, away from the laughter and music of the party. Marcel stood with his hands balled into fists, his fury barely contained. Thierry, his long-time friend and trusted lieutenant, stood opposite him, his face pale and eyes pleading.

“I want to hear your side of it,” Marcel growled, his voice low and cold.

“Hey, Marcel, come on—” Thierry started, but Marcel cut him off with a sharp glare.

“Your version. Go.”

Thierry swallowed hard, shifting uneasily. “We were tossing the Cauldron. This guy—some nightwalker—he attacked Katie for no reason.”

Marcel’s jaw tightened. His voice was dangerously measured. “His name was Max. I turned him, and as far as reasons go, he doesn’t need one. She was a witch. He was a vampire. Now? He’s dead.”

The weight of Marcel’s words hung heavy in the air. Thierry’s shoulders slumped, and he looked away, guilt written across his face.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Thierry said, his voice trembling.

Marcel stepped closer, his eyes blazing. “You broke my most important rule.” He sighed heavily, running a hand over his face before glaring at Thierry again. “Dammit T. How long have we been friends? Seventy years? I turned you into something that would never die. I gave you a gift.”

Thierry’s voice cracked with desperation. “And I’ve been loyal to you all this time, and I still am. I’m still your friend, Marcel. I swear, that hasn’t changed.”

From the courtyard below, Cami watched the confrontation, her expression a mix of concern and apprehension. Klaus appeared at her side, his presence both reassuring and unnerving.

“Are you all right, love?” Klaus asked, his tone smooth and measured.

Cami’s eyes didn’t leave the balcony. “He’s got a temper, doesn’t he?” she said, her voice tinged with disappointment. “I guess this is the moment I remember I know better.”

She turned away, sadness etched into her features as she walked off into the crowd. Klaus watched her leave before turning his attention back to the scene above. He reached into his coat pocket, withdrew a folded piece of parchment, and handed it to Josh, who had quietly approached him. Josh nodded, quickly pocketed the paper, and disappeared into the shadows.

Moments later, Josh appeared beside Marcel and handed him the document. “We found this at his girl’s place,” Josh said quietly.

Marcel unfolded the parchment, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the elegant script. It was the recipe for making daylight rings. Rage ignited in his gaze as he turned back to Thierry.

“Still my friend, huh?” Marcel said, his voice thick with venom. “That’s funny, because it looks to me like that little witch of yours got her hands on a spell that I keep locked away.”

Thierry’s face twisted in confusion and panic. “Marcel, I have never seen that.”

“Shut up.” Marcel’s voice cracked like a whip. He pointed at Thierry’s hand, where his daylight ring gleamed faintly. “I see on your hand, you still have the daylight ring I gave you. So, what would you need with the recipe for making new ones? Unless maybe you and Katie were gonna go off and start a little kingdom of your own?”

“Marcel, no!” Thierry protested, his voice breaking.

Marcel’s eyes darkened as he stepped closer. “Here’s a lesson in friendship—friends don’t lie to me, they don’t break my rules, and they do not steal what is mine.”

Marcel turned away for a moment, his back to Thierry as he took a deep, steadying breath. When he faced him again, his expression was hard as stone, his rage ice-cold.

“For the crime of murdering one of his own,” Marcel said slowly, his voice echoing with finality, “I sentence Thierry Vanchure to one hundred years in the Garden.”

Below, Klaus stood on the dance floor, a smug smile tugging at his lips. He watched Marcel deliver his judgment with satisfaction, his plan unfolding perfectly.

“And it begins,” Klaus murmured to himself, a glimmer of dark triumph in his eyes.

The cemetery was shrouded in an eerie stillness as Sophie knelt before her setup, her hands trembling as she arranged the map, a bottle of black sand, and a pocket watch. The flicker of her resolve was reflected in her eyes, a determination tempered with fear. The night felt heavy with expectation.

The crunch of footsteps broke the quiet, and Sophie looked up sharply to see Rebekah entering the clearing. Her expression shifted, a mixture of wariness and desperation.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Rebekah said, her voice steady but edged with urgency. “It’s the only way to find Elijah.”

Sophie cast her eyes back to the items before her. “I’m doing what I have to do,” she replied, her tone resigned.

She began to chant, the ancient words flowing from her lips like a melody of power. The black sand sparkled faintly under the moonlight as Sophie concentrated, the spell taking shape.

In the heart of the Quarter, the party continued, but the atmosphere had grown tense. Klaus stood at a window above the street, his piercing gaze fixed on the unfolding chaos below. Marcel’s men were dragging Thierry into the street, where a throng of vampires watched as Katie, her face streaked with tears but her voice steady, stepped forward.

“Katie, no!” Thierry shouted desperately, struggling against the vampires who held him.

From his perch, Klaus smirked darkly. “Like clockwork.”

Katie’s chant grew louder, her voice commanding as she poured her magic into the spell. Her arm waved, and with a sudden burst, a nearby streetlamp exploded. The vampires grabbed at their heads, groaning and collapsing under the force of her power.

In her attic, Davina woke with a start, gasping as the whispers of magic invaded her mind. Her hands shook as she approached her easel, compelled by the energy. Her charcoal moved rapidly, sketching furiously, as flashes of Katie’s spell consumed her senses. The picture emerging was unmistakable—Katie’s face.

“No,” Davina whispered, her heart pounding.

Back in the street, Marcel staggered to his feet, his face twisted with determination. Katie raised her arm again, and Marcel crumpled as his bones audibly snapped under her magic. He shouted in pain, but still, he struggled to rise.

“Katie! Stop!” Thierry’s voice broke with anguish, but Katie pressed on.

In her room, Davina’s hands shook as she lifted them, a surge of her own magic intertwining with the battle below. Marcel groaned but stood again, defying Katie’s power. She stared at him, stunned.

“You’re here to save your man,” Marcel growled. “Well, come on, little girl!”

With a scream of fury, Katie raised a wooden stake above Marcel’s head. “Die, you son of a bitch!” she spat.

“No! Katie! Don’t!” Thierry’s voice was raw with desperation.

Before the stake could descend, Klaus moved with inhuman speed, appearing behind Katie and snapping her neck with ease. Her lifeless body crumpled to the ground as Klaus let her fall without ceremony.

Sophie faltered in her chanting, her hands trembling as she felt the spell unravel. “Something’s wrong,” she said, panic creeping into her voice. “Katie’s magic stopped. I can keep going.”

“You can’t,” Rebekah said firmly. “She’ll sense it.”

“I can find Davina,” Sophie insisted, her voice thick with emotion. “I just need another moment.”

But Rebekah was already moving. She reached down, snatching up the map and scattering the sand with a sweep of her hand. Sophie gasped in dismay, her face a mask of grief and disbelief.

“You may be willing to die to get your witch back,” Rebekah said coldly, “but we had a deal. Elijah will never forgive us for breaking it and rescuing him will be for nothing. It’s over. We failed.”

Sophie’s shoulders sagged as the weight of the failure sank in, her hands clenching into fists.

Thierry crawled to Katie’s body, cradling her limp form in his arms. “No. Katie. No, no, no.” His voice broke into a sob as he rocked her gently, his grief a raw, open wound.

From his vantage point, Klaus observed the scene impassively. His eyes met Marcel’s, and the two men exchanged a wordless understanding. Marcel’s slight nod was one of appreciation, though his expression was clouded with conflict.

Klaus smiled faintly, his plan proceeding perfectly. The pieces on the board were falling into place, but the cost of victory left a trail of shattered hearts and broken lives in its wake.

The cold wind howled through the crumbling ruins of Hadleigh Castle, its jagged stones silhouetted against the darkened sky. Enzo staggered to his feet, the icy chill cutting through his dishevelled clothes as his senses slowly adjusted. He glanced around, disoriented, and took in the scene before him: four vampires and six humans, equally disoriented, standing among the broken walls and patches of overgrown grass.

Chaos erupted almost immediately. Two of the vampires launched themselves at the others, their snarls echoing through the ruins. Enzo stood back, his sharp eyes scanning for any sign of Caroline or familiar faces, but the crowd was nothing but strangers. His chest tightened—no Caroline. Nobody he cared about.

The humans screamed and scrambled for cover, but the castle ruins offered little shelter. One vampire grabbed a human and fed violently, while another two fought viciously, their shouts and the sickening crunch of bone filling the air. Enzo’s jaw tightened. There was no point in intervening—not yet.

He crouched low, waiting as the melee thinned the numbers. When only one vampire remained, bloodied and panting, Enzo struck. With lightning speed, he vamped forward and ripped out the vampires heart. The creature gasped, its eyes wide with shock before crumpling to the ground dead.

Enzo stepped back, his boots crunching against the gravel. He wiped his hands on his tattered clothes, looking around to ensure there were no other threats. The humans had fled, their screams growing distant, leaving Enzo alone in the ruins. The silence was heavy, broken only by the wind and his own thoughts.

New Orleans, he thought grimly. Vasil mentioned that place as being where it would all come to a head, he needed answers, and there was only one place where the trail might pick up again.

Enzo moved swiftly through the countryside, the castle behind him as he sought civilization. His vampiric speed carried him to a small, sleepy village. It didn’t take long to find a lone pedestrian—a young woman walking briskly along a quiet road. Enzo didn’t hesitate. He cornered her, his fangs flashing as he compelled her into stillness before draining her blood. The warmth coursed through him, reviving his strength and clearing his mind.

Feeling more alert, he made his way toward the brighter lights of a nearby neighbourhood. It was an affluent area, the kind of place with sprawling homes and meticulously trimmed hedges. One house caught his eye—a large, well-lit property with many sleek cars parked in the driveway.

Enzo approached the front door and knocked, his smirk widening when he heard hesitant footsteps approach. The door opened a crack, revealing a man in his mid-twenties, his brow furrowed in suspicion.

“Who are you?” the man asked, his voice wary.

Enzo’s eyes glinted as he leaned closer. “Invite me in,” he compelled smoothly.

The man’s face went slack, and he stepped aside. “Come in.”

Enzo stepped inside, surveying the lavish interior. “Now, bring everyone in the house down here.”

The man nodded and ascended the staircase. Moments later, he returned with a scantily clad woman trailing behind him. The woman flushed with embarrassment, her gaze darting nervously between Enzo and the man.

“This is my friend,” the man stammered, avoiding Enzo’s sharp gaze.

Enzo chuckled, his amusement genuine. “Your friend, you say? And where’s the wife?”

“She’s visiting her parents with the kids,” the man admitted, his tone defensive.

“Ah, I see,” Enzo said, settling onto the plush sofa. He turned to the woman, who fidgeted awkwardly. “Why don’t you sit down? And not a word from you, darling. You’ll stay nice and quiet.”

The woman obeyed, perching stiffly on a chair. Enzo’s smirk returned as he addressed the man. “What’s your name?”

“Sebastian Stevens.”

“Well, Mr. Stevens,” Enzo drawled, “fetch me some fresh clothes, and point me to the washroom. Do it quickly, and don’t make a sound.”

Sebastian nodded obediently and disappeared upstairs. He returned minutes later with neatly folded clothes and directed Enzo to the bathroom.

After showering and changing, Enzo emerged, feeling refreshed and calculating. He took a seat on the sofa and gestured for Sebastian to sit. “Now, Mr. Stevens, tell me—how do I get to New Orleans?”

Sebastian hesitated, compelled but still visibly unsettled. “The easiest way is by plane. You’d fly out of London Heathrow Airport.”

“And what do I need to get on a plane?”

“A passport. Flights that far require identification—it has your name, picture, and personal information. It’s not something you can easily get without government approval.”

Enzo smirked, his tone sharp. “Get me your passport. And book me a one-way ticket to New Orleans from London Heathrow. Make it first class—I’d like to travel comfortably.”

Sebastian retrieved his laptop and began typing while Enzo helped himself to a glass of whiskey from the nearby cabinet. He took a long sip, glancing at the woman still sitting silently. “So, how did you and Mr. Stevens meet?” he asked, his tone laced with mockery.

The woman swallowed nervously. “I’m his secretary.”

Enzo laughed. “Why is it always the secretary?” He drained the glass and poured himself another.

A few minutes later, Sebastian cleared his throat nervously. “It’s done. Your flight leaves at 9:30 AM.”

“Fantastic,” Enzo said, standing. “Now, take me to the car.”

In the garage, Sebastian handed over the keys to a sleek, expensive vehicle. Enzo pocketed them with a grin. “You’ll forget I was ever here,” he said, compelling the man. “You’ll forget you lost your passport or your car, and you won’t question any unusual activity. Stay here for three hours and think long and hard about whether sleeping with your secretary was a wise decision.”

Sebastian’s face went blank, and he nodded. Enzo climbed into the car, fiddling with the GPS until it displayed the route to Heathrow Airport. As the engine roared to life, Enzo drove off into the night, his destination clear and his resolve unwavering. New Orleans awaited.

Thierry hung limply against the cold, damp wall, heavy chains binding his wrists and ankles. The air in the underground chamber was suffocating, thick with the scent of wet cement and decay. Torchlight flickered across the stone walls, casting ominous shadows that danced like ghosts of those who had been here before him.

Marcel stood a few feet away, his expression unreadable save for the simmering anger in his eyes. His posture was tense, arms crossed, as he stared at Thierry with a mixture of betrayal and fury.

"Just tell me this," Marcel said, his voice low but charged with emotion. "Was she worth it?"

Thierry’s head lifted weakly, his face a mix of pain and defiance. “I loved her,” he said hoarsely, the words holding both pride and regret.

For a moment, Marcel’s expression flickered, a brief flash of something softer—sympathy, perhaps, or understanding. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by cold resolve.

Without a word, Marcel stepped forward and drove an iron stake into Thierry’s gut. The sound of metal piercing flesh echoed in the chamber, and Thierry groaned in pain, his body writhing against the chains. Blood seeped through his shirt, staining the fabric a deep crimson.

Marcel stood back, his breathing steady but heavy with the weight of his decision. Another man entered the room, his face grim as he carried a wooden mallet. Marcel turned to him, his hand gesturing toward the wall as though this was routine.

“Seal him up,” Marcel said quietly, his tone devoid of emotion. “And let him rot.”

The man nodded, stepping to the side where bricks and a bucket of wet cement awaited. He began his grim task, laying bricks one by one over the freshly applied mortar. The sound of the mallet striking the bricks was harsh and rhythmic, the only noise in the otherwise silent chamber.

Thierry’s breaths came in shallow gasps as he watched the wall rise before him, brick by brick. He looked to Marcel, his eyes pleading now, though he said nothing. Marcel’s face remained stony, his gaze fixed on the task being carried out as though watching would lessen the guilt clawing at him.

Beyond Thierry, the tunnel stretched endlessly, rows upon rows of walls just like the one being built before him. Behind each lay another soul who had defied Marcel, their punishment a slow descent into madness and despair, entombed in darkness.

Cami sat at the dimly lit bar, a pint of beer in hand, her delicate fingers curling around the cold glass. The remnants of the evening clung to her—the white beaded dress from the gala and the faint shimmer of makeup that hadn’t yet been wiped away. She stared into her drink, her thoughts circling like a storm.

The door creaked open, and Klaus entered, his steps measured as he crossed the room and slid onto the stool beside her. His black suit was as impeccable as ever, but his expression carried a mix of determination and guilt.

“Cami—” he began, his tone soft.

Cami cut him off with a sharp glance, her voice tight. “Don’t even try it. I get the bro code. You’re here to smooth things over for your friend. It’s very nice of you, but—”

“But you’ve been hurt before,” Klaus interjected, his voice calm but tinged with understanding. “And you aren’t taking any more chances.”

She blinked at him, her defensive posture faltering for a moment. “Something like that,” she admitted. “The guy I saw tonight? Not the guy I thought he was. And if he can turn on a dime like that—”

Her voice trailed off, but the bitterness in her tone lingered. Klaus tilted his head slightly, his piercing blue eyes locking onto hers.

“Sounds like more than just a broken heart,” he observed, his voice low. “Someone broke your trust. Camille, the brave bartender.”

For a moment, the space between them felt charged. Cami’s breath caught as their gazes held, the unspoken weight of shared pain and unacknowledged desires filling the air. Her lips parted as though she might speak—or perhaps lean in—but Klaus broke the moment with a blink, his expression hardening.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice resolute. “But I need you to give Marcel another chance.”

The words landed like a slap, and Cami’s shoulders stiffened. She set her pint down and cleared her throat, forcing a casual tone. “Wow. I totally misread that.”

“No,” Klaus replied softly, the hint of regret in his voice betraying him. “You read it quite well. But we all have our roles to play.”

