Silver Blood

by user_arabella

Summary:

Elena never knew she had a sister. Jeremy never knew she lived just beneath their feet.
Rita Gilbert — the twin no one was supposed to know about.
Hidden her whole life in the cellar beneath their home, her existence was erased by a story of illness and a distant clinic.
She grew up in the dark — forgotten but brilliant.
Now she’s free. Strange. And she looks exactly like Elena.
Still, secrets don’t stay buried forever — and soon enough, the past will catch up with them all.

Chapter 1: one

 

 

⊰᯽⊱ ──── ⊰⚜︎⊱ ──── ⊰᯽⊱

 

 

 

It had been weeks since the Gilbert house had looked different.

Not just because their parents were dead. Elena was slowly getting used to this absence — if she couldn't bear it. It was a different kind of silence, a heavier one. Something palpable. As if the walls themselves were holding their breath.

That morning, Elena went through her father's desk for the third time.

She opened drawers, flipped through appointment books, and turned over stacks of files, but Jonathan Gilbert's watch was still nowhere to be found. The Founders' Council was waiting for her. Mrs. Lockwood insisted. She'd told Jeremy he'd help her find it before he left to meet his friend, but deep down, she just hoped she'd find this damn watch.

Fiddling with her parents’ things made her sad. 

She furiously blinked in an attempt to hold back her tears.

Jeremy entered the office without knocking.

Still nothing?

Elena straightened up, arms crossed, “No. And I've searched everything,” she shrugged casually.

“Maybe it's in the cellar. Dad hid lots of stuff down there.”

She stared at him, surprised. ”The cellar? Seriously? Why would he put something so valuable there with Christmas decorations?”

“You really want us to listen to dad’s logic? He wasn't concerned about old stuff.” His smile fell abruptly at the mention of his dad. 

It was still painful to mention Grayson and Miranda Gilbert, but he had a point. Elena heaved a resigned sigh and followed him down the corridor.

At first glance, the Gilbert cellar was nothing special. It was old, dark, and smelled of dampness embedded in the stone. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling, projecting a yellow, trembling light.

Elena descended the steps behind Jeremy, the wood creaking beneath their footsteps.

“Remember when we used to play here as kids?” she asked.

“Yeah. Dad always forbade us to go into the back corner.” Jeremy paused.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

She squinted.

The corner in question. An old wooden cupboard. Still, there. It hadn't moved in years.

They approached. Jeremy opened the doors: empty. He put his hands on the sides of the cupboard, pressed lightly. It creaked, then moved. Just a little.

“Help me,” he said.

The two of them pushed the cupboard open, revealing a clear concrete wall — and a rectangular shape carved into the stone. A metal door, handleless, set into the wall.

Elena took a step back. “What the hell?”

Jeremy had already pulled out his phone to shine the light.

“Look there, there's a badge reader… and a keypad.”

Elena felt her heart quicken. She put her hand on the wall, cold to the touch.

“Is this some kind of bunker?”

“You think Dad hid a whole room under the house for us?”

“It's not a room. It's a laboratory.”

They looked at each other, uncertain. Jeremy punched in a few random numbers on the keyboard: nothing.

But Elena remembered something. A black magnetic key she'd found a few days ago in her father's drawer. She had put it in a box near the desk.

“Wait for me here.”

A few minutes later, she was back, panting. She inserted the card into the slot.

A beep. Then a metallic click.

The door opened with a gasp.

A staircase descended into the shadows, far corner.”

Jeremy turned on the flashlight on his phone. He didn't hesitate. Elena paused.

A shiver slid down his back.

“Are you sure?” he asked, seeing her expression.

“No,” she replied. “But we're going anyway.”

They slowly descended the steps, the air growing drier and denser. The corridor below wasn't wide but surprisingly clean. The walls were smooth concrete, painted an almost too-new white, and recessed strip lights in the ceiling diffused a white, clinical light, almost aggressive after the darkness of the cellar.

“It's not just a room,” Jeremy muttered. “It's a fucking… complex.”

They passed a half-open door into a kitchen, where a metal shelf was filled with perfectly stacked canned goods, packs of mineral water, and a built-in microwave. The smell here was neutral, sanitized, and almost sterile. Nothing alive, nothing fresh. Only the functional.

A little further on, another door revealed a metal-framed bookcase, spanning two whole sections of wall. Hundreds of books, classified, some covered in dust, others still open on reading desks. Books on biology, anatomy, genetics, but also… novels. Classics. Fairy tales. A worn edition of Frankenstein sat next to a collection of poetry by Keats.

But it was the last room that drew them both in.

A glass airlock with a badge door.

And behind the glass… a bedroom.

Elena stood frozen on the threshold, breathless.

The room was bathed in a cold, almost lunar light, filtered through neon lights embedded in the ceiling. Everything seemed suspended, frozen in a strange calm. A low bookcase, filled with books and notebooks, ran along the left-hand wall. A light-wood desk, stained with inks and pigments, was cluttered with watercolor sheets, dried brushes, and small plastic cups. Some drawings depicted flowers, blurred silhouettes, and eyes.

To the right, a bathroom corner, separated by a large opaque curtain. You could vaguely make out a basin, a faded mirror and the base of a shower.

A narrow, well-made bed with light gray sheets was set against the far wall. A garbage can overflowed beside it: empty cereal bars, crushed juice cartons, cake wrappers. Everything seemed organized, but careless. As if survival had replaced routine.

And in the middle of this strange room, as if in the center of a still painting… Inside the final room was a girl.

At first, Elena saw only her outline—sitting on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, lit by the sterile glow of the overhead light. Then, as Elena stepped closer to the glass, the girl turned her head.

And her breath stopped.

It was her face.

Not just similar.

Identical.

Same almond-shaped eyes. Same sharp cheekbones, same mouth, same jawline. Even the shape of her nose, the arch of her brow.

It was like looking in a mirror, if the mirror belonged to someone else’s life.

But there were differences, too.

Her hair was silver-white, thick, and wavy, like it had been bleached by moonlight instead of the sun. Her skin was nearly translucent, a shade paler than Elena’s had ever been—like porcelain that had never seen the outdoors.

Elena stepped back, heart hammering.

Jeremy stared through the glass beside her, speechless.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. “She looks exactly like you.”

Elena couldn’t answer.

The girl inside the room blinked, calm and still. Then her eyes met Elena’s—and for the briefest moment, the two versions of the same face stared at one another, locked across the glass.

The resemblance wasn’t just uncanny. It was impossible.

This girl was her.

And yet… she wasn’t.

 

 

Sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the bed, her legs drawn up against her chest, she seemed at one with the half-light. Her hair — a pale, almost lunar silver — cascaded down to her waist in thick, curly cascades, wrapped around her arms and shoulders like a silent blanket. Her face was thin, almost triangular, marked by extreme thinness, but without the ugliness of damaged bodies; there was something fragile and ancient about her, like a forgotten statue.

Not only that, but her skin was milky, without visible imperfections, almost unreal in its pallor. Not a bruise, not a scratch. But her neck, wrists and ankles seemed too thin, too light, as if the slightest breath could collapse her.

She was wearing an oversized white t-shirt, probably masculine, falling over one shoulder, and faded gray leggings. Nothing warm. Nothing new. Mismatched socks covered her folded feet.

And above all, his eyes.

They were brown. When she raised them to them, Elena felt something inside her freeze.

Not fear.

No aggression.

Just… silent expectation.

Jeremy, behind her, whispered:

“Who's that?”

Elena didn't answer. She couldn't look away.

She slowly approached the glass, placed a hand against the cold wall. The girl didn't move, but followed her with her eyes, without a word.

Elena finally took note of the magnetic card beside the door. She slid in her father's key. A beep, a click, and the door opened with a soft gasp.

The air in the room grew colder. A mixture of metal, dry dust, and confinement.

She entered softly. No sound except her footsteps on the vinyl floor.

The girl still didn't move. But she was looking at her, intensely.

“How long have you been here?” asked Elena, mid-voice.

Silence.

Then, very slowly, the girl looked up at her, her lips parting for the first time.

A soft, broken voice that sounded as if it hadn't vibrated in weeks:

“Hello.”

Elena felt her chest contract.

Jeremy half-opened the door, concerned.

“Everything all right?”

Elena nodded, without taking her eyes off the young girl.

Then she added, in a calm, almost unreal tone:

“I'd like… something to eat.”

And for Elena, this was the most terrifying moment of all.

 

 

The phrase echoed like a discreet wave through the room. She had said it in a soft, almost detached voice. It was said without emotion. Without weakness. Like a fact. Like a sentence, she'd been waiting to have the right to utter. As if it weren't a request, but a note taken aloud. Nothing in her tone was plaintive.

She didn't seem to beg, or even hope.

And yet, this sentence made Elena sway.

She felt a familiar pressure return to her chest, the same one that crushed her in her nightmares: the silence of the car at the bottom of the lake, the memories erased forever, the heavy absence of her parents. And now… this girl. In an underground chamber. Alive, hungry. Forgotten.

Jeremy, a step behind her, seemed to be searching for something to say. But the words stuck in his throat. He frowned, torn between incomprehension and concern. His gaze went from the girl to her sister, as if searching for a meaning he couldn't find.

Elena took a step backwards, slowly. She forced herself to breathe more deeply.

“I… I'll get something.”

The girl blinked, just once, as if to validate that she'd understood.

But she said nothing more.

The door closed softly behind Elena, with a small, magnetic slam.

She stood motionless in the corridor for a moment, her hand still on the handle. The air seemed heavier here. As if by leaving this room, she'd left a parallel world.

“She said she wanted to eat,” Jeremy breathed, more to himself than to her. “That means she's thinking. That she understands.”

“Of course she understands,” Elena replied without looking at him. “She's here, locked up… since when? And Dad… Dad never told us...”

She felt her voice break.

She wasn't ready. Likewise, she wasn't ready to think of her father as someone cruel. Or secretive. And yet, the evidence was there. A laboratory under their house. A converted room. A bedroom. Stored food. And this girl, this silent, inexplicable presence who seemed to have been waiting forever.

“I'll be right back.

She turned on her heels before her emotions could boil over.

Everything in the kitchen suddenly seemed improper.

The everyday objects — the toaster, the dirty cups, the old coffee pot — seemed to belong to another era. A time when she still believed she understood everything about her family. A time when there were no secrets under the house. No hidden girl. No laboratory.

She opened the fridge. Nothing much. A cellophane-wrapped sandwich, a little faded but still edible. A packet of chips. A bottle of fresh water. She grabbed it all without thinking.

A strange guilt arose in her, as if giving this banal meal for this girl who had survived in oblivion was… almost indecent.

When she came back downstairs, Jeremy was still waiting for her in the corridor, his back to the wall.

“She hasn't moved,” he said softly. “It's like… like she doesn't dare breathe without permission.”

Elena nodded. She felt that dull fear in her belly, the fear of meeting the girl's translucent gaze again. She knew he'd tell her something. Something she wasn't ready to hear.

And yet, she entered.

The room was still silent, as if time had stood still.

The girl was in the same position: sitting on the floor, legs drawn up against her, back pressed against the bed. Her silver hair fell around her face like a tide of foam, her eyes fixed on Elena as soon as she crossed the threshold.

Elena approached slowly, her steps measured, as if she were moving towards a wild animal.

She placed the sandwich, the bottle, and the packet of chips in front of her, at a safe distance.

“Here… I didn't know what you liked, but…

She stopped. She didn't know what to say. What word to use. Nothing seemed to fit.

The girl didn't answer, but her eyes went down to the objects in front of her.

She bent down slightly, reached out with her fingers and grabbed the sandwich. She looked at it for a long time. Then, with a strange meticulousness, she untied the plastic wrapping, without brutality, as if she were discovering an unknown artifact. She opened the loaf of bread, observed the slice of turkey, the wilted lettuce leaf, then gently closed it and placed it on her lap.

Her hands then came to rest on the packet of potato chips.

She seemed puzzled by the colorful packaging, the light returning on the plastic, the sharp sound the packet made when she moved it.

Elena knelt some distance away, watching, her heart pounding.

“Do you know what this is?”

The girl didn't answer, but her gestures said for her: no, not really.

She searched for the opening, tugged at a corner of the bag, clumsily, then finally opened the packet with a small thud. A light, salty, greasy smell immediately filled the room.

The girl wrinkled her nose slightly.

She pinched a thin, golden potato chip between her fingers and examined it in the light.

Then she lifted it to her lips — but didn't eat it.

She first touched the edge with the tip of her tongue.

And then… her expression changed.

A small gasp of surprise animated her features. She stuck out her tongue slightly, as if analyzing the taste. Salt. Raw. Frank. Irresistible.

And then, almost despite herself, a laugh escaped her.

Weak. Light. Almost silent. A crystalline note, pure, unexpected.

Giggling, fragile as a soap bubble.

Elena was overwhelmed.

She watched her laugh — not loudly or expansively, but as if a burst of life had pierced the shell. Just for a moment.

At last, the girl brought the potato chip to her mouth and crunched it. The sound of the crunch was strangely soothing. She chewed slowly, attentive to every sensation.

Then she took a second bite.

Jeremy, still behind the glass, leaned in a little.

“Is she kidding?” he said in a low voice, incredulous.

Elena nodded, unable to answer. She felt tears welling up unexpectedly. Not tears of sadness. Not really. Tears of relief? Shock? A mixture impossible to name.

She let the silence settle, softer this time. Less oppressive.

The girl ate slowly, her movements still cautious, but more confident.

The sandwich wasn't devoured. It was savored. As if every bite were an event.

And in that suspended moment, in that windowless room, amidst the traces left by their father, Elena understood something she hadn't yet been able to formulate.

It wasn't a mistake. Not an oversight.

The girl slowly placed the half-eaten sandwich back on the bed. Her gaze had softened. The tension that had held her upright until then gradually dissipated. Her body, so frail it hardly seemed to bear its weight, gently relaxed. She was no longer fleeing, no longer clinging to an instinctive distrust. She simply seemed drained.

Furthermore, she touched the sheet with her fingertips, hesitantly, as if still waiting for someone to forbid her to lie down on it. Then, without saying a word, she slid onto the bed with cautious, almost respectful slowness. Every gesture seemed weighed down, as if she'd had to relearn comfort.

She stretched out on her side, her back to the wall, bringing her legs up against her. One hand slipped under the pillow, the other folded against her chest. Her silver hair flowed down her neck and shoulders, forming a shiny mass against the pale fabric of the sheet. Her breath became calmer, deeper.

 

 

She was falling asleep.

Without request or explanation, as if her body had decided for her that it would wait no longer.

Elena remained motionless.

She watched the scene with a strange tightness in the pit of her stomach, a knot of contradictory emotions she couldn't untangle. Seeing her lying there like a child washed ashore awakened something visceral in her. An instinct to protect. A need to be repaired.

Jeremy joined her slowly. He glanced toward the bed, then at Elena.

“She's… she's falling asleep,” he murmured, surprised by the softness of what he was seeing.

“She's exhausted,” Elena replied, almost in a breath.

The girl had pulled the blanket towards her, wrapping it gently against her chin. She'd curled up as if this bed were the only place in the world where she could finally relax. Her breathing, slow and even, barely caused the blanket to shiver.

“We can't leave her there alone,” Jeremy added, his voice full of uncertainty.

“I know… but I think she needs to be alone right now.”

Elena couldn't look away. She drank in every detail: the almost imperceptible trembling of his eyelids, the fragile curve of his shoulders, the obvious leanness of his arms. She had slept here before. Likewise, she'd lived here. And yet, this time, it was different. It was a sleep of peace.

Not survival.

Silence fell again in the room, laden with unspoken thoughts. The two Gilbert didn't dare speak any louder, as if the slightest word could break the unexpected calm. Elena glanced around the room.

Everything seemed frozen in time.

The bookcase against the wall, packed to the rafters with antique-bound books. Some balanced unsteadily, others annotated and dog-eared. On the desk, half-finished watercolors lay scattered among dry brushes and empty cups. The drawings seemed to belong to someone else, so full of life and light were they, in contrast to the solitude of the place.

And beneath the bed, a garbage can overflows: cereal bar wrappers, industrial cakes, fruit juices. Everything that had enabled the girl to survive alone, after the death of the Gilbert's.

Jeremy cleared his throat, uneasy.

“Do you think she knows who she is? Who are we?”

Elena shook her head slowly.

“I don't even know if she knows she's a person, Jeremy. Did you see the way she looked at us at first? Like she was waiting for us to hit her. Or for us to give her an order.”

She spoke low, almost to herself. She felt dull anger inside her — not against the girl, but against their father. Grayson. The man who had always been a reassuring figure, a pillar.

And who'd locked a human being under their house.

“She's so small,” murmured Elena. “She looks like a kid.”

“She is,” Jeremy replied without thinking.

Elena took a step back, hesitant. The girl didn't move. She was sound asleep now, her face relaxed at last. The kind of sleep you only get when you feel safe, even temporarily.

They stepped back, leaving the room quietly.

Elena lingered a second longer on the threshold, her gaze still fixed on the form curled up in the sheets. A breath of tenderness crossed her chest. And also a dull anxiety. For what they had discovered tonight changed everything. Absolutely everything.

They ascended the stairs in an almost religious silence.

Beneath them, in the heart of the hidden bunker, the girl was finally sleeping in a bed, cradled by the silence and warmth of a human presence. And somewhere, in the quiet shadow of this underground room, a fragment of truth, forgotten for years, was still waiting to come to light.

 

 

“We need to call the police” shouted Jeremy immediately after they returned to the living room.

“No”, interjected Elena. “We need to first call Jenna and John, maybe they know something”.

Jenna wasn’t answering her phone.

They tried twice, left her a voicemail marked urgent, but it went straight to her inbox again. No reply. Jeremy paced the living room like a caged animal. Elena sat curled on the edge of the couch, her fingers clutched tight around the throw pillow.

She looked toward the basement door for the fifth time in as many minutes. The girl — her twin, her mirror — was still down there. Asleep now. As if years of exhaustion had finally pulled her under.

“She’ll call back,” Jeremy muttered.

Elena didn’t answer. She just pressed redial one more time, hoping.

But it wasn’t Jenna who responded.

It was John.

He picked up on the first ring, and when he heard Elena’s voice — sharp with panic, disbelief, and something broken — he didn’t ask questions. He simply said: “I’ll be there in two, three hours, max.”

Jeremy exhaled, sagging onto the couch. “Finally.”

Like he promised, John arrived just before sunset.

He didn’t knock — just pushed the door open and stepped inside with brisk urgency. He looked the same as ever: pressed shirt, impatient frown, eyes that seemed to scan the room in one sweep.

“What happened?” he asked immediately.

Elena stood. “You need to see it for yourself.”

“See what ?”

Jeremy walked ahead of them, not speaking. He led John through the house and down the stairs toward the basement, into the cool silence beneath the house. Every step made John tenser. Something in the air down here felt wrong. Weighted.

When they reached the far end of the cellar, Jeremy unlatched the metal door. The hinges squealed open.

A small light glowed in the corner, illuminating the cot.

And there she was — fast asleep.

A girl. Pale. Thin. Barefoot. Her silver hair fanned out over the pillow. Her breathing was soft, steady.

John froze.

He stared for what felt like a full minute. No one spoke.

His face drained of color. His lips parted slightly. Then he took a slow step closer — almost like he didn’t believe she was real.

“… Elena?”

Elena shook her head, her voice hoarse. “That’s not me.”

John looked again. The resemblance was undeniable. Identical. Impossible.

And yet… here she was. Sleeping peacefully in the shadows beneath the Gilbert home.

“Elena,” he said slowly, “you had a sister.”

Elena blinked. “What?”

“A twin,” he continued, barely louder than a whisper. “Grayson told us she died. Stillborn. There was… there was a complication at birth. He never said her name. Never let anyone see her. I thought she was gone.”

“But she wasn’t,” Jeremy said darkly. “She’s been here. Under the house. Locked in this room like she didn’t exist.”

“I didn’t know,” John said quickly. “I swear I didn’t know. If I had…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening. “Grayson kept this from everyone. He must have —”

“I found books,” Elena said quietly. “Hundreds of them. Old textbooks. Medical journals. All in there with her. He gave her everything except freedom.”

John stared at the sleeping girl again. His voice broke just slightly.

“She was supposed to be named Rita.”

Elena looked at him. “Rita?”

He nodded. “Rita Gilbert. That was the name they chose for her. Before everything.”

There was a long silence.

The only sound was her breathing.

Then upstairs — the front door opened.

“Elena?” Jenna called. “Jeremy? Why are you—?”

Her voice grew closer as she came down the stairs. “You left me a message—what’s going on?”

She reached the basement landing just as John turned toward her, his face still pale.

And then she saw her.

Jenna’s whole body stopped.

For a long moment, she just stared. Her mouth moved, but no sound came.

“Elena?” she whispered.

Elena stepped aside. “That’s not me.”

Jenna’s face collapsed into something like horror. “But she—Grayson said—he told me…”

“She was dead,” John said. “I know. He told us all.”

Jenna shook her head, stunned. “No. No, I—he wouldn’t have—”

“He did,” Jeremy snapped. “She was in a cage, Jenna. A metal door. No windows. No light.”

Jenna backed away a step, as if the truth physically pushed her. “All this time? Beneath our feet?”

“She doesn’t even know what the sky looks like,” Elena said.

“She’s… alive,” Jenna whispered, still staring at the sleeping girl. “How did she survive down here alone?”

“She wasn’t alone,” John murmured. “Grayson must’ve kept her fed. Gave her books. Taught her things.”

“She taught herself,” Elena corrected. “Languages. Science. Math. ”

“I’m sure she’s brilliant,” Jeremy said. “But that doesn’t change what happened.”

“We have to tell someone,” Jenna said finally. “The police. CPS. Somebody. ”

“No,” John said sharply. “We don’t.”

“Excuse me?” Jenna turned to him. “She’s a victim, John. She’s a minor. She needs medical care, legal protection, maybe therapy—”

“And if we tell anyone, what happens next?” John said. “They’ll tear apart every Gilbert record. Grayson’s career. Elena and Jeremy will be put under investigation. Rita could be institutionalized.”

“She needs help,” Jenna said. “Not forged papers.”

John’s voice softened, but his eyes stayed firm. “We can give her both. I know someone. We create a history. We say she was born premature. Sent to a private clinic in Cyprus. A rare autoimmune condition. Remote care. Homeschooled. The funding ran out. Now she’s back.”

Jenna stared at him like she didn’t recognize him. “You’ve done this before.”

“I’m doing it now,” John said. “Because this girl deserves a future, not a media circus.”

“She deserves the truth.”

“She deserves a chance to live.”

Elena stepped in. “We want her to stay.”

“ You don’t even know her,” Jenna said.

“She’s my sister.”

“She’s a child who’s never lived outside this basement.”

“We’ll take care of her.”

“You don’t even know what that means.”

“I don’t care. ”

The silence fell again.

John looked toward the sleeping girl — the pale shadow of a life stolen.

“She’ll need a birth certificate. School records. Medical history. I’ll handle all of it.”

“What if someone finds out?” Jenna asked.

“They won’t,” John said.

Jenna let out a breath, hands trembling. “This doesn’t go away. We’ll need to watch her. Protect her.”

“We will,” Elena said.

Jeremy looked between them all, then toward the girl — the twin — Rita.

She shifted slightly in her sleep, a faint crease between her brows. Dreaming, maybe. Or remembering.

She didn’t know yet that her world had changed.

But soon, she would wake.

And nothing would ever be the same again.

Notes:

Hey everyone, I recently rewatched TVD and came up with a fanfiction concept that I hope you will enjoy.
Thank you so much for reading! I will update this as soon as I can. Please tell me if this interests you!

Chapter 2: two

⊰᯽⊱ ──── ⊰⚜︎⊱ ──── ⊰᯽⊱

 

 

She woke up before opening her eyes.

The world felt too big.

It pressed against her skin in a way it never had before — too warm, too dry, too open. There were sounds. Faraway. Sharp. Not the hum of the cellar bulb or the slow drip of condensation on stone. These were louder. Faster. Voices.

And then: light.

It was bleeding through her eyelids. Bright. Violent.

Her heart started racing. Her fingers twitched under the blanket — soft, unfamiliar fabric — not the scratchy wool she knew. Panic surged before she even understood why.

This wasn’t the dark.

She tried to move, but her muscles felt weak. Unused. Her lungs pulled in too much air. The scent was clean, sterile, cotton and soap. It made her dizzy.

Where was she?

She remembered flashes. Faces. Strangers. The cellar door swinging open. People staring. Saying her name like it meant something.

Her breath hitched.

Her chest rose too quickly.

The silence wasn’t silence anymore. It was absence.

She was above.

Above the stairs. Above the trapdoor. Above the cellar.

Her whole body screamed to go back down.

She opened her eyes.

And the world opened with them.

The ceiling was smooth and white, with a light fixture she didn’t recognize. The walls were painted, pale blue. There was a window — a window — covered in sheer curtains that fluttered gently in the breeze from a half-open pane. Sunlight poured into the room.

It burned.

She turned her face away and saw movement in the corner.

A girl. Sitting very still on a wooden chair, hands folded on her lap, eyes fixed on her like she was waiting.

Rita stared at her.

The girl… had her face.

Not similar. Not close.

Her face.

Same mouth, same eyes, same hair — though longer, darker, styled differently. She wore a soft hoodie and jeans and looked like she’d stepped out of one of the magazines Rita used to press between the floorboards for safekeeping. She looked… normal.

She looked like freedom.

And she was watching her like Rita was some kind of puzzle.

The girl blinked.

Tensed.

Then slowly stood up.

“Hi,” she said, voice trembling. “You’re awake.”

Rita didn’t answer. Her throat was too dry. Her brain couldn’t catch up.

She sat up abruptly — and everything swam.

Pain spiked behind her eyes. Her body felt heavy, like gravity had doubled. She clutched the sheets with white-knuckled fists, gasping.

“Hey, hey—easy,” the girl said quickly, stepping closer. “You’ve been… you’ve been asleep for a while. You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

Safe?

She wanted to ask what that meant. Safe from what? From whom? From where?

The door opened.

A boy stepped in. Dark hair. Sharp eyes. Holding two mugs and a look of complete disbelief on his face.

“She’s awake?” he said, staring.

The girl nodded slowly. “She hasn’t said anything.”

The boy set the mugs down and approached carefully, like she might bite.

She remembered his face. From upstairs. From brief flashes. Voices that came through the vent if she pressed her ear to the wall. Laughter. Music. Arguments.

His name was Jeremy.

She had heard them call him that. Her… brother?

The thought felt too big. Too fragile. Too dangerous.

She didn’t know what was real anymore.

The girl — her double — knelt beside the bed.

“I’m Elena,” she said, voice soft. “I live here. This is… this is our house. Yours too.”

Our.

That word hit more than the sunlight.

Rita looked away. She didn’t trust them. She didn’t trust any of this.

But for now, she had nowhere else to go. 

Twenty minutes passed.

Elena brought her water. Jeremy gave her a blanket. They didn’t ask questions. They didn’t touch her. They just stayed close, like they were afraid she might fall apart or disappear.

She tried standing once. Her legs collapsed beneath her. Jeremy caught her before she hit the ground.

It was humiliating.

Even in the cellar, she had structure. Routine. Control. This was noise and chaos and too much space.

Then the front door opened with a bang.

“Elena? Jeremy?”

A woman’s voice. Urgent. Familiar.

“Upstairs,” Jeremy called back. “We’re up here.”

He glanced toward Rita. “That’s Jenna.”

Rita said nothing.

Heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs. Jenna appeared in the doorway, breathless.

But she didn’t look surprised.

She looked shaken.

Her eyes locked on Rita — and her whole face collapsed.

“She’s awake,” she whispered.

Elena nodded. “Just now.”

Jenna stepped inside slowly. “Does she remember me?”

Rita flinched. Jenna saw.

“She didn't see you in the basement,” Elena said. 

“I didn’t believe what I was seeing,” Jenna whispered. “I thought—” She stopped herself. “Grayson said she was gone–dead. I believed him.”

“She was never dead,” Jeremy said. “She was down there the whole time.”

Jenna crossed her arms, but her hands trembled. “How is she even—God, how is she sane.”

“She survived,” Elena said. “Somehow.”

“No one survives a childhood like that,” Jenna murmured.

Elena looked at her. “She’s trying.”

Silence stretched between them. Rita watched, trying to piece meaning from tone, from movement, from everything left unsaid.

Then the doorbell rang.

Jeremy didn’t move. “That’s John.”

Elena stood. “Should I let him in?”

Jenna hesitated. “He already knows. He saw her last night, remember?”

“I’ll get the door,” Jeremy said.

Rita sank further into the pillows as the sounds of movement echoed down the hall — footsteps, greetings, low conversation.

Then John stepped in.

He looked tired, more lined than she remembered. His eyes flicked straight to her — cautious, calculating — then softened.

“She’s awake,” he said, quietly.

“She hasn’t spoken,” Elena replied.

John knelt beside the bed. “Rita. That’s your name, right?”

She didn’t respond.

“I’m your uncle,” he said. “Your father’s brother.”

That word — father — turned her stomach.

John saw it. “We’re not him. None of us.”

Jenna stood beneath the bed, arms still crossed, expression tight. “She needs help, John. More than we can give.”

“We’re figuring it out,” he said.

“She requires a medical care. Legal protection. A therapist. This is trauma, not a fever.”

John turned to her. “And if we involve the police now, she will lose all control. The media swarms. Her life becomes a headline.”

“It already is,” Jenna shot back.

“She deserves peace,” Elena said. “A quiet chance. Not interviews. Not courtrooms.”

“She deserves the truth,” Jenna said.

“We’ll give her that,” John replied. “But we start with safety. Let her stay. Let her heal with us.”

Rita closed her eyes.

Too much. Too loud. Too bright.

But for the first time in her life, people were fighting for her.

And she didn’t know what to do with that.

Not yet.

 

Later that afternoon, the others filtered out. Jenna had a shift. John had a call. Elena went to the store, promising to bring back whatever Rita might want — even though Rita still hadn’t spoken.

Jeremy stayed behind.

He hovered near the door for a while, unsure. Then, slowly, he approached the corner of the room where she sat on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, a blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders.

He crouched nearby, but not too close.

“I know it probably feels like a spaceship in here,” he said, voice low. “Elena picked the color when we were younger.”

Rita didn’t answer. Her eyes moved once — from the wall to the window — and stayed there.

Jeremy rubbed the back of his neck. “This used to be our guest room. Before that, it was just storage. We’ve never had anyone… really stay here.”

Still nothing.

“I figured maybe you’d want to make it yours,” he tried again. “I mean, it’s your room now. We could redo it. However, you want.”

Rita’s head tilted slightly — not enough to count as interest, but enough to suggest she was listening.

“Paint. Posters. A desk. A real lamp. We could go nuts,” Jeremy said. “Rip out the carpet. Change the layout. Whatever feels like you.”

He paused.

“You remember the cellar,” he added, more gently. “But this — this doesn’t have to be that. You get to choose.”

She didn’t move. But after a long silence, she whispered one word.

“Choose?”

It was the first time she’d spoken since waking up.

Jeremy’s heart stuttered. “Yeah,” he said quickly, like she might disappear again. “You get to choose.”

Rita looked at the wall. “I don’t know what I like.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “We can figure it out. Trial and error.”

He reached under the bed and pulled out a sketchpad and a handful of pencils from his old college stash. He held them out to her without pressure. “You want to try drawing something?”

She stared at them like they were weapons. Slowly, she unwrapped one hand from her blanket and took a pencil — thin fingers, pale and birdlike.

She didn’t move for a while.

Then she lowered it to the page.

And started drawing.

Jeremy expected scribbles. A shape, maybe. Something abstract. But her hand moved with practiced rhythm — confident lines, steady curves, quick shadows. It wasn’t a picture, not really. Just a corner of the room: the chair, the curtain, a sliver of light through the window. But the angles were exact. The depth was right. She captured silence itself in pencil.

He blinked.

“Holy crap,” he murmured. “You can draw.”

Rita didn’t look up. She kept going — crosshatching the shadow of the curtain, etching the wood grain of the chair legs.

Jeremy scooted closer without thinking. “Did you teach yourself?”

She nodded.

“In the cellar?”

Another nod.

He tried to picture her down there — not just surviving, but sketching in the dark, tracing light with a hand that was never allowed to reach for it. He felt a tightness in his chest he hadn’t expected.

“You ever do color?”

Rita stopped drawing and looked at him — not fearful, not cold, just… curious.

“I mean,” Jeremy said quickly, “I’ve got paints. Markers. Digital stuff too, if you want to try that someday.”

She shrugged, but her eyes didn’t leave his.

“You could design the whole room,” he said, gently. “Walls, furniture, layout. Like an artist would. Like you already are.”

A flicker — something close to surprise — passed across her face.

“You don’t have to,” he added. “But I’d love to help, if you'd like.”

Rita glanced back down at her sketch.

And for the first time since she’d woken up, something like light passed through her expression.

Not a smile.

Not yet.

But a softening.

A beginning.

Jeremy sat beside her in silence while she kept drawing. The house felt quieter than usual, like it was holding its breath with them. Outside, a breeze stirred the curtains. Inside, pencil met paper, steady, and real.

He didn’t say anything more.

He didn’t need to.

She was here.

She was still drawing.

And he — her brother — was watching her become someone new.

John ended his call and slipped his phone back into his pocket. He didn’t speak. Just lingered near the hallway, out of sight, watching the two of them in quiet profile — Jeremy crouched on the floor beside Rita, who sat cross-legged with a sketchpad in her lap. The girl’s hand moved carefully across the page, her eyes intent, her posture calm for the first time since waking.

Jeremy wasn’t speaking either. But his attention was fixed on her. Like he wasn’t just watching her draw — he was learning her, piece by piece.

This felt honest.

The front door opened downstairs.

“Elena?” he called out softly, not to startle them.

“In the living room,” she answered, her voice winded. “You want to give me a hand or what?”

He descended the stairs and found her surrounded by bags — branded paper and plastic, clothing folded, zippers and receipts still attached. She was pulling things out and sorting them into neat piles on the coffee table: shower gel, shampoo, a toothbrush, loofahs, packs of socks and underwear, a small bag of makeup wipes, lotion, pads.

She looked up. “I hope she’s a medium. I bought some in small, too, just in case.”

John raised a brow as she continued, lifting out folded denim and T-shirts, plain tanks and soft cotton hoodies in muted colors. Two pairs of pajamas — one long, one short. A black coat. Burgundy boots. Worn-leather sneakers.

“She needed options,” Elena said, almost defensively.

“You did good,” John said.

She exhaled and wiped her forehead. “I didn’t want her to feel… institutional. You know?”

“I know.”

She picked up a flannel shirt and paused. “I was going to bring them up. Let her pick what she likes.”

John put a hand gently on her shoulder. “Wait.”

She blinked. “Why?”

“Jeremy’s with her. They’re talking. He’s breaking through.”

A flicker of uncertainty passed through her face. “Really?”

“He offered to help her redecorate. She’s drawing. He’s just sitting there, letting her lead. It’s the most peaceful she’s looked since we found her.”

Elena hesitated, arms still half-full of clothes.

John lowered his voice. “Let him have this moment. He needs it. And so does she.”

Slowly, Elena nodded.

“I also wanted to tell you,” John added. “The papers are ready.”

She turned to face him fully now. “All of them?”

He nodded. “Birth certificate. Immunization records. School transcripts — all homeschooled, of course. Doctor’s notes. Her name is Rita Gilbert. Born fifteen minutes after you. Complications. Sent to private care abroad. You and Jeremy didn’t know because you were too young. Grayson signed off on everything.”

Elena sat down slowly. “You’re terrifying when you say that like it’s the truth.”

“It is now,” John said.

She rubbed her temples. “I hate this. I hate that it’s necessary.”

“I know,” he replied. “But it’ll protect her.”

“She’s not just a file, John. She’s not a ghost we made real with paperwork.”

“No,” he said. “But the world needs that file before it gives her a chance to live.”

Elena looked toward the stairs — quiet above them.

“Does she know?”

“Not yet,” he said. “Let her adjust first. Let her be a person before she becomes someone with a story to defend.”

She nodded slowly. Then, softer: “I can’t believe she’s real.”

“I know.”

“I used to dream of having a sister,” she said, almost to herself. “And now she’s here, and I don’t even know how to look at her without breaking.”

“She’s stronger than you think.”

“I don’t want her to have to be,” Elena whispered.

John didn’t answer that.

He just reached into the folder he’d brought in earlier and handed her a slim envelope.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“A ID card, a medical File and a school ID,” he said. “In case you want to register her somewhere later. She deserves to learn with other kids. Not just from books and air ducts.”

Elena took it carefully and opened the flap.

Inside was a laminated card, medical papers and school papers.

A photo of Rita, taken yesterday. Eyes wary. Hair brushed. The name Rita Gilbert printed in neat black type beneath the image.

Elena stared at it for a long time.

“She has a name,” she said softly.

“She always did,” John said.

He walked to the door and left the house.

Elena stayed where she was, surrounded by clothes and the weight of something fragile and infinite — a life being rebuilt from silence and shadows. 

She started to read the documents. 

 

Confidential Medical File

Patient: Rita Marie Gilbert

Date of Birth: June 22, 1992

Place of Birth: Mystic Falls General Hospital, Virginia, USA

File Date: July 2009 (Sealed Copy)

Initial Diagnosis (1992)

• Severe Combined Immunodeficiency (SCID), rare infantile variant
• Diagnosed shortly after birth (3 weeks old)
• Prognosis: Life-threatening vulnerability to infections; absolute isolation required

Treatment and Medical History (1992 – 2009)

Isolation Measures:

• Placed in a private sterile care facility abroad with parents’ consent
• Facility: Centro Medico Privado Daedalus, Limassol, Cyprus
• Complete environmental isolation and 24/7 monitoring

Medical Progress:

• Continuous immune system monitoring and supportive therapies
• From 2007: Introduction of experimental therapies (gene and stem-cell treatments)
• Gradual improvement in immune function, including increased white blood cell counts
• By mid-2008, the patient showed approximately 60% immune function of normal range
• Patient began supervised exposure to controlled environments under strict protocol

Repatriation (2009)

• Payment stopped after the death of Grayson and Miranda Gilbert (parents of the patient). 
• US Embassy and emergency contact John Gilbert notified
• Patient repatriated to the United States under sealed medical records

Confidentiality Notice

• This document is confidential and must not be disclosed publicly
• All medical details and treatment history are to be kept private
• Future medical assessments to reference “post-recovery immune stabilization”
• Patient to avoid vaccinations and immune suppressants for 12 months following repatriation

Authorized Signatories

• Attending Immunologist: Dr. Peter A. Wenstrøm
• Care Supervisor: Thalia Kouris
• Legal Representative: John G. Gilbert, Jenna Sommers

---

File Classification: Sealed — Unauthorized Disclosure Prohibited

File Number: RMG-0927-SC/PRIVATE

---

 

Upstairs, for the first time, Rita was laughing.

Just once.

Quiet. Surprised.

But fucking real.

Elena smiled, her heart-warming at this sound. She consulted the second document, that was the school's documents. Rita was intelligent, the hundred of books in her previous “room” proved this fact.

 

CONFIDENTIAL EDUCATIONAL RECORD

Student Name: Rita Marie Gilbert

Program: International Scholarly Program (ISP)

Module: Remote Supervised Clinical Education

Period Covered: 1998 – 2009

LANGUAGES SPOKEN :

• English (Native proficiency)
• Spanish (Advanced proficiency)
• German (Conversational proficiency)

ACADEMIC STRENGTHS :

Subject	Description	Level
Mathematics	Logic, geometry, algebra	Senior high school +
Biology	Cellular biology, DNA, immunology, human physiology (personal medical interest)	Advanced
Physics	Basic mechanics, optics, fundamental concepts of motion	Intermediate
History	American and European history, history of science and technology	Specialized

LEARNING METHODOLOGY :

• Self-directed study via textbooks, educational videos, and remote lectures
  Practical exercises in mathematics and logic evaluated by contracted private tutors
• No social contact beyond medical and educational supervisors

FINAL EVALUATION (2009) :

“Rita demonstrates an exceptionally rapid comprehension of complex and abstract concepts, supported by an outstanding memory.

Despite the lack of social interaction due to clinical isolation, her cognitive abilities surpass those typically observed in adults of comparable age.

Her intellectual development is advanced, with strong potential for further growth in a supportive environment.”

CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE :

This document is strictly confidential and intended for authorized educational and medical personnel only.

 

---

 

The sun had started to dip low when Jenna peeked into the room, her hair pulled back hastily, a towel slung over one shoulder.

“Elena ordered pizza. Want to eat with us?”

Rita hesitated.

Her sketchbook sat on her knees, untouched, for nearly an hour. She looked up. Jenna didn’t move. She waited — not demanding, not pressuring. Just offering. A small step.

Rita stood slowly.

In the kitchen, the air was warmer. It smelled like baked dough, tomato sauce, and something salty that made her mouth water even before she knew why.

Jeremy set a plate down in front of her. A large triangle of golden crust, melted cheese, and red circles.

“Pepperoni pizza,” he explained gently. “It’s hot, so be careful.”

Jenna opened a cabinet and pulled out a plastic cup. She filled it with a dark, fizzy liquid and placed it beside the plate.

“And that’s soda. Cola. It’s sweet — a little fizzy, kind of sharp.”

