Here’s a Letter (Don’t Let it Burn)

by bluesun_roses

Summary:

Hope Mikaelson thought she’d lost everyone who believed in her, but a letter from Josie Saltzman, delivered by Lizzie, changes everything.

Notes:

Trying something new. I've been in a Hosie spiral for a month, so it's time to put my thoughts on paper.

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 

 

Walking down the corridors of the Salvatore School had never been easy.

 

At age 9, with red hair and freckles dotting her face, Hope didn’t know how to make friends.

 

At age 15, she was keeping it on the down low and now known as a loner.

 

At age 17, everyone knowing that she’s a Mikaelson and judging her for it.

 

And it wasn’t any easier now since Hope had turned on her humanity, and everyone expected her to save the school once again. Every echo of her footsteps felt like a reminder of the weight she carried. Hope tried to ignore the glances, the whispers—the unspoken plea for her to fix everything.

 

But it was difficult; she was stuck in that endless cycle of pressure.

 

A voice boomed behind her, “Where do you think you’re going?”

 

Of course, when Hope was trying to be alone, someone would stop her. Hope turned around, facing Lizzie.

 

“If I told you that, that would defeat the point because I would like to be alone.” Hope retorted, annoyance slightly slipping into her words.

 

“Fine, but where are you hurrying to? The school’s closing; you’ll leave soon enough.” Lizzie, looking pointedly at Hope, did nothing to alleviate Hope’s growing sense of disappointment that day.

 

“True, but everyone’s looking at me like I can change Alaric’s mind.” Hope explained, eyeing the passing students.

 

Lizzie sighed, twiddling a letter behind her: “You’re not the only one; in fact, I was planning to make a run for it and stay with Josie.”

 

“Why didn’t you run?” Hope questioned.

 

“Believe me, I was just about to pack my bags, but then I got a letter. ” Lizzie answered softly.

 

Lizzie hesitated before handing over the letter, her fingers hovering over it for a beat too long. Her expression softened, a rare vulnerability slipping through the usually guarded, sarcastic Lizzie. “This is from Josie,” she said quietly, as though each word carried a weight she’d only just realized. “You’re… you’re going to want to read this, Hope.”

 

Lizzie’s eyes searched Hope’s face as she let go of the letter. It was a silent, shared understanding—a recognition of how much Josie meant to both of them and an unspoken promise.

 

For Lizzie, everything seemed to click as soon as she read it. Why Josie left, why she never returned, and what she felt, it all made sense in a way that was complicated. Josie cared for Hope immensely. It was seen throughout the years and tested, especially when Hope turned off her humanity.

 

She was the only one who truly believed in Hope, even when Lizzie and Mg had given up. Lizzie always just chalked it up to a plain obsession. But no, it was something more, something deeply rooted as the years passed by.

 

Love.

 

And if Lizzie Saltzman knew anything about her sister, it’s that when Josie loves, she loves with everything she is. Sometimes even more.

 

Lizzie walked closer, a smile slowly growing on her face. “This is my letter, but there is something in it for you.”

 

Hope’s heart skipped a beat as she took the letter, the weight of it strange and familiar all at once. Just holding it sent a pulse through her, as if the paper itself held the imprint of Josie’s essence—something soft, warm, but undeniably powerful.

 

She let her thumb trace the edge of the envelope, a strange ache growing in her chest. How often had she imagined reaching out and hearing from Josie, even if it was only to know she was safe? And now, here it was—proof that Josie still cared, that she hadn’t abandoned Hope, even if she’d left the school.

 

“What does it say?” Hope stared at the letter, her mind filled with unsaid words: regret.

 

Lizzie’s soft smile slowly turned into a teasing smirk as she walked away. “You’ll just have to read it. And by the way don’t let it burn, we all know what happens when Josie tries to send you letters.”

 

Though Hope rolled her eyes, a chuckle bubbled up. A pleasant memory coming up about a little love note. That day seemed like a century ago. Hope stared at the letter until she eventually walked to her room. She fiddled with the paper, scenarios quickly moving in her mind. There was a moment of fear, a flash of what-ifs, questions she wasn’t sure she could handle.

 

What if Josie blamed her for Lizzie’s death and the potential death of Alaric? What if Josie wrote how disappointed she was when she turned her humanity off?

 

What if-

 

But as her fingers tightened around the letter, a calm resolve settled over her. That’s not who Josie was. She wouldn’t have written that stuff in a letter. Especially one that’s Lizzie’s. Hope knew that whatever it was, it couldn’t have been that bad since Lizzie was smiling. Josie hadn’t left her. She’d trusted her enough to send this, to believe in her.

 

Taking a deep breath, she opened the letter and lightly skimmed the parts for Lizzie until she came to her part.

 

Hey Hope,

 

If you’re reading this, then I know you’ve come back to us, back to yourself. And I couldn’t be more proud of you. You did it, you won. I never doubted you because you, Hope Mikaelson… are the very best of us.

 

You’re brave, powerful, and every single good thing that your family is. To tell you the truth, I didn’t just leave the school for myself; I left for you.

 

On my journey, thanks to your Aunt Freya, I had come across a coven of witches with grimoires. They gave me an idea to save you, and luckily, I had all the right tools to help you. That talisman you gave me was a key part of bringing your humanity back. In order to complete the spell, I needed something meaningful to you that was rooted before you turned off your humanity. Once I finished the spell, I sent it to Freya, and she used it on you.

 

But now I need your help. There should be a small present in your room. I know things are difficult so it should come in handy. I left a note with instructions.

 

I’ll see you soon, Hope. Until then, don’t worry about me—I’m safe. I have you to thank for that, for believing in me even when I didn’t. So, for now, breathe and just be. I’m with you in every way that counts.

 

Your Kindred Spirit.

Josette Saltzman

Chapter 2

Notes:

Another chapter for funsies.

Chapter 2

 

Hope didn’t think a simple letter could make her heart weep yet soar. She closed her eyes, letting Josie’s words settle. They wrapped around her heart, easing the ache she hadn’t realized was still there. Of course, Josie was there to help through this. She regretted ever thinking that Josie hated her.

 

Sometimes Hope thought Josie’s loyalty was very kin to a Mikaelsons.

 

It was the kind of loyalty that you would give up anything for, the kind that you would die for. Josie’s loyalty felt almost reckless, boundless—a trait she never associated with anyone but the Mikaelsons, and yet here it was, shining through Josie’s every act.

 

Maybe it was that fierce, unrelenting loyalty that made Josie both enchanting and terrifying. She would do anything for Hope, and that fact alone left her torn between gratitude and guilt.

 

But looking back, Hope was not sure if Josie ever actually came close to dying when she was with her no humanity self.

 

Maybe Hope was choosing to block it. Because she couldn’t ever think of hurting Lizzie.

 

But she did hurt Lizzie.

 

Yet when it came to the other twin, she just couldn’t see it. Which didn’t make sense since Hope cared for Josie and Lizzie equally.

 

Okay maybe not equally, but still very close.

 

Hope could talk to Lizzie about her problems. They could laugh, poke at each other, and their personalities were similar. It’s the type of friendship that she hopes lasts forever.

 

But Josie and Hope connected more easily. Hope often struggled to describe what she and Josie had—it was more than friendship, more than some passing alliance. There was an unspoken understanding between them, something woven into the moments they shared.

 

No matter how far they drifted or what chaos erupted around them, they always seemed to gravitate back toward one another, like they were bound by an invisible thread.

 

She couldn’t explain it, but it was as though Josie could reach into the storm inside her and find calm, pulling out the good parts she’d long forgotten. That connection had saved her countless times, even if Josie never realized it.

 

And it wasn’t just that Josie understood her.

 

There was this steady warmth, a belief in Hope that went deeper than words. With Josie, Hope felt safe—truly safe—in a way she hadn’t with anyone else, not even with the family she held so dear. Josie saw past her walls, past the Mikaelson legacy, to the parts of Hope that even she was afraid to confront.

 

 

It was hard to admit how much she depended on that pull, that quiet certainty that wherever she went, Josie would somehow be there, willing to give a piece of herself for Hope’s sake.

 

Josie was the kind of person who could give everything without expecting anything back, and Hope knew that no matter what happened, she could count on her.

 

In Josie’s presence, it was like she didn’t have to hide. She could be the girl she really was, even with no power and the weight of her family’s legacy gone, and Josie would still look at her like she was worth saving.

 

Hope stood up, scanning her room for the small gift Josie had left her. Her eyes landed on a small box on her nightstand with a letter tucked underneath it. As she read the letter, it revealed Josie’s heartfelt message:

 

I’m giving this back to you because I no longer need it. You gave it to me during a time when I was lost in the shadows, too afraid to speak up for myself while letting everyone walk over me. But you saw me for who I truly was—you heard me. Now it’s time for you to have this. You can keep it for yourself or give it to someone else who needs it, just like you knew I did.

 

All the best,

 

Josie

 

A wave of relief washed over Hope, knowing that Josie had finally stepped out of the shadows and embraced her own light and power.

 

She paused, contemplating what to do with the necklace. Ultimately, she decided that it belonged with someone who needed it right now, someone who could use it to make their quiet things heard.

 

Hope held the small box for a moment, her fingers tracing its edges. The necklace inside wasn’t just a pendant—it was a piece of their story, of Josie’s journey from shadow to strength.

 

The weight of it in her palm was heavier than she’d remembered as if it now held not only memories but the power Josie had found within herself, a power Hope knew she’d need to carry with her as well.

 

She read Josie’s words again, letting them wash over her. She imagined the girl Josie used to be—the one who hid behind others, who kept her voice quiet, who always seemed to shrink away in the presence of her own light.

 

Yet, Hope had always seen Josie differently. She saw the strength Josie didn’t know she had, the kindness and wisdom that lay just beneath the surface. And now, Josie no longer needed the pendant to remind her of those things.

 

After a quiet moment of reflection, Hope slipped the necklace into her pocket, its comforting weight settling against her. She knew just where it needed to go next, and there was no hesitation in her step as she walked down the hall toward Headmaster Alaric Saltzman’s office.

 

When she reached the office, she knocked firmly, then entered, her gaze steady as she looked at him. The room was familiar but now seemed tinged with a sense of finality, and she felt her purpose settle around her like armor.

 

Alaric looked up, startled. “Hope, if you’re here to—”

 

She held up a hand, interrupting him. “I’m not here to change your mind.”

 

She pulled the necklace from her pocket, holding it out. “I wanted to thank you for helping me find my humanity again.”

 

Alaric’s eyes softened, but he shook his head, “I can’t take credit for that. The plan wasn’t mine… it was…”

 

“Josie’s,” Hope finished with a small, knowing smile. “She worked a spell on this pendant and sent it to my family in New Orleans. It’s how I was able to break through. Josie wanted me to pass it on to someone who might need it.”

 

She took a breath, then added, “I think that person could be you.”

 

Alaric looked down at the pendant in her hand as if seeing it for the first time. “Hope, I don’t—”

 

“This isn’t just a gift.” Hope explained, pressing the pendant into his palm.

 

“It’s for when there’s a small voice in your head trying to push through all that fear. Josie believed in me when I was lost. Maybe this can help you listen to the voice that wants to lead, instead of the one that’s afraid.” She finished.

 

Alaric held the pendant, his fingers curling around it. For a moment, there was only silence between them, thick with understanding, gratitude, and a hope that ran deeper than either could express.

 

Hope took a step back, her heart lighter somehow. She didn’t need to stay to see what Alaric would do with the pendant.

 

She had planted the seed, and sometimes, she knew, that was enough.

 

 

Chapter 3

Notes:

Short chapter kinda :)

Chapter 3

 

As Hope exited Alaric’s office, a weight settled on her shoulders—she knew she had a decision to make.

 

Grabbing her father’s ashes, she headed toward the dock, the familiar path grounding her in memories. Once she reached the water’s edge, she gazed across the lake, her father’s ashes cradled in her hands.

 

“This place is special to me,” she began, her voice trembling as she looked out over the shimmering water. “It’s where I come to think, to cry, and even to make out with my dead boyfriend. But don’t worry; he’s dead too. I just don’t know if you think this place is special as well. I’m trying to make the right decision, Dad. But if I scatter you here and the school shuts down, we’ll just be ripped apart again. So please, give me a sign or something.”

 

A gentle breeze stirred the air, and just as Hope felt the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her, a voice broke through the silence. “Sorry to interrupt.” It was Landon.

 

Hope turned to him, “Sorry for sending you on a fool’s errand—no luck.” She had expected nothing after asking Landon to find her father in limbo. But Landon remained silent, his expression thoughtful as he took her hand and led her through the woods.

 

“You’re making me nervous. What’s with all the suspense?” Hope asked, her heart racing.

 

“First things first,” Landon replied, his voice steady yet carrying an edge of excitement. “Your dad found peace. So it means I can’t bring him to you. Then I thought, wait—I’m the ferryman. I’m a miracle, so I can perform miracles! So, we should be able to get you what you really need.”

 

Hope looked at him, curious and slightly apprehensive, as they approached the Old Mill. A few chairs were arranged outside, and a white sheet hung between two trees, swaying gently in the breeze.

 

“I don’t need to see Star Wars again,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

 

“Okay, well, this is something even cooler,” Landon said, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

 

He squeezed Hope’s hand, and a bright light radiated from the white sheet. Suddenly, her memories began to unfold on its surface, images from her past flickering to life.

 

“How are we doing this?” Hope whispered in amazement, her heart pounding.

 

“Keep watching,” Landon urged, a smile brightening his face.

 

Hope watched in wonder as scenes of her and her father filled the sheet—sharing beignets, strolling through gardens, laughing over silly jokes. Each moment brought a bittersweet mix of joy and sorrow, tears welling in her eyes as she saw herself grow older with her father beside her.

 

Then, unexpectedly, Ethan, who had sacrificed himself in the recent battle, appeared, surrounded by a bright light.

 

“Hey, Hope. Greetings from peace. Landon, I think this is what you wanted, so I hope this works. And thank you. You were right; it’s incredible here.”

 

Hope gasped, her heart swelling with bittersweet pride at Ethan’s words.

 

Before she could process his presence, the screen faded to black, only to reemerge with Klaus Mikaelson bathed in radiant light. Hope’s breath caught in her throat.

 

“My dearest Hope, my littlest wolf, my miracle child,” Klaus began, his voice rich with warmth and authority, reverberating like a gentle lullaby through the air.

 

“What a gift it is to be able to leave you one last message, even if it comes at a time when I cannot hold you in my arms. You are a part of me, and I want you to carry my words close to your heart as you navigate the journey ahead.

 

Life, my littlest wolf, is filled with complexities and contradictions. You will undoubtedly make mistakes—that is simply the nature of being a Mikaelson. It’s a legacy steeped in both light and shadow, and you will feel the weight of that legacy as you walk your own path. There will be hardships that challenge you, moments when it feels like the world is closing in around you. Understand this: no one, not even you, will always know how to wield extraordinary power with perfect grace. But remember, strength does not lie in never faltering; it resides in how you rise after every fall.

 

You will find love, Hope—a love that will uplift you and bring joy to your heart. But I must also prepare you for the inevitable ache of loss because such is the bittersweet burden of immortality. To love deeply is to open yourself to pain, but I promise you, it is worth every moment of heartache, every tear shed in longing. For through love, you will discover parts of yourself you never knew existed.

 

Embrace every opportunity, every fleeting moment, for they are precious. You are my peace. In a world so often filled with chaos, let your spirit shine brightly, illuminating the lives of those around you. My darling girl, I may have made many mistakes, but not a single moment spent with you has been in vain. I love you more than words can convey. You are forever my hope, my pride, my everything.

 

As you continue on your journey, know that I will always be watching over you. And should you ever feel lost or alone, just close your eyes and remember that my love surrounds you. It will guide you through the storms and cradle you in moments of quiet. I am with you, Hope, Always and Forever.”

 

As Hope’s heart ached at her father’s words, she felt the warmth of his love surrounding her as if he were there beside her. Tears streamed down her face as she watched Klaus’s image slowly fade from the sheet, leaving behind a glowing memory of his love.

 

Turning to Landon, Hope whispered, “Thank you for this. I didn’t think I’d ever get to hear him again.”

 

Landon gave her a supportive smile, squeezing her hand tighter. “You deserved this, Hope. You’ve been carrying so much. And remember, you’re not alone in this. You have people who love you, even if they’re not here right now.”

 

Hope nodded, feeling a flicker of hope igniting within her. “I know. I really do. It’s just… I want to make them proud.”

 

“You will,” Landon replied softly. “You already are.”

 

With renewed determination, Hope wiped her tears. She felt a sense of clarity wash over her—her father’s love would always guide her, no matter the challenges ahead.

 

 

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

Later, as she returned to the Salvatore School, she felt a renewed sense of purpose. She had given Alaric the pendant, but after hearing her father’s message, she understood that closing the school could never be an option.

 

Reaching Alaric’s office, Hope entered with quiet determination. “You can’t close the school,” she said firmly.

 

Alaric looked up, “Hope…”

 

But she continued, her voice strong and unwavering. “I know things haven’t gone the way you planned, that this school isn’t exactly what you set out to create. Maybe… maybe that original mission fell short. But that doesn’t make it a failure—it just makes it human. The Salvatore School isn’t about perfection; it’s about giving people like us a place to grow, to stumble, and to learn who we are. This place isn’t just a school; it’s a sanctuary. Sure, I might be the only Tribrid, but I’m one of the countless supernaturals out there who just need a place to belong, a place to be understood, and to find a second chance. So maybe the mission statement doesn’t have to be set in stone. Maybe it just needs to grow with us.”

 

She took a breath, her gaze unwavering, a hint of defiance glinting in her eyes. “Okay, I’m done. You can talk now. But I’m not changing my mind.”

 

A slow, amused chuckle escaped Alaric as he shook his head. “Well, that won’t be necessary. I’ve been thinking about the future, too. Listening to a little voice in my head that’s telling me you’re right.”

 

A spark of joy lit Hope’s eyes. “You’re keeping the school open?”

 

“Yes… and no,” he replied with a soft smile.

 

“We’re keeping the school, Hope. But the way we run things, the way we guide and teach—it will have to change. We’ll do it together. And maybe this time, we’ll get it right.”

 

Hope felt a sense of true belonging for the first time in a long while. This place, flawed and imperfect as it was, had become her home. It was a place where she could be herself, where others could see her for more than just her power, and she knew her father would be proud of her fight to protect it.

 

“But it won’t be with me,” Alaric continued, “I have a different path, and I think it’s the right one. But don’t worry, I’m not leaving you guys to fend for yourself. Caroline’s here, and I think she’s the right person for the job.’”

 

As Hope and Alaric made their way down the hall, she felt a swirl of emotions—relief, sadness, and a glimmer of hope. The school meant so much to her, a place where she could truly be herself. And though Alaric’s decision to leave felt like the end of an era, she understood that his path, just like hers, was evolving.

 

When they reached the hall, the students had gathered, a mix of curiosity and concern buzzing through the crowd. As they settled into their seats, Alaric took his place at the podium, his gaze sweeping over the faces he’d watched grow and change over the years.

 

“We meet tonight under happier circumstances,” he began with a soft smile.

 

“The Salvatore School won’t be closing its doors.” The hall erupted in cheers, a wave of relief washing over everyone. Once the noise subsided, Alaric continued, his tone turning serious. “But I will no longer be your headmaster.”

 

A stunned silence followed, broken only by a few whispers.

 

Alaric continued, “This school was founded to protect each of you from a world that may not understand. But now, I believe that the world needs to know you to see who you really are. You deserve to be known and to share your stories. With your permission, it would be my honor to document those stories and write the definitive history of the supernatural beings I’ve come to know and admire.”

 

Alaric paused the weight of his words hanging in the air. “In doing so, when that battle comes, the world will be better prepared, armed with the tales of those we’ve loved and lost.” His voice softened. “Are there any questions?”

 

After a moment, Wade stood, his hand nervously raised. “Uh… yeah. I think we all probably have the same question. Who’s going to be our new headmaster?”

 

Alaric’s expression softened as he looked up toward the top of the stairs. “Don’t worry,” he said with a warm smile. “We’ll be keeping it in the family.”

 

All eyes turned to see Caroline Forbes standing at the top of the staircase, radiant and confident, her smile full of reassurance. She moved down the stairs with grace, a powerful and kind presence.

 

Reaching the podium, she nodded at Alaric, who stepped aside, allowing her to address the crowd.

 

“Hello, everyone,” Caroline began, her voice clear and steady. “Some of you know me, some of you don’t. I’ve been gone for longer than I’d like to admit, but I’m here now and ready to lead this school into a new chapter. I know that each of you has been through a lot, and I’m so sorry for the struggles you’ve faced. But now, it’s time to look forward, to build on our mistakes, and make this place a true home for all supernaturals.”

 

Her gaze swept across the hall, landing briefly on her daughter, Hope, and the rest of the Super Squad. “I hope you’ll accept me as your new headmistress,” she continued. “Together, we can create a place where every one of you feels safe, understood, and ready to embrace who you are.”

 

A wave of applause and cheers filled the hall. Hope felt a surge of pride—Caroline was precisely what the school needed. Students began filtering out the hall one by one, murmuring excitedly about the future.

 

As the hall emptied, Caroline and Alaric made their way over to the Super Squad.

 

Caroline smiled warmly at the group, her eyes twinkling with admiration. “So, this is the famous Super Squad I’ve heard so much about.”

 

Alaric chuckled. “Yep, the very talented, resilient, and slightly stubborn Super Squad.”

 

Caroline looked at each of them, her expression softening. “I just want to thank you all for everything you’ve done—the sacrifices you’ve made to protect this school and each other. It doesn’t go unnoticed, and I’m so grateful.”

 

Lizzie beamed at her mother, pride evident in her eyes. “I’m so happy you’re back, Mom. No offense to Dad, but this school really needs you.”

 

Caroline and Alaric shared a laugh. “It’s okay,” Caroline replied, reaching over to squeeze Lizzie’s hand. “Your dad’s done his best—and I know he’ll still be part of our lives, even if it’s from a distance.”

 

Hope cleared her throat, looking over at Alaric. “When are you leaving?” she asked, her voice a mixture of sadness and acceptance.

 

Alaric smiled at her, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Tomorrow,” he replied quietly.

 

MG’s face fell. “I’m going to miss you, Dr. Saltzman,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. Kaleb and Cleo nodded in agreement, their faces mirroring MG’s sentiment.

 

Alaric placed a reassuring hand on MG’s shoulder. “You’ll all be just fine. You’re in the best hands.”

 

Caroline checked her watch and gave the group a warm smile. “Alright, everyone, it’s late. Head to your rooms, get some dinner and rest. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

 

As they filed out of the hall, Hope lingered for a moment, glancing back at Alaric and Caroline, who stood side by side. The bittersweet weight of the night settled over her, but she felt ready for what lay ahead—this place, this family, this mission was worth every fight. She was prepared to protect it, always and forever.

 

With a quiet breath, Hope decided to take a walk around the school grounds. She let the night’s events wash over her, thinking of everything they had survived, the people they had lost, and her own mistakes.

 

But amidst the sorrow, there was also resolve. She was surrounded by people who cared, and here, she had found a home.

 

With a sigh, she continued her walk, feeling the pull of memories in every corner of the grounds. The library, where she and the Super Squad had strategized, laughed, and learned more about each other. She walked by the old classrooms, the smell of chalk and old books faintly drifting out, and even the lab where countless experiments had turned into lessons, not just about magic but about herself. She passed the training fields, where she’d spent countless hours honing her abilities.

 

And as she passed the front entrance, she spotted Alaric near his car, packing up. Surprised, she approached him. “I thought you were leaving tomorrow,” she said, her voice soft.

 

“That’s why I’m leaving now,” he replied, glancing at her with a gentle smile. “While everyone’s asleep. I’ve had enough goodbyes in my life. If anyone understands that, it’s you.”

 

Her eyes filled with emotion, and she took a small breath before asking, “Are you going to be okay?” There was a vulnerability in her voice as if she needed reassurance just as much as she offered it.

 

Alaric met her gaze, his own expression reflecting the years of memories they shared. “Are you?” he countered, his tone warm but searching.

 

Hope paused, her sadness blending with a flicker of strength. “Yeah… I think so. For the first time in a long time,” she said, her voice barely a whisper as she sniffled.

 

“Good,” Alaric replied, a mixture of sadness and pride in his eyes. “Then maybe… this school wasn’t such a failure after all.”

 

They moved toward each other, and he embraced her tightly. It was a hug they both needed—one that said all the things they didn’t have words for. Despite their arguments and moments of tension, Alaric had become a father figure to her, someone who had been there when she needed him most. She knew she would miss him deeply.

 

“Thank you…” Hope murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “For being the, uh… second-best father a girl could have.”

 

Alaric chuckled, his eyes glistening. “And thank you… for being the third-best daughter.” They shared a small, tearful laugh as they separated, the weight of goodbye filling the quiet night air.

 

As they stepped back, both feeling the weight of the moment, Hope saw the trace of a bittersweet smile on Alaric’s face. His eyes, though tired, held a warmth she recognized—the same look he’d given her after countless battles, after each near-loss.

 

Despite their differences, they’d been through so much together. He’d taught her to believe in herself, to keep fighting even when she felt lost. And now, here he was, passing the torch in his own quiet, humble way.

 

“I’m proud of you, Hope,” he said softly. “You’ve carried so much, even when you shouldn’t have had to. And I know you’ll do amazing things—not just here, but wherever you go.”

 

Hope swallowed back tears, her throat tight. “I won’t let you down,” she promised, her voice barely above a whisper. She wanted to say so much more, but all the words felt too small for what Alaric had meant to her.

 

He nodded as if he understood. “You never could,” he replied gently, and with one last lingering look, he turned toward his car, his footsteps heavy but resolute.

 

Watching him drive off, Hope felt an ache settle in her chest, a familiar pang of yet another goodbye. But this one was different—it was both an ending and a beginning. As the taillights disappeared down the drive, she stood in the silence of the school grounds, letting the cool night air wash over her.

 

Finally, she found herself back at the lake. The moon was high, casting a soft glow over the water, and she felt an overwhelming sense of peace settle over her. She closed her eyes, breathing in the stillness, letting her father’s last words echo in her mind.

 

She whispered softly, “Always and forever,” a promise to her family, to herself, and to the home she’d fought so hard to protect.

 

In that quiet moment, she felt a sense of completion. Yes, she had made mistakes. She had lost people she loved. She had struggled with darkness, pain, and loss. But she was still here, standing strong. And for the first time, she truly believed in the future she could build for herself—and for the others who called this place home.

 

As she turned to head back to the school, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the lake—a reminder of the girl who had started this journey and the woman she was becoming. She was ready for the challenges, for the love, for the unknown.

 

With one last look at the lake, she whispered, “Thank you, Dad. Thank you, Alaric.” And then, with a quiet strength, she turned back toward the school, toward the life that was waiting for her.

 

In the morning, the halls would be filled with laughter and voices, students and teachers carrying on the legacy of the Salvatore School, a place she’d fought to protect—a place where she finally felt she belonged.

 

 

Chapter 5

Notes:

New Chapter :)

Chapter 5

 

The morning sun filtered softly through the windows, casting a pale golden light that reflected off the staff resting on Hope’s dresser. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from it. It was the only weapon that could end her life. She held it carefully, her fingers brushing over the cool surface of the handle, feeling the weight of her choices press against her chest.

 

The weight of the decision felt almost unbearable. She could send it to her family, lock it away somewhere deep, where no one would ever find it. Maybe she could bury it, sink it into the ocean, or even destroy it. There were options—plenty of them. But as she considered each one, none of them felt right.

 

If she were the only one who knew where it was, the risk would always remain. She couldn’t keep that kind of power to herself. If she lost control again, if that darkness ever took over her once more, there would be no one left to stop her.

 

No one to save her from herself.

 

Her mind reeled with the thought of what could happen if the weapon stayed hidden with her, tucked away in some corner, forgotten until it was too late.

 

She knew she couldn’t afford that—she couldn’t be the only one carrying the burden. If she truly wanted to move forward, to be a better version of herself, she needed to relinquish it.

 

She needed to trust someone else with it.

 

And then, like a whisper in her mind, a name surfaced: Josie.

 

The moment the thought crossed her mind, Hope’s grip on the blade loosened. Josie. She was the one. Hope had never trusted anyone more, Josie was the one person who could understand the weight of it, who could keep it safe and know what to do with it if Hope ever slipped again.

 

With that certainty, Hope carefully put the staff in a box. She glanced at it once more before heading for the door, the weight of the package in her hands feeling as heavy as the decision itself.

 

As she made her way to the mailing room, her mind raced. She had no idea when, or even if, she would ever see Josie again, but this felt like the right step.

 

The final step in putting her past behind her.

 

When she entered the room, Wade was behind the counter, sorting through parcels. He looked up when he heard her footsteps, his expression polite but curious.

 

Hope hesitated for a moment before walking up to him, placing the box gently on the counter.

 

Wade raised an eyebrow. “What’s in the box?”

 

“The only weapon that can kill me,” Hope said, her tone flat, almost too casual, as though the weight of her words didn’t quite register to her at the moment.

 

Wade’s eyes widened slightly, and he glanced down at the box, almost as if trying to assess the significance of it. “Right,” he said, swallowing. “Fragile sticker. Sure.”

 

He took a moment, then slowly reached for the box to start processing it.

 

But Hope’s hand shot out, stopping him before he could take it. She exhaled, her shoulders tense, as she let her hand drop back to her side. “Actually,” she said, voice thick with emotion she was trying to bury, “I’m sorry, Wade. I think I need to deliver this myself.”

 

Wade paused, looking up at her with a soft understanding in his eyes. He gave a small shrug and a gentle smile. “No worries. I’d say that’s one package worth being sure of.”

 

Hope managed a faint, appreciative smile in return. “Thanks.”

 

As she left the mailing room and walked back toward her room, her mind started to settle, though her heart still beat uncomfortably in her chest. The weight of the box seemed a little easier to carry now, but it didn’t mean the decision felt any less significant.

 

She knew that giving it to Josie would change everything for her—not just her relationship with the blade, but her relationship with herself. It was an act of trust, but also one of letting go.

 

When she arrived at her room, she set the box down on her bed, her gaze drifting back to the urn on the table—her father’s ashes. It was hard to believe it had come to this.

 

The urn, the knife, the quiet hope for a future without the constant fear of losing control. She couldn’t keep looking back. It was time to let go of more than just the weapon.

 

With a final, determined breath, she grabbed the urn once again and walked out of her room. She had one more goodbye to make.

 

She took the urn, steadying herself as she walked down to the dock, feeling the gentle breeze and watching the early light ripple over the water. She set the urn down and sighed, the ache in her chest blooming. “I really wish you were here,” she murmured.

 

“Talking to me or your dad?” Landon’s voice came softly from behind her.

 

Hope turned, surprised but warmed by his presence. “Both, I guess.”

 

Landon held out a milkshake, Peanut Butter Blast, with whipped cream at the bottom just the way she liked it.

 

A small laugh escaped her, her eyes lighting up as she accepted it. “It’s nice to know some things don’t change,” she said with a smile. “Especially when everything else seems to.”

 

She grew quiet, watching the lake for a moment. “Landon, can I ask… are you happy?”

 

The curly-haired boy looked thoughtful, his face soft but introspective.

 

“Happiness is… a tricky one. It’s an emotion, and where I am, emotions aren’t quite the same. But I know where I belong. Limbo is my home now. All I’ve ever wanted is a home—a place where I’m needed.”

 

Hope held his gaze, nodding. “Just don’t be a stranger, okay?”

 

He gently brushed a stray piece of hair from her face, his hand lingering on her cheek. “Hope Mikaelson,” he whispered, “for as much as we’ve both changed, that’s one thing we could never be.”

 

Her heart clenched as she whispered, “I’ll always love you, Landon.”

 

“And you’ll always know where to find me,” he replied, pulling her into an embrace.

 

They held each other, neither one willing to let go, knowing this was the end of a journey, a love tested and broken yet never truly gone.

 

Hope finally stepped back, her fingers brushing the urn as she prepared for one more farewell. “It’s time for one more goodbye,” she said softly.

 

Landon nodded, knowing the importance of what was next. “You want me to stay?”

 

She smiled, grateful, the warmth in her eyes mirroring the sunrise. “Yes… if you don’t mind.”

 

“Not at all,” he replied gently. “The dead can wait.”

 

Hope chuckled. “Good. Some of them have waited long enough.”

 

Taking a deep breath, she opened the urn and whispered, “Dispara.” The ashes lifted, swirling gently as the breeze carried them out over the lake, casting a shimmering trail in the golden light of dawn.

 

As the last of her father’s ashes scattered, Hope felt a strange peace settle over her. The lake reflected the sun’s warm hues, bathing everything in soft gold, and she knew that despite all the pain, she was moving forward.

 

Turning to Landon, her heart full, Hope whispered a simple “Thank you.”

 

Landon gave her a soft, understanding smile. “Anytime.”

 

It was time to move on. Hope turned back toward the school, her thoughts already shifting to the future. The new students, the new faces, the new lives that would soon fill the hallways of the Salvatore School.

 

There was so much ahead of her, but for the first time in a long while, she felt ready.

 

She walked back to her room, her heart light, and began to change into her uniform.

 

The warm sweater, dark skirt, and boots all seemed to hold a new significance now.

 

As she laced up her boots and pinned the Salvatore crest to her chest, she felt the weight of her transformation—the girl who had once fought against everything was now embracing who she had become.

 

She stood before her mirror, looking at the person reflected back at her, taking a moment to adjust the hem of her skirt. There was no more doubt, no more fear. Just Hope. A new person, standing on the threshold of something important.

 

She reached for the two necklaces she always wore—one from her mother, the other bearing the Mikaelson emblem. They were tangible reminders of her past, of where she had come from, but now they were also symbols of where she was going.

 

As she looked around her room, she took in the pictures, the trinkets, the memories of everything she had lived through. Each item was a chapter of her journey, and now, that journey was leading her toward something new. A new class of students, a new beginning for the school, a new opportunity to help others.

 

Hope took one last glance at her room before walking out, her thoughts buzzing with excitement and anticipation. She walked down the hall to the main foyer, where the Salvatore students who had already been there were gathered.

 

She watched them for a moment—Pedro laughing and playing games with Wade, Lizzie chatting animatedly with MG, Cleo and Kaleb talking quietly, sharing a private moment. Everyone was happy, content. Everything seemed right, at last.

 

Then Caroline entered, her voice cutting through the buzz of excitement. “Alright, everyone, first impressions last a lifetime. And just a gentle reminder that many of you are immortal—so try not to ruin this one. Hope,” she added, turning to the young woman at the door, “Would you do us the honor?”

 

Hope stepped forward, taking a breath before speaking. She looked at the students gathered before her and began, her voice strong yet carrying the weight of everything she had learned.

 

“When we’re young, we’re taught the distinction between a hero and a villain, good and evil, a savior and a lost cause.” Hope paused, her gaze sweeping over the room, making sure each person caught her eye as she spoke.

 

She clasped her hands in front of her, a quiet motion that added weight to her words. “But what I’ve learned is that the only real difference is who’s telling the story.”

 

She straightened, her shoulders squared, the confident stance giving her words extra power. She took a deep breath before continuing, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

 

“My name is Hope Mikaelson. I come from a long line of villains. At least, I used to think so—but I don’t anymore.” She leaned slightly forward, her eyes narrowing with a quiet intensity as if making sure everyone in the room knew the truth of her words.

 

“This school, behind these gates, once protected the secrets of people like me.” She relaxed her posture, letting the moment settle in. The weight of the past, of what she had become, lifted for just a second. Then, she smiled, that familiar fire returning to her eyes. “Now, we’ll use those secrets to protect others. Because we’re heroes.”