His eyes darkened, and as he leaned forward, their intensity seemed to pull her in. His voice dropped to a mesmerizing murmur, and his gaze locked onto hers.

“You went to Marcel’s,” Klaus compelled, his words weaving into her mind like a silken thread. “You danced. You feel badly that he had a row with his friend, but otherwise, all you remember is that it was perfect.”

Cami’s face softened, her defenses crumbling under the weight of his compulsion. The pain and confusion in her eyes gave way to a distant, dreamlike calm. She blinked, her lips parting slightly, and then nodded, the memory he crafted settling into place like a forgotten dream.

Klaus watched her for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before rising from his stool and leaving the bar. Cami remained at the counter, staring into her pint, her heart unknowingly burdened with a truth she would never remember.

Earlier in the Mikaelson townhouse, it was quiet, the air heavy with tension as Liz Forbes sat uneasily on a chair in the centre of the drawing room. Across from her, Sabine prepared for the ritual, her calm demeanour doing little to settle Liz’s nerves. Katherine leaned casually against the doorframe, her arms crossed, watching the proceedings with a mix of curiosity and scepticism.

Sabine approached with a crystal hanging on a chain, its delicate facets catching the light. “You’re sure you want to do this?” she asked Liz, her voice soothing but edged with something Liz couldn’t place.

Liz nodded firmly. “I need to know if my daughter is alive.”

Katherine scoffed lightly from her spot near the door. “We all need something, don’t we?”

Liz shot her a glare but said nothing, focusing on Sabine, who held the crystal steady above Liz’s clasped hands. The room was silent except for the faint creak of the house settling around them.

“It’s not magic,” Sabine assured her, though her tone carried a note of something else. “Just an old trick. A connection between a mother and her child.”

Liz’s jaw tightened as Sabine began to swing the crystal gently. It moved in a steady rhythm, circular at first, then gradually shifting direction. The room seemed to grow colder, or perhaps it was just Liz’s nerves. She kept her eyes fixed on the crystal, willing it to give her answers.

Sabine’s face remained neutral as she concentrated, but suddenly her body stiffened, and her hand trembled slightly. The crystal began to swing wildly, and Sabine’s eyes grew unfocused, as if she were looking at something far beyond the room.

“Ishar’ah velum na’avar, sol’tin etharu anneshka, kalum evra dashtir,” Sabine intoned in a deep, resonant voice. The words, foreign and unfamiliar, rolled off her tongue as though she were possessed. Liz flinched, her heart pounding as she glanced at Katherine, who was now standing upright, her expression wary.

“Sabine?” Liz asked, her voice uncertain.

The crystal stopped abruptly, dangling motionless in Sabine’s hand. She blinked, her eyes clearing as she looked at Liz. For a moment, her face was pale, her breathing shallow. Then, she smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“She’s alive,” Sabine said simply, her voice steady but lacking its usual warmth.

Liz exhaled sharply, relief washing over her. “Thank God.”

Katherine raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “That little performance—was that part of the show, or should we be worried?”

“I’m fine,” Sabine replied curtly, avoiding Katherine’s gaze. “What matters is that Caroline is alive.”

Liz leaned forward, her hands gripping the armrests of the chair. “Do you know where she is?”

Sabine shook her head, her earlier confidence now tinged with unease. “No, this just tells me she’s out there somewhere. That’s all I can do.”

Liz stared at her for a long moment before nodding, her relief tempered by frustration. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Sabine set the crystal down and moved away, her steps hurried. Katherine’s sharp eyes tracked her movements, suspicion written all over her face.

The mausoleum was dimly lit, the flickering glow of candles casting long, wavering shadows across the stone walls. Katie's body lay atop a cold marble tomb, draped in a pristine white gown and shrouded with a delicate cloth. Her stillness carried a weight that permeated the air, thick with sorrow and the sharp tang of burning sage.

Sophie stood beside the tomb, her hands steady as she waved a smoking sage smudge-stick over Katie’s body. The fragrant smoke curled and swirled, creating ghostly tendrils that rose into the stale air. Around her, the gathered witches, including Agnes and Sabine, stood solemnly in a loose circle, their faces a mixture of grief and resignation.

Agnes broke the silence, her voice sharp and laden with judgment. "I told you no good would come from this unholy alliance of yours."

Sophie turned her head sharply, her eyes narrowing as she regarded Agnes. Her jaw tightened, but she kept her movements controlled, even as her emotions simmered beneath the surface. "At least I'm doing something," she shot back.

The tension crackled in the air between them, but Sophie didn’t wait for a response. With a huff she stormed out of the mausoleum, her footsteps echoing against the stone floor.

As the heavy door swung closed behind her, Agnes turned her attention to Sabine, her gaze intense and expectant. "Sabine," she said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. "Tell them what you saw."

Sabine hesitated, her usually composed demeanour faltering for a moment. She glanced at the others, the weight of their expectant gazes pressing down on her. Finally, she took a slow breath and spoke, her voice low and tinged with unease.

"It's the girl," Sabine said, her eyes distant as though she were reliving the vision. "The sheriff's daughter."

The clearing was thick with tension, the air heavy with grief and unease. Bonnie sat on the forest floor, her knees pulled to her chest as the image of Tyler engulfed in flames replayed in her mind, an endless torment. Her tears had dried, but the pain was fresh and raw. Across the clearing, the hybrids lingered, their presence a constant reminder of the fragile truce. Kol paced nearby, his frustration mounting.

"This is a bad idea," Kol muttered, gesturing toward the hybrids. His sharp gaze flicked to Alaric. "The more people we bring, the less likely the ancestors will let us return."

Alaric remained silent, his arms crossed as he watched the hybrids warily. Bonnie stayed motionless, her thoughts too chaotic to form words.

The quiet was shattered by the distant sound of engines. Two cars approached the clearing, their headlights cutting through the dark woods. The vampires and hybrids tensed, ready for a fight.

Kol stopped pacing, his posture stiff. "What now?" he muttered under his breath.

The first car came to a stop, and the doors opened. Out stepped Isaac, Isla, Ava, and Leonard. Their movements were measured, their eyes scanning the clearing for threats. Behind them, the second car pulled up, and Damon, Elena, and Jeremy climbed out.

"Bonnie! Bonnie!" Jeremy’s voice rang through the clearing as he rushed forward, his desperation breaking through the oppressive stillness.

"Jeremy!" Bonnie stood, her voice cracking as she called out to him. She took a few hesitant steps before her feet found their strength, and she ran into his arms.

Kol sneered at the newcomers, his expression sour as his eyes narrowed at Elena and Jeremy. Alaric moved closer to Bonnie, his protective instincts flaring.

The hybrids exchanged uneasy glances, their unease growing. Isaac and Isla stepped forward, their stances guarded. Leonard stayed close to Ava, his hand resting on her shoulder.

Elena stood beside Damon, her face a mixture of hope and lingering sadness as she watched Jeremy and Bonnie embrace.

From seemingly nowhere, Sheila Bennett appeared, her presence calm but commanding. She approached Bonnie, her expression softened with a mix of pride and sorrow.

“It’s time,” Sheila said, her voice clear and deliberate. Her gaze flicked to the hybrids, her disapproval evident. “They weren’t part of the deal.”

Kol crossed his arms, his voice dripping with impatience. “Are you going to do the spell or not?”

Sheila’s expression didn’t waver. “I am not.” She turned toward Ava and gestured. “She is.”

Before anyone could react, Ava convulsed, collapsing to her knees. Her body trembled violently as her eyes turned a milky grey, and then she rose to her feet, her movements unnaturally fluid. The wind picked up, swirling around the clearing as the leaves seemed to come alive, arranging themselves into a massive pentagram etched into the ground.

“The veil will be down for approximately two minutes here,” Sheila explained, her voice carrying over the roaring wind. “You all need to leave the clearing before the time is up.”

The ground beneath them began to tremble, faint whispers of chanting echoing through the woods. The voices seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, chilling and ancient.

Bonnie stepped forward, her eyes filled with worry. “You aren’t coming with us.”

Sheila shook her head, her face calm but resolute. “I cannot.”

Bonnie hesitated, her lips trembling as she fought to find the words. “What happens to the people absorbed by the light?”

Sheila’s gaze softened with pity, her voice quiet. “They move on, to where I don’t know.”

A sudden, violent tremor shook the ground, and flames erupted from the trees at each corner of the clearing. The heat was immediate and intense, the crackling of the fire blending with the growing cacophony of chanting.

Sheila turned to Bonnie one last time, her expression tender but firm. “It’s time.”

The room was dim and eerily quiet, save for the faint creak of wood as Davina knelt beside Elijah's open casket. Her delicate fingers hovered over the edge, her face a mixture of curiosity and defiance as she studied the lifeless Original. The room carried the faint scent of aged wood and dust, mingling with the aura of restrained power that radiated from Elijah even in his dormant state.

The soft creak of the door broke the silence. Davina's head snapped up, her heart racing until she recognized the figure entering the room. Relief washed over her, and she sprang to her feet, running to Marcel as he crossed the threshold.

"You're okay!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. "I was so worried."

Marcel hugged her back tightly, his expression a mix of gratitude and guilt. "Thank you," he said, pulling back slightly to meet her eyes. "Whatever you did, I felt it. You helped me."

Davina tilted her head, her brow furrowing with suspicion. "It was the old ones, wasn't it?"

Marcel hesitated, the weight of the truth resting heavily on him. "Actually," he admitted, his voice quieter, "Klaus is the one that saved me tonight."

Davina's expression shifted, her eyes narrowing in confusion as she took a step back. Marcel noticed and quickly continued, his tone firm with determination. "I'm gonna make things right, starting off by giving him his brother back."

"No!" The word burst from Davina with such force that Marcel blinked in surprise.

"Davina," he began, his voice steady but questioning.

"No!" she repeated, shaking her head vehemently. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her voice rising with urgency. "You said the old ones were dangerous. I won't give him back until I know how to kill them."

Her defiance hung in the air, the tension between them crackling like a spark. Marcel's gaze darkened as he stared at the young witch, but Davina stood her ground, her chin lifted in resolute defiance. The silence between them was deafening, a pause on the edge of an argument neither wanted to have but both refused to avoid.

The sun was just beginning to rise when the car rumbled to a stop at a small, dusty gas station tucked along the edge of a sleepy North Carolina town. The golden light cast long shadows across the pavement, catching on the grime-slicked windows and the faded “Open 24 Hours” sign buzzing weakly above the door.

Caroline stirred in the back seat, her head resting against the window. Her body ached with a deep, humming exhaustion, but the light—the light made her open her eyes.

She needed to see the sky. The real sky. Not red skies of Mahal Khafa and the raining ash. Not the darkness between one nightmare and the next.

Just… daylight.

Beside her, the boy was curled up and half-awake, his lashes fluttering as he blinked against the glow. Genevieve yawned softly from the passenger seat, stretching as she turned toward the gas station’s modest storefront.

Caroline didn’t wait. She opened the door and stepped out into the morning air, her body heavy and sluggish but determined. She should’ve slept longer. She knew that. But something in her chest insisted she had to breathe the new day—even if it hurt.

“Come on,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “Let’s grab something to eat.”

The boy perked up at that, and Genevieve followed with a nod, her boots crunching softly against the gravel.

Inside, the gas station was quiet. The kind of place that hadn’t updated its snack shelves in a decade, its fluorescent lights buzzing lazily overhead. The boy walked slowly, cautiously, like every corner held something new. He touched the row of chip bags as if memorizing the texture. Stared at the soda cooler like it held treasure.

He wasn’t born to this time. Caroline could feel it. The way he looked at barcodes and price tags like glyphs. The way he flinched when the cooler hissed open.

Caroline moved through the aisles, filling her arms with snacks—granola bars, peanut butter crackers, some gummy worms, a few bottles of soda, and, because she couldn’t stop herself, a small tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream. She caught herself staring at it longer than she meant to.

She needed blood. Badly. Her throat ached for it. Her veins pulsed like dry riverbeds. But she didn’t ask Vasil. Not yet. Not unless she wanted him to drag some poor guy behind the building like a rabbit for slaughter.

She shoved the thought away.

Genevieve picked out a few things of her own—tea, almonds, dried fruit, a protein shake—and tossed a small bag of Almond Joys into the pile with a quiet, guilty smile.

Meanwhile, Vasil paid for the gas, eyes scanning the lone employee behind the counter. A moment later, the clerk’s eyes glazed over as Vasil leaned forward and compelled him in a hushed voice.

“Delete the camera footage. We were never here.”

The man blinked blankly, then nodded.

They gathered their things and returned to the car, the sun now fully cresting the horizon. The light felt fragile and alive, like it hadn’t yet decided whether to bless or curse the day.

Caroline climbed back into the back seat, the boy beside her. She cracked open a bottle of Coca-Cola and barely had time to raise it to her lips before four blood bags dropped into her lap with a dull thump.

She blinked and looked up.

Vasil stood by the open door, one brow raised. “You look awful.”

Caroline gave him a withering smile. “Thanks.”

She tore open the first bag and drank deeply, grimacing slightly at the taste but too starved to care. Warmth trickled back into her limbs—subtle, but enough. Beside her, the boy watched silently until she passed him a plastic bag filled with snacks and sweets. He took it with wide eyes and slowly began trying them.

The Fanta lit up his face like Christmas.

The Snickers bar? Pure joy.

She nudged Genevieve, passing back a bottle of soda and a handful of candy. Genevieve took a sip of the Fanta and raised an eyebrow. “Not bad.” She bit into an Almond Joy and let out a hum of surprise. “These might be my new vice.”

Caroline smiled faintly. “Told you.”

The sugar, the blood, the light—it all helped. For a while.

But the warmth faded fast. Fatigue crept back in like a tide she couldn’t hold off. Her eyelids grew heavy again, her limbs too leaden to fight it.

She shifted in her seat, the boy curling closer without a word, still nursing his soda.

Caroline rested a hand gently on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay,” she whispered.

Then she closed her eyes and let the day carry her back into sleep.

The air in the clearing was thick with power, an unseen force pressing down on everyone as Ava, her body overtaken by the ancestors, began the spell. The air shimmered with heat, and the ground beneath them seemed to hum with energy. Leaves swirled into the air, forming intricate patterns that dissolved as quickly as they appeared.

Elena’s wide eyes scanned the clearing. Her voice broke the tense silence. “Bonnie? Ric?”

Bonnie spun around at the sound of Elena’s voice, her heart leaping in her chest. “You can see us?!”

Before any joy could settle, Kol cut in, his voice sharp and urgent. “Great reunion, but we need to go now!” He grabbed Bonnie’s arm, his grip firm. Jeremy, reacting immediately, raised his crossbow and aimed it at Kol, the hybrids however was not wasting any time and immediately ran out of there.

“Let go of her now,” Jeremy demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Kol scowled but didn’t release Bonnie. “Now isn’t the time! If we don’t get out now, we all stay dead!”

“He’s right!” Bonnie interjected, her voice carrying an edge of panic. “We need to move now!”

Jeremy’s grip on the crossbow tightened, his knuckles white. “Where is Tyler?”

Bonnie froze, her face falling, the weight of her grief evident in her expression. “He’s moved on.”

Kol groaned impatiently, tugging on Bonnie’s arm. “Not the time!” He vamped out of the clearing with Bonnie in tow. Jeremy lowered his weapon reluctantly, and the rest of the group began moving, except for Sheila, Ava, and Leonard, who remained in place.

Leonard’s gaze was fixed on Ava, her body trembling violently. Her eyes bled red tears, and her breath came in shallow, labored gasps. He turned to Sheila, desperation etched on his face. “What’s happening to her?”

“She’s channeling more power than her body can handle,” Sheila said grimly. “You need to leave now, or you’ll die too.”

Leonard’s voice cracked with emotion. “Ava?”

Ava’s voice was barely a whisper. “Lenny… Go…”

“No!” Leonard said, shaking his head vehemently, tears slipping down his face. “No, I’m not going. Ava, I’m so sorry.”

Ava’s eyes fluttered open, her voice faint but steady. “Lenny… It’s okay. It’s okay. You need to go.”

Leonard’s jaw clenched. “Not without you.” Without a second thought, he scooped her into his arms and flashed out of the clearing.

The moment they left, the spell erupted violently. The air turned electric, and trees burst into flame, their crackling branches falling to the ground. A shockwave rippled through the woodland, sending Leonard sprawling to the forest floor with Ava still in his arms.

The rest of the group, huddled together at the edge of the clearing, turned as Leonard stumbled toward them, carrying Ava’s convulsing body. His voice was frantic as he shouted, “Which one of you is a witch? Please help her!”