Rita stared at the bubbles. They rose, popped, danced.

She took a bite of the pizza.

Her eyes widened immediately.

She’d never tasted anything like it. It was warm, soft, salty, crisp, spicy, and sweet all at once. Her gaze darted from Elena to Jeremy, as if to confirm they were eating the same thing.

Then she brought the cup to her lips.

The first sip made her jolt back. She coughed, startled.

The bubbles and the cold.

The explosion of sugar on her tongue.

But she didn’t push it away.

Jeremy waited a few seconds, then asked carefully, “You don’t like it?”

She shrugged, still chewing. “I don’t know yet.”

And that answer made Jenna laugh, a small laugh. Tired but real.

Rita looked up.

And then — without meaning to — she laughed, too.

A real laugh. Fragile, soft.

Like music in a house that had been silent for too long.

Jenna slowly placed her hand on the table.

Her eyes were bright. She didn’t say anything, but Elena smiled across the table.

Later, in the living room, all four of them settled in — pillows on the floor, blankets over their legs, the lights dimmed. The DVD menu blinked quietly on the TV screen.

“This is your first movie, right?” Elena asked gently.

Rita nodded, legs folded under her.

“We picked Mulan. A classic. You’ll see… she’s strong.”

The opening credits rolled. Orchestral music filled the room, rich and full of promise.

Rita flinched slightly when the dragon first appeared — but she didn’t pull away.

Her eyes stayed locked on the screen. Wide. Wonder struck.

When Mushu showed up for the first time, tiny and fast-talking, she blinked, then let out a soft laugh.

Jenna, seated close, offered her a bowl of popcorn. Rita pinched a piece between her fingers, popped it into her mouth, chewed… and froze.

“That’s weird,” she said seriously.

Jeremy snorted. “A little bit, but it’s so good.”

“Just wait until she cuts her hair,” Elena shrugged. 

And when Mulan did — standing before the mirror, blade in hand, slicing through her long hair in a single motion — Rita straightened.

Silent.

In awe.

She whispered, almost unconsciously, “She lies to protect someone.”

Jeremy nodded. “And she finds out who she is while doing it.”

Jenna looked at her in silence.

But she was smiling.

When Mushu slipped in the snow and shouted, “That’s it! Dishonor on you, dishonor on your cow!” Rita laughed out loud.

Just once.

And this time, Elena and Jeremy laughed too.

Not because the scene was funny, but because that sound — that laugh — was a light in this darkness

 

That night, in a house still learning how to breathe again, a girl who had grown up alone underground discovered bubbles, cartoons, and the quiet magic of a world that no longer felt untouchable.

She didn’t understand everything, but she already knew one thing:

She wanted to see that movie again.

And eat more pizza.

Maybe she desired to stay a little bit more.

 

One week later, the late afternoon sun spilled through the tall windows of the Gilbert house, casting warm, golden pools across the living room. The soft hum of cicadas filtered in from outside, blending with the faint scent of freshly cut grass and jasmine from the garden. The house, usually a quiet refuge, felt charged with nervous energy.

Elena stood near the entrance to the room, her fingers twisting anxiously around the hem of her sweater. Across from her, Bonnie and Caroline sat side by side on the deep gray couch, their eyes flicking toward the hallway, where the moment they’d been waiting for was about to arrive.

“I’m glad you both could come today,” Elena said quietly, voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest. “It’s important. I want you to meet her.”

Bonnie nodded, her expression open but cautious. “Of course, Elena. We’re here for you—and for her.”

Caroline gave a small smile, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “We’re ready whenever you are.”

The three women waited, the silence stretching long enough that even the ticking of the old clock on the mantelpiece seemed loud. Then, soft footsteps approached from the hallway.

Rita appeared, hesitating at the threshold like a shy shadow. Her silver hair caught the light, falling in soft waves around her pale face, her large eyes wide and uncertain. The loose hoodie she wore looked oversized on her slender frame, sleeves pulled past her wrists. She clutched the hem of the fabric as if it were her only shield.

Elena stepped forward, voice gentle but clear. “Rita, these are my best friends—Bonnie and Caroline. They want to get to know you.”

Rita’s gaze flickered nervously from Elena to Bonnie and Caroline. Her body stiffened, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around herself.

Bonnie shifted forward on the couch, her voice warm and steady. “Hi, Rita. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

Rita’s eyes blinked rapidly, but she didn’t answer. The room felt suddenly too bright, too loud.

“It’s okay,” Bonnie said softly, careful not to rush her. She slid off the couch and took a small step closer. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. We just want you to feel safe.”

Rita’s shoulders twitched, but she stayed rooted to the spot.

Caroline smiled encouragingly. “I’ve heard Elena talk about you a lot. And I’ve seen your drawings—your style is remarkable. You have such a great eye for colors and design.”

Rita’s lips parted slightly, almost a smile, but then she quickly looked away.

“It’s nothing,” she muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

“No way,” Caroline said, folding her hands on her knees. “You’re seriously talented. I’d love to help you make your room feel even more like home, if you'd like.”

Rita glanced at Elena, who gave her a reassuring nod. “Okay,” she said softly.

Bonnie’s face lit up. “That’s the spirit. We’re here for you.”

There was a moment of silence as Rita’s eyes slowly adjusted, and her tension seemed to ease just a little. She moved forward a step, her hands dropping from the fabric of her hoodie.

Elena felt the lump in her throat loosen. Seeing her sister begin to trust again, even in the smallest way, was more than she’d dared hope for.

Bonnie stood and made her way to the small kitchen area, her footsteps light. “I made some tea,” she said, returning with a tray carrying four steaming mugs. “It’s chamomile. Calming.”

Rita took one without hesitation, the warmth of the cup grounding her. She cradled it in both hands and took a slow sip, eyes closing briefly.

“It’s good,” she said, her voice soft but steady.

Caroline reached out tentatively and brushed a loose strand of hair from Rita’s face. “You don’t have to be afraid,” she whispered. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Rita looked up, locking eyes with Caroline. There was a flicker of something—vulnerability mixed with gratitude. She let out a shaky breath and allowed her shoulders to relax for the first time.

Elena swallowed hard, a quiet smile breaking across her lips. “This is just the beginning,” she said. “We’ll help you find your way. Together.”

Bonnie smiled warmly, settling back on the couch. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Caroline nodded. “We’ve got you.”

For a long moment, the room was filled only with the soft clinking of the tea cups and the distant sound of birds outside.

Then Bonnie spoke again, her voice gentle but curious. “So… school starts soon, right? Are you ready for that? What classes are you thinking about?”

Rita’s fingers tightened around her mug. “I’m not sure. Elena says it will be a lot. But I want to try.”

Caroline’s eyes lit up. “That’s awesome. I can help you get used to everything, you know, if that works for you. We can even study together. I’m good at making boring stuff fun.”

Rita hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I’d like that.”

Elena chuckled softly. “You’ll have us all as tutors, apparently.”

Bonnie leaned forward, enthusiasm brightening her face. Don't worry about fitting in, either. We’ll help with that, too.”

Rita let out a small laugh, the sound fragile but genuine. “I'm not very knowledgeable about fitting in.”

Caroline smiled gently. “We will teach you. And trust me, you’ve already got many people rooting for you.”

The three girls shared a look—a quiet understanding forming between them. The walls of fear and isolation that had kept Rita closed off were starting to crack, and light was spilling in.

Elena felt a warmth rise in her chest, a quiet hope she hadn’t dared hold on to before. This was the start of something new.

The sun dipped lower, shadows stretching across the room, but inside the Gilbert house, a new light was beginning to glow.

Notes:

Hey everyone. The second chapter has been published. I hope that you found it to be enjoyable.
Next chapter will be the start of TVD, so Stefan first appearance.
The chapters will now be released on Fridays every other week, so June 20, 2025, will be the next date.

Chapter 3: three

⊰᯽⊱ ──── ⊰⚜︎⊱ ──── ⊰᯽⊱

 

 

 

In the kitchen, the morning was already in mild chaos.

“Toast. I can make toast,” Jenna announced, staring at the toaster like she was preparing to duel it.

Elena glanced over her shoulder as she filled the coffee pot. “It’s all about the coffee, Aunt Jenna.”

“Is there coffee?” Jeremy mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he shuffled in.

Rita stood quietly near the entryway, still barefoot, holding her sketchpad like a shield. Her silver hair was braided loosely down her back. She wore a white tank top alongside a new hoodie — soft blue — and jeans that Elena had picked out, though the tag had been carefully cut off earlier that morning. She hadn’t said much yet, but she was here .

Jenna turned mid-toast. “Your first day of school, and I’m totally unprepared. Lunch money?”

“I’m good,” Elena said.

“I packed mine,” Jeremy added, then glanced at Rita. “And, uh… hers too. Just in case.”

Rita blinked at him, surprised. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Jenna’s eyes widened like she’d heard an angel speak. “You’re welcome, sweetie. Anything else? A number two pencils? A shield? Holy water?”

Elena gave her a look. “Don’t you have a big presentation today?”

“I’m meeting with my thesis advisor at—” Jenna checked the clock. “Now. Crap!”

She turned to Rita, trying not to look frazzled. “You okay? You’re sure about going today?”

Rita nodded slowly, unsure if she was telling the truth — but determined anyway.

Elena smiled at her. “We’ll stick together.”

“I really don’t want to be a burden,” Rita said softly, almost to herself.

“You’re not,” Jeremy replied without hesitation.

“I mean it,” Elena added. “You belong with us.”

Jenna paused in the doorway, keys in hand. She looked at Rita again — her niece wasn’t just a mystery in the hallway. She was family. Part of the rhythm. A quiet, cautious heartbeat in the kitchen’s noise.

“Okay,” Jenna said. “You guys have this?”

“We’ve got it,” Elena promised.

Rita wasn’t sure what kind of day it would be. But for the first time, she had a backpack, a schedule… and people waiting for her at the table.

Today would be different.

 

The car hummed steadily along the winding roads of Mystic Falls, golden morning light leaking through the thick canopies above. Bonnie Bennett's hands were light on the steering wheel, her fingers tapping in rhythm to the muted music coming from the speakers. The air was sharp with dew, the landscape still wearing the haze of a summer barely ending.

In the front passenger seat, Elena Gilbert stared out the window in thoughtful silence, her face drawn but composed. Her dark hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, her features still pale from the memorial service two days before. It wasn’t the kind of grief that came in waves — hers was a quiet ache, steady and dull, like something permanently broken beneath the surface.

In the back seat was Rita Gilbert, her identical twin — or rather, her reintroduced mirror. She was still something of a ghost in Elena's life, only recently brought back after a lifetime of secrecy. Rita sat rigidly upright, her eyes flicking across the landscape like she was drinking in every detail. Trees, rooftops, mailboxes, birds. The ordinary world. The free world.

Bonnie broke the silence with a grin, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. “So, I told Elena this morning — Grams says I’m psychic.”

Rita glanced at her, unsure whether it was meant as a joke. Elena let out a dry, knowing laugh.

“She’s on a kick right now. Channeling witches and crystal energy or whatever.”

Bonnie grinned, undeterred. “Not just witches. Celtic witches. I’m descended from druids or something. Grams swears it’s legit.”

“Well,” Elena said, “she did predict Britney’s comeback... sort of.”

“ Exactly! I also called Obama’s win. Twice.”

Rita raised an eyebrow. Her voice was soft but curious.

“Twice?”

“Long story,” Bonnie replied. “It involves tea leaves and an astrology app that crashed my phone. Anyway—what about you, Rita? You believe in all this... magic, fate, hidden powers?”

Rita hesitated. She looked out the window, her eyes trailing over the trees rushing past.

“I don’t know,” she said after a moment. “Maybe. Life's already strange enough, isn’t it?”

Bonnie studied her in the mirror. Rita’s voice had that distant edge, like someone talking through glass. Bonnie couldn’t read her at all — which, strangely, made her want to try harder.

“That’s fair,” Bonnie said, her tone gentle now. “You’ve got a unique perspective.”

Rita met her eyes briefly in the mirror. A flicker of a smile. The first real one since they got in the car. “You could say that.”

Elena turned her head toward her sister, sensing her loosening just a little. It made something tight in her chest ease up. “You doing okay back there?”

“I think so,” Rita said. “I’m... trying.”

They hit a shaded curve in the road, the woods thick and dark on either side.

That’s when it happened.

A black blur cut through the sunlight — a corbeau, large and sudden, slamming against the windshield with a thud that made all three girls jolt.

“SHIT!” Bonnie cried, slamming the brakes.

The car screeched slightly but stayed on the road. The bird tumbled over the windshield and vanished into the brush.

Silence.

Breathing hard, Bonnie pulled over onto the gravel shoulder, her hands shaking slightly on the wheel.

“Did you see that?! What the hell?!”

Elena’s hand had flown to her chest, heart hammering. “That bird came right at us .”

“I didn’t even see it until it hit the glass,” Bonnie muttered. “That’s not normal.”

Rita stared ahead, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. She didn’t speak at first, but when she did, her voice was cold.

“That wasn’t a normal bird.”

Elena turned to her. “What do you mean?”

Rita shook her head slowly, as if chasing off a feeling she couldn’t quite explain.

“It didn’t move like a bird. It was... like it wanted to hit us.”

Bonnie blinked, unbuckling her seatbelt to lean forward and peer through the windshield.

“That gives me major The Omen vibes. Great. Just what we need — cursed corvids.”

She turned back with a shaky laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “First day of school, and we get dive-bombed by a demon crow. Nice omen.”

Elena cracked a small smile, tension lingering in her body. She looked over her shoulder at Rita, whose face had gone slightly pale again. “Are you okay?”

Rita nodded, but said nothing.

They sat in silence for another moment, the woods pressing in from both sides. Then Bonnie sighed, straightening her shoulders.

“Alright. Let’s go before that thing brings its friends.”

She started the car again, the low hum of the engine oddly comforting this time. They drove on.

The Gilbert twins stepped onto the grounds of Mystic Falls High School, one hesitantly and one with practiced grace. Elena adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder, shielding her nerves behind a steady expression. Beside her, Rita looked up at the school building like it was something alien — part fortress, part arena.

Teenage voices buzzed around them like static. Laughter, the slam of lockers, snippets of gossip, and the unmistakable sound of cameras clicking. A small crowd had gathered near the main steps, and Elena could feel the curious eyes already locking in on them — or rather, on her .

No. On Rita.

It spread like wildfire: the twin Elena Gilbert never mentioned. The mysterious sister no one had ever seen before.

“Is that her sister? I thought she was dead or something—”

“They look the same, but her silver hair is so pretty…”

“She’s got that... I don’t know. That haunted look. Like a hot Victorian ghost.”

“Okay, this is getting weird,” Elena muttered.

Rita walked stiffly at her side, her hands in her sleeves, shrinking from the attention but refusing to stop. She hated being stared at, the sudden scrutiny prickling across her skin like heat. Her heart beat hard in her chest. Her fingers were ice.

But then—

“Rita!” A bright voice rang out like a lifeline.

Caroline Forbes emerged from the throng, her blonde hair waved perfectly, her energy radiating like sunlight. She bounced forward and threw her arms around Rita before the girl could blink.

“Oh my God, you’re even prettier today! Seriously, this is insane. You’re like… Elena’s artsy twin from a secret European boarding school.”

Rita blinked at her. “I—uh—thanks?”

Caroline stepped back and looped her arm through Rita’s without asking.

“Don’t worry. I got you. The staring? It’ll stop. Eventually. If not, we’ll give them a real show. Come on, I’m going to give you the Forbes Official Survival Tour™.”

Rita glanced back at Elena, unsure. Elena smiled and gave her a little nod. It’s okay.

As Caroline pulled her away, Rita finally smiled — a real one this time, small and shy but present.

From behind them, Bonnie watched with folded arms. She leaned closer to Elena.

“Wow. That was fast. Caroline’s already imprinted on her like a duckling.”

“Honestly? I’m relieved,” Elena said. “Caroline can be intense, but she’s loyal. Rita needs someone like that.”

“Are you okay?”

“I will be,” Elena said. Then her eyes narrowed.

Across the courtyard, Jeremy Gilbert — her younger brother — skulked past the science wing with hunched shoulders, his hoodie pulled low. Elena’s gut twisted. He looked pale, his movements twitchy.

And then she saw it.

A plastic bag discreetly transferred from one hand to another. A flash of pills. Her jaw clenched.

“Stay with Rita,” she told Bonnie sharply, already moving.

Bonnie didn’t ask — she just nodded, her gaze turning watchful.

 

 

Elena pushed open the door to the boy’s bathroom with force, the echo ringing against the tiled walls. Inside, Jeremy stood at the sink, his back to her, cupping water into his face.

“What the hell was that?” Elena snapped.

Jeremy jumped, whirling around. His eyes were red-rimmed.

“Jesus, Elena—what are you doing in here?”

“Don’t play dumb. I saw you. You’re using again.”

He wiped his face, irritated. “I’m not using . I’m coping.”

“With drugs? Seriously? That’s how you’re going to handle this?”

Jeremy’s voice rose. “Don’t pretend like you’re holding it together, either! At least I’m honest about falling apart!”

The door creaked open behind her.

“Elena?” came Rita’s quiet voice.

Both siblings turned.

Rita stood frozen in the doorway, unsure if she was allowed to enter. Her eyes flicked between them, her shoulders tense.

“I—I saw you go in here. I was worried.”

Jeremy exhaled hard and scrubbed a hand through his hair.

“Hey,” he said, voice softening instantly. “It’s okay, Riri. Everything’s fine.”

Rita stepped inside cautiously, eyes wide. The fluorescent light made her paler, her unease almost visible.

“You were shouting,” she said quietly.

Elena opened her mouth, but Jeremy crossed the distance first. He gently took Rita into his arms and pressed a kiss to her forehead, surprising her. His hand rested on the back of her head.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” he murmured. “Don’t worry about me, alright?”

Rita nodded slowly. Something in her relaxed.

Jeremy stepped back and headed for the door without looking at Elena again.

“See you later,” he muttered, and was gone.

The silence left behind was thick and awkward.

Elena leaned against the sink, burying her face in her hands.

“I don’t know what to do with him.”

“He’s hurting,” Rita said simply.

Elena looked at her sister, surprised by her calm.

“You really are good at seeing people.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Rita replied. “All I ever did was observe.”

The two girls stepped out of the bathroom together, the hallway still buzzing with students moving between periods. Rita stayed close, brushing against Elena’s side.

And then she bumped into someone. Literally.

“Oh—sorry—” she began, looking up.

He was tall, lean, and striking. His skin pale but smooth, his features sharp — like something carved with intent. His eyes — green, warm, unreadable — locked onto hers. And then drifted to Elena.

“Uh, pardon me. Um...is this the men's room?” he said.

His voice was soft, old-fashioned in a way, calm like still water.

Elena blinked. “Yes… Um, I was just, Um—I was just—It's a long story....”

He smiled faintly.

“I’m Stefan. Stefan Salvatore. I just enrolled.”

“I’m Elena Gilbert,” she said, smiling.

His eyes lingered on her for a beat longer than necessary — and then flicked back to Rita. Not with confusion, but interest . A sort of stillness came over him.

Rita stiffened under his gaze.

“And you must be...?”

“Rita,” she said, voice cautious. “Rita Gilbert.”

Stefan tilted his head slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.”

There was something in the way he said it — not flirtatious, not overtly charming — but careful. Curious. Like he was taking mental notes he wouldn’t forget.

Elena felt her heart stutter — and not just from his face. There was something familiar about him.

And Rita… Rita felt a sudden, inexplicable pressure in her chest. Not fear, not danger exactly — but alertness. As if something ancient had stirred the moment he spoke her name.

“I guess we’ll be seeing each other around,” Stefan said, stepping aside. “Enjoy your first day.”

Rita turned to watch him go, a frown playing on her lips.

“He’s... interesting ?”

Elena was still watching Stefan walk away. “Yeah. He really is.”

 

The walls of Room 205 were lined with dusty historical posters and faded Civil War memorabilia. The projector hummed low as Mr. Tanner, sleeves rolled up and tie crooked as usual, scribbled dates on the whiteboard with the intensity of someone who believed high school history could still be saved by sheer volume.

“Once our home state of Virginia joined the Confederacy in 1861,” he was saying, pacing with theatrical flair, “it created a tremendous amount of tension within the region. People in Virginia’s northwest had drastically different ideals than those from the traditional Deep South.”

Elena has sat near the middle of the room, trying to focus on the lecture. Her pen tapped rhythmically against her notebook, but her eyes drifted — to the front-left corner, where Stefan Salvatore sat, back straight, eyes fixed on the board but clearly aware of her.

Their gazes met for a heartbeat. Then another. He didn’t look away.

Elena’s breath caught.

Across the aisle, Rita has sat in a desk behind Elena, eyes fixed on Mr. Tanner but clearly not listening. She could feel Stefan. Like a whisper against her skin. A vibration beneath the words. She glanced sideways, noticing that he had looked at Elena first — but now?

He was aware of her , too.

“Then in 1863, the northwest region seceded from the seceded, forming what we now know as West Virginia,” Tanner droned on, oblivious to the emotional undercurrents thickening across the room. “This internal fracture marked—”

Bonnie, two rows behind Elena, pulled out her phone discreetly beneath the desk.

Bonnie: 

HAWT-E. STARING @ U OMG

Elena glanced at her phone, cheeks flushing faintly. She peeked again at Stefan — this time, he was back to watching Tanner.

Rita’s gaze lingered on Stefan, brow slightly furrowed. There was something strange about him. Something off . She wasn’t scared — not exactly. But it was like looking at a painting that shouldn’t move, only to see the eyes subtly follow you.

It unnerved her.

She bent over her notebook and wrote one word in the margin: Strange.

Tanner clapped his hands suddenly. Rita jumped.

“Let’s see who was actually listening,” he announced, scanning the room like a hawk. “Miss Gilbert.”

Both Elena and Rita looked up.

He hesitated, then sighed.

“ Elena Gilbert.”

A few students chuckled.

“Tell me,” Tanner continued, “what were the key ideological differences that caused Virginia to split?”

Elena opened her mouth—hesitated.

“Um… issues of slavery and states’ rights?” she offered.

Tanner raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“An oversimplification, but not incorrect. Half a point.”

“Thanks,” Elena muttered, not thrilled.

Rita’s pen was still in her hand, poised. She felt the need to disappear into her chair, the spotlight creeping too close. She hated being watched.

“What about you, Miss... Rita Gilbert?” Tanner's voice cut through her thoughts like a knife.

Her stomach dropped.

“I—”

“You’ve been rather quiet since you joined us. I hope you’ve caught up on your Civil War history.”

Rita’s lips parted. She glanced at Elena. Bonnie. Even Stefan. All watching now.

“Well,” she said softly, “the economic structures were different. The industrializing northwest didn’t rely on plantations or slave labor, which made their political alliances shift toward the Union. It wasn’t just ideology. It was survival.”

Tanner blinked.

“Correct,” he said slowly. “In fact, impressively correct.”

Elena turned around in surprise. Bonnie mouthed, damn.

Rita shrank again, her heart pounding. She hated attention. But something flickered across Stefan’s face. Surprise and acknowledgement.

 

The bell rang, slicing through the room in a loud shriek.

Chairs scraped, bags zipped, students poured out like a wave. The hallway outside of history class buzzed with voices, footsteps, and the occasional locker slam. Rita exited just behind Elena and Bonnie, her arms folded over her notebook, her eyes lowered but observant. 

“Okay,” Bonnie whispered, leaning into Rita. “You just owned Tanner. That never happens. You might be a legend now.”

“I really don’t want to be,” Rita said honestly.

“Too late,” Bonnie grinned. “Caroline will be thrilled. You’re officially ‘cool adjacent.’”

Rita stayed close to her sister, not out of fear but habit—the hallway was a different kind of pressure than the classroom. All motion and noise. Nothing stable.

But then, she felt it again.

That subtle pull. A change in the atmosphere, like the air itself grew thinner for a breath.

Stefan.

He stepped out into the corridor, casual in posture but too aware of his surroundings. He wasn’t watching Elena anymore. He was watching Rita.

Rita didn’t flinch or look away. She just met his eyes, steady. Calm. Like she wasn’t afraid to be seen, even if she didn’t quite understand what he was seeing.

“   In class,” Stefan said, falling into step beside her and Elena as they started down the corridor. “About the cultural fractures within Virginia before the split... it was sharp. You think like a historian”

Rita blinked. She hadn’t expected anyone to comment on her answer. Least of all him.

“I just read a lot, she replied simply.

“Still,” he said, and something about his tone made Elena glance sideways.

Stefan wasn’t looking at her. Not anymore.

Rita shrugged lightly, adjusting her grip on her notebook. “History was my favorite subject. It’s one of the few things that felt... predictable. Repetitive patterns. Consequences. Even when people pretend to forget.”

“Especially then,” Stefan said, his voice quieter now. “Forgetting history doesn’t stop it from repeating.”

There was a strange beat of silence between them. Elena was walking just a step ahead now, feeling slightly out of rhythm with the conversation. She didn’t resent it, but she noticed the way Stefan's head tilted slightly toward Rita, the way his eyes had stopped scanning the rest of the crowd.

“So you like history?” he asked.

“Yes,” Rita answered, without hesitation this time. “Especially the parts they don’t teach in school. The failures. The things buried.”

Stefan's gaze flicked sharper, if only for a moment. “ What?”

“Like the quiet people. The names that got erased. The motives behind lies. History’s made of what people want to remember. But there’s always more beneath it.”

Something in her tone made Stefan pause. Like she wasn’t talking about textbooks anymore.

Bonnie caught up beside Elena and gave her a quick glance, murmuring, “When did your sister get so deep?”

Elena gave a small, tight smile. “” She’s like that””

Stefan leaned just slightly closer. “That overwhelms you, isn’t it”

Rita glanced up. “The noise?”

He nodded.

“It’s not... overwhelming. Just a lot of energy,” she said. Then after a pause: “Some of it strange.”

Stefan studied her, his expression unreadable. Elena felt it again—that shift. That quiet reorientation of his attention. And she didn’t understand it. Not fully.

She wasn’t jealous. But she was confused.

Back at the history class, he had seemed so focused on her . That look in his eyes. But now, it was like something in Rita had pulled him sideways. As if he’d picked up a signal no one else heard.

 

Caroline appeared at the locker bay, waving enthusiastically. Rita exhaled in relief. The weight of Caroline’s attention was overwhelming, but also oddly comforting — like a spotlight with a hand to hold.

“There you are!” Caroline exclaimed, already pulling Rita aside. “I have so much to show you. Okay — this hallway? Terrible for selfies. Too much overhead light. And you need to meet the drama kids. They’re weird in a good way.”

Rita gave Elena a look that screamed help me , but she was already smiling.

Elena turned to Bonnie, laughing. “She’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah,” Bonnie said, watching them. “I think she just found her tribe.”

“Guys, are you coming?” Caroline called.

“ Go on” Elena said, nudging Rita gently. “ I’ll catch up.”

Rita hesitated, but Bonnie looped her arm through hers and started dragging her down the stairs with a grin. “Come on, mystery girl. Let’s teach you the thrill of high school cafeteria politics”

Rita let herself be led, but her eyes flicked once more toward Stefan’s.

He nodded at her. Just once. Like a signal, only she understood.

And then she was gone, swallowed into the tide of students.

Elena turned to Stefan. “She makes people curious.”

“Yes, she makes people intrigued,” he replied.

Elena waited for a smile, a joke, some flicker of warmth. But Stefan was still watching the staircase.

There was something heavy in his silence. Something that made Elena wonder: what else did he see in her sister?

 

Outside, the courtyard buzzed with lunch hour noise—laughter, gossip, plastic trays clattering. Rita sat on the edge of a stone planter while Caroline chattered beside her, showing her the unofficial map of who sat where and why. Bonnie was already on her phone, half-listening.

Rita kept nodding politely, but her eyes kept drifting.

She still felt the pressure of Stefan’s gaze, even though he wasn’t there. Like something had brushed against her mind and left fingerprints behind.

He wasn’t like the others. Not even close.

“ …Okay” Caroline asked, suddenly cutting through her thoughts.

Rita blinked.“What”

“You spaced out for a second.”

“Just tired,” she lied. “Long day”

Caroline squeezed her arm.“ worry. You’re doing fine. People already think you’re cool.”

Before Rita could answer, a guy approached the table. He was tall, darker hair and broader-shouldered, walked like he owned the pavement.

“Hey” Tyler said, giving Caroline a quick smile before glancing at Rita. “You’re Elena’s sister, right?”

“Yeah,” Rita said, offering a cautious nod.

“I’m Tyler.”

Tyler smirked, eyes dragging lazily over her hair. “Gotta say, the white hair thing? That’s hot. Like, you look as if you stepped out of some sci-fi fantasy.”

Rita tensed. Her spine stiffened, and she shifted slightly away.

“That’s enough,” Caroline cut in sharply, shooting Tyler a look.

“What? It was a compliment.”

“No, it was weird,” Elena said, stepping in just behind them.

Tyler raised his hands in mock surrender, but the grin didn’t leave his face.

Caroline gave Rita an apologetic look. “He’s always like that. Ignore him.”

“I try” Rita muttered.

Rita managed a small, polite smile, though her shoulders were still tight. She didn’t understand how people could just say things like that. How they didn’t notice the effect their words had.

“You already eat?” Bonnie asked, mostly to defuse the tension.

He nodded. “Yes, I’m going to Biology now with Matt.”

“We’ll catch up later,” Caroline said, giving Rita a reassuring nudge. “I’ll stay here a minute.”

As he walked away, Rita exhaled slowly.

“Are you okay?” Elena asked.

“I don’t like the way he looked at me.”

“You don’t have to,” Caroline said. “Tyler’s pretty annoying but harmless. You handled it just fine.”

Rita nodded, though her fingers were still clenched around the edge of the bench.

The lunch crowd buzzed around them, but for a moment, the noise receded.

And Rita wondered again what would it take to feel normal here.

 

Elena adjusted the strap of her bag as she stepped toward the door, keys in hand, the late afternoon sun already beginning to dip. “We’re meeting Bonnie at the Grill,” she called over her shoulder.

Jenna peeked up from her stack of papers on the kitchen counter. “Okay, have fun. Wait—” She stood straighter, cleared her throat, and raised a finger dramatically. “Don’t stay out late, it’s a school night.”

Elena grinned. “Well done, Aunt Jenna. That almost sounded parental.”

Jenna gave her a mock salute and returned to her papers. “I try.”

Rita stood near the entryway, silent as ever, her hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands. Her silver hair was brushed and braided, her new boots just slightly scuffed from her tentative steps around the school that morning. She had barely said a word all day, but when Elena reached for the doorknob, she followed without needing to be asked.

When Elena opened the door, she nearly walked straight into someone.

“Oh,” she gasped.

Stefan stood on the porch, hand raised mid-knock. He looked as though he’d rehearsed something, then abandoned the speech halfway through. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I was about to knock. I, um… I wanted to apologize. For disappearing earlier. I know it was strange.”

Elena tilted her head, caught off guard. “No worries. I get it — blood makes you squeamish.”

He offered a small smile. “Something like that.”

His eyes flicked to her leg, like he was checking for damage. “How’s your leg?”

“It’s fine,” Elena replied. “Just a scratch. Barely anything.”

Behind her, Rita remained still, her posture wary but not hostile. Stefan’s gaze found her briefly — a flicker of recognition. They had met at school already, in passing. He had noticed her more than once that day — quiet, observant, and utterly unlike anyone else. Not just for her hair or her silence, but the way space seemed to form around her.

“I thought you might want this back,” Stefan said, and held out a familiar object.

Elena blinked. Her diary.

“Oh, I must have dropped it,” she murmured, taking it carefully. “I—thank you.”

“Don’t worry,” he added quickly. “I didn’t read it.”

Elena quirked a brow. “No? Most people would’ve.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone to read mine,” he said simply.

“You keep a journal?”

“Yeah,” he said. “If I don’t write things down, I forget. And memories are too important.”

She studied him for a moment, then stepped aside and gestured gently. “You don’t have to stay out there.”

Stefan made a move toward the doorway—then stopped. A pause. Subtle, but clear. Like something invisible held him back.

“I’m fine here,” he said lightly, covering the hesitation. “Were you heading out?”

Elena nodded. “Yeah. We’re going to meet my friends at the Grill.” She hesitated, then added, “Do you want to come?”

Stefan’s expression didn’t shift much — but his eyes warmed, just a little. “Sure. If that’s okay.”

Elena glanced back at Rita. She hadn’t spoken once since Stefan arrived. But after a beat, Rita’s hand reached toward Elena’s without a word. Their fingers intertwined briefly. A quiet reassurance.

Elena smiled and gave her sister’s hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

“Okay then,” she said, turning back to Stefan. “Let’s go.”

Stefan stepped off the porch, walking beside them. Elena was talking, easing the quiet. Rita said nothing — but her eyes occasionally flicked to Stefan when he wasn’t looking. Not with suspicion, but with silent awareness.

And Stefan, for all his restraint, couldn’t help but feel it — a strange pull, not quite curiosity, not quite instinct. Just something… different. The kind of different he usually didn’t trust.

But tonight, he followed anyway.

Rita walked toward her first evening out, closer to the life waiting just beyond the edges of her fear.

 

The Mystic Grill was warm with golden lights and the low thrum of music from the jukebox near the bar. Laughter, clinking glasses, and the smell of grilled food hung in the air. Rita hesitated just inside the doorway, blinking against the brightness. Everything felt louder here — the buzz of conversations, the scrape of chairs, the flashes of movement — but Elena’s presence beside her grounded her.

“C’mon,” Elena said with a soft smile, guiding Rita further in. Stefan walked on her other side, quiet and observant.

A tall and Blond guy was already walking toward them from across the room, wiping his hands on his jeans, a wide smile spreading when he spotted Elena.

“Hey, I'm Matt, nice to meet you,” he said with a light tone, his eyes flicking between her and Stefan. 

“Hi, Stefan.”

“Hey, Matt,” whispered Elena.

Then Matt turned to Rita, visibly curious.

“Hey, I’m Matt,” he said, extending a hand.

Rita looked at it for a second too long before placing her palm in his. Her touch was featherlight, but her grip was steady.

“Rita,” she said, barely above a murmur.

“Nice to meet you,” Matt replied, his tone softening, as if sensing something fragile beneath her surface.

Bonnie and Caroline were already sitting at the corner table. Caroline perked up the moment she saw Stefan.

“So,” she said, brushing her hair over one shoulder. “You were born in Mystic Falls?”

Stefan nodded politely. “Mm-hmm. Moved when I was still young.”

“Parents?” Bonnie asked from beside her, more gently.

Stefan glanced down. “My parents passed away.”

“I’m sorry,” Elena said immediately, her voice low.

“Any siblings?” Bonnie asked.

Stefan hesitated a fraction of a second. “None that I talk to. I live with my uncle now.”

Rita, standing just a bit behind Elena, watched quietly as the questions flew. She traced the grain of the wooden tabletop with her fingers, the textures grounding her.

Caroline, undeterred, leaned in a little. “So, Stefan, if you’re new, then you don’t know about the party tomorrow.”

“It’s a back-to-school thing at the falls,” Bonnie added, more animated now.

Stefan turned toward Elena. “Are you going?”

Bonnie jumped in before Elena could answer. “Of course she is.”

Elena gave a soft shrug. “Maybe.”

Matt, meanwhile, had shifted his attention back to Rita. He gave her a half-smile, warm but tentative.

“First day of school’s gotta be rough when everything’s brand new, huh?” he asked.

Rita glanced up at him. His face was open, kind — not probing. She appreciated that.

“It was… loud,” she said after a pause. “And fast.”

Matt chuckled. “That sounds about right. You’re in Elena’s grade?”

Rita nodded. “Mostly the same classes.”

“That’s cool. Did you meet anyone else yet? Teachers being weird?”

“No,” she said simply. Then, after a second: “People stare.”

Matt rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah… Mystic Falls isn’t the best at minding its business.”

Rita managed a small smile — brief but real.

Over Matt’s shoulder, her eyes caught movement: Jeremy, leaning against the wall near the pool table, half-watching them. Beside him stood a girl with smudged eyeliner and a look of permanent defiance. She was animated, waving a cigarette, clearly agitated.

Rita stiffened, something about the way this girl's energy surged catching her attention. Her gaze lingered on the girl’s exposed breast. Jeremy noticed her staring. Their eyes met across the room.

He gave a faint, questioning tilt of his head — not unkind, just curious.

Rita looked away quickly, focusing instead on her untouched glass of soda.

Matt leaned in slightly. “You okay?”

She nodded once. “Just… plenty of people.”

“I get that,” he said. “You want something to eat? The fries here are kind of legendary.”

Elena smiled, watching the two of them. “She hasn’t had fries before.”

Matt blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Rita shook her head slowly, almost sheepish. “I was on a strict diet, buts it’s okay now.”

Matt turned toward the bar, waving down a server. “We’re fixing that. Immediately.”

Stefan looked at her then, not quite smiling, but his gaze soft with interest. “It’s good to try things,” he said.

Rita looked at him with those curious, searching eyes of hers — the kind that always seemed to be looking through the surface of things — and nodded.

And just like that, a table of near-strangers became something else: a collection of threads slowly, cautiously beginning to weave together.

 

Notes:

Heyy, I was supposedly to post this chapter next week but, I was sooo excited that I couldn’t not post. I will post next Friday too and after that every other week. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! xx

Chapter 4: four

⊰᯽⊱ ──── ⊰⚜︎⊱ ──── ⊰᯽⊱

 

 

 

Mystic Falls High buzzed with the lazy rhythm of late summer, but in the history classroom, the air was tense.

Mr. Tanner paced in front of the chalkboard, holding a piece of chalk like a weapon. “The Battle of Willow Creek took place right at the end of the war in our very own Mystic Falls,” he announced, turning sharply toward the students. “How many casualties resulted from this battle? Ms. Bennett?”

Bonnie blinked. “Um… a lot? I’m not sure. Like… lot.”

A few chuckles bubbled through the room.

“Cute becomes dumb in an instant, Ms. Bennett,” Tanner snapped. “Mr. Donovan? Want to overcome your embedded jock stereotype?”

Matt just smiled. “It’s okay, Mr. Tanner. I’m cool with it.”

Tanner scowled. “Elena? Surely, you can enlighten us on one of the town’s most significant historical events?”

Elena sat up straighter, her jaw tightening. “I’m sorry… I—I don’t know.”

Tanner’s gaze sharpened. “I was willing to be lenient last year for obvious reasons, Elena. But the personal excuses ended with summer break.”

A new voice cut in, calm and assured.

“There were 346 casualties. Unless you’re counting local civilians.”

Heads turned. Stefan sat in the back of the classroom, composed and direct.

Tanner narrowed his eyes. “That’s correct. Mister…?”

“Salvatore.”

“Salvatore. Any relation to the original settlers here in Mystic Falls?”

“Distant.”

“Well, very good. Except, of course, there were no civilian casualties in this battle.”

Stefan’s voice remained even. “Actually, there were twenty-seven, sir. Confederate soldiers fired on the church, thinking it held weapons. They were wrong. It was a night of great loss. The Founder’s Archives are in City Hall, if you’d like to brush up on your facts.”

Tanner stiffened. “Hmm.”

From her seat near Elena, Rita stared at Stefan. Something in his voice, in the precision of his words, made the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

Beside her, Bonnie shifted, her gaze flicking toward Rita.

There was something else, too — something Bonnie couldn’t place. A glow. Not literal, but an aura, warm and steady like a soft hearth fire. She found herself leaning in ever so slightly, as if Rita exhaled comfort.

 

The woods buzzed with teenagers and music, the fire casting wild shadows against the trees. Elena walked alongside Rita, both of them newly showered and loosely dressed for the warm evening. Stefan had promised to meet them there.

“So,” Elena said, giving her sister a sideways glance, “Thoughts so far? School? People? Freedom?”

Rita hesitated. “Loud. Unfocused. But… interesting. I’ve never had this much space before. Or time.”

Elena slowed her steps. “We’re all still figuring things out. Especially me. I mean, I just found out I have a sister. A twin. That’s… not anything.”

“I’m not used to having one either,” Rita said softly. “I missed a lot.”

Elena stopped walking and turned to her. “You missed everything, Rita. It’s not your fault. It’s Da… Grayson’s fault.”

“You know… I had books,” Rita murmured, half-smiling. “But no people. No real family. None that sounds like this.” She glanced toward the crowd. “I always wondered what laughing felt like. In a group.”

Elena’s eyes shimmered. She reached over and took Rita’s hand, squeezing it. “You’re here now. You’ll have all of it.”

Bonnie and Caroline were already near the fire when they arrived. Bonnie’s face lit up when she saw Rita, her gaze locking with hers longer than necessary.

“Hey, you made it,” Bonnie said, stepping toward her. “Elena said you might come.”

Rita nodded, her shoulders drawn in. “It’s a little overwhelming.”

“I bet,” Bonnie said gently. “You’re not the only one who feels like that. This whole place can be… too much sometimes.”

Then, almost without thinking, she reached out and touched Rita’s arm. A jolt ran through her — not pain, but heat. Like light breaking through fog. Bonnie’s breath caught.

“What is it?” Rita asked, tilting her head.

Bonnie blinked. “You feel like… warmth. Like a cinnamon–scented candle, even when it’s dark.” Her cheeks flushed. “Sorry, that’s weird.”