 

Her gaze softened as she looked over the students gathered in the foyer, the ones who had already walked this path. She let her eyes linger on a few familiar faces—MG, Cleo, Lizzie, Kaleb—before turning her attention to the doors behind her.

 

With a quick glance over her shoulder, she turned back to the crowd, taking a small step closer to the students. “And today, we’re opening our doors to the next class of supernatural beings, to teach them how to be heroes too.”

 

She placed a hand over her heart, a soft yet deliberate motion that connected her to the words she was about to say next. “This school is special to me, and I’m sure it’s special to you, too. Let’s make this a home for these new students.” Her voice dropped, softening into something more personal as she spoke those words as if she was speaking to the heart of each person present.

 

A round of applause followed, the students cheering, their faces filled with pride and anticipation. Hope felt a rush of emotion flood through her. She could do this.

 

They could do this.

 

Together.

 

“Alright, then,” she said with a smile, the energy in the room palpable. “Let’s open these doors.”

 

She approached the grand entrance, the doors standing tall before her. With a deep breath, she pushed them open, and a golden light spilled into the room, flitting briefly across the floor before enveloping her entirely.

 

Streamers and balloons were suddenly visible, decorating the entrance as a wave of excitement surged from the crowd outside.

 

As Hope stepped out, the chattering around her slowly faded, and she looked out over the crowd with the widest smile on her face.

 

The future was here. And, for the first time ever, she felt at peace with it.

 

“Welcome home,” she said, her voice filled with warmth and promise. The next chapter of her life had begun.

 

 

Chapter 6

Summary:

so... like I don't know how long I want this au to be :\

Chapter 6

 

Hope lingered by the large oak doors of the school, watching the students mill about. Caroline and Lizzie meticulously planned every detail, and for once, Hope felt a surge of gratitude for their efforts.

 

These young supernaturals, many of them scared and alone, were about to find a home.

 

The banners strung above the courtyard read Welcome to the Salvatore School for the Young and Gifted , their pristine lettering a stark contrast to the nervous energy crackling in the air. Hope’s sharp eyes tracked every movement—how the young werewolf boy lingered near the fountain like he wanted to vanish, how the tiny witch clutched her spellbook like it was a lifeline, how the vampire boy leaned against the stone fountain with false confidence masking his nerves.

 

Her heart twisted in a way she didn’t expect. She could relate to them—all of them. And that’s what made it harder to step forward.

 

“Get a grip, Mikaelson,” she muttered under her breath. With a deep breath, she pushed off the stone column and walked toward them, boots crunching against the gravel.

 

Her presence was like a switch. The vampire straightened, the werewolf stiffened, and the witch froze mid-fidget. Hope stopped just short of the group, a faint smile tugging at her lips, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

 

“Hi,” she said, her voice steady but with an edge of warmth she hadn’t intended.

 

“You must be the new recruits. I’m Hope. Welcome to the Salvatore School.”

 

The witch spoke first, her voice small and wavering. “Are you… the headmistress?”

 

Hope let out a short, dry laugh. “Not even close. Just someone who knows what it’s like to feel out of place. What’s your name?”

 

“Amara,” the girl replied, her grip on the book relaxing slightly.

 

“Nice to meet you, Amara,” Hope said with a small smile. “What’s your favorite spell so far?”

 

Amara hesitated, then whispered, “I like fire spells.”

 

“Good choice,” Hope said with a wink. “Remind me to introduce you to Kaleb later. He’ll have a trick or two to show you.”

 

She straightened, turning her attention to the werewolf. “And you?”

 

“Jaxon,” he mumbled, his eyes glued to the ground.

 

“Well, Jaxon,” Hope said, tilting her head, “the woods here are perfect for running off steam. The first full moon’s always rough, but you’ll have a pack watching your back. That’s what we do here.”

 

His shoulders loosened a fraction, though his gaze remained downcast.

 

“And you?” Hope turned to the vampire. “You have a name, or do I just call you the guy trying way too hard to look cool?”

 

The vampire chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Leo.”

 

“Well, Leo, I hope you’re ready to keep up. Vampires here don’t get to sit out during training. Fair warning—I don’t take it easy.”

 

Leo’s cocky facade faltered, but he grinned. “I think I can handle it.”

 

“Good,” Hope said, her tone softening. “Because I don’t go easy on the ones I see potential in.”

 

The group seemed to relax, their nerves replaced with tentative curiosity. Hope felt a pang in her chest—a mix of pride and the bittersweet ache of seeing so much of herself in them.

 

Before she could say more, Lizzie’s voice broke through the air like a crack of lightning. “Hope! My mom’s looking for you. Something about last-minute parent tours.”

 

Hope sighed, standing straighter. She glanced back at the trio. “Find me later if you need anything.” Her tone was casual, but the weight of her words lingered in the air.

 

As she turned to meet Lizzie, the blonde was already approaching; her stride hurried, and her expression was exasperated. “Honestly, Mom’s timing is impeccable. I swear, she has some kind of radar for assigning me the absolute worst jobs.”

 

“Maybe she just knows you’re good at them,” Hope said, though her voice was laced with dry humor.

 

Lizzie shot her a look. “Don’t get sappy with me, Mikaelson. Anyway, you’ve got the parents now. They’re freaking out about dorm safety or something.”

 

Hope followed Lizzie into the Great Hall, where Caroline was already charming a group of parents. As soon as Caroline spotted her, she stepped aside, waving Hope in.

 

“Hope,” she said smoothly, “why don’t you explain how we ensure every student’s safety?”

 

Hope resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but only just. She stepped forward, her shoulders square and her voice calm as she addressed the group. Her answers were direct and thorough, but she didn’t sugarcoat the reality of the school: a sanctuary, yes, but also a place where students learned to navigate the dangers of their abilities.

 

By the end of the conversation, the parents looked reassured, even grateful. Hope didn’t linger on their praise. She excused herself quickly, retreating to her room as the day’s weight settled on her.

 

Sitting on the edge of her bed, she stared at the box on her desk—the staff she hadn’t yet decided what to do with. Her fingers brushed the pendant on the box that Alaric had returned.

 

Hope sighed, standing and crossing to the window. Below, the students were gathered around the courtyard, their laughter and chatter floating up through the cool evening air.

 

For all her awkwardness, her stubbornness, her endless need to control every little thing, this was what she fought for. This was why she stayed. She might not have all the answers yet, but she would never stop trying.

 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The dining hall buzzed with the familiar din of the Super Squad, clustered together at their usual table. Plates clattered, drinks were poured, and laughter erupted in bursts as Kaleb entertained the group with exaggerated stories from his latest misadventure with the new students.

 

Hope sat at the edge of the table, her tray barely touched. Her gaze flitted between the faces of her friends—Lizzie’s expressive scowl, MG’s easygoing smile, and Cleo’s thoughtful nods.

 

“And then, I told the guy, ‘If you think you can out-vamp a vamp, you’re in for a world of—’”

 

“Kaleb, no one cares,” Lizzie interrupted, rolling her eyes but smirking despite herself.

 

“I care!” MG chimed in, earning a playful shove from Lizzie.

 

Hope couldn’t help but smile faintly as she listened, though her silence didn’t go unnoticed. The food in front of her grew cold as her mind churned.

 

“You okay, Hope?” MG asked, leaning closer. His tone was light but laced with concern.

 

“I’m fine,” she replied automatically.

 

MG didn’t push further, but Lizzie wasn’t as subtle. “You’re not fine,” she said, pointing her fork at Hope like an accusation. “You were all smiles and speeches earlier, but now you've been brooding more than usual, which, frankly, is impressive.”

 

“Thanks for the observation,” Hope shot back dryly.

 

“Seriously, though,” Cleo interjected softly. “If something’s on your mind, we’re here.”

 

Hope hesitated, glancing around the table. She appreciated their concern, but this wasn’t something she could share. Not yet.

 

“Let me guess,” Lizzie said, smirking. “It’s about Josie.”

 

Hope’s stomach twisted, and she glared at Lizzie. “It’s not.”

 

“Sure, it’s not,” Lizzie said, rolling her eyes. “You only get this broody when someone Saltzman-shaped is involved.”

 

“Lizzie, enough,” Cleo said, placing a gentle hand on her arm.

 

“Fine,” Lizzie huffed. “But I’m not wrong.”

 

Hope ignored the comment and instead focused on her untouched plate. The conversation moved on, but she could feel the glances in her direction.

 

“Can we talk about something else for a minute?” MG said, attempting to shift the mood. “Like, I don’t know, who’s signing up for the talent show this year?”

 

“You mean the one Lizzie’s already decided she’s going to win?” Kaleb teased.

 

Lizzie flipped her hair. “It’s not my fault I’m talented. But yes, I will be gracing the school with my rendition of Defying Gravity this year. You’re welcome.”

 

“Wait, didn’t you do that 2 or 3 years ago ?” Kaleb asked, frowning.

 

“Consistency is key,” Lizzie replied, completely unapologetic.

 

“What about you, Hope?” Cleo asked, her tone gentle but curious. “Will you perform?”

 

“Yeah, Hope,” Lizzie chimed in with a mischievous grin. “You’ve got that whole tortured artist vibe. Maybe some emo poetry or another song from that horrid musical we had?”

 

“Pass,” Hope said flatly.

 

“Boo,” Lizzie said, but her teasing was lighthearted.

 

As the conversation turned back to performances and Kaleb’s terrible beatboxing attempts, Hope relaxed slightly. Even in the chaos, there was something grounding about the Super Squad. They didn’t always get along perfectly, but they were her family in a way no one else could be.

 

And as much as she hated to admit it, she needed them.

 

After lunch, Caroline caught Hope as she left the hall, her voice gentle but firm. “Walk with me?”

 

Hope sighed, but she nodded, falling into step beside her. They made their way into Alaric’s Office—well, now hers. They sat down, the silence filling the room for a minute.

 

“You’ve been distant lately,” Caroline said, cutting straight to the point. “More than usual.”

 

“Just dealing with stuff,” Hope said, keeping her tone even.

 

Caroline crossed her arms, fixing her with a knowing look. “Stuff, huh? Is it you, Landon?” She looked closely at Hope, “No, it’s about Josie?”

 

Hope froze, her defenses flaring instinctively, “Why would you think that?”

 

“Because you’ve been wearing that pendant like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. And because I know what it’s like to care about someone so much, it scares you.”

 

Hope’s shoulders slumped, and she looked away. “It’s complicated.”

 

“It always is,” Caroline said gently. “But you don’t have to handle everything on your own. You know that, right?”

 

“Do I?” Hope muttered. “Because every time I let someone in, it ends badly. My family, Landon, even Josie—” She stopped, swallowing the lump in her throat.

 

“Josie didn’t give up on you,” Caroline said firmly. “She went to extraordinary lengths to help you, Hope. That’s not someone who’s ready to walk away.”

 

Hope stayed silent for a moment, her jaw tight. Finally, she met Caroline’s gaze. “I need to talk to her. I need answers.”

 

Caroline studied her, then nodded. “Then do it. But do it right. No more pushing people away, no more running. Be honest with her—and with yourself.”

 

Hope took a shaky breath. “I don’t know if she’ll even listen.”

 

“She will,” Caroline said with certainty. “But you have to try.”

 

That night, Hope sat cross-legged on her bed, a circle of lit candles surrounding her. In her lap rested Josie’s pendant, warm against her palm as she traced its edges. The air in her room was tense as she prepared for what came next.

 

Astral projection wasn’t something she often resorted to—it was invasive, risky, and emotionally draining. But this wasn’t a normal circumstance. She needed to see Josie, to find out where they stood, to understand why Josie had reached out after everything.

 

She closed her eyes, her breathing steady as she murmured the incantation. The magic stirred within her, pulling her consciousness away from her body.

 

When she opened her eyes, she was no longer in her room. The surroundings were hazy, shifting like the edges of a dream. And there, in the distance, stood Josie.

 

Her heart clenched at the sight of her—soft and radiant, like a beacon of hope in the void.

 

“Josie,” Hope said, her voice trembling.

 

Josie looked up, her expression unreadable. “Hope?”

 

 

Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Notes:

Well, I'm back guys. Sorry. Finals were kicking my ass, as well as everything else. But I hope you enjoy this chapter, I have more coming.

Chapter 7

 

For a moment, neither moved, the space between them filled with unspoken words. But as Hope took a tentative step forward, she realized this wouldn’t be easy.

 

Hope offered a tentative smile, her hands clasping in front of her as if grounding herself. “Hi, Josie. I… I know this is sudden, but I needed to see you.”

 

Josie closed the book, setting it aside as she stood. “You couldn’t have just sent a text?” she teased gently, though her tone was warm.

 

“I needed to say this face-to-face—or as close as we can get for now,” Hope said, her voice tinged with vulnerability. “We need to talk. Really talk. In person.”

 

Josie tilted her head, studying Hope carefully. “About what?”

 

Hope hesitated, her gaze dropping for a moment. “About everything,” she admitted. “But mostly about this.” Her tone grew more serious. “Josie, there’s something I want to give you. The only weapon on Earth that can kill me.”

 

Josie’s eyes widened. “Hope—”

 

“Let me finish,” Hope interrupted gently but firmly. “I’ve thought about this a lot. I trust you, Josie. You’re the only person I trust enough to keep it safe. You’ve always done everything possible to help me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

 

Josie stepped closer, her brow furrowed with concern. “You don’t have to say that, Hope. I helped you because I care about you. Because I wanted you to find your way back.”

 

“And you did,” Hope said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “You brought me back when I didn’t think anyone could. And I never got to thank you for that. Or to apologize… for everything. For what happened when you were Dark Josie, for the way we fought, for every mistake I’ve made that hurt you.”

 

Josie’s expression softened, her voice barely above a whisper. “Hope…”

 

“I’m sorry,” Hope said, her voice firm despite its crack. “For all of it. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I needed you to know I am sorry. And I’m so grateful for everything you did for me.”

 

Josie took a deep breath, her arms crossing over her chest. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore, Hope. You never did. I want to help you—always. You just need to let me.”

 

Hope met Josie’s gaze, her blue eyes glistening. “I’m trying, Josie. And that’s why I want to come to Belgium. I need to give you this in person, and I need us to have this conversation face-to-face. There’s too much between us to leave things unsaid anymore.”

 

Josie’s lips curved into a small, hopeful smile. “Then come,” she said simply. “I’ll be waiting.”

 

Hope nodded a flicker of relief passing through her. “I’ll see you soon.”

 

As the spell began to pull her back to her physical body, she allowed herself one last look at Josie, standing there with that quiet, steadfast strength Hope had always admired.

 

Hope felt the familiar pull of magic unraveling around her, and in an instant, the library and Josie’s warm gaze disappeared. Her body jolted slightly as her consciousness settled back into her dorm room. The faint scent of burnt sage lingered in the air, a remnant of her spellwork. She opened her eyes slowly, her breath hitching as the realization hit her—Josie wasn’t hostile.

 

Josie had been… kind. Understanding. Even after everything that had happened between them.

 

Hope exhaled deeply, leaning back against her chair. Relief washed over her in waves, but it was tinged with the ever-present weight of what lay ahead. A trip to Belgium. A real conversation. She had made the decision, and now she needed to see it through.

 

She glanced at the clock—it was late, the hands creeping toward midnight. The night outside her window was quiet, the soft hum of cicadas the only sound breaking the silence. Hope stood and walked to her bed, exhaustion beginning to settle in. She slipped under the covers, her mind still racing as she closed her eyes.

 

The dream came swiftly, vivid and unsettling.

 

Hope found herself standing in the middle of the Salvatore courtyard, but it wasn’t as she knew it. The sky above was fractured, shards of light and darkness colliding in unnatural patterns. The air was heavy, crackling with an energy that made her skin prickle.

 

In the distance, Josie and Lizzie stood with their back turned, their figure blurred as though they were fading in and out of existence. Hope tried to call out, but no sound left her lips. A sudden chill raced down her spine as a shadow moved behind them, looming and twisting unnaturally.

 

The shadow whispered her name.

 

“Hope…”

 

The voice was soft yet jagged, a blend of familiarity and menace. She turned sharply, only to see herself standing there—her own face, but twisted into a version she barely recognized. The shadow-Hope smirked, holding the very weapon Hope planned to give Josie.

 

The real Hope’s chest tightened as the shadow lunged towards the Gemini twins. She tried to move, to intervene, but her body felt rooted in place. As the weapon was raised, the world around her shattered like glass.

 

Hope woke with a start, her breathing ragged. Her heart pounded in her chest as she sat up, the dream’s intensity lingering like a physical weight.

 

She pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to shake the feeling of unease that clung to her. Something felt wrong—off. The dream wasn’t just a random amalgamation of her subconscious. It was a warning.

 

The morning passed in a haze of uneasiness. Hope went through the motions, greeting new students and helping them settle in, but her mind kept circling back to the dream. The courtyard. The shadow. The twins.

 

By mid-afternoon, the tension inside her had built to a breaking point. She needed an outlet.

 

Hope made her way to the gym, slipping into the familiar space where she could let go of everything for a while. Wrapping her hands tightly, she set her sights on the weighted punching bag. She threw her first punch with more force than intended, the sound echoing in the empty room.

 

As her fists connected with the bag, her thoughts spilled out like a torrent.

 

Why did that dream feel so real? Why do I feel like something’s coming?

 

She punched harder.

 

Why does it feel like every step forward leads to two steps back? Josie believes in me. Freya believes in me. But do I believe in myself?

 

Her punches slowed, her breaths coming in sharp gasps. She leaned her forehead against the bag, sweat dripping down her temple.

 

“Still fighting yourself, I see.”

 

Hope turned to see Cleo standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, a knowing smile on her face.

 

“I’m just… working off some steam,” Hope muttered, grabbing a towel.

 

Cleo stepped further into the gym, her gaze sweeping over the room before landing back on Hope. “I thought I’d find you here.”

 

Hope shrugged, slinging the towel over her shoulder. “Needed to clear my head. Sparring helps.”

 

Cleo nodded knowingly. “You’ve been carrying a lot lately. I thought maybe you’d talk to someone, but I guess punching things works too.”

 

Hope smirked faintly. “Talking’s never really been my thing.”

 

“Well, maybe it should be,” Cleo countered gently. “You’ve been through so much, Hope. No one expects you to handle it all alone.”

 

For a moment, Hope said nothing, her gaze fixed on the punching bag. “It’s not that easy,” she admitted. “Opening up means reliving everything, and I don’t even know where to start.”

 

Cleo studied her, then smiled softly. “Start with the people who care about you. You might be surprised by how much lighter the weight feels when it’s shared.”

 

Hope looked at Cleo, the weight of her words sinking in. “Maybe,” she said quietly.

 

Cleo stepped closer, her tone shifting slightly. “You know, it’s not just about sharing the weight. Sometimes, it’s about recognizing the people who make you vulnerable in ways you don’t expect.”

 

Hope frowned. “What do you mean?”

 

“Blind spots,” Cleo explained. “We all have them—people who make us softer, make us hesitate. It’s not a weakness, but it’s something to be aware of.”

 

Hope tilted her head, considering Cleo’s words. “Are you saying I have blind spots?”

 

Cleo smiled knowingly. “I think you know the answer to that.”

 

Hope crossed her arms, her brows furrowing.

 

“I’m not talking about anyone specific,” Cleo interrupted. “I’m just saying, sometimes the people we care about the most are the ones who can change us—for better or worse. It’s worth thinking about.”

 

Hope’s gaze softened, but she didn’t respond, her mind already turning over Cleo’s words.

 

Cleo lingered for a moment after their conversation, offering Hope a small, encouraging smile before heading toward the gym’s exit. The sound of the door swinging shut echoed in the space, leaving Hope alone once more.

 

She wiped the sweat from her brow with the edge of her towel, staring at the punching bag in front of her. Cleo’s words about blind spots reverberated in her mind. Blind spots. Vulnerabilities. The people who could make her hesitate when she needed to be decisive.

 

Her thoughts drifted to Landon. He had always been her greatest blind spot. How many times had she made decisions that put herself or others at risk just to protect him? How many times had she bent the rules or crossed lines she’d once sworn she wouldn’t cross?

 

Hope exhaled heavily, tossing her towel over her shoulder as she turned away from the bag. “Not anymore,” she muttered under her breath. Landon was gone, and as much as it hurt, she couldn’t let herself be tethered to those memories—or those mistakes—any longer.

 

The walk back to her dorm was quiet, the cool evening air brushing against her skin as she moved across the courtyard. Her muscles ached, but it was a good kind of ache—proof that she was still fighting, still moving forward.

 

By the time she reached her room, her thoughts had settled somewhat. She dropped her gym bag by the door, her eyes landing on the easel in the corner. The painting she’d started earlier was half-finished, the brushstrokes rough but purposeful.

 

She picked up a brush, running it lightly along the canvas. As the colors bled together, she found herself thinking about all the promises she’d made—to herself, to her family, and to everyone who still believed in her.

 

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

 

“Come in,” she called, expecting Cleo again.

 

Instead, MG stepped inside, his familiar grin lighting up the room. “Hey, Hope. Got a minute?”

 

“MG,” she greeted, gesturing toward the couch. “What’s up?”

 

He flopped down, stretching his arms across the back of the couch. “Just checking in. I figured with everything going on, you might need a friendly face.”

 

Hope arched a brow. “You’re not here to complain about Lizzie?”

 

MG chuckled. “No complaints today. She’s actually doing pretty well. Adjusting to her heretic thing better than I thought she would.”

 

“That’s good to hear,” Hope said, leaning against the edge of her desk. “Lizzie’s tougher than she gives herself credit for.”

 

“Yeah,” MG agreed, his tone softening. “But I think she misses Josie. We all do.”

 

Hope looked down at her hands, the mention of Josie stirring something in her chest. “Yeah. Me too.”

 

MG studied her for a moment. “How are you holding up? With everything—Landon, transitioning, Josie…”

 

Hope sighed, crossing her arms. “It’s a lot. Some days it feels like too much. But I’m figuring it out. Slowly.”

 

MG nodded. “I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you, but you’ve always been the strongest person I know.”

 

Hope let out a small, humorless laugh. “Strength isn’t always enough, MG. Sometimes, it just makes you more stubborn.”

 

“That’s not a bad thing,” MG pointed out. “It’s what makes you you.”

 

They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment before MG spoke again. “I was thinking about Landon the other day. How he used to be the one I could geek out to. I miss that.”

 

“I miss him too,” Hope admitted, her voice quieter.

 

MG hesitated, then asked, “Do you think about him a lot?”

 

Hope looked at him, her expression thoughtful. “I do. But it’s… different now. Losing Landon changed me, MG. It made me realize how much I was holding onto things I couldn’t control. I think I’m still learning how to let go.”

 

MG nodded slowly. “That’s hard, but it’s also brave.”

 

They lapsed into another silence, the weight of their shared losses hanging in the air. Finally, MG leaned forward. “Do you think Josie’s doing okay? I mean, really okay?”

 

Hope’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I think she’s trying. She’s always been good at putting others first, even when it costs her.”

 

“Sounds familiar,” MG said pointedly, giving her a meaningful look.

 

Hope rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Yeah, well, maybe we’re more alike than I realized.”

 

MG stood, his grin returning. “For what it’s worth, I think Josie will be happy to see you when you get to Belgium. And so will Lizzie when you come back with good news.”

 

Hope shook her head, her smile lingering. “Thanks, MG.”

 

“Anytime,” he said, heading for the door. “You’ve got this, Hope.”

 

As he walked toward the door, he turned back one last time. “And hey, don’t forget—you’ve got all of us here if you need anything.”

 

“I won’t,” Hope promised, her voice quieter.

 

Once the door clicked shut behind him, Hope sat back on her stool, staring at the unfinished painting in front of her. The vibrant strokes of blue and green seemed frozen, stuck in limbo like her thoughts. She picked up her brush, twirling it between her fingers, but couldn’t bring herself to add another stroke.

 

MG’s words lingered in her mind, along with the weight of everything unsaid. The pieces were all there—her need to face Josie, her longing to feel connected again, and the nagging realization that she couldn’t move forward without addressing her past.

 

Setting the brush down with a soft sigh, Hope reached for her phone on the table. Her thumb hovered over Freya’s contact for a moment before she pressed the call button.

 

The phone rang twice before Freya’s warm, familiar voice came through. “Hope! It’s been a while.”

 

“Yeah,” Hope replied, leaning back against her chair. “It has. I guess I’ve been… keeping myself busy.”

 

“Keeping yourself busy or avoiding something?” Freya asked lightly, though there was an unmistakable note of concern in her tone.

 

Hope couldn’t help but smile faintly. “Maybe a little of both.”

 

“Well, I’m glad you called. What’s on your mind?”

 

Hope hesitated, gathering her thoughts. “I’m planning a trip. To Belgium. To see Josie.”

 

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a soft hum of understanding. “That’s a big step. How are you feeling about it?”

 

“Nervous,” Hope admitted. “But I think it’s something I need to do. There’s too much between us that I can’t leave unresolved.”

 

Freya’s voice softened. “That’s brave, Hope. It takes a lot to confront those things.”

 

“I’m trying,” Hope said, her voice steadying. “But before I go, I want to stop by New Orleans. I need to see you. To see everyone.”

 

Freya’s response was immediate. “You know you’re always welcome here. The family will be thrilled to see you, and I will be too.”

 

Hope felt a small wave of relief wash over her. “Thanks, Freya. I just… I feel like I need to ground myself before I take this next step.”

 

Freya chuckled softly. “You’re a Mikaelson, Hope. No matter where you go, you’ll always carry a part of us with you. But sometimes, a reminder doesn’t hurt.”

 

A smile tugged at Hope’s lips. “I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.”

 

“I’ll be here,” Freya promised.

 

As the call ended, Hope set her phone down and exhaled, her mind already beginning to plan the trip. It wasn’t just about Belgium or New Orleans; it was about piecing herself back together, one step at a time.

 

 

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 

Hope woke to the soft rays of the morning sun filtering through the window, catching the small dust particles in the air. She blinked, rubbing her eyes and slowly sitting up in her bed. A deep breath escaped her lips as she stretched, mentally preparing herself for the day ahead. The weight of what she was about to do had not quite settled on her, but she could feel it building like a storm on the horizon. She wasn’t just preparing for a trip; she was preparing to make life-changing decisions, to confront emotions she had avoided for too long.

 

The night before, after her conversation with Freya, Hope had made the decision to take control of her life once again. It wasn’t just about Josie—though that trip to Belgium was weighing heavily on her—but also about reclaiming some part of herself, finding her balance after everything that had happened.

 

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Hope grabbed it, squinting at the screen, which showed a message from Freya: “Hope, remember, you don’t have to rush into this. But when you’re ready, we’ll be here.”

 

Hope smiled faintly. She appreciated Freya’s gentle reminders, but the pressure of all the emotions swirling inside her left little room for hesitation. She had to do this, even if it terrified her.

 

Sliding out of bed, she moved to the small desk in the corner of her room where a few notebooks were scattered. She opened one, already having written a list the night before of everything she needed to do: pack, talk to Lizzie and Caroline, call Freya again, and then finally leave. It was overwhelming, and yet, Hope felt more focused than ever. There were tasks to accomplish, and she was determined to get through them.

 

After breakfast, Hope made her way to the Great Room, a large, sunlit space in the school that always felt like a place of quiet contemplation. She had always found comfort in the room’s calm atmosphere, despite the chaos outside. This time, though, as she walked through the tall wooden doors, it was a different kind of peace that enveloped her.

 

She stopped at the entrance, her gaze falling on Cleo, who was kneeling in front of a vase of freshly cut flowers. Cleo was carefully arranging them, her fingers moving with a focused grace. Hope smiled softly, leaning against the doorframe.

 

“Need help with those?” Hope asked, her voice light but filled with sincerity.

 

Cleo looked up, her dark eyes lighting up at the sight of Hope. She wiped her hands on her jeans before standing. “I’d be happy to take the help, but you’ve probably got your hands full with everything else, right?”

 

Hope shrugged. “I’m getting there. I’ve got the packing and the plans to figure out, but I needed a break. This… this is peaceful.”

 

Cleo smiled, crossing her arms. “I get it. Sometimes a small task like this is just what you need to clear your mind.”

 

Hope approached and kneeled beside Cleo, picking up a few stray stems and placing them into the vase. The delicate flowers seemed to represent something fragile in Hope’s life—maybe the very parts of herself she was trying to rebuild.

 

“You know,” Cleo began, her voice softer than usual, “I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately. About everything that’s happened, and what you’re about to do.”

 

Hope paused, glancing up at Cleo. “Yeah? What’s been on your mind?”

 

Cleo leaned against the table. “I think you’re doing the right thing. It’s going to be hard, but… I think you know that. You’ve always had a way of knowing what needs to be done, even if it scares you.”

 

Hope sighed. “I’ve never been good at just… sitting with uncertainty. It’s one of the things that I hate most, feeling like everything is out of control.”

 

“I understand that,” Cleo said quietly, meeting Hope’s gaze. “But you don’t always have to have control, Hope. Sometimes… the people we care about the most can make us blind to things we might need to see. And that can make us vulnerable in ways we don’t expect.”

 

Hope’s heart skipped a beat. “You think… Josie’s a blind spot for me?”

 

“I don’t think it’s about Josie specifically,” Cleo replied gently. “But more about how love and care can cloud judgment, sometimes. It’s not a weakness. It’s just human. And I don’t want you to get lost in your feelings. Make sure you’re seeing everything for what it is, not just for what you want it to be.”

 

Hope chewed on Cleo’s words, the subtle weight of them sinking deeper into her mind.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her voice quieter now, more introspective. “Thanks, Cleo. For everything.”

 

“You don’t have to thank me,” Cleo said, smiling softly. “Just take care of yourself, alright? You’ve done a lot for everyone else—now it’s time to focus on you.”

 

Later that morning, Hope found herself in Caroline’s office, an old, familiar space. It was still the same as it had been when Alaric had run the school—a combination of warmth and professionalism, with shelves of books lining the walls and pictures of the Super Squad scattered across the room. Caroline was sitting behind the desk, her gaze soft but focused as Hope entered.

 

Lizzie, however, was already sitting on the edge of Caroline’s desk, her arms crossed in that way that Hope had come to recognize as both casual and stubborn. Lizzie’s gaze lifted as Hope entered, her usual smirk spreading across her face.

 

“You look like you’ve been up all night,” Caroline said, leaning back in her chair with a concerned look on her face.

 

“I wish I could say I was just busy with school,” Hope muttered, walking over and sitting down. “But yeah, I haven’t exactly been sleeping great.”

 

Caroline folded her arms, her eyes searching Hope’s face. “I get it. You’ve got a lot on your plate right now. So… what’s going on with Josie?”

 

Hope paused for a moment before answering, carefully choosing her words. “I’m going to Belgium to see her. I’ve already told her, but… I’m still kind of processing everything. And I’m wondering if you or Lizzie want me to say anything to her when I go.”

 

Caroline’s expression softened, and she nodded slowly. “Just… tell her we miss her. And remind her that she’s still part of this family, even if she’s far away.”

 

“I’ll do that,” Hope said, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I just want to make things right between us. ”

 

Caroline reached across the desk and gave Hope’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I know you do. And I’m proud of you for taking this step.”

 

Hope’s throat tightened at Caroline’s words, and she nodded, grateful for the support. “Thanks, Caroline.”

 

Caroline smiled warmly getting up from her chair and making her way to hope. “Just be careful with your heart, okay? You’re strong, but you don’t have to do everything on your own. Now I need to step out for a moment but if you need me you know where to find me.”

 

And as the sound of Caroline's heels got further, Hope turned to face Lizzie.

 

“Look who decided to show up to the party,” Lizzie remarked dryly, raising an eyebrow.

 

Hope rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. “I was wondering why you were quiet, but nice to see you too, Lizzie. Anyways, I’ve been busy and just you know… thinking.”

 

Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “About what? Josie? The big trip to Belgium? Or maybe the epic emotional reunion you two are totally going to have?” Her tone was teasing, but there was an edge of vulnerability buried beneath the sarcasm.

 

Hope sighed, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to her. “You think I’m overreacting, don’t you? I mean, I’m heading to Belgium to try and fix everything, but that’s a lot, right? I don’t even know where to start.”

 

Lizzie leaned back, looking thoughtful for a second, before flashing Hope one of her signature grins. “Oh, I don’t know, Hope. Maybe you could start by offering Josie the only weapon that can kill you. That’s a solid starting point, don’t you think?”

 

Hope smirked, but her eyes betrayed the unease that was still simmering beneath the surface. “Yeah, just a little lighthearted trip, huh?”

 

Lizzie’s expression shifted, her playful sarcasm giving way to something more serious.

 

“Look, I get it. You’re scared. And I don’t blame you for that. But Josie’s a lot more complicated than just some tragic love story, you know?” Her eyes softened. “You’re not the only one who’s been hurt by everything that happened.”

 

Hope nodded, a tightness forming in her chest. “I just— I don’t want to make things worse. I don’t know if I’m ready for all this. Or if Josie is. After everything that went down between us, I don’t know if she’ll even want to see me.”

 

Lizzie’s expression remained serious for a beat before her usual sarcasm kicked back in. “Oh, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to see you, Hope. You’re probably the most emotionally intense person I know—like, who wouldn’t want a front-row seat to that?”

 

Hope laughed despite herself. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

 

Lizzie shrugged nonchalantly. “What can I say? I’m nothing if not brutally honest.” Then, her tone softened again, and she looked at Hope with a sincerity that made her heart flutter. “But seriously, you are going to have to take a leap of faith, and I think… I think it’s worth it. You both deserve closure, even if it’s not going to be easy.”

 

Hope swallowed, trying to push down the lump in her throat. Lizzie was right. There was no easy way out of this. No avoiding the difficult conversation. “I’ll do it,” Hope said quietly. “I’ll talk to her, even if it’s terrifying. But I’m not sure how to fix everything. I don’t even know if I can.”

 

Lizzie shot her a look, one that made Hope feel like she was being sized up and weighed, but not judged. “You’ve been through worse than this, Hope. I’ve seen you get knocked down more times than I can count, and you always get back up. Just don’t go in there expecting some picture-perfect moment. It’s not going to happen like that. But it can happen. Maybe you can’t fix everything, but you can at least try.”

 

Hope looked at Lizzie, grateful for the support, even if it came wrapped in sarcasm.

 

“Thanks, Lizzie. I know I’m being a little… all over the place about this, but I’m trying. I’m really trying.”

 

Lizzie’s grin returned, a little softer this time. “I know. You’ve always been that way. Trying too damn hard, even when you should just let go and breathe.”

 

Hope chuckled. “That’s rich, coming from someone who never lets anyone forget how much she tries to control everything.”

 

Lizzie shrugged, unbothered. “I’m honestly just looking out for you, Hope. You’ve been through a lot, but you’re still here, still fighting. So… go fight for Josie. I’ll be here when you get back. And if you mess it up? I’ll totally make fun of you, but only a little.”

 

Hope couldn’t help but smile, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

 

“That’s why you love me,” Lizzie said, her voice full of mock sweetness.

 

Hope chuckled again. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll make sure Josie gets the message from you, too.”

 

Lizzie grinned and waved her hand dismissively. “Just tell her I’m perfectly fine with the idea of you two figuring it out. I’ll survive, promise.”

 

Hope stood up, feeling a little lighter despite the tension still swirling inside of her. “Thanks, Lizzie. Seriously. I know I’ve been… kind of a wreck about all of this.”

 

Lizzie leaned back in her chair, eyes sparkling with that sarcastic gleam Hope knew all too well. “Don’t worry about it. You’re like a walking emotional grenade. I’m used to it.”

 

Hope rolled her eyes but felt a warmth spread through her chest. “I’m going to Belgium. I’m going to do this. And we’re going to figure it out.”