Bonnie stepped forward, her face filled with concern. “I’m a witch.”

Kol, his anger barely restrained, hissed, “What have you done?!”

Leonard’s eyes darted between Kol and Bonnie, his tone defensive. “I removed her from the spell.”

Kol’s face twisted in fury. “By removing her, you let the magic rebound into her! Not only could you have messed up the spell. You’ve bloody well killed her!”

“She was going to die!” Leonard yelled back, his voice breaking. “The old woman said so!”

Kol’s voice dropped, his tone cold and biting. “Well now she’s now definitely going to die. She can either become a vampire or die a witch. Choose.”

Ava, trembling in Leonard’s arms, shook her head weakly. “I-I can’t become a vampire…”

Leonard’s voice cracked as he pleaded, “Ave, please.”

Tears streamed down her face as Ava whispered, “I won’t hurt innocent people.”

Isla stepped forward, her voice soft but firm. “Isaac and I haven’t hurt innocent people.”

Kol sneered, “Not yet.”

Bonnie shot Kol a glare. “Not helping.”

Jeremy stepped closer, his voice steady and reassuring. “If you take the blood, at least you’ll have more time in transition to decide.”

Elena moved toward Ava, her expression calm and empathetic. “Take my blood,” she said softly, holding out her wrist. “There will be no chance of a sire bond if you do decide to transition.”

Ava hesitated, her eyes locking with Leonard’s. With a small, trembling nod, she finally gave in. Elena bit into her wrist, holding it to Ava’s lips. Ava drank slowly, her breath rasping as the blood slid down her throat.

Her body convulsed once more, her breathing labored. Leonard held her tightly, his face etched with worry as the group began to make their way back toward the cars.

The air was heavy with conflicting emotions—relief, grief, worry, and exhaustion. Each step forward felt weighted, the reality of their situation settling heavily on their shoulders.

Chapter Text

The black SUV sped along the highway toward New Orleans, the dim hum of tires on asphalt providing a background to the tension in the car. Kol sat in the passenger seat, lounging like a cat in a sunbeam, dipping into Isla’s candy stash with one hand while sipping from a blood bag with the other. The air inside the vehicle was tense, but Kol seemed to revel in the discomfort of his companions.

“I never got the appeal of bagged blood,” Kol said, breaking the silence. He swirled the blood bag theatrically, smirking. “It’s like drinking stale soda or is it pop. The amount slang changes in a blink of an eye. Nevertheless, nothing gets your blood going like hunting down your prey and getting the blood fresh. There’s just something so... electric about it.”

Isaac and Leonard shared a look of mild irritation, while Isla, who was driving, shot Kol a seriously look in the rear-view mirror. Ava, pale and frail-looking, rested her head against Leonard’s shoulder, too exhausted to react looking more and more sickly by the hour. Leonard shifted slightly, his focus entirely on her.

Kol’s grin widened as he enjoyed their reactions. “So,” he drawled, leaning back in his seat, “you’re the rescue squad Nik sent to bring me back. How quaint.” His tone was mocking, but his sharp gaze flicked between them, noting every detail. “And here I thought he’d given up on me.”

“We’re not here just for you,” Isla muttered, her knuckles tightening on the steering wheel.

Kol chuckled, tossing a piece of candy into his mouth. “Oh, yes. The pretty little thing who’s got Nik wrapped around her little fingers. Caroline, isn’t it?” His voice dripped with amusement as he glanced toward the backseat. His eyes landed on Leonard, who was staring intently at his phone. “And you,” Kol said, his grin sharpening. “I remember you.”

Leonard’s head snapped up, his face unreadable.

“You’re Nik’s pet,” Kol continued, his tone teasing. “The one he sired in the 1300s. Grew quite fond of you, didn’t he? Until, well...” Kol’s grin turned cruel. “You lost Nik’s other pet. Oops.”

Leonard’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he finished typing on his phone and handed it to Kol. “This is for you, my lord,” he said flatly.

Kol’s amusement dimmed slightly as he saw the caller ID on the screen. He sighed and put the phone to his ear. “Hello, Nik.”

“Kol,” Klaus’s voice came through the line, low and measured. There was a pause, as though Klaus were digesting the fact that Kol was actually alive. “You’re alive.”

Kol’s grin returned, and he leaned back in his seat. “Surprise! I always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

Klaus’s tone hardened. “I take it you’re enjoying yourself?”

Kol glanced around the car, his grin widening as he caught the mixture of annoyance and wariness on the faces of the others. “Oh, immensely. Your little entourage is charming if only a bit lack lustre.”

Klaus sighed heavily on the other end of the line. “Kol, I sent them to retrieve you, not to toy with them.”

“Oh, Nik, where’s the fun in that?” Kol said, feigning disappointment. “But don’t worry, brother. I’ll play nice—maybe.”

Klaus’s voice dropped, the command clear. “Get back here safely, Kol. No more games.”

Kol chuckled softly, a dark glint in his eyes. “As you wish, big brother.” He ended the call and handed the phone back to Leonard, his grin firmly in place.

The car fell silent again, the tension thick as ever. Kol seemed perfectly content, while the others exchanged uneasy glances. Leonard returned his attention to Ava, his concern etched into his features.

“You should feed her one of the twins’ blood and put her out of her misery,” Kol said nonchalantly, tossing a piece of candy into his mouth. His casual tone was as grating as nails on a chalkboard.

Leonard’s jaw tightened, his irritation barely contained as Ava stiffened slightly against him, her laboured breaths giving away her deteriorating condition. “We’re okay, thank you,” Leonard replied tersely, his eyes narrowing at Kol.

Kol chuckled softly, entirely unrepentant. “Are you sure about that? Well…The doppelganger’s blood should be out of her system by now mate,” he mused, his voice sing-song. “Tick tock.”

Leonard glanced toward Isaac, a silent exchange passing between them. Without a word, Isaac bit into his wrist and offered it to Ava. She hesitated for a brief moment before taking a weak sip of the blood. Everyone watched, their collective breaths held as they hoped for the miraculous healing properties of vampire blood to help Ava even a little bit.

But nothing changed.

Isla, her hands tight on the steering wheel, finally broke the silence. “Isn’t vampire blood supposed to heal people? Caroline healed us with it.”

Kol, now clearly enjoying the rising tension, leaned back with a smug grin. “That’s because your injuries weren’t magical in origin,” he explained, his voice dripping with mock patience. “Vampire blood and magic don’t mix. She either heals on her own or dies. Simple as that.”

Isla muttered something under her breath, her grip on the wheel tightening even further. “Fantastic,” she said, the sarcasm sharp in her voice. “We’re at the airport, guys.” She glanced in the rear-view mirror at Leonard. “Are you sure this is the place? Seems small.”

Leonard nodded, his attention still focused on Ava. “There’s a jet waiting for us to fly to New Orleans.”

Kol, sensing the somber mood descending over the group, reached into Isla’s candy stash again, plucking another piece with a deliberate slowness. He unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth, the crinkling paper the only sound in the car for a moment.

“You lot really need to lighten up,” he said, his tone almost cheerful. “We’re almost to New Orleans. If she makes it, she makes it. If not...” He shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Well, some losses are inevitable.”

The sharp intake of breath from Leonard and the slight shake in Isaac’s hand as he gripped the edge of the seat were the only outward signs of their growing anger. But no one replied, the tension in the air crackling like a live wire.

Ava shifted weakly in Leonard’s arms, her voice a faint whisper. “I’ll... be fine,” she mumbled, though the dark circles under her eyes and the uneven rhythm of her breathing told a different story.

Kol smirked, clearly unimpressed by her bravado, and turned his attention back to the airport. “Well,” he drawled, “if nothing else, this little road trip has been wonderfully entertaining.”

Enzo leaned back in his first-class seat, savouring the crispness of the champagne in his glass. It sparkled under the cabin lights, reflecting his rare moment of calm. A bottle of bourbon sat unopened on the tray table beside him, a silent promise to accompany his thoughts. He swirled the golden liquid in his glass before taking another sip, his dark eyes drifting to the clouds below as they hurtled through the sky.

His mind, however, was miles away.

The Catacombs, Mahal Khafa:

The flickering torchlight cast long shadows along the damp, stone walls of the catacombs. The air was cool and carried a faint musty scent of earth and decay. Caroline, Enzo, and Aisha huddled in one of the many alcoves, their every breath muffled by the oppressive silence. Aisha clutched her laptop tightly, her eyes darting between Caroline and Enzo, her terror palpable despite the compulsion Enzo had placed on her.

Enzo leaned casually against the wall, though his sharp eyes betrayed his tension. He motioned toward Aisha, his voice low but laced with a dangerous edge. “We should kill her,” he said simply.

Caroline didn’t look up from the papers and maps she was rifling through. “She’s useful. We need her,” she replied, her tone clipped but unwavering.

Enzo gestured broadly toward the laptop, USB drives, and cables sprawled across the makeshift workspace they had set up. “Look, we can get another human who’s proficient with... those whatnots.” He waved a hand dismissively at the devices. “No offense, love,” he added with a wry smile in Aisha’s direction. She shrank further into the corner, clutching her laptop as though it were a shield.

Caroline glanced up, meeting his gaze evenly. “We could, but our options are limited here,” she said firmly.

Enzo’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “If they get their hands on her,” he hissed, “their witches could overcome the compulsion. Then they’ll torture every scrap of information she’s seen out of her.”

Caroline sighed, her patience fraying. “We need her,” she repeated. “Keep yourself focused. We’re out of the frying pan, but I have no intention of leaping back into the fire.”

Enzo muttered something under his breath but relented, turning away to scan the shadows for any signs of movement.

Minutes ticked by in tense silence as Caroline pored over the evidence she’d gathered—maps, notes, and hastily scrawled symbols. Her brow furrowed deeply as she traced her pen over a map of Germany, marking specific cities before suddenly pausing, her hand trembling slightly. She shook her head in disbelief, the pen falling from her grasp.

Enzo, ever watchful, noticed the shift in her expression. “What is it?” he asked, stepping closer.

Caroline’s voice was urgent, her words tumbling out quickly. “Aisha, pull up the locations of the offices for NordGlobe Logistics. It was under Mariam’s name.”

Aisha’s hands trembled as she began typing furiously. After a tense moment, she read aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. “Berlin, Cologne, Hamburg, Leipzig, Mainz, Speyer, Worms...”

“Stop.” Caroline’s voice was sharp. She gestured to the map, showing it to Enzo. “I’ve marked the cities. What do you notice?”

Enzo studied the map, his brow furrowing. “Why are those three cities so close together?” he asked, pointing to Speyer, Mainz, and Worms.

“Bingo,” Caroline said, her tone grim. “Before I was brought here, I saw a symbol at one of the globe’s nexus points, buried into a tree. It glowed the same way as Elderglow Fern, one of the most powerful and significant plants tied to dimensional magic.” She knelt and quickly drew the symbol in the dirt: a vertical line with three circles—two at each end and one slightly below the midpoint. “Now look at the map. Speyer, Mainz, and Worms form that same pattern. Aisha, I need everything you can find about NordGlobe Logistics in those three cities.”

Aisha nodded nervously and returned to typing, but before she could reply, Caroline and Enzo both stiffened. The faint sound of footsteps echoed through the catacombs. Caroline’s cautious expression turned to one of cold fury. She grabbed a makeshift stake from her bag and stepped into the shadows.

The intruder appeared, a smug smirk plastered across his face. Before he could react, Caroline lunged, driving the stake into his stomach with brutal precision. Her other hand plunged into his chest, her fingers curling around his ribcage.

Vasil groaned, his voice strained but still carrying a mocking edge. “Come now, little hero. You know you can’t kill me.”

Caroline twisted the stake sharply before releasing him. Vasil straightened himself with a pained grunt, brushing off his suit as though the attack were a minor inconvenience. “This,” he said, gesturing to the bloodstain on his jacket, “is a ten-thousand-dollar suit.” He glanced leisurely at Aisha, whose terrified gaze flitted between him and the others. Vasil’s smirk widened. “You broke free of your chains and here you are hiding in a cave.”

“Where is the kid,” Caroline said, her voice icy.

“He’s safe,” Vasil replied with infuriating nonchalance. “Once you’re in the clear, I’ll take you to him. But I must say, Breaking into The Warden’s HQ like that? Ballsy. As for Aurora... I’m curious. What did you do to make her feel that way?”

Caroline frowned. “What way?”

Vasil laughed, the sound echoing ominously. “I don’t know how you do it, Caroline. You’re a real paradox. So smart... and so stupid.”

“Watch it, mate,” Enzo growled, stepping forward.

Vasil matched his movement, his smirk turning cold. “What are you going to do, mate?” he mocked, leaning in.

“Enough!” Caroline snapped, stepping between them. “The real enemy is outside these walls. We’re all on the same side here.” She turned to Vasil. “You didn’t come here for a social call. Why are you here, and what do you know about NordGlobe Logistics?”

At the mention of the company, Vasil’s eyes widened in shock. His gaze dropped to the symbol drawn in the dirt. “You’re treading on dangerous ground,” he said gravely.

Caroline crossed her arms. “We’re planning to escape and, no doubt, declare war on The Strix in the process. The Originals will come for them after they daggered Rebekah. This war is inevitable, and if we don’t act, none of us will see the next century. So, whatever you know, spill.”

Vasil hesitated, then shook his head. “It’s a long story, and like you said, we don’t have much time. I came here to ask you something.”

“What?” Caroline demanded.

“Why,” Vasil asked, his voice tinged with curiosity, unease and fear, “is Klaus Mikaelson looking for you?”

“I don’t…” Caroline began, faltering.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know who he is,” Vasil interrupted. “I spent a lot of time and effort covering up everything that could lead you to him, to make sure you weren’t made a target. Why is he looking for a baby vampire from Mystic Falls? You aren’t the doppelgänger.”

Enzo stopped pacing, his expression sharp with curiosity. “Is this the Klaus? The one who’s practically the bogeyman of the supernatural world?” His tone was dripping with snark but he couldn’t hide the slight tinge of fear.

Vasil nodded. “That Klaus.”

Caroline glanced awkwardly between the two of them. “We’re… friends.”

Vasil raised an eyebrow, his scepticism palpable. “Klaus doesn’t have friends.”

Caroline straightened her shoulders. “We are friends.”

“Did you sleep with him?” Vasil asked bluntly, his tone teasing but probing.

Caroline’s eyes widened, and her voice turned sharp. “Excuse me?! No! We are just friends.”

Vasil’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Hmm, okay. Because when I was in Mystic Falls, I heard about a certain Caroline Forbes having Klaus Mikaelson as her date to the Mikaelson Ball and the Miss Mystic Falls pageant.”

Caroline crossed her arms, her voice firm. “We are just friends.”

Vasil tilted his head, studying her intently. “Will he help us, or hinder us?”

Caroline hesitated. “I…”

“Will he give us aid, or kill us on sight?” Vasil pressed.

Caroline’s gaze hardened. “He’ll hear us out…Maybe.”

Enzo, who had been observing the exchange, looked both shocked and intrigued. He had heard whispers of Klaus over the years—the name spoken in hushed tones, like a cautionary tale. But Vasil’s confirmation turned those whispers into a stark reality.

“We can work with that,” Vasil said with a nod. “Getting out of here is only the first step. Once we leave this dimension, we’ll need safe haven. Right now, New Orleans has mounted a defence with Klaus Mikaelson and Marcel Gerard at its centre. That’s where we’ll go.”

Caroline frowned. “I don’t know this Marcel.”

“Marcel or Marcellus Gerard runs the vampires in New Orleans and controls much of the supernatural community there. We’ll need his support, as well as Klaus’s,” Vasil explained.

“How do we know Marcel will fight The Strix?” Caroline asked.

“Because The Strix have been taking his vampires and experimenting on them in the labs,” Vasil said, glancing at Enzo, whose jaw tightened.

Caroline’s expression darkened. “What do they want with vampires? Why not just turn random humans instead of antagonising what I presume is a very powerful vampire with an army?”

“What you need to understand is that this war didn’t arise out of nowhere,” Vasil began. “Once Finn and Kol died, every vampire realised the truth—kill an Original, and everyone they sired dies with them. The Strix have enemies everywhere. When two entire bloodlines were wiped off the board, the remaining sirelines began fighting not only for power but for survival. The Strix are the strongest vampire clan in Elijah’s sireline. The only other vampires that come close are Marcel Gerard’s army. They’re targeting Marcel because his very existence insults them.”

“And what do they want?” Caroline asked, her voice tinged with frustration.