“No,” Rita said. “It was a nice feeling.”

Elena smiled at them, amused. “Maybe Bonnie really a witch after all.”

Bonnie grinned. “Grams says I’ve got potential. Haven’t levitated anything yet, though.”

Suddenly, Caroline bounded over. “Okay, witches, empaths, and mystery twins — drinks?”

She handed them plastic cups filled with something yellow.

Rita took hers cautiously. One sip, and her face scrunched. “It’s weird.”

“It’s beer. Trust me, you'll get used to it,” Elena said, laughing.

“I don’t know,” Rita remarked.

Rita sipped again, intrigued by the strange beverage. “It’s bitter,” she said seriously, and Bonnie laughed.

 

Later, as the night grew quieter and people scattered to smaller clusters, Stefan arrived.

Bonnie nudged Elena. “So where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Elena said. “You tell me. You’re the psychic one.”

“Right, let me just channel the spirits…” Bonnie grabbed Elena’s hand, half-joking — but then stilled.

Elena frowned. “Bonnie?”

“I saw a crow,” Bonnie whispered. “And fog. And… a man.”

Elena blinked. “What?”

Bonnie let go, rattled. “It’s nothing. I’m drunk. Ignore me.”

She wandered off. Elena turned — and found Stefan standing behind her.

“You did it again,” she said, heart pounding.

“I’m sorry,” Stefan said quietly. “You’re upset.”

“It’s Bonnie,” she murmured. “She says she’s psychic. Sometimes I believe her.”

Stefan didn’t press. He just nodded.

They walked away from the noise, toward the edge of the woods. 

“You know,” Elena said, “you’re kind of the talk of the town.”

“Am I?” Stefan said, his smile barely visible.

“Mysterious new guy. Quiet. Intense. Probably writes poetry.”

Stefan chuckled. “You have mystery, too. Twinged in sadness.”

“What makes you think I’m sad?”

“We met in a graveyard,” he said gently.

Elena looked away. “Right. Well… last spring, my parents’ car drove off Wickery Bridge. I survived. They didn’t.”

Stefan’s expression softened. “You won’t be sad forever, Elena.”

Stefan and Elena had drifted slightly away from the main crowd, standing beneath the trees, where the music faded to a hum and the lanterns hanging from branches gave off a soft, golden glow.

“I like Bonnie,” Stefan said, his tone easy. “She seems like a good friend.”

Elena smiled, some tension in her shoulders easing. “Best friend in the world.”

Stefan’s gaze shifted briefly toward the group still clustered near the fire pit. “And Matt… he can’t seem to take his eyes off us.”

Elena let out a breathy laugh, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Matt’s been around since forever. We started dating because… well, it felt like the right thing to do. Like we owed it to ourselves to see if there was something more.”

Stefan looked at her. “And?”

She shook her head, staring at the cup in her hand. “And then my parents died, and everything changed. We tried, but… it wasn’t…” She glanced up at him, her voice quieter. “It wasn’t passionate.”

Stefan’s expression shifted slightly, a flash of something behind his eyes — hunger, instinct. For a split second, his irises darkened, veins nearly surfacing beneath the skin.

Elena drew back slightly. “Hey, um… are you okay? Your eyes just—”

He blinked, looked away, covering it quickly. “It’s nothing. Just—uh, I should get us a drink.”

Before she could say more, he was already turning and walking off.

 

Near the center of the party, Rita sat on the edge of a rock with Bonnie. She hadn’t left Bonnie’s side all evening, drawn to the girl’s energy — warm, grounded, gently curious. Bonnie hadn’t asked questions, just kept her company. Occasionally, she’d look at Rita with something like wonder, like she was trying to understand something that wasn’t quite visible in her eyes.

Rita liked her.

She didn’t say much, but Bonnie didn’t seem to mind. She filled the silences with stories and jokes, occasionally nudging Rita’s shoulder with her own as if they’d known each other for years.

From where she sat, Rita watched Elena and Stefan, but didn’t approach. She wasn’t ready to share space like that — not yet. So she stayed with Bonnie, watching, learning.

Across the field, Matt approached Elena, hands in his pockets and something tense in his jaw.

“Looking for someone?” he asked, forcing a smile.

Elena turned, surprised. “Hey.”

“When you broke up with me, you said you needed time alone,” Matt said, his voice tight. “But you don’t look so alone to me.”

Elena sighed. “Matt, you don’t understand. It’s—”

“That’s okay,” he cut in. “You do what you have to do. I just want you to know… I still believe in us. And I’m not giving up on that.”

“Matt…”

 

Caroline stumbled over, bright and glittery and a little too loud.

“There you are!” she said, hooking her arm around Stefan. “Have you been down to the falls yet? They’re so cool at night. I could show you… if you'd like.”

Stefan gently untangled her hand. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Well, of course I have. So—”

“Caroline,” he interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. “You and me — it’s not going to happen. Sorry.”

He turned away from her and spotted Elena again.

 

“There you are,” she said as he approached. “I was starting to wonder who abducted you.”

“Caroline,” Stefan replied, exasperated. “She’s persistent.”

“She’s like that with new guys. You’re fresh meat. Don’t worry, she’ll back off eventually.”

Elena glanced toward the shadows beyond the treeline — and groaned. “God, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Stefan followed her gaze. “What is it?”

“My brother.”

“The drunk one?”

“That would be the one,” she muttered. “Excuse me.”

“Need help?”

“Trust me, you would rather not witness this.” She rolled her eyes and stormed toward the figure weaving near the falls. “Jeremy! Jeremy!”

Rita watched from the shadows, eyes flicking from Elena’s retreating form to Stefan standing quietly alone, and then back to Bonnie, who was now staring at the fire, lips parted in a soft smile.

“You okay?” Bonnie asked her.

Rita nodded. “Just watching.”

Bonnie’s smile grew. “You feel like a flame,” she murmured.

Rita blinked. “What?”

Bonnie looked slightly embarrassed. “Sorry. Weird thing to say. It’s just… when I’m near you, I feel this warmth. I feel very peaceful around you.”

Rita didn’t respond. But her fingers tentatively reached for Bonnie's hand, squeezing it. 

She’d felt it too from Bonnie, something was pulling at the edges of her bones.

She didn’t know what it meant yet.

The screams reached her before she saw anything.

“Jeremy, where the hell are you going?” Elena’s voice sliced through the night air.

“I don’t want to hear it!”

“Yeah, well, too bad!”

Rita followed, careful and quick, branches snapping under her shoes as the trees thinned. Then came a sound she hadn’t heard before — raw panic, not just shouting, but something broken.

“Oh my God, it’s Vicki!”

She stopped short at the edge of the clearing.

Elena was on her knees. Jeremy too. A girl lay between them in the grass, limbs awkward, skin too pale under the flickering lights. Her neck was soaked in blood.

Rita blinked. Her heart slammed once, hard.

Vicki.

The girl from the Grill. The one with the loud laugh, the uneven grin. 

Matt crashed into the clearing next. “Vicki? What the hell?!”

Others followed. Tyler. Random students. Caroline not far behind, frozen with a hand over her mouth.

Someone shouted for an ambulance. Someone else handed over a jacket to stop the bleeding. The whole crowd shifted like a wave, panicked but powerless.

Rita stood rooted, just out of sight.

Her chest was tight. Her stomach twisted.

She didn’t move.

Not forward. Not back.

Jeremy’s voice cracked as he gripped Vicki’s hand. “Come on, come on—just stay awake, okay?”

Matt hovered over her, trembling. “You’re okay, Vick. You’re okay. Just keep looking at me.”

Blood stained everything. Vicki’s shirt. Her jawline. Jeremy’s hands.

Rita’s breath caught. Her throat ached with something she didn’t understand very well. She had a name for these feelings. Panic. Fear. Anxiety.

She couldn’t look away.

But she didn’t step forward, either.

She couldn’t.

Not here.

Not yet.

Elena glanced around and saw her. Their eyes met — just for a second — and Elena’s gaze held questions. But she didn’t call out. She didn’t pull her forward.

And Rita was grateful.

She turned and disappeared into the trees again, silent and unseen.

Behind her, the sirens were already on their way.

Matt climbed into the ambulance with Vicki, his face pale, grief-stricken, refusing to let go of her hand. The red and blue lights spun wildly across the dark trees as the siren wailed, then faded into the distance, swallowed by the night.

Bonnie caught up to Elena, her voice low, still shaken.

“We’re heading to Caroline's home.  Are you coming?”

Elena nodded absently. “I need to get Jeremy and Rita home.”

Bonnie hesitated, biting her lip. “Elena… I know it sounds crazy, but what I saw earlier? The crow, the fog, that man—it wasn’t just in my head. I felt something. And now this—” She glanced back toward where Vicki had been found. “I don’t think it’s over.”

Elena looked at her seriously. “Bonnie, what are you trying to say?”

Bonnie’s eyes flicked toward the trees. “That this is just the beginning.”

With that, she turned and disappeared into the thinning crowd, Caroline trailing silently after her.

Elena moved quickly, weaving through the party until she spotted Jeremy sitting on the low edge of a broken stone wall. He was hunched forward, a beer forgotten in one hand, staring into nothing. Beside him, Rita sat very still, her silver hair catching the moonlight like frost. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

Jeremy didn’t look up when Elena approached. His arm was around Rita’s shoulder now — not loosely, but clinging like a child in the dark. Rita let him hold her, her head tilted faintly toward his, her expression unreadable but her presence grounding.

Elena slowed, her voice calm but steady. “You okay?”

Jeremy didn’t answer.

“I called Jenna,” Elena went on. “She’s on her way. The uniforms? They’re the police. And they’re not going to keep giving you breaks forever, Jer. People just… stop caring. They forget. They move on with their lives. They don’t remember that Mom and Dad are dead. They don’t remember we’re still hurting.”

Jeremy finally looked at her. “Oh, and you’ve moved on? Writing in your diary in the cemetery — that’s moving on?”

Elena swallowed, her tone softening. “Mom and Dad wouldn’t have wanted this.”

His jaw clenched, but his eyes drifted toward Rita again. She hadn’t moved — still beside him, still calm, quiet, warm. And he leaned into her just a little more, like maybe, just maybe, it would help.

Rita didn’t speak.

But she stayed.

And somehow, that said enough.

 

Elena stood at her window, her fingers curled loosely around the frame. The room was quiet, cloaked in the hush of late evening. The moonlight spilled through sheer curtains.

Then — movement.

She looked down and saw him. She went downstairs to open the door.

Stefan stood on the sidewalk just outside, hands in his jacket pockets, face tilted up toward her.

“I know it’s late,” he said softly. “But… I needed to know that you were okay.”

She didn’t hesitate. “You know, for months, that’s all anyone’s asked me. If I’ll be okay.”

“What do you tell them?”

“That I’ll be fine.”

Stefan’s expression was steady. “Do you ever mean it?”

Elena gave a faint smile, tired but sincere. “Ask me tomorrow.”

A beat passed. Then she stepped back from the window. “It’s warmer inside. We can talk. Would you like to come in?”

Stefan nodded. “Yes.”

 

Rita sat cross-legged on her bed, her sketchpad resting across her knees, a half-finished drawing of falling leaves taking shape under her fingers.

Her phone buzzed beside her. She glanced at the screen.

Caroline:

Elena’s MIA. Sleepover @ mine? Me + Bon = pillow fort & bad movies 

U in???

2118 Floyd St.

Rita blinked at the message, surprised — but also strangely pleased.

She stood, stretching slightly, and crossed to her closet. She pulled out her small overnight bag and carefully packed a few items: her soft cotton pajamas, a change of clothes, her sketchpad and pencils, and her vanity case with the essentials. She hesitated for a moment, then added a small bottle of perfume — one of the new ones Elena had given her, light and floral.

Bag slung over her shoulder, she padded to Jenna’s room and knocked lightly.

“Can I go to a sleepover?”

Jenna, who had been reading in bed, looked up with raised eyebrows. “A sleepover?”

Rita nodded once. “Caroline invited me. Bonnie too.”

Jenna’s face lit up. “Rita, that’s great. Of course, you can go.” She got out of bed and grabbed her keys. “Do you want me to drive you?”

“I don’t mind walking. It’s close.”

Jenna hesitated, then softened. “Alright. Text me when you get there, okay?”

Rita nodded. “I will.”

She slipped on her coat, adjusted the strap of her bag, and stepped out into the night.

The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine, fallen leaves, and the faint trace of wood smoke drifting from somewhere distant. Rita’s boots echoed lightly on the quiet pavement as she cut through a side street toward Caroline’s house. The moon hung low and full above the rooftops, silvering the trees and throwing long shadows across the sidewalk.

Halfway down the block, she noticed someone standing beneath a streetlamp.

A man.

He leaned casually against the pole, one boot crossed over the other, arms folded. He wasn’t doing anything — no phone, no cigarette — just watching, like the world was an unspooling thread, and he already knew how it would end.

Rita slowed.

He straightened slightly, eyes sharpening.

Tall — at least six feet. Broad shoulders beneath a fitted black coat. Dark, tousled hair that curled slightly at the collar. His skin was pale in the moonlight, but warm-toned beneath it, like old gold. And his eyes — piercing, icy blue — gleamed with something unreadable: curiosity, amusement… hunger. 

When their eyes met, he stilled.

For a split second, something flickered in his expression. Confusion. Recognition. Intrigue.

“You’re not Elena,” he said, stepping forward with fluid ease, his voice smooth as velvet.

“I’m not,” Rita replied evenly, stopping a few feet away. Her posture was relaxed, but alert. Watchful.

He tilted his head as he reviewed her — slowly, thoroughly — not in the leering way she’d come to recognize from boys at school, but something more clinical. Predatory. Like he was cataloging details.

“You’re prettier,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Way more interesting, too. Love the silver hair. Is that natural?” His eyes dipped for just a moment. “And the lashes? Damn.”

Rita didn’t answer.

He smiled — a lazy, crooked thing that dripped confidence and charm. The kind of smile that usually makes people lean in without realizing it.

“I’m Damon,” he said, stepping closer. “Damon Salvatore, Stefan's brother and the fun one.”

Rita blinked slowly. “Should that mean something to me?”

He gave a mock-wounded look. “Wow. Nothing? That’s humbling.” He paused, then added with a shrug, “I’m the older brother. And usually the more dangerous one.”

“Usually?” she asked.

“Well, there was that one time, Stefan—never mind. It’s early. Don’t want to scare you off.”

She didn’t respond. Just stood there, still and quiet. 

“Mysterious type. I dig that,” he said, circling slightly, his boots soundless on the concrete. “So, what’s your story, mystery girl?”

“I don’t tell stories to strangers.”

“Fair enough. Then tell me your name.”

“Rita.”

He smiled again. “Rita.” He let the name roll off his tongue like it tasted expensive. “Yeah. That fits.”

She didn’t return the compliment.

Damon rocked back slightly, still watching her. “So you’re out walking alone at night. Heading somewhere important?”

“Sleepover,” she said simply.

“Of course. Pillow fights and truth-or-dare.” He grinned wider. “You know, most girls your age might be a little more rattled running into someone like me in the dark.”

“Maybe, I don't know.”

That clearly pleased him. His grin curled wider. But then — with barely a pause — his tone shifted.

Lower. Velvet-soft.

“You have an urgent and terribly need to kiss me.”

His eyes locked on hers, pupils widening — just a fraction — as the compulsion slipped from his voice like silk over steel. The words were smooth, persuasive. A suggestion turned into a command.

But Rita only blinked at him.

Then she frowned. “Why would I kiss you?”

The shift in him was immediate.

His body went still. The charm vanished like smoke. His brows drew together in the smallest flicker of confusion — enough to register, even if he tried to hide it.

He stepped in again. Closer.

“You’re going to forget you ever saw me here,” he said, the words firmer this time. “You’re going to turn around and go back to what you were doing.”

Rita tilted her head, considering him like she might a dog barking at a shadow. “You’re a weird guy.”

Then, without flinching, she walked past him — not hurriedly, not fearfully. Just… done with the conversation.

Damon turned as she moved away, his eyes narrowing.

She didn’t look back.

No heartbeat spike.

No hesitation.

He stared after her, one hand dragging slowly through his hair. The corner of his mouth twitched — not in amusement now, but in something darker.

“What the hell…”

He glanced down the street where she’d vanished, the surrounding air suddenly colder.

“Already on vervain,” he muttered. 

His lips parted slightly as a thought bloomed — slow and electric. He watched her turn the corner at the end of the block, her silver-white hair catching the glow of a streetlight for a moment before she vanished from view.

Then, and only then, did he murmur to the darkness, almost with amusement, almost to himself:

“Well. That’s new.”

He stood still for a moment longer, letting the silence settle around him, then a slow grin returned to his face, sharper this time. Almost hungry.

“Looks like baby brother’s made a fascinating new friend.”

He stepped back into the shadows, his coat flaring slightly with the motion — and was gone.

The night swallowed him whole.

But in his wake, something stirred.

And nothing would be quite the same again.

 

Rita turned the corner onto Floyd Street, thinking. Damon tried to compel her. He was a vampire, no doubt, Stefan was one either. 

Her memories resurfaced of her ancestor’s diaries; supernatural creatures that could compel humans to do what they wished. She knew about a plant that could obstruct what Grayson called “vampires” from doing what they wanted. Vervain, she would need it for her family, Caroline and Bonnie.  

Rita was curious about why Damon's compelling hadn't worked, nevertheless, she was reassured, he was a creep.

The chill in the air brushing over her cheeks as she adjusted the strap of her overnight bag. Caroline’s house was lit up like a beacon — warm lights in the windows, laughter floating faintly through the air. A pumpkin-shaped wreath hung on the door even though it was still September. Typical Caroline.

Rita hesitated at the end of the walk, staring at the house.

The sound of a squeal broke through the quiet.

“Is that her?!”

The door flew open before she could knock, and Bonnie’s voice came next — bright and pleased. “Rita!”

Caroline appeared behind her, barefoot, with a slice of pizza in hand and glitter on her cheek. “You came! Okay, officially obsessed.”

Rita blinked. “You said trash movies and pillows?”

“And we meant it. We need it,” Caroline said, grabbing her wrist and tugging her inside. “Shoes off, snacks in hand, judgment-free zone.”

Rita kicked off her boots near the entryway, her bag still slung over her shoulder, as Bonnie pulled it gently from her and set it aside.

“Room’s through here,” Bonnie said, leading her down the hallway toward the den. “We already have Twilight waiting. Caroline was impatient to see Edward Anthony Cullen.”

Caroline grinned. “I mean, Robert Pattinson is hot.”

The room was a riot of cushions, blankets, and discarded candy wrappers. The television glowed in the background. A bottle of soda fizzed open with a crack, and someone tossed a fuzzy pair of socks toward her.

It was… cozy.

Unreal, almost.

“Take your pick,” Bonnie said, holding up two soda cans, Sprite and Fanta. “Caffeine or more caffeine.”

Rita smiled — a small, shy curve of her lips — and reached for one. “I’ve never had either.”

That froze them both.

“You’ve never had soda?” Caroline repeated, half-dramatic.

Rita shook her head. “I experienced cola and pepperoni pizza for the first time recently.”

Bonnie gaped, then recovered fast. “Well, tonight’s your reckoning.”

Caroline threw an arm around her shoulders. “First sip, first bite of sausage pizza, first teenage movie. Babe, you’re officially initiated.”

Rita felt the warmth of it, the noise, the chaos, the normalcy — and something in her chest eased. She curled into the couch as the movie started, her silver hair catching the flicker of the television.

She didn’t know the actors and the lore, but it didn’t matter.

Because she was here.

And they made space for her.

The movie was halfway through when Caroline pressed pause, flopping backward with a dramatic sigh.

“I mean, I get the whole brooding vampire boyfriend thing, but if a guy snuck into my room to watch me sleep, I’d call the cops.”

Bonnie snorted. “You’d post it on Facebook first.”

They both turned toward Rita, who was curled up between them in oversized pajama pants and one of Elena’s borrowed sweatshirts, her silver hair gleaming in the soft lamplight.

“So, what do you think?” Caroline asked, reaching for another slice of pizza. “Is this your first Twilight?”

Rita nodded. “First movie like this, yes.”

“And?”

She tilted her head, thoughtful. “The pacing is strange. But… I think vampire stories exist for a reason.”

Bonnie raised an eyebrow. “Because people like sexy immortals?”

Rita shook her head slightly, eyes still on the screen. “Because something like them must have existed once. Or still does.”

Caroline grinned. “Oh, come on—vampires?”

Rita glanced at her, face serious. “Do you ever wake up not knowing what time it is? Like hours disappeared? Your memory skips a beat — but you don’t know why.”

The room quieted, the flickering light of the movie casting soft shadows on the walls.

Bonnie slowly lowered her soda can. “That’s… oddly specific.”

“I’ve been reading some old journals,” Rita said calmly. “Jonathan Gilbert — my ancestor. He wrote a lot about this town. About things that don’t make sense unless you believe in something else.” Her voice remained steady. “Vampires. Supernatural influence. Memory loss. Blood.”

Caroline leaned forward a little. “You mean… like, Mystic Falls has a past with that kind of stuff?”

Rita nodded. “A passive past. Hidden, but not gone.”

Bonnie didn’t laugh. She was watching Rita carefully now, brows drawn in thought. “My grams always said Mystic Falls had a…thicker energy. She talks about ley lines and the spirits of the land.” Her voice grew quieter. “She might not be wrong.”

“You should talk to her,” Rita said softly. “And Caroline — maybe ask your mom what she knows. I think… there’s more happening here than what anyone’s saying.”

Caroline looked from Bonnie to Rita, then back again. “Okay. So if any of that stuff — memory lapses, confusion — ever happens, we tell you?”

“Yes,” Rita said simply. “Don’t wait for someone to get hurt.”

She wasn’t dramatic. She wasn’t trying to spook them.

She was telling them something she believed.

And that changed the entire tone of the room.

Bonnie gave a slow nod. “I’m in. I mean, maybe it’s nothing, but… it doesn’t feel like nothing.”

Caroline tilted her head. “Okay, this is seriously freaky—but also kind of cool? Like, if there is something out there, I want to know. I’m done living clueless.”

Bonnie grinned. “Looks like we’re Scooby-Doo now.”

Caroline raised her soda. “To the Mystic Falls Mystery Club.”

They all touched drinks — Coke and Sprite and grape soda — in a quiet, clumsy toast.

Rita smiled faintly and leaned back into her pillow. “Don’t worry. If something’s coming…we’ll be ready.”

The movie started up again. The tension was gone — not because they didn’t believe her, but because they did. And something about that made Rita feel, for the first time, like she wasn’t carrying the weight of it all alone.

Outside, the wind stirred the trees.

Inside, the porch light flickered once… and then held steady.

 

Bonnie stepped through the back door, still in the hoodie she’d borrowed from Caroline and holding her shoes in one hand.

She tried to slip in quietly.

The early sunlight filtered through the gauzy kitchen curtains, casting soft gold across the worn tile floor. The kitchen smelled faintly of cinnamon and sage, a comforting blend that always meant Grams was steeping one of her teas.

“You’re not as silent as you think,” Grams said from the kitchen table, her reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. A steaming cup of tea sat beside a small stack of old leather-bound books. “Good sleepover?”

Bonnie froze halfway across the room. “You’re up early.”

“I’m always up early. It’s part of being old.”

Bonnie chuckled and set her shoes down. “After what happened to Vicki, it was… fun. We watched Twilight. Ate way too much pizza.”

Grams raised an eyebrow. “Vampire romance, huh?”

“That’s not even the weird part.” Bonnie sat across from her, fingers idly tracing a swirl in the wood. “Rita — Elena’s sister — she said something last night. Something kind of intense.”

Grams looked at her over her glasses, now very still. “What kind of intense?”

Bonnie hesitated. “She asked if we’ve ever lost time. Like, woke up and didn’t know what happened. She said that if we did, we should come to her. Right away.”

Grams didn’t speak at first. She just leaned back slowly and removed her glasses.

“And what do you think she meant by that?”

“She said she’s been reading Jonathan Gilbert’s journals. She said… this town has a past with vampires.”

That earned a quiet exhale from Grams. Not surprised — not exactly.

Bonnie blinked. “Wait — you knew?”

“Bonnie, this town is older than its courthouse and cleaner than its conscience. Of course, I knew.”

Bonnie stared at her. “You believe her?”

“I believe you and her,” Grams said gently. “And if you’re sitting at my table at eight in the morning, still thinking about what someone said last night — that means you do believe her, too.”

Bonnie ran a hand through her hair, she looked up, eyes wide. “So… it’s real? Vampires?”

Grams didn’t answer right away. She stirred the tea slowly, deliberately. The spoon clicked softly against the ceramic.

“They’ve always been real,” she said at last, her voice low and firm. “Creatures older than this town, older than this country. Some hide. Some feed. All dangerous.”

Bonnie drew in a shaky breath. “And me? I’m really… a witch?”

Grams gave a small smile, warm but edged with weight. “You’re a Bennett witch, child. The Firstborn of a line that’s seen generations rise and fall. Magic runs through your blood like a river through stone. You’re powerful, Bonnie. The only question is—are you ready to carry what that means?”

The words settled around them like dust in sunbeams. Bonnie looked down at her hands, her breath caught somewhere between fear and awe.

“I think I am,” she whispered.

Grams nodded, her expression softening. She stood and poured a second cup of tea, the liquid dark and fragrant, steam curling upward like incense.

“Good,” she said gently. “Because if vampires are stirring again in Mystic Falls… there’s a reason. Magic follows patterns. Power awakens in balance. And if they’re back, something else is rising too.”

She set the cup down in front of Bonnie with a quiet clink, then placed a steady hand on her shoulder.

“I’m going to teach you everything I know,” Grams said. “Not just spells and sigils. But how to trust yourself. Your instincts. Your light.”

Bonnie swallowed hard, blinking back the heat in her eyes. She nodded.

Outside, the wind rustled the leaves against the windows.

Inside, magic began to shift—quiet and ancient—and the flame of a nearby candle flared just slightly brighter.

 

Notes:

Hey, thank you so much for all your reviews. That makes me so happy that y'all are interested in this story!

Chapter 5: five

⊰᯽⊱ ──── ⊰⚜︎⊱ ──── ⊰᯽⊱

 

 

 

The smell of brewed coffee drifted through the house as Caroline padded into the kitchen in mismatched socks and an oversized hoodie. Her mascara from the night before still faintly rimmed her eyes. She looked like she hadn’t slept — because she hadn’t.

Liz Forbes was already up, dressed in uniform, standing at the kitchen counter with a notepad open beside her coffee mug.

“You’re up early,” Liz said, not looking up right away.

“I never really went to sleep. “The girls just left.” Caroline replied, sliding into a chair at the small table.

Liz turned, taking in her daughter’s pale face and the faint tightness around her eyes. She softened slightly. “You okay?”

Caroline shrugged. “I guess. It was just… a lot. The attack on Vicki last night. All that blood.”

Liz nodded, stepping over to pour a second mug of coffee — one for Caroline, even though she rarely let her drink it. “I know. It was bad. But she’s okay now. We think it was some kind of animal.”

“But it didn’t feel like that,” Caroline said, taking the mug. “It felt… like something else.”

Liz sat down across from her, mug in hand. “Why do you say that?”

Caroline hesitated. “Because we didn’t hear anything. No animal sounds. Just — screaming.”

Liz’s face stayed neutral, but Caroline didn’t miss the small flicker in her expression.

“And I know you’re going to say I’m just shaken,” Caroline added quickly, “but Rita said something weird last night after it happened. She was serious, not eerie or dramatic. Just… calm. She said if we ever lost time, or felt confused or blank, we should go to her. She mentioned… vampires.”

Liz was quiet for a beat. Then she exhaled slowly. “Rita said that?”

Caroline nodded. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but it didn’t feel ridiculous. It felt like… like she was warning us.”

Liz looked away for a moment, jaw tightening.

“I thought you’d laugh,” Caroline said, surprised.

“I’m not laughing,” Liz said. “Because in this town, I've heard stranger things that turned out to be true.”

Caroline blinked. “So you believe her?”

“I believe you saw something that didn’t feel normal.”

They sat in silence for a moment, just sipping their coffee.

“Mom,” Caroline said finally, “if there’s something weird going on here — really weird — will you tell me? I don’t want to be in the dark.”

Liz looked at her daughter — really looked at her — and nodded once.

“If it ever comes to that,” she said quietly, “you’ll know. I promise.”

And somehow, that promise felt heavier than it should have.

 

History class smelled faintly of chalk and floor wax, the way old buildings always did. The overhead lights buzzed gently, and the late morning sun filtered through half-open blinds in dusty stripes. Elena and Rita sat near the center of the room, flanked by Bonnie. Stefan had taken a seat just a few rows behind them, silent and watchful.

Mr. Tanner, always brisk and theatrical, was already mid-lecture. He paced with an energy that suggested he enjoyed the sound of his voice, a stack of handouts in one hand, a marker in the other.

“Let’s talk about tonight,” he began, tone dry but laced with dramatics. “Comet Night. A tradition here in Mystic Falls. A gathering of townsfolk to look up at the sky and pretend we’re still in touch with the mystery of the cosmos.”

He spun toward the whiteboard and scrawled COMET NIGHT in bold capital letters. The marker squeaked as he underlined it twice.

“But this isn’t just any stargazing picnic. The comet you’ll see tonight has passed through our skies every 145 years—marking change, transition, sometimes even disaster.”

A few students stirred. Someone yawned.

Mr. Tanner turned abruptly. “Mr. Salvatore,” he said, zeroing in like a hawk. “You’re our new addition, but I hear you’re a history buff. Care to enlighten us? What did our ancestors believe about this celestial phenomenon?”

Stefan met his gaze without hesitation. “They believed it was a sign. A thinning of the veil between the living and the dead. Spirits were said to walk more freely during the comet’s passing.”

There was a beat of silence in the room. A few students chuckled under their breath. Tanner raised an eyebrow.

“Spirits, huh? Mystic Falls does love its ghost stories,” he said, turning toward the board again. “But let’s try to stay grounded in fact, shall we?”

“Myth is part of history too,” Stefan replied calmly. “Sometimes the stories people tell reveal more than the dates we memorize.”

Tanner turned back, clearly irritated. “All right then, let’s test that theory. The fall of the Berlin Wall took place in what year, Mr. Salvatore?”

Stefan didn’t hesitate. “1989.”

Tanner gave a short nod. “Very good. “ What about Pearl Harbor?”

“December 7, 1941. I'm good with dates, sir” Stefan shrugged. 

“Are you? How good? Keep it to the year. Civil Rights Act.”

“1964.”

“ John F. Kennedy assassination.”

“1963.”

“Martin Luther King.”

“'68.”

“Lincoln.”

“1865.”

“Roe vs. Wade.”

“1973.”

“Brown vs. Board.”

“1954.”

“The battle of Gettysburg.”

“1863.”

“Korean War.”

“1950 to 1953.”

“Ha! It ended in '52.” Tanner smirked slightly. 

“Uh, actually, sir, it was '53.”

“Look it up, somebody. Quickly”

A student two rows up pulled out his phone and typed quickly. “He’s right. It was 19…53.”

Tanner looked mildly annoyed. “You’re well-read for someone who just transferred.”

“I like history,” Stefan said simply.

Rita blinked. She hadn’t expected that response. He surely lived all these events after all. She turned slightly in her seat, eyes catching Stefan’s. There was something in the way he spoke—measured, certain, but not condescending. She liked that, despite his possible nature.

Mr. Tanner, not satisfied with Stefan’s philosophical answer, launched into a dry summary of the comet’s visibility through past centuries. He peppered in theories, the role of comets in ancient civilizations, their connection to omens of plague and downfall.

Then he paused.

“And speaking of mythology…” Tanner’s eyes scanned the room before landing on Rita. “Ms. Gilbert,” he said sharply.

Rita tensed. Elena felt her stiffen beside her.

Tanner tilted his head. “What do you think? Are these beliefs' superstition? Or a kind of truth wrapped in fear?”

Rita blinked. Everyone was staring at her. Even Stefan.

“I think people create stories to make sense of what scares them,” she said, slowly. Her voice was soft but steady. “When something unpredictable happens—like a comet—they don’t want to admit they’re powerless. So they give it meaning. Fear with structure is easier than fear without it.”

There was a beat of silence.

Tanner didn’t smile, but he nodded slightly. “A psychological take. Interesting.”

Elena gave Rita a small, impressed nudge under the desk.

Behind them, Stefan’s eyes lingered on Rita, intrigued.

The bell rang. Chairs scraped, students rose, and the hum of chatter filled the room.

Elena was packing up her bag when Tanner’s voice cut through the noise.

“Ms. Gilbert, can I see you for a moment?”

Elena frowned, but Rita gave her a quiet nod. “I’ll be fine,” she murmured.

The room emptied. Tanner leaned against his desk as Rita stepped cautiously forward.

“You’ve adjusted quickly,” he said. “Impressive, given your… unique educational background.”

Rita didn’t reply.

He studied her with a faint smile, and his gaze dipped—first to her notebook, then briefly, unmistakably, to her chest. She was wearing a fitted tank top under an open flannel. His smile didn’t falter, but the warmth in it felt artificial.

“If you ever feel like you’re falling behind, I’m available for private tutoring. One-on-one. Informal. Nothing official.”

Rita hesitated. The way he said private stuck uncomfortably in her mind.

“I think I’m managing fine,” she replied.

“I insist,” he said, voice lower. “You’ve got potential, and it would be a shame to see it wasted just because you’re adjusting late. My door is always open.”

His eyes dropped again—this time to her bare legs. She was wearing shorts today. When his gaze returned to hers, the smile was unchanged, but her skin prickled. 

She shook her head. 

“Are you sure? I really think it would benefit you.”

“I’m sure,” she said, firmly now. “Thank you, but no.”

She turned and walked out without waiting for a reply, her grip tightening on her books.

Elena and Bonnie were waiting by the lockers.

“What did he want?” Elena asked.

Rita exhaled, hugging her notebook to her chest. “He offered me private lessons.”

Bonnie made a face. “Ew. Tanner gives me predator vibes.”

“He was… insistent,” Rita admitted. “It felt off.”

“Want me to accidentally spill something on him during lunch?” Bonnie said with a wink.

Rita managed a small smile. “Tempting.”

But inside, her skin still crawled. Tanner hadn’t just been condescending—he’d been watching her. And not like a teacher.

 

The sun had climbed high by the time cheerleading practice rolled around, casting long shadows over the Mystic Falls High field. The late summer heat clung to everything, and the air shimmered faintly above the blacktop. The sharp scent of cut grass mixed with the sugary aroma drifting over from the nearby concession stand, a reminder that school spirit was as much about spectacle as it was tradition.

Elena walked slowly toward the bleachers, her gym bag slung over her shoulder, already feeling out of place. The field was buzzing—whistles, chatter, the thud of footballs and the staccato claps of cheerleaders warming up.

“Come on, Elena!” Caroline called from the center of the field, hands on her hips. She was in full cheer mode—ponytail bouncing, whistle around her neck, clipboard tucked under one arm like a badge of authority. “You’re on the roster. Tryouts or not, you need to get back into rhythm.”

Elena winced. She hadn’t felt like herself lately—hadn’t really felt like anything at all since her parents’ accident. Still, she offered a small nod and dropped her bag near the edge of the field.

Rita stood just behind her, curious and cautious. She wore a borrowed pair of sneakers and a soft gray hoodie Caroline had insisted she take. Her white curls were pulled back messily, and she had that same faraway look she often wore when confronted with something unfamiliar.

“You don’t have to watch,” Elena said quietly, tugging at her ponytail. “You can wait by the bleachers.”

But Rita didn’t move. Her eyes followed the motion of the cheerleaders warming up—arms slicing through the air in practiced precision, legs kicking high in rhythm. It was foreign, but fascinating. A kind of language she didn’t know yet.

Bonnie jogged up beside her, handing her a bottle of water. “It’s like muscle memory for them,” she said. “Give it a week, and you’ll be sick of it.”

Rita smiled faintly, tucking a curl behind her ear. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“That’s because you’ve never had to survive high school,” Bonnie replied with a grin.

Caroline blew the whistle. “Places!”

The squad fell into line. Elena joined them reluctantly, moving with some stiffness. Caroline ran through counts, claps, and motions with her usual laser-focus. Rita observed every step, her head tilting slightly, as if studying a pattern—no, decoding it.

After twenty minutes, the girls paused to catch their breath.

Rita moved closer to the grass. Her shoes crunched lightly against the field.

Then, without announcement, she mimicked the routine.

One, two—arms snapped into position. Spin, jump—landed lightly. Her body moved with an ease that was almost unsettling. Like she’d absorbed the sequence through osmosis. No hesitation. No misstep.

The squad froze. Caroline blinked.

“Did you… have cheer experience at that clinic of yours?” she asked, half-teasing, half-impressed.

Rita shook her head. “No. I’ve just… been watching.”

Bonnie raised her brows. “That was watching? Girl, you nailed it.”

“Seriously,” Caroline added, stepping forward. “You ever think about trying out? I mean, you’ve got the look, and if you can pick things up that fast…”

“You move like someone who’s always danced,” said another cheerleader, brushing sweat from her brow. “Like, fluid.”

Rita flushed slightly. The sun caught in her pale skin and silver hair, making her glow faintly.

“Maybe,” she said. “I don’t know yet.”

“Well, keep that answer flexible,” Caroline said, scribbling something on her clipboard. “Because we’d be lucky to have you.”

Elena, watching from the sidelines, smiled for the first time that day. It was soft, a little stunned, but proud.

Near the football field, Stefan leaned against the fence, gaze unreadable as he watched both the cheer squad and the football team. His eyes flicked toward Rita, lingered, then slid away again. He caught Elena’s glance a moment later and offered the barest nod.

Elena walked toward him slowly, brushing off her hands. “You don’t strike me as the cheerleading type.”

“I’m not,” he said. “But it’s… interesting.”

“You mean Rita.”

“I mean the way she learns. Like she’s remembering something she’s never done.”

Elena looked back toward her sister. Rita was laughing quietly now, surrounded by the girls who only an hour ago were strangers. “She surprises me every day.”

Stefan looked at her for a beat longer than necessary. “You both do.”

Something in his tone made her chest tighten.

Whatever this day was turning into, it was no longer ordinary.

And above them, in the distant sky, the faint glow of the comet had begun to creep into view.

 

Later, after a long shower and some quiet in the house, Rita was curled up on her bed, sketchbook on her lap, window cracked open to let in the scent of cut grass and warm air. Her mind replayed the rhythm of the cheer routine, the surprised faces, Caroline’s smile. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about it—but she’d felt seen.

The door creaked open.

It was Elena. Her face was flushed, like she’d been running, or crying, or both.

“Can I… come in?”

Rita nodded and shifted aside.

Elena sat on the edge of the bed, then flopped down dramatically onto her back. Her hair fanned out, her arm over her eyes.

“So,” she said, voice muffled. “I met Stefan’s brother. Damon.”

Rita waited.

“He’s… intense. Kinda flirty. He talked about Stefan’s ex. Her name was Katherine. He said she meant a lot to him.”

She sat up slowly, brow furrowed. “I don’t know why, but something about it stuck in my head. Like… there’s something I’m not seeing.”

Rita blinked. “That’s… odd?”

“Yeah. And I don’t know what Stefan really thinks of me. He’s so quiet, but then sometimes he looks at me like—like I matter. And then I wonder if I’m just imagining it.”

There was silence for a beat.

Then Elena exhaled. “I feel like such a mess. I want to be normal again. Go to school. Laugh. But then I remember… my parents are gone. And Grayson—” she stopped. Her hands clenched.

“What he did to you, Rita… I’ll never forgive him for that.”

Rita’s voice was quiet. “I don’t think I can either.”

They lay opposite each other now, heads near the pillows, knees brushing. The room felt like a cocoon—soft, quiet, outside of time.

“But I’m glad you’re here,” Elena whispered.

“Me too,” Rita replied.

A long pause.

Then Elena sat up with sudden energy. “Okay. Enough brooding. We’re going out. Comet night. You need clothes.”

Rita blinked. “I have clothes.”

“You have basic t-shirts. You’re going to look like you escaped a convent. C’mon.”

Elena dug into the closet and drawers, tossing options onto the bed. She finally settled on a crisp floral tank top, a fluttery white skirt with a dark belt and a pair of brown Doc Martens with high black socks. Then she pulled Rita in front of the mirror.

“Sit.”

Rita obeyed, bemused.

Elena brushed her hair out, helped arrange her curls, then dabbed on just a hint of eyeshadow, mascara, lip gloss.

When she was done, she stepped back.

“You look like a fairy,” she said. “But, like, a badass one.”

Rita turned to the mirror and blinked. For a moment, she didn’t recognize herself.

She liked it.

Just then, Jeremy passed in the hallway and slowed down, whistling low.

“Damn,” he said, leaning on the door frame. “Gonna have to keep an eye on you tonight.”

Rita blushed, hiding her smile behind her hand.

“Ignore him,” Elena said with a roll of her eyes. “He’s harmless.”

Jeremy winked at Rita and walked off.

But Rita still stood in the mirror, her heart light, her cheeks warm.

 

Downstairs, the house smelled faintly of cinnamon-sugar from something Jenna had burned earlier in the kitchen. She was perched on the couch with her phone when the sound of footsteps on the stairs drew her attention.

She turned just in time to see Rita descending slowly, dressed in the outfit Elena had chosen, her curls bouncing lightly with every step.