 

Lizzie’s smile softened, and she stood to give Hope a quick hug. “Just… take it one step at a time. And for the love of everything holy, don’t overthink everything. That’s my job.”

 

Hope hugged her back, grateful. “I’ll try. I’ll really try.”

 

As they pulled apart, Lizzie shot Hope a wink. “And remember, if it all goes to hell, I’ll be here for the aftermath.”

 

Hope couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course you will.”

 

“Good luck, Hope,” Lizzie added, her voice serious for once. “You’ve got this.”

 

Hope nodded, her heart a little lighter than it had been when she entered. “Thanks, Lizzie.”

 

As she left the office, she felt the weight of the upcoming journey heavy on her, but Lizzie’s sarcastic warmth was a reminder of just how far they had come together. And maybe that was all she needed to get through this—knowing she wasn’t alone, even in the messiest of times.

 

 

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 

The next morning , Hope packed her belongings into a large duffel bag, carefully wrapping the box containing the weapon she’d decided to give Josie. She paused for a moment, staring at the box and the weight of what it represented. It wasn’t just a weapon— it was a symbol of trust, vulnerability, and the lengths she was willing to go to make amends.

 

By the time she reached the bus station, the Super Squad was waiting for her.

 

“You didn’t think we’d let you leave without saying goodbye , did you ?” MG asked, grinning.

 

Hope rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. “You guys are ridiculous.”

 

Kaleb smirked. “Ridiculous or loyal? You decide.”

 

Hope looked at each of them, her expression softening. “Thanks, guys. For everything.”

 

“Just come back in one piece,” Lizzie said, her voice teasing but sincere.

 

Hope nodded, stepping onto the bus and finding a seat by the window. She waved to her friends as the bus pulled away, their figures growing smaller in the distance.

 

As the scenery blurred past, Hope leaned her head against the window, her mind drifting. She pulled out her phone and called Freya.

 

“Hey,” Freya answered.

 

“I’m on my way,” Hope said.

 

Freya’s voice was warm. “We’ll be ready for you.”

 

Hope hung up and let herself relax, watching the trees and cars pass by. The rhythmic hum of the bus engine faded as Hope’s eyelids grew heavier, the exhaustion from the last few days catching up with her. Her thoughts of Josie, of Belgium, of everything that awaited her on this journey, slowly blurred as the soft vibrations of the bus lulled her into an unsettling slumber.

 

The dream came quickly—like a storm rolling in, dark and sudden.

 

Hope stood alone in the middle of an open, desolate field, the sky above churning with thick, gray clouds. The air was thick with a low hum, a palpable tension that made her skin prickle. She could see nothing but the swirling wind around her, the world suspended in time.

 

And then, through the mist, she saw her.

 

Josie.

 

She was standing at the edge of the field, her figure silhouetted against the dark sky, but there was something wrong. Her body was trembling, and Hope could see her knees buckle as if the very weight of her own existence was too much to bear. Her eyes were wide, filled with something Hope couldn’t quite identify—pain, fear, desperation, all mixed together in an overwhelming storm.

 

“Josie!” Hope shouted, her voice barely a whisper in the wind.

 

Josie didn’t respond. Her face was contorted, her breath shallow, and Hope could see that her hands were pressed to her chest as though she were trying to hold herself together.

 

“Josie, what’s happening?!” Hope called again, but Josie still didn’t answer.

 

And then the world around Hope seemed to shift. The wind picked up, swirling into a vicious gale, and the ground began to crack beneath her feet. From the fissures, shadows emerged—dark, twisting forms that slithered and writhed like serpents, their glowing eyes piercing through the darkness.

 

Hope tried to move, but her body wouldn’t obey. The fear paralyzed her, locking her in place as the shadows closed in around Josie.

 

“Hope!”

 

The voice came from behind her.

 

She turned quickly to see the Super Squad—Lizzie, Kaleb, MG, and Cleo—all standing together, their faces filled with concern and fear. But their presence didn’t ease the terror rising in Hope’s chest. Instead, it made her stomach drop, her heart racing in panic.

 

“What’s happening?” Hope whispered, looking at each of them, but they were already too late.

 

The shadows surged forward, attacking the squad in waves. The first to fall was Lizzie. One of the dark figures lunged at her, wrapping around her legs, dragging her down to the ground. She screamed, her body jerking as the shadows began to engulf her. Hope tried to move, to run to her, but her body was still locked in place.

 

Next was Kaleb. The shadows wrapped around him, constricting like a snake, squeezing until his body went limp. Hope could hear his breath hitch as the darkness tightened, his face twisting in pain.

 

“NO!” Hope screamed, her voice cracking with fear and helplessness.

 

But it wasn’t just them.

 

Hope felt the weight of the dream press in on her, suffocating her. She reached out, desperately trying to break free, but the darkness continued to close in.

 

MG was caught next, falling to the ground as the shadows wrapped around his arms and legs, pulling him into the earth itself .

 

And then there was Cleo. The shadows had their claws in her, and Hope could see her fighting against them, but it was too much. With every passing moment, she grew weaker.

 

Hope couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She could only watch as the people she cared about—her family, her friends—were torn apart by these twisting forces, helpless in the face of something far darker than anything they had ever faced before .

 

And in the center of it all, Josie remained, still standing in the same place, her face contorted in pain. Her body was trembling as though she were being pulled in every direction, but she didn’t move. Her gaze turned to Hope, eyes wide and filled with something beyond despair.

 

“Hope… it’s coming,” Josie’s voice echoed, distorted, like a plea.

 

Before Hope could respond before she could reach her, the ground beneath them began to collapse. The shadows swelled, forming into something larger, something darker than anything Hope had ever seen. A massive figure rose from the ground, its eyes glowing a sickly red. It towered over Hope and Josie, casting an even deeper shadow over everything.

 

Hope tried to scream , to run, but she was frozen in place . The figure reached out with claws like daggers, its grip tightening on Josie’s fragile form.

 

“No!” Hope shouted, the words scraping at her throat.

 

And then, just as quickly as it had all begun, everything stopped. The world around her fell into a deep, suffocating silence, the shadows vanishing into nothingness .

 

Hope’s chest heaved with panicked breaths, her hands shaking as she stood alone in the desolate field.

 

But Josie was gone.

 

The rest of the Super Squad was gone.

 

And the only thing left in the endless dark was the distant sound of Josie’s voice—faint, almost drowned out by the howling wind.

 

“I’m sorry…”

 

Hope awoke with a start, gasping for air. Her heart pounded in her chest and sweat drenched her skin. She was still on the bus, the hum of the engine filling the silence, but the dream clung to her like a heavyweight.

 

It felt real—too real.

 

She rubbed her face, trying to shake off the lingering dread that curled in her gut. The images were still burned in her mind: Josie, in pain. The shadows. The massive, towering figure. It all felt like a warning, but from whom?

 

She looked out the window, the blurred shapes of trees and buildings passing by in a rhythmic blur. The weight in her chest didn’t ease, and her hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the seat.

 

What was coming? And why had Josie been so certain that it was all heading their way?

 

Hope’s mind raced with questions and fears, but no answers came. The unease in her stomach only grew stronger as the bus rolled forward, taking her further from the safety she had known, deeper into the unknown.

 

She rubbed her eyes, trying to clear the fog from her mind, and looked out the window. The dense fog from her dream was gone, replaced by the familiar skyline of New Orleans, the city she’d always known but rarely visited. The bus slowed as it neared the station, the quiet hum of the engine the only sound.

 

Hope felt a wave of relief wash over her, though it was still tinged with unease. The dream left her unsettled, but now that she was here, in the city that had once been home, she could focus. She needed to, because this trip, just like the one to Belgium, was about healing—her own and Josie’s.

 

She reached for her phone, her fingers trembling slightly as she texted Freya.

 

Just got here . Almost at the bus stop.

 

She waited a moment, staring at the screen as she heard the bus rumbling to a stop. Her heart rate, still a little too fast from the dream, began to steady as the doors opened. She grabbed her bag and the larger box containing the weapon—the one thing she could never forget. She felt its weight, a reminder of the delicate balance she was trying to maintain.

 

Hope stepped off the bus and looked around the bustling station. The city’s warmth and humidity hit her like a wave, and she paused for a moment , letting the environment settle in. The familiar clamor of New Orleans was unlike anything she’d heard at the school. It felt more real , more alive, but also a little foreign after everything she’d gone through. Still, it wasn’t enough to distract her from the fact that she had a purpose here. She wasn’t just here for a visit. She had a mission.

 

The station was busy, a blur of travelers and people rushing past. Hope scanned the crowd, searching for the familiar face of her aunt.

 

As Hope moved toward the exit, her phone buzzed in her hand, and she looked down at the message from Freya.

 

I’m here . Just outside the station. Look for me!

 

Hope’s heart skipped a beat, and her eyes darted around the parking lot in front of the station. She took a few steps forward, her gaze scanning the crowd. And then, there she was. Freya stood near the curb, her figure unmistakable in the crowd, and for the first time since she left Mystic Falls, Hope felt a deep sense of calm wash over her.

 

“Hope!” Freya called, her voice cutting through the noise of the station.

 

Hope’s heart lifted, and she quickened her pace toward her aunt. Freya was always steady, always the one to remind Hope that things would be okay, even when it felt like the world was about to break open.

 

Hope didn’t hesitate. She walked straight into Freya’s embrace, feeling the tension in her body melt as the older Mikaelson pulled her into a tight hug. It was a hug full of warmth, safety, and love—everything Hope needed in that moment .

 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Hope whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

 

Freya held her tighter, running a hand down her back soothingly. “I’m always here for you, Hope. I know it hasn’t been easy, but you’ve got your family now.”

 

Hope closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to feel the comfort of her aunt’s presence. For a fleeting second, the unease that had lingered since waking from the dream seemed to fade away. But she knew it wasn’t gone completely.

 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here,” Hope mumbled, pulling back slightly to look at Freya’s face.

 

Freya smiled softly. “You’ve had a lot to figure out. But you’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

 

Hope nodded, feeling an overwhelming mix of emotions— relief, gratitude, and a quiet sadness. But most of all, she felt the warmth of family around her.

 

She glanced back toward the bus, then looked at the bag she was carrying, the box still inside. “I have a lot I need to tell you, Freya. And some things I’m still figuring out.”

 

Freya nodded, her expression understanding. “We’ll talk about it, all of it. But for now, let’s get your things settled. You’re safe here. Let’s get you settled in first.”

 

Hope nodded, feeling a sense of peace she hadn’t realized she needed. She knew that the journey to healing wasn’t over—not by a long shot—but being here with Freya made it feel possible.

 

Together, they walked toward the parking lot, Hope’s bag and box in tow, and the weight of the world felt just a little bit lighter. As they headed toward Freya’s car, the city of New Orleans seemed to stretch out before them—full of possibility, full of family, and maybe, just maybe, full of answers.

 

For now, Hope was willing to take it one step at a time.

 

 

Chapter 10

Notes:

So... i realized i was missing a chapter cause im supposed to have 21 chapter not 20 as I was writing chapter 22 and i found out that i didnt upload this chapter at all. so here ya go.

Chapter 10

 

 

Hope woke to the faint hum of life outside Freya and Keelin’s home. The soft rays of morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. It had been a long time since Hope felt this at peace, even if the weight of her dreams still lingered in the back of her mind. For now, though, she let herself soak in the calmness of being with family.

 

Her bags were stacked neatly in the corner, unpacked but not forgotten. Her mind, however, was anything but neat—it was a chaotic storm of memories, worries, and fleeting moments of clarity. But being here in New Orleans was like finding a beacon in that storm. This place, this family, was home, no matter how far she strayed.

 

The sound of tiny, hurried footsteps broke her thoughts. Moments later, a little whirlwind burst into the room. Nik, Freya and Keelin’s three-year-old son, bounded in, his curly brown hair bouncing with each step. His green eyes lit up when he saw Hope sitting on the bed.

 

“Hope!” Nik shouted, running to her with open arms.

 

Hope barely had time to react before he launched himself at her. She caught him mid-air, laughing as she hugged him tightly. “Hey, little guy! You’re up early.”

 

Nik giggled. “Mama Freya said pancakes! Wanna come?”

 

“Pancakes, huh? Sounds like a bribe to me,” Hope teased, tickling his sides. Nik squealed, wriggling in her arms. She set him down on the floor and ruffled his curls.

 

“Alright, lead the way, pancake king.”

 

Nik took her hand, dragging her out of the room and down the hallway. The house smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, and the sound of Keelin humming reached her ears before they entered the kitchen. Freya was at the counter, flipping pancakes with practiced ease, while Keelin poured orange juice into a tiny cup for Nik. The scene was domestic, warm, and perfect.

 

“Morning,” Hope greeted, sliding into a chair at the table as Nik scrambled onto his booster seat.

 

Freya glanced over her shoulder, a soft smile on her face. “Morning, kiddo. Did Nik wake you up?”

 

“He had help,” Hope replied, smiling at Keelin, who shrugged innocently.

 

“It was all his idea,” Keelin said with a grin, setting Nik’s cup in front of him.

 

Freya joined them at the table, setting down a plate of pancakes. Hope couldn’t help but marvel at how natural they looked in this environment. Freya, who once carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, now looked relaxed, her eyes crinkling with laughter as Nik tried to balance three slices of pancake on his fork. Keelin, ever the calming presence, doted on them both with quiet affection.

 

Later that day, Hope and Freya strolled down the cobblestone streets of the French Quarter; the city seemed to wrap itself around them, buzzing with life. The distant hum of jazz blended with the chatter of tourists and the occasional bark of a street vendor calling out their wares. The scent of spices and pralines hung in the warm air, a comfortingly familiar aroma that tugged at Hope’s heart.

 

Freya stopped at a small shop selling handmade jewelry, her fingers brushing over a delicate silver bracelet. “Keelin would love this,” she mused before turning to Hope.

 

“You should get something too. Treat yourself.”

 

Hope smirked. “I don’t know. I’m not really the jewelry type.”

 

“Lies,” Freya replied, her eyes sparkling with a teasing glint. “But you are definitely the sentimental type. Look at you—carrying around a literal weapon that can kill you just because you think it’s the responsible thing to do.”

 

Hope snorted. “It is the responsible thing to do. Besides, I’ve spent my entire life being a walking target. It’s not like I’m going to stop now.”

 

Freya’s smile softened as she paid for the bracelet. “You’ve been through a lot, Hope. More than most people could handle. I hope you know how strong that makes you.”

 

Hope shrugged, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Strong, sure. Stubborn, definitely. But sometimes, it just feels like I’m barely holding it together. Turning my humanity back on… it hasn’t been easy.”

 

Freya glanced at her as they resumed walking. “That’s not surprising. Flipping it off in the first place was your way of coping, right? Now you’re letting yourself feel everything again.”

 

“Yeah, and it sucks,” Hope admitted, her voice tinged with frustration. “It’s like this floodgate opened, and now I’m drowning in all the things I’ve done, the people I’ve hurt. How do you live with that?”

 

Freya stopped, placing a hand on Hope’s shoulder. “You don’t just live with it—you use it. All those things you’re feeling? The guilt, the regret, even the anger? They’re what make you human. They’re what make you you. And trust me, Hope, the world is better with you in it.”

 

Hope looked away, blinking rapidly to stave off the tears threatening to spill. “Thanks, Aunt Freya,” she said quietly. “I guess I needed to hear that.”

 

They continued walking, the conversation turning lighter as they wandered past street performers and artists displaying their work on wrought-iron fences. Hope stopped to watch a group of dancers performing a high-energy routine, clapping along with the growing crowd.

 

“Remember the last time we were here together?” Freya asked as they moved on. “Your mom’s funeral?”

 

Hope groaned, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, you mean the time I blew up a van full of cultish vampires? Yeah, hard to forget.”

 

Freya chuckled. “That was… dramatic. Even for a Mikaelson.”

 

“I was grieving,” Hope said defensively, though her tone was playful. “And they were trying to crash the funeral. What was I supposed to do? Let them?”

 

Freya laughed, shaking her head. “No, I suppose not. But you could’ve, I don’t know, not left a smoldering crater in the middle of the street?”

 

Hope shrugged. “Eh, details. Besides, it got the job done, didn’t it?”

 

Freya gave her a sideways glance, her smile fading slightly. “Your mom would’ve been proud of how fiercely you defended her memory. But she also would’ve wanted you to let yourself grieve properly.”

 

Hope looked down at her feet, the memory of her mother’s funeral resurfacing in vivid detail. The ache in her chest was sharp, but she pushed it aside, unwilling to let the sadness consume her. “Yeah, well, I’m working on it,” she said softly.

 

Freya nodded, sensing that Hope didn’t want to dwell on the subject. “Speaking of working on things,” she said, changing the topic, “how have you been since turning your humanity back on? Really?”

 

Hope hesitated, then decided to be honest. “It’s been… a lot. There are days when I feel like myself again, like I can actually be happy. But then there are days when the guilt hits me so hard I can barely breathe. And being a tribrid… it just makes everything more complicated.”

 

Freya stopped walking, turning to face Hope fully. “Being a tribrid doesn’t define you, Hope. It’s just a part of who you are. You’re also a Mikaelson, a Marshall, a friend, a fighter. And you’re allowed to be all of those things without carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

 

Hope let out a humorless laugh. “Try telling that to everyone who’s ever put their hopes and expectations on me.”

 

Freya reached out, tilting Hope’s chin so their eyes met. “Listen to me, Hope. You’re not responsible for living up to anyone’s expectations but your own. And if anyone ever tells you otherwise, you send them to me.”

 

Hope smiled, a genuine warmth spreading through her chest. “Thanks, Aunt Freya. You always know what to say.”

 

“That’s what family’s for,” Freya said with a wink.

 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the French Quarter in a warm, golden glow, the two of them stopped by a small café. Hope ordered a beignet and a coffee, savoring the sweetness of the powdered sugar and the bitterness of the drink. It was a simple moment, but one that grounded her in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

 

“Do you ever think about what being a Mikaelson means?” Hope asked, breaking the comfortable silence as they continued down the street.

 

Freya sipped her tea, considering the question. “I think it means different things to different people. For some, it’s a legacy of power and strength. For others, it’s a curse. But for me… it’s family. It’s loyalty. And it’s never giving up, no matter how hard things get.”

 

Hope nodded slowly, her thoughts drifting to her upcoming trip to Belgium. “I guess that’s why I’m doing this. For Josie. For my family. I just… I don’t want to mess it up.”

 

“You won’t,” Freya said firmly. “Because you’re a Mikaelson. And we don’t quit.”

 

As they walked, Freya suddenly paused, snapping her fingers. “I forgot I needed to grab something from Rousseau’s. Do you mind?”

 

“Not at all,” Hope said.

 

When they stepped into the bar, the familiar scent of oak and spices greeted them. Hope lingered by the entrance as Freya made her way to the bar to speak to the bartender. The place hadn’t changed much over the years. It was as though time had frozen within these walls, preserving the memories of her family and their friends.

 

Her gaze drifted to the photos on the wall. There was one of her mother, Hayley, smiling warmly beside her Aunt Freya. Another of her father, Klaus, with her Uncle Elijah and Aunt Rebekah, their expressions a mix of pride and determination. Then there were others—Marcel, Davina, and even Vincent.

 

She stood there, staring at the images for what felt like an eternity. Each one told a story, a piece of her family’s history, their triumphs and their tragedies. She could almost hear their voices, feel their presence.

 

“Hey.” Freya’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She handed Hope a small bag.

 

“Ready to go?”

 

Hope nodded, casting one last look at the photos. “Yeah, let’s go.”

 

As they walked out into the cool evening air, Hope finally spoke. “Aunt Freya… I’ve been having these dreams. They’re… strange. Ominous. Like something bad is coming.”

 

Freya frowned, her steps slowing. “Dreams? What kind of dreams?”

 

Hope hesitated, then explained. “It’s more of a feeling than anything specific. Like something’s watching me, waiting for the right moment to strike.”

 

Freya’s brow furrowed in concern. “Do you think it’s magical?”

 

“I don’t know,” Hope admitted. “But it feels… significant. Like a warning.”

 

Freya considered this, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Dreams can be tricky. Sometimes they’re just your subconscious playing tricks on you. But other times…” She trailed off, her gaze sharpening. “We can look into it if you want. Maybe there’s something more to it.”

 

Hope nodded. “Thank you. I just… I needed to tell someone.”

 

Freya placed a comforting hand on Hope’s shoulder. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together.”

 

 

 

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

 

 

Hope stepped onto the grounds of the academy, her heart pounding against her ribs. The towering spires and ivy-clad walls were imposing, yet beautiful, radiating a different kind of magic than what she had grown up with at the Salvatore School. This place was ancient, steeped in history, and it was now Josie’s home.

 

She sent the text—I’m here—and barely had time to take in the night life scenery before she heard footsteps approaching. She turned, and there Josie was, standing just a few feet away.

 

For a moment, neither of them spoke. It had been so long since they’d been face-to-face, without chaos, without war, without life-altering stakes hanging over their heads. Hope felt something catch in her throat.

 

“Hey,” Josie finally said, her voice softer than Hope remembered.

 

“Hey,” Hope replied, shifting awkwardly. “Surprised to see me?”

 

“A little.” Josie smiled, though it was cautious, unreadable. “But… not in a bad way.”

 

There was a beat of silence before Josie took a step forward. “Do you want to come in?”

 

Hope nodded, following Josie through the entrance. The interior of the school was grand, with high ceilings and glowing chandeliers, a mix of old-world charm and modern academia. Josie led her through the halls, past students who barely spared them a glance. It was a strange contrast to their days at the Salvatore School, where everything had always been an impending battle or catastrophe.

 

“It’s different here,” Hope said, breaking the silence.

 

“Yeah. No supernatural wars. No monsters hiding around every corner,” Josie glanced at her, “It took a while to adjust, honestly.”

 

They walked side by side through the corridors, and Hope couldn’t help but notice how at ease Josie seemed. She wasn’t the same girl who had carried the weight of other people’s expectations at the Salvatore School. There was a quiet confidence about her now, a steadiness that Hope found both reassuring and disorienting.

 

They reached a quiet courtyard, where Josie stopped and leaned against a stone ledge. “So… why are you here, Hope?”

 

Hope exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “I told you I wanted to see you in person. There are things we need to talk about.”

 

Josie nodded slowly, as if bracing herself. “Like what?”

 

“Like why you left. How you’ve been. Everything I missed.” Hope hesitated before adding, “Everything I never said.”

 

Josie’s expression flickered, emotions shifting behind her eyes. “Leaving wasn’t easy, Hope. But it was something I had to do. For myself.”

 

Hope swallowed. “And did it help? Are you… happy here?”

 

Josie looked away for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “I think so. It’s peaceful. I don’t feel like I have to constantly be someone I’m not. I’ve made friends, I’ve been learning…” She trailed off before looking back at Hope. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss parts of my old life.”

 

Hope felt something tighten in her chest. “Josie… I never wanted to push you away. I know I did, and I’m sorry for that. But I want to know what’s been going on with you.”

 

Josie sighed, crossing her arms. “Well… I’ve been adjusting. Finding my place here. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out who I am outside of everything that happened back home.”

 

Hope hesitated. “And Finch?”

 

Josie’s lips pressed together for a moment before she said, “We broke up. It wasn’t anything dramatic. Just… distance, time. We wanted different things.”

 

Hope nodded slowly. She didn’t know how to feel about that—relieved? Guilty for feeling relieved? Josie had moved on, built something for herself here. And yet, there was still this unresolved tension between them, emotions tangled up in old memories and unspoken words.

 

“What about you?” Josie asked, tilting her head. “How have you been… really?”

 

Hope let out a dry laugh. “That’s a loaded question.”

 

Josie gave her a look. “I want the real answer.”

 

Hope hesitated, then sighed. “I don’t know. I’m trying. Trying to be better, to heal. But it’s not easy. There are things I can’t shake.”

 

Josie studied her carefully. “Like what?”

 

Hope looked away, focusing on the cobblestone beneath them. “Like the people we lost. Landon. Ethan. Everyone. It’s always there, this weight. I know you must feel it, too.”

 

Josie was quiet for a long time before she finally nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

 

They stood there in the quiet for a moment, both of them wrapped in their own memories. Then Josie exhaled, pushing herself off the ledge. “Come on. Let me show you more of the school.”

 

They wandered through the corridors, passing students who murmured in different languages. Josie led Hope into a massive library, its shelves stretching up to the ceiling, filled with ancient texts and spellbooks.

 

“This is incredible,” Hope admitted, running her fingers along a book’s spine. “You spend a lot of time here?”

 

Josie smiled. “Yeah. It’s peaceful. Helps me think.”

 

Hope watched her for a moment before they moved on. Josie brought her to the observatory next, where they could see the city lights beyond the academy grounds.

 

“I come here when I need to clear my head,” Josie said. “It reminds me how small we are in the grand scheme of things.”

 

Hope looked up at the stars, feeling an odd sense of calm. “It’s beautiful.”

 

Finally, Josie led Hope to her dorm room. It was cozy, decorated with soft lights and personal touches that made it undeniably Josie’s.

 

Hope hesitated in the doorway. “This is… nice.”

 

Josie sat on the bed, patting the spot beside her. “You don’t have to stand there awkwardly.”

 

Hope sat down, glancing around. “So, this is your life now.”

 

Josie nodded. “Yeah. And for the first time in a long time… I think I like it.”

 

Hope smiled, though there was still something unresolved between them. She knew this conversation was far from over. But at least, for now, they were here, together, and that was enough.

 

Hope leaned back further on Josie’s bed, running her fingers along the fabric of the blanket beneath her. It smelled like lavender and something uniquely Josie. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside the window. Josie sat cross-legged on the opposite side, studying Hope carefully before finally speaking.

 

“So, are you going to tell me why you’re really here?” Josie asked softly.

 

Hope exhaled. “I meant what I said before—I wanted to see you. But there’s more to it than that.”

 

Josie tilted her head. “I figured.”

 

Hope glanced around the room before answering, her gaze landing on the wall opposite Josie’s bed. A collage of photos decorated the space, snapshots of Josie’s life at the Salvatore School. There was one of Josie and MG, both beaming at the camera, another of Josie and Lizzie mid-laugh. Then one of the three of them—Hope, Josie, and Lizzie—arms wrapped around each other like nothing could ever pull them apart. But the one that made Hope’s breath catch was a photo of just the two of them. Josie had her head on Hope’s shoulder, both of them smiling softly at the camera.

 

Hope swallowed hard. “You really miss it, don’t you?”

 

Josie followed her gaze. “I do. But I also know I needed to leave.”

 

Hope hesitated before asking, “And… have you? Moved on?”

 

Josie sighed. “In some ways, yes. I’ve made friends here, people who don’t see me as just ‘Alaric Saltzman’s daughter’ or ‘Lizzie’s twin.’ It’s different. But in other ways…” She trailed off.

 

“In other ways?” Hope pressed.

 

Josie looked down at her hands. “Some things aren’t that easy to let go of.”

 

The air between them felt heavier now, but before Hope could say anything, Josie quickly changed the subject. “What about you? How’s the school? How’s everyone?”

 

Hope leaned back on her palms. “Lizzie is… well, Lizzie. Trying to step up more at the school. MG is doing his best to hold things together. The Super Squad still trains, but things aren’t the same without you. And your mom—she’s doing what she does best, making sure everything runs smoothly. Your dad is… dealing with everything in his way.”

 

Josie nodded, absorbing it all. “I miss them. Even the chaos.”

 

Hope studied her for a moment. “Then maybe you should visit.”

 

Josie gave a small smile but didn’t answer.

 

Silence stretched between them before Hope took a deep breath. “There’s something else I need to talk to you about.”

 

Josie immediately picked up on the shift in Hope’s tone. “What is it?”

 

Hope extended her palm, waving her other hand over it as she whispered, “Reveni ad manus”. In an instant, an ancient-looking staff with intricate carvings appeared in her hand

 

Josie’s eyes widened. “Hope, what is that?”

 

“It’s a weapon. A staff capable of killing me,” Hope said bluntly.

 

Josie’s expression turned to horror. “Why would you—”

 

“Because I trust you,” Hope interrupted. “If something happens, if I ever lose control again… you’re the only person I trust to do the right thing.”

 

Josie stood up abruptly, running a hand through her hair. “Hope, you can’t just put something like this in my hands. You’re asking me to—”

 

“I’m asking you to make the right decision if the time ever comes. That’s all.”

 

Josie turned away, gripping the edge of her desk. “You can’t just drop this on me.”

 

Hope walked up behind her. “I had to tell you. Because if anything ever happens, I don’t want anyone else making the call.”

 

Josie turned to face her, eyes burning with emotion. “You really think I could do it? Kill you?”

 

Hope gave her a small, sad smile. “I think you’d know what was right.”

 

Josie’s heart clenched at the weight of Hope’s words. The trust Hope placed in her—more than just a gesture, more than just an admission—it felt like a thread pulling her in every direction. Josie had always tried to be the one people could rely on, but this? This was something else entirely. A decision with the power to end everything, to end her. Hope’s life in her hands, her fate laid out so painfully clear, it left Josie breathless. And yet, the more she thought about it, the clearer it became.

 

“I don’t know if I could ever do it, Hope,” Josie murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, betraying the uncertainty she fought to keep buried. “But I would make sure I’d do what was right. Because that’s what you need from me, right? The right choice, no matter how hard it is.”

 

Hope reached for Josie’s hand, her touch gentle but firm. “I don’t want anyone else to have to carry that burden. I want you to be the one I can count on.”

 

Josie blinked back the sting in her eyes. “I don’t want to lose you, Hope. You’re not just a friend to me. You’ve been one of the few constants in all this chaos, and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to carry the weight of what you’re asking of me.”

 

Hope squeezed her hand. “I trust you with more than just my life. I trust you with the decision that will keep everyone else safe, too. I know you’ll make it, even if it breaks you.”

 

Josie shook her head, a soft laugh escaping despite the tears welling up in her eyes. “It’s not supposed to be like this. You shouldn’t be asking me this.”

 

Hope stared at her, the vulnerability in her eyes something Josie couldn’t ignore. “But I am. Because when I think of who I can trust, who I can count on, it’s you, Josie. You’ve always been the one who understands me more than anyone else.”

 

And for the first time in a long time, Josie realized just how much weight Hope’s words carried. It wasn’t just about a staff or a decision—it was about the trust and hope between them, a bond that might be stronger than anything else.

 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The city stretched out before them, alive with the hum of traffic, distant laughter, and the occasional burst of music from a street performer. Hope and Josie walked side by side along the sidewalk, their breath visible in the crisp evening air. It had been years since they spent this much uninterrupted time together, and yet, an unshakable tension lingered between them, threading itself through every exchanged glance and unsaid word.

 

Josie led them to a small café nestled between two brick buildings, a place she had stumbled upon not long after she arrived in the city. It was quiet, cozy, and, most importantly, a place that didn’t carry the ghosts of their past.

 

“You’ll like this place,” Josie said, pushing open the door. A soft chime announced their arrival. “They make the best chai latte.”

 

Hope followed her inside, inhaling the rich blend of spices in the air. “Since when do you drink chai lattes?”

 

Josie shrugged. “Since I stopped drinking things just because Lizzie liked them.”

 

Hope didn’t miss the way Josie’s voice softened, almost like she was reminding herself of that fact. There was something different about her now—more grounded, more assured—but there was also a distance, as if part of her had built a wall that Hope wasn’t sure she could break through.

 

They found a table near the window, the glow of streetlights casting a golden hue across Josie’s face as she stirred her drink absentmindedly. Hope leaned back, watching her closely.

 

“You seem different,” Hope finally said. “Stronger.”

 

Josie’s lips twitched upward in a small smile. “I had to be.”

 

Hope waited, but Josie didn’t elaborate. Instead, she changed the subject, steering them toward lighter topics—old memories of the Salvatore School, embarrassing stories about Lizzie, even a few confessions about how Josie had been keeping herself busy. But no matter how many times Hope tried to pull the conversation back to something deeper, Josie evaded her, keeping things at a safe distance.

 

It wasn’t until later, as they walked through the city streets, that Hope began to understand why.

 

They turned a corner and found themselves in a bustling plaza, where a group of young witches had gathered around a street performer. Hope felt the shift in the air before she heard the whispering.

 

“That’s her,” a voice murmured.

 

“The tribrid?” another whispered, a mix of curiosity and apprehension in their tone.

 

Hope forced herself to remain composed, but she felt Josie tense beside her. She had dealt with this reaction before—people who saw her as either a legend or a threat. It was something she had learned to live with.

 

One of the witches, a girl no older than sixteen, stepped forward hesitantly. “You’re Hope Mikaelson,” she said. “The tribrid.”

 

Hope sighed. “Yeah. That’s me.”

 

The girl hesitated, then glanced at her companions before lowering her voice. “Have you felt it?”

 

Hope frowned. “Felt what?”

 

“The darkness,” the girl said. “There’s something in the city. Some of us have been having nightmares—visions. It’s like something is watching us.”

 

Josie exchanged a look with Hope, her posture suddenly alert. “What kind of visions?”

 

“Flashes of something… wrong,” the girl said. “Shadows moving where they shouldn’t be. Whispers in the dark. A feeling that we’re not alone, even when we are.”

 

Hope’s mind flashed back to her own restless nights, the unsettling dreams that clung to her like cobwebs. She had dismissed them as lingering remnants of everything she had been through—but what if they weren’t? What if something was really out there?

 

Before she could ask more, one of the younger witches let out a sharp gasp and crumpled to the ground. Josie was at her side in an instant, pressing a hand against her shoulder.

 

The girl’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy. Her voice came out in a whisper, barely audible. “She’s being watched,” she muttered. “The...Crimson...Seer.”

 

Hope felt a chill run down her spine. She crouched beside Josie, but before she could say anything, the girl’s body went limp. Josie checked her pulse, then let out a slow breath.

 

“She’s unconscious, but she’s stable.”

 

The other witches looked between Hope and Josie, their expressions a mixture of fear and expectation. It was clear they were hoping for guidance, for some reassurance that whatever was haunting them could be stopped.

 

Hope stood, her jaw tightening. “Get her somewhere safe. And if anything else happens, let me know.”

 

One of the witches hesitated. “Why do you care?”

 

Hope met her gaze. “Because if something is coming, I need to know what it is.”

 

As they left the plaza, Josie fell into step beside Hope, her voice quieter than before. “You think this is connected to you, don’t you?”

 

Hope didn’t answer right away. The truth was, she didn’t know. But a part of her—an instinct buried deep—told her that this wasn’t just a coincidence. Whatever was happening, it was personal.

 

That night, back in her hotel room, Hope stood by the window, staring out at the city lights. Her reflection stared back at her in the glass, and for a moment, she barely recognized herself.

 

Josie’s words from earlier echoed in her mind. “You seem different.”

 

She was different. She had spent so long running, fighting, surviving. But now, with the shadows creeping closer, she couldn’t ignore the feeling that something—someone—was coming for her.

 

And this time, she wasn’t sure if she could outrun it alone.

 

 

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

 

The morning sun filtered through the heavy curtains of Hope’s hotel room, casting golden streaks over the neatly made bed. She sat on the edge, rubbing her temples, trying to shake the lingering discomfort of the previous night. The young witch’s cryptic warning still echoed in her mind: The darkness hasn’t forgotten you.

 

Hope huffed out a breath and rolled her shoulders. She didn’t come to Belgium for ghost stories—she came to see Josie, to reconnect, and to hand over the only thing that could truly end her if she ever lost control again. Dwelling on ominous whispers wouldn’t change anything.

 

Throwing off the covers, she forced herself out of bed, showered, and dressed. She had made plans to meet Josie for coffee, and if she let herself sit with her thoughts for too long, she’d start questioning why she was still here in Belgium at all.