“That’s the real question,” Vasil said. “This only started recently. Before that, the labs were commissioned in the 1990s for general research on the vampiric body after Augustine Society was decommissioned.”

Enzo scoffed, his glare piercing. “How civilised,” he muttered, his tone dripping with disdain.

“A few months ago,” Vasil continued, ignoring the jab, “Everything changed, the research became a lot more targeted. The death count went from a few vampires every year to five or six vampires a day. Vampires were sent to all of the Originals’ current holdings searching for one thing in particular- a certain species of oak.”

Caroline’s breath hitched. “Did they get it?”

Vasil’s face hardened. “That I don’t know. I don’t have a high enough clearance ”

Caroline silent, her mind racing.

Vasil adjusted his jacket. “I have to go before I am noticed missing. You should switch locations again.

Present Time:

Enzo swirled his champagne, his face unreadable as he processed it. He reached for the bourbon, pouring himself a glass as another memory surfaced.

Outside the Dinner Party, Mahal Khafa:

The night sky was clear, the crescent moons hanging low and bright above the courtyard. Enzo leaned against a stone pillar, nursing a drink while Genevieve sat beside him, still wearing the uniform of a waitress from the dinner party that she snuck into.

“Do you think she has a chance?” Enzo asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Genevieve took a long sip of her wine, her eyes fixed on the moons. “I don’t know,” she admitted honestly.

Enzo chuckled, swirling his glass. “Optimistic.”

She glanced at him, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “You’ve been imprisoned for over a century,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “Do you ever wonder what you’d do with freedom in a world so different from the one you were ripped from?”

Enzo tilted his head, considering her question. “And what is it you would do?” he countered.

Genevieve’s smirk faded, her expression turning cold. “Get even,” she said simply, her tone like steel.

Enzo raised his glass in a mock toast. “To getting even,” he said wryly, and they both drank in silence.

Enzo took another long sip of bourbon, the taste grounding him as the memories faded. He glanced around the cabin at the sleeping passengers and sighed, the weight of the past pressing heavy against him.

The morning sun glinted off the polished roof of the SUV as it rolled to a stop at the far end of Atlanta’s Hartsfield–Jackson airport. Planes roared in the distance, but here—just beyond the hustle of Departures—it was quiet enough for goodbyes.

Caroline stayed seated for a moment, reluctant to break the stillness. Her limbs were heavy, her body still too weak, but she pushed open the door and stepped out into the warm, smog-tinged air. Genevieve followed, the boy slipping out beside Caroline, sticking close to her side.

They didn’t all leave the car. The farewell wasn’t grand. Just the three of them standing by the curb, in the space between danger and distance.

“This is it,” Caroline said softly, brushing wind-blown hair from her face.

Genevieve nodded, her eyes on the rising planes in the distance. “It is.”

Caroline reached forward, pulling her into a hug—tight and fierce. “I should be going with you.”

“No,” Genevieve said gently, her hand squeezing Caroline’s back. “You have other roads to walk. And I’ll see you again. Just… not yet.”

She pulled away and turned to the boy, brushing her fingers through his hair with a faint smile. Then she met Vasil’s eyes and offered a nod—not warm, but not cold either. A mutual truce in passing.

Before she stepped away, Genevieve paused. “You’ll need to find another witch,” she said. “As soon as I’m gone, the cloaking on you three will start to weaken. You’ll be exposed again.”

Caroline nodded solemnly. “We’ll handle it.”

Without another word, Genevieve hoisted her bag over her shoulder and walked toward the terminal. With each step, the distance between them grew—not just in space, but in everything unspoken.

Caroline watched until the glass doors swallowed her.

The silence that followed didn’t last.

Vasil’s phone rang sharply, slicing through the quiet. He answered immediately, his tone clipped, speaking in a low voice Caroline couldn’t make out. His jaw tightened with each word. When he finally hung up, his expression was grim.

“What now?” Caroline asked.

Vasil leaned against the hood of the car. “The Strix have combed New Orleans. Rebekah’s return has been confirmed. They know the boy isn’t with her or Klaus.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And?”

“They’re hunting again,” Vasil said darkly. “They’re assuming Mohinder helped him escape, but that won’t hold them off long. They’re tracing everything—every movement. It’s only a matter of time before they trace him to us.”

Caroline’s stomach twisted. “Then we need to cloak ourselves. Now.”

“I know a witch,” Vasil said. “She’s four hours out, but she’ll help us.”

Caroline thought for a beat, her gaze drifting toward the city skyline. “My dad’s ex-partner lives just outside Helen. There’s a cabin—remote, private, off-grid. If we can get him to invite us in, it’s safe. At least for a couple days.”

Vasil glanced toward her, skeptical. “And what? We play house in the woods?”

“No,” Caroline said. “We survive. Long enough to finish cloaking, long enough for you to start digging. Because if we walk into New Orleans blind, we walk into a trap.”

Vasil crossed his arms. “It’s a risk.”

“It’s the only one that gives us time,” she countered. “If the Strix find us now, they kill us both. They take the boy. And all of this will mean nothing.”

Vasil cursed under his breath. “Fine. But if this contact of yours turns us in—”

“He won’t,” Caroline said. “He loved my father; he wouldn’t betray us to The Strix.”

For now, they had a direction.

The group pulled up to the airport, the tension palpable as they stepped out of the cars. The shared history between the two groups hung in the air like a storm cloud, unspoken but undeniable. Leonard carefully supported Ava, practically carrying her frail form as her feet barely skimmed the ground. She looked pale, her breaths shallow, but she clung to him with determination.

Isaac, ever the diplomat, glanced around at the strained expressions and cleared his throat. “We’re all tired,” he began, his tone calm but firm, “and there’s a lot of shared history here. The plane is heading to New Orleans. If you want to come, get on the plane. If you have other business elsewhere, we wish you safe travels.”

Kol, leaning against the car, finished another blood bag with an exaggerated sip and tossed it aside carelessly. “I don’t,” he said casually, his smirk daring someone to challenge him.

Damon, standing near Elena, crossed his arms. “We’re going back to Mystic Falls.” His voice was matter-of-fact, but Isla raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical of his decision.

Elena caught the look and quickly explained, “We haven’t heard back from Stefan. We were supposed to meet him in Salem.” Her tone carried a hint of worry, her eyes darting between the group.

Isla, unimpressed, tilted her head. “So, all of you are going back?”

Before anyone could reply, Bonnie sighed and spoke up, her voice steady. “I’m coming with you to help find Caroline—if that’s okay.” Her words caught everyone by surprise. Kol perked up, his grin growing wider, while Elena looked visibly hurt.

Bonnie turned to Elena and Jeremy, her expression softening as she grasped their hands. “Caroline’s been taken by some really bad people,” she explained gently. “With Ric and Damon with you, I know you’ll find Stefan. But Caroline needs me right now.”

Elena hesitated before nodding, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Just... be careful, okay?”

“I will,” Bonnie assured her, squeezing her hand before pulling Jeremy into a quick hug. “You guys stay safe, too.”

Goodbyes were exchanged, and the Mystic Falls crew climbed back into the cars. Isla and Isaac offered their own farewells, telling them to stay safe and promising to do whatever it took to find Caroline.

As the cars disappeared into the distance, the remaining group made their way toward the waiting jet. Compelled humans moved quickly, loading cargo onto the plane as Isla walked alongside Bonnie.

“My name’s Isla,” she said, breaking the silence, “and this is my brother, Isaac.”

Bonnie offered a small smile. “It’s good to meet you both.”

“Likewise,” Isla replied, her tone warm but tinged with wariness.

From behind them, Kol made a dramatic sniffing sound, mock-wiping a tear from his eye. “This is truly touching,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Brings tears to my eyes. Can we go now, Bonnie Bon?”

Bonnie rolled her eyes, shooting him an exasperated look. “Kol, I swear, if you call me that one more time—”

“You’ll what?” Kol teased, clearly enjoying himself. “Hex me?”

Bonnie turned away, choosing to ignore him, and followed the others onto the jet. Inside, the atmosphere was quieter, the hum of engines filling the silence as everyone settled into their seats.

As the jet began to taxi, Kol leaned back in his seat, a mischievous grin on his face. “Well, this is going to be fun,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

Bonnie sighed, glancing out the window as the plane took off. Somewhere out there, Caroline needed her, and Bonnie was determined to bring her back—no matter what it took.

The cicadas droned in the trees, their song rising with the golden hush of the afternoon heat. Dust clung to the worn cobblestone paths that wound through the quiet rural town, where olive trees stood like silent sentinels and goats picked lazily at tufts of dry grass between cracked stone walls. The shutters of sun-bleached homes were half-closed, warding off the heat. The sea was nowhere in sight, but the salt still lingered faintly in the air.

And then—she appeared.

At the edge of the square, beneath the shadow of an old fig tree, a woman stood alone. Her dress billowed in the breeze—a long, flowing gown of deep cerulean that whispered like water as it moved. A sheer veil framed her face, delicate but concealing. Only her eyes were clearly visible: rich brown, wide with wonder as she looked upon the town with a kind of reverent curiosity.

She wore sandals laced with gold threads, her dark skin catching the sunlight with a subtle sheen. Her hair—thick, long, and coiled in loose, unruly curls—spilled from beneath the veil, untouched by the wind as if it answered to something else entirely.

No one saw her arrive. No car, no footsteps. She was simply… there.

She walked slowly, her gaze drifting over old buildings and faded murals, past the small café with empty tables and a rusted bell above its door. Then, without warning, she knelt.

The hem of her dress pooled around her knees, and she placed one hand flat on the sun-baked earth.

For a moment—nothing.

Then her expression shifted.

Her head snapped up slightly, as if something in the soil had spoken to her. Her jaw clenched. Her breath caught. Rage etched itself across her features—sudden, raw, and searing. Her nostrils flared. Her lips trembled with barely restrained fury.

Bitterness settled in her eyes like a shadow from long ago and then, as if a switch had been flipped, it was gone.

She stood slowly, brushing her hand clean on the folds of her dress. Her face was composed now—serene, unreadable—but the glint in her eyes betrayed the truth. Calm as a statue. Steady as the tide. And yet something wild burned beneath the surface.

Something old.

She turned her face to the sun and whispered something in a language older than the stones beneath her feet.

Then, with no fanfare, she walked into the town.

And the cicadas kept singing.

The cabin of the private jet hummed with a tense, uneasy energy as it soared through the skies toward New Orleans. Ava lay sprawled on the small sofa, her pallor ghostly, her breathing shallow and laboured. She looked as if death already had one foot in the room. Isla knelt beside her, carefully tilting her bleeding wrist to Ava’s lips, trying to get her to drink. But it was clear to everyone on board—it wasn’t working.

Kol, unfazed by the somber atmosphere, sat cross-legged in one of the leather chairs, a Nintendo 3DS in his hands. The volume was turned up obnoxiously loud as he mashed the buttons, utterly indifferent to the glares shot his way by everyone else.

Isaac was seated near the window, his head bent over a stack of old grimoires. Their yellowed pages were filled with intricate diagrams, sigils, and spells. Bonnie noticed the books immediately and smiled faintly.

“I recognize those,” Bonnie said, breaking the silence between them.

Isaac glanced up, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Caroline said these belonged to her best friend. They’re yours, aren’t they?”

Bonnie nodded, reaching over to gently pick up one of the grimoires. Her fingers brushed over the worn leather cover, memories flooding back. “They fell into my hands, yes,” she said softly, flipping through the pages. “I never thought I’d see them again.”

Isaac leaned forward slightly, his voice curious but careful. “Did you watch over Caroline as a ghost?”

“I did,” Bonnie admitted, her tone tinged with guilt and sadness. “Until she was taken. After that... I couldn’t.”

Isaac hesitated, his brow furrowing. “Do you know who took her?”

Bonnie’s expression darkened, her fingers stilling on the page she was reading. “Before Caroline was taken, she unknowingly befriended a thousand-year-old vampire named Aurora. We believe Aurora was behind her disappearance.”

Isaac exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping back to the book in his lap. “Caroline once told me the older the vampire, the stronger, faster, and deadlier they are.”

Bonnie nodded grimly. “Yeah.”

Before either of them could say more, Ava suddenly convulsed violently, her body arching off the sofa. Isla yelped in alarm, her hands trembling as she tried to steady Ava. Leonard was by her side in an instant, helping her shift Ava into the recovery position. The seizure seemed to go on forever, the tension in the cabin thick enough to choke on. Then, just as suddenly as it began, Ava went still.

Her chest didn’t rise again.

“Ave?” Leonard’s voice was low and panicked as he checked her pulse. “Ava!” He began administering CPR, his movements desperate and mechanical as he pumped her chest and breathed into her mouth. “Come on! Come back to me! Breathe Dammit! Don’t do this!”

Bonnie stood frozen, her heart sinking as she realized there was nothing she could do. She had already tried magic earlier, but Ava’s body was too fragile, and any spell might kill her faster. Now, it was too late.

Leonard continued compressions, his voice breaking. “Come back, Ava. Please!”

But it was no use. Ava was gone.

The entire cabin fell deathly silent. Even Kol paused his game for a moment, glancing up briefly before shrugging and resuming his button-mashing. The sounds of his Nintendo, the cheery digital beeps and dings, felt like an insult in the heavy silence.

Isla turned away, her hands covering her face as tears streamed down her cheeks. Isaac placed the grimoires aside and rested his forehead against his hands, his shoulders sagging. Leonard knelt beside Ava, his head bowed, his hands trembling as they rested on hers.

The only sound was Kol’s game, a jarring reminder of the indifference of the world outside their grief.

Caroline’s mind was racing as they navigated through the parking lot toward a seemingly innocuous sedan Vasil had "borrowed" from the lot, they had been in the other car for far too long. Vasil carried himself with calm efficiency, his jacket hiding the switchblade he had acquired for added insurance. The boy, ever observant but silent, clung closely to Caroline’s side.

Once they were inside the car, Vasil turned to Caroline. “We need blood bags before anything else,” he said bluntly.

Caroline sighed, knowing he was right but dreading the task. They made their way to a small medical facility on the outskirts of the city. Vasil handled the retrieval with his usual ruthless efficiency, compelling the lone security guard into opening the storage room before taking a cooler full of blood bags. Minutes later, they were back in the car and driving toward Steven’s house in the northern part of the city.

As they pulled into the quiet suburban neighborhood, Caroline took a deep breath, glancing at the boy, who was now curled up with a blanket in the back seat. “Let me talk to him,” she said firmly, looking at Vasil. “And no harming him.”

Vasil raised an eyebrow but gestured for her to proceed. Caroline stepped out of the car, steeling herself, and knocked on the door. It wasn’t long before the door creaked open, revealing a tall, wiry man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes.

“Steven,” she said with a cautious smile.

The man’s face twisted into a scowl almost immediately. Without a word, he pulled out a gun and aimed it at her.

“Whoa!” Caroline gasped, backing up instinctively.

The gunshot rang out, and Vasil moved faster than her eyes could follow, stepping between her and the bullet. The impact barely slowed him down as he lunged for Steven, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him against the doorframe.

Vasil’s voice was low and commanding as he attempted to compel him. “Stop what you’re doing and invite us in.”

Steven struggled, his face red with fury, and spat out, “Never!” He reached for a stake hidden behind the door, but Vasil caught his wrist with a sickening crack and knocked him unconscious with one swift punch.

The boy clutched Caroline’s hand tightly, his wide eyes reflecting his fear. Caroline knelt to reassure him, brushing his hair back softly. “It’s okay,” she murmured, though her heart was pounding.

Vasil’s voice cut through her moment of comfort. “You didn’t tell me he was a hunter,” he said sharply. “Is he part of The Five?”

“I don’t think so,” Caroline replied, her voice shaking slightly.

Vasil’s expression was grim. “That’s assuring,” he said sarcastically. “We need to secure him, and you can try talking to him again later.”

Suddenly, a voice called out from the driveway. “Steven! Are you okay?” A second man, slightly older, stepped into view, his brow furrowing as he took in the scene. “Who are you people? Don’t come any closer, or I’ll call the cops!”

Vasil’s quick mind worked on a solution. His voice shifted to a calm, disarming tone as he stepped forward with his hands raised. “Hey, calm down. My sister and I just wanted to visit our uncle to talk to him about... the diagnosis. But he started attacking us with stakes and guns.”

The man, clearly skeptical, didn’t lower his phone. “Steven doesn’t have a niece or nephew.”

Caroline, picking up on Vasil’s bluff, chimed in, her voice soft and sincere. “He never told you about us? Why wouldn’t he mention us?” She glanced at the family photos on the wall just inside the doorway, catching sight of a frame labelled Steven and Michael. “Michael, right? Steven talked about you during a phone call recently. We’ve been trying to help him. Our family has a history of... illnesses.”