Jenna’s eyes widened. “Wow… look at you!”

She crossed the room and pulled Rita into a hug.

“You look amazing,” Jenna said warmly. “I mean, really—stunning. Elena did a good job.”

Elena grinned from the top of the stairs. “See? Told you.”

Jenna turned to her niece. “So? Are we going to talk about this Stefan guy or what?”

Elena shrugged, descending slowly. “He’s… complicated. And I don’t know if he really likes me or if he’s just projecting some weird thing onto me.”

Jenna raised an eyebrow. “Complicated how?”

“He’s on the rebound and has raging family issues,” Elena said.

Jenna chuckled. “Well, at least it’s an ex-girlfriend. Wait ‘till you date a guy with mommy issues or cheating issues. Or amphetamine issues.”

Elena laughed despite herself. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Hey, I’m just saying—if the worst he’s got is a flirty brother and a mysterious past, you’re still ahead of the curve.”

Jenna turned back to Rita and brushed a strand of hair from her shoulder. “And you—are you ready for your first Mystic Falls social event?”

Rita hesitated, then smiled. “I think so.”

“Good,” Jenna said. “Because the town’s about to lose its mind over a ball of fire in the sky, and you might as well enjoy it.”

Elena linked her arm with Rita’s. “Let’s go see a comet.”

Together, they stepped into the night.

 

The town square glowed in soft candlelight, flickering amber across the faces of the gathered crowd. Paper lanterns swung gently in the breeze, casting moving shadows over the pavement. The comet, distant and dazzling, arced across the dark velvet sky.

Rita stood near the fountain with Caroline, who had practically dragged her into the crowd after spotting an empty table of candles. Her white skirt fluttered gently at night breeze, and her curls caught the soft light of the flames. Caroline was radiant with excitement, talking rapidly about town traditions and comet superstitions.

“Hey, I got some candles,” she called brightly.

“Hi. Hey,” Elena greeted her, smiling faintly.

“Hey,” Matt added as he stepped closer.

He struck a match and lit Elena’s candle for her.

“Thank you,” she said, meeting his eyes briefly.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, subdued.

Rita stood a little to the side, watching the way everyone seemed to fit here, like pieces in a familiar puzzle. Even she was starting to feel the edges of belonging.

Elena’s candle wavered in the breeze as she passed the flame along to another couple nearby. When she looked up again, Stefan was standing just beyond the circle, his face partially lit by candlelight.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“Hi,” Elena replied.

They stood in silence for a breath. Then Stefan tilted his head toward the sky.

“You know that comet… it’s been traveling across space for thousands of years. All alone.”

“Yeah, Bonnie says it’s a harbinger of evil,” Elena said, half-joking.

Stefan gave a small smile. “I think it’s just a ball of snow and ice, trapped on a path it can’t escape. And once every 145 years, it gets to come home.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he added. “I wasn’t myself.”

“You seem to spend a lot of time apologizing,” Elena noted gently.

He let out a quiet laugh. “Well, I have a lot to apologize for. But yesterday—that wasn’t about you.”

Elena’s gaze sharpened. “You didn’t tell me you had a brother.”

“We’re not close. It’s… complicated.”

“Always is,” she said with a shrug. “He told me about your ex. Katherine.”

Stefan tensed slightly. “What did he say?”

“That she broke your heart.”

He looked away. “That was a long time ago.”

“When you lose someone, it stays with you. Always reminding you how easy it is to get hurt.”

Stefan looked at her carefully. “Elena…”

She smiled faintly, stepping back a little. “It’s okay, Stefan. I get it. You have no idea how much I get it. Complicated brother? Check. Complicated ex? Check. Too complicated to even contemplate dating? Double check.”

She inhaled, her voice quieter now.

“We met, and we talked, and it was epic, but… then the sun came up and reality set in.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Caroline appeared again, breathless and flustered. “Rita disappeared on me. I swear, one second she was here, and then poof.”

Elena’s brows knit together. “She probably just wandered off to explore. She gets easily overwhelmed.”

“I’m going to search for her.” After giving Stefan and Elena a quick glance, Caroline sighed and turned to leave.

 

They walked together, the night still humming with leftover energy from the comet, the square half-dissolved into shadows. Elena was saying something about Bonnie and her witchy things, but Stefan wasn’t listening. His gaze flicked to the fringe of the crowd where Rita stood alone, pale hair catching the starlight like frost.

“She’s… luminous,” he murmured.

Elena blinked. “What?”

Stefan looked away quickly, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “Your sister. She carries this… glow. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Elena stopped walking. Her heart gave a slow, heavy beat.

“You mean, like, aura-glow? Or…”

Stefan hesitated. “I don’t know. Just something about her—it’s hard to look away.”

Elena’s mouth felt suddenly dry, her chest tightened. A flicker of something she couldn’t name twisted in her stomach. 

“Are you…” Her voice caught for a second. “Are you attracted to her?”

The question landed sharper than she meant. That caught him. He turned toward her fully now, reading her face. There was something soft in his eyes, something cautious. And guilty.

“Rita is… different. She has a quiet, honest energy. Kind. Pure.” He paused. “But I’m standing here with you, Elena.”

“Because I’m not her?” she asked. “Or because I am?”

Stefan blinked, thrown. “I don’t know what that means.”

“You looked at her like she was everything,” Elena said, voice low, steady. “And she’s my sister. She’s been "sick" most of her life, Stefan. She doesn’t even know what a crush is, let alone how to protect herself from someone who doesn’t mean it.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“So I need to know,” she went on, softer now but unwavering. “Are you just caught in something… confusing? Or are you actually here—with me?”

Stefan exhaled slowly. “I don’t see her the way I see you.”

Elena folded her arms, unsure if that brought her comfort or more confusion.

Across the square, a flicker of movement—Rita’s pale silhouette drifting through the crowd like a ghost in candlelight, her silver curls lit gold by the flame in her hands.

Elena turned back to Stefan, her voice quiet and certain. “If you’re still figuring out what you feel, that’s fine. But don’t drag her into whatever story you’re still working on.”

And before he could speak again, she stepped back and walked away.

Above them, the comet hung steady in the sky—burning ancient and bright, a silent witness to things that couldn’t yet be named.

 

The square was still alive with candlelight and soft conversation, but Rita had slipped from it unnoticed. She’d wandered just far enough that the chatter became background noise, muted beneath the hum of crickets and the weight of the night air.

Caroline had been distracted, talking animatedly with Bonnie by the refreshments table, her hands full of plastic cups and her voice bouncing with excitement. It had only taken a moment—one opening—and Rita had turned on her heel, her soft boots brushing the cobblestones as she moved into the shadows.

She didn’t know where she was going, exactly. Just that her chest felt tight, and her skin buzzed with something unspoken. Maybe it was the comet, hanging there like a wound in the sky. Maybe it was the fact that she was out here, under the stars, with strangers and candlelight and people who didn’t know the truth.

And then she saw him.

Jeremy.

He was slouched against the side of a low stone wall near the edge of the square, breathing hard, one arm pressed tight against his ribs. The dim light from a nearby lamppost made his features sharp with pain.

Rita’s breath caught. She moved instinctively toward him.

“Jeremy?”

He flinched at her voice, but when he looked up and saw her, his expression softened. Or tried to.

“Hey,” he muttered, voice rough. “Didn’t think anyone saw me leave.”

Rita crouched beside him, her long white skirt pooling like fog around her feet. She looked at him, not just his face, but all of him—his body language, the way he held himself, the unnatural tension in his side.

“You’re hurt,” she said quietly.

He tried to shrug. “It’s nothing. Tyler just got in a cheap shot. You know how he gets.”

Rita’s brow furrowed. “No. I don’t.”

That gave him pause. He let out a short breath and gave a half-smile, ashamed. “Right. Sorry. I keep forgetting… everything’s new for you.”

She reached out slowly, her fingers barely brushing the edge of his hoodie. “You’ve got a cracked rib. Maybe two. And a bruised kidney.”

Jeremy blinked at her. “What? How the hell do you—?”

“I can feel it,” Rita said, almost apologetically. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like… like your pain echoes. It calls to me.”

He stared at her, eyes wide. “That’s… really weird.”

Rita nodded, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”

He winced as he shifted, groaning softly. “I’ll be fine. I’ll walk it off. Or sleep it off. Maybe both.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” she said.

A silence settled between them.

And then, softly, Rita asked, “Do you trust me?”

Jeremy tilted his head, squinting. “I mean… I think so?”

“Because I want to help you. But I need you to promise me something first.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“You can’t tell anyone, even Elena,” Rita said. Her voice wavered just a little. “Not yet. She’ll worry. She already does. And I don’t even know how to explain this yet.”

Jeremy studied her for a moment. “You’re serious. This isn’t just a band-aid situation.”

Jeremy’s face shifted, serious now. “What are you talking about?”

“I can heal you,” Rita said gently. “But it’s… different.”

She paused, swallowing. The candlelight caught the white-silver sheen of her curls as they spilled over her shoulder.

“Grayson—he used to take my blood. He thought it could help people. He never told me everything, but he believed it had properties… healing properties.”

Jeremy stared at her like he wasn’t sure he heard right.

“I don’t know exactly what I am,” she whispered. “But I know what I can do.”

He lowered himself onto the bench with a groan, the pain catching in his breath. Rita hesitated only a second longer.

Then she knelt in front of him and reached for Jeremy’s hand, steadying it over the split in his shirt. 

“I… I can help. But you have to promise not to freak out.”

Jeremy grimaced through the pain, but nodded. “I’ve already seen enough freaky things tonight. Just do it.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, then used her fingernail to open a shallow cut at her wrist. The skin parted easily, and blood welled to the surface—thick, gleaming.

It wasn’t red like Jeremy expected. Not entirely. It shimmered faintly under the starlight, like liquid garnet kissed with gold.

And the scent.

Not metallic. Not sharp or sterile.

It smelled like wild strawberries crushed underfoot in summer, peaches, something floral—honeysuckle and jasmine, maybe. There was a richness to it, a weight in the air, like the pull of nostalgia you couldn’t quite name. It hit Jeremy like heat on bare skin, intoxicating and strange and soft all at once.

He was too stunned to speak.

Rita offered her wrist closer. “It’s okay. Just a little.”

Jeremy hesitated, then leaned forward and let his lips brush the edge of the wound. The blood was sweet—unrealistically sweet—like syrup, sun-warmed nectarines and strawberries. Something pure underneath it all. He barely needed to swallow before he felt it.

A rush of warmth spread through his chest. The sharp pain in his ribs dulled instantly. Then faded altogether. His breathing deepened. Something shifted in his bones with a gentle pop, as if realigning themselves perfectly.

He gasped.

“Oh my god…”

Rita stepped back slightly, watching his skin. “You had a broken rib. It’s healed now. Mostly.”

Jeremy looked at her in awe. “You’re… amazing.”

And then, just as suddenly, she gasped.

A sharp, bright line bloomed across her palm — the one she’d pricked. It split wider than it should have. Blood dripped onto the grass.

“Rita!” Jeremy reached for her, panic flickering in his voice.

“I’m okay,” she said, wincing.

Then, before his eyes, the cut closed.

The skin knit back together in seconds, no scar, no trace. Only the gleam of dried blood.

Jeremy’s mouth parted in shock. “What the hell…? You just healed… yourself ?”

Rita blinked rapidly, wiping her hand on a tissue from her pocket. “That part I don’t understand. It just happens.”

Jeremy pulled her into a sudden, tight hug. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, warm and firm.

“You’re not alone anymore,” he said quietly.

Rita, For a second, she stiffened. She wasn’t used to touch—not like this. But then, shyly, she relaxed, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a moment, the noise of the crowd just beyond them, the comet glowing like fire in the sky.

“You promise you won’t tell?” she asked into his shoulder.

Jeremy nodded. “I won’t. I swear.”

Rita smiled softly. “Thank you.”

The wind picked up slightly, rustling the trees overhead. She took a deep breath.

They slipped quietly back into the edges of the square.

 

Later, Rita stood again at the outer ring of the crowd, watching the last of her candle burn low. Her hands still tingled faintly with memory.

Caroline appeared beside her with a soft, “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere.”

“I needed a moment,” Rita replied.

“Too many people?”

“And the comet. It makes everything feel… louder.”

Caroline nodded, uncharacteristically quiet. “You get used to it. Eventually.”

They sat on the stone steps nearby, just outside the crowd’s core. Rita turned to her. “Do you really like Stefan?”

Caroline snorted. “Define ‘like.’”

“You follow him with your eyes. Even when he’s not looking. But when Elena talks about him, you shrink like it hurts.”

Caroline looked away, defensive. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I stand a chance. I never do.”

Rita tilted her head. “Is it really Stefan you want?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Are you chasing the same guys as Elena,” Rita asked calmly, “or are you just chasing Elena?”

Caroline froze. Her mouth opened, then closed again.

“I don’t— That’s not—” she stammered.

“I’m just wondering,” Rita said gently. “Sometimes we want to be close to someone so badly, we don’t realize it’s them we’re drawn to. Not the people orbiting them.”

Caroline went quiet. Then, almost inaudibly: “You think she knows?”

Rita looked up at the comet. “No. I don’t think she’s ever looked in that direction. But maybe she should.”

The candlelight shimmered across both their faces as the comet slid slowly overhead.

Caroline let out a soft breath, then leaned over and wrapped Rita in a hug—quick, uncertain, but real. As they sat together under the comet’s fading glow, the silence between them said what words couldn’t.

 

Notes:

Hey guys, this is a surprise chapter. It's one of my favorite! Hope you liked it. Thanks for all ur reviews. xx

Chapter 6: six

⊰᯽⊱ ──── ⊰⚜︎⊱ ──── ⊰᯽⊱

 

 

 

The air still shimmered faintly from the passing of the comet — strange and electric, like the sky hadn’t quite settled. The trees whispered under the breeze, and the ground smelled of moss and old stone.

Rita wandered alone through the woods behind the square, her coat drawn tightly around her, fingers curled into the sleeves. Her breath came in shallow puffs. She’d slipped away from the lingering buzz of people, noise, the scent of too many perfumes and popcorn. She needed silence. Space.

Something in her felt wrong. Or right, maybe — and that was worse.

That’s when she heard it.

The sharp crack of something shifting — not animal, not wind. The faint rustle of leaves. A dragging sound, soft, uneven. Then silence.

Her body tensed before her mind could catch up. She turned toward the sound instinctively, moving between the trees with quiet, measured steps. Her heart began to pound.

Not with fear.

With certainty.

And then she saw her.

Vicki Donovan. Again. 

Crumbled beneath a twisted oak, her hair splayed across the dirt like spilled ink, her neck smeared with blood. Her blouse was torn, ripped down one shoulder, exposing red scratches across her collarbone. She was breathing — barely. Shallow. Weak. Her fingers twitched against the leaves.

“Vicki?” Rita rushed forward, falling to her knees beside her.

No response. Just a low, broken sound from Vicki’s throat.

Rita’s stomach turned. Something fed on her — that much was obvious. She scanned the shadows automatically, half-expecting glowing eyes to flash back at her. But the woods were still. Whoever — or whatever — had done this was gone.

She hovered, torn between instinct and fear.

Leave. Her mind warned. Don’t draw attention.

But Jeremy liked this girl, that thought wouldn’t let her move away.

Instead, Rita reached out. Her hand trembled as she pressed her fingers gently to Vicki’s shoulder. She closed her eyes and cut her fingers. 

The shift happened immediately.

A warmth uncoiled in her chest, ran down her arm. Her bloody fingertips pulsed with heat — not burning, not violent, but alive. Like threads of light weaving through her veins.

Her breath caught in her throat as it flowed into Vicki’s mouth. 

A flicker of gold shimmered beneath Rita’s skin, barely visible in the moonlight. Her lashes fluttered. Something about this always felt like remembering a song she didn’t know the words to.

Vicki’s body jerked once — not violently, more like surfacing from underwater. Her breathing evened out, just a little. The pale tint to her skin softened. Her fingers stopped twitching.

Rita withdrew her hand, gasping softly like she’d been holding her breath.

She stood, legs unsteady.

Vicki stirred behind her. Let out a faint whimper. Her eyes fluttered open, pupils dilated, unfocused. She stared at the tree canopy above her, breathing harder — but alive. Stable.

Rita didn’t wait.

She turned and vanished through the trees, her steps fast and silent, coat trailing behind her.

She didn’t want to be found.

 

Vicki’s eyes snapped open.

For a long moment, she didn’t move — just blinked up at the night sky, the trees swaying slowly above her. Her heart thudded in her chest. She didn’t remember falling asleep. Didn’t remember… anything.

Her fingers curled into the dirt.

She sat up with effort, wincing. Her neck ached, but it wasn’t as sharp as it should’ve been. She touched the skin gingerly — there were no punctures. No torn flesh. Just a raw tenderness, and a dried smear of blood.

She stared at her hands.

They weren’t shaking.

Her skin was warm.

And her thoughts — for the first time in what felt like years — were quiet. No buzzing. No hunger. No crash of withdrawal riding her bloodstream like a current. She felt…clear.

“What the hell,” she whispered.

Leaves rustled somewhere behind her.

Vicki stiffened. “Hello?” Her voice was raw, hoarse.

No answer.

She rose slowly to her feet, brushing herself off, trying to remember where she was. Why she was here. Who had—

Something moved beyond the tree line. A flicker of black — tall, lean.

Watching.

Vicki’s breath hitched.

Damon stood in the shadows, completely still, arms crossed over his chest, eyes unreadable. The moonlight caught the edges of his jaw, the glint of something hungry and amused behind his stare.

She didn’t see him.

But he saw her.

Saw the faint shimmer of something unnatural still clinging to her skin. Smelled it — Rita’s blood, peaches, freesias, summers. He salivated. The smell of her blood was divine. Her blood was curative. She was not a vampire. Not a witch. She was something else.

He tilted his head slowly.

“Well,” he murmured to the darkness, lips curling into a slow, curious smile. “Looks like the little silver ghost has secrets after all.”

He watched as Vicki stumbled back toward the edge of the woods, still dazed.

He didn’t follow.

 

The morning sunlight spilled through the Gilbert kitchen windows in a golden haze, catching dust motes midair. Jeremy sat at the table, legs kicked out, sketchbook open but forgotten in front of him. His pencil lay untouched, his fingers tapping restlessly against the wood.

He felt incredible.

It wasn’t just the absence of pain—though, the ache in his ribs was gone completely, like it had never existed. It was more than that. His head felt clearer, his thoughts quicker. There was a humming beneath his skin, like his blood had been replaced with something brighter. He felt stronger, sharper, like waking up in a new version of himself.

Rita sat across from him, her sketchpad balanced on her knees, silver lashes low over her eyes as she worked silently on a charcoal drawing. Her movements were graceful, precise. There was something calming about watching her draw.

Jeremy leaned forward slightly. “Hey… you good?”

She glanced up. “Yeah. Just trying to get the shading right.”

He nodded, then hesitated.

“I can’t stop thinking about last night,” he admitted.

Rita stilled for a moment. Her pencil paused, then continued. “Because of the pain?”

“Because it was gone. And because of you.”

She didn’t look up.

Jeremy rubbed the back of his neck. “You said Grayson used to take your blood? For research?”

Rita sighed, finally setting the pencil down and meeting his eyes. “Yeah. Not a lot. Just small vials. He said it was… extraordinary. He didn’t explain much. But I knew he was looking for some cures. He kept journals. Talked a lot about Jonathan Gilbert’s diaries. About folklore. Vampires. Healing.”

Jeremy raised a brow. “You think he believed in vampires?”

“I think he believed in something,” she said carefully. “Something he saw once, or read about. Maybe someone told him something and he couldn’t forget it. He never said the word outright, but… he believed my blood could cure many things. That surely some magic in it.”

Jeremy leaned forward on his elbows. “And do you believe that?”

Rita paused. “I believe what I saw. What I did. I believe you were in pain, and now you’re not.”

Silence settled between them.

Then Jeremy said softly, “Can I taste it again?”

Rita blinked.

“I know that sounds weird, but I can’t stop thinking about it,” he continued. “It was… amazing. Not just the healing. It made me feel alive. Like everything inside me got turned up a notch.”

She looked at him carefully. There was a flicker of caution in her eyes—but also curiosity. And something gentler underneath.

“Jeremy…” she started, but didn’t finish. Her fingers curled slightly around her wrist.

“Please,” he said. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear. I just… I feel like we’re connected now. I don’t understand it. But I want to.”

Rita exhaled, slow. Then she stood, crossed the room, and sat beside him instead of across. The light caught in her silver hair as she lifted her wrist again.

This time, she didn’t hesitate. She made a small cut, careful, and clean.

Jeremy watched the blood bead to the surface. That same scent hit him—sun-warmed fruit, the sweetness of crushed strawberries, a whisper of something floral and old. His pupils dilated.

He brought her wrist to his lips again.

This time it was fuller. The taste settled into him with the warmth of honeyed wine, something ancient and soft. He sighed without realizing it.

Rita watched him carefully, a slight frown between her brows.

He pulled back after a few seconds, eyes bright, breathing uneven.

“You okay?” she asked.

He nodded. “More than okay. I feel… amazing, my head is clearer. Again. And I think I could run five miles and not break a sweat.”

She tilted her head. “Does it feel… too good?”

He hesitated. “Maybe. But it doesn’t feel wrong. It just feels… like you. Like, what you gave me is part of you. And I trust you.”

Rita blinked, caught off-guard by the sincerity in his voice.

Jeremy shifted closer. “I think Grayson was right to protect you. But I don’t think you should be hidden. You’re not a freak. You’re a miracle.”

She smiled softly, her voice almost a whisper. “That’s not how I was made to feel.”

Jeremy reached out, took her hand gently. “Well, maybe it’s time someone made you feel different.”

Outside, the wind rustled through the trees.

Inside, Jeremy felt something settle deep in his chest—not the rush this time, not the high. But a thread tying him closer to Rita. Quiet and real.

 

Vicki sat on the bench in front of The Grill, knees pulled up, a hoodie zipped tight around her. The grass was turning gold because the sun was high in the sky. She hadn’t said a word all day to Matt. She’d been waiting.

When she saw Jeremy crossing the field alone, she stood up fast.

“Hey!” she called, jogging down to meet him. “Hey, Jeremy, can we—can we talk?”

Jeremy looked surprised, but slowed. “Yeah. Sure. Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” She let out a sharp breath. “That’s kind of the thing.”

They sat on the edge of the bottom bench. Jeremy leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

Vicki glanced at him. “I know this is gonna sound… crazy. But something happened to me the night of the comet.”

Jeremy stiffened.

She went on. “Something bit me again. I know I was attacked.”

Jeremy didn’t answer.

“And then I woke up. Alone. In the woods. My neck was basically healed. I felt… different. Like everything was sharper. My head was clear. I haven’t had a single craving since. It’s like something fixed me.”

Jeremy turned to her slowly. “You think someone fixed you?”

“I know they did,” Vicki said firmly. “And before I blacked out, I swear I saw your sister.”

Jeremy blinked. His whole body froze. “What?”

“She was there. Or I think she was. It’s all blurry. But I remember silver hair. Her face.”

Jeremy looked down, jaw tightening. “Vicki…”

“She didn’t run away like anyone else would. She was close. I think she—” Vicki hesitated. “She touched me. Then everything went black.”

Jeremy shook his head. “You were probably still drunk or high. People hallucinate weird stuff when they’re in this state.”

Vicki frowned. “Jeremy, I’m not hallucinating.”

“I’m just saying,” he cut in, voice low but sharp, “You like to get high. You can’t know what’s real and what your brain was trying to copewith.”

Vicki stared at him.

He forced a small smile. “Come on. Rita’s my sister. She’s been through hell. She’s not some magic angel, okay?”

Vicki blinked. “I didn’t say—”

“She’s quiet. Sensitive. She gets overwhelmed really easily. You probably wanted to see someone familiar, so your brain filled in the blanks.”

Vicki looked away, visibly confused. “I don’t know…”

Jeremy leaned in slightly, tone softening. “Look. I care about you. And I get that something scary happened. But don’t drag Rita into this just because you’re trying to get back to me.”

Vicki stiffened. “I’m not dragging her into anything. I remember her being there.”

Jeremy said nothing. His face stayed still. But inside, his mind was spinning.

Rita had healed her.

She had done it because of him.

And now someone else knew.

He stood and walked away, his stomach churned. Because Vicki was right.

And if anyone else found out what Rita could do — she wouldn’t be safe.

Not from them.

And maybe not even from herself.

 

The fireplace crackled low in the parlor, throwing long shadows over the hardwood floor. The room was heavy with heat and tension, a slow suffocation that clung to the walls like old secrets. Damon stood by the tall windows, drink in hand, his silhouette sharp against the last threads of twilight. A half-empty decanter of bourbon sat at his elbow, glinting like molten gold in the firelight.

Stefan entered silently. His footsteps were soft, but Damon didn’t turn.

“You’ve been handing out vervain like Halloween candy,” Damon said coolly, swirling his glass.

Stefan stopped in the doorway, jaw tensing. “You’re talking about Elena.”

“I’m talking about both of them.” Damon finally turned, his gaze dark and lazy. “You think a trinket around her neck is going to keep her safe from me?”

Stefan’s voice was low, guarded. “Who did you try to compel, Damon?”

A smirk curled across Damon’s face, slow and smug. “Rita.”

He took a sip, savoring it. “Didn’t work.”

Stefan’s brows drew together. “You said it like a command?”

“She looked at me like I was a mosquito buzzing in her ear.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t the vervain?”

Damon rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, we all know what vervain does. I didn’t smell it, didn’t feel it. Just silence. Cold silence.”

Stefan’s eyes narrowed, staring at the flames. “I haven’t given her any vervain yet. And I didn’t smell any on her either.”

Damon raised an eyebrow. “Then maybe your mystery girl’s got a few surprises. What is she, exactly?”

“Don’t.”

“Oh, come on, Stefan,” Damon drawled. “You think she’s just some broken little orphan with a tragic past and shiny eyes? You don’t even know what she is.”

Stefan’s voice tightened. “Stay away from them.”

Damon’s smile sharpened, crueler now. “And what exactly are you going to do to stop me?”

Before Stefan could reply, Damon blurred across the room. In less than a heartbeat, Stefan was airborne, his body crashing hard into the bookshelf. The impact shook the frame, sending thick tomes tumbling in a dusty cascade. Stefan hit the floor with a grunt, wincing as splinters dug into his back.

Damon strolled forward with maddening calm, glass still in hand. “I’m not the one playing house with humans, little brother. Don’t start pretending you’re the moral compass now.”

Stefan pushed himself up slowly, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. “You don’t scare me.”

“No?” Damon leaned in. “You should be scared. Because you’re slipping. I can see it. You’re getting attached again.”

He set his glass down on the mantle and crouched low, watching Stefan like a predator considering whether to pounce. “Tell me, Stefan. When it all burns down—Elena, Rita, your quaint little hope for redemption—what’s going to be left of you?”

Stefan didn’t answer. He surged up, tackling Damon hard, fists slamming into his brother’s ribs and jaw. Damon laughed, even as his head snapped back from the hit. He retaliated with brutal speed, elbowing Stefan across the face before grabbing him by the throat.

He pinned Stefan against the stone fireplace, hand tightening like a vice.

“I should’ve drained her,” Damon snarled. “I should’ve drained both of them.”

“You touch them,” Stefan choked out, “and I’ll kill you.”

Damon’s grip tightened. “Don’t tempt me.”

For a moment, all Stefan could hear was the pounding of his own heart and the low hiss of the fire beside them. Then he felt Damon’s other hand grab his wrist—the one with the daylight ring.

“No!” Stefan hissed, trying to pull away.

“Oh yes,” Damon said silkily, and twisted. With a sharp yank, he wrenched the silver ring from Stefan’s hand and stepped back.

Stefan dropped to his knees, coughing, gasping for breath.

Damon held up the ring between two fingers, inspecting it like a shiny new toy. “You were always sentimental about this thing. Guess I’ll keep it warm for you.”

“You don’t need it,” Stefan rasped.

“No,” Damon agreed, slipping it into his pocket. “But you do. So now I’ve got leverage.”

He circled Stefan slowly. “Let’s be honest, brother… this isn’t about vervain. Or compulsion. This is about control. You’re trying to build this little fantasy—Elena on your arm, Rita glowing in the background like some tragic angel—and you think if you keep them close enough, maybe it’ll cleanse you.”

Stefan stood shakily, blood dripping from a split lip. “You’re wrong about them.”

“Am I?” Damon’s voice dipped, almost a whisper. “Tell me you haven’t looked at Rita and wondered what’s hiding under all that quiet. Tell me Elena doesn’t remind you of Katherine in all the worst ways.”

Stefan’s fists clenched. “They’re not her.”

“But you are,” Damon said, stepping closer. “You still want the same thing. Love. Forgiveness. A way out.”

He leaned in. “There is no out.”

Stefan’s punch landed square on Damon’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. Damon shook his head, grinning even as blood spilled from his mouth.

“There he is,” he said. “That’s the Stefan I remember.”

They stood in the parlor, chests heaving, facing each other like mirrored fury—one burning with guilt, the other with chaos.

Damon straightened his shirt, ran a hand through his hair. “You really don’t want to test me right now.”

“And you don’t want to push me.”

Damon scoffed. “You couldn’t stop me when we were human. You won’t now.”

“I will if I have to,” Stefan said.

A beat.

Then Damon turned away, scooping up his drink again, the tension in the room unspooling just enough to breathe.

“I’m going for a drink,” he said over his shoulder. “Try not to whimper too loudly when the sun comes up.”

And just like that, he vanished into the shadows of the hallway, leaving Stefan half-broken, breathless, and furious, staring at the place where his brother had been—with only the fire to answer him.

 

The Grill was buzzing with laughter, pool balls cracking, and the scent of greasy fries, but Caroline Forbes didn’t hear any of it. She slid onto a barstool like she was escaping something — herself, maybe.

Her eyes were a little glassy. Her lipstick a little too red. She was on her third drink and still couldn’t stop thinking about what Rita said yesterday.

“ Or are you just chasing Elena? ”

“I don’t— That’s Not—”

But her voice had wavered. She’d looked away.

Caroline clenched her jaw and raised her glass again, drinking like it might burn the thought out of her.

“Rough day?” a voice said, smooth and amused.

She turned.

He was leaning on the bar beside her — black shirt, messy hair, smile like sin. Total stranger. Thank God.

Caroline blinked, surprised by the heat in his eyes. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet,” he said. “But I’ve been told I make excellent company. Especially for girls who look like they need a distraction.”

She scoffed, tossing her hair back. “Wow. Do you practice that line, or are you just naturally insufferable?”

He laughed, slow and low. “Both.”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips curled despite herself. He was older. Handsome. Dangerous in that I definitely come with red flags kind of way. Perfect.

“I’m Caroline,” she said, extending a hand before she could think better of it.

“Damon,” he said, and kissed the back of her hand like he’d stepped out of a different century. His eyes never left hers. “It’s a pleasure.”

Oh, you’re trouble, she thought.

And maybe I want trouble tonight.

“Buy me a drink, Damon.”

“Only if you promise to tell me why someone like you looks so sad.”

She smirked. “I’m not sad.”

He tilted his head. “Liar.”

The bartender set down another shot in front of her, and she tossed it back without breaking eye contact. Then she stood and grabbed Damon’s hand.

“Come on. Let’s dance.”

And just like that, she was gone — pulling him toward the music, toward the dark, toward whatever mistake she wanted to make next.

 

The kitchen smelled like chocolate, bright and warm, like something alive had settled into the Gilbert house and decided to stay.

Jenna leaned back against the counter, sleeves rolled up, her hair twisted into a messy knot. She held a wooden spoon like a weapon, blinking down at the simmering skillet with something between awe and confusion.

“You’re telling me,” she said, “that you’ve never cooked with an actual stove before… and yet, you’re doing this?”

Rita glanced up from the cutting board, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I read a lot of cookbooks.”

“You read them?”

“Like novels,” she said, chopping with elegant precision. “They were the only things that didn’t make noise when the pages turned.”

Jenna blinked. “You know what? I’m just going to not unpack that right now.”

Rita’s smile faltered, just for a second. But Jenna didn’t press. She turned back to the pan, gave it a stir, and let the quiet settle.

It was the first time they’d really been alone. Elena was off somewhere with Stefan. Jeremy had disappeared on his bike that afternoon. Jenna had started making a sad prepackaged salad and frozen garlic bread for dinner, and Rita—quiet, strange Rita—had watched her like she was performing brain surgery with a spoon.

Then she’d said gently, “Would you mind if I helped?”

Now there were fettuccine boiling, fresh cream simmering, and chocolate cake batter being folded with careful hands. The air smelled of garlic, butter, and sweet cocoa. Jenna stood amazed, unsure whether to feel replaced or blessed.

Jenna watched her move. Rita was precise but graceful, like she knew what she was doing and didn’t need to prove it. Every motion had an intention. No hesitation, no second-guessing. It was weirdly impressive. Kind of intimidating. And also… endearing.

“Okay,” Jenna said, tapping the spoon against the pot. “You’re officially better at this than me. I’m offended.”

Rita glanced over, amused. “I doubt that.”

“Oh no, you should. This is my house, my kitchen, and you’ve completely taken over.”

“Would you like to stir the sauce?”

Jenna narrowed her eyes. “Is that pity?”

Rita’s eyes sparkled. “Just sharing the glory.”

“Fine,” Jenna huffed dramatically, stepping in. “But I’m warning you, I’m more of a cereal artist than a sauté queen.”

“I’m sure your cereal is excellent.”

“It is. I use exactly the right amount of milk.”

That made Rita laugh, soft and warm. Jenna paused, looking at her for a second longer.

“You’re different when you smile,” she said without thinking.

Rita blinked. “Different how?”

“You look like a teenager,” Jenna said, smiling. “Not some mystery novel in boots.”

“I don’t wear boots.”

“You have big ‘hidden knives under the floorboards’ energy.”

Rita tilted her head, then nodded solemnly. “Fair.”

They both cracked up.

Jenna reached for a spoon and dipped it into the sauce. “Okay. Moment of truth.”

She tasted.

Her eyes widened. “What the hell. This is good. Like, restaurant-level good.”

Rita shrugged, but a hint of pride touched her cheeks. “It’s just garlic cream, Parmesan, and seared chicken.”

“It’s witchcraft, is what it is.”

As Rita stirred the sauce with practiced ease, Jenna sneaked a finger into the cake batter bowl and immediately gasped. “Okay, that’s criminal. You could open a bakery.”

Rita arched a brow. “You’re not supposed to eat raw batter.”

“Says the girl who made half the house smell like a Parisian café.”

“Technically, that would be more croissants and espresso.”

“Don’t sass your sous-chef,” Jenna warned, licking chocolate off her knuckle.

Later, when the fettuccine was perfectly al dente and the Alfredo silky and rich, Rita plated everything with an artist’s touch—fresh parsley sprinkled like confetti. The cake, too, came out soft and decadent, the icing swirled in gentle peaks. It wasn’t just food—it was comfort incarnate.

The door creaked open in the hallway, and a familiar voice called, “Smells like heaven in here—what did I miss?”

Elena stepped in, followed by Jeremy. She dropped her bag at the door and froze mid-step when she saw the spread.

“Oh my god.”

Jeremy blinked at the table, where fresh bread rested under a cloth napkin and a salad glistened with vinaigrette. “Did we win the lottery?”

“I made dinner,” Rita said simply.

“You made a feast,” Elena corrected, walking over to press a kiss to Rita’s cheek. “Seriously, this is amazing.”

Rita flushed.

Jeremy grabbed a plate. “I’ll take ten servings.”

They all settled in at the table. Jenna poured drinks. Elena lit one of the little candles in the center—half-melted, smelling faintly of vanilla.

Conversation floated easily. Jeremy talked about his art class, Elena teased Jenna about her driving, and Rita—quiet but present—answered questions when asked and offered compliments on the lemonade Jenna had thrown together.

It felt almost normal. Happy.

At one point, Jeremy made some joke about a teacher’s bad haircut and everyone laughed—including Rita, the sound small but real.

Jenna leaned back in her chair and watched the three of them. Her niece. Her nephew. And Rita—this strange, hurting girl who hadn’t asked to be part of this family but somehow was now deeply threaded into it.

Jenna caught her looking around the room, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to enjoy any of this. Like it would be taken away if she loved it too much.

Jenna reached for the breadbasket and placed another piece on Rita’s plate.

“You’re allowed to be happy, sweetheart,” she said softly.

Rita looked up, startled.

Jenna didn’t push. Just smiled. “Dinner’s amazing—and the cake? Literal heaven. You should let yourself enjoy it.”

Rita stared at her a moment longer. Then she nodded. “Thank you.”

After dinner, Jenna stayed behind with Rita to clean up. The kitchen was warm with the glow of soft overhead lights. The window over the sink was fogged from steam.

“You know,” Jenna said as she rinsed a pan, “I always thought I’d be the cool aunt who took the kids to concerts. Not the one learning homemade sauce techniques from a secret Gordon Ramsay.”

“I’m not that good.”

“You are.”

Rita looked down at the sponge in her hand. “I didn’t think you’d like me.”

Jenna blinked. “Why?”

“I’m not… easy.”

“You’re not difficult either,” Jenna said, drying her hands. “You’re just figuring out how to be safe.”

Rita froze. The air shifted.

“I know that look,” Jenna said gently. “I’ve seen it before. On people who’ve had to survive instead of live.”

“I don’t remember what it feels like to just… be okay,” Rita admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

“Well,” Jenna said, crossing over and squeezing her shoulder, “then we’ll work on remembering together. One good meal at a time.”

Rita looked up. Her eyes shimmered, but no tears fell.

“I think I’d like that,” she whispered.

 

The sunlight poured through the kitchen windows in soft amber, casting long shadows across the countertops. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon and lemon soap. Elena sat on one of the stools by the island, her chin resting in her hand. Rita leaned near the pantry, fingers tracing the rim of her sketchbook, quiet but attentive.

“I talked to Stefan,” Elena said finally.

Rita looked up.

“We… clarified some things. He’s not the easiest to understand, but I think… I think he really does want me.”

Rita smiled gently. It was sincere, but there was a softness to it—like she was giving space, not approval. “I’m happy for you,” she said. “You deserve to be happy, Elena.”

Elena reached into the pocket of her jeans and took out a thin silver necklace with a delicate pendant. “He gave me this.”

Rita stepped forward curiously. But the second she leaned in, her nose wrinkled slightly. Her expression changed, just for a moment.

“That smells like vervain,” she said, quiet but sure.

Elena blinked. “You know this scent ?”

“It’s distinct,” Rita murmured. “Bitter. Protective. Used in old remedies… and other things.”

She paused, her fingers hovering near the charm but not touching it.

“Keep it close,” she said. “It matters.”

Elena let the pendant fall against her chest again, thoughtful. “He said it would keep me safe.”

A bird chirped softly outside the window. The light had shifted—brighter now, golden on Rita’s curls. And for a moment, everything felt still.

Rita looked at her sister for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across her face—longing, maybe. Or grief. Then she stepped forward and, without warning, wrapped her arms around Elena.

Elena stiffened, just for a breath—then melted into it. Rita was warm and gentle. Her hold was delicate, but her voice was steady.

“Can I ask you something?” she murmured against Elena’s shoulder.

“Of course,” Elena whispered.

Rita pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes. “What was she like? Our mom. Miranda.”

Elena’s breath caught. Her gaze softened instantly.

“She was strong,” she said quietly. “Protective. Funny when she let herself be. She would sing old rock songs while doing the laundry. And she had this way of hugging—tight, like she could hold the whole world together with just her arms.”

Rita’s eyes shimmered. “Do you think… she would’ve loved me?”

Elena didn’t hesitate. “Yes. God, yes. If she’d known you—really known you—she would’ve loved you so much it would’ve scared her. She would’ve told the whole town you were hers.”

Rita blinked hard, swallowing the ache that rose in her throat.

“She would’ve called you ‘honeybee’ like she used to call me when I was little,” Elena said, her voice catching. “She would’ve braided your hair every morning just to feel close to you.”

A tear slipped down Rita’s cheek, and Elena caught it gently with her thumb.

“I’m sorry she didn’t get that chance,” Elena whispered. “But you’re here now. And I promise—she would’ve been proud of you.”

Rita nodded, her voice small. “I just wanted to hear someone say it.”

Elena pulled her into another hug, tighter this time. “Then let me say it again. She would’ve loved you.”

And for the first time since waking in this life, Rita let herself believe it.

 

The old ceiling fan whirred quietly overhead, casting a gentle rhythm of shadows on Elena’s walls. She was lying on her bed, phone in hand, staring up at nothing. The day had been long. Jeremy was acting strange again—too upbeat, too calm, like someone who’d finally figured out the answer to a question no one had asked.

The screen lit up.

Bonnie calling.

Elena smiled and answered immediately. “Hey.”

“Hey, you,” Bonnie’s voice came through, warm and familiar. “You sound like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

Elena let out a soft laugh. “More like a week-long sleep deprivation fog. I think I caught Jeremy trying to reorganize the fridge at 3 a.m.”

“Oh wow,” Bonnie replied. “Productivity insomnia. Classic teen boy grief stage five.”

Elena rolled onto her side, tucking her pillow under her arm. “It’s more than that. He’s… weirdly fine now. Like last week, he was sulking and barely speaking, and then suddenly—bam. ‘Everything’s good, I’m feeling clear.’ Like a switch flipped.”