 

When she stepped outside, Josie was already waiting for her at a café down the street, a cup of coffee in hand. She looked effortlessly put together like she belonged here. Like she wasn’t just passing through but had planted roots in this place, while Hope remained the outsider.

 

There was a brief flicker of something Hope couldn’t quite name—something warm, something nostalgic, something she didn’t want to look at too closely.

 

Josie smiled as Hope approached. “Took you long enough.”

 

Hope rolled her eyes, sinking into the chair across from her. “Not all of us are morning people.”

 

“You were always grumpy before coffee,” Josie mused, passing Hope the extra cup she had already ordered for her. Hope took it without a word but felt the corners of her lips twitch upward.

 

As she drank her coffee, she couldn’t help but notice how easily Josie fit into this world. The soft European sunlight highlighted the golden undertones in her hair and the way she held herself—relaxed but poised—made it clear she had carved out a place for herself here.

 

“So,” Hope said, settling into her seat. “What’s new with you? How’s the European lifestyle treating you?”

 

Josie took a sip of her coffee before answering. “It’s… different. In a good way. I’ve made some friends at the academy, they’re great. Different from what we had back home, but… good. There's less life-threatening drama, which is a nice change. Also, people who don’t look at me like I’m a ticking time bomb.”

 

Hope’s stomach twisted at that. “Josie—”

 

Josie shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I like it here. I feel—” she hesitated, then continued, “more in control. More like myself.”

 

Hope nodded, watching her carefully. She wanted to believe that Josie was happy, but there was something else there—something unsaid.

 

“And, um,” Josie added, fiddling with her spoon, “I’m kind of… seeing someone. Casually.”

 

Hope felt something tighten in her chest. It wasn’t jealousy. It couldn’t be. She had just lost Landon, and the last thing she was thinking about was relationships. But for some reason, hearing Josie say that sent a flicker of something she couldn’t quite place through her.

 

She forced a smirk. “Oh? What’s their name? Should I be giving them the ‘big bad tribrid’ warning?”

 

Josie chuckled. “No need. It’s not serious.”

 

Hope nodded, but the conversation lingered in the back of her mind. Josie was moving on. She was building a life here, one that had nothing to do with the Salvatore School, the Super Squad, or… Hope.

 

Josie seemed to pick up on the shift and quickly changed the subject.

 

They fell into easy conversation, avoiding the heavier topics from the night before. Instead, they laughed about the absurdity of their high school years at the Salvatore School—Lizzie’s dramatics, MG’s endless optimism, and the ridiculous missions they used to go on with the Super Squad. It was light, effortless like slipping into a familiar rhythm neither of them had realized they missed.

 

“Your mom misses you and of course Lizzie does too,” Hope said.

 

Josie smiled fondly at the mention of her family, but then her eyes drifted past Hope to the streets outside. “It feels like another lifetime ago,” she murmured.

 

Hope followed her gaze, but before the conversation could turn heavier, Josie brightened.

 

“Come on,” she said, standing. “I have the whole day planned, and we’re starting with shopping.”

 

Hope groaned but followed. “You’re cruel.”

 

Josie grinned. “You’ll survive. You’ll love this place, old spell books, enchanted trinkets—it’s got that whole ‘ancient secrets’ vibe you like.”

 

As they wandered through the cobblestone streets, Hope found herself appreciating the way the city hummed around them. The distant sound of street musicians, the rich aroma of freshly baked bread drifting from open-air bakeries, the laughter of tourists as they snapped photos of the historic buildings. Josie led her with easy confidence, weaving through alleyways and side streets like she had lived here forever.

 

Josie led Hope into a bookstore tucked between two narrow buildings. The air inside smelled of aged paper and candle wax, shelves stacked high with both modern literature and ancient grimoires. Josie immediately made a beeline for the spellbooks, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she translated old Latin incantations under her breath.

 

“You’re such a Ravenclaw,” Hope said, smirking as Josie flipped eagerly through a dusty grimoire.

 

Josie rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. “And you’re such a Slytherin. Besides, I happen to think I’m a mix of Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff.”

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Hope chuckled but didn’t argue.

 

There was something undeniably comforting about watching Josie in her element. This was the Josie she remembered—the one who could get lost in the possibilities of magic for hours.

 

As they explored, Hope’s gaze landed on a section filled with old relics. A particular cracked mirror caught her attention. When she reached for it, her reflection seemed to flicker—just for a split second. Her heart skipped a beat.

 

“Hope?”

 

Josie’s voice grounded her, and when she looked again, everything was normal.

 

“Nothing,” Hope murmured. But as they left the shop, she couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that something was watching her.

 

After the bookstore, Josie dragged Hope into a vintage shop, insisting she try on different outfits. The place was filled with vintage clothing, hanging on well-worn racks, each piece a memory of a different time.

 

Josie immediately started picking through the garments, her fingers brushing over the fabrics with a practiced touch. She pulled out a coat and tossed it at Hope. Hope groaned but played along, stepping out of the dressing room in a deep green coat that Josie had practically thrown at her.

 

Josie stared for a moment longer than necessary before shaking her head with a small smile.

 

“That one suits you,” she said.

 

Hope turned to the mirror, catching the way Josie looked at her from the reflection. Something unspoken passed between them before Josie quickly turned away, pretending to admire a set of rings on the counter.

 

“Let’s see what else they’ve got.” Josie’s voice was lighter than it had been, but Hope couldn’t shake that look. Something was different and she didn’t know what to think of it.

 

“Do you think I could pull this off?” Josie asked, already slipping the leather jacket over her shoulders.

 

Hope watched her as she turned to the mirror, assessing the fit. The jacket was perfectly tailored to Josie’s frame, accentuating the curve of her shoulders. Her eyes were wide, like a child discovering something new, and Hope’s breath caught in her throat.

 

“Yeah,” Hope said, her voice a little quieter than usual. “You look great.”

 

Josie flashed her a smile before turning back to the mirror. Hope stared at her reflection for a moment longer than necessary, not just admiring the jacket, but the way Josie carried herself—so effortlessly, so sure of who she was.

 

Josie tilted her head, glancing at Hope over her shoulder. “What?”

 

Hope snapped out of her thoughts, her cheeks warming. “Nothing,” she mumbled, a slight grin tugging at her lips. “Just… you’re beautiful.”

 

The words slipped out before she could stop them, and the sudden silence between them made Hope’s heart race. Josie’s eyes softened for a moment, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks before she cleared her throat and turned back to the mirror.

 

“Thanks,” Josie replied quietly, as though she hadn’t expected that from Hope.

 

Josie quickly picked out a few more pieces, dragging Hope into the fitting room to try on a few outfits. Hope reluctantly agreed to try on a blue dress she had spotted earlier. When she stepped out, Josie’s eyes widened.

 

“Wow,” she breathed. “That’s… perfect on you.”

 

Hope gave a half-hearted twirl in front of the mirror. “It’s too much.”

 

“No,” Josie insisted, her voice soft but confident. “It’s just right.”

 

Hope couldn’t help but notice the way Josie was looking at her—the admiration, the subtle warmth behind her words. There was something there, something unspoken between them, but neither of them acknowledged it. Instead, they moved on to the next section of the shop, a silent agreement to keep things light.

 

After they finished shopping, they wandered the cobblestone streets, the noise of the city growing softer with each step. They passed by a quiet park, the trees swaying in the wind as people sat on benches, reading or talking. Hope couldn’t help but feel at peace here, a stark contrast to the turmoil of her own thoughts.

 

Josie talked about the places she had visited in Belgium, the museums, the galleries, the secret spots only locals knew about. Hope listened, captivated by the way Josie’s eyes lit up as she spoke about her new life. Hope listened, a strange pang settling in her chest. Josie could have that, she realized. A life away from all of it.

 

Hope, on the other hand… she wasn’t sure she ever would. It wasn’t jealousy that stirred inside Hope, but a deep longing for something she wasn’t sure she could ever have—something simple, something free from all the darkness that followed her wherever she went.

 

As they walked, the sun began to set, casting a warm golden light over the city. Josie’s arm brushed against Hope’s as they walked side by side, and Hope couldn’t help but smile, her heart swelling with something she couldn’t quite explain.

 

When Josie invited her back to her dorm, Hope accepted without hesitation. They sat on Josie’s bed, lost in stories of the past, laughter bubbling up between them. At some point, Hope lay back, staring at the ceiling, a strange sense of peace settling over her. She hadn’t felt this way in a long time.

 

Josie watched her, something soft in her gaze. She wasn’t sure when she realized it, but it was becoming impossible to ignore—this feeling, this pull, this something that had always been there between them.

 

Hope fell asleep before she could notice how deeply Josie was looking at her.

 

 

Chapter 13

Notes:

Longer chapter. I love Hope and Josie they're so cute :)

Chapter 13

 

Hope woke to the soft sound of pages turning. The morning light poured through Josie’s dorm window, illuminating the brunette curled up in a chair, reading with a peaceful expression.

 

Hope blinked, momentarily disoriented, before the realization hit—she had fallen asleep in Josie’s room.

 

Josie looked up and smirked. “Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

 

Hope groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Please don’t call me that. You’re too chipper for this early,” Hope mumbled.

 

Josie smirked. “And you sleep in like a teenager.”

 

Hope threw a pillow at her.

 

Josie caught it effortlessly, laughing. “Come on, get up. I have something to show you.”

 

Hope groaned again, but the way Josie’s eyes sparkled made it impossible to refuse. She forced herself upright, running a hand through her messy hair. “This better be worth it.”

 

“Oh, it will be.”

 

A short walk later, they arrived at a narrow alleyway barely visible between two buildings. Hope gave Josie a skeptical look as she led them forward, the space seemingly too tight to fit anything substantial. The moment Josie whispered a quiet spell under her breath, the world around them shimmered. They stepped through, the air shifted, and a bustling market unfolded before them.

 

The witch’s market was alive with color and movement. Stalls overflowed with shimmering potions, spell books, and enchanted artifacts. The scent of burning incense and fresh herbs filled the air, mixing with the sound of merchants calling out their wares. It was unlike anything Hope had ever seen before—ancient, mystical, and thriving in a way that felt untouched by time.

 

Hope stole a glance at Josie, who moved through the market with ease, greeting vendors, and asking questions about rare ingredients, completely in her element. Hope found herself watching her more than the market itself—her effortless grace, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear as she examined a book, the way she laughed softly at the children running.

 

It was captivating.

 

They wandered deeper into the market, stopping at different stalls. Josie picked up a delicate silver necklace infused with protection magic, while Hope eyed a dagger with runes carved into its blade. They moved together as if they had done this a thousand times before, falling into an easy rhythm.

 

Then, at one particular stall, Josie let out a quiet gasp of excitement. “Look at these,” she murmured, picking up a pair of ornate silver rings. The bands were thin, etched with ancient runes, and embedded with tiny gemstones that glowed faintly. “These are communication rings.”

 

Hope raised an eyebrow. “Like walkie-talkies for witches?”

 

Josie rolled her eyes. “More advanced than that. They let two people hear each other’s thoughts, but only for a short time and only if both are wearing them.”

 

Hope crossed her arms. “Sounds dangerous.”

 

Josie smirked. “Sounds useful.”

 

Hope raised a brow. “You really want me inside your head?”

 

“Maybe I just want to be inside yours,” Josie teased.

 

Before Hope could argue, Josie slipped one onto her finger and handed the other to Hope. “Just try it.”

 

Hope sighed but slid the ring onto her hand. Immediately, a strange warmth spread up her arm, and then—

 

Can you hear me?

 

Hope startled at the sound of Josie’s voice, not in her ears, but in her head.

 

Josie grinned. This is so weird.

 

Oh, this is going to be fun. Hope smirked. 

 

Hope narrowed her eyes playfully, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. She already knew what she could do with this new power.

 

Without hesitation, she let her mind wander to a particular memory from their high school days. She focused on it, zeroing in on the exact moment. Josie tripped over her own feet during gym class, trying way too hard to impress that girl in the bleachers.

 

Josie groaned, pressing her hands to her temples. Hope Andrea Mikaelson, don’t you dare—.

 

Hope couldn’t help herself. She burst into laughter, unable to hold back.

 

Remember that time in the gym? You practically did a somersault trying to show off, all while trying to talk to that girl with the ponytail? Hope’s mental voice teased, reveling in the playful retaliation.

 

Josie groaned, face burning with embarrassment.

 

I was nervous! You didn’t have to bring that up. She muttered.

 

Too bad I have full access to your brain now, Hope said with a playful wink. You know what they say about payback.

 

Josie scowled at her, but a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself. You’re a menace.

 

Hope felt triumphant, but her victory was short-lived.

 

Josie’s grin grew mischievous, and suddenly Hope felt a shift in her mind.

 

Oh no. Hope could already feel Josie’s playful thoughts taking hold.

 

Before Hope could react, Josie sent a memory right back at her.

 

Hope’s stomach dropped. The time she slipped in front of everyone at that school assembly, right when she tried to step up onto the stage in front of the whole student body.

 

The image was vivid—Hope tripping over the stairs, landing flat on her face, the entire room bursting into laughter, and her own mortification. She’d never felt more embarrassed in her life. And now Josie had turned it into the perfect form of revenge.

 

Hope winced, her face flushing. “You did not just—”

 

Josie raised an eyebrow. “I think you were saying something about ‘payback’?” she teased, her voice filled with smug amusement.

 

Hope crossed her arms over her chest, trying to look unfazed, but the memories still stung. “I was just trying to make a graceful entrance.”

 

“Yeah, and you definitely graced that stage,” Josie snickered. “Don’t worry, I’m sure everyone forgot about it.”

 

Hope rolled her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re lucky I like you, Saltzman.”

 

Josie chuckled. “I’m lucky, huh? You sure about that?”

 

Hope chuckled, but then she heard something in return—not words, but a feeling. A rush of warmth, admiration, a flicker of something deeper before it vanished too quickly to grasp.

 

Her laughter faltered. “Josie?”

 

Josie quickly stopped the thought, cheeks flushed. “Okay, that’s enough mind-reading for today.”

 

Hope pulled off the ring and huffed. “I don’t need you snooping around in my brain anymore.”

 

Josie pouted playfully. “It only works when both people are wearing them. And besides, this could actually be useful—like, if we ever get separated, or if there’s danger—”

 

Hope hesitated. She wanted to argue, but… Josie had a point. The world they lived in was unpredictable. Having a way to communicate instantly could be invaluable.

 

With a sigh, Hope slipped the ring back on. “Fine. But I’m not using this for casual conversations.”

 

Josie grinned. “Deal.”

 

They both chuckled, knowing the playful tension between them hadn’t disappeared, even with the decision to be more practical about the rings. The air between them was charged, but not with anger. It was light, fun, and—something else too.

 

As they continued to browse the market, Hope couldn’t stop herself from stealing glances at Josie, catching how her eyes sparkled as she admired a necklace, how she twirled a ring in her fingers, or how she laughed at a vendor’s joke. Hope’s heart tugged with a warmth she wasn’t used to, a warmth that sent a ripple of something deeper, unspoken, and undeniably present between them.

 

It didn’t take long before Josie grabbed Hope’s arm and tugged her toward the counter. The vendor wrapped the rings carefully, and Hope, still trying to push down the feelings she couldn’t quite name, slipped the small velvet box into her coat pocket.

 

As they continued to walk through the market, Hope realized she had spent more time than she intended just watching Josie—how she moved, how she smiled, how she fit into this world as if it was made for her.

 

Hope caught herself several times, quickly looking away, pretending it didn’t matter that Josie seemed to have felt more at home here quickly than Hope had ever felt anywhere. Josie had a life here, a life full of magic, friends, and moments she could call her own.

 

Hope, on the other hand, was a wanderer, a person who never stayed in one place for too long, always running from something—always running from herself.

 

And yet, here she was, walking beside Josie in the heart of a foreign city, something deep inside her whispering that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

 

But that thought was too complicated, too full of everything Hope wasn’t ready to confront.

 

They wandered for a while longer, exploring the stalls, and admiring the intricate carvings and enchanted trinkets. Josie tried on an ornate ring at another stall, and Hope watched her closely, unable to shake the thought that this was a side of Josie she hadn’t seen before.

 

This Josie, so vibrant and alive in a place where the ordinary was mixed with the extraordinary, was someone Hope wasn’t sure she would ever fully understand.

 

They passed by a table adorned with an array of old trinkets—worn necklaces, tarnished rings, and faded books—and Hope’s eyes caught on a stall further ahead. A figure, hunched and draped in a tattered shawl, sat behind a low wooden table, a crystal ball gleaming eerily in the light. A sign hung above her head, written in ornate, flowing script: Tarot Readings—See What Lies Ahead.

 

Josie’s curiosity got the better of her, and she nudged Hope. “Hey, want to see what your cards say about your future?”

 

Hope rolled her eyes, the skepticism rolling off of her in waves. “Please. I’m pretty sure the future doesn’t need cards to tell me I’m probably going to screw something up.”

 

Josie grinned, nudging Hope again. “Come on, it’s just for fun! You’ve been trying to read me for years. Maybe it’s time someone took a look at you.”

 

Hope sighed, trying to resist the urge to give in, but the playful twinkle in Josie’s eyes was impossible to ignore. “Fine. But if it gets weird, I’m blaming you.”

 

They approached the stall, and the crone behind the table looked up, her deep-set eyes glinting with an unsettling intensity. The woman’s face was lined with age, her skin a pale, almost translucent shade. She had the air of someone who had seen too much, too many things hidden from mortal eyes. She smiled, revealing teeth that were a little too sharp.

 

“Ah, visitors,” the crone rasped, her voice low and filled with an eerie warmth. “Would you like to know your future, child?”

 

Hope hesitated for a moment, but Josie’s bright eyes encouraged her to take the plunge. With a shrug, she sat down across from the crone, feeling the weight of the woman’s gaze on her as if she were already reading her soul.

 

The crone shuffled a deck of ancient-looking cards with surprising dexterity, the cards worn and faded by time. “Focus,” she said quietly, her voice hushed and solemn. “Think of your heart’s question. Think of what you seek.”

 

Hope rolled her eyes inward but closed her eyes for a second, allowing herself to focus. What do I seek? she thought, and for a fleeting moment, something tugged deep in her chest. She thought about the path she was on, Landon, the confusion she felt about her place in Josie’s life and the dark shadows that seemed to follow her at every turn. Maybe a card or two could offer some semblance of answers, even if she didn’t fully believe in it.

 

The crone’s hands hovered over the deck, and then, in one swift motion, she laid down the cards in front of Hope.

 

The first card was revealed—The Tower. The image on the card depicted a tall, crumbling structure struck by lightning, a jagged, destructive force ripping it apart. Hope’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes lingered on the card. She could feel the weight of it—the sudden destruction, the collapse of everything that seemed solid. It was a card of ruin, of chaos, of the breaking of something she had held together for too long.

 

The crone’s voice was low as she spoke, almost too softly for Hope to hear, but the words carried a strange weight. “The Tower. A foundation crumbling under the weight of secrets, a world torn apart by fate’s unyielding hand.”

 

Hope shifted uncomfortably, an uneasy feeling crawling up her spine. Josie looked at her curiously, her brow furrowing as if she could sense the shift in the air.

 

The crone turned the next card: The Hanged Man. The figure on the card was suspended upside down, hands bound, eyes closed in contemplation. There was a calmness to the image, but it was a calm borne of sacrifice, of letting go, of giving up something precious to gain insight.

 

“The Hanged Man,” the crone whispered. “A choice made, a sacrifice rendered. Sometimes you must lose to gain clarity, to understand what truly matters.”

 

Hope’s heart pounded harder. She didn’t like the feeling this reading was giving her. Her mind scrambled, searching for anything that might explain what the cards meant. Sacrifice? Choice? What did it mean for her?

 

But before she could ask, the crone turned over the final card.

 

The Moon. The card depicted a dark, haunting landscape—two wolves howling at the moon, the sky shrouded in mist and shadow. In the distance, a path stretched out, but it was unclear, winding through an uncertain future.

 

“The Moon,” the crone murmured. “Illusions, deception. A path ahead clouded in mystery, where truth and falsehood are blurred. Trust your instincts, but beware of the illusions that may lure you astray.”

 

Hope swallowed hard, her heart racing. The Moon was not a card that offered comfort. It was a card of uncertainty, of hidden truths and false promises.

 

The crone’s eyes locked with Hope’s, her gaze piercing. “Your fate has already been touched by a weaver of threads,” she said cryptically. “There are forces at work beyond your understanding, but you must be ready. The path ahead is treacherous, and you cannot walk it alone tribrid.”

 

Hope felt a chill run down her spine. She had no idea what the crone meant, but something about her words felt too real, too heavy. It was as if the old woman had just handed Hope a glimpse into a future she wasn’t prepared for—a future filled with destruction, sacrifice, and illusion.

 

Before Hope could gather herself to speak, the crone was already packing up her cards, as if dismissing them without another word. The stall was bustling with activity again, the crowd flowing around them, and the crone vanished into the sea of people without so much as a glance back.

 

Josie stood beside Hope, a concerned look crossing her face. “Hope? What did she say?”

 

Hope’s mind was spinning. She couldn’t shake the images of the cards, the cryptic words, the eerie feeling that hung in the air. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know if she could explain the feeling creeping into her chest. “I—I don’t know. It was… weird.”

 

Josie frowned, her voice soft and careful. “Weird how?”

 

Hope’s eyes flickered to the crowded market, her fingers curling around the edge of her coat. “She said something about my fate being touched by a weaver of threads. I don’t even know what that means.”

 

Josie took a step closer, her voice steady and reassuring. “Hey, don’t let her get into your head. People like that… they talk in riddles.”

 

Hope gave a shaky smile, but her heart was still unsettled. “Yeah, maybe. But I don’t know… it feels like it means something.”

 

Josie gave her a gentle nudge. “Come on, we’ll keep walking. Let’s not let some random fortune teller get to us.”

 

Hope tried to shake it off, but the cards and the crone’s words lingered in the back of her mind. There was something about them—something she couldn’t quite place—that made her feel like the future was a storm, and she was standing right in its path.

 

As they left the stall, Hope felt the weight of the tarot reading still hanging in the air. She glanced at Josie, who was giving her a concerned look. Hope forced a smile, trying to push away the unease that had taken root in her chest. She didn’t want to dwell on it—after all, it was just some random fortune teller, right? Still, the words lingered in her mind like a fog that wouldn’t quite clear.

 

Josie walked alongside her, her posture slightly tense, though it wasn’t clear if it was due to the reading or something else. Hope, desperate for a distraction, reached over and snatched Josie’s Fritz Kola out of her hand, taking a quick sip before Josie could protest.

 

“Hey!” Josie shot her an amused glare, but there was no real malice in her tone. “That was mine!”

 

Hope grinned mischievously, slurping from the bottle. “I’ll buy you another one later,” she teased, her eyes twinkling.

 

Josie rolled her eyes, but her lips curled into a smile. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, Mikaelson,” she said, nudging Hope with her elbow. “Otherwise, I might have had to make you buy me two.”

 

Hope laughed, feeling a brief lightness in the air that she hadn’t realized she needed. She noticed how easily their banter flowed, how natural it felt to be in Josie’s presence again. It was the kind of ease that made Hope feel like no time had passed between them.

 

But as the laughter died down, Hope couldn’t help but notice the way Josie was looking at her—there was something in her gaze, something deeper, something that hadn’t been there before or she just hadn't noticed. For a moment, their eyes locked, and Hope’s heart skipped a beat. She quickly looked away, suddenly aware of how the warmth between them had shifted.

 

Josie, meanwhile, was quietly processing her own feelings. As much as she tried to hide it, she realized she was falling for Hope all over again. Not just in the way that friends love each other, but in a way that felt almost dangerous—like stepping into something they both knew might burn them if they weren’t careful. Every time Hope smiled or teased her, every time they shared a laugh or a quiet moment, Josie felt the walls she had carefully built around her heart start to crumble.

 

She tried to ignore it, tried to tell herself it was just the nostalgia of their past, but deep down, she knew it was more than that. Hope had always been a force in her life, unpredictable and wild, and the way her presence seemed to shift everything—well, it made Josie feel like maybe she was losing control of something she didn’t want to let go of.

 

By the time they made it back to Josie’s dorm, the mood had shifted slightly. They both fell into an easy silence as they sat down on the bed, the weight of the day’s events pressing down on them. The market, the tarot reading, the exchange of the rings—all of it felt like a strange turning point, but neither of them spoke about it.

 

Finally, Josie broke the silence, her voice soft and unsteady. “I missed this,” she said, her words so quiet Hope almost didn’t catch them. “I missed us.”

 

Hope turned to look at Josie, her heart catching in her throat. The air between them felt thick, filled with something unsaid. Hope opened her mouth, wanting to respond, but before she could, Josie quickly shook her head, as if brushing off the vulnerability in her words.

 

“Never mind,” Josie added, her smile faltering slightly. “It’s not important.”

 

Hope didn’t push, though part of her wanted to know what Josie had meant. Instead, she just nodded, her chest tight with a mix of emotions she couldn’t quite place. The question hung in the air between them, unresolved, unspoken.

 

By the time Hope had gotten up to go the mood had shifted slightly. They said their goodbyes, and Hope found herself back in her own hotel room, staring out the window at the quiet, cobblestone streets of Belgium. The weight of the day’s events pressed down on her as she sat on the edge of the bed.

 

Hope couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. She couldn’t understand why her heart was racing or why every time she closed her eyes, images of Josie kept flooding her mind. She couldn’t get rid of the thought that maybe, just maybe, the world was shifting beneath her feet, and she had no idea what that meant.

 

The moonlight spilled in through the window, casting long shadows on the walls, and Hope found herself unable to fall asleep. She kept wondering what Josie had meant when she’d said she missed “them.” Had she been talking about the past, about their friendship, or was there something more to it? Hope didn’t know, and that uncertainty gnawed at her, keeping her awake long into the night.

 

 

Chapter 14

Notes:

Ya'll all this writing, I think I need a break. Enjoy the chapter! I'll be back in 3-5 business days 😭

Chapter 14

 

 

It had been two days since Hope arrived in Belgium. She and Josie had spent most of that time together, slipping back into something that felt easy, something that reminded them of what they used to be—friends, maybe something more, but always intertwined. But now, the time for distractions had passed. There were things they needed to say, things Hope could no longer push down.

 

Hope found herself standing outside Josie’s dorm again, her fingers hesitating over the door handle before she finally knocked.

 

Josie answered quickly as if she’d been waiting. She stepped aside without a word, allowing Hope inside. The air between them was quieter than it had been the past couple of days. No teasing, no soft smiles. Just something unspoken stretching between them like an invisible thread.

 

Hope took a breath, forcing herself to meet Josie’s gaze. “I need to apologize.”

 

Josie blinked at her. “For what?”

 

Hope swallowed, suddenly finding it hard to speak. But she had to. “For everything I put you through. For forcing you to take back your magic when you weren’t ready. I guilt-tripped you into doing it because I wanted to save Landon, and I didn’t care about what it would do to you.”

 

Josie looked away, her jaw tightening. Hope pushed forward before she lost the courage. “And I failed. I forced you into that, and it didn’t even work. Lizzie had to step in and stop you because she knew—she knew what you’d already been through with dark magic. And then she did the spell with me instead.”

 

Josie’s shoulders tensed. “And you almost lost yourself in it.”

 

Hope let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah. And you still had to save us. Even after everything, you still stepped in to protect Lizzie and me, even though you were running from all of it.”

 

Josie finally turned back to her, arms crossed. “I didn’t have a choice. If I hadn’t done something, I could’ve lost you both.”

 

Hope nodded, guilt clawing at her insides. “And that’s the problem, Josie. You should have had a choice. I should have given you one. Instead, I—” Her voice cracked, but she pushed through. “Instead, I dragged you back into something you were trying to escape. I was selfish. I was reckless. And I hurt you.”

 

Josie stared at her for a long moment before finally speaking, her voice quieter now. “You’re right. It did hurt. It still does.”

 

Hope felt her chest tighten. “I know.”

 

“But…” Josie sighed, running a hand through her hair. “You’re not the only one who made mistakes, Hope. I let people push me around. I let myself believe that what I wanted never mattered. And you weren’t the first person to do that to me. You were just… the person I thought never would.”

 

Hope inhaled sharply. That hurt more than she expected. “I never wanted to be that person to you.”

 

Josie’s expression softened. “I know.”

 

A silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken. Finally, Hope spoke again. “I’m sorry for everything else, too. For almost killing your dad. For actually killing Lizzie.”

 

Josie flinched but didn’t look away. Instead, she let out a slow breath. “I never told you what happened when I was on the bus out of town.”

 

Hope frowned. “What?”

 

Josie’s fingers curled around the edge of her desk. “I saw her. Lizzie. She just… appeared. Everything around me drowned out, and suddenly, she was there.”

 

Hope’s heart clenched. “Josie…”

 

Josie shook her head. “I couldn’t feel her anymore, Hope. I always could, but in that moment, she was just… gone. And she told me that no matter what happened next, she loved me and would always be there for me.” Her voice trembled. “I knew what had happened, even if I didn’t want to believe it.”

 

Hope felt sick. Josie had been alone, dealing with that grief, that loss, while Hope had been consumed by her own darkness. “I should’ve been there.”

 

Josie swallowed hard. “But you weren’t. And I had to deal with it alone.”

 

Hope’s hands clenched into fists. “I can’t change the past. I can’t undo what I did. But whatever happens next, I’ll be there. I will fight for you, even if it’s a lost cause—because you’re worth that. You’re my best friend.”

 

Josie’s lips parted slightly like she wanted to say something, but no words came out. Instead, she just stared at Hope, something unreadable in her eyes.

 

They sat in that silence, in the weight of everything between them, until Josie finally whispered, “Thank you.”

 

A few minutes passed as Josie studied Hope carefully as she sat across from her. Hope looked composed, but there was a tension in her shoulders, something just beneath the surface. Josie had spent enough time with her to recognize when Hope was trying to hold something back.

 

“What does it feel like?” Josie asked softly.

 

Hope blinked. “What?”

 

“Being a tribrid. I almost forgot you’re still adjusting to it.”

 

Hope sighed, leaning back against the chair, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the wood of Josie’s desk. “It’s… intense. Everything is more vibrant, more real. It’s like someone turned the saturation up on the world. Every sound is amplified, and every scent is overwhelming. It’s a lot to take in.”

 

Josie nodded, intrigued. “That sounds… kind of amazing. But also terrifying.”

 

Hope huffed out a small laugh. “Yeah. At first, it was unbearable. My emotions were all over the place, and I had no idea how to control them. But I’ve had time to adjust. It doesn’t hit me as hard as it did before.”

 

Josie tilted her head. “And feeding?”

 

Hope hesitated. “That’s been… complicated. I mostly use blood bags. I haven’t had too many chances with human feeding, and to be honest, I’m not sure I trust myself with it.”

 

Josie frowned. “Because of your humanity?”

 

Hope nodded. “When I turned it off, feeding was easy. Too easy. I didn’t have to think about control or guilt or any of it. But now, with my humanity back on, the idea of taking blood from someone feels… dangerous. Like I’m one step away from losing control.”

 

The room grew quiet, a heavy silence settling between them. Then Josie noticed something. Hope was tense, her jaw tight. Her gaze flickered away as if she was trying to avoid looking at Josie directly.

 

Josie’s brows furrowed. “Hope?”

 

Hope clenched her fists and exhaled sharply. “It’s nothing.”

 

Josie wasn’t convinced. “You’re lying.”

 

Hope gritted her teeth. She could hear it now—Josie’s heartbeat. The steady thrum of it echoed in her ears, taunting her. The scent of Josie’s blood lingered in the air, warm and intoxicating. She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the hunger clawing at her insides.

 

“Hope, what is it?” Josie pressed, sitting forward.

 

Hope exhaled sharply. “I haven’t fed in a while.”

 

Josie blinked. “How long is a while?”

 

Hope hesitated. “Too long.”

 

A flicker of understanding crossed Josie’s face, followed by concern. “Hope… you need to eat.”

 

“I know,” Hope muttered, rubbing her temples. “I just didn’t think about it, and I don’t have any blood bags with me.”

 

Josie chewed her lip before straightening. “I could help.”

 

Hope’s head snapped up. “What?”

 

Josie stood up, moving toward her mini fridge. She grabbed a cup from the small shelf above it and turned back to Hope. “I can pour some of my blood into this. That way, you don’t have to… you know, drink directly from me.”

 

Hope’s eyes widened in horror. “Josie, no.”

 

Josie frowned. “Why not? It’s practical. It’s safe. And it’s better than you starving yourself.”

 

Hope shook her head firmly. “I appreciate it, but I’m not doing that. I’ll feed when I get back to my hotel.”

 

Josie folded her arms. “And what if you don’t? What if you let it go too long and then you can’t control yourself?”

 

Hope let out a frustrated sigh. “Josie, drop it.”

 

Josie stared at her, frustration flickering across her face. “I just want to help.”

 

Before Hope could respond, there was a sharp knock at the door.

 

Both of them tensed. Josie cast Hope a quick glance before moving to open it. The moment the door swung open, a familiar voice filled the room.

 

“Two lovely ladies locked away in a dorm room? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to hide something.”

 

Hope groaned internally as Penelope Park leaned against the doorway, smirking.

 

Penelope gave a small wave. “Miss me?”

 

Hope crossed her arms. “What are you doing here?”

 

Penelope shrugged. “Would you believe me if I said I just happened to be in the neighborhood?”

 

Hope narrowed her eyes. “Not for a second.”

 

Josie’s face brightened, though it looked like she was trying to mask it.

 

“Penelope? What’s up?”

 

Penelope chuckled, her gaze flicking between Josie and Hope. “Relax. I come in peace.” Then she arched a brow at Hope. “Though judging by your face, I’d say you look like you could use a drink. Or a snack.”

 

Hope stiffened, her throat tightening. Penelope always had a way of seeing straight through her.

 

Josie, still processing the sudden appearance of her ex, finally sighed and stepped back. “Just come in, Penelope.”

 

Penelope grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.”

 

Penelope pushed the door open, making her way into the room. She eyed Hope first, a little smirk playing on her lips. “Ah, Hope. How’s the tribrid life treating you?”

 

Hope crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “I’m fine, Penelope. What do you need?”

 

Penelope casually leaned against the desk, raising a brow. “I’m not interrupting anything important, am I? You two look like you were in the middle of… something.” Her eyes flicked between Hope and Josie, clearly savoring the discomfort.

 

Josie sighed, clearly exasperated but trying to hide it. “Penelope, what do you want?”

 

Penelope didn’t miss a beat, walking over and tapping the edge of Josie’s desk. “I need a favor. My lab partner is out sick, and I’m desperate for someone to not fail me in our potions class. So, I’m thinking you, Josie Saltzman, are the only one who can save me from a miserable grade.”

 

Josie rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. “Of course. Who else would you ask?”

 

Penelope grinned. “Exactly. I knew I could count on you.”

 

She then turned to Hope, her gaze deliberately flicking over her. “So, Hope. Still brooding and mysterious, I see. How’s the ‘being a vampire hybrid with a side of humanity’ thing working out?”

 

Hope stiffened slightly. “It’s fine. Penelope.”

 

Penelope’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she sauntered toward Hope. “You sure about that? You look like you’ve got a lot of… feelings in that head of yours. Are you going to implode, or can we count on you to keep it together for once?”

 

Hope shot Penelope a glare, but the girl was already turning her attention back to Josie, clearly enjoying the way the room felt charged with tension.

 

“So, Josie,” Penelope started again, her voice suddenly low and teasing, “are you and Hope here just… friends?”

 

She paused, watching Hope out of the corner of her eye. “Because, you know, I can’t help but notice the tension. The chemistry between you two. Or is it just me?”