Michael frowned. “What kind of illnesses?”

“Schizophrenia,” Vasil interjected smoothly. “Our mom had it. Caroline takes medication for it now,” he added, gesturing to her. “We just wanted to check on Steven.”

Michael hesitated, his expression softening slightly. “Schizophrenia? Like seeing things?”

Caroline nodded, feigning embarrassment. “He’s been talking about monsters. It’s why we came. We want to help him.”

Michael sighed, lowering his phone but still cautious. “I’ve noticed he’s been... off lately. I thought maybe it was for a book he was writing, but it’s more than that. He’s paranoid, talking about vampires and demons. He talks about protecting ourselves. It’s consuming our lives. He even put the deeds to both the house and the cabin in both our names.”

Vasil’s eyes flicked to Caroline briefly, both of them noting the significance of Michael’s words. But neither let their expressions betray it.

“Can we come in and help move him to the sofa?” Vasil asked.

Michael hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Just be careful—” His words were cut off as Vasil knocked him out with a swift, calculated blow.

Caroline’s eyes widened in shock as Vasil bit both unconscious men, only to recoil and spit. “Vervain,” he hissed, wiping his mouth. “They’re both on it.”

Without another word, Vasil dumped both men into the backseat of the car. “Do you know where the cabin is?” he asked Caroline sharply.

“It’s an hour and a half drive,” she muttered, still shaken.

“Good. You and the boy get in the front,” Vasil ordered, grabbing some rope from inside the house. “I’ll ride in the back in case they wake up.”

The boy clung to Caroline’s side as they climbed into the car. As they drove into the evening, Caroline couldn’t shake the feeling that they had just stepped into something a whole lot worse.

The car rolled steadily through the picturesque streets of Helen, Georgia, the Bavarian-styled buildings glowing warmly in the light of the setting sun. Caroline glanced around as she drove, her eyes briefly catching the charm of the quaint town. Even the boy in the passenger seat couldn’t help but stare out the window, his face softening with something close to wonder.

Caroline noticed a faint smile ghost across the boy’s face. It made her heart ache with a bittersweet kind of happiness. She glanced at him and smiled softly.

“In the morning,” she said gently, “you and I could go into town, grab some breakfast, and explore a little.”

The boy’s smile grew a fraction wider, and he nodded enthusiastically.

From the backseat, Vasil snorted, interrupting the moment. “This isn’t a holiday, little hero.”

Caroline’s jaw tightened as she fixed her gaze on the road. “Why don’t you focus on securing the witch and figuring out how we can eliminate the spy problem in New Orleans, huh?”

Vasil leaned forward slightly, his tone sharp. “I’d love to, but it seems I’m also dealing with the current hunter problem in the backseat. And it’s becoming increasingly clear you don’t understand that you may have to choose between you and the boy’s survival versus the big bad hunter we’ve got tied up back here.”

Caroline’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as she glared at him through the rearview mirror. “You are not killing them.”

Vasil leaned back with a mocking smirk. “We’ll see.”

The car fell into tense silence for the rest of the drive, with Vasil keeping a sharp eye on Steven and Michael. Every time one of them stirred, he leaned in and knocked them back into unconsciousness with a well-placed strike. Caroline clenched her jaw tighter with every thud but said nothing.

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up to the secluded cabin nestled between the dense forest, rolling vineyards, and distant mountains. The golden hues of the sunset bathed the scene in a warm glow, giving it a surreal, almost peaceful quality. But Caroline knew better. The tension simmering in the air was anything but peaceful.

They parked, and Vasil wasted no time hauling Steven and Michael’s unconscious, tied-up forms out of the car. Caroline sighed and turned to the boy. “Come on, let’s go inside,” she said, shielding him from the sight of Vasil gripping Michael by the shoulder and pressing down hard enough to jolt him awake with a gasp of pain.

“Hello, Michael,” Vasil said casually, crouching in front of the man.

Michael’s eyes darted wildly as he struggled against his bindings. He winced at the pain in his neck, head, and shoulder. “Who are you people?” he asked, his voice shaking.

Vasil’s smile was cold. “People who need you to invite them in,” he said smoothly, pulling out his switchblade and twirling it menacingly. “Lest you want Steven to be harmed.”

“No, please don’t hurt us,” Michael pleaded, his voice trembling. “Please.”

“Invite us in, Michael,” Vasil repeated, his blade moving closer to Steven’s neck.

Michael’s face crumpled with fear and desperation. “You’re all invited in,” he blurted.

Caroline, who had been standing on the threshold with the boy, stepped inside and gave Vasil a firm nod. Vasil grinned at Michael. “Good choice,” he said, his voice laced with mockery. Then, without hesitation, he knocked Michael out again with a swift strike to the head.

Caroline flinched at the sound but quickly turned her focus back to the boy, gently guiding him into the cabin and away from the scene. She knew he’d already seen too much, and she refused to let him watch this unfold any further.

“Go in and see what supplies they have,” Vasil called after her, dragging Steven and Michael inside and dumping them unceremoniously on the floor. “Start offloading the car. I’ll call the witch and tell her to come here.”

Caroline shot him a glare but complied, leading the boy further into the cabin. She paused for a moment, leaning against the wall to catch her breath. She felt so tired, so drained.

What did she expect after jumping in front of a lightning strike made of pure magic?

She didn’t want to die—not after everything she’d been through.

She’d drink another blood bag and hope it would be enough for now.

The studio was bathed in dim, golden light, shadows stretching and twisting across the room like restless spirits. The air carried the faint tang of turpentine, mingled with the metallic scent of paint. Klaus Mikaelson stood poised before a massive canvas, his brush dancing across the surface with deliberate, calculated strokes. The swirling patterns he created were chaotic yet oddly hypnotic, a mirror of the storm that churned within him. Despite the intensity of his work, Klaus’s expression remained calm, almost serene.

Across the room, Cami O’Connell sat on an upholstered chair, arms crossed, her keen eyes flickering with both curiosity and caution. Her usual composed demeanour was tempered by an underlying wariness as she studied him, uncertain of his motives yet drawn in by the enigmatic pull he seemed to exude effortlessly.

“Over the course of my life,” Klaus began, his voice smooth and unhurried, “I’ve encountered no shortage of those who presume to speak of good and evil.” He dipped his brush into a deep red, dragging it across the canvas in a bold, sweeping line that slashed through the muted tones beneath. “Such terms are meaningless, truly. People act in their own interests, regardless of who gets hurt. Is it evil to take what one desires? To satisfy hunger, even if doing so causes another suffering? What some call evil, I consider merely survival in a harsh, unfair world.”

Cami tilted her head, the faintest crease forming between her brows. “No offense, but I’m not sure I follow why you’ve invited me here.”

Klaus turned slightly, his lips curling into a faint smirk. He didn’t answer right away, instead dipping his brush back into the paint and adding another streak of red to his masterpiece.

“Because I enjoy your company,” he said finally, his tone rich with layered meaning. “And because I sense you have the capacity to understand someone of my... complexity.” He set the brush down and turned to face her fully, his piercing gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach tighten.

“I returned to New Orleans to investigate a threat,” he continued, his voice darkening. “A threat born of ghosts from my past, intent on exacting retribution. But it is not just my family that stands in peril. Someone I care for deeply is caught in the crossfire. She doesn’t yet realize how much danger she’s in. And there’s another innocent with extraordinary potential, held captive by a tyrant who believes her destiny are his to control.”

Klaus stepped closer, his movements fluid and deliberate. “Tell me, Cami,” he asked, his voice dropping lower, “does that sound evil to you? To save one and free the other?”

Cami blinked, momentarily thrown off by the sheer weight of his words. Her sharp mind worked to process what he’d just revealed. She leaned forward slightly, her tone steady but tinged with caution. “I don’t believe in evil as a diagnosis,” she said finally. “I think you have unstable personal relationships, chronic anger issues, fear of abandonment... maybe some stress-related paranoia. You’d probably benefit from talking to someone. Professionally.”

Klaus let out a low chuckle, clearly amused by her audacity. “I think I’d prefer to talk to you,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re far more interesting than any so-called professional.”

She watched him carefully as he moved toward her, her body tensing slightly when he stopped a few feet away. He gestured casually with his hand.

“So, I’m going to offer you a job as my stenographer,” he announced with a slight tilt of his head, as though the matter had already been decided.

Cami raised an eyebrow, her skepticism plain. “Your what?”

“My stenographer,” Klaus repeated, a playful edge to his tone. “Someone should know my story. And it will give us time to discuss other riveting subjects, like your handsome suitor, Marcel.”

Her jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation flashing across her face. “Excuse me? My private life is—”

“Essential to my plans,” Klaus interrupted smoothly, his smirk widening. “Marcel wants you. Because of that, he trusts you, and that trust serves me.”

He began to circle her slowly, his tone turning darker. “You see, the French Quarter is on the verge of war. On one side, there’s me. On the other, Marcel, along with a very powerful witch and an army of vampires.”

Cami’s eyes widened as his words sank in. “What?” she shouted, her voice rising highly.

Before she could say more, Klaus was suddenly at her side, moving with inhuman speed. His hand pressed lightly against her shoulder, and she found herself pinned against the wall, her pulse racing. His piercing eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink around them.

“You’re frightened,” Klaus murmured, his lips curling into a knowing smile. “Don’t be.”

Cami’s breathing slowed, the panic fading as an unnatural calm washed over her. She blinked up at him, her confusion evident. “I’m not scared anymore. That’s... amazing. How did you...?”

“It’s called compulsion,” Klaus explained, stepping back slightly, his tone almost casual. “A neat little vampire trick. I’ll tell you all about it in time. But for now...” His gaze darkened, his voice soft but commanding. “Let’s talk more about Marcel.”

The tension in the cabin was palpable as the group settled into their uneasy hideout. Vasil stood near the doorway, his sharp eyes fixed on Steven and Michael, who were both bound and unconscious on the floor. His posture was casual, but his readiness to act at a moment’s notice was evident in every taut muscle.

“I’ll keep watch over them,” Vasil said, his voice calm but firm. “You focus on the boy.”

Caroline nodded, understanding the weight of his words. She turned to the boy, who was poking around the edges of the room, his curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar surroundings. His clothes hung loosely on his malnourished frame, and his small hands occasionally brushed against the wood-paneled walls, as if trying to piece together the history of the place.

“I found these,” Caroline said, holding out a small stack of clothes she had uncovered from a nearby chest of drawers. “They’re from a distant cousin around your age. They might be a little big, but they’ll do for now.”

The boy accepted the clothes with a quiet nod, his eyes darting to the rest of the cabin. His gaze lingered on the darkened corners and the rustic furniture, curiosity lighting up his otherwise wary expression.

“You can look around if you want,” Caroline encouraged with a small smile. “Steven’s a hunter, so the sooner we find any concealed weapons, the better. You can help.”

The boy nodded again, his steps tentative as he began exploring. Caroline joined him, her movements purposeful as she opened drawers, lifted cushions, and inspected the furniture. In the desk, she found a false drawer. Her fingers pried it open, revealing a weathered leather-bound journal.

Her breath hitched when she saw her father’s handwriting. Flicking through the pages, her heart clenched as she read the familiar words:

Caroline is a vampire. Steven says there is no hope, that she’s already dead, but I can save her from her vampiric nature, from the evil she has become.

Memories of her father’s “methods” to control her vampiric nature flooded back. The cellar, the sunlight, the pain—it all came rushing to the surface. She took a deep breath, shutting the journal with a soft thud and steadying herself. She glanced over at the boy, who had been quietly watching her.

The boy tugged at her sleeve and gestured to a drawer on the other side of the room. He crouched beside it, his hands working to open it. Caroline joined him, and together they removed a false bottom. Beneath it lay a stash of weapons—stakes, a small crossbow, and a few vervain grenades. Caroline carefully removed the items, placing them on the desk for safekeeping.

“Well done,” she said softly, patting him on the shoulder. He gave a faint smile in return.

From across the room, Vasil’s voice broke the quiet. He was speaking rapidly in Italian on his phone, his tone sharp and commanding. He hung up and turned his attention to the bag he had taken from the labs earlier. Caroline noticed the way his eyes lingered on the serum inside.

“Do you know what it’s supposed to do?” Caroline asked, stepping closer.

Vasil didn’t look up. “No idea. Perhaps they were trying to engineer a cure for something. Werewolf bites, maybe. They were a thorn in our side for centuries. One of the reasons we hunted them to near extinction.”

The boy stiffened at the mention of werewolves, his pale face becoming even paler. Caroline knelt beside him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Werewolves only turn on a full moon,” she said gently, her voice soothing. “And that’s not for a few days. By the time that comes around, we’ll be in New Orleans.”

Vasil smirked, leaning back against the wall. “Don’t worry, kid. All the werewolves here were wiped out by the Strix.”

Caroline shot him a glare. “Not helping.”

Before Vasil could respond, his attention snapped to the sound of a car pulling up outside. His vampire hearing picked up the faint sound of footsteps approaching the patio stairs. He turned to the door, his hand already reaching for his switchblade.

“That sounds like our witch,” he muttered, his voice low.

A few moments later, there was a knock at the door. Vasil opened it cautiously, his blade hidden but ready. On the other side stood a striking woman with dark, wavy hair and piercing green eyes. She carried an air of power and grace, though her expression was one of exasperation.

“Buonasera, Valentina, è sempre un piacere essere in tua presenza,” Vasil greeted smoothly, his voice dripping with mock politeness.

“Grazie, Vasil,” Valentina replied, her tone sharp. “Ma sappiamo tutti che non è questo il motivo per cui sono stata convocata qui...” Her gaze flickered to the Caroline and the boy. “Oh mio Dio, in cosa vi siete cacciati?”

“Relax, Valentina,” Vasil said dismissively. “I need you to do a cloaking spell on her”—he gestured to Caroline—“the boy, and myself.”

Valentina’s brows furrowed. “How strong of a cloaking spell?”

“You know how strong I need it,” Vasil replied curtly.

Valentina crossed her arms. “That takes preparation and materials—not to mention an astrological event. Luckily for you, there’s a full moon in two days.”

Vasil’s expression darkened. “I need it sooner.”

“I could channel some magical objects but that would require time and money,” Valentina said firmly. “It cannot be done until at least tomorrow morning.”

Vasil let out a frustrated sigh but nodded. “Fine.”

Valentina stepped back toward the door, her tone final. “After this spell, my debt to you is paid. You will need to drop by my shop in the morning to help me prepare.”

Before she could leave, Vasil grabbed her arm, his grip firm but not cruel. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “If you betray me in any way, or breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll end your entire bloodline.”

Valentina’s eyes blazed with anger as she sneered, “Understood.” She shook off his hand and left without another word.

As the door closed, the cabin fell silent. Caroline glanced at the boy, who had retreated to the corner, his eyes wide with unease. She crouched beside him, offering him a small, reassuring smile.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “We’ll be okay.”

But even as she spoke the words, the weight of the situation pressed heavily on her chest. The path ahead was uncertain, and the stakes had never been higher.

The cabin was heavy with tension as the group settled into their uneasy truce. Caroline had spent the evening sorting through the few belongings in the house, determined to create a semblance of normalcy for the boy. Upstairs, she had prepared a small bedroom, finding old sheets, blankets, and pillows to make the bed as comfortable as possible. The boy now lay asleep, his thin frame bundled up under the blankets, his face peaceful for the first time in days. Caroline checked on him frequently, her heart aching for the innocence stolen from him.

Downstairs, the aroma of something warm and faintly savoury filled the air as Caroline stirred a pot of soup made from canned goods she’d scrounged up in the kitchen. It wasn’t perfect, but it was edible. She ladled the soup into mismatched bowls, setting one aside for herself and one for the boy to have when he woke up.

Steven and Michael remained bound on the floor, their unconscious forms a grim reminder of the danger that lurked even here. Vasil, seated at a small table with a laptop, was engrossed in the files he was scanning from a USB stick. His brow furrowed in concentration, but his body language betrayed his ever-present readiness for violence.

Caroline sat on the sofa with a journal in her lap—the one she had found earlier. It was her father’s, and its contents weighed on her like an anchor. Page after page detailed his crusade against vampires: entire clans wiped out, strategies to trap and kill them, and chilling accounts of his disdain for their existence.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself as her thoughts spiralled. How many vampires had she killed now? Witches? Humans? She thought of the west wing of the castle collapsing, the bloodshed she had caused. Her father had wiped out entire clans of vampires. What if they were good, trying to live as she did? And yet, even she couldn’t ignore the reality that most vampires didn’t spare human life.