Bonnie hesitated. “That’s… suspicious.”

“Right?”

“I mean, I get wanting to heal, but that sounds like… not healing. More like… possessed by good vibes.”

Elena snorted. “Please don’t say that out loud around him. He’ll never forgive me.”

They both laughed, but there was a thread of concern weaving underneath the easy banter.

“Hey,” Bonnie said gently. “How’s Rita doing?”

Elena paused. “She’s… quiet.”

“That’s not new.”

“No, but it’s different lately. She’s spending more time alone. She doesn’t really open up. And I don’t want to push her, but—”

“She’s your sister,” Bonnie finished.

Elena nodded, even though Bonnie couldn’t see. “I want to know her. But there’s always this… wall.”

Bonnie hummed. “She’s been through a lot, right?”

Elena hesitated. “Yeah. I think so.”

Bonnie didn’t push, sensing the edge in Elena’s voice. Instead, her tone shifted. Lighter. Teasing.

“All right. Enough about weird siblings. I’ve got a much more urgent question.”

“Oh no,” Elena said, grinning. “What?”

Bonnie smirked. “So… how’s the mystery boy?”

Elena groaned. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting. I’m circling back. For science.”

“You are impossible.”

“And you’re avoiding the subject.”

Elena rolled her eyes. “Stefan is… fine.”

“Fine?”

Elena exhaled. “Okay, he’s intense. Thoughtful. Kind of… deep, you know? Like there’s a whole world behind his eyes and I’m only seeing the surface.”

Bonnie went quiet for a second. Then: “That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”

Elena blinked. “Wait, what?”

Bonnie sighed. “Look, I’m not saying don’t date the guy. I’m just saying take it slows.”

Elena sat up, frowning. “You were the one who said to go for it.”

“Now I’m saying takes it slow.”

“Why the about-face?”

Bonnie hesitated. “It’s not an about-face. You’re single for the first time in your entire high school career. It’s the perfect time to play the field.”

Elena scoffed. “Oh, because I’m so that girl.”

“Seriously. What are you not saying?”

Bonnie was quiet. “It’s stupid.”

Elena’s voice softened. “Bonnie…”

“What?”

“Spit it out.”

Bonnie drew in a breath. “I accidentally touched Stefan at the comet night. And I got a really bad feeling.”

Elena blinked. “That’s it?”

Bonnie’s voice tightened. “No. It was bad bad. Like—energy spike, nausea, this sharp panic in my chest. Like someone threw ice water on my soul.”

Elena was silent for a beat. “You think it’s… a witch thing?”

Bonnie didn’t answer immediately. “I don’t know. Maybe. But it felt like… something was wrong. Off.”

Elena sat still, letting the words sink in.

Bonnie continued. “It’s like he’s… hollow. Like there’s a void around him. And I don’t mean emotionally—like energetically. It felt unnatural.”

Elena opened her mouth, then closed it. Then finally: “Okay. That’s… a lot.”

Bonnie added quickly, “But then, yesterday, I touched Rita.”

Elena tilted her head. “When?”

“In the hallway. I handed her a water bottle. Our fingers barely brushed, and… it was the opposite.”

“How so?”

“It was warm. Like… calm, radiant energy. Like touching sunlight through a window. That was safe. Peaceful.”

Elena’s voice was soft. “She does have that effect.”

“She’s special,” Bonnie said. “I don’t know how or why, but I felt it.”

Elena bit her lip. “So Stefan feels like ice water and Rita feels like spring.”

Bonnie chuckled. “Basically.”

“She’s not telling me anything,” Elena admitted. “I think she wants to… but something stops her. Like she doesn’t believe she has the right.”

“She will,” Bonnie said. “She’ll get there.”

The two girls were quiet again, this time with a strange kind of weight between them.

“Elena?”

“Yeah?”

“You trust him? Stefan?”

“I do,” she said immediately. Then she added, quieter, “I think I do.”

Bonnie didn’t say anything.

Elena sighed. “I feel seen with him. Not in a creepy way. Just… like he understands me without me having to say a word.”

“That sounds romantic.”

“It feels like I’m finally breathing again.”

Bonnie still sounded hesitant. “I’m glad. I just… you know me. If something feels wrong, I can’t ignore it.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.”

 

Caroline jolted upright in bed, heart hammering, breath catching in her throat.

Her sheets were stained red.

She gasped—really gasped—and scrambled out of bed, clutching at her neck. Her fingers came away sticky, smeared in blood.

“No—no, no, no,” she whispered, stumbling toward the bathroom. She hit the light switch, and the harsh glow made her flinch.

She looked in the mirror.

There it was.
Two deep puncture wounds, just above her collarbone. Dried blood trailing down her skin. Her hair clinging to her face with sweat.

Her breathing quickened. She grabbed the edge of the sink, trying to stay upright.

“What happened to me?” she whispered, tears brimming. “What the hell is happening to me?”

Behind her, the bathroom door creaked.

She turned fast—too fast—and nearly slipped.

Damon stood there, perfectly calm.

Caroline’s eyes went wide. “What did you do to me?”

Damon stepped forward, hands raised slightly. “You were just a little snack. Don’t get dramatic.”

“You—” Her voice cracked. “You bit me?!”

“You’re fine.” He moved closer. “And you’re going to stay fine. But I need you to calm down.”

“No! Stay away from me!”

Damon’s expression didn’t change. Just the eyes. They turned sharper. Colder.

“Caroline,” he said firmly. “Look at me.”

She froze. His gaze locked onto hers like a trap snapping shut.

“You don’t remember anything,” he said.

Her breath caught. Her eyes went glassy.

“You were drinking. You fell. Hit your head. That’s all.”

Her hands dropped from her neck.

Damon stepped closer, his voice low and flat. “You’re going to clean yourself up. Go to cheer practice monday. Wear something cute. And you’ll smile. Like always.”

Caroline nodded slowly. “Okay.”

He smiled, almost fondly. “Good girl.”

Then he was gone.

She stood in the silence of the bathroom, eyes blank, the mirror still reflecting the blood.

And behind her, the faucet kept dripping.

Drip.
Drip.
Drip.

Notes:

Hey guys, I was panicking with the maintenance, but ao3 is finally up!! Tell me what you think of the chapter. Was it too long?

Chapter 7: seven

⊰᯽⊱ ──── ⊰⚜︎⊱ ──── ⊰᯽⊱

 

 

 

The soft thud of sneakers echoed in the gymnasium, blending with the high-pitched shouts of the cheer squad as they moved in practiced formation across the polished hardwood floor. Music blasted from a portable speaker, and pom-poms flashed in the air like bursts of glittery lightning.

“Five, six, seven, eight—hold!” the coach barked.

Elena exhaled, sweat clinging to her forehead. Her leg muscles were screaming from the tenth run-through of the same half-routine, and her ponytail had already loosened itself into a chaotic mess.

Bonnie leaned over from the bleachers where she’d been watching. “You guys look like you’re about to collapse.”

“I am about to collapse,” Elena muttered, grabbing her water bottle. “We’re down a flier and running in circles.”

“Where the hell is Caroline?” a brunette co-captain snapped from the back. “We were supposed to go full out today.”

“She texted me over an hour ago,” Elena said, checking her phone again. “Said she was coming.”

Bonnie crossed her arms, skeptical. “Caroline never misses practice. She’s usually here before the coach.”

“I know,” Elena said, frowning. “That’s what worries me.”

From the top of the bleachers, Rita looked up from her book, brows gently furrowed. Her legs were crossed, one sneaker tapping against the metal step in a soft rhythm. 

“Did she say why she was late?” asked Bonnie.

“No,” Elena replied. “Just said she was on her way.”

“That’s not like her,” Bonnie sighed, echoing Rita’s own thoughts.

Rita stood, closing her book. “Has she been acting weird lately?”

“Weirder than usual?” Bonnie asked dryly. “I mean, she’s been kind of all over the place this week. Moody, tired. She snapped at me yesterday for using her water bottle.”

Elena gave a short laugh. “Yeah, I thought she was just stressed about the squad.”

Before anyone could respond, the gym doors creaked open with a dramatic groan.

All three girls turned toward the entrance.

Caroline strolled in, late and radiant—except something was… wrong.

She was dressed in her uniform, hair curled to perfection, her signature confidence worn like armor. But the edges of her smile were brittle. Her eyes darted too quickly, too alert. Most tellingly, she wore a silky scarf knotted tightly around her neck—a floral print that looked totally out of place with her uniform.

Caroline never wore scarves to practice.

Rita saw it first. Her body went still.

“Hey!” Caroline said too brightly, waving with the hand that wasn’t holding her duffel bag. “Sorry I’m late! Crazy day.”

Elena moved forward. “Caroline. Are you okay?”

Caroline laughed. “Totally. Just… overslept. Damon gave me a ride.”

“Damon?” Bonnie said, straightening. “Like Damon Salvatore ?”

“Yeah,” Caroline said, voice a little too fast. “We ran into each other. He was headed this way, so… you know.”

“Sure,” Elena said slowly. “That’s… convenient.”

Bonnie’s eyes flicked to the scarf. “What’s with the vintage silk moment? Did you come from a photoshoot?”

Caroline’s hand went instinctively to her neck. “Oh—this? Just something I grabbed. I didn’t like how my neck looked today.”

“You didn’t like how your neck looked?” Bonnie repeated flatly.

“It’s a thing,” Caroline snapped quickly, tone just a bit too defensive. “Can we not do this right now?”

Rita watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. She hadn’t said a word, but her gaze was fixed on the scarf like it held a secret.

“Anyway,” Caroline continued, trying to redirect, “what did I miss?”

“The whole routine,” Elena said. “Three times.”

Caroline winced dramatically. “Sorry. I’ll stay late, make it up.”

The coach whistled again. “Let’s go, people. We’ve got twenty minutes.”

As the squad reset, Caroline moved to her spot at the back. But not before flashing a smirk at Elena.

“Oh,” she added in a voice loud enough for both Elena and Bonnie to hear, “by the way—I call dibs on the older Salvatore.”

Elena turned. “What?”

“You heard me.” Caroline tossed her duffel to the side, adjusting her ponytail. “I take the older brother. Hope you don’t mind.”

Bonnie let out a short laugh. “Wow. Subtle.”

Elena stared at Caroline, who just smiled and gave a little shrug. “What? He’s hot.”

“Yeah,” Elena said slowly. “And kind of intense.”

“Exactly,” Caroline said with a grin.

She turned to head toward the line-up, completely oblivious—or uncaring—of the storm she’d just left behind.

Bonnie looked at Elena. “That was weird, right? She was weird.”

“She is weird,” Elena said, still frowning. “That was… a lot.”

“She never mentioned Damon before,” Bonnie added. “Now suddenly she’s riding in his car and showing up with a scarf like she’s hiding a love bite from Dracula?”

 

The smell of simmering tomato sauce and toasted garlic filled the Gilbert kitchen like a warm hug. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting soft amber light through the windows, and inside, the soft clatter of dishes, the occasional burst of laughter, and the steady rhythm of preparation made the house feel alive.

Bonnie leaned against the kitchen island, peeling back the foil on a ceramic tart dish Rita had prepped earlier. “You explain it,” she said, voice animated. “Last night I’m watching Nine-O, commercial break comes on and I’m like, ‘I bet it’s that phone commercial.’ And sure enough, it’s that guy and the girl on the bench. He flies to Paris. He flies back. They take a picture.”

Elena glanced up from the salad she was tossing and laughed. “Oh, come on. That commercial’s on a constant loop.”

Bonnie rolled her eyes. “Fine. Well, how about this? Today, I’m obsessed with numbers. Three numbers. I keep seeing 8, 14, and 22. How weird is that?”

“Maybe we should play the lottery,” Elena joked. “Have you talked to your Grams?”

Bonnie let out a breath. “She’s just gonna say it’s because I’m a witch. I don’t want to be a witch. Do you want to be a witch?”

“I don’t want to be a witch,” Elena said, tossing cucumbers into the bowl.

“I would love to be a witch,” Rita said suddenly, lifting her head from where she stood by the stove. She was in a loose black tee and soft gray joggers, her hair up in a messy twist, a wooden spoon twirling lazily in her hand as she stirred the lasagna sauce. “Are you kidding? You’d never have to microwave leftovers again.”

Bonnie laughed. “That’s what you’d use magic for? Reheating pasta?”

“I’d use it to hex the patriarchy,” Rita added thoughtfully. “But, you know. Priorities.”

“God, why do you sound like you actually mean that?” Elena said, grinning.

“Because she does ,” Bonnie replied. “And I kind of love it.”

Rita winked at her and returned to the stove.

Elena stepped back from the counter. “Okay, serving spoons. Where are the serving spoons?”

Bonnie pointed without looking. “Middle drawer on your left.”

Elena opened it, laughing. “You’ve been in this kitchen like a thousand times.”

Bonnie raised a brow. “Yeah. That’s it.”

They all laughed.

The front door creaked open, and Stefan’s voice called, “Hello?”

“We’re in the kitchen!” Elena said, glancing up.

Stefan walked in, still wearing his school jacket, but with the sleeves rolled up and hair a little windblown. He looked comfortably out of place, like someone dropped into the middle of a cozy sitcom but didn’t mind the vibe.

“Something smells amazing,” he said, eyes sweeping over the table.

Rita looked over her shoulder. “It’s lasagna. And it’s probably a masterpiece.”

“She’s not exaggerating,” Bonnie said, hands folded. “You’re about to have a religious experience.”

“Need help with anything?” Stefan asked.

“Can you light the candles on the table?” Elena asked. “There should be matches in the middle drawer.”

Stefan nodded and moved toward the dining room.

Elena tossed a handful of croutons into the salad bowl. “By the way, how was practice today? Did Tanner give you a hard time?”

From the next room, Stefan called back casually, “He let me on the team. So I guess not too hard.”

Bonnie glanced toward the doorway. “Wait— you joined the football team?”

Elena grinned. “I tried to tell you. Tyler beamed a ball straight at him, and Stefan just caught it. Like, without even flinching.”

Bonnie gave a sigh. “Yeah, I heard. Tyler’s still nursing his ego.”

Rita carried the lasagna to the oven with practiced ease and slid it inside, then leaned against the counter and looked at Bonnie. “You really don’t want to be a witch?”

Bonnie shrugged. “It just… I don’t know. It sounds crazy when you say it out loud.”

“But it’s not crazy,” Rita said gently. “It’s part of you. That’s not something to be ashamed of.”

Bonnie blinked, visibly surprised by the softness in her voice. They sat down at the table.

“Why don’t you tell Stefan about your family?” Elena asked, eager to steer the conversation back to neutral ground.

Bonnie gave her a side-eye. “Which part? Divorced. No mom. Live with my dad.”

“No,” Elena said. “About the witches.”

Bonnie sighed. “Fine. My Grams says we’re descended from witches. Real ones. Our family came by way of Salem.”

“Really?” Stefan asked, returning to the kitchen doorway. “Salem witches?”

Bonnie nodded.

“That’s incredible,” Stefan said. “They were heroic. Examples of individualism and nonconformity. People forget that.”

“You actually think it’s cool?” Bonnie asked, a little defensive.

“I do,” Stefan said sincerely. “I’ve read about Celtic druidic bloodlines that made their way here in the 1800s. Some of the history is fascinating.”

Bonnie looked thoughtful. “Yeah. Grams says I have a spark. Whatever that means.”

“I can see that,” Rita said, grinning. “You radiate spark energy.”

Bonnie raised her glass in mock-toast. “Cheers to spark energy.”

Everyone laughed again, and for a moment, the kitchen felt like a world outside of the real one — protected, warm, ordinary in the way all of them had started to crave.

DING-DONG.

They all froze.

Elena frowned. “I wonder who that could be.”

Rita slowly set her spoon down.

“I’ll get it,” Elena said.

The door clicked open.

Elena’s breath caught.

On the porch stood Caroline, smiling too brightly, her curls perfectly in place. In her hands, she held a pink pastry box. The same scarf was wrapped tightly around her neck — too tightly, Elena noticed, the knot sharp beneath her chin despite the warm weather.

And beside her, lounging like the devil waiting to be let in, stood Damon Salvatore. He was dressed in black, as always, that insufferable smirk curling across his lips.

“Surprise!” Caroline said, voice pitched higher than usual. “Bonnie said you were doing dinner, so… we brought dessert!”

Elena blinked. “Oh.”

“Hope you don’t mind,” Damon added, stepping forward a little.

Behind Elena, soft footsteps approached.

Stefan.

His voice came out low, tight. “What are you doing here?”

Damon shrugged. “Waiting for Elena to invite me in.”

“I—” Elena faltered, glancing between them. “I mean, sure, you can—”

“No,” Stefan interrupted. “No, no, no. He can’t… he can’t stay. Can you, Damon?”

Caroline scoffed. “Stefan, don’t be rude. Get in here.”

Stefan’s eyes narrowed, jaw tight.

Elena bit her lip. “It’s fine. Just… come on in.”

Damon stepped over the threshold, smiling like a man who’d just won a game no one else realized they were playing. “Thank you. You have a beautiful home, Elena.”

Elena managed a stiff smile. “Thanks.”

From down the hall, Rita appeared slowly, drying her hands on a dish towel. When she saw Damon standing in the entryway, her steps slowed. Her smile didn’t come.

“Damon,” she said, voice neutral.

“Rita,” he drawled with a small nod. “You’re glowing as always.”

Rita’s eyes flicked briefly to Caroline — scarf still in place, eyes too wide — then back to Damon. She didn’t reply.

In the dining room, Bonnie looked up from her glass of lemonade, immediately catching sight of Damon entering. Her eyes darkened. “Oh. Great.”

Caroline walked in behind him, holding up the dessert box. “I brought cherry pie! From that bakery near the square.”

“Elena’s favorite,” Damon added without being asked, tone gentle.

Elena didn’t respond. She just led them toward the table.

The warm energy from earlier had thinned. Like something had sucked the color out of the room.

The dining table still looked perfect — flickering candlelight, plates set with generous portions of lasagna, salad glistening under the lemon vinaigrette Rita had made from scratch. It should have felt intimate. Cozy.

Instead, it felt like a stage before the drop.

Damon slid into the seat at the head of the table like it was always meant to be his.

Caroline sat beside him, still smiling, still tense.

Stefan sat stiffly next to Rita, his jaw visibly clenched.

Rita lowered herself into her chair, her previous glow dimmed. Her plate was untouched.

Elena sat across from Stefan, eyes flicking nervously between everyone.

Bonnie looked like she was deciding whether to eat or throw her drink in someone’s face.

“So,” Caroline said brightly, breaking the silence, “I cannot believe that Mr. Tanner let you on the football team. Tyler must be seething .”

Stefan gave a small nod. “He didn’t look too thrilled.”

“But good for you!” Caroline smiled at him, fork waving. “Go for it. You should totally own it.”

“That’s what I always tell him,” Damon chimed in with practiced ease. “You have to engage , Stefan. Can’t just sit around waiting for life to come to you. You have to go get it.”

Rita stared down at her plate.

Caroline laughed, tipping her head toward Damon. “Exactly. Oh! And Elena wasn’t so lucky today at practice.”

Elena blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I mean,” Caroline continued, undeterred, “it’s only because you missed summer camp. You don’t have the routine yet. I don’t know how you’re going to catch up.”

Bonnie cut in before Elena could speak. “I’ll work with her. She’ll get it.”

Caroline shrugged. “Sure. I guess we can put her in the back.”

Rita finally lifted her gaze — slowly, like someone waking from a spell. Her jaw was tight.

Damon tilted his head. “You know, Elena, you don’t really seem like the cheerleader type.”

“She used to be,” Caroline said quickly, “before, you know… everything.”

Elena stiffened. “Caroline…”

“Oh, come on , it’s not a bad thing.” Caroline smiled, oblivious — or pretending to be. “It’s just ‘cause your parents died. You’re going through, like, a blah phase. You used to be way more fun . And I say that with complete sensitivity.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Bonnie looked like she might stab her with a fork.

Stefan’s hand twitched where it rested near his glass.

Rita — Rita went still.

Damon’s voice dropped, falsely gentle. “I’m sorry, Elena. I know what it’s like to lose both your parents. In fact, Stefan and I… we’ve watched almost every single person we’ve ever cared about die.”

“We don’t need to get into that right now,” Stefan snapped.

Damon smiled thinly. “Oh, you know what? You’re right, Stef. I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was bring her up.” He took another bite of lasagna. “Mmm.”

It was too much.

Too calculated . Too cruel.

And Rita had heard enough.

She set her napkin down slowly, like every movement had to be exact or she’d shatter something.

“Caroline,” she said softly.

The blonde looked up mid-bite. “Yeah?”

“You left your practice socks in my room the other day,” Rita said, standing. “Would you mind grabbing them with me?”

Caroline blinked. “Now?”

Rita’s smile was tight. “Now.”

The table was still.

Stefan glanced at her.

Bonnie met Elena’s eyes with a small frown.

Caroline hesitated — then rose, nodding awkwardly. “Okay.”

As the two girls left the dining room, the conversation behind them tried to lurch back to life.

But Rita was already somewhere else — mind racing, heart pounding.

And Caroline… was about to be forced to face what she was really hiding.

 

The door to Rita’s bedroom clicked shut with a soft finality.

Caroline stood awkwardly just inside the threshold, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The box of cherry pie was long forgotten in the dining room. Her smile — so rehearsed all evening — had slipped.

Rita said nothing at first. She walked across the room, quiet and deliberate, and pulled open the small drawer of her vanity. She didn’t look back when she spoke.

“I lied.”

Caroline blinked. “What?”

“There aren’t any socks.”

Rita turned to face her fully. Her voice wasn’t angry, but it was sharper than it had been all day. “I just needed to get you away from him .”

Caroline took a step back. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do.” Rita moved closer. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

Caroline’s fingers instinctively went to the scarf around her neck. “It’s nothing.”

“Take it off.”

“No.”

“Caroline—”

“I said it’s fine!” Caroline’s voice cracked. “He didn’t… it wasn’t like that.”

Rita stopped in front of her. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t demand. She just looked at her.

And said, softly, “Please.”

Caroline hesitated. Her lip trembled.

Then, slowly, her hands reached up and untied the scarf.

It slipped to the floor.

Two angry red puncture marks marred the skin just above her collarbone. The edges were dark, almost bruised. Still healing. Still aching.

Rita’s breath caught in her throat.

“Oh my god…”

Caroline’s eyes filled instantly. “I didn’t know what he was. I didn’t know what he was doing at first.”

Rita reached out as if to touch her, then paused, hand hovering.

“I thought he liked me,” Caroline whispered. “I thought I mattered.”

“You do ,” Rita said fiercely. “You matter.”

Caroline let out a weak laugh. “He said it would feel good. That I’d feel calm. That I wouldn’t remember —but I do. I remember everything .”

The tears broke free then, falling hot and fast down her cheeks.

Rita stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her.

Caroline melted into her — shaking, sobbing, breaking apart in the space of a breath.

“I feel disgusting,” she whispered. “Like I let it happen.”

“You didn’t,” Rita said, voice trembling now. “You didn’t let anything. He took it.”

For a while, they just stood like that.

Then Rita gently pulled back.

“Do you trust me?”

Caroline blinked up at her, eyes rimmed red. “Yes.”

Without another word, Rita raised her own wrist.

She didn’t hesitate.

She pressed the edge of her silver ring to her skin and sliced cleanly — a shallow, smooth cut. Blood welled up instantly, rich and glowing faintly in the low light of her bedroom.

Caroline gasped. “What are you—”

Rita lifted her wrist to Caroline’s lips. “Drink.”

“No, I—Rita, I can’t—”

“You have to,” Rita said, her voice shaking, but firm. “It’s the only way. You’re not going to feel like this anymore. I promise.”

Caroline’s breathing was shallow. “Will it make me forget?”

“No,” Rita said gently. “It will heal you. Only that.”

Caroline stared at her for a beat.

Then slowly, shakily, she leaned in.

Her lips touched Rita’s wrist.

The first taste made her flinch — warm, sharp, electric. But then the warmth spread. Through her throat. Her chest. Her limbs.

It was like sunlight pouring into frozen veins.

The pain dulled. The compulsion — gone.

The ache in her bones vanished.

The bite marks closed.

Caroline pulled back, gasping.

“I remember everything,” she whispered. “But it doesn’t… hurt anymore.”

Rita nodded, still holding her.

Caroline blinked down at her hands. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel normal again.”

“You’re not normal,” Rita said. “You’re strong . And you’re safe now. He won’t touch you again.”

Caroline collapsed into her arms once more.

Rita held her like she was trying to piece her back together.

And in a way… she was.

 

The light in the kitchen was dimmer now, the candles flickering low as the remnants of dinner settled in the silence. Everyone had scattered a bit — Bonnie had gone to help clear plates, Stefan stood stiffly near the dining room archway, arms crossed, watching his brother too closely.

And Damon… was alone with Elena.

He stepped toward the sink and grabbed an empty glass.

“One more?” he asked, holding it up.

Elena nodded politely. “Sure.”

He filled it halfway and turned to hand it to her — then let it slip from his hand.

Before it could hit the ground, he caught it. Smooth. Too smooth.

Elena blinked. “Nice save.”

Damon smiled. “I like you.”

Elena raised an eyebrow.

“You know how to laugh,” he said. “And you make Stefan smile, which is something I haven’t seen in a very long time.”

Elena gave a small, uncertain smile. “Earlier… did you mean Katherine?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Damon nodded, eyes far away.

“How did she die?”

“In a fire,” Damon said simply. “Tragic fire.”

“Recently?”

Damon looked down at the glass. “It seems like it was yesterday.”

“What was she like?” Elena asked, voice soft.

He chuckled once, low and bitter. “She was beautiful. A lot like you in that department.”

Elena flushed faintly.

“She was also… complicated. Selfish. And at times… not very kind,” he added. “But very sexy. And seductive.”

Elena bit her lip, then asked, “So which one of you dated her first?”

Damon smiled again, slow and sharp. “Nicely deduced. Ask Stefan. I’m sure his answer differs from mine.”

There was a silence. Something darker creeping in beneath the flirtation.

Damon leaned casually against the counter. “I’d quit cheerleading if I were you.”

“What?” Elena blinked.

“I saw you at practice,” he said simply. “You looked miserable.”

“You were watching me?”

“Am I wrong?”

Elena hesitated. “I used to love it. It was fun. But… things are different this year. Everything that used to matter doesn’t anymore.”

“Then don’t let it,” Damon said, voice low and persuasive. “Quit. Move on. Problem solved. Ta-da.”

Elena looked at him — really looked — and for a moment, her expression softened. “Some things could matter again.”

Damon tilted his head. “Maybe. But… seems a little unrealistic to me.”

He reached to refill his own glass, but before either of them could speak again—

Elena’s phone buzzed on the counter.

She glanced down at the screen. That was Rita.

Caroline’s not feeling well. Thought it would be best if Stefan and Damon go. Don’t make a scene. We’re fine.

Elena’s heart skipped. She turned toward the hallway.

Damon noticed. “Everything okay?”

Elena nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just… I think Caroline’s not feeling great.”

“Too much pie?” Damon asked, smirking.

“Maybe,” Elena said with a tight smile. “But… I think it’s probably best if you guys call it a night.”

Stefan appeared behind them, clearly having seen her reaction. “Something wrong?”

“Rita says Caroline’s sick,” Elena said, meeting his eyes with quiet insistence. “You should probably go.”

Damon narrowed his eyes. “Convenient.”

“It’s late,” Elena said firmly.

Bonnie re-entered the kitchen with two plates and gave Damon a look like she hoped he’d spontaneously combust.

Rita and Caroline didn’t come back into the kitchen.

 

The house had gone quiet.

The kind of quiet that only comes late at night, when even the walls seem to breathe softer.

Rita’s room was dimly lit by the soft amber glow of her bedside lamp, its light pooling over the thick quilt draped across her bed. The scent of dried lavender lingered in the air, mixing with the faint traces of garlic and wine from dinner downstairs. Outside, cicadas sang softly in the distance.

Caroline sat cross-legged at the end of the bed, bundled in one of Rita’s oversized cardigans — her mascara faintly smudged, blonde hair a little frizzy from emotion. Her hands wrapped tightly around a warm mug of peppermint tea she hadn’t touched in twenty minutes.

Rita sat across from her, curled against the headboard, knees pulled up, her bare feet tucked under a folded knit blanket.

They hadn’t spoken in a while.

But there was something sacred about the silence.

Then Caroline finally said, her voice quiet, “I feel so stupid.”

Rita looked at her gently. “You’re not.”

Caroline shook her head. “I let him in. I wanted to believe he liked me. That I was… enough. And he made me feel like I was. Until he didn’t.”

“You are enough,” Rita said, voice firm, steady. “He’s the one who failed. Not you.”

Caroline let out a shaky breath. “You ever spend so long trying to be perfect just so people won’t leave ?”

Rita nodded. “Every day.”

“I feel like I have to smile bigger, dress better, say the right thing, or I’ll be invisible again. Like I’m performing just to earn a seat at the table.”

“I know that feeling,” Rita whispered. “So well.”

Caroline looked up at her, something fragile in her expression. “Do you ever stop wondering what’s wrong with you?”

“I did,” Rita said softly. “Eventually.”

“How?”

Rita stared down at the blanket in her lap.

A beat passed. Two.

Then she said, “Because at some point, I realized the people making me feel broken were the ones who were already cracked.”

Caroline blinked. Her voice trembled. “God, you always know what to say.”

Rita looked at her — really looked — and something in her gaze softened. “Only because no one said it to me when I needed it.”

Caroline tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

A silence.

And then Rita said it.

“I spent my entire life locked in a basement.”

Caroline froze. “What?”

“I was hidden. Out of sight. No windows. No voice. No choices.”

“You’re serious?” Caroline sat up straighter. “What the hell? Why? Who would do that to a child?”

Rita’s voice didn’t rise. “I wasn’t supposed to exist.”

Caroline blinked, stunned. “What are you talking about?”

Rita’s hands tightened around her knees. “I… wasn’t normal at birth. Not like Elena. Something was different in my blood. And they knew it.”

Caroline’s lips parted. “Who’s they?”

Rita’s voice dropped. “Grayson Gilbert. “Our” father.”

Caroline’s expression shattered. “Wait. Grayson ? Elena’s—? No. ”

“He was a doctor. A researcher. He thought he was protecting people,” Rita said, her tone calm, too calm. “But to do that, he needed to understand me. Study me. Test me.”

Caroline looked horrified. “He tested you?”

“He ran experiments,” Rita said flatly. “He took samples. My blood. My skin. Sometimes he'd keep me in darkness for days, just to see what happened. One time, he injected me with something that made me scream for hours. He watched through a glass wall and took notes.”

Caroline put her hands over her mouth.

“I was a patient for him,” Rita said. “ Not a person.”

Caroline whispered, “Rita…”

“I didn’t even have a real name until recently,” she added, barely audible. “Just a code. A case file.”

Caroline was trembling. “That’s—Rita, that’s sick . That’s abuse . You were just a little girl.”

Rita looked away. “I stopped being a little girl the day I realized I wasn’t going to be rescued.”

Caroline crawled forward across the bed and grabbed Rita’s hand. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Rita murmured. “Just don’t pity me. Please.”

“I don’t,” Caroline said quickly, eyes wet. “I’m just—I’m angry. And heartbroken. And I swear if he were still alive, I would kill him.”

Rita gave a small laugh. “You’re the first person who’s ever said that out loud.”

They sat there for a moment in silence, hands clasped.

Then Rita’s voice turned quiet again. “I haven’t told anyone what really happened. Not even Elena. Not really.”

Caroline looked at her. “Why are you telling me ?”

Rita’s fingers curled into hers. “Because you’re the first person who’s ever talked to me like I’m just a girl . Not a mystery. Not an obligation. Not a secret.”

Caroline’s throat tightened. “I’m… honored.”

Rita gave a tiny smile. “You’re my first friend, Caroline.”

Caroline let out a tiny sob and buried her face in Rita’s shoulder.

Rita held her close, chin resting gently against her hair.

“I like you so much,” Rita said quietly. “You don’t even know.”

Caroline sniffled. “I like you too. You’re incredible. You’ve been through hell, and you still know how to be kind. That’s strength. ”

“I’m still learning,” Rita said. “But I’m not alone now.”

Caroline pulled back and looked at her. “You’re not. And you’re stuck with me now.”

Rita smiled. “Good.”

Then, more gently, she added, “Can you keep this between us? Just for now?”

Caroline nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”

“No one else would understand,” Rita said. “Not like you.”

Caroline wiped her face. “I’ve got you. I swear.”

They leaned back against the headboard, shoulders touching, hands still lightly clasped between them.

And for the first time in a long, long while, Rita felt… safe.

Seen.

Held, not in chains, but in trust.

 

The sun hung low and golden, casting long rays across the dew-kissed football field. The grass was soft beneath cleats and sneakers, alive with early footsteps and casual banter from the team. Practice hadn’t started yet — it was that lazy pocket of time where everyone stretched, joked, and pretended they weren’t tired.

Stefan stood near the 40-yard line, adjusting the collar of his navy and white jersey. The number pinned across his chest still felt foreign, but not unwelcome. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair as he glanced down, lost in thought.

“Elena?”

Her voice reached him like sunlight on water.

He turned.

She was walking toward him in jeans and a hoodie, hair tied up, eyes bright despite the sleep she hadn’t really gotten. She smiled as she stopped in front of him, hands tucked into her sleeves.

“Ooh,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Look at you. You look hot in your jersey.”

Stefan chuckled, shaking his head. “What happened? No more cheerleader?”

“I quit,” Elena said simply, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “I’m a quitter.”

He stepped closer, frowning softly. “No, hey. You’re not a quitter.”

She looked up at him, surprised by the warmth in his tone.

“You suffered a great loss,” Stefan said gently. “You’re not the same person. And that’s okay.”

Something in his voice settled into her chest like a warm weight. Her shoulders, tight all morning, dropped slightly.

“You should be looking ahead,” he continued. “You should be starting over.”

For a beat, neither of them spoke. Just the sound of cleats on grass and a distant whistle somewhere behind the field.

Stefan exhaled slowly. “And… I wanted to thank you. For pushing me to try out for the team.”

Elena raised her brows.

“It feels really good,” he added, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Normal. In a weird way.”

She smiled back, eyes soft. “We’re a pair. I quit, you start.”

“Right,” he said. “We’re a work in progress.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

He nodded, and then she stepped closer — so close he could see the way her breath caught just before she leaned in.

And then she kissed him.

It was slow. Gentle. Like turning a page after a long silence.

The kind of kiss that said, we’re not healed, but we’re here.

When they pulled apart, Elena leaned her forehead lightly against his shoulder.

Stefan smiled — but then something over her shoulder caught his eye.

Just beyond the practice line, near the bleachers, stood Rita.

She wasn’t alone.

Caroline had her arms wrapped around her, tight and unfiltered. The hug was long, unmoving. A private, wordless thing.

Rita’s eyes were closed. Her arms were around Caroline’s waist, head tilted ever so slightly to rest against the girl’s temple. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to.

Stefan’s brows furrowed slightly.

Caroline had always been a flurry of insecurities masked in glitter and lip gloss. But now she looked… steady. Softened. And Rita, who usually carried herself like she was half on guard, half out of reach, looked almost at peace.

“Hey,” Elena whispered, nudging him. “Where’d you go?”

He blinked, eyes snapping back to her. “Nowhere.”

Elena smiled again, brushing her fingers over his. “Good.”

But as she leaned into him, Stefan’s gaze drifted back toward the girls one last time.

And he knew, whatever had happened the night before between Rita and Caroline had changed something. Quietly. Permanently.

 

The noise of the football game faded the further Damon stepped from the stands. Lights flashed overhead, illuminating the crowd and the field, but where he stood now—half-shaded behind the bleachers—the air felt still. Private.

He was searching for Caroline.

But he found her instead.

Rita stood with her hood up, watching the scoreboard with faint detachment, arms crossed, posture casual—but her eyes tracked every movement, every shift in the crowd.

Damon approached her with a smirk. “Not the blonde I was hoping for, but… close enough.”

Rita turned, startled for a second—then immediately wary. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he said innocently.

“Don’t look for her. Don’t talk to her. Don’t even think about going near her.”

He stepped closer. “Protective, aren’t you? We’re not friends.”

“I’m not doing this as her friend,” Rita said tightly. “I’m doing this because I know what you are. And she’s already suffered enough.”

Damon let out a low chuckle. “And what are you offering? A warning? A threat?”

She looked up at him, chin tilted. “A deal.”

He blinked.

Rita swallowed hard, then said, “If you leave her alone—forever—I’ll let you feed on me.”

His smile slowly faded.

“What?”

“Once a week,” she said. “Only from me. No compulsion. No games. No pain. You stay away from Caroline. You don’t speak to her. You don’t look at her.”

Damon stared at her. Then stepped closer, into her space.

“Are you serious?” he asked, voice low.

Rita’s heart thundered in her chest, but she didn’t look away. “Yes.”

He didn’t move for a long moment. Then something shifted in his expression. Curiosity. Hunger. A flicker of something darker.

“Alright,” he said. “Deal.”

Rita tensed as he stepped even closer. “Now?”

He raised a brow. “Are you going to back out?”

She hesitated—just for a second. Then pulled down the hood of her sweatshirt and brushed her hair back with trembling fingers.

Damon leaned in, letting his hand drift along Rita’s waist as she tilted her head, exposing the tender curve of her throat. Her skin was warm. Soft. He could feel her pulse, light, fast, beneath his palm.

He didn’t bite yet.

He closed his eyes first. Let the scent hit him fully.

It was intoxicating.

Peaches. Strawberries. Freesias. Honey in the sun.

 But deeper than that—something otherworldly. Something ancient in her blood that shimmered beneath the surface, like gold dust swirling in warm wine.

She didn’t smell like prey. She smelled like temptation .

When his fangs finally pierced her skin, he groaned low in his throat — a sound that barely made it past his lips. The first mouthful hit him like a jolt. Sweetness flooded his mouth, thick and dizzying, like nectar. Not just rich, pure . Clean. Like it had never been tainted by death, fear, or darkness.

His grip on her waist tightened.

Her body felt so small in his arms. Fragile. Delicate. He could wrap both hands around her and still feel like she might disappear if he held too tightly.

And that made something coil inside him.

As her blood slid down his throat, warm and perfect, his cock twitched in his jeans, unbidden, sharp, hungry . It had been so long since feeding had made him feel like this.

His heart thudded once. Hard. Wrong.

He shifted his stance, jaw tense, one hand splayed over the back of her neck now, fingers brushing the edge of her hairline. Her skin beneath his lips was smooth like velvet, pulsing with life he could taste.

She didn’t fight him. She barely even breathed. But she somewhat trusted him.

And that?

That was the most dangerous part of all.

He let himself drink just a little more.

Just enough to feel his control start to fray, the heat spreading down his spine, tightening in his abdomen.

He pulled back before he lost himself.

The puncture wounds bled a little before healing.

He wiped the remaining blood with his thumb, slower than necessary, his gaze flicking to her parted lips, her wide eyes.

His voice came rougher than he intended: “You taste like...”

Rita just stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast.

He adjusted the front of his jeans subtly, turning just slightly so she wouldn’t see.

His body was still reacting.

Still aching.

“You’re… not what I expected,” he added after a pause.

Rita whispered, “Is the deal accepted?”

He smirked faintly. “Once a week. Only you. And I stay away from little Miss Forbes. Scout’s honor.”

Then he stepped back, lips still tingling.

And vanished into the night, leaving Rita alone, breath shaking, heart pounding.

And Caroline safe.

For Now.

Notes:

I cried a little bit when I was writing Rita and Caroline moment <3
Hope you liked the chapter, thanks for all ur comments, I responded later that I wanted, I had so many things to do these days.i'm visiting my family in Punta Cana and I barely have time to be on my computer. See u next time <33

Chapter 8: eight

⊰᯽⊱ ──── ⊰⚜︎⊱ ──── ⊰᯽⊱

 

 

The smell of chocolate filled the living room, a supposedly comforting scent following yesterday's incident.

Jenna was camped on the couch in an oversized tee, feet tucked under her, remote in one hand, mug in the other. The news was on, too loud, talking over itself in bursts of tension.

Elena entered from the kitchen, drying her hands with a dishtowel. Rita trailed behind her, holding a cereal bowl, spoon tapping the edge as she stirred distractedly.

“...to repeat,” said the anchor, “the animal terrorizing Mystic Falls has been caught.”

“Scum ball,” Jenna muttered under her breath. “Scum bucket.”

Elena blinked. “Who are you talking to?”

“Him.” Jenna pointed with her mug.

Elena glanced at the screen. “The news guy?”

“Also known as Logan Scum Fell.”

Elena snorted. “No way. You and him?”

Jenna looked unamused. “Did your mom ever tell you why I moved away from Mystic Falls?”

Rita raised an eyebrow from the armchair. “Wait. You dated the news guy?”

Jenna scoffed. “For exactly two hundred and fifty-five days, which I regret more than my freshman-year hair choices.”

“He’s cute, though,” Elena said, settling on the arm of the couch.

“He is not cute. There’s nothing cute about him.”

Rita tilted her head. “He kinda gives predator energy. Like a guy who takes advantage of his position.”

“Thank you!” Jenna pointed triumphantly. “Finally, someone who see right through him.”