 

Josie’s face flushed, and she glanced away. “Penelope—”

 

Penelope raised a finger in mock surprise. “Oh, don’t tell me. Are you two keeping something from me? I wouldn’t blame you. A little ‘will-they-won’t-they’ tension is always fun.”

 

She leaned in closer to Josie, her voice dropping to a playful whisper. “So, what’s it like being so close to Hope? Is she as fiery as she looks?”

 

Josie opened her mouth, but Penelope quickly turned her attention back to Hope, her eyes now glinting with mischief. “Hope, do you like the bad girls? Or are you more into the nice girls who make you feel all soft inside?”

 

She smirked, clearly enjoying herself. “You don’t strike me as the ‘good girl’ type. You know, the whole ‘dark and dangerous’ thing must have its appeal.”

 

Hope raised an eyebrow, her cheeks flushing with the insinuation, but she didn’t respond.

 

Penelope, sensing she had her attention, continued, her voice dropping to a more teasing pitch. “I mean, not that I blame you. Josie’s… well, Josie . She’s definitely got that sweet, ‘I’m a good girl’ thing going on, but I can see why someone like you would need more fire in their life. And she’s definitely got that too.”

 

Penelope smirked again, her gaze lingering on Josie, and Hope could feel the heat rising in her chest.

 

Josie shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Hope as if silently asking for help. Hope was too flustered to offer much.

 

Penelope turned back to Hope, her expression sly. “So, what is it, Hope? Are you into girls, guys, or are you just, you know, open-minded ? Because I’m sensing that maybe you don’t fit into any of those little boxes, huh?”

 

Hope’s face went hot, and she opened her mouth to say something, but the words caught in her throat. Penelope’s playful glint wasn’t helping.

 

Penelope, noticing the silence, continued, her tone switching from teasing to more sarcastic. “It’s okay, Hope. You can tell me. It’s not like I’m going to tell anyone. You’re just… what, bi? Pan? Just admit it, you’ve got your eye on Josie here, and maybe a few others too. It’s a trend, you know. Don’t be shy.”

 

Josie’s face had gone completely red now, her fingers twitching as though she was about to stop Penelope, but the brunette didn’t give her a chance.

 

Penelope winked at both of them, her voice laced with a mock innocence. “You know, it’s kind of cute. The tension, the uncertainty. Just… be careful. You wouldn’t want to do something you’d regret.”

 

She winked again, then straightened up. “Anyway, I’ll leave you two to work out whatever complicated feelings you have going on here . You can thank me later, Josie, for helping you with that chemistry homework.”

 

She turned to leave but stopped at the door and looked back at Hope. “And hey, Hope, if you ever need someone who isn’t all complicated and intense to talk to, I’m your girl. Just think about it.”

 

Hope stood frozen, trying to process the barrage of teasing, jokes, and questions Penelope had just lobbed at them. Before she could respond, Penelope was already out the door, her laughter echoing down the hallway.

 

Josie closed the door slowly, and Hope turned to her, blinking rapidly. She felt her heart still racing from the exchange.

 

“That… was a lot,” Josie finally muttered, her face flushed.

 

Hope couldn’t help but laugh, though there was a nervous edge to it. “Yeah. I’m going to need a drink.”

 

Josie chuckled, but then she bit her lip. “So… you are bisexual?”

 

Hope glanced at her, feeling exposed for the first time. She wasn’t sure why she was so hesitant to admit it to Josie, but the moment had felt too sudden. She exhaled and finally said, “Yeah. I think I am, I mean I’m definitely something.”

 

Josie nodded slowly, as though processing the information. “Thanks for telling me.”

 

Hope nodded back, then sighed. “I guess… this is all way more complicated than I thought.”

 

Josie smiled softly. “Yeah. But that’s what makes it interesting, right?”

 

Hope smirked, shaking her head. “I’m starting to think it’s more complicated than it’s worth.”

 

Josie rolled her eyes, though there was affection in her expression. “You say that now, but you’ll get there.”

 

Penelope’s teasing still echoed in the room, the weight of her words lingering in the air even after she’d left. Hope glanced at the door where Penelope had just exited, her footsteps fading. She could still hear the echo of her voice, laced with playful sarcasm, making it impossible to ignore the uncomfortable tension she’d brought.

 

With the door now closed, the silence felt heavier than before.

 

Josie took a deep breath, then sat on the edge of the bed, her body turning slightly to face Hope. She had expected to feel embarrassed or awkward after Penelope’s teasing, but instead, a strange calm had settled over her.

 

Maybe it was because Hope had finally opened up to her, or maybe it was just the relief of being able to breathe without feeling like Penelope was going to poke at every emotion they both had left unsaid.

 

“I’m sorry about her,” Josie said after a moment, her voice soft but reassuring. “She doesn’t mean anything by it. I know it can be a lot, but… well, you know how Penelope is.”

 

Hope didn’t respond right away. Her gaze drifted out the window, focusing on the fading light of the day, trying to gather her thoughts. The teasing had struck a nerve—more than she wanted to admit.

 

Penelope had made it sound so casual, so playful, but Hope’s mind couldn’t stop replaying the words, the insinuations. Was there a part of her that had been hiding something even she didn’t want to face?

 

She felt a deep sigh building in her chest, a mix of frustration and confusion. “I’m fine, Josie,” she finally said, her voice tight. “It’s just… I don’t know. It’s not that simple.”

 

Josie tilted her head, studying Hope’s face carefully. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable because of her. You’re allowed to feel whatever you feel.”

 

Hope swallowed hard. “I just feel… stuck, you know? I mean, it’s like everything from the past is just weighing me down. Landon… it feels like it’s still there, no matter how much I try to move on.”

 

Josie’s expression softened, and she moved closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to carry that weight alone, Hope. You’ve already been through so much, and I know… I know it’s hard. But you’re allowed to feel however you feel, even if that means you’re not ready for whatever’s next.”

 

Hope’s eyes flickered to Josie’s face, searching for something—comfort, understanding. Josie’s words were exactly what she needed, yet at the same time, they felt like a reminder of the mess she hadn’t cleaned up inside her heart.

 

She wasn’t sure she was ever going to be ready for anything new, not with everything she had left behind, but in Josie’s eyes, she saw something that made her want to at least try to move forward.

 

“I’m just…” Hope trailed off, unsure of how to continue. “I’m not sure I’m ready for anything, Josie. I don’t know if I ever will be.”

 

Josie placed a hand on Hope’s shoulder, a gentle, comforting touch. “And that’s okay. I’m not asking for anything from you. Just take it one step at a time. I’m here, whenever you’re ready.”

 

The weight of Josie’s words wrapped around Hope like a warm embrace. Even though she wasn’t ready to admit how she felt—about anything, really—she appreciated the quiet, unwavering support Josie offered. It was something Hope hadn’t had in a long time.

 

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was peaceful, allowing Hope and Josie to just exist together in this strange, unspoken moment. But even as Hope sat there, trying to make sense of her thoughts, Penelope’s teasing lingered, worming its way into the crevices of her mind.

 

She had said it herself: “I think I’m definitely something.”

 

Was it that simple? Was that all Hope had needed to admit? She didn’t know. The whole situation was complicated. Her feelings for Josie, the emotions tied to Landon, the lingering sense of loss that never seemed to leave her—nothing about this was easy.

 

And yet, as she looked at Josie, sitting there, so close and yet still so far away, Hope couldn’t help but feel like maybe, just maybe, there was something worth figuring out.

 

But that would have to wait.

 

For now, Hope just nodded, grateful for Josie’s presence.

 

Josie smiled softly, her fingers still lightly touching Hope’s shoulder.

 

“Whenever you’re ready, Hope.”

 

Hope met her gaze, the weight of unspoken words between them, but she didn’t pull away. Not this time.

 

And for now, that was enough.

 

 

 

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

 

The warm afternoon light filtered through the window, casting long shadows across Josie’s dorm room. Hope exhaled, then shifted slightly on the bed, the silence between them stretching and settling like dust in the golden air.

 

“I’ve been here for a few days now,” she said, her tone more serious than before. “I think… it’s time I get back to Mystic Falls.”

 

Josie looked up quickly, surprise flickering across her face. “Already?”

 

Hope offered a small nod, her expression unreadable. “Yeah. I was only supposed to stop by for a day or two. Plus…” Her voice dropped to a whisper, and she reached into her bag.

 

“Reveni ad manus.”

 

She placed the staff on the table with careful reverence, the object humming faintly with ancient magic. Its presence in the room shifted the energy immediately, grounding everything with a palpable weight.

 

Josie leaned forward, curiosity and caution evident in her posture. As she unlatched the casing, her eyes widened when she saw the staff inside. Its silver blade glinted menacingly under the afternoon light.

 

“The only weapon that can kill you,” she murmured, barely above a whisper. “I was wondering when you would give it to me after you showed it.”

 

“I need you to protect it,” Hope said firmly, meeting Josie’s gaze without flinching. “Put your best spells around it. Hide it. Lock it away. And don’t tell me where. Don’t even hint.”

 

Josie’s fingers hovered over the dagger’s handle. “That’s a lot of trust.”

 

Hope’s voice softened, growing almost reverent. “If anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

 

There was a long, still moment between them before Josie finally nodded. “Okay. I’ll protect it. I promise.”

 

The air in the room shifted again, the heaviness giving way to something quieter, more intimate. Hope leaned back on her hands, exhaling slowly as if she’d let go of something she’d been gripping too tightly.

 

“So… what are we going to do for our last night?”

 

Josie perked up, a playful grin tugging at her lips. “Well, there’s a party tonight. In the woods behind the school. Want to go?”

 

Hope raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “A party? I don’t know, Josie…”

 

“Come on,” Josie coaxed, leaning in just a bit closer. “It’ll help you stop thinking so much. Just one night—music, dancing, drinks… chaos.”

 

Hope tried to maintain her deadpan expression. “You’re not really selling it.”

 

Josie pouted theatrically. “Please? It’ll be fun. I’ll be there. You’ll be there. Let loose a little.”

 

Hope sighed, her smirk betraying her growing amusement. “Fine. I’ll meet you here in two hours.”

 

Two hours later, Hope stood in front of the mirror in her hotel bathroom. Her hair was curled and parted to the side, soft waves cascading around her face. Her makeup was light but intentional—dark eyeliner, a smoky eye, deep red lipstick. She wore a low-cut burgundy top that hugged her curves, paired with fitted black jeans and heeled boots. Her signature leather jacket completed the look, giving her an edge she didn’t quite feel.

 

She took one last breath, adjusted a silver ring on her finger, and left the hotel, the chill of evening brushing against her skin as she made her way across campus.

 

When Josie opened her dorm door, Hope’s breath caught in her throat.

 

Josie stood in the doorway in a gray crop top and a black skirt that showed off her long legs, a brown leather jacket thrown over her shoulders. Her black boots were laced up high, and her hair was parted to the side, curled into big, effortless waves.

 

“Wow,” Josie said first, her eyes scanning Hope from head to toe. “You clean up nice.”

 

Hope smirked, voice low and teasing. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

 

They walked together through the forest path, the faint sound of music growing louder with every step. Fairy lights strung between trees cast a golden glow across the clearing, and several fire pits crackled, their embers rising like sparks into the night sky. Laughter echoed through the woods. There were witches dancing, spells flickering in the air like lightning bugs. Werewolves howled in the distance, their howls blending into the music.

 

Hope sensed the magic everywhere—raw, wild, buzzing.

 

Josie handed her a red solo cup. “Don’t ask what’s in it. Just trust me.”

 

Hope gave it a sniff and wrinkled her nose. “You sure this won’t kill me?”

 

Josie grinned. “You’re a tribrid. You’ll survive.”

 

The concoction burned going down, but the warmth it left in her chest was almost comforting. Josie reached for her hand again.

“Come dance,” she said, tugging Hope toward the music.

 

Hope planted her feet. “Absolutely not.”

 

Josie laughed, eyes twinkling. “You literally battle monsters for fun, but dancing is where you draw the line?”

 

Hope crossed her arms. “I don’t really… do this.”

 

“I’ve seen you at our Salvatore parties,” Josie reminded her.

 

“I stood in the corner. Like a statue. Maybe I’m allergic to fun.”

 

“There’s a first time for everything,” Josie said, slipping her arm through Hope’s and pulling her into the throng of dancers.

 

At first, Hope was stiff. Her movements were unsure like she was trying to mimic what everyone else was doing without drawing attention to herself. But Josie danced next to her, fluid and uninhibited, her laughter contagious.

 

Another drink. Then another.

 

The burn faded, replaced with warmth. Hope’s limbs loosened.

 

She began to move. At first, just a sway. Then a little more.

 

She spun in place, letting the beat pulse through her chest, her curls bouncing, her smile wide and carefree. Her laughter echoed through the woods.

 

Josie watched her, breath catching as the world seemed to slow. Music, lights, the sounds of the party—all of it fell away as she stared at Hope. She looked radiant. The soft, warm light caught on the curve of her smile, the glint in her eyes, the way she moved like she had finally shed the weight of the world.

 

For Josie, the world stilled. Then the beat picked up again, and the spell broke.

 

They wandered away from the main group, giggling like schoolgirls. They stumbled into a clearing where a couple was passionately making out against a tree.

 

Hope groaned. “Nope.”

 

She turned sharply, walking in the opposite direction. Josie followed, cackling.

 

“We just traumatized them,” she said between fits of laughter.

 

“I’m traumatized,” Hope muttered.

 

“You’ll be ok.”

 

As they continued walking through the woods, they passed a circle of people playing spin the bottle. The bottle landed on a tall girl with green hair, who leaned across the circle and kissed a guy wearing a leather jacket. Someone cheered. Someone else dared another to kiss their ex. Laughter followed.

 

Josie paused, eyebrow raised. “You ever played?”

 

Hope rolled her eyes. “No. Too many unpredictable variables.”

 

“Come on. Live dangerously,” Josie teased.

 

Hope smirked. “Says the girl who kissed her ex in a game of truth or dare once.”

 

Josie grinned. “That was the strategy.”

 

Hope gave her a knowing look. “Sure it was.”

 

Eventually, they found a quieter part of the forest lit by a single string of glowing bulbs. A couple of students sat on logs, murmuring spells over enchanted marshmallows that hovered and spun themselves slowly over a fire.

 

Hope and Josie sat on a fallen log, watching one marshmallow burst into sparkles mid-air as a student lost control of the spell.

 

Josie handed Hope a graham cracker and a chocolate square. “Want to see if you can toast one the old-fashioned way?”

 

Josie handed Hope a stick with a marshmallow already speared on the end. “Don’t burn it this time.”

 

Hope narrowed her eyes playfully. “Excuse you—I roasted that marshmallow perfectly last time at school.”

 

“It was literally on fire.”

 

Hope accepted with a grin, impaling a marshmallow on a stick and holding it near the fire.

 

“That’s a matter of interpretation,” Hope said, holding her stick over the fire with exaggerated care. “Besides, there’s something satisfying about peeling off the black layer and eating the gooey center.”

 

“Okay, pyromaniac,” Josie laughed, nudging her shoulder. “Let’s make it a contest. Best roasted marshmallow wins.”

 

“Loser has to take a shot of whatever that purple drink was,” Hope challenged, glancing at the ominous bottle someone had brought and dared to label as “fairy wine.”

 

“You’re on.”

 

They hovered near the flames, carefully rotating their marshmallows while trying not to laugh at the pairs beside them—one guy had accidentally launched his marshmallow into the fire and was now trying to fish it out with two sticks and a lot of optimism.

 

Hope held up her marshmallow. “Behold. Golden brown perfection.”

 

Josie turned hers around slowly, showing off a rich caramelized shell. “Mine’s better.”

 

“Lies,” Hope declared.

 

The crowd around the fire cheered and booed as the girls held their marshmallows up for judgment. Someone shouted, “Taste test!”

 

Hope grabbed a graham cracker and squished her marshmallow between two squares with chocolate, then held it out to Josie. “Judge mine.”

 

Josie took the s’more, her fingers brushing Hope’s. Their eyes met for half a second longer than necessary before Josie bit into it.

 

Hope watched her lips wrap around the graham cracker and had to look.

 

Josie chewed thoughtfully, then smirked. “Okay… not bad.”

 

“Admit it,” Hope said, leaning a little closer, “mine won.”

 

“Maybe,” Josie whispered, “but only because I like your flavor better.”

 

Hope blinked at her, taken aback before Josie playfully winked and turned back to grab another marshmallow. The flames danced in her eyes, and for a moment they sat in silence, side by side, the night wrapping itself around them like a blanket.

 

Josie nudged her gently. “You know, I’ve never seen you like this. Laughing. Relaxed. Kind of… happy.”

 

Hope rotated her second marshmallow, smiling faintly. “I don’t know if I am. But I’m trying.”

 

Josie didn’t press. She just nodded, her fingers brushing lightly against Hope’s as she reached for a marshmallow of her own. The touch lingered.

 

A guy with tousled hair leaned over from a nearby log and grinned. “Hey, we’re about to start truth or dare by the fire if you two want in.”

 

Josie turned to Hope, raising a brow. “Tempted?”

 

Hope laughed. “Possibly.”

 

They watched a girl try to enchant her s’more into floating perfectly to her mouth, only for it to explode in a burst of cinnamon sparks. Everyone around the fire cheered. The vibe was flirty, electric, buzzing with youthful energy and a little danger—the perfect cocktail for impulsive choices and long-lasting memories.

 

Someone near the bonfire clapped their hands and shouted, “Alright, let’s get to the real fun. Spin the Bottle. You know the rules.”

 

Josie grabbed her hand. “Come on. It’ll be fun. Sexy fun.”

 

The circle made room for them, and Hope sat beside Josie, brushing shoulders with her. The air smelled like firewood, perfume, and magic. Someone waved their hand, and a warm, golden boundary circled the group—privacy spells to keep things “contained.”

 

The bottle was already spinning.

 

First, it landed on a guy with a lip ring and a soft-looking werewolf girl. They kissed—briefly but with undeniable tension.

 

Then it was Josie’s turn.

 

The bottle spun, clinking softly as it circled. Hope watched, heart thudding. 

 

It slowed. 

 

Pointed at a pretty blonde witch with pink eye shadow and a nose ring.

 

The girl leaned forward, and Josie met her halfway. Their kiss was short but sweet—more playful than passionate.

 

Josie turned to Hope with a mischievous grin. “You okay?”

 

Hope cleared her throat. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

Josie didn’t push, but the teasing curve of her lips said she noticed.

 

The bottle spun again. A few more kisses. Then someone suggested a variation: Spin the Bottle—Truth or Dare edition.

 

The rules were simple. If the bottle landed on you, you had to spin again. Whoever it landed on next would ask you a truth or dare—or kiss you.

 

It was Hope’s turn now.

 

She spun it. The bottle pointed at a guy who’d had three too many drinks. He smirked. “Alright, Hope is it?  Truth, dare, or kiss?”

 

Hope leaned back on her hands, eyes glinting. “Truth.”

 

“Who here would you most want to kiss?”

 

The circle erupted into gasps and laughter.

 

Hope looked around, face carefully blank. She had just recently arrived at Josies campus but, she had to admit there were so pretty good looking people there. As she surveyed her surroundings her eyes landed on Josie’s for a beat too long.

 

Someone whistled.

 

Hope smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

 

Booing followed, but Josie just nudged her with a smile, cheeks slightly flushed.

 

They played for another twenty minutes. More dares. More flirty kisses. Someone had to dance with a random stranger. Another had to cast a spell blindfolded. The firelight flickered on laughing faces, shadows flickering like butterflies.

 

Eventually, the circle thinned out. Couples peeled away into the woods or back to campus. The air-cooled. Back at the edge of campus, Hope hesitated. “My hotel’s kind of far.”

 

Josie looked at her knowingly. “Want to crash at my place?”

 

Hope nodded. “If that’s okay.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Inside, the dorm was dimly lit and quiet. They took turns in the shower. Josie tossed Hope a pair of soft pajama pants and a black tank top.

 

When Hope came out, fresh-faced and warm from the water, Josie was already in bed, scrolling through her phone. Her curls had fallen into messy waves, and her bare legs were tucked beneath the covers.

 

Hope slid into the bed beside her. The silence was comfortable now, filled with shared laughter and lingering adrenaline.

 

Josie rolled onto her side, eyes half-closed. “I had a good time tonight, Hopey.”

 

Hope groaned, shoving her face into the pillow. “Don’t call me that.”

 

“Hopey,” Josie repeated defiantly, grinning sleepily.

 

“Go to sleep,” Hope mumbled. “You’ve got class tomorrow.”

 

Josie mumbled something back, the words slurring into incomprehensibility. A moment later, she was breathing evenly, deeply asleep.

 

Hope stared up at the ceiling. The alcohol buzz was fading, replaced by something quieter. More alert. More aware.

 

She could hear every shift Josie made beside her and could smell the citrusy perfume still lingering on her skin. She was warm, close, real.

 

Hope didn’t know what any of this meant.

 

Only that it meant something.

 

 

 

Chapter 16

Notes:

I'm planning to mature Hope in the upcoming chapters, moving her beyond her current awkward teenage persona cause she's 18/19. I envision her entering a confident and sexy vampire phase, which might result in her seeming a bit different or out of character.

Chapter 16

 

 

Hope woke to the soft rustle of sheets and the quiet hum of morning. Josie’s room was still, sunbeams gently creeping in through the half-drawn curtains. The scent of lavender lingered—Josie’s shampoo, maybe, or the faint traces of a spell she’d cast days ago. The room was distinctly her. Soft. Warm. Safe.

 

The other side of the bed was empty. A note lay on the nightstand in Josie’s neat handwriting.

 

“Had class this morning—just one. Breakfast after? I’ll text. Take your time.”

 

Hope stared at the note a little longer than she needed to, lips twitching into the barest smile before it slipped away. The room, still faintly warm where Josie had slept, already felt like it was missing something.

 

Sliding out of bed, she moved quietly, methodically. She dressed, shrugged on her jacket, and ran her fingers through her hair. Then, with one last look around, she stepped out into the hall, letting the door click shut behind her.

 

Alone in the corridor, she wandered.

 

This time, she wasn’t just following Josie. She had space to see the place for herself, and the Belgian witch school was unlike anything she’d seen. It didn’t boast like the Salvatore School. It whispered.

 

The hallways were carved from thick, old stone, some overgrown with ivy, with magic woven into their very bones. She caught glimpses of enchantments layered into the chandeliers, quiet whispers in the bricks, wards, and protective sigils tucked behind tapestries. Every footstep echoed like a question—what were they protecting here?

 

She passed the main library again, glancing at its tall, arched windows. A warm glow pulsed from inside, but she kept walking. It wasn’t curiosity that tugged at her, not this time. It was something else—like a thread humming in her veins.

 

Eventually, her wandering led her down a narrower, darker hallway, hidden just past an old painting of a starry night sky. If you didn’t look for it, you wouldn’t find it. But Hope had always noticed things she wasn’t supposed to.

 

The hidden hall was barely wide enough for two people side-by-side. Cold crept up her spine. The torches on the wall flared when she passed, though she hadn’t touched them. As she moved deeper, statues appeared—busts and full figures of witches long gone. Names etched in ancient dialects. Portraits covered in dust and cobwebs, their frames cracked but the faces inside untouched by time.

 

It felt like a graveyard of greatness—people forgotten on purpose.

 

Then, one portrait stopped her cold.

 

The painting was of a woman—young, ethereal, eyes the color of molten amber, hair like dark wine pouring over her shoulders. Her dress shimmered with threads of crimson and black. Something about her didn’t feel dead. She was painted mid-movement like she could turn and look at you any second.

 

Hope stepped closer.

 

She could almost hear something… a whisper in the back of her mind. Not quite words, more like a suggestion. A breath. A secret.

 

When she reached out to read the plaque, she found it had been scratched out, carved over so violently that even magic hadn’t healed it. She squinted at the letters, trying to decipher what was once there.

 

“Don’t stare too long.”

 

Hope turned sharply.

 

A woman stood at the other end of the hallway—tall, dark robes, and silver jewelry that glowed faintly against her skin. Her hair was swept back, and her presence was sharp enough to slice air. The Headmistress.

 

“Come with me,” she said simply, and Hope knew better than to argue.

 

The Headmistress’s office was all marble and moonlight. It looked modern at first glance, but when Hope stepped inside, the air turned heavier, layered with spells, silence, and something older than the school itself. A large crystal orb hovered behind the desk, pulsating slowly like a heartbeat.

 

“I’ve let you stay,” the Headmistress began, tone clipped. “Longer than expected.”

 

Hope took a seat, resisting the urge to cross her arms.

 

“I was visiting a friend.”

 

“I know who your friend is. I know who you are, too.” Her dark eyes flicked toward Hope.

 

“Hope Mikaelson. The tribrid. Descendant of chaos and blood. Your family… is infamous. You know this.”

 

Hope tried not to bristle. “That’s not who I am.”

 

“You say that, but wherever your blood walks, shadows follow.”

 

Hope exhaled through her nose. “Look, I’m not here to start trouble. I came to apologize to Josie. That’s all. I’m leaving today.”

 

The Headmistress tilted her head. “That’s wise. Because since you arrived, our magic has… shifted. Nothing dangerous—yet. But something moves.”

 

Hope went quiet. Not because she had an answer. But because… she felt it too.

 

The Headmistress leaned forward slightly. “You are powerful. That is not a threat. But unchecked, even good intentions crack foundations. I’m not accusing you. I’m warning you. Be careful.”

 

The silence stretched until Hope nodded slowly. “Understood.”

 

The woman studied her a moment longer, then leaned back, the intensity ebbing like a tide. “Safe travels, Miss Mikaelson.”

 

Hope stood. “Thanks.”

 

By the time she stepped outside, her phone buzzed.

 

Done with class! Meet me in the common hall for breakfast? Head to the east wing and follow the clover tiles :)

 

Hope smiled despite herself.

 

Breakfast was… surprisingly normal. Pancakes. Fruit. Croissants still warm from the oven. Josie had secured a quiet corner table by the window, the morning light catching the honey-gold strands in her hair.

 

“So,” Josie said, taking a sip of tea. “Did you get into trouble?”

 

Hope smirked. “Define trouble.”

 

Josie tilted her head. “The Headmistress saw you, didn’t she?”

 

“She gave me the ‘please don’t burn down my school’ talk.”

 

Josie winced. “She’s… protective.”

 

“She’s intense.”

 

“She’s also got a literal warlock council breathing down her neck, so… yeah.”

 

They both laughed, the tension bleeding out. For a little while, it felt like old times. Easy. Natural.

 

Eventually, Hope pushed her plate away. “I should pack. My flight’s this afternoon.”

 

Josie’s expression dimmed, just a little. “Yeah… okay.”

 

They ate a bit more quietly after that. When it was time to leave, Josie smiled, but her eyes didn’t quite match.

 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Back at the hotel, Hope packed quickly—she hadn’t brought much. She found a blood bag tucked beneath her clothes and uncapped it, sipping slowly. She grimaced.

 

The taste was stale. Cold. Not like a fresh body

 

She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing.

 

Josie had offered her blood. Offered. Like it was no big deal. Like it was something casual. She’d meant it with care, Hope knew that—but still. It was wild. Unthinkable.

 

Hope had thought about it. About the vein in Josie’s wrist. Her throat. The warmth. The weird intimacy of it. And she’d thought, for one moment, of what would’ve happened if she’d said yes.

 

Then there were the darker thoughts. Ones she hated. Like when she’d snapped Lizzie’s neck in frustration. Like the human man, she’d drained with her humanity off. The way his eyes had glazed. The way she’d felt… nothing.

 

She swallowed hard, bile rising.

 

No. Not now.

 

She pressed the heel of her hand to her chest, grounding herself. She wasn’t that version of herself anymore.

 

Not anymore.

 

Eventually, she lay down. Staring at the ceiling, letting time bleed past her. The last few days had been surreal. Magical. Confusing. She wasn’t sure what she and Josie even were right now. Closer than regular friends. Not quite… anything else.

 

She needed a drink.

 

The hotel bar was dim, classy, and mostly empty. Hope slid onto a stool, flashed a small smile, and when the bartender asked for her ID, she simply said, “You don’t need to see it.”

 

He blinked. Nodded. “What’ll it be?”

 

“Whiskey on the rocks.”

 

The first sip burned but in a good way.

 

“You shouldn’t do that so openly,” said a voice behind her.

 

Hope turned. A girl about her age—dark curls, sharp cheekbones, burgundy lipstick. Her eyes flashed gold for half a second.

 

Hope smirked. “Do what?”

 

The girl chuckled. “Compel bartenders.”

 

“Noted.”

 

The girl slid into the seat beside her. “You here for business or pleasure?”

 

“Little of both.”

 

The girl extended her hand. “Myla. I drink blood, flirt shamelessly, and have a terrible habit of getting involved with complicated women.”

 

Hope blinked. “That’s… direct.”

 

“Life’s short. Especially if someone’s hunting you.”

 

Hope shook it. “Hope.”

 

Hope cracked a small smile despite herself. She sipped her drink, watching Myla through the corner of her eye. There was a playful danger to her, but also something grounding. She didn’t push. Didn’t pry. Just existed unapologetically.

 

Myla laughed. “Cute and sarcastic. Dangerous combo.”

 

Hope felt the tips of her ears burn, but she managed a lopsided grin. “Thanks… I think. You flirt with all the supernatural girls you meet in hotel bars?”

 

“Only the ones who look like they could kill me in two seconds.”

 

Hope rolled her eyes but smiled. “Been a rough few months.”

 

“Same.” Myla took a slow sip of her drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass. The golden liquid caught the low amber light above the bar, glowing like fire in her hand. She studied Hope over the rim of her glass—calm, composed, curious in a way that felt disarming.

 

“You visiting someone?”

 

Hope traced the condensation on her own glass. “A friend.”

 

Myla raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “Girlfriend?”

 

“No. No—she’s not…” Hope caught herself mid-sentence and gave a quick shake of her head. “She’s just a close friend.”

 

Myla leaned forward, elbow propped on the edge of the bar. “You have a boyfriend?”

 

“Had,” Hope said, voice quieter now. Her fingers tightened slightly around her drink. “It’s… complicated.”

 

“Dead or dumped?”

 

Hope gave her a sharp look, not hostile, but wary. “You ask a lot of questions.”

 

“I like knowing things,” Myla said with a small, unapologetic shrug, her eyes never leaving Hope’s.

 

Hope sighed and looked away. The bar was half-full—background hum of conversations, clinking glasses, and the low thump of music pulsing from speakers tucked into the walls. “He died. Sort of. Complicated.”

 

Myla tilted her head, curls brushing her shoulder as she studied her. “You seem complicated.”

 

“You say that like it’s a compliment.”

 

“It is.”

 

Their banter floated between them like smoke—playful, but laced with something quieter. Understanding. Recognition. Myla didn’t press, but she didn’t shy away either.

 

The conversation drifted for a few minutes—sips of drinks, brief silences that didn’t feel uncomfortable. Hope glanced toward the door once or twice but didn’t make a move to leave.

 

Eventually, Myla leaned in again, like she’d been circling this thought the whole time. “So, this friend of yours… If you two aren’t dating, what are you?”

 

Hope hesitated. Her throat tightened slightly, and she took another sip before answering. “She’s… important. There was a misunderstanding. I came here to fix things.”

 

Myla nodded slowly, her expression softening. “Sounds like a lot of feelings to me.”

 

“It’s complicated,” Hope repeated a familiar phrase that tasted bitter and worn out in her mouth. “If I told you the whole story, it’d take a week.”

 

“I’ve got time.”

 

Hope replied. “I don’t.”

 

Her phone buzzed on the counter, its glow lighting up the dark wood. Josie.

 

Hey. Class is done. Want to come over real quick?

 

Hope stood, draining the last of her drink. “I should go.”

 

Myla nodded a hint of something thoughtful in her expression. “Nice meeting you, Hope. I hope everything works out.”

 

Hope slid a few bills onto the bar, then glanced at Myla one last time. “Thanks… for the weird conversation.”

 

She turned and walked out into the night, the door swinging closed behind her with a soft chime.

 

 

When Hope arrived Josie was waiting in her dorm, perched on the edge of her bed, hands twisted in her lap. Her face lit up as Hope stepped inside, suitcase in hand.

 

“Hey,” Josie said, the word soft, like a secret she wasn’t ready to give up.

 

“Hey.”

 

They stood there for a long moment, not moving. Not speaking. Just breathing in the space between them.

 

Eventually, as if drawn by gravity, they both sat on the bed—too close, not quite touching.

 

“I’m gonna miss you,” Josie said, her voice almost breaking on the last word.

 

Hope looked at her, eyes tracing the curve of her cheek, the way her lashes fluttered downward. “Me too.”

 

Josie reached over, pulling her into a hug that was meant to be brief—but wasn’t. Hope’s arms wrapped around her tightly, like she was afraid of losing something she couldn’t name.

 

It lasted longer than it should have. Neither moved to let go. The air between them was warm and quiet, their bodies pressed close, the world outside the dorm door forgotten.

 

When they finally did pull apart, it was slow—like they had to be careful or something might shatter. Hope’s eyes found Josie’s, and she stared.

 

Brown. But not just brown. Honey, maple, soft earth in the sun. There were gold flecks near the center. They caught the light like fire.

 

And her scent—lavender, jasmine, vanilla. It filled Hope’s lungs and settled in her bones. It made her ache. Made her want to stay.

 

Josie looked like she might say something. Her lips parted, just slightly.

 

But then she blinked and smiled instead. “You’ll call?”

 

Hope’s throat tightened. “Or astral project. Whichever’s faster.”

 

They both laughed—but it felt a little too loud, too sudden, like a shield against everything they weren’t saying.

 

“Keep an eye on Lizzie?” Josie asked.

 

“Pretty sure she’ll be keeping an eye on me.”

 

“Touché.”

 

Hope opened her bag and pulled something out. “Here.”

 

Josie blinked. “The communication rings?”

 

Silver for Hope. Gold for Josie. Each ring had five small stones inlaid in a square—one for each of them, maybe. A white band encircled the metal, faintly etched, nearly invisible unless the light caught it just right.

 

Josie’s fingers brushed hers as she took it, warm and hesitant. For a second, neither of them let go.

 

They’d picked the rings together, days ago in the market, enchanted with a spell only the two of them could use. Swipe the white band, and it activated—just enough magic to let voices travel between miles. Just enough to feel close even when they weren’t.

 

Josie turned the ring over in her hand, the faintest smile on her lips. “Still so weird.”

 

“Yeah.” Hope’s throat tightened. “But kind of perfect.”

 

Their hands lingered again, fingertips brushing, the ring caught between their palms.

 

Neither pulled away right away.

 

Then—Hope’s phone buzzed.

 

Time to leave.

 

She didn’t check it right away.

 

“I hate this part,” Josie whispered.

 

Hope nodded. “Yeah.”

 

She stood slowly. Josie followed. They walked down the hall together in silence, steps echoing faintly on the tile.

 

Outside, the cab was already waiting.

 

They hugged again. Tighter. Longer.

 

This time, Josie buried her face in Hope’s shoulder. And Hope didn’t let go until she absolutely had to.

 

As they parted, their hands slipped apart too—fingertips trailing for a heartbeat too long.

 

Josie looked like she was about to say something again. But whatever it was, she swallowed it.

 

“See you soon?” she asked instead.

 

Hope’s voice was a little hoarse. “Always.”

 

She climbed into the cab. The door shut.

 

Josie stayed where she was, arms crossed like she was holding herself together.

 

The cab pulled away.

 

Hope didn’t look back. But she felt it—Josie still watching.

 

Hours later, Hope stepped off the plane.

 

Back in Mystic Falls.

 

Back to reality.

 

And her ring… pulsed. Once. A faint flicker of light across her finger.

 

She didn’t swipe it.

 

Not yet.

 

But she didn’t take it off, either.