Her voice cut through the tense silence. “Is there a way for you to track down Enzo and Naveeda?” she asked, her tone quiet but firm.

Vasil glanced up from his laptop, his expression unreadable. He seemed to weigh his words before responding. “Enzo, maybe. Naveeda... is dead.”

Caroline froze, the words slamming into her like a freight train. “What did you do?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Vasil’s gaze didn’t waver. “They knew how close you were to Naveeda and how you protected her. We needed them off our backs. I redirected Tristan’s and Aurora’s anger toward Mohinder by declaring war and claiming he had you to buy us time. Naveeda’s death confirmed the lie. Shen Min’s death and the hijacking of the Trial forced Tristan to declare war.”

Caroline’s face contorted with rage and grief. “You monster!” she screamed, lunging at him. Vasil moved to defend himself, but Caroline’s move was feigned as she changed directions, landing a solid hit that made him stumble. She followed it up with a swift kick to his groin, doubling him over. Grabbing a chair, she broke off a leg and snatched his switchblade from his pocket, slashing at him.

Vasil recovered quickly, catching her wrist and twisting it. She gasped in pain but didn’t let go, instead using her other hand to raise the makeshift stake. Vasil moved faster, disarming her and grabbing her by the throat. Caroline struggled, her eyes blazing with fury.

“My plan did that anyway!” she spat, her voice choked but defiant.

Vasil threw her across the room with supernatural strength. She crashed into the wall but was on her feet in an instant, her anger undiminished.

“The leadership of the Strix has known each other for centuries,” Vasil said coldly. “To declare total war against them, far lines had to be crossed. A spark wouldn’t be enough. To get to Tristan, you have to get to Aurora. And I got to Aurora through you.”

Caroline’s voice cracked with grief and fury. “She didn’t have to die.”

“She did, and you know it,” Vasil replied, his tone unyielding. “You had a good plan, but to carry out something as diabolical as yours, you have to get your hands dirty.”

Before Caroline could respond, a gasp drew their attention. Steven had awakened, his eyes wide with alarm as he realized his predicament. He thrashed against his bindings, his gaze darting to Michael, who lay bloodied beside him.

“Calm down, Cowboy,” Vasil said, his tone dripping with mockery.

Steven’s voice was filled with venom. “I will kill you. I will kill you both for this.”

Caroline stepped forward, her tone pleading. “If you would just listen, I can explain everything.”

Steven’s glare turned to her, and his expression twisted with disgust. “One does not reason or bargain with abominations like you. When I get free, I will drive a stake into both of your hearts.”

“Steven, it’s me. Caroline,” she said desperately. “You helped me learn piano. You picked out my Miss Mystic Falls dress.”

Steven’s expression didn’t soften. “The Caroline I knew and loved is dead. Your father should have staked you on sight. Your very existence stains her memory.” He spat on the ground in her direction. “Demon.”

Vasil chuckled darkly. “Well, this was entertaining,” he said, leaning down and biting into Steven’s neck. He pulled back with a smirk. “Vervain-free! Fantastic.” His pupils dilated as he attempted to compel Steven. “Are you one of the Five?”

Steven lunged forward, headbutting Vasil with surprising force. Vasil stumbled back, barely containing his rage.

“My father couldn’t be compelled,” Caroline said quietly. “I don’t think he can either.”

Vasil’s expression darkened. “That’s unfortunate. Time for plan B.”

Before Caroline could react, Vasil snapped her neck, her body crumpling to the floor like a sack of potatoes. The boy, watching from the stairs, gasped but quickly hid. Vasil ignored him, turning his attention back to Steven. He grabbed Michael’s unconscious form, holding a blade to his throat.

“You can answer my questions,” Vasil said coldly, “or I’ll flay your boy toy alive.”

Steven’s eyes widened in terror, but he said nothing. Vasil smirked, pulling a photo from his wallet and holding it up. It was of an elderly couple.

“I’ve done my homework on Caroline Forbes,” Vasil said. “Her family. Extended family. 142 Main Street, Knoxville, Tennessee. I can be there in thirty minutes and burn it to the ground with your parents still inside. But not before flaying him alive in front of you.”

Steven’s resolve cracked, fear seeping into his expression. “I’ll... I’ll play ball.”

“Fantastic,” Vasil said with a cold smile, lowering the blade.

Valentina’s small car rumbled along the dark road, the sound of gravel crunching under her tires barely audible over the hum of the engine. The dim glow of the dashboard illuminated her tense expression, her fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly. The highway stretched out before her, desolate and shadowed under the pale light of the moon.

The neon glow of a rest stop sign came into view, a beacon in the emptiness. Letting out a shaky breath, Valentina pulled into the station and parked beside a pump. The car came to a halt with a faint squeal of the brakes. She hesitated for a moment, before typing a message on her phone and sending it off. She stepped out, the cool night air brushing against her skin, and grabbed the nozzle to refuel her car.

Her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket. She glanced at the screen, her lips pressing into a thin line. Answering the call, she tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder as she unscrewed the gas cap.

"Pronto? Sono qui."

The voice on the other end was calm but authoritative, cutting through the silence like a blade. Valentina’s expression shifted, her composure faltering as she listened intently. She set the nozzle into the car, her movements hurried and agitated.

"No, non posso continuare così!"

Her voice was sharp, almost desperate, as she paced beside the car. Her free hand gestured wildly, the frustration evident in every motion. She glanced around nervously, scanning the empty station for signs of anyone nearby.

"Sì, lo capisco. Ma le cose stanno peggiorando."

There was a long pause as the voice on the other end responded. Valentina’s face tightened, her jaw clenching as the instructions came through. She closed her eyes briefly, exhaling through her nose as if trying to ground herself.

"E va bene. Lo farò."

She hung up the phone, her grip firm as she slipped it back into her pocket. The gas pump clicked, signaling that the tank was full. Valentina replaced the nozzle and screwed the cap back on, her movements now more deliberate.

For a moment, she stood there, her hand resting on the roof of the car as she stared out into the distance. The tension in her shoulders was unmistakable, but she straightened her spine and took a deep breath, forcing herself to regain composure. Her features smoothed, the flicker of nervousness buried beneath a mask of calm determination.

Sliding back into the driver’s seat, Valentina adjusted the rearview mirror and started the car. The engine purred to life, a steady sound in the quiet night. She glanced at herself in the mirror, her lips twitching into a semblance of a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

"Niente panico," she said to herself, trying to calm herself down.

With a final glance at the deserted station, she shifted the car into gear and pulled back onto the highway. The road stretched out ahead of her, her destination clear: her home in Atlanta. The lights of the city would be waiting, but the unease lingered, coiled tightly in her chest.

Her hands steadied on the wheel as she drove, her calm facade firmly in place, though her thoughts churned like a storm beneath the surface.

Caroline woke with a sharp intake of breath, the familiar ache in her neck quickly fading as her vampire healing kicked in. She blinked against the dim light of the cabin, her senses slowly coming into focus. The sound of a soft sip reached her ears, and she turned her head to see Vasil lounging casually on the sofa, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. He looked entirely too comfortable, his feet propped up on the coffee table.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Vasil drawled without looking up, his attention fixed on a file spread across his lap. “The kid woke up because of you, by the way. Next time you want to attack me, try to be quieter.”

Caroline sat up quickly, her movements sharp with urgency. “Where is he?” she demanded, her voice tinged with panic as her mind jumped to the boy’s safety.

Vasil gestured lazily with his coffee cup toward the stairs. “Relax. He’s asleep now. You running up there like a maniac isn’t going to change that. Besides,” he added with a smirk, “we need to talk.”

Caroline hesitated, her instincts pulling her toward the stairs, but she forced herself to stay put. Instead, she glared at him, her anger barely contained as she sank into the chair opposite him. “You snapped my neck,” she said through gritted teeth.

Vasil raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. “I needed to talk to them alone,” he said simply, taking another sip of the coffee. He grimaced, setting the cup down on the table. “Also, your coffee is terrible. I can’t even make a proper espresso with this garbage.”

Caroline rolled her eyes, her fists clenching in her lap. “Get to the point.”

Vasil leaned back, his expression turning serious. “Tomorrow is going to be a big day. The witch can perform a spell tomorrow evening strong enough to cloak us completely from the Strix.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow. “Keep going.”

“It means,” Vasil said, his voice firm, “it’s not safe for you to go into town in the morning.”

Caroline scoffed, crossing her arms. “I’m not staying cooped up here all day and the kid deserves some time outside.”

Vasil’s gaze darkened slightly. “I cannot protect you both and ensure they”—he cocked his head toward Steven and Michael, who were still bound and unconscious on the floor—“behave at the same time. If you go into town, you risk exposing all of us. And for what? A stroll through the market?”

Caroline opened her mouth to argue, but Vasil cut her off. “I need to go into Atlanta in the afternoon to meet up with Valentina. She’ll need help bringing all the ingredients and ensuring the spell is done correctly. You need to stay here, watch over them, and stay put. They’ve agreed to cooperate, but we both know how fleeting that is.”

Caroline’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she changed the subject, her voice quieter. “Is Steven part of the Five?”

“No,” Vasil replied, his tone clipped. “Thankfully. But he’s still hellbent on killing you, and who knows what he’d do to the boy.” Caroline looked down, her body shaking a bit at the thought at anything happening to the boy upstairs.

Vasil’s gaze sharpened and he grabbed her by the arm forcing her to look back up at him, his voice lowering. “I’ve seen many hunters in my life, Caroline. Some of them don’t care about the distinction. He would hurt him or worse if it meant getting to you.”

Caroline’s stomach churned at the thought, her protective instincts flaring. “Fine,” she said reluctantly. “After the spell, we leave for New Orleans?”

“Immediately, I am going to head into town and pick up some groceries,” Vasil confirmed. He stood, brushing off his jacket and picking up his laptop. “Until then, try not to make me snap your neck again, will you? It’s tedious.” He smirked, heading toward the front door.

Caroline glared at his retreating back, her fists clenching again. “Bitch,” she muttered under her breath before turning her attention to the sleeping boy upstairs.

The dim lighting of Rousseau’s bar cast long shadows across the polished wooden surfaces, creating a warm, intimate glow. Marcel Gerard leaned back in his booth, a glass of bourbon cradled in his hand, his gaze scanning the room lazily. Across from him, Klaus Mikaelson sat with the nonchalant air of someone who considered himself the most important person in the room, sipping from a crystal glass filled with red wine.

The tension between the two was subtle but palpable. It was a silent dance of dominance and camaraderie, a reminder that while they might work together when necessary, their mutual trust was, at best, paper-thin.

The quiet hum of the bar was interrupted as Diego approached with purposeful urgency. He leaned down to Marcel and whispered something into Marcel’s ear. Marcel’s relaxed posture stiffened slightly, his brow furrowing in surprise before quickly smoothing out into his usual easygoing demeanor. He nodded once, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Moments later, a group of vampires entered, their footsteps purposeful as they escorted a man between them. He was striking, with short jet-black hair, dark, piercing eyes, light olive skin, and a strong jawline. He moved with an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as though he was already in control of the room.

The vampires pulled out a chair near Marcel’s booth and all but forced him into it. The man, however, didn’t seem fazed. He adjusted his posture, reclining comfortably as though he had chosen the spot himself.

Marcel studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable before he broke into an easy smile. “Who are you,” he began, his tone casual but laced with authority, “and why are you in my city?”

The man’s smirk widened as he leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “My name is Lorenzo St. John,” he said smoothly, his accent carrying a faint English lilt. “But my friends call me Enzo.”

Klaus, who had been quietly observing the exchange, arched a brow, his interest piqued. Marcel, on the other hand, tilted his head slightly, his smile never faltering. “Alright, Enzo,” he said, swirling the bourbon in his glass. “What brings you to New Orleans?”

Enzo’s smirk turned sharper, his gaze flickering briefly to Klaus before returning to Marcel. “I’m here because I want the same thing you do.”

Marcel leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. “And would that be?”

Enzo’s smirk vanished, replaced by a cold, hard expression that made the room feel a few degrees colder. His voice was steady, filled with quiet menace. “Revenge.”

For a moment, silence fell over the room, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Marcel’s smile faded slightly as he leaned back, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Klaus, meanwhile, set his glass down with deliberate care, his lips curving into a sly smile.

“Now this,” Klaus drawled, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade, “is going to be interesting.”

The morning sunlight streamed through the cabin’s windows, casting a warm glow over the rustic interior. The groceries Vasil had picked up the previous night were laid out on the counter, and Caroline busied herself in the kitchen, preparing a breakfast that smelled good enough to lift the tension hanging in the air. She sipped from a blood bag while eating a piece of toast, a strange but necessary combination.

Upstairs, the boy sulked quietly. He had been disappointed earlier when Caroline explained they couldn’t go into town. His shoulders were slumped, his gaze fixed on the floor, but his pout was short-lived. When Caroline introduced him to a stack of board games, his mood shifted. Monopoly, checkers, and a few others were pulled out, and they spent the morning playing and laughing softly—enough to make her momentarily forget the danger they were still in.

Later, Caroline set up Vasil’s laptop in the living room and put on Iron Man. The boy’s wide eyes lit up as the movie began. The modern technology, the vibrant colors, and the thrilling action scenes captivated him, and Caroline smiled as she watched him lean forward, completely engrossed.

“Don’t forget,” she said gently as the movie played, “if you need anything, just come find me.” She paused. “Take the computer with you if you want to watch more. It’s yours for now.”

The boy nodded and gave her a small, grateful smile before carrying the laptop upstairs. Caroline’s heart ached at his quiet gratitude. He deserved more than this—more than running, hiding, and a makeshift family cobbled together out of necessity.

Once the boy was settled, Caroline turned her focus to Steven and Michael. They were still bound and sitting against the wall in the corner of the room. She poured a glass of water and carried it over to them, crouching down and offering it to Steven first.

“We’ll be gone tonight,” she said softly, her voice calm and steady. “After that, you’ll never have to see me or anyone of us again.”

Steven’s piercing glare met hers, his hatred palpable. He said nothing as he leaned forward—then spat in her face.

Caroline froze, the warm spittle dripping down her cheek. Her breath hitched slightly, but she said nothing. She pulled a tissue from the nearby table and wiped her face, her movements slow and measured. Then she sat back in the chair she’d dragged across the room to keep watch, folding her hands in her lap.

“I’m sorry for all of this,” she said quietly, meeting Steven’s venomous gaze with a calm one of her own.

Steven’s lip curled in disgust. “I don’t care that you’re sorry,” he spat. “You’re lucky I’m bound. Otherwise, I’d end you right here.”

Caroline’s jaw tightened, but she kept her voice even. “I know you hate me. I understand why.”

“You don’t understand anything,” Steven snapped, his voice low and filled with loathing. “You’re a monster. An abomination. Your father should’ve staked you the second you turned.”

Caroline flinched inwardly at the mention of her father, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she met his fury with patience. “You’re right about one thing,” she said. “I’ve done terrible things. Things I’ll never be able to make up for. But I didn’t choose this life, Steven. I’m doing my best.”

Steven sneered. “Your best? You’re a parasite, feeding off the living and leaving destruction in your wake. There’s no ‘best’ in what you are.”

Caroline looked away, her hands gripping the armrests of her chair tightly. “You’re entitled to your hatred,” she said finally. “But whether you believe me or not, I’m trying to do the right thing.”

Steven didn’t reply, his gaze burning into her like a brand. Caroline sighed, glancing at Michael, who looked far less composed. He seemed more frightened than angry, his wide eyes darting between her and Steven as though waiting for one of them to snap.

For the rest of the early afternoon, Caroline stayed in her chair, keeping a silent vigil over the two men while the boy watched his movie upstairs. The cabin was quiet except for the noises of the movie from the laptop and the occasional rustle of leaves outside. Time crawled forward, the tension heavy but contained—for now.

The soft chime of a bell echoed through the dimly lit antique shop as Vasil stepped inside, his sharp eyes taking in the eclectic collection of artifacts. Sunlight filtered through the dusty windows, casting a warm glow on the rows of intricately carved furniture, gilded mirrors, and glass cases filled with relics. A faint scent of aged wood and lavender lingered in the air.

From the back of the shop came the sounds of boxes being moved and glass clinking. Valentina’s voice called out, slightly strained, “I’ll be with you in a moment!”

Vasil smiled to himself, his gait casual as he made his way toward the source of the noise. “Ah, Valentina! Sei davvero radiosa oggi,” he called out, his voice laced with playful charm.