Jeremy entered the room just in time to catch that. “Who’s a predator?”

“No one,” Elena said quickly.

“Logan Fell,” Rita added.

“Logan Fell like the new’s guy?”

Jenna waved her hand. “No one important. Just Mystic Falls’ #1 source of fake confidence and questionable facial hair.”

Rita smiled faintly, then went back to her cereal.

Elena stood and headed for the side table, pulling a small wooden box out from underneath a stack of books.

Jenna looked over. “What are you doing with that?”

“I went to the bank yesterday. Mom had told Mrs. Lockwood she’d loan it to the Founder’s Council for their heritage display.”

She opened the box. Inside: a small, carefully wrapped bundle. A delicate, silver ring glinted from the velvet. Rita leaned in curiously.

“Is that grandma Beth’s wedding ring?” Jenna asked.

“Originally great-great-grandma Mary’s,” Elena said. “It got passed down.”

Jeremy plopped onto the couch and peered inside the box like he was appraising it.

“How much do you think this stuff is worth?” he asked. “Like, on eBay?”

Elena shot him a look. “You’re not gonna find out.”

“That’s mom and dad’s stuff,” he said, tone sharper now. “You can’t just give it away.”

“I’m not giving it away,” Elena replied. “It’s called a loan, Jeremy.”

He stood. “Whatever. It’s still theirs.”

Rita watched him walk out. She didn’t say anything, but her throat felt tight.

Jenna sighed. “He’s just angry. Don’t push him.”

Elena looked down at the heirlooms. “I’m just trying to do what Mom would’ve done.”

“I know,” Jenna said quietly. “And she’d be proud.”

Rita leaned back into the chair, eyes flicking to the muted TV as Logan Fell’s face filled the screen again.

He was smiling.

But the words scrolling underneath read:  “LOCAL HIGH SCHOOL TEACHER FOUND DEAD IN ANIMAL ATTACK.”

 

The doorbell rang just as Elena finished twisting her hair out of her eyes.

She barely made it to the hallway before her feet were moving faster, heartbeat stuttering in that familiar, electric way.

When she opened the door, Stefan stood on the porch like some impossibly calm statue, hands in his jacket pockets, smile soft, uncertain.

“Hi,” he said.

She didn’t answer.

She grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him in, her mouth meeting his before the door even shut behind them. It wasn’t slow — it was the kind of kiss you give someone you’ve been waiting for. The kind that makes the air in your chest feel too tight.

He kissed her back, hands finding her waist, steady but restrained. Stefan was always in control. But this time, there was something different in the way he touched her. Something hungry.

By the time they made it to her room, they were both breathless.

She pulled him down onto the bed with her, giggling between kisses. Her fingers tangled in his shirt, and when he kissed down her neck, her eyes fluttered closed.

Then, he froze.

She opened her eyes. “Stefan?”

He pulled back, blinking at the mirror across the room.

His reflection was warped. Not fully human. The veins had risen beneath his skin, his eyes darkened. A monster wearing his face.

Elena followed his gaze. Her breath caught.

“Are you okay?” she asked gently.

“I’m good,” he said quickly, standing up, brushing it off too fast. “Sorry.”

“Maybe we should press pause.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right. That was getting a bit— intense.”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

Then her voice softened. “How do you look in a suit?”

He raised an eyebrow.

She smiled. “Will you be my date to the Founder’s Party?”

“They still do that?”

“Have you been before?”

“No,” he said. “The Salvatore's don’t get invited anymore.”

Elena sat up slowly. “Well… this year there’s a heritage project. It meant a lot to my mom. She was really involved in the Council, and it was her favorite party. I know it sounds really boring but…”

Stefan crossed to her. Took her hand.

“I would be honored to accompany you, Miss Gilbert.”

Elena grinned. “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Salvatore.”

Outside, the wind picked up.

Somewhere, a door creaked open.

And across town, Rita was walking straight into Damon Salvatore’s trap.

 

The street was quiet.

Rita walked with her hood up, hands tucked in her sleeves, the October wind catching strands of her silver-white hair and tugging them into her eyes. Caroline’s house was only three blocks away, but the dark always made Mystic Falls feel longer. Like something might crawl out from the trees if you took a wrong turn.

Her phone buzzed, it was an unknown Number.

She stopped walking, stared at the screen and didn’t answer.

The phone buzzed again. Same number. She rejected the call and shoved the device back into her pocket.

Then—

Headlights.

A low rumble of an engine behind her. Slow. Deliberate. She didn’t turn around, but she heard the window roll down.

“Get in.”

Damon.

Rita exhaled through her nose. “No.”

“Rita.” His voice was calm. Too calm. “We need to talk.”

She finally looked over her shoulder.

His car idled behind her, windows down, wind playing with his collar. He looked amused. Tired. Dangerous.

“I’m not getting in your car.”

He tilted his head. “Suit yourself.”

She kept walking.

He pulled forward, slow enough to match her pace. Watching.

“Look,” he said, “it’s not like I’m gonna eat you.”

“That's not very reassuring.”

“Rita.”

She stopped again. Turned. The porch lights of nearby houses cast sharp yellow patterns across the road, but none of them reached her fully.

Damon’s eyes flickered. Something in his posture shifted, it was sharper.

“Just ten minutes,” he said. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Her jaw clenched. She nodded.

He reached across the seat and pushed the door open for her.

 

The Salvatore Boarding House was like something out of a movie.

Massive and shadowed in the night, its porch stretched like the mouth of a waiting beast. Rita stepped out of Damon’s car slowly, half-expecting a gust of wind to whip through the trees and reveal the silhouette of Dracula himself.

She hugged her arms tighter around her ribs.

Even in the dark, it was beautiful. The windows glowed faintly with warm, amber light. The kind of light that promised luxury, secrets, and too many stories never told. The brickwork was old, historic — but immaculate. It gave the impression of permanence, of weight. Like the kind of house that didn’t care what century it was.

Damon didn’t wait for her. He pushed open the heavy wooden door like he owned the world and disappeared inside.

Rita lingered on the steps.

She’d never been here before. She’d imagined it, once or twice. A glimpse from a distance. Whispers from Elena. 

She followed.

The door creaked as it shut behind her, sealing the night out. And Mystic Falls with it.

Her boots clicked softly against the polished wood floors.

The entryway was massive — arched ceilings, ornate trim, a staircase that looked like it belonged in a gothic manor. A chandelier hung overhead, flickering with golden light. Everything smelled faintly of oak, old paper, and bourbon.

She stepped into the main parlor and paused.

Firelight flickered from a stone hearth, shadows dancing over leather armchairs and a Persian rug that probably cost more than her entire life. The room was rich — not in a tacky way, but in a way that felt ancient . Like wealth soaked into the walls.

“You gonna keep gawking, or should I give you the full tour?” Damon’s voice echoed from the bar, where he was already pouring himself a drink.

Rita cleared her throat. “Sorry. This place is… impressive.”

He smirked without looking up. “It has its charm.”

He handed her a glass of water where ice clinking gently and took a long sip of his own bourbon.

They stood in silence for a few moments, the fire crackling behind them.

Then he said, too casually.

“You should take me to the Founder’s Party.”

Rita blinked. “What?”

“You. Me. Formal wear. Let’s shock the Council.”

She stared at him. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all,” he said, lifting his glass. “I have a suit, a smirk, and a century of party tricks. What more could a girl want?”

“I’m not taking you.”

He turned to face her fully now, the smile still in place but tighter.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not a joke,” she said, voice low. “It meant something to my mother. It means something to Elena. I’m not showing up with a guy who plays games for fun.”

Damon’s jaw flexed.

“You could’ve said you had a date,” he muttered.

“I don’t,” she said. “But you can ask someone else.”

“Oh?” His eyes narrowed. “Who, exactly?”

“Anyone but Caroline.”

His entire posture shifted.

There it was.

“Blondie gets a pass, huh?” he said, voice smooth and venom-laced. “Funny how protective you are.”

Rita didn’t rise to it. She just stared back.

“If this is about her,” he said, stepping closer, “then let’s make it simple. You and me. We already have… arrangements .”

He was too close now.

Rita swallowed hard. “You already have it yesterday.”

“No,” Damon said. “That was a taste.”

He circled her slowly, the glass in his hand forgotten on the table. 

She clenched her jaw. “You promised. Once a week. You said it yourself.”

“I didn’t expect to enjoy it that much,” he said honestly. “But your blood is… different.”

He stopped in front of her.

"Something I shouldn't want”, he murmured. Her breath caught.

His voice dropped. “I want it. Now.”

She froze.

Caroline. She thought of Caroline. Of the way she’d looked after cheer practice, scarf wrapped high around her neck, eyes hollow, like she hadn’t slept in days. The way she was broken by what she experienced. 

“Okay,” Rita whispered.

He stepped even closer.

“Say it louder.”

“Fine,” she said, firmer this time. “Just—just do it.”

Damon tilted her cheek gently with his fingers. “I’ll be good.”

The moment his fangs sank into her skin, she gasped.

Her knees buckled slightly, but he held her up, hand tight on her waist. It wasn’t sharp pain — it was pressure, heat, pulling. Her body trembled as he drank.

It was exactly like before for him.

Warm. Lush. Floral. Like her blood had been kissed by summer, made for him. His mouth moved slightly as he fed, he was savoring it.

And then—

He groaned. Soft. Deep. But not human.

Rita’s eyes snapped open, she felt it.

His arousal. 

He was hard against her stomach. Pressed into her like a secret he couldn’t hide.

Her body went completely still. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

Damon’s mouth hovered a beat too long.

And then—

He kissed her.

Rough. Hungry. Like he didn’t care who she was, only what she tasted like.

Rita stiffened.

His lips crushed hers, and his tongue pushed against the seam of her mouth. His right hand tangled in her hair, desperate and claiming, his left hand clinging to her waist.

She shoved him. Hard.

He stumbled back, blood on his lips, eyes wide with something between confusion and shame.

“I—” He blinked. “I didn’t mean to—”

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Said nothing.

Damon backed up, palms open, breath uneven. “Rita, I’m sorry.”

He turned on his heel. Stormed out of the room. Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed. Maybe his room. Maybe farther.

Rita stood in the parlor, chest tight, pulse roaring in her ears. She pulled out her phone with shaking hands. She immediately sends a text to Caroline.

can u pick me up outside the Salvatore house, pls

She didn’t wait for a reply before stepping outside.

The cold air hit her face like a slap.

She didn’t cry.

But she tasted her blood in the back of her throat. 

 

The door slammed behind him.

Damon stormed into his room, hands twitching, jaw clenched so tight it ached. He paced in front of the bed like a caged animal, then ripped off his jacket and threw it aside.

His lips were still tingling.

From her.

Rita.

He could still taste her blood in his mouth — sun-warmed peaches, ripe strawberries, the kind of sweetness that made his head spin and his fangs ache. Her scent was everywhere. That faint floral heat, soft skin under his hands, the way she trembled when he bit her. The sound she made when he kissed her.

Fuck.

His cock was already hard, straining painfully against his jeans.

“Shit…”

He growled low in his throat, running a hand through his hair before collapsing onto the edge of the bed. His fingers went straight to his belt, yanking it loose, dragging the zipper down. His hand wrapped around himself, firm and desperate.

“Goddamn you, Rita…”

He stroked once — slow — then again, faster. The friction sent sparks straight to his spine. He let his head fall back, eyes fluttering closed.

He pictured her.

Wide brown eyes.

Soft lips, parted in shock.

That little gasp when she felt him hard against her.

The way she pushed him away, even though her heartbeat told him otherwise.

He imagined her under him. Shirt bunched up. Blood on her neck. Mouth open, whispering his name.

“Fuck,” he groaned, stroking harder now, breath ragged.

She wasn’t his.

But she tasted like she should be.

Like something rare. Forbidden. Addictive.

And it was driving him out of his fucking mind.

His hips jerked. His hand squeezed tighter. He could still feel the curve of her waist, how small she was in his grip, how she didn’t scream when he fed — how she let him. Even when she hated him for it.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he growled, teeth clenched.

He came with a shudder, biting down on his lip, growling her name into the empty room.

Silence followed. Heavy. Still.

He sat there, panting. Shirt damp. Hands sticky. Head spinning.

And still — still — he lingered.

Rita.

He didn’t want to be obsessed. He didn’t want to care.

But she was crawling under his skin like poison.

And the worst part?

He wanted more.

 

The Lockwood mansion had been dressed for the occasion, velvet ribbons in founding family colors, antique portraits hung with reverence, and silver trays of champagne weaving through clusters of Mystic Falls’ finest. The chandeliers cast a soft, warm glow over the partygoers, turning everything golden and just a bit unreal, like a memory that had already begun to fade.

Elena had never liked these parties growing up. They always felt performative, even more so now. But she still walked in with her chin up, her arm looped through Stefan’s, wearing her mother’s necklace and the ghost of a smile.

Stefan looked impeccable in a tailored black suit, but his focus wasn’t on appearances. His eyes scanned every corner of the room, subtle but alert, as if expecting the air itself to shift at any moment.

Elena leaned in slightly. “You okay?”

He glanced at her and softened. “Just… keeping an eye out.”

And then the shift came, not in the air, but in the room itself.

A ripple passed through the guests. Heads turned. Conversations paused mid-sentence.

Damon had arrived.

Elena’s stomach sank.

He moved through the crowd like he belonged there, exuding charm and smug confidence, his tux sharp, hair tousled just enough to look effortless. But it was the girl on his arm that made Stefan’s jaw tighten.

Sarah Fell.

Wide-eyed, smiling, clinging to Damon’s arm like she’d just been crowned prom queen. She looked young. Too young to be walking beside a man who moved like sin and secrets wrapped in Armani.

Stefan exhaled, quiet but sharp.

Elena whispered, “Is that—?”

“Sarah Fell,” Stefan confirmed, already starting to move. “I’ll handle it.”

Elena watched him weave through the crowd, jaw clenched. “Be careful,” she muttered under her breath, more to herself than anyone else.

Stefan intercepted them just as Damon reached the drinks table. Damon was mid-sentence, probably saying something witty, when he caught sight of his brother’s expression.

“Ah,” Damon said, tone dry. “And here comes the fun police.”

Sarah gave a polite, if slightly awkward, smile.

“Sarah,” Stefan said gently, “would you mind giving me a moment with my brother?”

She blinked, looking between them. “Sure…?”

“Maybe grab a drink,” Stefan added, his voice pleasant, but firm.

She nodded and wandered off toward the buffet, heels clicking against the marble floor.

Damon raised an eyebrow, folding his arms. “That was rude.”

“I don’t want her near you,” Stefan said, low and controlled.

Damon smirked. “Why? Because I brought a lovely date and you brought Kitty Kat look-alike?”

Stefan clenched his jaw but didn’t rise to it. He just stared.

Damon clicked his tongue. “You’re no fun anymore, brother.”

“She’s not just some girl you can use.”

“Relax. We’re just talking. I haven’t even had a sip.” He leaned in. “Yet.”

Stefan’s eyes darkened. “Walk away from her, Damon.”

“And if I don’t?”

Stefan didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Damon could see it in his brother’s face — the quiet threat of consequence.

A beat passed between them, electric.

Damon finally shrugged. “You’re getting dull, Stef. All this nobility… it’s exhausting.”

He turned, walking away with an easy smile like nothing had happened.

Stefan remained where he was, hands clenched at his sides.

He would need to act quickly.

 

The cellar door creaked as Stefan pulled it open, his expression unreadable.

Inside, Damon looked unimpressed.

“Really?” Damon scoffed, arms crossed, voice echoing off the stone. “You drugged me. How cliché.”

“You would’ve hurt her,” Stefan said simply.

Damon laughed, humorless. “She was barely a snack.”

Stefan didn’t respond. He just stepped back and closed the heavy iron door.

A loud metallic clank echoed through the dark as it locked into place.

“No ring,” Stefan added through the door. “No sunlight. Maybe that’ll keep you still long enough to think.”

Damon’s voice came after a pause. Calm. Almost amused.

“This won’t hold me forever.”

Stefan’s footsteps faded up the stairs.

Damon was left alone in the dark, behind iron and stone but his smile returned slowly, curling like smoke.

 

The Gilbert house was unusually quiet for a Friday night.

Most of Mystic Falls was probably at the Founder’s Party — all pearls, bourbon, and old family names. But not Rita. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to go. Her stomach still twisted every time she remembered Damon’s mouth on hers, the way his body pressed against hers like a secret she hadn’t agreed to share.

She had showered twice after this.

The sting on her neck had healed but the sensation still lingered.

Now, curled up on the living room couch in a giant hoodie and fuzzy socks, she was trying to lose herself in a movie that Jeremy clearly wasn’t watching either.

“You’re still mad at Elena?” she asked after a long silence, breaking the hum of background explosions and sarcastic voiceovers.

Jeremy shrugged, not looking away from the screen. “She gave away Mom and Dad’s stuff like it didn’t matter. Yeah, I’m kinda mad.”

Rita pulled the blanket higher over her knees. “It’s not forever. It’s just a loan.”

“That’s not the point.”

She turned toward him a little, sensing more under the surface. “Then what is the point?”

He finally looked at her. His eyes were shadowed in that way they always were lately — bruised with something deeper than just grief.

“She treats me like I’m broken,” he muttered. “Like if she controls enough things, she can fix me.”

“She’s scared.”

“I’m scared too. Doesn’t mean I want someone managing my life like I’m gonna explode.”

Rita was quiet for a moment.

“You haven’t been drinking again, have you?”

“No.”

“Drugs?”

“No.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He huffed. “No, okay? I haven’t. You’re like the only reason.”

That made her heart squeeze a little.

She looked back at the screen, voice softer. “I’m glad we’re doing this. Just… staying in. You, me, and cheap microwave popcorn.”

He leaned his head against the back of the couch. “You’re way better company than anyone at that stupid party.”

She smiled faintly. “I just didn’t want to wear a dress and pretend I cared about legacy and champagne flutes.”

“And you’re also avoiding someone.”

She stiffened.

Jeremy didn’t say it cruelly — just factually. Like he knew something was off.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” she said.

He nodded. “Okay.”

There was a quiet between them again, but this time it felt warmer.

More settled.

They sat in silence through the end of the movie, the soft glow of the TV flickering across their faces.

Then the front door creaked.

And Rita’s entire body tensed.

Jeremy sat up. “That better not be Elena forgetting her keys again.”

But it wasn’t Elena.

“Hey,” said a familiar voice from the hallway. Vicki.

She looked sad, eyes glassy, hair messy like she’d run through wind and lost half a fight.

“Sorry,” she added. “I really needed to see you Jeremy..”

Jeremy stood slowly. “No, it’s fine. Come in.”

Rita blinked. “You okay?”

Vicki didn’t answer right away.

Just smiled and stepped into the room.

 

The morning after the Founder's Party settled over Mystic Falls like smoke after a candle was snuffed — quiet, but thick with something unspoken. The sun filtered through thin gray clouds, and for once, school didn’t feel like a distraction. It felt like a cage.

Elena sat on the low brick wall near the parking lot, arms wrapped around her knees. Her phone was silent. Stefan hadn’t texted. Not even a call.

She spotted him walking toward her before he saw her — leather jacket, soft eyes, perfect timing.

“Elena,” he said gently, slipping into a spot beside her.

She looked at him for a beat. “Where were you?”

“I went home early last night. Needed to deal with Damon.”

A flicker passed through her expression. “What happened?”

He smiled carefully. “He’s gone.”

Her brows rose. “Gone?”

“Out of town. For good, I think.”

It was too neat. Too clean. Stefan wasn’t the type to lie, but his tone was off. She felt it in her chest. Still, she nodded.

“Good,” she said quietly. “He creeps me out.”

Stefan reached out, gently brushing a knuckle across her hand. “You okay?”

She wanted to say yes. That she wasn’t still hearing Sarah Fell’s fake laugh in her head. That she didn’t see Damon’s smug face every time she blinked. That she didn’t feel something in her gut saying none of this was okay.

But she smiled anyway. “I’m fine.”

 

The front lawn of the school was pure chaos. Students hustled past foam boards and hose coils, carrying soap buckets and flyers. The banner stretched over the carport in glittering red paint:

SEXY SUDS CAR WASH — SUPPORT THE SPIRIT SQUAD!

Bonnie was holding court under the banner, clipboard in hand, hair curled perfectly, looking more focused than she actually felt.

Caroline flitted in and out of frame like a blonde tornado.

“BonBon,” Caroline snapped, “the football boys are showing up at eleven. If they get bored and leave, I’m blaming you.”

Bonnie blinked. “Sorry, I’m just making sure we have enough buckets. We only have seven.”

Caroline tossed her a smile that was all teeth. “Then get nine. Borrow. Steal. Be the powerful witch you are.”

Bonnie narrowed her eyes. “Funny.”

As Caroline spun off toward another catastrophe — a tangled hose, a missing cash box, who knew — Bonnie’s fingers twitched. She looked down.

Her palm was hot.

Too hot.

She stared at it, trying not to panic. She clenched her fist and shoved it into her jacket pocket, breathing slow and even. But it wasn’t just heat anymore. It was pressure. Like something inside her wanted out.

“Everything okay?” a voice asked.

Bonnie turned. Elena had appeared, arms crossed.

“Yeah,” Bonnie said too quickly. “Totally fine.”

Elena wasn’t convinced.

 

Elsewhere on the lot, Sarah Fell was leaning against her friend’s car, sipping from a soda can and smiling vaguely at nothing. She didn’t really remember getting here. She didn’t really remember anything after that second glass of champagne last night.

Her ears rang.

She blinked once, twice and the noise turned into something else.

A whisper.

Sarah…

She froze.

Help me.

The voice coiled into her ear like silk and shadows. Her heart jumped. She looked around.

No one was talking to her.

But she could feel it, someone was.

Sarah. Don’t be afraid…

She dropped the soda can.

It hit the pavement with a thunk, fizzy soda puddling around her heels.

Sarah looked toward the woods behind the school, her breath catching.

She saw no one.

And yet, she felt seen.

 

Caroline stood beside Bonnie near the fundraising table, glancing toward Sarah.

“She looks off,” Caroline muttered.

Bonnie didn’t answer. Her fingers still tingled, her whole arm pulsing like fire. She thought she saw heat shimmer off the windshield of a nearby car, but when she blinked, it was gone.

“BonBon,” Caroline said, stepping closer. “Seriously. Are you okay?”

Bonnie swallowed. “Yeah. I just…”

She didn’t get to finish.

The hose Bonnie had been holding burst into flame.

The flame didn’t come from the nozzle. It came from her hand.

Bonnie screamed and flung it to the ground, stepping back. A small fire burned at her feet before vanishing into a puff of smoke.

Everyone around them stopped.

Caroline turned eyes wide and stared at her best friend.. “What the hell was that?!”

Bonnie stared at her own hand.

Something was very, very wrong.

 

Mystic Falls High buzzed with weekend chaos — hoses whipping across asphalt, the cheer squad in tiny shorts and soaked tank tops, the scent of lemon soap and wet grass clinging to the air. From a distance, it looked normal. Clean, even.

But Elena couldn’t shake the feeling gnawing at her gut since the Founders Party.

She didn’t tell Rita. Not yet.

She didn’t want to worry her… and maybe she was overthinking it. Maybe Sarah Fell was just a girl who drank too much and Damon was just—well. Damon.

But Stefan had been distant. His words careful. His eyes heavier than usual.

And now… this.

She’d brought a ragged sponge to one of the beat-up pickup trucks waiting in line when Tiki and her grandfather wandered past with a camera. Tiki looked irritated, her phone glued to her palm.

“Pops, just let me do it—”

But her grandfather was already fiddling with the old camcorder, pointing it toward the students like a man on a mission.

“Just let me film, sweetpea.”

His voice was soft. His movements calm. But the moment his lens passed over Stefan—everything shifted.

He froze.

Elena didn’t notice at first, too busy wiping soap from her wrist. But Stefan noticed.

The man’s expression changed. His mouth parted. His hand trembled just slightly.

“Stefan Salvatore?” he said softly, like a name he hadn’t spoken aloud in decades. “Is that you?”

Stefan turned, slowly.

“You look just like you did… back in 1953.”

Elena’s heart stopped.

The world didn’t. A car honked. Caroline laughed somewhere behind them. Bonnie was yelling about buckets again. But all Elena could hear was the sound of her pulse suddenly loud in her ears.

“You haven’t aged a day.”

The old man smiled kindly. Like it was a compliment.

Elena looked at Stefan.

He smiled but it was paper-thin. Masked. Rehearsed.

“You must be thinking of someone else,” he said with a chuckle. “Maybe my grandfather.”

The man didn’t look convinced. But he said nothing more, just nodded and moved along.

Elena watched Stefan carefully.

He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

 

Elena wasn’t the type to push. But something was off. And if Stefan wasn’t going to give her answers, she’d find them herself.

She waited in the lobby of the news station for nearly fifteen minutes before Logan Fell finally sauntered through the hallway, looking smug as ever.

“Elena Gilbert,” he grinned. “Looking to intern already?”

“I need a favor,” she said flatly.

Logan raised a brow. “What kind of favor?”

“I want to look at the old town archives. Founder’s Day videos, old council reels, that kind of stuff.”

“Homework?”

“Curiosity.”

He hesitated, then smiled wider. “Sure. I can give you fifteen minutes before the next broadcast. Don’t spill anything.”

The archive room was dusty, dim, and colder than expected. Shelves of VHS tapes and boxes lined the walls, labeled by year. The hum of old equipment vibrated softly beneath Elena’s sneakers as she stepped deeper into the room.

She scanned the labels: 1950, 1952, 1954… 1953.

Pulling a tape free, she slid it into the player and pressed play.

Static. Then the familiar image of Mystic Falls’ town square, blurry and slightly warped by age.

Men in hats. Women in petticoats. Flags. Laughter.

And there at the edge of the crowd was a man.

Elena leaned forward.

He turned, smiling briefly at the camera.

Her blood ran cold.

“Damon?”

The image flickered.

She paused the tape.

There was no mistaking it. The sharp jawline. The piercing eyes. The same smirk he wore like armor.

Damon Salvatore.

In 1953.

He hadn’t aged a day.

Elena stared at the screen, heart hammering against her ribs.

It wasn’t just a hunch anymore. It wasn’t just a weird moment with Tiki’s grandpa. This was real.

And whatever Stefan and Damon were — whatever Sarah Fell was too drunk to remember — it wasn’t human.

She sat in the silence of the archive room, footage frozen in time, her hands clammy and her mind spiraling.

For the first time in a long time… she was scared.

 

The brass knocker on the heavy front door echoed as Elena’s fist dropped against it. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting — maybe that Stefan wouldn’t answer at all. That he’d vanish again like before, like after the party. But the door opened almost instantly.

“Elena,” Stefan said, surprised.

“You have to tell me the truth,” she blurted, voice tight. “Right now.”

Stefan stepped back, and she walked inside.

The living room was dim, the fire low in the hearth. Everything looked… normal. Polished. Calm.

Except for her. She was shaking.

“I went to the archives at the news station,” she started. “I found a video from the 1953 Founder’s Day. There was a man in the background.”

Stefan didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

“It was Damon.”

His jaw tensed.

“He hasn’t aged a day.”

She crossed the room slowly, eyes searching his face.

“And today, Tiki’s grandfather recognized you. He said you looked exactly the same as you did back then.”

Nothing. Not a blink.

“So, Stefan… What are you?”

His voice was low. Careful.

“You know what I am. Say it.”

Her heart started to race. She could barely form the words.

“Vampire.”

There it was.

Not a whisper. Not a guess.

A fact.

The air in the room changed. Cold suddenly.

“You’re a vampire,” she said again, like repeating it would make it make sense.

Stefan stepped forward, quickly. “I haven’t been honest with you, I know that. But I never wanted to hurt you—”

“You lied!” Elena snapped, backing up. “You told me everything was fine, you told me to trust you!”

“Because I didn’t want you to be afraid of me.”

“Well, too late!”

Her voice cracked, eyes glassy.

“How many people have you killed?” she demanded.

“Elena—”

“Tell me the truth!”

Stefan’s voice was quiet.

“I haven’t fed on a human in years. I live off animal blood. I choose to be this way. I don’t hurt people.”

But Elena was trembling.

“And Damon?”

Stefan looked away. That was all the answer she needed.

“So this is what I’ve been walking into?” she whispered. “You and your brother, playing house in a town full of people you pretend to care about?”

“It’s not like that.”

“I saw Sarah Fell after the party,” Elena continued. “She was pale. Confused. You think I wouldn’t notice something was wrong?”

“Damon… doesn’t have the same restraint.”

She shook her head.

“You shouldn’t have come here. Either of you.”

Then her voice softened, twisted with pain.

“I need to think about Jeremy. And Rita. I need to protect them.”

That caught Stefan off guard.

“Rita can take care of herself—”

“You don’t know that,” Elena said. “She acts strong, but she’s different lately. And Jeremy’s already barely hanging on. If they gets dragged into this…”

She couldn’t finish the thought.

“Just stay away from them,” she said. “Please.”

Stefan’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“I would never hurt you. Or them.”

But Elena was already backing toward the door, her face crumbling.

“I can’t do this.”

And then she was gone, leaving Stefan standing alone —

in the silence

in the truth

in the dark

 

The woods were quiet. Too quiet.

A low fog clung to the ground like breath holding in panic. The moon barely cracked through the branches, casting long, warping shadows. Somewhere far off, an owl screeched and took flight. But nothing else stirred.

Until it did.

Fast. Blurred. Feral.

A body slammed against a tree, blood blooming across the bark like paint. Another figure crumpled to the forest floor, eyes wide, mouth open, hands still reaching for air that wouldn’t come.

Damon moved between them like a beast uncaged.

No ring. No daylight protection. No control.

Just teeth, speed, hunger, and rage.

He’d been locked away — again — by his brother. Left in the cellar like an animal, like some shameful secret that needed hiding. But he always found a way out. And when he did… the town paid the price.

He didn’t remember who the people were. Just the way they’d screamed.

How sweet the fear tasted.

How warm the blood was.

Another neck snapped. Another pulse stopped. Another heartbeat silenced.

And for the briefest moment, standing in the middle of his bloodbath, Damon stilled.

Rita’s face flashed in his mind.

The feeling of her blood — sweet like peaches and sunlight — still clung to his mouth, burned down his throat like a memory he couldn’t digest. He hated it. Hated the way it centered him. The way it made all of this feel even emptier.

He ran his tongue over his teeth. Still sharp. Still dripping red.

He didn’t stop until he heard a faint heartbeat.

Meanwhile, deeper in the woods, Stefan moved fast, faster than an human, faster than the sound of branches slashing across his jacket, boots thudding against the dirt. He was following the trail now. Blood. Crushed leaves. Broken trees.

Too late. He was always too late.

By the time he reached the clearing, it was already a massacre.

Five people. Scattered. Drained. Some unrecognizable.

Stefan’s breath hitched.

His brother’s work.

And somewhere in the dark, he could still feel Damon’s presence. Lingering. Watching. Waiting.

He whispered to the silence.

“What have you done…”

 

The house was too quiet.

Rita curled up on the living room couch, legs tucked beneath her, her halo slipping off the back of her silver hair. The glow of the Halloween lights flickered outside the window, casting orange shadows on the walls. Caroline had wanted her to go out. Dress up. Dance. But something in Rita’s chest had felt heavy all day — a dull pressure, like a storm pressing against her ribs.

Jeremy paced nearby, his arms crossed over his chest, shoulders tight. He hadn’t said much all evening. Neither of them had.

“You okay?” Rita finally asked.

He paused, looked at her, then shook his head.

“I feel like something bad’s about to happen.”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Me too.”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

They both jolted.

Jeremy moved first, instinctively placing himself between Rita and the door.

“Probably some kids trick-or-treating,” he said, but his voice didn’t sound convinced.

He opened the door—

And Vicki stood there.

Wild hair. Dilated eyes. Dirt on her face. Her jacket torn and stained.

“Vicki?” Jeremy breathed.

She looked at him with wide, unfocused eyes. “I don’t… I don’t feel good.”

She stumbled forward into his arms. Jeremy caught her instinctively.

Rita stood now, slowly approaching.

“What happened to you?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know,” Vicki mumbled. “I woke up in the woods. My head hurts. My heart… it’s racing and I’m freezing and burning and—” she winced, clutching her side.

Jeremy helped her sit down on the couch.

Rita’s eyes scanned her — no visible wounds, no blood. But her aura… something in it was wrong. It pulsed irregularly, flickering between life and something not life.

“Should I call someone?” Jeremy asked, looking up at Rita.

She hesitated.

“I… I don’t know. She’s not injured, but she’s not fine either. I don’t think this is something a hospital can fix.”

Vicki groaned, curling into herself.

Rita stepped closer, unsure, her fingers twitching. Her instincts were screaming, but they didn’t make sense. She didn’t know what she was feeling — just that Vicki’s energy was fraying, unstable.

“Do you want some water?” she asked gently.

“No,” Vicki whispered. “No, I want— I need…”

Her voice broke off into a guttural sound, and for a split second, her eyes flashed black.

Rita blinked, startled, but before she could speak, Vicki turned her face away and buried herself against Jeremy’s chest.

“Please don’t leave me,” she whispered.

“We won’t,” Jeremy said firmly.

Rita sat beside them slowly, still watching. Uneasy.

She didn’t know what was happening.

But something inside her whispered

This wasn’t hers to heal.

 

Notes:

Hey guys, I wrote this chapter at least three times and i wrote more than 11000 words... so I decided to cut the chapter in two, I will post the second part Sunday! A lot is happening in these chapters, and I hope the pace is alright.
Rita and a Mikaelson encounter arrives really soon.
I'm enjoying all ur comments, thank you so much for reading all of this!!

Chapter 9: nine

⊰᯽⊱ ──── ⊰⚜︎⊱ ──── ⊰᯽⊱

 

 

The October sun spilled lazily through the kitchen windows, casting gold over the countertops and the half-empty cereal bowl Rita had forgotten to eat.

She stood barefoot by the fridge, quietly sipping a peach-flavored iced tea, wearing an oversized sweater that once belonged to Jeremy Gilbert. Her silver hair was loosely tied in a messy bun, haloed by the soft light.

Elena walked in.

There was a quiet pause, just the creak of the floorboard under her foot and the distant hum of the TV from Jeremy’s room.

“Hey,” Elena said.

Rita turned. “Hey. You’re up early.”

Elena shrugged, grabbing a spoon from the drawer. “Didn’t sleep well.”

She didn’t elaborate. Just went to the cabinet, pulled out a box of cereal, and poured it with slightly more aggression than necessary.

Rita set her drink down. “Something wrong?”

Elena didn’t answer right away.

Then still not looking at her, she asked, “Have you been avoiding me?”

Rita blinked. “What?”

“I just—” Elena sighed. “Ever since that dinner… with Stefan, Bonnie, and then Damon and Caroline showing up… it feels like you’ve barely looked at me.”

“That’s not true,” Rita said gently.

Elena finally turned to face her, spoon in hand. “It kind of is. You’ve been at Caroline’s like, every day. You don’t even say goodnight anymore. And when we’re in the same room, you’re… somewhere else.”

Rita hesitated. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

Elena looked down, voice softer now. “I just miss you. I miss my sister.”

Rita’s chest tightened. She crossed the room and leaned against the island across from Elena. “I’m sorry. I guess I just got… wrapped up. Caroline’s been needing someone lately, and—”

“And I don’t?” Elena cut in, not sharply, but with something raw underneath. “I need you too. I’m not okay, Rita. And I don’t know how to say that without sounding selfish.”

“You’re not selfish,” Rita whispered.

Elena blinked fast, brushing at her eyes like she was angry for getting teary. “You just… you seem closer to Caroline now than to me. That’s all.”

Rita walked around the island and gently wrapped her arms around her twin.

Elena melted into her like she’d been waiting for this—like she hadn’t realized how tense her shoulders were until now.

“You’re my sister,” Rita murmured. “No one could ever replace that.”

They stood like that for a long moment, quiet and breathing the same air.

Then Rita pulled back slightly. “Is something else going on? With you? Or… Vicki?”

Elena stiffened. It was subtle—but Rita noticed.

“I—” Elena looked away. “No. Not really. Vicki’s just… unstable. The drugs. She’s been acting weird, but it’s nothing new.”

“You don’t seem convinced.”

“I’m just tired. Everything feels heavier lately.”

Rita studied her for a second longer, but nodded. “Alright.”

“I just think it’s best if you stay away from Vicki for now,” Elena added. “She’s unpredictable.”

Rita nodded again, slowly this time. “Okay.”

But something in her gut twisted anyway.

Like she already knew it wasn’t just drugs.

 

Elena’s phone buzzed just as she stepped outside. The icy air bit at her skin, crisp and sharp, but her fingers trembled more from fatigue than cold. She hadn’t slept—not really—just replayed Vicki’s attitude over and over in her mind.

She glanced down at the screen.

Sarah Fell.

Ugh.

Elena considered ignoring it. But the girl had a talent for persistence, and Elena didn’t have the energy for three follow-up texts and a surprise visit at the front door.

She answered.

“Hey, Sarah—”

“She stole from me.”

Elena blinked. “Wait. What?”

“Bonnie,” Sarah snapped, voice shrill with irritation. “She stole from me. That necklace Damon gave me? The one I have since the Founder’s Party? She took it.”

Elena ran a hand through her hair. “Okay… slow down—”

“She came over, all polite, asking about it. Said she liked it. Then she asked to hold it. I let her. And then poof, she left, and the necklace was gone.”

Elena’s stomach sank.

Bonnie hadn’t mentioned anything. But she had seemed off lately. Distant. Tense. She hadn’t even answered Elena’s texts since the party.

“I’m sure there’s an explanation,” Elena said, though she didn’t fully believe it herself.

“Yeah, the explanation is she’s a klepto freak,” Sarah hissed.

“Sarah!”

“Well, sorry, but she is. Damon gave that to me, and now it’s just gone. I want it back.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Elena said carefully. “Okay? I’ll ask her.”

“You better,” Sarah said. “And tell her I’m not afraid of her little pyromaniac tendencies. She doesn’t scare me.”

She hung up.

Elena stared at her phone for a moment, then let out a slow breath.

She didn’t know what was happening between Bonnie and that necklace—but something about it felt off. And somehow… she was sure Damon hadn’t given it away on a whim either.

 

Caroline’s room was a blur of movement and sparkle.

Open palettes were scattered across the vanity, a flat iron hissed somewhere in the background, and a glittery halo headband lay discarded beside a tangled boa. A Britney Spears playlist pulsed softly from the corner speaker.

Rita sat in front of the vanity, dressed in a silky blue robe that belonged to Caroline. Her wavy silver hair was pinned back in soft clips, framing a face that was halfway through makeup. Her angel costume lay across the bed—white satin trimmed with sheer chiffon, the wings slightly crushed from being unpacked.

“You seriously look like a Victoria’s Secret model who floated down from heaven just to judge mortals,” Caroline said, holding a mascara wand like a weapon of divine power.

“I feel like I’m cosplaying,” Rita murmured, cheeks flushed. “Like someone else entirely.”

“That’s the point, babe. Halloween is about the fantasy. The illusion.” Caroline leaned in. “Now blink.”

Rita obeyed as Caroline brushed her lashes. Her fingers were steady, warm where they touched Rita’s cheek.

“You know,” Caroline said after a moment, “You’re glowing. I like that.”

Rita let out a soft laugh. “I’m not sure ‘glowing’ is the right word.”

“Well, it is now. That’s highlighter on your cheekbones. Okay, lips next.”

Rita looked down at the collection of lipsticks laid out on the table. Nudes, reds, berry tones.

“Pick whatever you want,” Caroline offered.

Rita’s fingers hovered above the colors. “What was your first kiss like?” she asked suddenly.

Caroline paused.

“I—what?”

Rita glanced at her through the mirror. “Your first kiss. Was it nice?”

Caroline tilted her head, thinking. “It was… messy. Wet. I was thirteen. His breath smelled like Mountain Dew and gum, and I was too nervous to close my eyes. We bumped noses. I don’t think it even lasted three seconds.”

Rita smiled a little, but her gaze was far off.

“That sounds…” she began, then trailed off.

“Cute?”

“Wanted.”

Caroline frowned. “What do you mean?”

Rita’s voice was quieter now. “Mine wasn’t like that. It just… happened. Someone took it. He didn’t ask. I didn’t want it, but I didn’t stop it either. I didn’t know what to do.”

Silence.

Caroline’s grip on the lip tint loosened. “Rita…”

“I know, it doesn’t sound like a big deal. I just wish my first kiss had been something I wanted. With someone, I actually liked.”

A long pause.

And then Caroline said softly, without thinking, “I could kiss you.”

Rita blinked. “What?”

“I mean…” Caroline’s face turned the color of her blush palette. “As a do-over. To give you something better. A better memory maybe. One, you can actually choose.”

Rita stared at her, wide-eyed. “You’d really do that?”

“I—” Caroline opened her mouth. Closed it. “You’re serious?”

“I don’t know. Why not?” Rita said, quieter now. “If you don’t want to—”

“No! I mean—yes. I mean, I don’t mind. I just didn’t expect you to say yes so fast.”

“Would it make things weird?”

Caroline hesitated. “Only if you regret it.”

“I won’t.”

It came out so sure, so steady, that Caroline’s heart thudded hard in her chest.

She took a small step forward. “Okay. Um. Should I—?”

“I don’t know,” Rita admitted. “You’re the expert.”