 

 

 

Chapter 17

Notes:

Got some things in the works for yall later so i hope you like them. But for now i hope you enjoy this chapter. It's just a little filler but its gonna pick up soon.

Chapter 17

 

 

The plane touched down in Mystic Falls just as the horizon began to blush with the first hints of dawn. The windows were tinted, yet the pale gold of morning crept through like memory, persistent and soft. Hope Mikaelson sat rigid in her seat, eyes unfocused, jaw set. She hadn’t slept since Belgium. Not really. Her dreams had been too vivid, too loud—filled with distorted laughter and the cold hush of whispering stone. Even now, fragments lingered at the edges of her mind like smoke: bloody water pooling beneath her feet, a reflection in the mirror with eyes black as pitch, whispering her own name in riddles.

 

Hope stepped off the plane with the weight of too many things draped over her shoulders. Her boots crunched on the gravel outside the small regional terminal. Her ride, a quiet hybrid SUV sent by Caroline, waited with the engine humming faintly. She said nothing as the driver nodded, offered to help with her bag, and then gave up when she ignored him.

 

By the time she reached the Salvatore School, the sun had fully broken over the trees. Light filtered through the fog clinging to the ground like a second skin, casting long shadows against the wrought-iron gates. The school loomed beyond—familiar, stately, and utterly still.

 

She hesitated. It was too quiet.

 

Her boots echoed on the stone path as she stepped through the gates. She felt the magic shift the moment she crossed the threshold—nothing overt, but subtle, like the school exhaled, recognizing her presence.

 

A flicker at the edge of her thoughts: Josie, handing her a steaming cup of coffee. The light in her eyes was soft, her smile tired but real. Her fingers had brushed Hope’s, lingered—just long enough to say what words wouldn’t.

 

Gravel crunched beneath each step as Hope moved across the courtyard. Everything looked the same, but it didn’t feel the same. The school’s magic hadn’t changed—but she had.

 

The headmistress’s voice echoed in her mind, edged with awe and unease. “My school shifted the moment you stepped inside, Miss Mikaelson. Some things are too powerful to hide in shadows.” Hope had pretended not to care at the time. She didn’t pretend now.

 

Her heart clenched as she walked beneath the archway, past the silent fountain, and toward the door. Her fingertips brushed the doorframe without meaning to, a whisper of nostalgia, and then the door creaked open.

 

And then the memory twisted—dark hallway, gilded frames, the distant hum of a language older than speech. A portrait on the wall that shouldn’t have mattered. But the way it looked at her—painted smirk, knowing eyes—had stopped her breath. It had whispered. Not in sound, but through something deeper, like thread tugging beneath her skin.

 

She blinked, and it was gone.

 

“Hope?”

 

The voice grounded her. She turned to see Cleo emerging from the hallway, her eyes wide. Relief bloomed in her expression, quickly chased by concern. Cleo stepped forward and gently touched Hope’s arm.

 

“You’re back.”

 

Hope nodded, forcing a small smile. “For now.”

 

Cleo stepped back, studying her face. “You’ve changed.”

 

Hope raised an eyebrow. “I was only gone a few weeks.”

 

“No. Not physically,” Cleo said softly. “Your aura… it’s heavier. Like something’s clinging to you that shouldn’t be.”

 

Hope glanced away. “Maybe I just didn’t sleep.”

 

Before Cleo could press further, another voice rang through the hallway.

 

“Well, look who finally decided to show up. Mystic Falls missed its favorite emotionally unavailable tribrid.”

 

Lizzie Saltzman appeared at the top of the grand staircase like a vision Hope wasn’t quite ready for—shoulders squared, arms crossed, chin tilted just enough to project confidence, but not quite enough to hide the crackling energy behind her eyes. The morning sun filtered through the stained glass overhead, casting fractured colors across her pale blonde hair like someone had tried to paint over the tension in the air.

 

Hope stopped in the middle of the foyer, her boots scuffing faintly on the marble floor. Lizzie’s gaze swept down to her, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. The corners of her mouth twitched, caught between a smirk and something softer. Her voice, when it came, had its usual lacquer of sarcasm—but the undertone was thinner, stretched.

 

“Well, well. The prodigal tribrid returns.”

 

Her posture was practiced, but her eyes—her eyes betrayed her. They darted over Hope’s face like they were counting bruises that weren’t there. Relief, yes. Worry, definitely.

 

Hope smirked faintly, raising an eyebrow. “I see you’re still the same.”

 

Lizzie descended the stairs with a dramatic sigh, her boots clicking with each step. The rhythm was comforting in a strange way. Halfway down, she broke the distance and pulled Hope into an abrupt, awkward half-hug—tight for only a second, like she’d forgotten how to do it until the moment demanded it.

 

“Don’t make a thing out of it,” Lizzie muttered as she pulled back, adjusting a nonexistent crease in her sleeve.

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Hope replied, a dry smile ghosting her lips.

 

But the smile didn’t last.

 

Lizzie’s expression shifted, sharpened like a blade unsheathed. She studied Hope’s face too closely now—scanning not for bruises, but for answers. “So… Josie’s not answering my calls.”

 

The statement hung in the air like a challenge. Lizzie’s voice dipped, quieter. “Something happen?”

 

Hope’s body tensed before her words did. “She’s… busy.”

 

Lizzie blinked once, slow. Then she tilted her head with that exact same “I see through your bullshit” look she used in high school. “Uh-huh. And the emotionally stunted pause after that means you’re lying.”

 

Hope’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t argue.

 

“What aren’t you telling me?” Lizzie asked, quieter this time.

 

Hope looked away, her gaze catching on the shadows pooling at the base of the columns. Something about them looked deeper than they should—like if she stared too long, something might look back.

 

“I’m having dreams,” she said, the words pulled like splinters.

 

Lizzie’s frown softened with something like concern. “Dreams.”

 

“Visions. Nightmares. I don’t know,” Hope murmured. “They’re getting stronger. And they’re… different now.”

 

She didn’t say darker. Didn’t say louder, or closer, or how sometimes they bled into her waking hours like ink through paper. Didn’t say how they clung to her skin like smoke. She didn’t have to. Lizzie was quiet now, reading everything in the lines Hope didn’t speak.

 

The silence between them stretched, but not unkindly. It was a strange mercy—gentle, unexpected. Lizzie didn’t press.

 

Instead, she nodded once. Just enough to say I hear you. I’ll wait.

 

Hope blinked, and the hallway didn’t feel quite so heavy.

 

Not yet safe—but less haunted.

 

Hope didn’t linger after Lizzie. The hallway stretched long before her, familiar in the way a wound is familiar—remembered through the ache. She passed old portraits of founding families, scuffed wood floors that still bore the faded stains of battles fought in silence, and walls that knew too many secrets.

 

Her old room waited at the end like a ghost. When she opened the door, it groaned as if in protest—like even it wasn’t ready for her to return. She stepped inside and closed it behind her with a quiet click, then leaned her back against it and exhaled like she hadn’t since the plane touched down.

 

Everything was just as she’d left it, but somehow nothing felt the same.

 

The sunlight through the window painted her bookshelf in soft gold. Her bed was still unmade, the throw blanket half-slipped to the floor. Her dresser held the same silver picture frame—Freya, her mother, her father—and on the far corner, one of Josie’s hair ties she’d never returned. Hope stared at it longer than she meant to, chest tightening with something she refused to name.

 

She moved through the room like she was visiting someone else’s life, brushing her fingers across familiar things that no longer felt like hers. Her eyes flicked to the mirror, and for a second—just a second—it wasn’t her own reflection staring back.

 

Black eyes. Smiling lips. A tilt of the head, like a secret, had just been shared.

 

Something curled through her chest—cold, slow, intimate. Not a voice, not a thought. Just presence. Pressure.

 

She tore her gaze away and shut her eyes.

 

It had started on the flight back. Somewhere above the clouds, between sleep and waking, the dream had found her.

 

Something curled through her chest—cold, slow, intimate. Not a voice, not a thought. Just presence. Pressure.

 

She tore her gaze away and shut her eyes.

 

Red.

 

Water sloshed beneath her feet, thick and warm, filling the aisle of the plane. The hum of the engines was gone. Overhead lights blinked like dying stars. Beneath the surface, something stirred—long-limbed and watchful.

 

Glass.

 

Her reflection again, caught in the airplane window—same twisted face, same dark eyes. But this time, it grinned wider, teeth too sharp. Like it knew she’d come back. Like it had been waiting.

 

The hum of the engine faded into silence, and then—

 

Hope gasped and opened her eyes, chest heaving.

 

Just her room again. Just the walls. Just the air.

 

But the whisper lingered.

 

Her phone buzzed.

 

Freya.

 

Hope swiped to answer, pressing the phone to her ear without saying anything at first.

 

“Hey, kid,” Freya’s voice came, quieter than usual. Tired. “I saw the flight landed. You alright?”

 

“I’m fine.” The lie tasted stale.

 

A pause. “I’ve been tracing the magical signature you sent me—of that portrait. It’s old magic. Fractured. But… I keep hitting dead ends. Whatever it was, it’s not part of any known coven archives I can access.”

 

Hope swallowed. “I thought maybe Belgian or something.”

 

Freya sighed softly. “It doesn’t behave like any coven magic I’ve ever seen. It’s fragmented. Like something from before spells had names.”

 

Hope swallowed. “So it’s untraceable.”

 

“Not untraceable,” Freya said. “Just… lost.”

 

She didn’t say anything for a moment.

 

“Be careful, Hope. Magic that old doesn’t sleep. It waits.”

 

“I know,” Hope said softly.

 

Another beat of silence passed between them before Freya murmured, “Call if anything changes.”

 

“I will.”

 

She hung up.

 

Before she could set the phone down, a gentle knock tapped against her door. Cleo. Hope recognized the rhythm before the door even opened.

 

“Hope?” Cleo peeked in. Her eyes held the same flicker of relief Lizzie’s had, but steadier—warmer. “Can I borrow you for a moment?”

 

Hope hesitated, then nodded.

 

They walked in silence through the lower halls of the school, the ones few students ever saw unless they were in real trouble—or chasing something they shouldn’t. The artifact vault lay behind two layers of magical wards and one extremely cranky steel gate. Cleo waved her hand, and the metal groaned open like a beast rolling over in its sleep.

 

The air inside smelled of old paper, candle wax, and time.

 

“This showed up in a vision last night,” Cleo said, guiding her past rows of relics and books.

 

“I wasn’t sure what it meant until it disappeared right in front of me.”

 

They reached the back wall—stone, cold, empty.

 

And then, as if the air bent under the weight of attention, a thread shimmered into view. It hung midair—barely the length of Hope’s palm—glowing faintly as if moonlight had been spun into silk.

 

Hope stepped forward slowly. The closer she got, the stronger the magic buzzed beneath her skin. She reached out. The thread trembled, and then— poof —it vanished like breath on glass.

 

She stared at the empty space where it had been.

 

“Nothing like that’s ever been in this vault before,” Cleo said softly.

 

“It’s not from here,” Hope murmured, voice distant. “I don’t think it’s from anywhere we know.”

 

She didn’t say what she was really thinking: It felt like it was watching me back.

 

Later, after Cleo had gone and the shadows outside stretched long across the lawn, Hope curled up on her bed. The journal lay open beside her, the portrait now drawn in greater detail. The figure looked smug as if amused by her attention.

 

She reached for the ring—Josie’s ring—and slipped it back onto her finger.

 

It pulsed, faint and warm.

 

Sleep took her quickly, but it didn’t come quietly.

 

This time, the dream wasn’t chaotic or submerged in blood. It was a corridor.

 

Long. Silent. Stone stretching out in both directions.

 

And at the end of it—where once there had only been a whispering voice and a fleeting shadow—stood the figure.

 

Black-eyed. Still watching her.

 

Waiting.

 

 

 

Chapter 18

Notes:

YAYYY WE'RE GOING TO BELGIUMMMMMM!!!!

Chapter 18

 

 

Hope woke with a start, the breath catching sharp in her lungs. Her heart was thundering like a war drum in the hollow of her chest. The air in her room at the Salvatore School felt thick—musty from disuse, dust floating like ghosts in the early light. A scent drifted up from her open drawer: lavender. Faint, almost gone now, but still hers—Josie’s. A sachet she’d left behind during one of their better months, tucked in like a spell of protection or goodbye. Or maybe both.

 

For a moment, Hope lay still, staring at the ceiling like it might rearrange itself into meaning. The dream clung to her like cobwebs, sticky and vague but persistent. She sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and grabbed the journal from her nightstand with hands that didn’t quite stop trembling.

 

The pencil moved without her asking it to. A figure emerged—tall, cloaked, wrapped in shadows that weren’t entirely darkness. This time, the image was clearer. The eyes—not glowing, not monstrous. Familiar in a way that made her stomach twist. Not because she knew who it was.

 

But because she might.

 

Her internal voice, always armed with sarcasm, offered, Great. Haunted by mysterious dream stalkers now. Classic Mikaelson. But underneath the quip was something deeper . A question with teeth: What if this wasn’t just a dream? What if it’s a memory that hasn’t happened yet?

 

The figure hadn’t spoken. Just watched. And still—it had said everything. Its silence rang like a bell inside her.

 

By mid-morning, the Super Squad had gathered in the old strategy room and it hadn’t changed. The same chalkboard wall still bearing faint symbols from Josie’s last spell practice when Hope was without her humanity. The same scent of burning sage and teenage adrenaline. But for Hope, something felt off—the space had too much light, too much air as if everything had stretched slightly in her absence.

 

She stood near the window, arms crossed, trying not to appear as frayed as she felt. Lizzie was already lounging in a chair with her boots on the table, twirling a pen like a wand. MG was adjusting a stack of maps and magical reference books that had clearly been brought in minutes ago. Cleo stood quietly near the fireplace, her expression already troubled.

 

Hope cleared her throat.

 

“Thanks for coming on short notice,” she said. “I know I just got back and everything’s still… weird. But I need your help.”

 

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “Super Squad is basically synonymous with ‘dropping everything for supernatural emergencies.’ You don’t need to thank us.”

 

Hope allowed a tiny smile. “Fair enough.”

 

MG gestured to the maps. “So… what’s going on? You said you were having dreams?”

 

“Not dreams,” Hope corrected, “Visions. Maybe. Or something like that. They’re different. Sometimes I’m not even asleep. They just hit me—like flashes. Usually when I’m not expecting it. Like walking down the hall, brushing my teeth, sleeping, and suddenly—boom. I’m somewhere else. Or someone else.”

 

“Sounds like a psychic tether,” Cleo said, brows furrowed. “Like you’re connected to someone magically… or something.”

 

Hope nodded. “That’s what I’m worried about. I thought maybe it was just side effects from Josie’s humanity spell or when I turned my emotions off—but now they’re getting more frequent. And intense. One of them showed me a girl with white eyes, screaming. Another was a group of cloaked figures chanting around some… glowing symbol in the ground. I couldn’t move. I could feel the power through the floor.”

 

Everyone exchanged uneasy looks.

 

“Did you recognize the symbol?” MG asked, flipping through one of the reference books.

 

“No. It wasn’t like anything I’d seen. It looked carved, almost ancient—like it wasn’t meant to be written down. Just… remembered.”

 

Lizzie sat up straighter. “Okay, yeah, this is officially above my ‘weird vibes’ pay grade. Have you talked to Freya?”

 

“She’s been looking into it,” Hope said. “But even she said the magic in these visions is… off. It’s not from any established school or bloodline. Not witch, not siphoner, not Mikaelson. Something older.”

 

Cleo shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but… I’ve been having dreams too.”

 

Everyone turned.

 

“They’re not the same as what Hope described. There’s no face, no voices, just… feelings. Emotions. A deep hum. Like a warning. And a sense that something is watching. Waiting.”

 

Lizzie frowned. “Could it be a muse thing?”

 

Cleo shook her head slowly. “No. This doesn’t inspire. It terrifies.”

 

Hope stepped forward. “Do you think it’s connected?”

 

“I don’t know. But I felt the pull earlier today—right before you texted about this meeting. Like the moment you walked into the school, something… echoed.”

 

MG tapped the edge of the table. “This is starting to feel like a convergence.”

 

Hope raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

 

“You’ve got visions. Cleo’s got warnings. Josie’s been doing major spellwork. Maybe something’s trying to pull you all together—or through something. Some kind of magical event horizon.”

 

Lizzie narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been watching sci-fi again, haven’t you?”

 

MG grinned. “Hey, the metaphors work.”

 

Hope glanced down at her hands. “Before I left Belgium, a fortune teller cornered me. She said something strange.” Her voice lowered. “She said: ‘Your fate has already been touched by a weaver of threads. There are forces at work beyond your understanding. The path ahead is treacherous, and you cannot walk it alone, Tribrid.’”

 

MG’s brow furrowed. “A weaver of threads? Like… fate-weaver?”

 

‘Touched by a weaver’? Sounds like another vague prophecy,” Lizzie muttered.

 

“Or like a knockoff Greek myth,” Kaleb continued.

 

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “Honestly, we need a bingo card for this stuff.”

 

Hope crossed to the chalkboard and started sketching out the symbol from her vision. It came easily to her fingers, like muscle memory. As soon as it was complete, the air in the room thickened, and Cleo stepped back, her eyes wide.

 

“That’s it,” Cleo whispered.

 

“But you said you didn’t see anything,” Hope said.

 

“I didn’t. But the moment you drew it, I felt it. That hum. That fear.”

 

Lizzie stood too, suddenly alert. “We need to put up protections. If this symbol is enough to set off Cleo’s warning system, it could be more than a symbol. It might be a key. Or a curse.”

 

“Or an invitation,” Hope muttered, staring at the lines.

 

MG hesitated, then said quietly, “What if it’s not just trying to show you something, Hope? What if it’s trying to bring you somewhere?”

 

Hope turned toward him, throat tightening. “You think this is a summoning?”

 

“Or a lure,” Cleo said softly. “Something’s calling you.”

 

A tense silence fell over the room.

 

Kaleb scratched his head. “So we think this dream-ghost, cursed painting, magic symbols situation is connected to Josie?”

 

Hope reached into her jacket, and pulled out the enchanted map. Golden threads pulsed across the parchment. “There’s a faint disturbance here,” she said, pointing. “Near Josie’s school. It wasn’t there a few days ago.”

 

MG stepped back. “You think she’s in danger.”

 

Hope didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

 

Kaleb crossed his arms. “You want backup?”

 

Hope gave him a small smile. “You volunteering?”

 

“Hell yeah,” MG said. “I mean, I’ve always wanted waffles at the source.”

 

Kaleb had chimed in right after—“ I call window seat.”

 

Hope had laughed then, despite herself. “Don’t jinx it.”

 

Cleo, quiet until now, said, “If this is what I think it is… you’ll need someone who can read magical currents. I’ll come.”

 

Lizzie sighed. “Fine. But if I’m crossing the ocean, I’m bringing at least two different coats.”

 

Lizzie continued crossing to Hope. “Look, I don’t care if this is some creepy ancient power or a forgotten cult trying to Netflix and kill you. We’re not letting you face it alone. Super Squad, remember?”

 

Hope felt her heart clench. She hadn’t realized how much she missed this—this weird little family of hers. “Thanks. I don’t know what this is yet, but I do know I can’t ignore it anymore. I need you guys. All of you.”

 

“We’re in,” MG said.

 

“Always,” Cleo added.

 

Lizzie smirked. “Now let’s research this rune until our eyes bleed.”

 

Hope almost laughed. Almost. Instead, she nodded, the first glimmer of resolve cutting through her dread. Whatever was coming, they’d face it together.

 

The meeting ended, but Hope didn’t leave right away. She lingered in the room after the others filed out, the quiet settling around her like snowfall.

 

The table still smelled like old wood and pine. She traced one of the burn marks in the grain—probably from a spell gone wrong.

 

A few minutes later, MG poked his head back in. “Hey.”

 

She looked up. “Hey.”

 

He stepped inside, his usual easygoing energy dimmed with quiet concern. “You scared?”

 

Hope gave a short, humorless laugh. “Of course I am.”

 

He nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching like he understood more than he let on. “Good. Means you’ll be careful.”

 

She looked down at the ring on her finger—the one Josie had slipped into her hand just days ago in Belgium. The silver band caught the light, the faintest shimmer of magic pulsing beneath its surface.

 

“We found these at a witch market,” Hope said quietly, her fingers brushing the silver band.

 

“Josie thought it would be a good idea—just a personal way for us to stay in touch. You know, just in case. We’re always getting wrapped up in supernatural problems, and… well, sometimes magic’s not enough. We needed something that felt like us .”

 

MG nodded in understanding, his expression softening. “Sounds like something she’d think of.”

 

“Yeah,” Hope replied, her gaze lingering on the ring. “She just wanted to make sure, even if everything went crazy, we could always reach each other. No magic, no power—just… us.”

 

MG didn’t say anything. He just crossed the room and bumped his shoulder against hers gently—a silent promise that she wasn’t alone—and then slipped away, leaving Hope in the quiet.

 

She sat there, alone, staring at the ring.

 

It gleamed against her skin, simple but steady.

 

Hope ran her fingers around it slowly, feeling the weight of the promise behind it. It wasn’t just about talking to Josie, or her making jokes from miles away. It was about having something tangible when everything felt like it was slipping away. When the world started to feel too heavy, there was a connection—a lifeline.

 

A tether pulled tight between them.

 

It wasn’t about fate. It wasn’t about magic. It was about a promise, unspoken but clear—no matter what happened, they had each other’s backs. Always.

 

Hope let out a long breath, sitting up a little straighter, and then slid the ring back into place on her finger.

 

Because when things got hard when it felt like everything was falling apart, she had her, her best friend. And Josie had her.

 

Nothing could break that. Not magic. Not distance. Not danger.

 

They were in this together. And that was all she needed to know.

 

Later, in the quiet solitude of her room, the afternoon sun stretched across the floor in narrow shafts of light, like gold blades cutting through the shadows. Hope sat cross-legged on the bed, her journal open in front of her, the pages filled with the strange sketches of the figure from her dream.

 

The room was still, save for the faint creak of the old wooden floorboards beneath her, the only sound that anchored her in this space. She ran her fingers lightly over the sketches, tracing the outlines of the figure’s hands—the fingers long, elegant, yet scarred like they had seen battle, worn but purposeful.

 

The knuckles, roughened with time, told a story of strength and survival, of a life lived in the shadows. And then, like a forgotten memory, there it was again: the same symbol from the mysterious painting—the one that whispered to her in the dark hallway in Belgium—etched across the wrist like a tattoo, a mark of something ancient, something deliberate.

 

Her pencil moved with practiced ease, sketching the intricate details of the rune, feeling the pull of something larger than her understanding. The moment her pencil touched the last stroke, the mark shimmered again, but this time it was different. It wasn’t just a flicker or a fading glow—it held, pulsed with energy, almost like it was breathing.

 

It shimmered brighter now, as if the drawing itself had come alive, and Hope could feel it in her chest, a low hum that resonated through her bones, vibrating in the air around her. It felt like an answer, or at least, the beginning of one.

 

But before she could process the surge of energy, her ring pulsed—its familiar glow cutting through the thick silence in the room.

 

Hope’s breath caught in her throat as she instinctively reached for it, swiping her finger across the surface. The voice that came through wasn’t what she expected—it was frantic, breathless, and urgent.

 

“Hope—I need you. It’s urgent. You might need the others. Please come. Now.”

 

The message cut off abruptly, leaving only the quiet hum of her heartbeat in its wake. Hope’s fingers hovered over the ring, frozen, as the echo of Josie’s voice lingered in her ears. The urgency was palpable, vibrating in the air like the last echo of a bell tolling in the distance.

 

She glanced at the journal, the glowing rune on the page still faintly shimmering as if it, too, was reaching out to her. Her eyes darted to the map on the desk, the one she had been studying earlier, where the supernatural disturbances had flared like tiny, flickering stars.

 

The ripples near Josie’s school hadn’t been there just a few days ago. But now—now they were undeniable, pulsating in time with the rhythm of her racing heart.

 

Hope’s breath quickened as she looked back at the journal. She didn’t need to see the symbol again to know what it meant. It wasn’t just a random mark, a strange coincidence in her sketches—it was a message. It was a call to something larger, something she wasn’t yet ready to understand. And it was calling her name.

 

Her hand moved almost automatically as she grabbed her bag, her fingers brushing the strap with a slight tremor she couldn’t suppress. The quiet of the room felt suffocating now, as though the very air had thickened with the weight of what was coming.

 

Whatever this was—this force that had started to stir, that had threaded its way through her dreams, through the whispers of portraits and the warnings from fortune tellers—it was no longer a distant threat. It was here. It was real.

 

Hope stood, her legs feeling heavier with each passing second. The weight of the ring on her finger, the flickering symbol in her journal, the urgency in Josie’s voice—they all fused into something undeniable, something that could not be ignored.

 

The moment she reached the door, a deep, unsettling thought settled in her chest. It had always been coming. This wasn’t a random event, a freak accident of fate—it was a culmination.

 

A reckoning.

 

And now, things were unraveling. What had once been vague, uncertain warnings had become clear, undeniable signs. Whatever path she was on, there was no turning back. The ripple in time, the weaver of threads, the trembling magic—it was all leading her here.

 

But more than that, it was leading her away .

 

And Hope knew, deep down, that no matter how much she tried to fight it, whatever had begun would end with her.

 

The question now was—how far was she willing to go to face it?

 

 

 

Chapter 19

Notes:

Well things have gotten mysterious and complicated but at least the squads together : )

Chapter 19

 

 

The Super Squad had gathered—Cleo double-checking her sketchpad, MG pacing like a caged thought, Kaleb leaning against a pillar pretending he wasn’t nervous.

 

The Super Squad stood on the tarmac in the early dawn light, their breath fogging in the air, duffel bags at their feet, and Caroline pacing.

 

The airport was small, private, and enchanted to hell and back—courtesy of a witch in Caroline’s Rolodex who owed her favors. The plane waited quietly behind them, engine humming with restrained readiness, while Caroline stood facing them like a general sending troops to a war she couldn’t fight.

 

“I’m still not convinced this isn’t a terrible idea,” she said finally, her arms crossed and her eyes on Hope. “We don’t even know what kind of magic we’re dealing with.”

 

Hope met her gaze evenly. “We’re not sure yet. That’s why we’re going.”

 

Kaleb gave her a look. “Love how you say that like it’s a trip to Starbucks and not a cursed boarding school full of creepy paintings and possessed students.”

 

Caroline didn’t laugh. “I mean it. This magic—whatever Josie is seeing, whatever Hope is drawing—it feels old. Old enough to make even Freya hesitate. That’s not something I take lightly.”

 

“We can handle it,” MG said gently, but there was steel in his voice.

 

“We’ve handled worse,” Kaleb said.

 

Caroline exhaled. “I know. That’s the problem.”

 

She stepped forward and put a hand on MG’s shoulder, then Kaleb’s. She stopped in front of Hope.

 

“I can’t go with you,” she said. “But I’m not sending you in alone. You’ll meet back up once you land.”

 

“Who?” Hope asked, already half-knowing.

 

Caroline smiled faintly. “People who have a lot to lose if anything happens to you.”

 

Caroline touched Hope’s arm. “Whatever’s on the other side of this, make sure you come back. All of you . ”

 

She turned before she could change her mind and walked off the tarmac. The team climbed into the plane.

 

They landed in Belgium beneath thick clouds, the air damp with early rain. The driver who picked them up didn’t speak, only nodded at Hope once before driving them an hour north of Brussels into the dense forest, where the road narrowed and the trees crowded like watching eyes.

 

They were dropped near a clearing—an unnatural circle of flattened grass and whispering leaves.

 

Hope stepped out first. The air crackled faintly, like static before a storm.

 

From the far side of the clearing, a figure stepped into view.

 

Josie.

 

She looked tired, pale, and more tightly wound than usual. Her hair was up, her shoulders squared—but her eyes flicked toward Hope first, a breath catching in her throat that she quickly swallowed.

 

“You made it,” Josie said. Her voice was steady. She looked at the others. “Thanks for coming.”

 

“You sounded like you needed backup,” Kaleb said.

 

Josie nodded. “Yeah. It’s getting worse.”

 

She led them through the edge of campus, down a side path most students probably didn’t use. The buildings here were older—gray stone and ivy—and the quiet were too deep, like the whole place was holding its breath.

 

“I didn’t want to meet on the main grounds,” Josie explained. “There’ve been… echoes.”

 

“Echoes?” MG asked.

 

“Magical residue. Like spells trying to repeat themselves. Or memories imprinted into the walls.”

 

She pushed open the side door of a dorm. The interior was dim and cold like the heat had been turned off days ago. Dust clung to the corners despite the school being in use. They walked past student rooms—shadows spilling under doors.

 

“One student’s missing,” Josie said. “Another keeps sleepwalking to the basement and muttering in Latin. We’ve locked the door, but…”

 

They reached the basement stairs. Hope paused at the top.

 

MG’s brow furrowed. “Like, possessed sleepwalking?”

 

“No,” Josie said. “Like her body’s moving but her mind’s somewhere else. She keeps walking to the same hallway in the basement and mumbling in Latin. Ancient Latin.”

 

“Always the basement,” Kaleb muttered. “Why is it always the basement?”

 

Hope didn’t speak much. She was watching Josie lead. Her posture was different now—more grounded. Like she didn’t need to shrink any more. Like the power inside her had finally stopped being a question.

 

Something tugged at the back of her thoughts. A pressure, low and wide, like the air before an avalanche.

 

Cleo shivered. “Feels like something waiting.”

 

They descended a stairwell with scuffed stone steps. At the base was a long, arched hallway lined with old pipes and scratchy bulletin boards. At the far end, a set of heavy oak doors waited.

 

The basement was narrow and stone-lined, the air heavy with mildew and magic. Hope ran a hand along the wall. Her fingers came away faintly tingling.

 

The interior was cold. Not in temperature, but in feeling. Like the walls had absorbed too many whispers.

 

Hope slowed as they walked. The air here felt still. Trapped.

 

She turned to Cleo. “Do you feel that?”

 

Cleo’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. It’s the same energy from the vision. Not just magic—death.”

 

Josie opened a supply room door and flicked on the light. Inside, a mattress lay abandoned on the floor. Hope looked closer—scratches on the concrete, long drag marks leading to the basement doors.

 

“She was found here?” MG asked.

 

Josie nodded. “And the missing student vanished two nights ago. No signs of a struggle. His stuff’s still in his room.”

 

“There,” Cleo said suddenly, pointing.

 

Embedded near the corner of the wall was a sigil—just like the one from Hope’s drawings. She stepped closer, brushing away flakes of dust and paint.

 

“It’s the same,” she said, almost in awe. “Even the cracks match your sketch.”

 

Kaleb whistled. “Okay, so we’ve officially entered haunted frat party territory.”

 

No one laughed.

 

“Guys?” MG called from another room. “You need to see this.”

 

They followed him around the bend into a small side chamber. One student—young, maybe sixteen—hovered two feet above an old cot. His eyes glowed faintly blue, and his limbs were limp.

 

“He’s been like this for two hours,” Josie said. “No one can wake him up.”

 

Hope moved forward without speaking. She pressed two fingers to the student’s forehead.

 

A whisper clawed into her mind—

 

A room of stone. A portrait flickering. A woman’s face shifting, whispering her name, not like a threat… but like a prayer.

 

Her eyes snapped open.

 

“He’s dreaming—but not alone.”

 

Later, when the student was stabilized upstairs, Josie and Hope stayed behind.

 

“You okay?” she asked.

 

Hope shrugged. “Define okay.”

 

“You didn’t call.”

 

Hope looked away. “You didn’t either.”

 

They stood in that unsaid weight for a moment, neither of them brave enough to unpack it. There was too much unsaid.

 

“I meant the ring,” Josie said finally. “I wasn’t sure you’d use it.”

 

“I almost didn’t,” Hope replied. “Then it pulsed.”

 

Josie nodded. “It wasn’t meant to be dramatic. I just… wanted a way to reach you. Just in case.”

 

Hope gave a soft huff of laughter. “You always think we’re about to get cursed.”

 

“Well,” Josie said dryly, “you are Hope Mikaelson.”

 

MG’s voice echoed from around the bend, sharper this time. “Guys? Found something!”

 

They followed the sound, weaving through the stone corridors until they reached a section of wall where the stones didn’t quite match. MG crouched beside a jagged crack in the masonry, flashlight beam pressed into the gap.

 

“Back wall’s hollow. I felt a draft.”

 

Hope stepped forward, fingers brushing over the uneven surface. The stone here was older—darker, more brittle, veined with something that shimmered faintly under the flashlight’s glow. Not stone. Bone dust, maybe. Or something worse.

 

Kaleb raised a brow. “That’s… not normal.”

 

“Neither is this.” MG pried gently at the wall, and a section gave way with a faint groan of ancient hinges. The air that spilled out was stale and cold, thick with a silence so deep it felt alive.

 

Behind the broken wall was a narrow passage, barely wide enough for them to squeeze through one by one. Cleo lit her palm with soft witchlight and led the way, the beam casting long shadows down the jagged tunnel.

 

The air grew colder as they descended. Not just temperature—but pressure. Like they were being pulled deeper into something that didn’t want to be disturbed.

 

Hope went third, behind Josie, who kept glancing back at her with a look that was part concern, part instinctive protectiveness. They didn’t speak. There was no room for it. The tunnel swallowed sound and breath alike.

 

Finally, the narrow path opened into a wider chamber—and everything changed.

 

At the threshold stood a door—tall, arched, and carved from a single slab of obsidian-like stone. Strange runes glowed faintly across its surface, shifting as if alive, resisting translation. It pulsed with raw magic—ancient and resentful.

 

Hope stepped forward instinctively.

 

The magic struck her like a lightning bolt. She flew backward into the wall, hard enough to crack the stone.

 

“Hope!” Josie shouted, rushing to her before the others could react.

 

Hope pushed herself up, coughing, eyes dazed but burning with frustration. “I’m okay. I just— it didn’t want me there.”

 

“Didn’t want you ?” Kaleb echoed. “That door just bodied a tribrid.”

 

Josie looked at Hope, hesitated only briefly, then turned toward the door. “Let me try.”

 

“No—” Hope started, alarmed. But it was too late.

 

Josie reached out. The magic didn’t push—it welcomed . The runes stilled, then dimmed. With a low groan like something exhaling for the first time in centuries, the door opened.

 

Josie stepped through unharmed. The others stared.

 

“Okay, that’s not ominous at all,” Kaleb muttered.

 

MG glanced at Hope. “Guess we’re going in.”

 

When Kaleb and Cleo crossed the threshold, the magic didn’t react. But when Hope stepped forward, it bristled again. A wall of force met her like an invisible tide, pushing against her skin, resisting her presence. Her bones ached with pressure and her veins buzzed like they were trying to reject her magic.

 

Josie turned back, eyes widening. “Hope?”

 

“I’m—” Hope gritted her teeth and shoved forward. “I’m fine.”

 

The pressure pushed again. Not enough to hurl her back this time, but enough to make every step feel like she was walking through a hurricane. Her boots dragged across the stone floor like gravity itself was working against her. Every instinct screamed at her to stop.

 

But finally, with Josie’s gaze locked on hers, the force relented just enough —allowing her past the threshold.

 

Not because it wanted her there.

 

But because Josie did.

 

Hope stumbled inside, breath shallow, skin clammy. The moment she crossed the threshold, the magic settled—but uneasily. Like it was holding its breath.

 

The chamber beyond was… wrong.

 

The air shimmered, faintly vibrating like it was saturated with whispers no one could quite hear. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, supported by crooked columns that twisted toward the sky like petrified limbs. The floor was littered with dust and bones—animal, probably.

 

Probably.