Valentina’s voice carried a sharp edge as she replied, “Lasciamo perdere i falsi complimenti, Vasil. Se sei qui per aiutare, ho diverse cose da spostare.”

He chuckled softly, following her voice to a small storage room at the back of the shop. “Di cosa hai bisogno?

“Qui dentro,” she said curtly, not bothering to come out as she waved him closer.

Vasil huffed theatrically, his annoyance barely veiled as he stepped into the room. “Cosa potrebbe mai—” His voice trailed off as he took in the sight before him.

The room was small and dimly lit, its walls lined with shelves filled with jars, trinkets, and old tomes. But what caught Vasil’s attention was the large iron cage in the center of the room. Before he could react, three vampires swarmed him from the shadows, their speed and strength overwhelming. Vasil snarled, his fangs bared as he tried to fight them off, but before he could gain the upper hand, a sharp, searing pain exploded in his head.

He dropped to his knees with a groan, clutching his temples as agony overtook him. His vision blurred, and his strength ebbed away. The last thing he saw before darkness consumed him was a fourth vampire approaching, their hand moving toward his neck.

Snap.

Vasil crumpled to the floor, lifeless. His body lay motionless as silence settled over the room, broken only by the sound of measured footsteps.

A tall woman with golden blonde hair and piercing brown eyes stepped into the room. Her elegant posture and commanding presence made it clear she was in charge. Four more vampires flanked her, their expressions cold and unreadable. She walked up to Vasil’s limp body and nudged him with the toe of her boot. He didn’t move.

The woman turned her attention to Valentina, who was standing near the shelves, her face pale but composed. “Due dei miei uomini resteranno qui per aiutarti a tenerlo al sicuro,” the woman said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Reaching into her coat pocket, the woman pulled out a small glass jar. It was nearly empty, containing only the remnants of an amber-colored, murky substance. She held it out to Valentina.

“È legittimo?” the woman asked, her tone sharp and skeptical.

Valentina hesitated before taking the jar. She hovered her hands over it, her eyes closing briefly as she concentrated. A gasp escaped her lips, and she recoiled slightly, as if shocked by an electric current.

“Sì,” she said breathlessly, her voice trembling with awe and a hint of fear. “Come hai fatto a ottenerlo?”

The woman’s smile was grim, devoid of humor. “Non è affar tuo.” She nodded to the vampires at her back, signaling them to follow her as she turned to leave. “Tienilo al sicuro. Torneremo presto.”

Valentina clutched the jar tightly, her hands trembling as the woman disappeared through the doorway, her footsteps fading into the distance. The two remaining vampires exchanged glances before turning their attention back to Vasil’s prone form.

The room fell silent once more, save for the faint, steady ticking of an antique clock on the wall.

Chapter Text

Vasil's eyes fluttered open, his body stiff and aching as he took in his surroundings. Heavy iron bars surrounded him—he was locked in a cage. Outside, two vampires stood guard, their expressions cold and unyielding. Valentina stood nearby, her face impassive but her eyes watchful. On the table beside her, an empty jar glinted in the dim light, its contents gone. Vasil’s sharp gaze landed on the keys to the cage, hanging from the belt of one of the guards.

Vasil asked sarcastically as he tried to give off an aura of calmness, “Che cos'è quello?”

Valentina turned her head toward him, her lips curling into a faint, almost mocking smile. She seemed unbothered by his question.

Valentina replied nonchalantly, “Veleno di lupo mannaro.”

Vasil’s jaw tightened, his voice dropping to a deadly tone, “Cosa avete fatto?”

One of the guards, irritated by Vasil’s tone, stepped forward with a sneer. “ Stai zitto.”

Vasil tilted his head, a mocking grin spreading across his face despite his predicament. “O cosa?”

The guard, his patience snapped, grabbed a spear leaning against the wall and lunged toward the cage. Vasil moved with blinding speed, dodging the attack and grabbing the spear through the bars. With one swift motion, he twisted it out of the guard’s hands and drove it through his stomach before taking his hand and ripping out the guard’s heart. The vampire’s eyes widened in shock before he crumbled to ground greyed. Valentina’s face twisted with fury as she extended her hand, her voice ringing out in a sharp incantation.

Vasil cried out as searing agony coursed through his body, but he didn’t stop. Gripping the spear tightly, he stumbled forward and thrust it through Valentina’s chest. Her spell faltered as she gasped in shock, her hands clutching at the weapon protruding from her heart. Before she too died.

The remaining guard, frozen in horror, barely had time to react before Vasil turned his attention to her. He hurled the spear with deadly precision, impaling her through the heart. She collapsed to the ground, her body barely reacting to the werewolf venom that reached her heart.

Breathing heavily, Vasil staggered toward the lifeless remains. He crouched beside the guard’s now greyed corpse, shuffling the cage closer until he could grab the keys. Unlocking the door with a sharp twist, he pushed the heavy bars aside and stepped out. His fury simmering, Vasil adjusted his jacket and grabbed the spear once more. Without hesitation, he vamped toward the direction of the cabin, his mind singularly focused on what awaited him there.

The Quarter was alive with its usual bustle, the sound of jazz spilling onto the streets as tourists and locals alike navigated the vibrant maze of shops and bars. The black SUV rolled to a stop outside the Mikaelson townhouse, its presence barely noticed amidst the chaos of the French Quarter.

Inside the car, tension hung heavy in the air. Ava, pale and visibly shaken, sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, the daylight ring Bonnie had crafted glinting faintly in the afternoon sun streaming through the tinted windows. She was silent, her eyes darting toward Leonard, who offered her a reassuring nod. Bonnie glanced at Ava, her expression softening.

"You’re in transition," Bonnie reminded her gently. "You still have a choice, Ava, but you don’t have much time to make it."

Ava swallowed hard and looked away, her silence speaking volumes, the conflict and hurt in her eyes spoke volumes.

The group climbed out of the car, their feet crunching on the gravel path leading to the townhouse’s imposing entrance. Bonnie lingered for a moment, her gaze scanning the familiar streets with a mix of nostalgia and determination. She wasn’t here for a reunion; she was here to find Caroline.

Kol stepped forward, his usual smirk plastered across his face as he muttered, "Well, this is positively homey," earning a glare from Leonard and an amused chuckle from Isaac.

The door swung open before they could knock, and Liz Forbes appeared, her face lighting up with shock and relief when she saw Bonnie.

"Bonnie!" Liz exclaimed, stepping forward to pull her into a tight hug. "You’re alive. You’re well. I’m so glad."

Bonnie hesitated for only a moment before returning the hug, her throat tightening. "I’m here for Caroline," she said simply, pulling back.

Liz nodded, her expression somber. "We’ll find her," she promised.

Behind them, Kol stepped inside, his bravado faltering slightly when Klaus appeared in the hallway. Klaus’s icy gaze softened, and before Kol could quip, Klaus closed the distance and pulled him into a firm embrace.

"Kol," Klaus said, his voice low with emotion.

Kol stiffened in surprise before awkwardly patting Klaus on the back. "Well, this is new. Missed me, did you, brother?"

"Immensely," Klaus admitted, pulling back with a small smile.

Rebekah appeared next, her blonde hair gleaming in the light. She broke into a grin at the sight of Kol and threw her arms around him.

"Welcome back, Kol," she said, squeezing him tightly.

"I’m starting to think you lot actually like me," Kol joked, though his expression betrayed his own emotion.

As the reunion unfolded, Bonnie’s gaze landed on a figure standing at the edge of the room. Her breath hitched, and her hands clenched into fists. "Katherine," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom.

She took a step forward but Liz grabbed her arm and held her back.

"Bonnie, wait!" Liz urged. "She has information on Caroline."

Bonnie froze, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. "You better pray it’s good," she muttered, glaring at Katherine, who smirked faintly but said nothing.

Klaus’s gaze swept over the group, finally settling on Bonnie. His lips curled into a sly grin. "Bonnie Bennett, what an unexpected pleasure. What brings you to my doorstep?"

"I’m here for Caroline," Bonnie said firmly, her voice steady. "That’s it."

Klaus studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. His gaze flicked to Ava, who stood silently beside Leonard, her pale features betraying her inner turmoil. He tilted his head, his curiosity piqued.

"That one’s in transition," Klaus observed casually. "If she doesn’t feed soon, she’ll die."

Ava flinched slightly, but Leonard stepped closer to her, his presence protective.

Bonnie turned her attention back to Klaus, her patience wearing thin. "Do you know anything about Caroline or not?"

Klaus arched a brow, his amusement evident. "Patience, witch. I have a contact arriving within the day who may shed some light on Caroline’s whereabouts. Until then, make yourselves comfortable."

Bonnie’s jaw tightened, but she nodded, stepping back as the group began to settle in. Her eyes drifted to Katherine once more, the fire of her anger still burning brightly. She didn’t trust her—she never would—but if there was a chance that Katherine could help find Caroline, Bonnie would endure.

For now.

The house was small and rotting at the edges—plaster cracked along the walls, the windows covered in thick blackout cloth, and the air dense with sweat, candle smoke, and fear. It had once been a family home in the Seventh Ward, but now it served as a refuge for four Strix vampires and three witches, all crowded in with barely enough space to pace.

Adara stood in the corner, her arms crossed, eyes sharp as she scanned the dimly lit room. A map of New Orleans was pinned to the wall, covered in red X’s and hastily drawn escape routes, most of them already crossed out.

“We need to get out of New Orleans,” she said, her voice cold and clear. “Now.”

One of the witches, a gaunt woman named Lys, shook her head. “And go where? The city is locked down. Every exit is being watched—bridges, ports, even the damn train lines.”

A younger vampire named Theron growled lowly. “We could use cloaking magic. Just long enough to slip past the checkpoints.”

“No,” said another vampire, Dacian, pacing the narrow hallway with anxious energy. “Marcel has magic on lockdown on here. It’s how he controls all the witches here. We try cloaking and we’re dead before the spell completes.”

“We are sitting ducks,” Adara snapped, stepping away from the wall. “Half of us are starving. We’ve drained the humans we brought with us to the last drop. There’s nothing left but to start feeding on each other.”

Silence fell over the room for a moment.

Adara looked toward the door. “Did the high command get our message? About Rebekah and the boy?”

A moment later, the door creaked open, and a dirt-streaked vampire entered, dragging a broken boot behind him. “Message is sent,” he said, out of breath. “But no reply. We don’t know if it got through.”

Dacian let out a bitter laugh. “Of course we don’t. The Strix can’t get us out. It’s too dangerous, and with everyone scattered across the world, we’re on our own.”

Theron slammed a hand against the wall. “What about the operatives we have here? Embedded Strix—there have to be some left.”

“We don’t know who they are,” Lys said sharply. “And the Strix would rather lose us than risk exposing their spies.”

“They’ve already written us off,” Adara muttered, her voice tight.

Another witch, younger, perched on the windowsill with bloodshot eyes, murmured, “You can’t feed. Not safely. The vampires here—Marcel’s vampires—they’ve got deals with the locals. They’ll know the second one of us kills a human. Even blood bank thefts are flagged.”

A long silence followed. The tension was suffocating.

Adara straightened. “Then we make for it.”

Lys stared at her. “When?”

“At sunrise,” Adara said. “Most of Marcel’s army are nightwalkers. They can’t follow us in daylight. It’s the best time for us to do so.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances.

“It’s suicide,” one muttered.

Adara’s eyes burned with quiet fury. “Staying here is suicide. Leaving gives us a chance.”

No one argued with her.

They didn’t have to.

Caroline was feeling physically better, but she knew something was wrong. She felt stronger—she’d had quite a few blood bags that morning, far more than she normally drank—but it still didn’t feel like enough. Something was gnawing at her, like it was siphoning away her very life force. She could feel it. She didn’t know how long it would last, or if it would ever go away—but that was a question for later.

Steven and Michael were sleeping, but she knew she couldn’t let her guard down. Vasil was out with the witch, gathering supplies. She’d made sandwiches and left some orange juice for the kid. She just wanted this nightmare to end.

She was tired.

So tired.

The boy descended the creaky stairs, holding the laptop in his hands. He stopped at the bottom step, his wide eyes darting between Caroline and the computer, which was dark and lifeless.

Caroline turned from her seat, noting his worried expression. “Did it stop working?” she asked, her tone soft but concerned.

The boy nodded silently, clutching the laptop like it was a fragile treasure.

Caroline stood and approached him, crouching slightly to meet his gaze. “Don’t worry. It probably just ran out of charge. I’ll put it on charge in a moment,” she reassured him. “Are you hungry?”

The boy hesitated, then nodded again, his movements tentative.

“There’s a sandwich and some orange juice on the kitchen counter,” Caroline said with a gentle smile, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Help yourself.”

The boy’s lips curved into a faint smile as he moved toward the counter. Caroline watched him for a moment, her heart-warming at the sight of his slight improvement in spirit.

But something outside caught her attention—a flash of movement in the woods beyond the cabin. Her instincts screamed danger. Without thinking, she vamped toward the boy, scooping him up and throwing them both behind the kitchen counter just as a grenade crashed through the window. The explosion roared through the cabin, deafening and blinding, as shrapnel tore through the air.

Arrows followed, piercing through the cabin walls with deadly precision. Another grenade rolled to a stop at Steven and Michael’s feet.

“No!” Caroline screamed, her voice cracking with despair as the grenade detonated, engulfing the hunters in a violent blaze. The sound was deafening, and the heat of the explosion singed her skin. She had no time to grieve as the boy trembled beside her, his face pale with fear.

Caroline turned to him, her voice firm but kind. “You need to hide.” She rushed to a hatch hidden beneath the floorboards and yanked it open, revealing a small cellar. “Go down there and don’t come out until I get you. Take this.” She broke a wooden stake off a shattered chair and handed it to him. “If anyone but me comes down there, use this. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded, his hands trembling as he gripped the stake. He disappeared into the cellar, and Caroline closed the hatch, securing it as best as she could. She turned back to the chaos, grabbing the stakes and guns from the table and strapping on the belt of vervain grenades.

Her ears honed in on the commotion outside—footsteps, voices, all belonging to vampires.

A commanding female voice rang out, sharp and cold. “Bring her to me now.”

Caroline moved with predatory precision toward the back door, hearing the approach of two vampires. As they stepped into the cabin, she lunged, driving a stake into the first vampire’s heart, turning him to a grey corpse instantly. The second vampire barely had time to react before Caroline ripped his heart from his chest, his lifeless body collapsing to the floor.

More vampires swarmed in. Caroline turned, her gun blazing as she shot three of them in rapid succession. Her aim wasn’t perfect, but it gave her enough time to close the distance and rip out their hearts one by one.

Then she felt it—a sharp, searing pain cutting across her back. She stumbled forward, expecting to heal, but the wound burned like fire. Her heart sank as realisation dawned: werewolf venom.

Before she could recover, a vampire drove a stake into her spine. Her body convulsed with pain, and she was dragged outside like a rag doll, tossed at the feet of a woman with golden blonde hair and piercing brown eyes.

The woman crouched beside her, her voice cruel and mocking. “That cut looks bad, doesn’t it, Caroline Forbes? Werewolf venom. I acquired a supply centuries ago, but I never found a good enough use for it until now.” She took a switchblade and sliced Caroline’s cheek. The venom burned like molten lava, and Caroline’s breath hitched.

“I’d say you don’t have long left,” the woman said with a smug smile.

Caroline, her vision swimming, managed to choke out sassily, “Am I supposed to know who you are?”

The woman drove the stake in deeper, drawing an inhale of breath from Caroline. “My name is Luciana Moretti.”

Caroline blinked, her mind struggling to focus. “Still don’t know who you are,” she muttered, scanning her surroundings for an escape route.

Luciana’s expression turned icy. “You killed my brother. My baby brother who I raised and took care of for centuries. He who I sacrificed everything for. You killed him and his clan and left his body to rot.”

Caroline’s eyes widened slightly as the pieces clicked. “Giovanni? Rome?” she rasped. “I remember… Hmmm… You should know he was a pig and deserved to die.”

Luciana’s face twisted with fury and grief raising the stake for a killing blow.

Caroline ignored the agony in her body and dodged at the last second, moving one of Luciana’s soldiers into the path of the stake. The vampire crumbled to the ground greyed as Caroline grabbed his sword nearby sword and lunged at Luciana. Their fight was brutal, Luciana’s skill with a spear outmatching Caroline’s improvised swordplay. But Caroline was no match for the older and more skilled vampire, Luciana disarmed her and drove the spear into Caroline’s leg. Her leg like the other wounds burned and stung, the venom causing her to become dizzy and hallucinate, Caroline thought she saw someone sneak behind Lucinana.