Caroline laughed—soft and breathless. “Okay. Come here.”

She reached out gently, touching Rita’s cheek, guiding her forward. Rita’s eyes fluttered shut, her hands clasped nervously in her lap.

Caroline leaned in.

Their lips met softly—tentative, warm, careful.

There was no rush. No pressure.

Just a slow, gentle brush of mouths. A shared breath. A silent promise: this is yours to keep.

When they pulled apart, Rita’s eyes opened slowly. “That was… nice.”

Caroline swallowed, her heart pounding. “Yeah?”

Rita nodded. “Thank you.”

“You deserve a first kiss that feels like you chose it.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the room suddenly filled with something too big to name. And yet, neither of them moved away.

 

Rita hadn’t originally planned on going to the Halloween party. She didn’t like crowds. She didn’t like parties. And she definitely didn’t like the way Mystic Falls felt lately; like something rotten was blooming beneath the pavement.

But Bonnie had insisted, and Elena had guilt-tripped, and Caroline had handed her a white dress with a smirk and said, “You’re wearing this. You’re my angel.”

So she went.

Her wings were flimsy, her halo crooked. The dress was soft and lacy, cinched at the waist. She looked innocent. She didn’t feel it.

Not tonight.

Not with how the air felt thick. Charged. Like the town was holding its breath again.

Tyler’s house was packed. People spilled out the front door and onto the lawn. The music throbbed through the floorboards like a heartbeat out of control. Fog machines. Strobe lights. Plastic bats and way too much fake blood.

And somewhere in that chaos, Vicki was unraveling.

 

Jeremy wandered along the side of the house, hands in his pockets, the sound of muffled bass still thudding behind him. The Halloween party was in full swing, but he needed air. Or space. Or both.

His head was buzzing, not from booze, but from everything else, Vicki’s distance, Elena’s coldness, and that gnawing ache in his chest that felt like something was slipping away from him, again.

Leaves crunched behind him.

Before he could turn—

“Jeremy.”

A hand gripped his wrist and yanked him back into the shadows. He spun, heart racing.

“Vick—Jesus,” he breathed. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Vicki stood too close.

Her costume, a makeshift vampire getup she’d thrown together in five minutes, was disheveled. Her eyes looked wild, unfocused. She was sweating, and her lips were parted like she couldn’t catch her breath.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I just… I needed to see you.”

Jeremy blinked. “It’s okay. It’s okay, just what’s going on? You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“I’m fine now,” she said, but her hands were shaking. “I just… I can’t be here. I can’t be in that house. Matt doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get me.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I need to leave,” she said, frantic now, fingers curling around the fabric of his hoodie. “I can’t stay here, Jeremy. Everything feels wrong. I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin—”

“Okay, okay—breathe—”

She grabbed his face and kissed him hard.

Jeremy staggered back a step, trying to hold her steady, but she was already moving, tugging him toward the edge of the woods.

“Come with me,” she said, voice thick with desperation. “If you come with me, we can be together. Forever.”

Jeremy blinked. “What? Vick—what does that even mean?”

“I’m serious. No more rules. No more lies. Just us.”

She kissed him again, deeper, hungrier, and then he felt it.

A sharp sting on his bottom lip.

Blood.

“Vicki! What the hell?”

But her eyes were already shifting. Her pupils blew wide. She looked half feral now.

“You’re bleeding,” she whispered, and for a moment, she looked horrified by herself.

Then her body tensed.

And her expression changed.

Jeremy stepped back slowly, heart in his throat. “What the hell is happening to you?”

 

The party had spilled into the yard, glitter, sweat, cheap fog machine smoke. But Bonnie wasn’t in the mood to dance anymore. Not after that phone call from Elena. Not after Sarah.

She stood near the side of the house, arms folded, fuming.

Somewhere between her wrist and her heart, the necklace Damon gave to Sarah, the one she now wore, has burned cold.

She didn’t know why she still had it. Why she hadn’t just given it back. But something about it… pulsed. Like it was alive. Like it was meant for her.

Bonnie took a deep breath.

That was when she felt him.

A familiar hum down her spine like a shadow slipping through the dark behind her.

“You’re hard to track down, witchy.”

She turned slowly.

Damon was leaning against the brick wall like it was a runway photo shoot. Messy hair. That damn leather jacket. A look in his eyes like he’d already won.

“I’m not in the mood,” Bonnie said flatly.

“Don’t worry. I’m just here to chat.” He grinned. “Where’d Sarah run off to?”

“Do yourself a favor, Damon, and don’t ask me about Sarah.”

He raised a brow, amused. “Oof. Someone’s loyal.”

“She’s not the same since she met you. And not in a good way.”

“Oh come on. I left her better than I found her.” His smirk twitched. “Though I suppose that depends on how you define ‘better’.”

Bonnie rolled her eyes and turned to leave.

Damon’s gaze caught on the necklace glinting just beneath her collarbone.

He went very still.

“Where’d you get that?”

Bonnie froze. Her hand flew up instinctively, covering it.

“It was a gift.”

“From Sarah?”

“She didn’t want it anymore.”

“That’s funny,” he said softly. “Because I didn’t want her to have it to begin with.”

Bonnie narrowed her eyes. “You know that’s mine, don’t you?”

Damon stepped closer. “That necklace? Isn’t yours.”

“It is now.”

“I’d like it back.”

“I’m not giving it to you,” Bonnie snapped, lifting her chin. “If Sarah wants to give it back, that’s her choice. But I’m not your little errand girl.”

He reached out, fingers brushing the chain.

The moment his skin touched the crystal—

A sharp sizzle. A snap.

Damon hissed, recoiling as smoke curled from his fingertips.

“What the hell—”

Bonnie took a step back, heart hammering. She didn’t know what just happened, but she felt it. The necklace had rejected him. Protected her.

Damon’s jaw clenched, eyes dark. “You should be careful with that thing.”

“Why?” she asked breathlessly. “Scared of a little magic?”

He didn’t answer.

She turned on her heel and ran.

 

The music pulsed through the house like a heartbeat gone wrong. Every bass drop felt like it rattled the walls, vibrating through floors sticky with cider and cheap perfume. Kids danced, shouted, shoved, a blur of polyester wings, dripping fake blood, and flashing LED pitchforks.

Rita stood by the stairs, a plastic red cup filled of lemonade in her hand, wings brushing the banister. Her halo had slipped halfway down her hair. Her silver white curls glowing beneath the fairy lights. She hadn’t even noticed.

She was watching Vicki.

Something was off.

Vicki had come to the party dressed like a vampire, leather corset, blood-painted lips, wild hair and wilder eyes. At first, Rita thought it was just a look, a dramatic Halloween moment. But then she noticed the way Vicki moved. Twitchy. Jittery. Like her bones didn’t fit quite right under her skin. She hadn’t touched her drink. She kept glancing at the exit. At people’s necks.

Elena passed Rita a refill and leaned in.

“Something’s wrong with her,” Rita didn’t look away from Vicki. 

“I know.”

Her stomach was tight with a kind of dread she couldn’t explain. Something primal. Something wrong. Vicki wasn’t just high. She wasn’t just pissed.

She was dangerous.

Then it happened.

Vicki’s head snapped toward the kitchen door, eyes locking on someone behind them. Jeremy.

Rita tensed.

Elena’s breath caught. “No. No, no—”

Vicki shoved past a group of guys in skeleton hoodies and stalked toward Jeremy. He didn’t even flinch, just grinned and opened his arms like they were in one of those cheesy teen dramas he used to hate.

““Vick—Jesus,” he said. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry,” she whispered, breathless. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I just… I needed to see you.”

They kissed. And then they ran. Right out the back door.

“Elena—” Rita started, but Elena was already pushing after them.

Someone spilled a drink of red punch exploded on Rita’s shoes and in the scramble of people, costumes, and chaos, Elena vanished into the crowd.

By the time Rita wiped her hands and twisted around, they were gone.

 

The party had turned chaotic in that way Mystic Falls always did, where something felt a little off, and then suddenly someone was bleeding.

Rita had that itch in her stomach again.

She hadn’t seen Vicki in hours.

Rita had watched her for several long seconds, heart sinking. Something was wrong. Her eyes were wild. Twitchy. Her breathing off. Her hands clenched at her sides as if they didn’t belong to her.

And now, Rita was alone in the hallway. The bass from the speakers vibrated the walls. Drunk kids stumbled past in fake gore and neon wings, none of them noticing the growing sense of dread curling in Rita’s stomach like a storm cloud.

She looked for Caroline or Bonnie. No sign.

She looked for Elena.

Gone too.

Rita stepped outside.

The October air was cooler now. Crisp. Her angel wings fluttered slightly with the wind.

Then she heard it. Voices. Just around the corner.

She followed the sound like a thread unraveling in the dark.

Elena’s voice. Distant. Scared.

“Jeremy!”

Rita’s spine stiffened.

The hairs on her arms rose.

She started running.

 

Elena pushed through the side gate of the house just in time to see Vicki on top of Jeremy biting him. Her mouth was stained red. Her eyes bloodshot and inhuman.

Jeremy screamed.

Elena didn’t hesitate. She grabbed a loose wooden board from beside the trash cans and swung it at Vicki, hard.

“VICKI, NO!”

The wood cracked across Vicki’s back.

She snarled, an unholy sound, and turned on Elena.

Before she could react, Vicki grabbed her by the throat and threw her, hard, into the pile of garbage cans. Elena hit the ground with a gasp, dazed.

“Elena!” Jeremy cried out, trying to reach her.

That’s when Rita arrived.

She saw everything in flashes.  Jeremy on the ground, blood dripping from his lip. Vicki, crazed, twitching, growling. Elena crumpled in the trash, eyes wide in shock.

And Rita just ran. No time to think.

“Jeremy!” she called, breath ragged.

Vicki turned faster than human and in a blink, she was on top of Jeremy again. Her fingers wrapped around his throat, nails digging in.

“Vicki! VICKI—stop!” Jeremy gasped, choking.

“Hey!” Rita shouted, throwing herself forward, grabbing at Vicki’s shoulders. “Vicki, it’s me! Snap out of it!”

But when Vicki turned on her—

There was nothing human left in her eyes.

Only hunger.

Rita barely had time to move.

Vicki slammed her into the side of the house. Rita’s head bounced off the siding and she groaned. Her vision blurred. The wind knocked out of her lungs.

Then Vicki lunged and bit her.

The scream that tore from Rita’s throat was raw. She felt the fangs slide into her neck. Not like Damon. Not careful. Not slow. This was violent. Desperate. Vicki was drinking from her like she was dying of thirst.

“AH—! STOP!” Rita cried out, tears springing to her eyes as the pain seared through her entire body.

Her knees buckled. Her wings bent. Her hands trembled, clawing at Vicki’s arms, but it was no use. She was being drained fast. Everything went cold.

“RITA!” Jeremy yelled.

“LET HER GO!” Elena screamed, stumbling toward them again, dragging herself upright.

Then—

A flash.

Stefan.

A blur of motion. A wooden stake. A cry of anguish. A thud.

Vicki’s body dropped to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. 

Still.

Rita collapsed beside her, barely breathing. Blood soaked her neck, her collarbone, the front of her white costume now stained a deep red.

“Rita—no, no—” Jeremy fell beside her, panicking. “Please—Rita, stay with me—oh my god—”

“I’ve got her,” Stefan said quickly, appearing at her side. He bit into his wrist and pressed the wound to her lips. “Drink. Come on, drink.”

But Rita was barely conscious. Her lips moved but she didn’t swallow much. It wasn’t enough.

Stefan looked grim. “She lost too much.”

Elena knelt beside her, shaking. “No—she can’t—she can’t die. Do something!”

Jeremy was sobbing now, clutching Rita’s hand.

“She’s gonna be okay,” he said, as if saying it would make it true. “You’re okay, Riri. You’re okay. Please wake up.”

But her skin was so pale, and she wasn’t responding. Her body in his arms was far too light, limp like a broken doll. Her costume wings dragged against the floor with every step, smeared in blood and dirt, the white feathers soaked crimson at the tips.

The backyard smelled like blood.

Vicki’s body lay crumpled in a heap, her eyes open wide with nothing behind them anymore. Elena was crouched beside Rita, tears streaking her  cheeks as she tried uselessly to press against the bleeding wound in her sister’s neck.

“Come on,” she whispered. “Come on, please…”

Rita’s body was terrifyingly still.

Jeremy hovered just behind, his hands stained red, whispering her name over and over like a prayer he didn’t believe in.

“Rita—Rita, please wake up—please—”

Elena looked up at Stefan, who stood frozen, jaw tight, blood on his hands too. “It’s not working,” she said through clenched teeth. “You gave her your blood—she’s not waking up—why isn’t she waking up?”

“I don’t—,” Stefan muttered. “I don’t know—” He swallowed hard and looked away from Vicki’s corpse. “We need Damon.”

“I’m already here.”

The voice was like silk wrapped around a blade.

Damon stepped into the room, eyes flicking from Vicki’s body to the crumpled girl on the floor. And then everything changed. His smirk dropped.

He was across Rita in an instant.

“What the hell happened?” he snapped, kneeling beside Rita, brushing a blood-matted curl from her forehead. “What did you do?”

“Vicki—Vicki went feral,” Stefan said. “She attacked Jeremy. Then Rita. I didn’t have time—I didn’t know she would—”

“She drained her.” Damon’s voice was low, dangerous. “She drained her almost dry.”

 

He kicked open the door to one of the Salvatore guest rooms, teeth clenched, rage crackling under his skin. Stefan followed behind, silent, guilt painted across his face.

“She’s not healing fast enough,” Damon muttered, laying Rita on the bed with a gentleness that betrayed his own panic.

“She will,” Stefan said quickly, but it sounded like a lie even to his own ears.

Rita’s skin was nearly translucent. Her lips were blue. Blood was drying at the corner of her mouth.

“She lost too much,” Stefan added, stepping closer. “I gave her mine already. It should’ve been enough.”

“Well, clearly it wasn’t,” Damon snapped. “Do something.”

“Like what?”

Damon didn’t answer. He was already biting into his wrist.

Stefan’s eyes widened. “Damon—”

“I don’t care,” Damon growled. “I’m not letting her die.”

He pressed his bleeding wrist to her lips.

At first, nothing, then her throat worked. A swallow, another, but she didn’t stir, she didn’t move. Her breathing remained shallow.

Damon pulled back, watching the wound on his wrist knit closed, eyes locked on her pale face. “Why isn’t she waking up?”

Stefan didn’t reply. Damon’s hands curled into fists. 

Rita looked like death. Still and fragile, her white-silver hair matted with sweat. There were bruises blooming across her neck where Vicki had grabbed her, and scratches along her arms from when she’d tried to pull Vicki off Jeremy. Her wings were broken. Her lips cracked. Her heartbeat faint. Too faint.

“I’m giving her more,” Stefan said suddenly, already biting into his wrist again.

“She can’t drink anymore,” Damon snapped. “You’ll surely overwhelm her system.”

“She needs it. She’s not—she’s surely not human. Not fully. You know that.”

The second his blood touched her tongue, she gasped, choked, arched off the bed like something yanked her soul back into her body.

Damon grabbed her shoulders instinctively, holding her steady. “Rita—”

She coughed hard, body wracking with tremors, then went limp again, breathing ragged and hoarse.

Her eyes fluttered, then slowly they opened, glassy, but awake.

Damon exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for centuries. Stefan stepped back. Relief washed over him, but it was laced with guilt. He looked away, jaw clenched.

Rita blinked. Her lips moved.

“Jeremy…” she croaked.

“He’s fine,” Damon said instantly, brushing a piece of hair from her face. “He’s okay. You saved him.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, she tried to sit up.

“Hey, hey—no,” Damon said, easing her back. “Take it slow. You almost died.”

She winced. “Did I…?”

“You lost a lot of blood,” Stefan said softly. “Too much. We gave you ours. You’ll heal.”

“I—” Rita looked around. Her fingers gripped the bedsheets. “Where am I?”

“Our house,” Damon answered.

“Of course,” she whispered. “Figures I wake up here.”

There was a beat of silence. Damon chuckled dryly.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

She looked at him.

He wasn’t smirking. Not really. There was something tight behind his eyes, deeper than amusement. He looked… wrecked. Like watching her almost die had rattled something in him, he couldn’t put back in place.

Rita didn’t say anything.

Her throat hurt. Her whole body ached, her vision was still a little blurry.

“Is Vicki…?” she asked, barely audible.

Stefan looked at Damon.

Damon looked at the wall.

Then back at her. “Gone.”

Rita shut her eyes. Her breath hitched. She remembered it all. The scream. The bite. Her own scream when Vicki’s fangs tore into her shoulder. The sound of wood breaking skin. The weight of Vicki’s body as it collapsed beside her.

And Jeremy.

Jeremy crying. Screaming her name.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Jeremy—he—”

“Shh,” Damon said. “He’s with Elena. Safe. He’s okay.”

She nodded faintly. Tears burned behind her eyes but didn’t fall.

Damon just kept watching her.

She was still so pale. Her skin almost glowed in the dim lamplight, hauntingly ethereal. His blood was in her now. So was Stefan’s. It was a mess. It was wrong. But he didn’t regret it.

He’d do it again. He would’ve done anything to keep her alive.

“Why?” she asked, cracking the silence. “Why did you come?”

Damon raised an eyebrow. “You wanted me to let you bleed out?”

She shook her head. “No, I mean… why did you care?”

Damon didn’t answer right away.

He looked down at his hand, flexed his fingers once.

Then looked back at her.

“You’re not just anyone, Rita.”

She stared at him, trying to understand what he meant.

He didn’t elaborate.

Just stood.

“She needs rest,” Stefan said.

Rita tried to sit again. Damon moved closer like he was going to help her.

“I need to see Jeremy.”

“You need to sleep,” Stefan said firmly.

“I—”

“You almost died.”

She stopped arguing. Fell back into the pillows, trembling.

Silence.

Then, out of nowhere, Damon muttered under his breath:

“I shouldn’t have let her touch you.”

Rita blinked slowly, unsure if she’d heard that right.

“What?”

“I knew she wasn’t stable,” he said, voice tight. “I should’ve known she’d go for you. You were too close. And Jeremy—fuck.”

He ran a hand through his hair.

Rita watched him. There was something in his expression that was unfamiliar.

“You don’t get to feel guilty,” she whispered.

His gaze snapped to hers.

“You bit me too,” she added. “You kissed me when I didn’t want you to. Don’t pretend this is some noble redemption arc.”

Damon didn’t flinch.

“Still saved your life,” he muttered.

Rita rolled her eyes. “Thanks, I guess.”

A beat.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

And for once, it sounded real.

Not flirtation. Not manipulation. Just a man who knew he’d fucked up—and couldn’t take it back.

Rita looked at the ceiling. The ache in her chest wouldn’t leave. Her whole body felt hollow. Shaky, but she was alive.

Barely.

“Tell Jeremy I’m okay,” she said.

“I will,” Stefan answered.

Damon just watched her.

“Get some sleep, princess,” he said softly, using the nickname like it was second nature.

She didn’t reply.

But her lashes fluttered closed.

Her breathing evened out.

And for the first time in what felt like hours, she was still.

 

The wind had picked up, rustling fallen leaves across the porch as Elena stepped outside, her fists clenched and her heart practically splitting in two. Everything had unraveled. Vicki was dead. Jeremy was shattered. And Rita—

Her breath caught.

She spotted Damon standing alone in the shadows, leaning against the railing like he didn’t just ruin multiple lives tonight. His sleeves were rolled, hands tucked into his pockets, and he didn’t even flinch when she stormed toward him.

“You should go,” Damon said, voice calm. Too calm. “I got this.”

She laughed, bitter and sharp. “You got this?” Her voice cracked. “You got this?”

He tilted his head, giving her that trademark smirk that had lost all its charm. “Yeah. I do.”

“You did this.” Her voice dropped. Her eyes were glassy. “This is your fault.”

He opened his mouth, but she didn’t let him speak. Her hand flew, slapping him across the face. Hard. The sound cracked through the night like a whip.

He caught her wrist before the second hit. His grip was firm but not violent. Just enough to stop her.

“Elena—”

“No!” she cried, yanking her hand free. “You don’t get to say my name right now. Not when Rita nearly died. Not when Vicki—God, Damon! She was a kid! Jeremy loved her.”

Damon’s expression shifted, but only slightly. “None of it matters,” he said, voice flat. “Not to me.”

“Bullshit!” Elena shouted, stepping closer, her whole body trembling. “It does matter. You just pretend it doesn’t. People die around you, or they get hurt, or broken, or worse. And you just keep going like it’s nothing.”

His face was unreadable. A blank mask.

“I almost lost my sister tonight,” she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. “And you don’t care. You never do.”

“I told you to leave,” he said coldly. “You’re bleeding. You need rest.”

Elena stared at him, fury and grief swirling in her chest. “No. You need to listen.”

She slammed her palm against his chest, pushing him back a step. “You did this. You turned Vicki. You set all of this in motion. And maybe you think none of us matter. But we do. Rita matters. Jeremy matters.”

His eyes flickered at her words, jaw clenched.

She pulled away and shook her head. “You’re a monster.”

Damon said nothing.

“You might not care now, but one day… this will come back to you. All of it.”

Then she turned, walking toward her car, toward whatever broken pieces were left to salvage.

Behind her, Damon stood in silence, hands curled into fists, the weight of her words heavier than any wound he’d ever taken.

And for a fleeting second… he wished he didn’t care.

But he did.

About her.

About the girl with silver hair he couldn’t get out of his head.

 

The house was too quiet. It felt like the kind of silence that came after something unfixable.

Elena pulled into the driveway with numb hands gripping the steering wheel. She hadn’t spoken a word the entire ride. The only sound had been her own heartbeat, thudding in her ears, and the ache in her chest growing heavier with every breath.

Stefan was already on the porch, sitting on the steps with his elbows on his knees, staring at nothing.

She didn’t even slow down. “Where is he?”

He stood, eyes soft and tired. “Inside.”

Elena walked past him without another word. Her hand trembled as she turned the knob.

The living room light was on, casting a dull glow across the space that felt like a different universe from just hours ago.

Jeremy was on the couch, hunched over, face pale, eyes red. His hands were shaking. When he looked up, there was a desperation in his eyes that hit her like a punch.

“How’s Rita?” he asked quickly, voice raw.

Elena crossed to him in two strides, kneeling in front of him. “She’s better,” she whispered. “She’s with Caroline. She just needs rest, but she’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Jeremy’s face twisted. The relief barely had time to land before it crumbled into something else entirely. He dropped his head and covered his face with his hands. His shoulders began to shake.

“Jer…”

He didn’t answer. He just cried.

Elena crawled onto the couch beside him and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close, like when they were kids, and he used to have nightmares.

“Do you understand what happened tonight?” she asked softly, even though she hated the question. She hated saying it aloud, hated dragging it into reality.

Jeremy pulled back, blinking through his tears. “No,” he said hoarsely. “I mean, I know what I saw, but… I don’t understand.”

Elena nodded. “Vicki was going to kill Rita. Maybe even you. She wasn’t herself anymore.”

“But now she’s dead,” he said, barely a whisper. “Vicki’s dead.”

His voice cracked on her name, and Elena felt her own tears spill.

“I’m so sorry, Jer.”

He shook his head. “Make it stop. It hurts.”

“Shh,” Elena whispered, hugging him tighter. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Jeremy clung to her, burying his face in her shoulder.

“Why does everybody either die or get hurt because of me?” he choked. “What the hell did I ever do?”

Elena’s throat closed up. She pulled back just enough to cup his face. “You didn’t do anything. This isn’t your fault, Jeremy. None of this is.”

She kissed his forehead and rested her chin on his head, rocking him gently.

Outside, Stefan hadn’t moved from the porch steps. His hands were clasped between his knees, his expression haunted.

When Elena came out, she rubbed her arms like she couldn’t get warm.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

Stefan didn’t look at her at first. “I wanted to help her,” he said. “I thought I could save her. But instead… How’s he doing?”

“He’s a mess,” Elena whispered. “He’s just a kid, Stefan. I don’t want him going through this again.”

Stefan nodded, jaw tight. “Elena, what can I do? I’ll do anything. Just tell me.”

She looked at him for a long moment, heart heavy. Then she said it.

“Can you make him forget?”

Stefan’s brows pulled together. “Elena…”

“Please,” she begged. “I don’t know how he’ll ever get past this. I don’t want him carrying this forever. Just—just take it away. All of it.”

He stood, guilt written all over him. “If I did it… there’s no guarantee it would work. Because of what I am, how I live. I don’t have the ability to do it right.”

A shadow shifted nearby.

“I can do it,” Damon said from behind them.

They both turned. His voice was calm, flat, like he’d made peace with what he was offering. “If this is what you want… I’ll do it.”

Elena stared at him, eyes rimmed red. “It’s what I want.”

Damon stepped closer. “What do you want him to know?”

Elena swallowed. “Tell him Vicki left town. That she’s not coming back. That he shouldn’t look for her or worry about her. He’ll miss her, but he knows it’s for the best.”

She hesitated, eyes stinging again. “And tell him… tell him Rita just stumbled. That she was never hurt. She stayed the night at Caroline’s.”

Damon gave a subtle nod and disappeared into the house.

Elena dropped beside Stefan on the porch, hugging her knees to her chest. Silence stretched between them.

“Part of me wishes I could forget, too,” she said finally. “Forget meeting you, finding out what you are. Everything that’s happened since.”

Stefan looked at her, face unreadable. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Because I don’t want it to be like this. I don’t want to feel like this.”

She blinked hard. “But I can’t. With everything that’s happened… I can’t lose the way I feel about you.”

Stefan didn’t say anything. He just reached for her hand.

Damon came back outside.

“It’s done,” he said simply.

And for a moment, none of them spoke.

Elena hadn’t moved from where she sat beside Stefan, knees pulled to her chest. Damon leaned against the railing, arms crossed, eyes flicking toward the road like he wanted to disappear into it.

But Elena’s voice cut through the silence.

“When are you going to see Rita?”

Damon’s head turned slowly. “Why?”

Elena looked up, face tight, voice quiet but clear. “Because I want you to do it for her, too.”

His eyes narrowed, just slightly. “You want me to compel Rita?”

Elena nodded. “She saw everything. Vicki feeding on Jeremy. The bite. The stake. The blood. She almost died.”

"Maybe she'll want to remember," Stefan said in a soft voice. 

“She shouldn’t have to carry it,” Elena shot back, looking between the two of them. “She’s my sister. She didn’t ask for any of this. None of us did.”

Damon exhaled slowly, gaze dropping.

“I’ll do it,” he said after a pause. “If that’s what she wants.”

“No,” Elena interrupted. “Do it even if she doesn’t.”

Damon arched a brow. “That’s not the right thing for her..”

“It has to be,” she whispered. “You said it yourself — it’s better when they don’t know. When they forget.”

Stefan didn’t say anything, but his jaw was clenched.

“She’s already fragile,” Elena continued, voice wobbling. “She was… screaming, Damon. You weren’t there. Jeremy couldn’t pull Vicki off her. I couldn’t either. She was bleeding out, right in front of me. I—”

She stopped, trying to swallow the emotion.

“I don’t want her to remember any of it.”

Damon studied her.

“I’ll see her in the morning,” he said finally, but something in his voice had changed. Lower. Quieter.

Elena wiped her eyes, nodding.

“Tell her it was a nightmare,” she said. “A bad dream. Tell her she fainted during the party. She never made it upstairs. That she’s safe. That she was never touched.”

Damon nodded once. But he didn’t move. His face had gone still again, like he was already rehearsing the lie in his mind.

“Don’t screw it up,” Elena added softly.

Damon’s smirk barely touched his lips as he turned away.

“I’ll try,” he said, knowing full well it wouldn’t work on her.

 

The morning sun bled through the curtains of the Salvatore manor, casting golden beams over the antique furniture. Rita sat at the dining table, still in yesterday’s clothes. Her angel wings were gone, discarded somewhere between the chaos and her half-conscious state. Her skin was pale but no longer deathly, though her soul felt bruised beyond repair.

Damon placed a steaming plate in front of her. Scrambled eggs, buttery pancakes, thick bacon, he’d gone all out. A glass of orange juice on the side. “Breakfast of champions,” he said, pulling the chair across from her with a smirk. “You look better. Alive suits you.”

Rita blinked at the food. “You made all this?”

“Don’t act so shocked, I know how to use a pan.” He leaned forward, eyes scanning her face. “You’re still a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered, poking at the eggs with her fork.

There was a beat of silence, too heavy, too loaded. Damon tilted his head, expression softening into something cautious. “Listen, there’s something I need to do. Elena’s idea, not mine.”

Rita’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What is it?”

He met her gaze, the usual spark in his eyes dimmed into something… restrained. “I’m gonna compel you. Just a little push, help you forget last night.”

Her chair scraped the floor as she stood, heart kicking up in her chest. “No.”

Damon remained seated, but his voice turned low. “You don’t get it, princess. She’s trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need her protection.” Rita’s voice cracked. “You already took Jeremy’s memories?”

Damon nodded slowly. “He’s sleeping like a baby now. No nightmares, no trauma. Elena didn’t want either of you carrying that.”

Rita’s jaw clenched, fingers trembling. “So she decided for both of us.”

“She thinks you’re fragile.”

“I’m not,” she said, voice shaking. “I’ve lived through worse. I have the right to remember.”

Damon sighed. “Figured you’d say that.” He got up, brushing past her without even trying. “Compulsion doesn’t work on you anyway.”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her heart felt like it had been scooped out and replaced with Elena’s good intentions.

He drove her home in silence. The streets of Mystic Falls looked almost peaceful, kids riding bikes, dogs barking, leaves drifting lazily through the crisp autumn air, but everything inside Rita screamed.

When they pulled up in front of the Gilbert house, she didn’t say thank you. She just opened the door and got out.

Inside, the kitchen was warm, the smell of coffee in the air. Jenna and Elena were laughing softly. Elena turned first when she heard the door.

“Rita—”

But Rita didn’t look at her. She walked straight past, up the stairs, her footsteps sharp and final.

“Rita,” Elena called again, following her. “Can we just talk—please?”

Rita reached her bedroom door, turned the knob, and slammed it shut behind her. She leaned against it, breathing hard.

Elena stood outside, hand raised as if she might knock, but she didn’t. She just whispered, “I’m sorry,” and walked away.

A few minutes passed, then Rita opened her door again—but only once she was sure Elena had gone.

She crossed the hall, gently pushing open Jeremy’s door. He was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, earbuds in. He looked up, surprised, and tugged them out.

“Oh—hey,” he smiled. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to.”

He gestured for her to sit beside him. “You okay? You look—better.”

“Yeah.” She sat slowly. “And you?”

He shrugged. “I’m fine. I guess.”

She hesitated. “Do you… remember what happened last night?”

Jeremy tilted his head. “You stumbled, right? Hit your head or something. Elena said you stayed at Caroline’s.”

Rita’s breath caught. “And Vicki?”

His expression faltered. “She left town. Said she couldn’t stay. It’s for the best.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I mean… I miss her. But she’s gone, and I’m not worried about her. I know it’s better this way.”

There was a strange edge to his voice. A calm too clean. Too perfect.

Rita’s eyes welled up. “Do you trust me, Jeremy?”

“Of course.”

“Even if it hurts?”

He blinked, brows pulling together. “Why would you ask that?”

“I just need to know.”

He nodded, more confused now. “Yeah. I trust you.”

She rolled up her sleeve, exposing the inside of her wrist. With a small breath, she pressed her thumbnail into her skin until blood rose. Then, quietly, she held it out to him.

Jeremy froze. “What—”

“Please,” she said. “Just trust me.”

Something inside him stirred. A pull he didn’t understand. He leaned forward slowly, lips parting. As he drank from her wrist, warm copper flooded his senses, familiar, comforting, yet electric.

Then—

Flash.

Vicki’s face. Snarling. Teeth at his throat.

Flash.

Rita screaming. Blood pouring down her neck.

Flash.

Wood splintering. Stefan’s hand on the broken leg of a chair. A stake.

Flash.

Vicki falling.

Flash.

Rita’s body, pale and cold.

He pulled away from her wrist with a gasp, eyes wide.

“Rita,” he whispered, voice trembling, “I remember everything.”

She nodded slowly, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“I know.”

 

Notes:

I almost forgot to post!! thankfully, I saw a comment that reminded me, ahaha.
thank you so much for reading and ur comments on the last chapter, I hope you enjoyed it!
let me know what you think, feedback is always appreciated.
did you like the tone of the chapter? do you have any suggestions for improvement?
A Mikaelson is showing up in the next chapter!
I’ll be posting chapter 10 next Friday (the 8th).
have a lovely Sunday everyone!

Chapter 10: ten

⊰᯽⊱ ──── ⊰⚜︎⊱ ──── ⊰᯽⊱

Morning light poured in the Gilbert house, golden and soft, like nothing tragic had happened.

But everything had.

Jeremy sat at the edge of Rita’s bed, shoulders hunched. He hadn’t spoken since she gave him her blood—just trembled silently, breathing in shallow bursts like the truth was punching its way back into his chest.

She sat cross-legged beside him, knees touching, eyes fixed on his face like she could anchor him with just a look.

Then, finally—

“I remember everything.”

His voice cracked mid-word. Like it hurt to say it. Maybe it did.

Rita swallowed, whispering, “I know.”

Jeremy’s jaw clenched, his entire body stiff with emotion. “She attacked you. She bit you.” He turned his head slowly toward her, eyes wide with horror. “And Stefan killed her.”

“He saved me,” Rita said softly, but her voice trembled too. “He had no choice.”

He laughed, bitter and broken. “No choice? He was holding a stake. He drove it into her heart. That’s not instinct, that’s—” His voice died off, choking on the truth.

“I’m still here because of him,” she repeated, firmer this time.

Silence settled like fog between them.

Jeremy rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms, shaking his head. “Why did they make me forget? Why did she—Elena—think she had the right to erase that?”

Rita didn’t answer right away. She couldn’t. Not because she didn’t know—because the truth felt like a knife in her chest too.

“I think… she thought it would protect us.”

Jeremy scoffed. “Protect us from what? Reality?”

“Pain,” Rita said quietly.

He turned to her sharply. “But it didn’t protect you. You remembered everything. You had to carry it alone while I walked around smiling like nothing happened. And Elena knew that. She knew you’d be alone in it.”

Rita looked down, twisting her fingers together in her lap. “She didn’t know compulsion doesn’t work on me.”

Jeremy blinked. “Wait—what?”

She shrugged. “It never has. Damon tried once…”

Jeremy just stared at her, and for a second, she felt like he was seeing her—really seeing her—for the first time.

“I trusted her,” he muttered, voice shaking.

His fists tightened in his lap. “They stole her from me thrice. First when she died the first time, then when they staked her. And again when they took the memory of it away.”

Rita’s chest ached. She reached out, placing her hand gently over his.

“We remember now,” she whispered. “And they can’t take that from us again.”

Jeremy met her eyes. There was something new in his expression. Not the soft boyish warmth she’d grown up with. Something sharp, wary. Wounded.

He nodded slowly. “Then we keep it between us. They can’t know.”

She exhaled, a breath that felt like it had been trapped in her lungs for hours. “Okay.”

Jeremy looked down at their joined hands. “We’re alone in this, aren’t we?”

A beat.

“No,” she said. “Not alone. Just… awake.”

They sat in silence after that. Just breathing. Just existing in a world that had gone sideways.

And then—Rita’s phone buzzed.

A message from Caroline:

You okay? Haven’t heard from you last night. Tonight party’s at the Grill, it’s Stefan's birthday. You come right ??

She didn’t answer.

Jeremy glanced at the screen. “You’re going?”

“I have to. Stefan’s birthday. I don’t want him to think I’m avoiding him.”

“You are,” Jeremy said bluntly.

She gave him a weak smile. “Yeah. But I don’t want him to know that.”

Jeremy stood suddenly, walking toward the window. “I’m scared, Riri.”

“I know.”

He turned back, his face pale and raw. “But I’m also angry. At them. At her. I feel like I don’t belong in my own life anymore.”

She rose and crossed the room slowly. Placed her hands on his shoulders. “Then let’s make our own space in it.”

He looked at her, eyes full of something sacred.

“A pact?” he asked.

Rita nodded. “You and me. We remember. We choose for ourselves now.”

Jeremy reached out, pinky held up. “Swear it.”

Rita’s pinky curled around his. “Sworn.”

And just like that, the world didn’t feel as heavy.

Not yet.

 

The Salvatore house was still.

Too still.

Stefan stirred from his chair, blinking awake, just as the book on his lap slipped and hit the floor with a dull thud. The quiet was immediately broken by the creak of floorboards upstairs—too heavy to be the wind. He stiffened.

“Damon?” he called out, standing slowly.

Another thud. A whisper of air. Then a blur.

He barely had time to react before he was slammed back into the wall.

“Lexi!?”

The blonde grinned, wild and radiant. “Hi.”

He let out a shocked laugh, wrapping her in a hug that felt like stepping back into an old life. “What are you doing here?”

She smirked into his shoulder. “How could you even ask that?”

“I missed you.”

“Happy birthday, broody boy.”

They ended up sprawled on Stefan’s bed, Lexi kicking off her boots as they caught up between giggles and old jabs.

“Some freak shot at me with wooden bullets,” she said, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. “I bailed in under sixty seconds. Mystic Falls really knows how to roll out the welcome mat.”

Stefan shook his head. “I don’t know who knows about us anymore. That guy did. There could be others.” He looked at her seriously. “Do me a favor? Just… be careful while you’re here.”

Lexi arched a brow. “So much for a relaxing weekend. I was headed to New York—Bon Jovi at the Garden. ‘Wanted Dead or Alive,’ obviously. Our theme song.”

Stefan smiled at the memory. “Think he’d actually remember us?”

“We made out with a roadie on stage. If he doesn’t remember us, he’s dead inside.” She paused. “C’mon. Let’s go. Let’s make him remember us. I’ve got vampire groupie energy to burn.”

Stefan’s smile faded slightly. “I can’t.”

Lexi sat up, eyeing him. “What’s keeping you here?”

“Elena.”

Lexi narrowed her eyes. “Let’s hope she’s better than the last girl you got all sprung over.” She reached toward the nightstand and grabbed the photo frame. “Oh, look, it’s your trauma!”

Stefan snatched the photo of Katherine out of her hand, groaning. “You didn’t even know her.”

“Because if I had, I’d have ripped her curls out and mailed them to her exes.” Lexi rolled her eyes. “Little bitch.”

Stefan couldn’t help but smile. “You’re impossible.”

“Speaking of impossible—where’s Damon? Still playing American Psycho?”

“Probably out doing damage somewhere,” he said dryly. “You okay being alone? I’ve got some things to handle.”

Lexi shrugged. “It’s not like I can go tanning. You and Damon are the only ones with those snazzy daylight rings. I’ve got a mood ring from 1975. Wanna trade?”

“Doesn’t work like that, and you know it.”

“Ugh. Fine.” She leaned back dramatically. “Hey, Lex,” she mimicked, deepening her voice. “I’m really glad you came here.”

Stefan smiled genuinely this time. “I mean it.”

“So, what are we doing for your birthday?” she asked. “It’s not every day a guy turns 162.”

He groaned. “God, stop.”

 

Later, in the Sheriff’s office, things were colder.

Jeremy sat quietly beside Jenna, playing the role perfectly. When the Sheriff asked if he remembered anything about Vicki’s behavior, he simply said no. That she seemed sad. A little erratic.

Matt said the same.

Even Elena.

Even Stefan.

The lie passed from mouth-to-mouth like cheap wine—sweet on the tongue, bitter in the stomach.

Stefan waited by the car as Elena stepped out last, her face a mix of guilt and exhaustion.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I don’t think the Sheriff suspected anything,” she said softly. “Jeremy had no memory at all. All he knew was what Damon made him know.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

“I can’t do this, Stefan.” Her voice cracked. “Every time I look at Matt or Jeremy, all I think is that Vicki is never coming back. And they’ll never know why.”

He stepped toward her, but she pulled back.

“Around you, people get hurt. People die. I can’t—I just… it’s too much.”

“Why don’t we go somewhere and talk about it?”

“No.” Her voice was firm. “Stefan, you have to stay away from me.”

 

Back at the Boarding House, Lexi was curled up on Stefan’s bed when the mattress shifted.

Her eyes opened blearily. “Huh?”

She turned—and nearly decked Damon.

“Boo,” he whispered.

Lexi groaned, immediately regretting not locking the door. “Unexpected surprise. I think the wrong brother went back to high school.”

“How long are you in town for?”

“Just for Stefan’s birthday.”

Damon grinned. “You mean you didn’t come all this way to see me?”

Lexi snorted. “That’s it. After a century, I finally realized death means nothing without you. Do me.”

“Why are you so mean to me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Have you met you? You’re not a nice person.”

“That’s because I’m a vampire.”

“You’re only the bad parts.”

“Teach me to be good,” he purred, leaning in.

Lexi didn’t hesitate—she grabbed him by the throat and slammed him back.

“I’m older,” she hissed, her fingers tight, “which means I’m stronger. So don’t ruin my time with Stefan. Because I will hurt you.”

Damon choked out a wheeze. “Got it.”

Lexi let him go and tossed the blanket off. “Good. Now get out.”

 

The late afternoon sun stretched through the living room windows, warm and golden, too gentle for the storm Elena was feeling inside.