 

At the far end of the chamber, a tapestry hovered several feet off the wall. It wasn’t hanging—it was suspended in midair, threads twitching slightly as if moved by an invisible loom. The edges were unfinished, unraveling and reforming in a constant cycle.

 

It shimmered silver and black, hints of red flickering beneath the weave like blood pulsing under the skin. The threads were magical—each strand humming with energy too old to categorize.

 

Hope moved toward it instinctively—only to jerk back with a cry.

 

The magic lashed out .

 

It didn’t throw her across the room, but the pain was immediate. Her ribs burned, her skin went cold, and her knees buckled. A barrier pulsed around the tapestry, invisible but solid. Alive. And it wanted her away .

 

Josie rushed to her side. “Hope!”

 

“I’m okay.” Hope winced, regaining her balance with Josie’s help. “It just… It won’t let me near it.”

 

Kaleb frowned. “You got in. Why stop you now?”

 

“It didn’t let me in,” Hope said quietly. “ You did.” She looked at Josie, her expression unreadable. “Whatever this place is… it doesn’t want me touching the heart of it.”

 

Cleo stepped forward, her witchlight dimming as she turned toward the tapestry. “It’s not just repelling you, Hope. It’s reacting. The threads are tightening near you. Tensing like muscles.”

 

Josie watched the tapestry again. “Then it’s afraid of her.”

 

Hope didn’t reply.

 

She didn’t have to.

 

Because deep down, she knew: this thing—whatever power animated it—saw her as a threat. A variable too dangerous to allow direct contact. Her magic, her bloodline, her potential—something in her existence clashed with it like oil and fire.

 

Josie stepped closer, transfixed. “It’s alive.”

 

Cleo knelt beside a pile of dusty tomes stacked near a crumbling altar. She flipped one open, and her breath hitched. “These are memory-bound. Pages locked by emotional residue.”

 

“Translation?” Kaleb asked.

 

“Someone bled themselves into these. Bound their thoughts to them. This place wasn’t just sacred—it was sacrificed.”

 

Hope didn’t approach the tapestry yet. She circled slowly, watching it from the side. Her fingers tingled the closer she got like they recognized the energy. Like it knew her. Recognized her .

 

The face on the tapestry shifted—first a woman with eyes like burning moons, then a version of Hope herself, the expression one she’d never worn… but might.

 

If she ever broke.

 

If she ever let it all in.

 

Josie was still staring, visibly shaken. “It changes. It’s not just showing us someone. It’s showing us possible selves . Fates.”

 

MG stepped back. “So what, it’s some kind of magical prophecy engine?”

 

“No.” Cleo stood slowly, expression grim. “It’s worse. It doesn’t show the future. It decides which one is allowed.”

 

Hope swallowed hard. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

 

Josie turned toward her. “You felt it, didn’t you? It doesn’t want you here. But it let me in.”

 

“I’m the threat,” Hope said softly. “To whatever this place is. To whatever it’s guarding.”

 

Kaleb looked at them both. “So what now?”

 

Hope squared her shoulders. “We find out what this tapestry wants—and what it’s doing to the students. And then we destroy it. Before it chooses something we can’t come back from.”

 

The tapestry shimmered again, and the face of Josie flickered through its surface this time—not her present self, but a version draped in regal robes, eyes completely black, lips curled in a cold, amused smile. Power radiated from her like a curse barely contained.

 

Hope tensed. “Did you see that?”

 

Josie nodded slowly.

 

MG took a step back. “And we’re sure this isn’t just a really cursed art project?”

 

Hope shook her head. “Like Josie said it’s not just showing. It’s choosing .”

 

Josie’s hand was still in hers. “Then we choose back.”

 

Hope met her eyes, the sharp tension in her jaw softening just slightly.

 

Cleo moved toward the edge of the tapestry, careful not to touch it. “Unraveling it wrong could unravel you . Every thread is bound to a will.”

 

Hope met Josie’s eyes. “Then we better figure it out. Together.”

 

And for the first time in days, Josie didn’t hesitate.

 

She nodded. “We’ll start with the books. I’ll try to translate. You guard the threshold.”

 

Hope gave a half-smile. “Deal.”

 

And somewhere, in the tapestry’s shifting threads, the woman’s face smiled back.

 

 

 

Chapter 20

Notes:

bit of a long one :)

Chapter 20

 

The stone chamber beneath Josie’s school still echoed in Hope’s mind. Even as they climbed back up the spiraling catacomb stairs, the air seemed to cling to her skin, thick with the hum of old magic and dusted history. Cleo carefully took photos of the golden threads that shimmered in the low light, the ones etched into the walls like veins pulsing beneath ancient stone. MG snapped shots of the intricate symbols, while Kaleb lingered near the door, fingers twitching like he was ready to bolt at the first whisper of trouble.

 

The walk back to the school library was quiet. The moment they entered, the warm lighting and towering shelves of the library offered a stark contrast to the eerie stillness of the underground.

 

Students whispered around them, giving the Super Squad a few curious glances. The library walls offered comfort—rows of old books, dim golden lamps, a familiar scent of paper and time. But they weren’t alone for long.

 

The Headmistress stood at the entrance to the library, her presence subtle but commanding. She wore a tailored black suit, not a single strand of silver hair out of place. She was tall and had eyes that held the kind of intelligence that made people think twice before lying.

 

Her name was Headmistress Seraphina De Clercq, a newer face in the magical academic world but one that carried itself like she’d always been part of it. Her expression was calm but measured, the smile she offered them tight around the edges.

 

“I trust your exploration of the catacombs was productive?” she asked, her gaze landing on Josie for a moment longer than the rest.

 

Josie nodded politely. “We were trying to understand what may have triggered the student’s trance and see if there were any lingering magical signatures.”’

 

Headmistress Seraphina nodded, a hand resting over her chest. “Good. I appreciate that kind of initiative. It hasn’t gone unnoticed.” She turned her gaze to the group. “Your Mother, Caroline Forbes-Salvatore, spoke with me briefly earlier today. She mentioned you were coming to help investigate the disturbances. I’ve arranged accommodations for your team during your stay. Miss Saltzman has your room keys.”

 

Lizzie arched a brow. “Wow. That’s… surprisingly accommodating of you.”

 

“I believe in collaboration when the cause is worthy,” Headmistress Seraphina replied, her tone even but unreadable. She offered them another faint smile. “I’ll let you get settled.”

 

With that, she turned and walked away, her heels echoing against the polished floor.

 

The moment she was out of earshot, MG leaned closer to Kaleb and whispered, “Anyone else get the vibe that she’s not telling us everything?”

 

Kaleb nodded. “Yeah, that was way too smooth. Like rehearsed smooth.”

 

Josie didn’t respond, but her jaw tightened slightly as she passed out the keys from her pocket. “We can talk more about it later. For now, let’s get back to the research.”

 

Books were pulled from shelves, pages flipped, runes compared, and symbols copied. They spread out across long wooden tables under flickering candelabra that lined the library’s vaulted ceiling. Old texts in Latin, French, and even a few charmed in indecipherable tongues passed from hand to hand.

 

Josie carefully cross-referenced notes in her journal with Cleo's sketches of the chamber. Lizzie frowned at a section on magical possession while MG muttered under his breath, trying to translate a page about dreamwalking spirits.

 

But each clue only led to another dead end. Some symbols they’d seen in the catacombs didn’t appear in any of the books. Others did—but in contradictory contexts. Hours passed. The pile of books grew taller. The frustration grew thicker.

 

Josie rubbed at her temple. “It’s like someone erased half the history on purpose.”

 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Kaleb muttered, tossing another book onto the growing stack.

 

Then the heavy doors to the library creaked open again.

 

“Kids.”

 

The familiar voice hit like a wave.

 

“Dad!” Lizzie was the first to rush forward, throwing her arms around Alaric Saltzman. He caught her without hesitation, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Hope followed close behind, wrapping him in a fierce, grateful hug that said everything words couldn’t. Josie stood frozen for a breath, then stepped forward too, her eyes softening as she leaned into the comfort of his arms.

 

Even Kaleb and MG gave him a quick half-hug, the kind that said they missed him but would never admit it out loud.

 

“You made it,” Hope said as she stepped back, her arms folded but her eyes bright with relief.

 

“Of course I did,” Alaric replied, looking around at each of them in turn. “Caroline said you were walking straight into a mystery. I couldn’t sit that one out.”

 

He set down a canvas satchel, the kind he only carried when he meant business. “What’ve you got so far?”

 

Josie exhaled. “We found a hidden chamber beneath the school. Carvings, magic-laced stones, an old altar, and a student—he was placed in some sort of trance state. We think it’s tied to that room, but we haven’t found a name for the symbol yet.”

 

Alaric raised a brow. “Show me.”

 

They cleared space at the table as Josie pulled out her notebook, flipping to a detailed sketch of the central rune they’d found etched into the stone floor. His eyes narrowed as he studied it.

 

“I’ve seen something like this before,” he said slowly. “Not this exact shape, but a similar structure. From old sects in Eastern Europe. Cult-like, very secretive. Most of them died out… or went underground.”

 

“Underground like… catacombs?” MG asked.

 

“Exactly,” Alaric said. “And if that’s what we’re dealing with, the trance might be a side effect of a larger magical mechanism—like a trigger for obedience, or a kind of magical beacon.”

 

“Which would explain why the student was drawn down there,” Josie murmured, eyes scanning her notes again. “But not how he knew the way in.”

 

Hope folded her arms, her mind already racing ahead. “Then maybe it wasn’t just a coincidence. Maybe someone—or something—led him there.”

 

Alaric nodded grimly. “It’s possible. And if that’s true, it means this place is a lot more dangerous than Seraphina’s letting on.”

 

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “Called it.”

 

Hope glanced toward the windows, where twilight had started to bleed into night. “Then we don’t waste time. We find out what that symbol means, what that chamber was used for, and why this is starting now.”

 

The others nodded in agreement. Alaric settled into a chair beside them, opening his satchel and pulling out a thick, leather-bound journal. The air in the library shifted—not lighter, but more focused. They weren’t just a group of students anymore.

 

They were investigators, protectors.

 

And whatever darkness had been buried under this school’s foundations?

 

It had just woken up.

 

Eventually, they called it a night.

 

The moon had risen high by then, casting long shadows through the tall, narrow windows of the school’s upper halls. Silence fell over the stone corridors, broken only by the distant murmur of wind outside and the fading creak of old floorboards beneath weary feet.

 

Cleo and Hope climbed the spiral staircase together, the old railing cool beneath their hands. Their shared room welcomed them with the soft glow of starlight, silver beams falling across the rug and furniture like spilled water.

 

Hope shrugged off her sweater, careful not to make a sound, and draped it neatly over the back of a wooden chair. Her shoulders, bare now in her tank top, were tense, like she was holding something in—holding everything in.

 

Cleo sat on the edge of the bed, watching her. “You’ve been quiet.”

 

Hope turned, pausing. “Just… tired,” she said after a moment.

 

“That’s not all,” Cleo replied gently. Her voice didn’t push—it offered space. “You’re grieving. And you haven’t stopped moving since the funeral. Since before then, honestly.”

 

Hope didn’t answer right away. She looked down at her hands, then sat beside her friend, fingers tangled in the fabric of her leggings.

 

“If I stop,” she whispered, “it catches up with me.”

 

Cleo tilted her head. “Maybe that’s what’s supposed to happen. Maybe the only way through it is to let a little of it catch you. Not all at once—just enough that you can breathe again.”

 

Hope’s throat tightened. Her eyes stung, but she blinked quickly, shaking her head. “And then what?” she asked, her voice low. “What do I do with it when it does?”

 

“You make space,” Cleo said. Her hand found Hope’s, warm and steady. “For healing. For rest. Maybe even… for someone else, eventually.”

 

Hope looked away, but the words stayed with her, repeating quietly in her chest.

 

Later, when she finally lay down—her back to the door, her arm curled under her pillow—she let herself fall, just a little. Not into despair, but into sleep. The kind that had eluded her for days.

 

And the dream that came… wasn’t like the others.

 

It was not a nightmare, not one of the violent, bloody replays that usually tore her from rest. It wasn’t a memory either—not one from this lifetime, anyway.

 

It was soft. Gentle. Fog curled around tall trees, mist swirling at her bare ankles. The air smelled of damp earth and candle wax. Pale flames danced in glass jars, casting halos of golden light across the forest floor.

 

The moon hung heavy above, watching like an old god.

 

And Hope was not alone.

 

There was a girl standing just beyond the light, dark hair falling in loose waves down her back. She didn’t turn, didn’t speak—but Hope knew her. In her bones. In the ache that pulsed behind her ribs.

 

They didn’t need to say anything. The connection was already there, humming between them like a thread pulled taut.

 

When morning came, it came softly.

 

Hope blinked awake in the gray light of dawn, her heart steady for the first time in days.

 

There was no panic clinging to her lungs. No terror lodged in her throat.

 

Just that same strange… pull. Like something calling her from far away.

 

She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes, then pressing her hand to her sternum.

 

There had been a name. Right there on the edge of the dream. She could still feel the shape of it—round, familiar, sacred—but no sound came when she opened her mouth.

 

She let out a slow breath, stood, and got dressed.

 

By the time she reached the dining hall, most of the others were already halfway through their breakfast. The air buzzed with tired conversation and the scrape of cutlery against plates. Cleo offered her a quiet nod and a seat beside her, and Hope took it without a word.

 

Later, they returned to the library together.

 

Alaric was already surrounded by open books, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, his reading glasses slipping down his nose.

 

Josie knelt on the rug beside a group of shaken first-years, her hands moving gently as she adjusted a sling on a younger boy’s arm. The girl beside him sat with wide, tear-glossed eyes, her shoulders trembling as if holding in more than just fear. Another boy, tall, pale, and clearly out of place, stood a few feet away, the one they’d pulled from the catacombs. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, gaze fixed on the floor as though it might open up and swallow him back where he came from.

 

Her voice—low, steady, patient—wove through the hush like a spell. Comforting. Measured. She offered soft reassurances, asked questions gently, and gave instructions that landed like lifelines in the air.

 

Hope lingered near a high-backed chair, watching. She didn’t interrupt. Not until Josie’s last nod sent the group dispersing, each of them moving away with slightly straighter backs, their breathing just a little easier.

 

Then she stepped forward.

 

“You’re doing good work,” she said, her voice a thread of warmth in the morning stillness.

 

Josie turned toward her. There were dark circles under her eyes, and the faintest shake in her shoulders. But she smiled—a tired, worn thing, like parchment softened by use.

 

“I feel like I’m just… taping everything together with string and borrowed hope,” she said with a weary laugh.

 

Hope’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’re stronger than you think. Whether you meant to or not… you’re leading right now.”

 

Josie exhaled, slow and shaky. “I had a good teacher.”

 

They stood in the quiet that followed, the space between them holding something weightier than words. Not quite fragile, but not safe either—like the moment before a match is struck.

 

Then—

 

A sharp gust burst through the front doors.

 

Cloaks fluttered. Loose parchment flew off nearby desks. The candles lining the long library tables flickered wildly.

 

Freya swept in like the storm itself. Her long coat billowed behind her, boots striking the stone with the confidence of someone used to command. Her presence lit up the space instantly—electric, grounded, and ancient all at once.

 

Hope’s eyes widened, her mouth breaking into something that hadn’t surfaced in weeks.

 

“Aunt Freya!”

 

She crossed the room in a heartbeat, throwing herself into her aunt’s arms. Freya caught her easily, enveloping her in a fierce, grounding hug. One hand cupped the back of Hope’s head, and she murmured something too soft to catch—a protective charm, maybe. Or just her name.

 

Josie had stepped back half-consciously, hovering in the shadow of one of the towering bookcases, unsure if she should stay or disappear.

 

But Freya turned her way.

 

“Josie,” she said, a note of warmth threading through her words. “It’s good to see you again.”

 

Josie blinked, caught off guard. “You too. And… uh, sorry for…”

 

“For knocking me unconscious with a spell or bombarding me with questions and texts to save Hope?” Freya raised an eyebrow. “Please. That’s practically a rite of passage. You’re on your way to family now.”

 

Hope laughed—a real one, short but bright. Josie smiled, sheepish but grateful. The air felt lighter for a moment, like someone had opened a window that had been stuck shut for too long.

 

They gathered around a central table, the long oak one Alaric had claimed and covered with open grimoires and parchment maps. Freya’s energy shifted in an instant—from warmth to focus.

 

“This coven,” she said, gesturing to a page Alaric had marked with symbols carved into the margins. “It wasn’t just hidden. It was erased. Someone scrubbed it from magical memory. That takes precision. And power.”

 

She scanned the table. “But I’ve got contacts. Archivists. A few elders who owe me favors. If there’s a trace left anywhere, I’ll find it.”

 

Hope crossed her arms, brows tight. “Alaric thinks it’s connected to the Fates.”

 

Freya’s expression darkened. “If so, not directly. The Moirai don’t usually meddle like this—not personally. But it could be something built in their image. Or something… older. Whatever it is, it’s not just a myth. And it’s not just theory anymore.”

 

A tension bloomed in Hope’s chest. “You think it’s going to get worse.”

 

Freya met her gaze. “Much worse. Before it gets better.”

 

Later, they ascended the stairs together, the castle quiet around them. The morning light had shifted, golden now, glancing off the stone walls and casting long shadows from the narrow windows. At the first landing, Josie peeled away, murmuring something about checking the southern wards.

 

Hope watched her go before continuing. When they reached Freya’s temporary quarters, Hope hesitated in the doorway.

 

“Can I talk to you?” she asked, her voice suddenly small. Uneasy.

 

Freya turned, instantly alert. “Always.”

 

Hope stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She didn’t sit at first—just stood there, motionless, before finally lowering herself onto the edge of the armchair. Her hands were trembling, so she clasped them tightly in her lap.

 

“They started again,” she said. “The dreams. Worse this time.”

 

Freya’s expression sharpened. “Show me.”

 

Hope nodded, hesitating only a moment before reaching out.

 

Freya took her hand without hesitation. “Just breathe.”

 

Their eyes drifted shut as Freya began to chant softly. A muted glow pulsed between their joined hands, and the room shifted, dimmed—like the air itself was holding its breath.

 

And then Freya saw them.

 

The first dream: a twisted version of Hope herself, wielding the weapon meant for Josie to hide, turning it on the twins with a cruel grin, her presence like a fracture in reality. The helplessness. The shattering world.

 

The second: a storm-swept field. Josie crumbling under invisible weight. The Super Squad torn apart by serpentine shadows. A monstrous figure rising from the cracked earth, towering, eyes burning red. Josie’s distorted voice warning: “It’s coming.”

 

The third: the mirror that didn’t reflect her, but something else—something in her. Black eyes, too-sharp teeth, the drowned silence of an airplane aisle filled with red water. That grin. Waiting.

 

Freya flinched, pulling in a sharp breath. Her eyes snapped open, shaken, her hand still clasping Hope’s. “Hope… These aren’t just dreams. They’re warnings. Or echoes. Someone or something inside is trying to reach you—or through you. And they’re using old, powerful magic to do it. We need to find out who—and why—before they reach you again.”

 

Hope swallowed hard, gaze fixed on the floor. “There was another one, though. Last night. It was different.”

 

Freya’s brow furrowed. “Different how?”

 

“It felt… placed. Like someone meant for me to see it. Not to scare me. To soothe me. But it wasn’t mine.”

 

“Show me,” Freya said again, more gently now.

 

Hope nodded. They closed their eyes once more.

 

Freya saw it: a quiet forest, the kind that holds its breath. Candlelight in glass jars lining a path. Fog curling low to the ground. Peaceful. Still. And the girl—unfocused, distant—but familiar. Known. Her presence settled something deep inside Hope, even if her face remained hidden.

 

When Freya opened her eyes this time, she didn’t speak right away. Her expression had changed—less afraid, but no less alert.

 

“That one wasn’t from the same place,” she said quietly. “But I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”

 

She looked at Hope, unsettled.

 

“And I think—whatever sent it—it’s expecting you to understand something you shouldn’t yet.”

 

 

 

Chapter 21

Notes:

Hey guys. Sorry its been a long time, I've been grieving for the past couple weeks so having the will power to write hasn't been strong. But I'm back though so just be patient with me. I hope you like this chapter, there are some revealing things.

Chapter 21

 

 

The stone stairwell groaned beneath their footsteps as the group descended into the catacombs. It was early morning, though down here beneath the Belgian witch school, time felt like an afterthought. Freya had arrived during the night, her expression grave, her presence grounding. Now she led the others—Hope, Josie, Cleo, Kaleb, MG, and Alaric—deeper into the school’s ancient underbelly. Lizzie, ever the strategist, had remained behind, her sharp eyes scanning the school, ready to manage whatever chaos might erupt above ground.

 

Books, spell satchels, and potion flasks weighed their backpacks, clinking faintly with every step. The air grew colder as they descended, the lanterns flickering with magic instead of flame.

 

“Stay alert,” she warned, voice low but resolute. “The power beneath us… it’s not just ancient. It’s sentient.”

 

With a nod from Hope, the group descended into the depths.

 

They reached the main chamber at last.

 

The tapestry was larger than any of them remembered. Hung like a sentinel across the far wall, it now pulsed with a heartbeat of its own. Symbols embedded within its fibers shimmered—first blue, then red, then a sickly green—as if cycling through states of awareness.

 

Hope stepped beside Josie, who stood tensely at the threshold. The last time she got too close, the magic had nearly thrown her across the room. This time, Hope was close enough to touch her.

 

Josie stepped forward instinctively, drawn like a moth to flame. Hope stayed close, her hand hovering near Josie’s wrist like a tether.

 

Josie inhaled sharply her eyes fixed on the tapestry. “It feels like I should know this,” she whispered, her voice fragile she continued, “It feels… familiar. Not like déjà vu. Like my own memories.”

 

Hope tilted her head. “But you’ve never seen this before.”

 

“I didn’t think so,” Josie murmured. “But something about it—it’s like waking up in a dream that feels more real than anything else.”

 

The tapestry threads brightened as Josie approached, reacting to her presence. A low hum filled the chamber, resonating in their bones.

 

“It’s waking up,” Josie murmured, eyes wide with something between awe and dread. “I think… it knows who we are.”

 

She reached out. The moment her fingers brushed the edge of the woven threads, the tapestry pulsed. Not violently—this time, it responded like a creature recognizing its kin.

 

Cleo approached behind them, drawn silently. She hesitated, then placed her palm on the faded fabric.

 

A violent flash of light engulfed her then the vision hit her instantly. Two girls in long robes, one bleeding from her side, the other chanting in a language that twisted the air. The bleeding girl screamed something—not of pain, but of betrayal.

 

Cleo gasped, stumbling back. A thin stream of blood dripped from her nose. She stared at the tapestry with wide, terrified eyes. “I saw them,” Cleo rasped, barely upright in Kalebs arms. Her skin was pale and her lips trembled. “Two girls—one chanting in some old dialect, and the other… she was bleeding out. They were—connected. Like a ritual gone wrong. Or right. I don’t know. But it was violent. Intimate.”

 

The chamber went utterly silent, save for the faint, rhythmic pulsing of the tapestry behind them.

 

Hope stepped forward. “Were either of them Josie?”

 

“I don’t know,” Cleo said slowly. “But it felt familiar maybe it's Gemini magic, old Gemini magic which is why it's connected to Josie.”

 

Kaleb, leaning against a crooked column, narrowed his eyes. “What if this school wasn’t just built in Belgium because it was remote? What if the Gemini coven had roots here? Old ones.”

 

Freya didn’t respond right away. Her gaze was fixed on the tapestry, distant and unreadable. Then she said slowly, “It’s possible. There are whispers… that this land once belonged to an earlier faction of them. Before the school. Before everything.”

 

Josie looked around uneasily. “Then why haven’t we heard anything about it before? My dad’s obsessed with the coven’s history. Wouldn’t he have known?”

 

Freya’s voice was soft but steady. “Some magic doesn’t leave records. Some places are buried for a reason.”

 

Hope moved closer to Josie, whose eyes were still locked on the glowing tapestry as if trying to remember something she wasn’t sure she ever knew. “If this really is Gemini coven ground,” Hope murmured, “what kind of spell would need someone to bleed out?”

 

Josie didn’t answer. But her hands were shaking.

 

They moved cautiously now as if any sound louder than a whisper would trigger a collapse. Josie knelt near the base of the tapestry, tracing the runes sewn around the edges. They weren’t static—they rearranged every few seconds, like a language written by memory instead of logic.

 

“Some of these are protection runes,” Josie muttered, brow furrowed. “But others… they’re binding spells. Like the kind used to lock away something dangerous.”

 

“Or someone,” MG said grimly.

 

In the center of the tapestry, glinting faintly beneath the interwoven threads, sat a crystal—small, dark, and jagged. It pulsed like a heartbeat.

 

“We need to see what’s behind that,” Hope said. “It’s the anchor. Whatever this tapestry is doing—it’s channeling through that crystal.”

 

She reached out carefully, fingertips brushing the woven threads. The moment she touched the crystal, the chamber tilted sideways.

 

Hope’s knees buckled. Her vision blurred, the air thick with sound.

 

Whispers.

 

But not distant ones. Her voice. Secrets.

 

“If I find this, don’t trust her.”

 

“I won’t survive a second time.”

 

“I bled for this.”

 

Hope staggered back, hand ripped away from the tapestry. Her face had gone pale.

 

“What did you hear?” Josie asked quietly.

 

“Myself,” Hope breathed. “Things I don’t remember thinking.”

 

Kaleb crouched by a nearby slab, brushing off thick dust until a line of carved runes shimmered to the surface.

 

“Guys. There’s something here.”

 

He read slowly, translating with Cleo’s help.

 

“Bind her or be bound .”

 

They all shared a look.

 

Cleo whispered. “Who’s ‘her’?”

 

They stood there for a long moment, until MG, who had been pacing slowly in front of the tapestry, paused mid-step.

 

“…Guys?” he said, stepping in closer. “We’ve been staring at this thing for hours, but—I think there’s more to it.”

 

His eyes narrowed. “Do you see that shimmer?”

 

He leaned in, brushing his fingers just above the surface. Hidden beneath layers of dust and faded dye, a faint golden script flickered in and out of view like a mirage.

 

“Dr. Saltzman,” MG called, voice hushed but urgent. “There’s something here. Do you see this too?”

 

Alaric joined him, peering at the glowing patch of fabric. “It’s… writing,” he murmured. “But I can’t read it.”

 

Freya stepped forward at once. Magic was already humming at her fingertips as if it had been waiting. She traced a sigil in the air and whispered an incantation under her breath. A soft white light spilled from her palm, washing over the tapestry, like moonlight over still water.

 

The hidden script shimmered into full view.

 

Alaric read aloud, each word sinking like a stone in still water:

 

“Beware the Crimson Seer. What was buried must not return. Bind her or be bound .”

 

As the words faded, the group stood still—more shaken now than before. Because whatever the tapestry had hidden, it had just chosen to reveal. And it had waited until Hope touched the crystal.

 

MG exchanged a glance with Alaric. “That was on the tapestry the whole time?”

 

The silence that followed was crushing.

 

MG said what no one could. “So this spell… this tapestry… it’s not just a warning. It’s a prison.”

 

Hope nodded slowly. “Or a trap.”

 

Josie stood. “Then we’re not leaving until we understand what it’s guarding. We owe that much to the students. To whoever built this.”

 

“You should come back to Mystic Falls,” Hope said. “This isn’t safe. I don’t like what this place is doing to you.”

 

Josie flinched. “You think I’m too fragile for this?”

 

“I think you’ve been unraveling since before we got here,” Hope shot back. “You said it yourself. Your memories—”

 

“I said they’re familiar. Not broken.”

 

“You’ve had dreams about people you’ve never met. You said things felt off for weeks.”

 

Josie crossed her arms. “You think this is about me losing it?”

 

“I think whatever this is—it’s targeting you.”

 

“Then maybe I’m the key to stopping it.”

 

“Or maybe it’s using you,” Hope snapped, voice cracking.

 

Josie stepped back like she’d been slapped.

 

The pain that flickered in her eyes wasn’t from Hope’s words alone—it was from things left unsaid between them. Her fists clenched at her sides, trying to hold herself together, even as her voice cracked.

 

“You think I don’t know how dangerous this magic is?” Josie said, low and trembling. “I feel it in my bones, Hope. Every second I’m near it. But I also feel like… like it knows me. Like it’s been waiting for me.”

 

Hope shook her head, stepping forward. “That’s exactly what worries me.”

 

Josie’s gaze burned into hers. “Do you really not trust me? After everything?”

 

Hope’s face faltered, just slightly—just long enough for Josie to see the fear underneath. “It’s not that I don’t trust you . It’s that I don’t trust what this place might do to you.”

 

Josie exhaled sharply, her eyes glassy. “You don’t get to protect me like I’m some fragile thing. Not anymore.”

 

“I’m not trying to protect you,” Hope said, her voice low, almost pleading. “I’m trying to stop history from repeating itself.”

 

Josie blinked, taken aback. “What are you talking about?”

 

But before Hope could answer—the heavy door slammed open.

 

Lizzie burst in, breathless. Her boots skidded slightly on the stone floor, her hair wild, chest heaving like she’d sprinted the whole way. “You all need to see this. Now.”

 

“What is it?” Alaric asked, already crossing the room.

 

“Just follow me,” Lizzie insisted, glancing nervously over her shoulder. “It’s strange. Like, extremely strange.”

 

She didn’t wait for a response—she was already halfway down the corridor again, and the group hurried after her, abandoning the tapestry chamber in a rush of footfalls and flying coats.

 

Their return trip through the catacombs felt heavier as if the air had thickened with the weight of what they’d uncovered—and what still lingered just out of reach.

 

The stone stairwell groaned beneath their feet. Cold drafts curled around their ankles. From somewhere deep within the tunnels, a low hum pulsed steadily, like the echo of a distant heartbeat.

 

Freya trailed behind the others, her eyes scanning the walls, fingertips brushing the aged stone as if it might speak to her. Just as she crossed the threshold of the tapestry chamber, she paused. Her gaze fixed on the threads of the warning tapestry—those strange, worn runes woven in ink-dark thread.

 

She murmured a soft incantation under her breath, and for a moment, the air shifted—subtle, like the tightening of a string.

 

Her brow furrowed. “No tapestry is just a warning,” she said quietly as if the truth had only just taken shape.

 

A long silence hung between her and the wall before she added, “This isn’t a haunting. It’s a living spell. Someone built this place to remember—and to forget.”

 

Then, without waiting for a response, she turned and followed the others.

 

They ascended from the chamber into the lower levels of the school—stone giving way to old brick and aged concrete. The catacombs released them reluctantly, the damp air of the underground thinning into the colder, sharper draft of the basement corridor.

 

By the time they reached the foyer, the sunlight filtering in through high windows looked almost alien, too clean, too distant from what they had just seen.

 

They had barely made it into the library when Freya caught up, her expression sharp with unease. She said nothing, just gave a short nod as they moved together through the aisles of ancient books and magical texts.

 

The Super Squad had been using the back of the library for days—sprawling notebooks, grimoires, enchanted tools, and cold coffee cups littered the corners. Most students never came this far in. It was quiet here, protected. Familiar.

 

But today, something had changed.

 

“Uh… that door wasn’t there before,” MG said, stopping short.

 

At the far end of the room, tucked into the stone wall where once there had been nothing but shelves and shadow, a wooden door now stood—tall, dark, and arched like the frame of a cathedral window. It pulsed faintly with magic, its surface covered in delicate carvings that shimmered like ink in candlelight.

 

Hope stepped forward warily, scanning the symbols. “These aren’t protection sigils,” she said. “They’re… containment.”

 

Freya exhaled slowly. “Someone wanted to keep something in.”

 

“Or keep us out,” Josie murmured, already reaching for the handle.

 

The moment she touched it, the door opened with a deep, resonant creak. Cold air poured out, thick with ancient magic. They stepped through into a vast circular chamber that hadn’t existed in the school’s blueprint—or reality—until now.

 

The room was domed and immense, its walls ribbed with columns etched in runes older than any of them could name. And at its center: a half-unburied stone pedestal, its surface glowing faintly with sigils.

 

Suspended above it, slowly spinning in midair, hovered a crystal.

 

Not the tiny one they’d seen in the tapestry.

 

This one was larger. Black, but alive—drawing in ambient magic with a soft, pulsing thrum-like breath.

 

Against the far wall, plaster had crumbled away to reveal a mural—dusty, ancient, but unmistakably magical. Time had faded its colors, but the image was still striking, haunting in its detail.

 

A circle of people cloaked in white robes stood with their arms raised, encircling a woman bound to a wooden pole at the center. She wore deep red robes, stained darker by the blood pouring from a gaping wound in her side. Her head was thrown back, mouth wide open in a silent scream, eyes turned to a sky painted in violent streaks of dark red and purple—like a storm of darkness descending.

 

The figures in white seemed to chant, their mouths frozen mid-incantation. Magic, raw and flickering, was woven into the mural itself. You could almost hear it.

 

But what drew the eye next was another woman standing just inside the circle.

 

She wore blue—elegant, ceremonial, and drenched at the hem with blood. Her face was pale, her eyes broken and filled with sorrow as she stared across the space toward the screaming woman. In one hand, she held a dagger, its blade slick and dripping. Her other hand was clenched into a fist at her side.

 

It wasn’t just a depiction of pain—it was a betrayal. A sacrifice.

 

And somehow… a bond.

 

The dark woman’s scream. The woman in blue’s heartbreak. The chanting figures. The bleeding wound. The red sky.

 

None of it was random.

 

It was history.

 

A warning.

 

Josie froze.

 

Her breath hitched as her gaze locked onto the mural. “I’ve seen this,” she whispered. “The circle. The people in white.”

 

Everyone turned to her.

 

“In my dream,” she said, voice thin. “They weren’t just chanting. They were looking straight at me—like I was standing in the center of the circle instead of her.” She pointed toward the woman in red. “Like I was meant to take her place.”

 

A chill settled in the room.

 

Cleo stepped forward slowly, eyes wide with recognition. “This is what I saw when I touched the tapestry,” she said, almost to herself. “Not the full image—but pieces. The chanting, the stormy sky, the blood on her robes…” Her voice dropped. “And that dagger.”

 

MG shifted uneasily. “So what is this? A prophecy?”

 

Freya’s voice cut in, low and wary. “Not a prophecy. A memory.”

 

She stepped toward the mural, her fingers twitching at her side like the magic in the room stirred something in her bones. “The Ritual of Severance. An ancient rite meant to purge a witch’s darkness by force. The woman in red was sacrificed—cut away, sealed. But it wasn’t a clean split. Whatever they tried to banish… survived.”

 

Her eyes flicked to Josie.

 

Kaleb followed her gaze. “Wait… are you saying Josie’s—?”

 

“She’s tied to it,” Freya said. “The dreams, the visions, the tapestry… they’re threads leading back to this. The woman in red wasn’t just bound by magic. She was bound by blood. Perhaps Gemini blood.”

 

Josie took a slow, shuddering breath. “She’s part of me,” she said. “Or I’m part of her.”

 

Hope moved beside her, gently brushing their fingers together. “Then we figure out what she wants—before she finds a way out.”

 

Above them, the crystal embedded in the ceiling pulsed—harder this time—sending a tremor through the stones underfoot.

 

And from the deep shadows behind them, a whisper slithered through the air, cold and intimate:

 

“Welcome home.”

 

 

 

Chapter 22

Summary:

previous update: I recently realized I forgot to upload an earlier chapter in this fic. It was originally meant to be Chapter 10 so go back for that.

Notes:

New Update; It's been a while, hasn't it? I know, I know, and I'm so sorry for the long wait! To make it up to you, I've got a double chapter upload ready for you.

Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 22

 

 

The echo of ancient magic still hummed faintly in the halls as the Super Squad dispersed. Freya lingered near the mural, her fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air, attempting to unravel the mystery buried in the centuries-old stone. The others returned to the main wing of the school, their footsteps muted against the cold tile floors, but Josie didn’t follow.

 

Her gaze remained fixed on the mural’s haunting image—the woman in red, screaming into a sky painted with violence, the circle of robed figures chanting in silent torment. But what unsettled her most was the woman in blue standing within the circle, her eyes shattered with sorrow, a bloodied dagger clenched in her hand.

 

Josie’s hands trembled slightly as she finally tore her eyes away, her breath shallow. She knew that look. She had lived with it in her dreams, flickering through her mind like a warning she couldn’t shake.

 

She turned toward Hope, who stood nearby, watching her with a mixture of uncertainty and fascination. However, neither of them had spoken a word since they left Freya behind.

 

“Hope,” Josie’s voice broke the silence, barely more than a whisper, “Can we talk? Alone?”

 

Hope nodded silently, falling into step beside her as Josie led them out of the library through the dim corridor and out a side door into a small garden courtyard tucked away from the bustle of the school. The air here was cooler, scented faintly with damp earth and blooming jasmine, a fragile bubble of calm amid so much turmoil.

 

Josie sank onto the weathered stone bench beneath a twisted old oak, its gnarled branches stretching like skeletal arms against the pale blue afternoon sky. She looked up at Hope, eyes wide and raw.

 

“I’m scared,” Josie confessed, voice breaking. “I’m scared that I was meant to be either the woman in blue—the betrayer, the one who holds the dagger—or the one in red—the sacrifice, the one who bleeds.”

 

Hope knelt beside her, hesitant but steady. She reached out, brushing a loose strand of dark hair from Josie’s face, her fingertips lingering against the warmth of her skin.

 

“You could never do or be that. Not to me,” Hope said softly, her words slow and deliberate.

 

Josie’s lips trembled, the tension between them thick and electric. For a moment, they just sat there, close enough that their breaths mingled, charged with unspoken feelings that hovered on the edge of confession.

 

Then Josie broke the silence with a nervous laugh, a fragile shield. “Well, if I ever do, you can always stake me.”

 

Hope’s smile was faint but genuine, the ghost of one she used to wear before her world had shattered and reshaped itself. “I might take you up on that.”

 

They moved together toward the center of the courtyard, where the soft glow of the afternoon sun filtered through the leaves. The world beyond seemed distant, a muted backdrop to the quiet intensity growing between them.

 

Josie’s eyes caught Hope's flinch as a sudden burst of birdsong filled the air—too loud, too sharp for her new vampire senses.

 

“Sorry,” Hope murmured, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. “It’s… everything’s louder now. Sounds, smells… even the cravings. It’s like my whole body is on edge.”

 

Josie reached for her hand, weaving their fingers together. Her touch was grounding, a lifeline in the storm.

 

“You’re not alone in this,” Josie said firmly. “I’m here.”

 

Hope’s grip tightened around Josie’s fingers, relief and fear warring behind her eyes. For a beat, she said nothing, and they just stood like that—hands intertwined, breath syncing.

 

But the weight of unspoken tension lingered, and Hope’s voice faltered.

 

“Josie… about earlier,” she began, gaze dropping to the cracked stone beneath her boots. “Our argument. I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

 

Josie’s brow furrowed. “Yeah. Me too.”

 

Hope took a deep breath. “I know I said things that hurt you. But it’s because I care. I don’t want to lose you—to this place or to whatever magic is twisting everything around us.”

 

Josie looked up, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I get it, Hope. I do. But I’m not fragile. I don’t want you treating me like I’m going to break. I’m tired of feeling like I have to prove I can handle it all.”

 

Hope swallowed hard. “I don’t want to make you feel that way.”

 

Josie exhaled slowly, her voice softer now. “I know. And I don’t want to shut you out either. I’m just scared… scared that this magic is bigger than both of us. That it’s using me, and I don’t know if I can stop it.”

 

Hope nodded, the vulnerability in Josie’s words settling deep inside her chest. “You’re not alone. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Josie squeezed Hope’s hand, a small, fragile thread of peace between them. She sat back on the bench and let the silence stretch between them, comforting rather than awkward.

 

A light breeze picked up slightly, rustling the hedges and lifting Hope’s curls from her shoulders. She tilted her head to the side and listened.

 

“I can hear the squirrels in the trees,” she murmured. “The birds. The soil settling beneath us. It’s all so… loud.”

 

Josie shifted beside her, her expression thoughtful. “You always carried everything alone, didn’t you? Even before becoming a vampire.”

 

Hope gave a half-smile, dry. “Yeah. It’s a Mikaelson tradition.”

 

A long pause. Then Josie leaned her head against Hope’s shoulder.

 

“You don’t have to anymore,” she whispered.

 

As the steady daylight bathed the courtyard in a warm glow, Josie stood and gave Hope a small nudge. “Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”

 

Hope raised a curious brow but followed without question. Her boots crunched softly on the gravel as they left the bench behind.

 

Josie led her along a narrow, seldom-used path behind the courtyard. It curved around a hedge and disappeared into the old part of the school. She paused at a small wooden door, worn at the edges and framed by creeping ivy. With a glance over her shoulder, Josie pushed it open.

 

They stepped into a room barely larger than a broom closet—yet filled with warmth. Dozens of candles flickered in iron sconces across stone walls. The air smelled faintly of lavender and sandalwood. A few velvet floor cushions were scattered on an old rug, its colors muted with age.

 

“I come here when I need to feel… quiet,” Josie said softly. “Not think. Not fix. Just… exist.”

 

Hope looked around slowly, then exhaled—like she was letting go of something she didn’t know she’d been holding. “It’s beautiful.”

 

Josie sat cross-legged on a cushion, patting the one next to her. “Come on. You need this.”

 

Hope hesitated, but sat. Her legs folded awkwardly, hands in her lap. She shifted, visibly trying to relax. “I haven’t felt quiet since I turned. It’s like… every second, something inside me is screaming.”

 

“I figured,” Josie said gently. “That’s why I brought you here.”

 

The candlelight cast soft gold across their faces, illuminating the lines of worry beneath Hope’s eyes. They sat in silence for a moment. Josie’s breathing was steady, her presence grounding.

 

Hope tried to match her breath.

 

Then, quietly: “Do you ever wonder who we’d be without all this? No magic, no prophecy, no monsters.”

 

Josie blinked, then smiled. “All the time. I used to imagine us in New York. A small apartment. You creating art on an easel.”

 

Hope let out a laugh, low, surprised. “You’d be a teacher. Or a therapist.”

 

Josie tilted her head, intrigued. “And Lizzie?”

 

A smirk tugged at Hope’s lips. “Oh, she’d be a realtor, gliding through penthouses in heels like it’s her runway. Probably with a modeling contract on the side. And a secret tech empire she coded in high school and never told anyone about.”

 

Josie chuckled, eyes shining. “Sounds about right.”

 

There was a pause. Then Josie glanced at her. “Why a therapist?”

 

Hope’s gaze lingered on her before answering. “Because you always try to fix people. Even when they don’t realize they’re broken.”

 

The air shifted, quieter, heavier. Josie looked at her, something vulnerable flickering in her expression. “I don’t try to fix you.”

 

Hope’s smile faded into something gentler, more uncertain. “I know. Maybe that’s why I trust you.”

Their eyes met. A beat passed. Then another.

 

Hope’s vampire hearing picked up the quiet rhythm of Josie’s steady heartbeat, even and calm, like a lullaby. It soothed her in ways blood never could.

 

The candlelight flickered faintly as silence settled between them. The stillness of the small room pressed in softly, like a warm blanket.

 

Just then, the old wooden door creaked open behind them. Hope tensed, her instincts snapping into high alert.

 

A student peeked in, startled to see them. She looked pale and winded, clutching a tissue to her nose, blood spotting its surface.

 

“Sorry,” the girl said breathlessly. “I—I was just trying to find a quicker way into the west wing. I didn’t even know this door opened.”

 

Josie stood smoothly, placing herself subtly between Hope and the girl. “It’s okay,” she said calmly. “There’s a stairwell two doors down that’s faster. You alright?”

 

The student nodded quickly, embarrassed. “Yeah, just a nosebleed. I’ll be fine.”

 

She ducked back out, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

 

Hope hadn’t moved. Her eyes were darker now, her hands gripping her knees, jaw locked tight. Hunger flared under her skin—visceral and immediate.

 

Josie turned back to her and crouched, gently pulling a small blood bag from her coat pocket.

 

“I’ve got you,” she said quietly, offering it without judgment.

 

Hope hesitated, jaw tightening as her throat burned. “I don’t… I don’t want you to see me like this.”

 

“I’ve seen you in worse shape,” Josie replied gently. “This? This is just survival.”

 

With a small nod, Hope accepted it. Her hands trembled slightly as she took the bag. She turned slightly away, pierced it with her fangs, and drank. The liquid hit her system fast, dulling the hunger but not the shame.

 

Josie watched her quietly, noticing the subtle tremble, the way Hope’s lips stained red as she drank. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, pulse racing a little faster.

 

When Hope pulled back, licking the blood from her lips, she avoided Josie’s eyes.

 

“Still sexy?” she tried to joke, a weak smile tugging at her mouth.

 

Josie blushed, caught off guard. “Yeah. Unfortunately.”

 

They both laughed softly, the tension easing just enough to let the warm afternoon air settle between them.

 

Then the silence stretched again, but this time, it was comfortable. A breath held between heartbeats.

 

Josie looked away first, just barely. “We should get back.”

 

Hope nodded, but neither of them moved right away.

 

When they finally stood, their shoulders brushed.

 

Hope swallowed. “Thank you… for this.”

 

Josie smiled at her, soft and real. “Anytime.”

 

And for the first time in days, Hope felt quiet.

 

As they walked, Josie’s voice dropped, hesitant but truthful. “I saw those people in white… in my dream. They were all looking at me. Like I was part of something I didn’t ask for.”

 

Hope shifted uneasily, the weight of their shared secrets pressing down.

 

“It felt familiar,” she admitted after a long pause. “Not like something I’ve seen, but more like something I’ve felt deep inside. Something… older.”

 

Josie nodded slowly, uncertainty flickering behind her eyes. “Cleo said it was her vision too. Like all our stories are circling the same thing.”

 

Hope’s gaze met Josie’s, searching, wondering. “Do you think we’re part of it?” she asked.

 

Josie didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked toward the pale blue sky, then back to Hope.

 

“I think it’s following us,” she said quietly. “Or maybe we’re following it. Either way, I don’t think we get to step off this path.”

 

Hope exhaled, shoulders relaxing slightly. “Then we walk it together.”

 

They sat back down on the bench, the garden quiet around them except for the rustle of wind through leaves. A lone firefly drifted between them, pulsing gently like a heartbeat in the air.

 

Hope leaned back, looking up at the clear afternoon sky above. “Do you ever wish things were just… simple?”

 

Josie chuckled. “Every day.”

 

“No magic, no ancient murals, no hunger for blood.”

 

Josie turned her head to look at her. “Just you and me?”

 

Hope hesitated, her lips parting. “Just us.”

 

Josie looked away, cheeks flushed, but she didn’t let go of Hope’s hand.

 

Another moment passed. Then Josie asked, “Are you scared of what’s coming?”

 

Hope nodded slowly. “I think I’m more scared of losing control.”

 

“You won’t,” Josie said. “You’re stronger than you think.”

 

A pause.

 

“Not without you,” Hope admitted.

 

Josie’s breath caught, and for a second, she looked like she might say something more—but the moment passed.

 

Above them, a single flower on the ancient oak blackened at the edges, curling slowly as if time itself was wilting away—silent and inevitable.

 

From the path ahead, Lizzie and MG approached, their footsteps breaking the delicate spell of the moment.

 

Josie released Hope’s hand reluctantly, but her eyes stayed locked on hers a moment longer—a silent promise passed between them, fragile but unbroken.

 

 

 

Chapter 23

Notes:

Little apology present for taking a bit too long to update

Chapter 23

 

 

The protective wards shimmered faintly around the edges of the old training hall, enclosing the space in a hush of security.

 

Lizzie swept her hand across the perimeter, satisfied. “Alright, let’s blow off some steam,” she announced, already brimming with restless energy. “This place should hold whatever we throw at it.”

 

The Super Squad trickled into the echoing space, their footsteps reverberating off the aged stone floor. It was tucked deep in the school’s west wing—abandoned for classes but perfect for magical sparring. The hall smelled of chalk and spell residue, as if it remembered centuries of practice.

 

Josie lingered just inside the doorway, watching Hope from a distance. Her presence felt sharper now, more magnetic.

 

There was something dangerous but beautiful about her lately.

 

Josie didn’t entirely know what it meant, but she couldn’t look away. There was gravity in Hope now, not just because of her power but because of how she moved—precise, confident, like someone finally inhabiting their full strength.

 

While MG and Kaleb bickered lightheartedly over which of them could hold the most weights, Hope leaned casually against a stone column. Her arms crossed, and her expression unreadable. But her eyes flicked toward Josie more than once—brief, subtle glances.

 

Lizzie and Josie squared off first, trading spells in rhythmic succession. Blue light snapped between them like a dance they’d done a hundred times, familiar and fast. But Josie was pushing harder than usual, aiming to impress someone not named Lizzie.

 

Hope watched with quiet intensity, her eyes narrowing slightly as Josie landed a particularly clever reversal spell. She didn’t speak, but her jaw twitched, something between pride and warning every time Josie gained ground.

 

There was admiration in her gaze, but something else too. Something tight, hungry, unsettled.

 

Lizzie shot forward with a flare of fire magic, but Josie’s counter was immediate. A shockwave of violet light burst from her palm, knocking Lizzie clean off her feet and several feet back. Lizzie landed with a grunt and a surprised laugh.

 

“Okay, whoa,” Lizzie said, brushing herself off. “What even was that? You’ve been holding out on me.”

 

Still catching her breath, Josie smiled. “I honestly don’t know. It just… came to me.”

 

MG checked the time on his phone. “If we don’t leave now, we’re gonna miss the lunch window. I needed food, like, yesterday.”

 

Lizzie looked toward the door, then to Hope and Josie. “You two joining or…?”

 

Josie glanced at Hope, her heartbeat quickening. “Actually, I want to try that last spell again. Hope, can we run it back?”

 

Lizzie raised a brow, but said nothing. Just smirked and waved them off. “Don’t burn the place down.”

 

The door creaked closed behind MG, Kaleb, and Lizzie. The echo of their footsteps faded quickly, leaving behind only quiet. Hope and Josie stood alone in the cavernous space.

 

They circled each other slowly, eyes locked. Josie lifted her hand, the same spell building in her palm. Hope gave the faintest nod—and the spar began again.

 

Sparks burst between them as spells collided. Josie darted forward, trying to catch Hope off guard. But Hope was always two steps ahead, her vampire reflexes lightning fast. Her movements were smooth, controlled, and almost elegant in how easily she avoided impact.

 

Josie ducked a crimson bolt of fire, landing in a crouch. She was winded, sweat glistening on her forehead, but exhilarated. “Okay,” she panted. “Showoff.”

 

Hope smirked, barely out of breath. “You asked for it.”

 

They escalated—the magic stronger, sharper. Josie formed a ring of glowing light around herself. Hope vanished in a blur, reappearing behind her like a shadow.

 

Before Josie could react, Hope grabbed her wrist mid-incantation. With practiced ease, she twisted and spun her around, pressing her lightly but firmly against the stone wall.

 

Hope’s arm rested across Josie’s collarbone, their faces inches apart. Neither moved. The heat between them was immediate, their chests rising in tandem.

 

Something primal stirred in Hope. Her fangs flicked out, unbidden. The scent of magic and adrenaline and Josie—it overwhelmed her. Her pupils dilated, breath quickening as a thousand impulses battled inside her.

 

Josie saw it. And still, she didn’t flinch. Her voice was steady. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

 

The words cut clean through the fog. Hope jolted back, like she’d been burned. Her eyes widened in guilt. “You shouldn’t tempt me like that.”

 

Josie stayed where she was, her breath shallow but steady. “I wasn’t trying to tempt you.”

 

Hope turned away, pacing once. Her voice tightened. “You don’t mean to. But you do. And I can’t—”

 

Josie stepped forward. “Can’t what?”

 

Hope’s back was to her now. “I can’t trust myself with you.”

 

Josie froze. Her voice softened. “Why not?”

 

Hope didn’t answer immediately. Then: “Because I thought I’d never hurt Lizzie. She was like a sister. My family.” She paused. “And I still—” she stopped. “I still killed her.”

 

Josie’s breath caught. “But she came back.”

 

Hope shook her head slowly. “That doesn’t erase what I did. I chose to hurt her. I crossed a line.”

 

She hugged herself, voice breaking. “Everyone I love, I ruin. Even when I try not to.”

 

She turned, slowly, looking at Josie as though she were expecting her to step away. “And now… I feel like I could maybe be something else. Something better.”

 

“But I don’t know how long I can keep that version of me alive.”

 

Hope didn’t realize how hard she was clenching her jaw until Josie brushed her fingers along her knuckles.

 

“You’re doing it again,” Josie said softly, looking down at their hands. “You clench when you’re overwhelmed.”

 

Hope gave a breath of laughter, hollow but real. “Yeah. One of my lesser vampire traits.”

 

Josie’s brow creased. “I don’t think that’s a vampire thing.”

 

Hope looked over at her, weary amusement dancing behind her eyes. “You’d be surprised.”

 

They sat in quiet for a moment longer, the kind of silence that didn’t demand to be filled.

 

But then Josie did speak, her voice quieter than before. “You don’t scare me, Hope.”

 

Hope’s spine stiffened. “Maybe you should be scared. Just a little.”

 

“I’m not,” Josie said without flinching. “And I think that terrifies you more than bloodlust ever could.”

 

Hope said nothing to that—because it was true.

 

Josie shifted her body just slightly, angling toward her. “Can I try something?”

 

Hope blinked. “What kind of something?”

 

“Magic,” Josie clarified. “Nothing big. Just… grounding.”

 

She stepped in closer, her voice dropping to a gentler register. “You’re spiraling. I can feel it,” she murmured. “Let me siphon a little. It might help.”

 

Hope hesitated, tension flickering in her shoulders. “From me?”

 

Josie nodded, her gaze steady. “It’s safe. I won’t take much. Just enough to settle you.”

 

A beat passed, heavy with unspoken tension.

 

Then—slowly—Hope gave a hesitant nod. “Okay.”

 

Josie raised her hands and gently cupped Hope’s wrist, her touch light at first, reverent. The moment her skin made contact, a surge of magic sparked, pulsing like static beneath her fingertips.

 

Hope inhaled sharply. “Oh—”

 

It hit her fast. A wave of warmth spread from the point of contact, rushing up her arm and blooming in her chest like heat after too much wine. Her knees weakened, breath hitching in her throat as the sensation deepened—not painful, not dangerous—just intensely good.

 

Hope’s pulse raced. “Okay—wait. That feels…”

 

“Yeah,” Josie whispered, voice lower now. “You’re… powerful. It’s like… drinking stars.”

 

Josie’s eyes fluttered half-shut as she drank in the magic, her expression awash in awe and hunger. The taste of Hope’s power was unlike anything else.

 

Wild and ancient, laced with darkness and light, grief and fire. It was intoxicating.

 

Hope’s back hit the wall behind her as she tried to steady herself, a low sound slipping from her lips before she could stop it. Her fingers flexed, gripping Josie’s arm. “You’re… taking too much.”

 

But Josie didn’t seem to hear. Her mouth parted, eyes glazed, a flush rising in her cheeks. She was glowing faintly now—magic rippling beneath her skin like gold dust in water.

 

“Josie,” Hope said again, voice low, almost pleading. “You need to stop.”

 

Josie blinked, snapping out of it. She yanked her hands away like she’d touched a flame, falling back a bit. “God—I’m sorry. That felt… I didn’t mean to—”

 

She swayed slightly on her knees, breathless and dazed. “You’re like… sunlight wrapped in thunder. I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

 

Hope pressed a hand to her chest, trying to catch her breath. Her pulse was racing, her senses a tangled mess of residual pleasure and dizziness.

 

“You okay?” Josie asked, voice unsteady, drunk on raw power and guilt.

 

Hope managed a laugh, weak, breathy, and a little dazed. “I don’t know. Are you okay?”

 

Josie grinned crookedly. “No. I think I’m a little magic-drunk.”

 

“You think?” Hope teased, still flushed and blinking slowly. “You siphoned half my soul.”

 

“You let me,” Josie said, breath hitching with a nervous chuckle.

 

Hope met her eyes. “You make it hard to say no.”

 

They both sat there, flushed, reeling, staring at each other like they’d crossed some invisible line but didn’t know whether to step back or lean in. The air between them practically vibrated.

 

Josie’s smile gentled. “Feel better?”

 

Hope nodded slowly. “Yeah. That helped. Too much, maybe.”

 

Their eyes lingered on each other, charged and quiet. Nothing more was said—but the moment hung between them like heat after sun.

 

Then, after a pause, Josie’s voice softened. “You’re trying. That matters.”

 

Hope looked down briefly. “Trying doesn’t mean succeeding.”

 

Josie moved closer—not too much, just enough for warmth. “Then don’t do it alone.”

 

Hope met her gaze again—unsteady but open. A beat passed. Then she nodded. A quiet surrender.

 

They sat on the edge of the raised platform at the center of the training floor. The spellwork around them dimmed, resetting. Silence settled in like a breath held too long.

 

Josie broke it. “Magic addiction is real. I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. It changes you. Warps your judgment.”

 

Hope stared at her hands. “It’s the same with blood. Once I tasted it—really tasted it—I realized how easy it would be to lose control.”

 

Josie looked at her. “But you didn’t.”

 

Hope turned, voice low. “What if this version of me is the real one? What if I like it?”

 

Josie didn’t hesitate. “Then I’ll still be here. Even if you do.”

 

The air between them shifted. No longer charged with fear or regret—but something quieter.

 

Deeper.

 

They were no longer sparring. They were seeing each other.

 

Josie leaned gently, resting her head against Hope’s shoulder. Hope didn’t move away. Instead, she closed her eyes.

 

Their hands found each other again—fingers intertwining with quiet intent.

 

Hope was struck by how steady Josie’s pulse was. Even as a vampire, Hope felt more alive in that moment than she had in weeks. She could feel the exact rhythm of Josie’s breath. The rise and fall. The warmth. The trust.

 

The silence swelled again, warm and full of meaning. The old training hall didn’t feel cold anymore. It felt like a sanctuary.

 

Sunlight poured through the stained-glass windows high above, casting colored light on the floor. Dust danced in slow spirals through the warm afternoon air.

 

In the distance, the school bell chimed once—soft and slow. A single ring to mark mid-afternoon. Still early enough for change.

 

Hope exhaled, and her voice trembled with truth. “Maybe becoming someone new… isn’t the same as becoming someone worse.”

 

Josie squeezed her hand in response, a silent promise made not of spells or power, but of presence.

 

They sat like that for a while. Together.

 

Unspoken things resting safely in the space between their joined hands.

 

 

 

Chapter 24

Chapter 24

 

 

 

Hope woke with a gasp, the sheets tangled around her legs, soaked with sweat.

 

Her eyes flashed crimson in the low light of her dorm room, and her fangs ached against her gums. Her hands gripped the edge of the mattress like it might stop the chaos unraveling inside her chest. The dream—no, the memory—lingered in sharp fragments: blood on her hands, Landon’s voice calling her name, Josie standing still in a sea of fire. She blinked rapidly, forcing the red from her vision. But the feeling didn’t leave.

 

She kicked off the covers, stumbling out of bed like the room was suffocating her. The hallway was cool, dimly lit, but the shadows danced in ways that made her breath catch. Every sound—whispers, footsteps, the echo of her own heartbeat-felt like a threat.

 

Her fangs hadn’t retracted. She pressed the heel of her palm against her jaw, willing them away. Not here. Not now. Then came the scent. Sweet copper. Hunger gripped her gut like a vice.

 

Less than ten minutes later, she was moving without thinking, drawn by the pull. It was faint, but enough—metallic, warm, fresh. Maybe a paper cut or a bloody nose. She was on autopilot, her feet silent on the floor. She didn’t realize how close she’d gotten until her hand hovered just inches from a first-year’s shoulder. Her eyes flashed red.

 

“Hope!” Josie’s voice cut in like a blade, sharp and certain. Her hand gripped Hope’s arm with practiced familiarity. The student glanced back and kept walking, none the wiser.

 

Hope’s breath caught in her throat as the crimson glow faded from her eyes, leaving a jittery, hollow ache in its place. She stared at Josie, her chest heaving, as the rush of hunger and confusion tangled inside her like a storm.

 

Josie’s gaze softened but stayed steady. “You weren’t yourself,” she said quietly, almost like a question and a reassurance all at once. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out.”

 

Hope swallowed hard, the metallic scent still lingering in her nostrils. “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper, shaking with the weight of it.

 

Josie gave her arm a firm squeeze, anchoring her in place. “Let’s not waste time. We should go find Freya. She might have something to help—something to slow it down before it takes over.”

 

Hope nodded, the tension in her limbs easing slightly with Josie’s calm presence. Together, they turned toward the common room, stepping quickly through the dim corridors.

 

Back in the common room, she sat stiffly while Freya handed her a steaming mug. “Vervain tea,” she said. “Emergency fix. It’ll dull your senses. It won’t fix the root, but it slows the spiral.”

 

Hope’s hands trembled as she took it. She hated the taste—bitter, burning, earthy, like dirt ground into—but she drank it anyway, jaw clenching around every swallow.

 

Freya settled beside her, watching with quiet focus. “I used to make this for Elijah,” she said. “When the Red Door memories overwhelmed him.”

 

Hope blinked, surprised. “Did it help?”

 

Freya’s smile was tired and a little distant. “Not always. But it gave him something to hold onto. A choice. Even if it was just finishing the cup.”

 

Hope stared into the swirling steam, her voice small. “I don’t want to be like him.”

 

“You’re not,” Freya said. “You’re fighting harder.”

 

They didn’t speak after that. Just moved in quiet synchronicity, Josie eventually took the mug and set it aside. She touched Hope’s shoulder, light and steady, and led her through the academy’s side corridors.

 

“This place is usually locked,” Josie said softly, fumbling with a small spell to pop the latch.

 

Hope blinked. “Where are we?”

 

Josie eased the old glass doors open. “The greenhouse. I think no one’s used it in a while.”

 

Warm air hit Hope’s face—humid, thick with the scent of soil and something green. Vines had curled up the walls, and flowerbeds lay tangled in sleep. Light filtered through dust-covered glass panels above. They hadn’t been here before. But something about the space felt removed from the chaos of the school. From the world.

 

Josie guided her toward an old cot near the back they’d pulled in, probably meant for students to rest between plant identification sessions.

 

“It’s quiet here,” Josie added. “We could use quiet.”

 

Hope collapsed onto the cot, skin clammy, breath uneven. Her body twitched with aftershocks she didn’t understand—bloodlust, grief, regret. She looked more creature than girl , eyes wild, mouth parted.

 

Josie didn’t leave her side. She sat cross-legged with a damp cloth and wiped Hope’s brow, her silence speaking more than comfort ever could.

 

“You’re not a monster,” Josie murmured, her voice a soft incantation against the static in Hope’s mind. “You’re grieving. And adapting. At the same time.” She pressed the cloth gently to Hope’s cheek, letting it linger. Hope closed her eyes. Let the sensation tether her to this moment.

 

When she opened them again, they shimmered.

 

“It feels like I’m rotting inside,” she whispered. “Like I’m full of hunger and regret. Like I’ve already lost myself.”

 

Josie didn’t blink. “You’re still the girl who risked everything for people who didn’t always deserve it,” she said. “You’re still the girl who held my hand when my magic went dark, who believed in me when I couldn’t.”

 

Hope turned her face away, but Josie leaned in closer.

 

“That girl hasn’t disappeared,” she continued. “She’s just hurting.”

 

A sob clawed its way out of Hope’s chest—deep, jagged, unrelenting. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she managed between breaths. “But I might. One day, I might.”

 

Josie wrapped her arms around Hope, pulling her in tight. “Let me help.”

 

Hope didn’t answer. She buried her face in Josie’s neck and inhaled—shampoo, skin, the heartbeat beneath it all. The craving murmured under her skin, but she didn’t give in.

 

Time passed. Hope’s sobs quieted. Josie didn’t move. At some point, she shifted, curling into Hope’s lap. She fell asleep like that, trusting without question. Hope stayed still, hand on Josie’s back, watching the sunrise bleed gold across the glass above them.

 

She looked down at Josie’s lashes, at the way they fluttered in a dream. Her pulse was steady—Hope could track it without trying. The hunger hadn’t left her. But neither had something else: reverence. Josie had let herself fall asleep in Hope’s arms. Trusted her, even now.

 

The quiet let her remember.

 

Landon under the stars. His ridiculous poems. The safety that had once been enough. Back then, Hope thought, the world felt smaller. Easier to survive. And dull. Now? Everything cut deeper. Every sensation felt like a flame under her skin.

 

Josie stirred, her cheek brushing Hope’s collarbone. “You didn’t sleep?”

 

Hope shook her head. “Didn’t want to.” Her voice sounded raw. “I’ve been thinking… When I feed, I feel powerful. Like my skin finally fits. And I hate myself for it.”

 

“I know that sounds… sick,” she added, lips pulling tight. “But when the blood hits, it’s like everything sharp inside me smooths out. I don’t feel broken. Or hollow. I just feel… right. And that terrifies me.”

 

Josie reached out, resting her fingers on Hope’s knee. “That doesn’t make you a monster. That makes you someone who’s trying to reconcile what you’ve become.”

 

“There’s darkness in me too,” she added, quieter. “I used to crave control like it was oxygen. Any semblance of it I could find. I literally wanted it so bad that I created another version of myself. Maybe part of loving someone is… accepting the hunger they carry.”

 

Hope’s eyes lifted. “Are you saying you love me?”

 

Josie smiled. “Of course, I have love for you. You’re my best friend. My ride or die. Along with Lizzie, obviously.”

 

She brushed a strand of Hope’s hair behind her ear. “That kind of love doesn’t break. It bends.”

 

Hope looked down, something soft in her expression. “That’s the kind of love that can survive anything.”

 

Josie nodded. “Exactly. So stop pushing me away like it’s for my own good. I don’t want space. I want you to let me in. Even the messy, dangerous parts.”

 

Hope stood suddenly, pacing the greenhouse. Her steps were too quick, too tight.

 

“You don’t get it, Josie. My instincts are all wrong. I wake up starving. I see you and you smell like… sunlight and honey and I—” She stopped, horrified. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

 

But Josie didn’t recoil. She stepped forward slowly, voice unwavering. “You’re still you, Hope. I’m not scared of you.”

 

Hope shook her head, voice breaking. “But I am. I don’t trust myself.”

 

She stared down at her hands. “I used to trust my instincts. They kept people safe. Now they get me high off blood and danger.”

 

Josie hesitated, then placed a hand over Hope’s wrist. Her touch was warm, grounding.

 

“Then trust me,” she said. “I’ll tell you when to stop. I always have.”

 

Their eyes locked, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down. Neither leaned in. Neither stepped away.

 

Eventually, Josie gave Hope’s wrist a light squeeze. Then, without a word, she turned and left the greenhouse.

 

After she was gone, the silence stretched. Hope didn’t move. The cot was empty now, but it still held Josie’s warmth. She touched the place where Josie had rested, her own chest tight with want. And fear.

 

Later, in the training gym, Hope threw punches into the sandbag until her arms ached. She needed control. Pain. Movement. Anything to remind her that she still had choices.

 

Her knuckles split on the next hit. She barely flinched. Sweat dripped from her hairline, curling down her jaw. Her body was screaming, but her mind was louder.

 

Josie stepped into view without announcement. She waited until Hope’s fists finally slowed.

 

“You’re trying to outrun it,” Josie said. “But you can’t fight your way out of grief.”

 

Hope’s breathing was uneven. “What else am I supposed to do? Sit and wait for the moment I snap?”

 

Josie shook her head. “No. You keep moving. But not always like this.”

 

Hope finally let her arms fall. Her chest rose and fell in jagged rhythm. For a second, it looked like she might argue. Instead, she grabbed a towel off the bench and wiped the blood and sweat from her hands.

 

“Come on,” she said, her voice rough. “I need air.”

 

She didn’t wait for an answer, just pushed open the side door. The gym let out into a gravel path lined with crooked hedges and warm stone. Sunlight slanted across the ground in lazy stripes. Josie followed silently, boots crunching against the gravel.

 

“You’re not going to lecture me?” Hope asked over her shoulder.

 

“No,” Josie replied softly. “I’m going to walk with you.”

 

They reached the courtyard without speaking, the silence not heavy, just there, lived-in. Hope paused by one of the low stone planters that framed the space and sank down onto the edge. Josie sat beside her, careful not to crowd. The air was cooler here, touched with earth and fallen leaves.

 

She pulled something from her jacket—a small, black pouch. “You’re supposed to remember.”

 

Josie opened it slowly, revealing a tarnished silver ring with a cracked opal at its center.

 

“This was Landon’s. One of the last things he gave me.”

 

Hope recoiled instinctively. “Why would you bring that?”

 

“Because you need to remember who you were with him,” Josie said quietly. “Who you are when you’re not drowning in guilt.”

 

Hope stared, her throat working around unsaid words. “I don’t know if I miss him… or if I miss the version of me he loved.”

 

“Maybe both,” Josie said. She placed the ring gently into Hope’s hand. “But you don’t have to erase him to become someone new.”

 

Hope closed her fingers around it. Her voice was thin. “It hurts. Missing him. And not missing him.”

 

“I know,” Josie replied. She didn’t say who she meant. She didn’t have to.

 

“You ever think you’ll stop missing them?” Hope asked.

 

Josie looked up at the sky. “No. But the missing doesn’t hurt as much when I let people in again.”

 

Hope nodded slowly. “I’m trying. I just… I don’t know how to do it without hurting someone.”

 

“You start small,” Josie said. “You start with not running.”

 

They sat side by side on the stone planter, the courtyard quiet around them. Leaves rustled. The air shifted.

 

“I thought when I became a vampire, I’d feel stronger,” Hope whispered. “Like I wouldn’t have to feel this much anymore.”

 

“But instead, you feel everything more,” Josie said.

 

Hope nodded. “Like I’m constantly on the edge of something sharp. Like I want to scream or kiss someone or break something, all at once.”

 

Josie smiled faintly. “That sounds like being alive.”

 

Hope looked at her. “But it’s not normal. Wanting things so badly it aches. Craving things I shouldn’t.”

 

“Desire isn’t evil,” Josie replied. “It’s human. Even when you’re not.”

 

Hope’s hand, still wrapped around the ring, trembled.

 

“I wanted to bite you once,” she said suddenly. “It was during that awful American Idol night.”

 

Josie didn’t blink. “But you didn’t.”

 

Hope nodded.

 

Josie placed her hand near Hope’s—close enough to touch, but not quite. “That’s what matters. Not the hunger. The choice.”

 

They sat like that—fingers almost touching, knees brushing. The moment wasn’t romantic, but it held weight.

 

Hope’s voice dropped. “I don’t know who I’m becoming.”

 

Josie leaned in just slightly. “It’s okay.”

 

Hope looked at her, startled.

 

“It’s okay not to know yet,” Josie said. “You’re not done becoming.”

 

Hope’s shoulders dropped a little. And for the first time in days, she didn’t feel like she was unraveling.

 

They sat that way until the sun sank behind the treetops, casting everything in a warm, golden hush. Hope’s fingers, still curled with Josie’s, tightened slightly.

 

The quiet wasn’t frightening anymore.

 

It felt like the beginning of something. Fragile. But real.