“It’s a shame I can’t spend more time with you,” Luciana taunted, her voice dripping with malice. “But I heard you have a child with you.” Caroline’s heart froze at the mention of the boy, and Luciana’s smirk widened as for the first time she caught a flicker of fear in Caroline’s eyes. “I’ll find him and I promise you that he will die scream—”

A stake suddenly pierced Luciana’s back, just missing her heart. She stumbled forward, her expression shocked before she slowly turned around toward the source of the attack, vampiric features on full display. Caroline seized the moment, ripping out Luciana’s heart with a burst of adrenaline.

As Luciana crumbled to the ground, Caroline looked up to see the boy standing there, trembling. His eyes were wide with fear and panic, but he didn’t look away from her.

“It’s okay kid,” Caroline managed, her voice weak but sincere. She pulled the spear from her leg and limped toward the cabin. The boy stayed close behind, his small frame nearly shaking with fear as he helped to steady her the best he could.

Caroline reached the patio, her strength waning. She collapsed onto the stairs, her vision dimming as the venom took its toll. The boy knelt beside her, his hands hovering uncertainly and he saw the infected wounds.

“You’ll be okay,” Caroline whispered, her voice barely audible. “Vasil will take you to New Orleans and you’ll be safe there.”

And then, the darkness claimed her. 

Back in the bar, Marcel broke the tense silence, his tone laced with skepticism. “Now, why would I want revenge?”

Enzo’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Simple. The Strix have been taking your people for experimentation.”

Marcel straightened, his relaxed demeanor evaporating as his jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward slightly. “Keep talking.”

Enzo placed his hands flat on the table, his voice low but steady. “The Strix have been experimenting on vampires since the 1990s, taking over from an earlier group—the Augustine Society, who started their work back in the 1950s. The difference is, Augustine had no grand vision beyond their sadistic curiosity. The Strix, however, turned their attention to something... larger. Their focus shifted several months ago, and then everything changed.”

From the corner of the room, Diego scoffed. “Dimension? This guy’s clearly insa—”

Marcel raised a hand, silencing Diego with a sharp glance. “Changed how?” he asked, his tone demanding.

Enzo’s smirk faded, replaced by a grim seriousness. “A large spell was performed. Only the highest-ranking members of the Strix were in the know. The witches and guards involved in the ritual? All executed afterward. Whatever this spell was, its significance was enough to reshape their entire organization. From that moment on, the Strix enforced an absolute law: he must not be harmed.”

Marcel’s brow furrowed. “He?”

Enzo nodded, his expression dark. “A boy. Around twelve years old, though it was hard to tell with how malnourished he was. They were extracting his blood and doing god knows what else to him.”

Marcel’s jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around the glass. The other vampires in the room exchanged looks of disgust and unease.

“And where,” Marcel asked, his voice low and dangerous, “do you fit into all this?”

Enzo leaned back slightly, his eyes locking with Marcel’s. “I’ve been a lab rat over one hundred years. Captured by Augustine in 1943, I was their plaything until the 1990s. Then, the Strix took over. Tortured. Tested. Repeatedly killed and revived. I’ve been through it all.”

Marcel raised an eyebrow, his scepticism tinged with intrigue. “And yet, here you are. Alive and free. How’d that happen?”

Enzo’s voice hardened. “A week ago, I was recovering in my cell when a guard dragged a chained, battered and tortured vampire out of what they called The Tombs. This woman—” he paused, his lips curling into a faint smile, “—she killed the guard, took his keys, and freed herself. Then she freed me.”

Marcel tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “Go on.”

“The woman,” Enzo continued, “had been interrogated and held for over six years. She was there because of an escape attempt in the... dimension. She’d tried to leave once before but was betrayed. This time, she had a plan, and she needed my help to execute it. Together, we fabricated a story to convince the Strix of her innocence. It worked. She was initiated into their ranks as a full member and I was given my freedom..”

Klaus, who had been listening in silence, chuckled darkly. “A clever gambit.”

Enzo nodded. “Clever enough to work. Her plan was simple: turn the Strix empire against itself. Set their strongest players at each other’s throats. And it worked. Their precious dimension collapsed, sending everyone—including themselves—back to the real world.”

Marcel’s expression was unreadable as he leaned back in his chair. “And what about the experiments?”

Enzo’s tone turned grim. “Before the collapse, they averaged three deaths a year in their labs. Afterward? Fourty a week. They accelerated their experiments exponentially. Whatever they were looking for, they believed the boy was the key.”

Marcel exhaled sharply, his fingers drumming against the table as he processed Enzo’s words. His expression darkened. “Why is the boy the key?”

Enzo’s gaze remained steady, his voice unwavering. “After her initiation, the woman managed to sneak into the labs. She was determined to answer that very question. What she found were books, upon books, upon books—records filled with names. And one word written over and over again.”

Marcel’s eyes narrowed. “What word?”

“Failure.”

A tense silence fell over the table. Marcel’s jaw tightened, his grip around his glass turning white-knuckled.

Klaus broke the quiet first, his voice low and measured. “Failure of what, exactly?”

Enzo shook his head. “That’s the part we don’t know. But whatever they were trying to perfect, the answer was in the boy. His blood, to be precise. We believe that the serum they were working on was made from him.”

Marcel leaned forward, his suspicion and frustration mounting. “And what is this serum supposed to do?”

Enzo let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening. “We don’t know. But she escaped the labs with a vial of it so she could investigate.”

Klaus’s expression darkened as he exchanged a glance with Marcel, the weight of the information pressing heavily upon them. Marcel finally spoke, his voice sharp. “And where is this vial now?”

Enzo smirked slightly, but there was no humour in it. “She has it.”

A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the faint clink of Klaus setting down his wineglass. Marcel’s gaze burned into Enzo, his voice cold. “What an interesting story. You come in here, claim the Strix are experimenting on my people, and yet I don’t know you. I don’t trust you. I want proof.”

Enzo held his ground, his expression unflinching. “I expected nothing less. My friend and I agreed to meet here in New Orleans. She’ll bring the evidence you need.”

Klaus arched a brow, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “A lot of faith you have in this friend of yours after only knowing them for a week. What’s her name?”

Enzo’s eyes gleamed with a quiet intensity as he replied, his voice steady. “Her name is Caroline Forbes.”

Mystic Falls shimmered beneath the golden haze of summer. The annual town fête was in full swing—children darted between booths, teenagers flirted over cotton candy, and banners flapped lazily in the breeze. Silas stood still in the middle of it all, unnoticed at first, his face open to the world.

His true face.

Not anyone else's.

Him.

He moved like he belonged, dressed in neutral tones, sipping from a paper cup as he observed the quaint, humming town. It had changed. But not enough.

A voice broke the air beside him.

“Hey—what’s going on, man? Where were you?”

Silas glanced lazily to his right. Matt Donovan stood there, phone in hand, eyes narrowing.

Silas didn’t answer immediately. He read. Dug through Matt’s head like a file drawer. Fear. Anxiety. An image looping in his mind—buried alive, clawing upward through dirt and death. Ugh. So dramatic.

“Just taking some time to adjust,” Silas replied, feigning tiredness.

Matt frowned. “Well, everyone’s been looking for you.” He began scrolling through his contacts. “And calling. I can just—”

“Stop what you’re doing.”
Silas didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

Matt froze mid-dial.

Matt’s eyes flicked up, alarm blooming across his face. “Stefan, what are you doing?”

“I’m outing myself as not Stefan, obviously,” Silas said, voice dry. “Don’t be afraid. Sit Down and don’t move.”

The words had weight. Not compulsion—not exactly. But deeper. Older.

Matt’s body obeyed. “What’s happening?” he asked, eyes wide.

Silas tilted his head, amused. “I don’t think we’ve officially met, but you’ve seen my handiwork. Caroline? Slitting her wrists? Over and over and over again? Ring any bells?”

Matt’s breath hitched. “Silas.”

“Indeed,” Silas said with a pleased smirk. “I’m a two-thousand-year-old immortal your friends thought they got rid of.”

Matt stared at him. “Are you… appearing to me as Stefan?”

Silas gave a short laugh. “Yes and no. This is my true face. Stefan’s just… nature’s lazy copy. My doppelgänger. You’re confused—I know. I can feel it. I read minds, Matt. It’s droll, the way yours works when scared.”

Matt’s eyes dropped to the knife on the table between them. “What’s with the knife? Most vampires go for the neck.”

Silas’s expression darkened. “Ugh. Please. I came first. Vampires are nothing more than a disgusting perversion of me. I'm unkillable, I'm immortal and I'm psychic, and to function I need human blood, but don't ever call me a vampire.”

Silas leaned forward and gently pulled Matt’s arm closer. He removed Matt’s wrist from the cup, lifted it with elegant fingers, and raised it to his lips.

“Cheers.”

He drank. Just a little. Just enough.

As he sipped, his eyes glazed slightly, scanning Matt’s surface thoughts and then—disappointment.

He sighed, almost theatrically, and pulled back. With unexpected gentleness, he began wiping the blood from Matt’s arm.

“Sadly, I can see you’re no help to me. You don’t know what I’m looking for—and I’m not about to waste time.”

He snapped the lid back on his drink.

“So here’s what you’re going to remember, Matt: nothing unusual happened today. You haven’t seen me. And—ah, look—someone’s calling you from the Grill.”

Sure enough, a voice rang out in the distance. Matt turned, almost dazed.

“You’ll want to check it out.”

Matt nodded numbly, the fog of Silas’s words already sinking in. He walked off, aimless but obedient.

Silas watched him go, then glanced down at the blood in his cup.

A flicker of thought passed through him. He frowned—remembering something. Something old. Something important. He stood, pocketed the cup, and began to walk. The sun was shining. The fête went on.

And no one noticed the danger in their midst.

Vasil vamped toward the cabin, the acrid smell of smoke and fire hitting him before he even reached the clearing. Part of the cabin was ablaze, flames licking hungrily at the structure. The bodies of the humans, Steven and Michael, lay motionless on the scorched ground, lifeless and bloodied. Vasil’s sharp eyes darted to the front patio, where the sight stopped him cold.

Caroline lay sprawled on the wooden planks, her body riddled with deep gashes that festered from the werewolf venom coursing through her veins. The boy was beside her, tears streaming down his pale, dirt-streaked face as he clutched her hand, his small frame trembling. He shook her gently, his silent cries wrenching the air around them.

Vasil crouched down, his expression grim as he pressed two fingers to her neck, then leaned in closer, putting his ear to her chest. Her heart was still beating, but it was faint—too faint. His jaw tightened.

“She’s going to die,” he muttered under his breath.

Without hesitation, Vasil vamped inside the cabin. Flames and heat bore down on him, but he ignored them, scanning the chaos until he spotted the cooler. Grabbing it, he yanked it open and cursed under his breath. Only one blood bag remained, a precious relic from Atlanta Hospital. Beside it lay the serum—a gamble that might just be their only hope.

Vasil vamped back to the boy, who looked up with wide, tear-filled eyes. Crouching down, Vasil placed a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder, steadying him. “Alright, kid. She’s been dosed with werewolf venom. I’m going to inject her with this serum. I don’t know if it’ll work, but it’s the best chance we’ve got. After I do, I need you to feed her this.” He said as he held up the blood bag, revealing the attached tubing. “Can you do that?”

The boy nodded vigorously, his hands trembling as he reached for the blood bag. Vasil gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before pulling the serum from the cooler. With careful precision, he injected it into Caroline’s heart, watching as the dark red substance with white vapour entered her bloodstream.

Almost immediately, her body convulsed violently, her back arching as glowing white veins appeared beneath her skin. The boy flinched but didn’t look away, clutching the blood bag tightly. Vasil steadied her as best he could, murmuring instructions to the boy.

 “Now. Feed her. Do it now!”

The boy hurriedly placed the tube into Caroline’s mouth, squeezing the blood bag to ensure she drank. At first, nothing happened. Then the glowing veins intensified, spreading down her neck and across her face. Her pupils and irises turned a blinding red, like molten light seeping into her very being.

Caroline let out a bone-chilling scream, her body twisting in agony as the venom fought against the serum coursing through her. The glowing in her veins reached its peak before abruptly fading. Her body fell still, her skin greying as the life drained from her.

Vasil held her down as her body seized one final time. Then… nothing. Her heart stopped. The light in her eyes dimmed and her body greyed from her heart across her body. She was still.

The boy stared, his chest heaving with panic and disbelief. His wide eyes darted to Vasil, silently pleading for an answer—any answer.

Vasil look down and sighed his voice low and sombre, “She’s gone.” He stood, his expression hard as he looked toward the burning cabin, “I’m sorry. We need to go. I’ll get us a car.”

The boy didn’t respond. As Vasil moved away to secure an escape, the boy remained by Caroline’s side, his small hands gripping her lifeless shoulders. Tears streamed down his face as he shook her gently, then harder as a broken sound left his mouth.

“No… no. No…” the boy choked out, his voice hoarse and broken. “Please don’t go… No!”

His sobs filled the air, raw and heart-wrenching, as he clung to her body, shaking her as if sheer will could bring her back. Vasil, though hardened by centuries of loss, paused mid-step at the sound. His expression flickered with something conflicted, but he steeled himself and turned away, leaving the boy to grieve if but for a moment before they had to keep moving.

THE DAY BEFORE

The warm glow of the late afternoon sun filtered through the windows of the blood donation van parked outside Atlanta General Hospital. Inside, Evelyn Anderson worked with the practiced efficiency of someone who had spent decades in the field. Her greying hair was pulled into a neat bun, and her sharp eyes scanned the labels on the freshly donated blood bags. Each motion of her hands was precise as she sorted and cataloged the inventory.

The door creaked open, and Evelyn glanced up to see a familiar face. A young man in a crisp paramedic’s uniform stepped inside, his friendly smile lighting up the small space. He carried two steaming cups of coffee.

“Hello, Mrs. Anderson!” he said, his voice warm and cheerful. “How’s your son? I heard he’s in full recovery.”

Evelyn’s lined face broke into a smile as she set aside the blood bag she’d been labeling. “Please, Tom, I’ve known you since you were a wee little boy. It’s Evelyn to you. And thank you for asking—he’s almost there, just under observation now.” She gestured to the seat across from her. “Please sit. Are you here to donate blood today?”

Tom nodded, handing her one of the coffee cups. “Yes, thank you,” he said, rolling up his sleeve with practiced ease.

Evelyn chuckled softly, pulling out the necessary supplies. “It’s us who should be saying thank you to you,” she said, cleaning his arm with an alcohol swab before inserting the needle expertly. “As always, this will last about eight to ten minutes.”

The minutes passed comfortably as they chatted about life. Tom shared stories from his shifts as a paramedic, while Evelyn talked about her grandchildren’s latest antics. When the donation was complete, she removed the needle and pressed a bandage to his arm.

“You know the drill—no donating blood for another 12 weeks, young man,” she said with a teasing smile. From a nearby tin, she retrieved two cookies and handed them to him. “Get some food in you before heading back out on duty.”

Tom grinned as he grabbed his bag and stuffed one of the cookies into his mouth. “Bye!” he mumbled around the treat, waving as he left.

Evelyn laughed, watching him go, and returned to her computer to input the donation information. She worked steadily for several minutes, the quiet hum of the van’s equipment filling the air.

The door creaked open again.

This time, the presence was different. Evelyn glanced up, and her welcoming smile froze momentarily. The man who entered carried himself with quiet authority. His hair was impeccably styled, and his suit fit him perfectly, as though tailored to accentuate his lean frame. His eyes locked onto Evelyn’s, sharp and piercing, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Are you here to donate blood, young man?” Evelyn asked, recovering quickly and giving him her usual friendly smile.

The man stepped closer, his expression unreadable yet oddly charming. His voice, when he spoke, was smooth and low, the words dripping with an unnerving calm as his eyes dillated.

“I’m here to make a withdrawal, actually.”

Evelyn’s smile faded, her face slackening as her eyes glazed over. His words sank into her mind like hooks. Compulsion. She didn’t even register the shift in her demeanour as her response came, mechanical and obedient.

“Of course. Right this way.”

Without hesitation, Evelyn led him to the refrigerator at the back of the van, where rows of neatly packed blood bags waited. The man followed her, his steps silent and deliberate. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he surveyed the inventory, his dark gaze sharp and predatory.

The soft hum of the machines and the rhythmic beeping of the equipment filled the silence as he began his "withdrawal." His movements were efficient and calculated, leaving nothing behind but the faint chill of his presence and the compelled away memory of his visit.