She sat curled up on the couch, a throw blanket draped around her shoulders like a shield. Her eyes were red-rimmed, makeup smudged from where she hadn’t wiped it off properly after crying. Her knee bounced with nervous energy, but her voice was quiet.

Across from her, Jeremy scribbled in his notebook, not draws, not song lyrics, but actual math homework.

That alone was alarming.

Jenna walked in, holding two mugs. She handed one to Elena before flopping beside her with a dramatic sigh.

“You’re wallowing,” Jenna said.

Elena blinked. “So are you.”

“My wallow is legitimate,” Jenna deadpanned. “I was dumped.”

Elena gave her a look.

“Okay, okay,” Jenna added, blowing on her drink. “You and Stefan are at the odds, but come on — at least he didn’t send you a brush-off email saying: ‘I’m leaving town. See ya.’ No punctuation. No explanation.”

“That’s true,” Elena muttered, half a laugh under her breath.

There was a pause. A weirdly long one.

Then Jenna glanced toward the stairs.

“Where’s Rita by the way?”

Jeremy didn’t even look up.

“She’s sleeping in her room,” he said dryly. “Wanna keep it down over there?”

Jenna raised a brow. “Why? What are you doing?”

“Homework.”

Elena turned toward him, suspicious. “Since when do you do homework?”

Jeremy paused, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers. “Not your fucking business, Elena.”

The room froze.

Jenna blinked between them. Elena didn’t even flinch — just stared, hurt flickering across her features before she masked it with a tight smile.

Jeremy went back to scribbling, jaw clenched.

“What do you think?” Elena whispered to Jenna. “Alien? Pod person?”

“Some kind of replicant,” Jenna whispered back, nudging her shoulder.

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “He can hear you.”

“Good,” Elena muttered, staring into her cup like it had answers. “Maybe then he’ll explain why he hates me all of a sudden.”

Jeremy didn’t respond.

 

Stefan was mid-brood, arms crossed as he leaned against the dresser while Lexi rifled through her suitcase like a hurricane in heels. A blood bag sloshed faintly as she pulled it free, tearing into it with a casual flair.

“So,” she said between sips, “this Elena girl. She’ll come around. I’m sure of it.” She cocked her head and gave him a knowing smirk. “Have you had sex yet?”

Stefan choked on air. “What?”

Lexi rolled her eyes and collapsed onto the bed like a cat in the sun. “Sex always works. I mean, you’ll rock her world so hard with your vamp sex, she’ll be yours forever.”

“Yeah, but see,” Stefan muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, “this isn’t about sex. Or any of our other… tricks. She has to want to be with me—on her own terms.”

Lexi sat up, blinking at him in mock awe. “Wow. That sounded all mature and grown-up.”

“I’m not getting any older,” he deadpanned.

She raised the blood bag like a toast. “Touché.”

Stefan crossed the room, eyeing the crimson liquid warily. “Where’d you even get that?”

“This phlebotomist I went out with a few times. He’s my supplier now.” She took another sip. “Relax. I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Not judging,” Stefan said quickly, though his face told another story.

She narrowed her eyes. “Stefan. I tried the animal diet. I lasted three weeks before I almost ripped out a yoga instructor’s throat mid shavasana. I delight in hedonism. And you…” She waved a hand at him. “You delight in martyrdom. It’s exhausting.”

He exhaled, voice low. “It doesn’t matter. Because if I started again… I just don’t know if I could stop.”

Lexi’s smirk softened. She scooted to the edge of the bed. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Ever.”

A beat passed.

“Speaking of indulgence…” She flopped back dramatically. “What are we doing tonight?”

As if on cue, the door creaked open and Damon leaned against the frame like a smug invitation.

“Funny you should ask,” he said.

Lexi didn’t even look at him. “I wasn’t asking you.”

“There’s a party at the Grill,” Damon continued, strolling in like he owned the place—which, to be fair, he sort of did. “Banquettes. Tacky wait staff. All of Stefan’s favorite high school friends.”

Stefan gave him a glare. “Yeah, I don’t want a birthday party.”

“It’s not for you. It’s a party-party.” Damon raised a brow. “No one’s gonna know it’s your birthday. Sarah and Caroline’s throwing it.”

“Stay away from them,” Stefan snapped instantly.

Damon placed a hand on his chest. “We’re friends. It’s cool. Gotta blend in, right? Normal folks. PTA meetings. Football games. Teen drama.”

He glanced over at Lexi’s stash of blood.

“I prefer mine at 98.6,” he added with a wink, and then he was gone, leaving the door swinging behind him.

Lexi sighed. “He’s still hot though.”

“Lexi.”

“Kidding! Ew. No.”

She rose, tossing the empty bag into the trash with perfect aim. “Come on, let’s go.”

Stefan hesitated, brow furrowed.

Lexi groaned, grabbing her towel and heading toward the bathroom. “Please?”

 

Steam curled out of the bathroom as Lexi towel-dried her hair with a vigor that only someone over three centuries old could have perfected. Stefan was pacing just outside the doorway, arms folded again.

“I can’t believe you actually think we should go to this thing.”

Lexi peeked around the doorframe, a towel wrapped around her body and a grin on her face. “It’s not like I’m asking you to run outside at noon without your daylight ring. It’s just a party.”

“A party Damon wants us to go to.”

Lexi rolled her eyes, stepping fully into the hallway. “And?”

“And he’s up to something. He always is.”

She sighed and leaned against the wall, her damp hair dripping onto the floorboards. “What could he possibly do with all those people around? It’s Mystic Falls, not Mardi Gras.”

“You’d be surprised.”

She stepped closer, serious now. “Okay. He knows how to keep a low profile. So let him. You—on the other hand—need to take a break from the broody shadows and come hang out with your best friend for a night.”

“It’s my birthday.”

“It’s my day,” she corrected, poking his chest. “I get one day with you where you’re not existential and moody. Remember the Trevi fountain?”

He smirked. “I was drunk.”

“You were legendary. You swam naked and declared your undying love to a street performer with a violin.”

“She played beautifully.”

“You tipped her $1,000.”

Stefan laughed softly.

Lexi beamed. “That’s the guy I want tonight. The one who got drunk on the torch of the Statue of Liberty and tried to kiss the Empire State Building.”

“It was very tall.”

She shoved him lightly. “Quit whining and go get ready.”

Stefan raised his hands in surrender. “Fine.”

 

Elena parked her car and stared at the front door of the Salvatore Boarding House.

She had no idea why she was here. Well—she did. But she didn’t want to admit it to herself. Not after this morning. Not after the guilt gnawing at her over Vicki, and the creeping sense that her world had spun off its axis. Jeremy barely spoke to her.  Rita hadn’t come downstairs once.

Everything felt like it was fraying.

She took a breath and walked to the door.

Knock knock.

From inside, a unfamiliar voice called: “It’s open! Come on in.”

Elena stepped inside cautiously—and stopped cold.

There, standing in the foyer, dripping from a fresh shower and wrapped in a fluffy towel, was one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen.

Lexi’s eyes widened.

It wasn’t Katherine.

But it was.

“Oh my God,” Lexi muttered, eyes darting between Elena’s face and the photograph she’d seen earlier. “How—uh—wh—”

“I’m Elena,” Elena said slowly, clearly thrown off. “Who are you?”

“Lexi,” she replied. “A friend of Stefan’s.”

“Is he here?”

“In the shower.” Lexi smirked. “Do you want to wait?”

Elena shook her head, color rising to her cheeks. “No. It’s fine.”

“I’ll tell him you stopped by.”

“That’s okay.” Elena turned quickly and practically fled back to her car.

Lexi stood in the middle of the living room, towel-clad and stunned.

 

Lexi slammed open the door to Stefan’s bedroom so hard that the wall actually rattled.

“Are you out of your freaking mind!?” she snapped.

Stefan, still buttoning his shirt, looked up like a deer caught in headlights. “What—what are you talking about?”

Lexi stormed past him, her hair still damp from the shower and her towel swapped for a cropped band tee and jeans she hadn’t worn since Coachella 2006. In her hand? The picture frame. That picture frame. The one with her face. The face that had haunted Stefan for over a century.

“I just met Elena,” Lexi said, shoving the photo at him like it was damning evidence in court. “And unless Mystic Falls has a thriving black-market cloning program, you have some serious explaining to do.”

Stefan’s eyes widened. “Wait—you saw her? What happened?”

“Oh, nothing major. Just opened the door in a towel and found myself face-to-face with the ghost of every Pierce mistake you’ve ever made.” Lexi tossed the photo onto the bed and folded her arms. “She looked like she’d seen a ghost. I felt like I’d seen a ghost. Honestly? I’m traumatized.”

Stefan rubbed his temples. “It’s not what you think.”

Lexi scoffed, already digging through her duffle for eyeliner. “Let me guess—you fell for her before or after noticing she’s Katherine’s twin?”

“She’s not Katherine.”

“Then she’s her cousin. Or secret daughter. Or weird time-traveling bloodline resurrection clone. Because I’m telling you, they could be twins.”

Stefan froze.

Lexi turned to him slowly, mascara wand in hand. “Oh my god.”

He avoided her eyes.

“Oh my god.”

“Triplets, actually,” Stefan muttered under his breath.

Lexi blinked. “Come again?”

“Elena has a twin. Her name is Rita.”

Lexi stared at him like he had just confessed to sleeping with Klaus.

“And this information,” she said slowly, “didn’t seem worth mentioning until now?”

“I don’t—” Stefan dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to find out. I didn’t want to go there.”

Lexi dropped onto the edge of the bed, makeup forgotten. “So let me get this straight. You meet a girl who’s Katherine’s literal face twin. Then you find out she has another twin, and your first thought is ‘let’s definitely date one of them and not investigate further’?”

“Okay, yes,” Stefan snapped. “The resemblance is what drew me in, at first. But that’s not why I stayed.”

Lexi gave him a look so flat it could’ve been ironed. “Oh yeah? So what’s your excuse now?”

“Katherine and Elena may look the same on the outside, but inside? They’re nothing alike.”

Lexi arched a brow. “Huh?”

Stefan hesitated.

“Well?” she pushed.

“Elena is…” he started, searching. “She’s warm. Kind. Selfless. It’s real, Lex. And when I’m around her… I forget what I am.”

Lexi’s face softened just a fraction.

“And Rita?” she asked, but her voice was gentler this time.

Stefan leaned back against the dresser. “Rita is… different. Sweet. She’s shy sometimes, but… strong in a way that sneaks up on you. She cares about everyone, even when they don’t deserve it. I’ve never met anyone like her.”

Lexi blinked. “So you’re in love with both of them?”

“What? No. No!” he said.

Lexi raised both brows.

“I only love Elena,” he said quickly.

“Mmhmm,” Lexi said, tossing her mascara back into her bag like it offended her. “Totally believable. You’re just out here complimenting Rita’s soul like you’re writing her wedding vows.”

“I’m not in love with Rita.”

“Sweetie,” Lexi said, standing up and patting his cheek, “you’re in denial. It’s okay. It’s very on brand.”

 

The nightmares came in waves.

Fire. Screaming. Blood soaking into her dress. Vicki’s face—distorted, monstrous. Fangs at her throat. Then the cold.

The unbearable cold.

Rita gasped awake, lungs aching, drenched in sweat. Her sheets tangled around her legs, stuck to her skin like chains. The morning sun had barely crept over the horizon, but it did nothing to chase the shadows from her chest.

She swung her legs over the bed, sat with her face in her hands.

She’d died.

She’d actually died.

Even with the Salvatore blood helping to heal her, something inside still felt broken—like her soul hadn’t fully caught up with her body yet. Like part of her had never come back from the moment Stefan shoved that stake into Vicki.

Her door creaked open behind her.

“Rita?” Elena’s voice was soft, cautious.

Rita didn’t look up. “You could’ve knocked.”

“I did,” Elena said quietly. “You didn’t answer.”

Silence. Rita stared down at the floor, her silver hair hanging like a curtain between them.

“I just wanted to check on you,” Elena tried. “Last night was… weitd.”

Rita’s laugh was dry and sharp. “You think?”

Elena hesitated. “You don’t remember much, do you?”

That made Rita turn.

Her eyes were glassy but full of fire. “You really thought it worked.”

“What?”

“The compulsion.” She stood, bare feet hitting the hardwood with a quiet thud. “You thought I’d just wake up and forget I was murdered. That Stefan had to kill Vicki. That you let Damon into my head without asking me first.”

Elena’s face drained of color. “I didn’t—Rita, I didn’t know—”

“That it wouldn’t work on me?” Rita snapped. “Yeah, I know. That’s kind of the problem.”

“Wait, how—how long have you known compulsion doesn’t affect you?”

Rita looked away, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Since the day Damon first tried.”

Elena blinked, stunned. “And you never told me?”

“You never asked.” Her voice cracked. “You just assumed you knew what was best for me.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“By taking away my choice?”

Elena flinched. “I didn’t want you to suffer.”

“Well, too late for that.” Rita’s tone dropped to a whisper. “You don’t get to decide which memories I’m allowed to keep. Which traumas I’m allowed to carry.”

Elena stepped forward. “I made a mistake, okay? I thought—I didn’t know how else to keep you safe.”

“And what about Jeremy?” Rita asked. “Did you think he won’t find out eventually?”

Elena’s voice was barely audible. “I was going to tell him. Eventually.”

“No, you weren’t.” Rita stared at her sister like she didn’t recognize her. “You wanted to control the narrative. Again.”

Tears pricked at Elena’s eyes. “I just wanted to protect you both.”

Rita’s voice trembled, but her expression didn’t soften. “You should’ve trusted us.”

Elena looked like she might crumble under the weight of that word.

“I’m not a little girl since a long time,” Rita added. “And Jeremy sure as hell isn’t either. We lived through it. We deserved to remember it.”

A beat of silence. Elena swiped at her cheek, frustrated. “I was scared.”

Rita’s tone lowered. “So was I. But you made that fear mine to carry alone.”

Elena dropped onto the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Rita said, her voice quiet now. “But it’s not enough.”

The silence that followed wasn’t hateful—it was just heavy. They’d both lost something. Trust. Innocence. A version of sisterhood that could never quite go back to what it was.

Rita reached for her hoodie, pulling it on over her tank top. “I have to get ready.”

Elena blinked. “Ready for what?”

“Caroline’s party.” She paused in the doorway, glancing back. “I told him I’d be there.”

Elena frowned. “You’re going after all this?”

Rita nodded. “Yeah.”

And with that, she walked out, leaving Elena in a room that suddenly felt way too cold.

 

Elena was a lump under her covers.

Her room was still, lit only by the soft gray light slipping through the windows. The chaos of the past few days clung to the air—Vicki was gone, Jeremy was cold and quiet, and Rita… well, Rita had said some truth, hurtful truth.

The door creaked open.

“You up?” Bonnie’s voice drifted in, tentative but warm.

Elena groaned. “No.”

Bonnie padded in, sneakers squeaking faintly on the floor. She crossed the room and grabbed the blanket, cocooned around Elena.

“No, no—don’t,” Elena mumbled, pulling it tighter.

“Why haven’t you called me back?” Bonnie asked.

“I’m sorry,” Elena said, muffled by cotton and depression.

Bonnie gave a dramatic sigh and plopped down beside her, bouncing the mattress slightly. “Are you gonna stay in there forever?”

“Yep.”

“Well, move over. I’m officially worried.”

Elena reluctantly shuffled, letting Bonnie slip under the covers beside her.

Bonnie laid on her side, propping her head on her hand. “Okay. I’m here. Give me the one-line version. I need something. Just so I can pretend I’m being helpful.”

Elena stared at the ceiling, eyes glassy. “Stefan and I broke up. Rita and Jeremy hate me.”

Bonnie’s eyes widened. “Wait—what?”

Elena swallowed. “I made Damon compel them to forget about Vicki. About everything. But it didn’t work on Rita, and she found out. Jeremy will found out too now. They’re both pretending to be fine, but I know they’re not. I screwed it all up, Bonnie.”

Bonnie’s hand found Elena’s under the covers and squeezed it. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Stupid question, sorry. I know I’ve been kind of MIA when you needed me most. I suck.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I am saying it.” Bonnie sat up suddenly. “But you know what? I’m gonna make it up to you. You want distraction? Done. You’re getting distracted. No more sad girl wallowing.”

Elena blinked. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Bonnie said, rising like a gremlin with a plan, “you asked for it.”

Before Elena could ask again, Bonnie marched across the room and slammed the window shut.

“What are you doing?” Elena asked, slowly sitting up.

Bonnie grabbed one of the pillows from her bed.

“Bonnie?”

She ripped the pillow in one clean motion.

“Bonnie—!”

Feathers exploded everywhere like a tiny indoor snowstorm.

“Be patient,” Bonnie said, sweeping a hand through the air.

Elena blinked, watching the feathers fall.

“Okay…” Elena muttered, wary.

Bonnie turned to her, face suddenly serious. “I need to swear you to secrecy.”

Elena raised an eyebrow. “It’s kind of a bad week for secrets.”

Bonnie didn’t budge.

Elena sighed. “Fine. I swear.”

Bonnie nodded. “No windows open, right?”

“Right.”

“No fan?”

“No.”

“No air conditioning?”

“Bonnie, what the hell is going on?”

Bonnie smiled, her eyes sparkling with a new kind of light. “Grams showed me this last night. You’re gonna love it.”

She held out her hand.

A single feather hovered.

Elena’s breath caught.

Bonnie gently twirled her fingers, and more feathers lifted into the air like a slow-motion storm. They danced around the room—weightless, glowing in the light, defying everything.

Elena’s jaw dropped.

Bonnie turned to her, eyes wide with wonder and disbelief. “It’s true, Elena. Everything my Grams told me. It’s impossible… and it’s true.”

Elena slowly smiled, for the first time in days.

“I believe you,” she whispered.

They sat in the soft swirl of floating feathers—just two girls on a bed, one grieving the, the other realizing who she’s becoming.

 

The Mystic Grill was alive, music thumping, colored lights bouncing off cheap Halloween cobwebs, and high schoolers pretending this night would matter past midnight.

At the bar, Damon tossed back another drink, barely listening to Sarah’s flirty chatter until the word “crystal” pulled his attention like a trigger.

He cut her off, voice sharp. “Do you have my crystal?”

Sarah blinked. “No.”

Damon scoffed. “Then I’m not having a good time.”

Before she could respond with another fake-giggly excuse, his eyes flicked across the room — and locked onto Lexi.

Damon’s demeanor changed instantly. A slow smile curled across his lips. “Excuse me.”

He left Sarah standing alone, confused and increasingly irrelevant.

Lexi stood by the pool table, red Solo cup in one hand, confidence in the other. The moment Damon appeared beside her, she stepped just out of reach — like she knew his energy without even turning around.

“Where’s my brother?” he asked.

Lexi didn’t break stride. “Said he’d meet me here.”

“I could buy you a—”

She walked away without looking back.

Damon blinked, mildly impressed. “Rude.”

Meanwhile, cross-town, the porch light at the Gilbert house flickered softly as Elena pulled open the door, only to find Stefan standing there, hands in his jacket pockets, hair slightly tousled from the fall breeze.

“Hey,” he said gently.

Elena blinked. “What are you doing here?”

“Lexi said you came by. You seemed upset.”

She folded her arms. “Right. The girl in the towel.”

“The towel?” Stefan blinked. “No, no— not like that. Lexi’s… not just a girl. She’s my oldest friend. She’s three hundred and fifty years old.”

Elena’s eyes widened. “You mean she’s a…”

“A vampire. Yeah.”

“And you’ve never…?”

“Nothing romantic. Ever.”

Elena hesitated. “She kept staring at me. It was weird.”

“I talk about you a lot,” he admitted. “She probably felt like she already knew you.”

Elena bit her lip. “Well… it was a mistake. Coming by.”

“Talk to me,” Stefan said softly, stepping forward. “Please.”

“I can’t. That’s the problem. I’m lying to everyone: Jeremy, Jenna… Bonnie. I’m hiding things, and I hate it.” Her voice cracked. “It’s like the only person I can talk to is you… and I shouldn’t even be doing that.”

Stefan’s eyes didn’t waver. “I want you to know I’ll always be here. For whatever you need.”

She smiled faintly. “Thanks for coming by.”

“Hey, do you need a ride to the Grill tonight?”

“Caroline’s party?”

He shrugged. “And Sarah. Lexi’s dragging me. It’s my birthday.”

Elena blinked. “Seriously? Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.”

She hesitated. “Actually, I think I’m just gonna stay in.”

Stefan nodded. “Have a good night.”

 

The crowd thickened. Heat clung to the air, mingling with the scent of cheap beer and artificial fog. Bonnie stood near the dartboard when Sarah slid beside her like a mosquito you just can’t swat.

“Bonnie, hey,” she said, fake smile locked in. “I’ve been looking for you. I, um… I need the crystal back.”

Bonnie turned slowly. “Why?”

Sarah twirled her hair. “Well, I saw it on you and realized how great it actually is. I’ve got like, three outfits it totally goes with.”

Bonnie narrowed her eyes. “I can’t give it back.”

Sarah’s voice sharpened. “It’s mine.”

“You said it was Damon’s.”

Sarah fumbled. “It is. But—”

Bonnie stepped back. “So he’s the one who wants it back.”

Sarah lunged—tried to snatch the pendant from Bonnie’s neck.

Zap.

A jolt of power surged through the air. Sarah yelped and clutched her wrist. “Are you wearing polyester or something?!”

Bonnie stepped back, chest heaving. “You were really gonna rip it off me. What the hell is wrong with you?”

She turned on her heel and left Sarah fuming behind her.

Damon cornered Sarah five minutes later near the back hallway.

“Where is it?” he snapped.

“She won’t give it to me.”

“So rip it off her.”

“I tried! It shocked me!”

Damon growled under his breath. “Why does it do that?”

Sarah pouted. “Why are you being like this? I’m so good to you, Damon. It’s just a stupid necklace.”

He turned to her coldly. “No, you’re the only stupid thing here. And shallow. And useless.”

Then he walked off, leaving her gasping in humiliation.

 

At the pool table, Lexi spun and laughed, her joy so real it made the whole room shimmer for a second.

Stefan chuckled, half-playing along.

“You’re smiling,” Lexi grinned. “Look at you. Being human. So proud.”

He made a smooth shot and grinned. “Woo!”

Lexi raised her cup. “There he is.”

At the entrance, Elena stepped inside, her coat still clutched around her. She stopped when she saw Stefan laughing—really laughing—with Lexi. The sight hit her like a punch to the stomach.

Damon materialized behind her like smoke.

“Stefan smiles. Alert the media.”

“You haven’t given him many reasons to be happy lately,” she said coldly.

Damon tilted his head. “Poor Stefan. Persecuted throughout eternity by his depraved brother. Does it get tiring being so righteous?”

“It flares up in the presence of psychopaths.”

“Ouch.” He clutched his chest. “Consider this psychopath’s feelings officially hurt.”

She turned toward him, eyes narrowing. “What did you do to my brother?”

“I’m gonna need a less vague question.”

Elena stepped closer, voice rising. “When you compelled Jeremy to forget what happened with Vicki—why does he remember?!”

Damon didn’t flinch. “You told me to take away his pain. I did. Worked like a charm.”

“No,” she hissed. “Rita and Jeremy remember everything. And now they won’t even look at me.”

“Maybe because you made decisions for them,” he said casually.

“Fix it.”

“Not possible.”

“Try harder,” she snapped, eyes glinting.

But Damon just stared at her.

Elena’s jaw tightened. She turned away and disappeared into the crowd.

And just beyond the lights, in the darkest corner of the Grill, Rita stood watching, her eyes never left her sister.

 

Lexi was halfway through her fourth tequila, not drunk, but definitely vibing when she saw her.

Across the room, near the photo booth, a silver-haired girl threw her head back laughing. Her mouth curled wide, real and unguarded, while a blonde next to her whispered something conspiratorial. The energy between them was loud, even in silence. It was bright, magnetic.

Lexi narrowed her eyes.

“That must be Rita,” she murmured.

She downed the last of her drink and made her way through the crowd, heels clicking sharp against the floor.

Rita spotted her approach and straightened slightly, laughter cooling but not fading. “Hey,” she said cautiously, eyes flicking up and down the unfamiliar face.

“Hi,” Lexi said, warm and direct. “You must be the other twin.”

Rita blinked. “I mean… yeah. Wow. You know?”

“Stefan told me,” Lexi said, smiling. “Sort of. He’s weirdly cagey about you and your sister.”

“Right,” Rita muttered, pushing a piece of silver hair behind her ear.

Next to her, Caroline leaned in with a grin. “Lexi, right? Stefan best friend?”

Lexi rolled her eyes playfully. “You people really know everything already.”

Caroline laughed. “Pretty girls are hard to forget.”

Across the room, Matt appeared near the bar, and Caroline’s eyes locked onto him like a heat-seeking missile.

“Oh crap—” she muttered. “I need a minute.”

She gave Rita a quick squeeze on the arm and disappeared into the crowd, already heading toward Matt like a rom-com protagonist on a mission.

Lexi turned back to Rita. “You and Blondie seem tight.”

“Yeah,” Rita smiled. “Caroline’s… probably the only reason I’m still standing lately.”

Lexi tilted her head. “Big emotions. You okay?”

Rita looked her over, cautious but curious. “Are you always this direct?”

Lexi shrugged, the silver bangles on her wrist clinking softly. “I’ve had three centuries to refine my approach.”

Rita laughed. “Alright. Fair. Yeah, I’m okay. Rough week.”

“Same,” Lexi said, then leaned against the wall beside her. “You don’t look much like Elena.”

Rita blinked. “People say we do.”

“Mm, maybe in physical aspects,” Lexi replied. “But your energy? Whole different story.”

That made Rita flush slightly. “You’re very observant for someone who just got into town.”

“I watch,” Lexi said. “Especially when my best friend starts falling for someone and then casually drops that her twin sister is his brother’s latest obsession.”

Rita cringed. “Yikes. That’s… messy.”

“I don’t mind messy,” Lexi said. “But obsession? That’s never cute.”

Rita’s gaze flicked briefly toward Damon, who was sulking in a corner, drink in hand — then looked back at Lexi with a flicker of understanding. “He’s not my problem.”

Lexi smirked. “Good. Let it stay that way.”

There was a pause, not awkward, just thick with unspoken thoughts.

Then Rita said, quietly, “You seem cool.”

Lexi bumped her shoulder. “You too. And I like your hair.”

Rita snorted. “It’s genetics. Or trauma. Still debating.”

Lexi let out a surprised laugh. “Okay now I get why Stefan likes you.”

Rita raised a brow. “Stefan doesn’t like me. He likes Elena.”

“Mm, maybe,” Lexi said, nonchalant. That silenced Rita.

Lexi leaned back and nodded once, satisfied with the reaction. “Come find me later. We’ll drink something stronger and talk about what it’s like to grow up in the town where everyone’s got secrets.”

Before Rita could respond, Lexi was already slipping back into the crowd.

The air had shifted. And somewhere outside, Damon was already making his move.

 

The bar lights flickered low, casting a warm haze over the crushed ice in Lexi’s shot glass as she slid it across the counter to Damon.

“All right,” she said, voice low, sharp, teasing. “These are bribe. I need you to answer a question.”

Damon raised a brow, fingers curling around the glass. “I feel so cheap.”

“Not cheap. Easily persuaded.” She clinked her glass to his and downed the shot in one fluid motion. “What are you really doing in Mystic Falls?”

Damon looked far too relaxed for her liking, spinning the rim of his glass with a lazy finger. “Have you tried Pappy Van Winkle’s? It wins awards. Like, actual ones.”

Lexi narrowed her eyes. “Cut the crap.”

He smiled — that smug, shit-eating grin she remembered from decades ago. “Okay, okay. I have a diabolical master plan.”

She scoffed. “What is it?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be very diabolical now, would it?”

Lexi rolled her eyes, leaning back, watching him with a tight expression. “You’re not funny, Damon.”

“You used to laugh at me.”

“I used to pity you.”

Before he could fire back, the front doors to the Grill opened hard — the gust of night air curling through the crowd like a warning. Lexi turned, pulse flaring with unease.

Sheriff Forbes entered, flanked by two officers and a young, wide-eyed girl trailing behind them. Lexi didn’t recognize her, but the second she saw where the girl was pointing straight at her and Damon ; her body tensed.

“What the hell—” she murmured, standing slowly.

But before she could move, the sheriff was there.

“No hard feelings,” Liz said, almost softly. Then her hand shot out — needle glinting in the low light.

Lexi gasped, stumbling back as the vervain slammed into her neck. Pain flared white-hot, and for a second, everything spun.

Damon jumped up, wide-eyed. “What are you doing?!”

But the sheriff ignored him. “Thanks for the vervain,” she said coldly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Across the bar, Stefan’s head whipped around at the commotion.

“Oh my god,” he breathed, eyes locking on the scene unfolding. His hand found Elena’s instinctively.

“What is it?” Elena asked, alarmed.

“I have to get out there—excuse me!” Stefan started pushing through the crowd, but the Grill’s layout betrayed him. The back entrance was blocked. Too slow.

“Excuse me—sorry—let me through!”

“Can’t go out this way,” an officer barked.

Meanwhile, Lexi was fighting.

Dragged outside by two officers, she staggered, eyes red with fury and pain. Her body rejected the vervain with difficulty, but she was old,  strong. Strong enough to throw one officer aside like he weighed nothing, the other flung against the Grill’s wall with a sickening thud.

“You have no idea who I am,” she snarled, fangs bared.

Gunshots rang out.

Wooden bullets tore through the air, one catching her in the arm, the other in her ribs. Lexi screamed, stumbling again. Blood bloomed across her white tank top, hot and fast.

And then — a blur.

Damon.

He moved faster than anyone could register, his eyes wide, his face twisted in something unreadable.

The stake drove into her heart with horrifying precision.

Lexi froze — her entire body seizing, like lightning had struck her from the inside out.

Her lips parted, breath trembling, eyes locking on Damon’s. “Why…?” she whispered, her voice already fading.

Damon leaned in close, so low no one else could hear.

“It’s part of the plan,” he said softly.

And then she collapsed.

Wood splintered against pavement as her body hit the ground.

Stefan saw it all.

He froze near the glass doors, Elena tugging on his arm, whispering his name — but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. He just stood there, staring, as Damon turned back to the sheriff with the perfect expression of concern and heroism painted on his face.

“You okay?” Damon asked.

Sheriff Forbes nodded, breathless. “Thank you. That was…”

“Reflex,” Damon said easily, glancing at the stake like it had appeared in his hand on instinct. “I guess the adrenaline kicked in.”

“The nightmare’s finally over,” she muttered, signaling to her men. “Get her in the car quickly.”

Stefan ripped himself free from his daze, dragging Elena out of sight around the corner of the Grill’s brick wall. He clutched her hand tight, holding back a sound that didn’t feel human.

“I—oh my god,” Elena said, trying to process what just happened. “Is she…?”

“She’s gone,” Stefan said, voice hoarse. “He killed her.”

Elena’s face crumpled. “Damon—he—why would he do that?!”

Stefan didn’t answer.

He couldn’t because he already knew.

Damon wasn’t being reckless. He wasn’t spiraling.

He was playing the game.

And Lexi… was the sacrifice.

 

Inside the Grill, the music kept playing.

The lights were too bright. The laughter too loud. Like nothing had happened at all.

Rita stood at the photo booth, back turned to the scene outside. She’d been talking with a girl from Biology class, some chatty redhead who wore a blue dress and reeked of cinnamon whiskey.

But then someone screamed near the back door. 

Rita felt it,  the shift. That strange, low pulse of wrong that always buzzed behind her ribs when something unnatural happened.

She moved toward the exit, weaving through bodies like smoke.

“Rita—hey—where are you going?” Caroline’s voice called, distant, filtered by static.

But she didn’t stop.

Outside, the sheriff’s cruiser pulled away with Lexi’s body.

The crowd had already started to scatter — someone whispering about a drugged-out girl attacking cops.

Rita saw Stefan crumpled against the wall near the alley, Elena hovering near him, panic in her eyes.

And further back — Damon.

Standing alone. Calm. Too calm.

She moved toward him.

“What did you do?” she said, her voice steady but barely contained.

Damon turned to her, blinking like he hadn’t seen her approach. “I saved the day,” he said, smiling. “You’re welcome.”

“You killed her.”

“She was attacking humans. Couldn’t have that.”

“You set her up.”

His smile wavered. “That’s a big accusation, Princess.”

She took a step closer, eyes burning. “You did this for your ‘plan.’ Didn’t you?”

Damon’s silence was louder than any confirmation.

“She was Stefan’s best friend,” Rita whispered.

“And now Stefan’s just like the rest of us,” Damon said coldly. “Alone. Angry. Ready to stop pretending.”

“You’re a monster,” Rita said.

“Maybe,” Damon said. “But I’m a monster with a mission.”

He walked past her then, just like that, the scent of blood and bourbon trailing in his wake.

Rita turned, stomach twisting, hands clenched at her sides.

Behind her, Stefan was on the verge of shattering.

And the worst part?

Damon had won.

 

The body didn’t look like Lexi anymore.

She lay in a crooked heap, her limbs twisted at unnatural angles, blond hair fanned across the asphalt like pale silk soaked in shadow. The stake jutted from her chest like a cruel punctuation mark. Her lips, once quick to smirk and laugh, were blue. Still. Silent.

Stefan dropped to his knees beside her, his breath ragged, mouth parted in disbelief. His fingers hovered, shaking, before brushing against her cheek.

Cold.

“Lexi…” he whispered. His voice cracked, breaking against the name like a wave on rocks.

Behind him, footsteps. Soft, careful.

Rita.

She sank to the ground beside him without a word, eyes wide with pain. Her silver hair caught the flickering light of the alleyway’s single lamppost, casting a faint halo around her, like something celestial had stepped out of the night.

Her voice was gentle when she spoke. “I’m so sorry.”

Stefan didn’t look at her at first. He just pressed his forehead to Lexi’s shoulder, trying not to sob. “She didn’t deserve this.”

“No,” Rita said softly. “She didn’t.”

The clap came slow and sarcastic.

Damon.

He stepped out of the darkness, his leather jacket catching the moonlight, his expression unreadable, except for that smug curl of his lips. “Aww. Real Kodak moment. Want me to go find a frame?”

Stefan stood up in a blur, fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned bone-white. “You did this.”

“I saved your sorry ass,” Damon shot back, casual as ever. “You know how the Sheriff works. Town needed a vampire body. I gave ‘em one.”

“You murdered her!” Stefan snarled.

“She’s not just ‘some vampire,’” Rita said quietly, rising to her feet. “She was his friend. His family.”

Damon’s gaze flicked to her. “You’re getting real emotional for someone who barely knew her.”

“I don’t need to know someone to know this was wrong.” Her hands were clenched at her sides now. Her voice trembled. “But maybe… maybe I can fix it.”

Damon blinked. “I’m sorry — you what?”

Rita looked at Stefan. “I want to try.”

Stefan frowned, heart thundering. “Try what?”

“My blood.” Rita took a breath. “It might… I think it maybe might work. Even if she’s dead.”

Damon stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “That’s not how this works, sweetheart. When vampires die, they don’t come back from a stake in the heart.”

“But I’ve healed things I wasn’t supposed to before,” she said. “There were people on the brink. Maybe even further. We don’t know what my blood can do. Not really.”

Stefan’s voice cracked again. “Do you really think—?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But if there’s even a chance, we should try…”

There was a pause. Heavy with hesitation, hope, and everything unsaid.

Damon’s eyes lingered on her face. Then her wrist. He inhaled.

And stopped cold.

The memories of her scent of her hit him like static electricity, like lightning under his skin. Sun-warmed peaches. Strawberries in the golden haze of summer. The faint floral kiss of freesias and crushed mint. She smelled like everything he ever wanted and was never allowed to have.

Damon swayed slightly, jaw tight. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if she turns into a feral zombie, I’m blaming you.”

 

The clearing they found was small and shielded by pine and oak, a cathedral of leaves rustling high above. Damon dropped Lexi into the tall grass, stepping back like he was spooked by his own actions. Stefan laid Rita down carefully, helping her to her feet.

Rita looked down at Lexi’s still form.

No movement. No breath. Then she knelt.

“I’ll need to feed her,” she said quietly, rolling up her sleeve. Her heart was thudding now. Not just from fear — from the crushing pressure of what she was about to do.

Stefan crouched beside her. “You don’t have to—”

“I do.”

She didn’t hesitate this time.

She takes Damon’s fingernail slid across the soft underside of her wrist,  not deep, just enough. The scent hit the clearing like a bomb.

Damon inhaled sharply. His thumbnail covered by Rita’s blood, immediately in his mouth.

Stefan recoiled like he’d been slapped, turning his face away. “Oh my god…”

Her blood sparkled. Literally sparkled in the moonlight — gold-red, shimmering like it had been kissed by the sun.

Damon stepped forward once, then stopped himself. “Jesus Christ.”

“You good?” Stefan asked through gritted teeth, eyes black now with hunger.

“No,” Damon snapped. “But I’m not gonna jump her in front of my brother.”

Rita ignored them. She pulled the stake slowly from Lexi’s chest, wincing as it came free with a soft squelch. She tossed it aside, then pressed her bleeding wrist gently to Lexi’s mouth.

At first, nothing.

Then—

Lexi twitched.

A jolt like lightning ran through her limbs. Her eyes flew open, unfocused and golden-veined. She latched onto Rita’s wrist with terrifying strength.

Rita gasped, nearly falling forward — but held her ground.

Lexi drank.

Color returned to her cheeks like the petals of a rose unfolding. Her limbs straightened. Her spine arched. Then —

Lexi screamed.

It was raw and guttural, half agony, half resurrection. She choked, gasped, and curled forward, coughing violently.

Stefan dropped beside her instantly. “Lexi?!”

Her eyes blinked wildly. She was back.

Alive.

 

Lexi sat up slowly, hair disheveled, blood on her lips. “What the hell just happened?”

“You were dead,” Stefan whispered, still clutching her hand. “You died.”

Lexi turned to Rita, eyes wide. “You brought me back?”

Rita nodded, pale and swaying. “I think so.”

Damon stared at her like she’d just rewritten the laws of the universe.

“You shouldn’t be able to do that,” he said. “You just made a vampire cheat death.”

Rita stood slowly. “She wasn’t gone long. Maybe… maybe I interrupted it before the soul left. I don’t know Damon.”

“Or maybe you’re just not normal,” Damon muttered, his voice more reverent than sarcastic.

Lexi coughed, then looked at Rita again. “You’re not a witch. Not a vampire. What the hell are you?”

“I’m still figuring it out,” Rita admitted.

But the truth was: she felt it.

Something in her was ancient. And divine. And terrifying.

Stefan stood protectively between Rita and Damon now, jaw tense. “You’re staring at her again.”

Damon shrugged, unbothered. “Can you blame me? You smell that?”

“I’m standing right here,” Rita said dryly.

“You don’t get it,” Damon said. “You’re like a grand cru to me, darling.”

Stefan glared. “She’s not yours.”

Damon stepped forward. “Not yet.”

Lexi hissed. “Okay, can we not turn this into a testosterone party?”

“I think I need to lie down,” Rita whispered suddenly, knees buckling. Stefan caught her instantly, cradling her gently.

“You gave too much,” he murmured, eyes dark with concern.

“I’m okay,” she mumbled. “Just…dizzy.”

Damon stepped closer. “Let her drink from me.”

“What?” Stefan barked.

“I’m serious,” Damon said. “If her blood brought Lexi back from the dead, it’s only fair I give some back. Circle of life.”

Rita’s lips twitched. “We're not in a Disney movie.”

“Let me help you,” Damon said softly. “Please.”

There it was.

The shift.

He meant it.

Stefan looked at Rita.

She shocked her head. “I’m okay, thanks.”

Damon could feel it in his bones. The disappointment.

 

Rita stood near the Salvatore house with arms crossed over her chest, the adrenaline wearing off. Her wrist was fully healed, but the aftershock hadn’t passed. She could still feel Lexi’s death in her bones — and now, the impossible weight of having reversed it.

She felt like a walking glitch in a system that hadn’t realized it could be rewritten.

“You sure you don’t want me to take you home?” Stefan asked gently. His hand hovered near her arm, not touching, but present.

Rita shook her head, silver hair catching moonlight like threads of silk. “I think… I need air and pace.”

Damon, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since Lexi’s revival, glanced between them. “I’ll take her.”

Stefan tensed.

But Rita met his eyes. “It’s fine.”

She wasn’t sure why she said that. Maybe because she knew Damon wouldn’t try anything with Lexi alive and glaring. Maybe because something in his silence unnerved her more than his usual snark.

Stefan nodded reluctantly, but his jaw was set. “Text me when you’re home.”

Rita turned without answering and slid into the passenger seat of Damon’s blue car. The door slammed shut with a definitive click.

 

Damon didn’t speak for the first mile.

The car hummed down the quiet road, headlights cutting through trees like a blade. The silence felt unnatural — not the usual brooding quiet, but charged. Heavy. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel like he was holding himself back.

“You okay?” Rita asked, voice low.

“Depends.” Damon didn’t look at her. “Are we calling you Mother Miracle now? Or do you prefer something more Old Testament?”

Rita exhaled nervously. “You don’t have to be like this.”

“Like what?” His tone was a little too sharp. “Snarky? Deflective? That’s kinda my thing, sweetheart.”

“You’re weird.”

He did look at her then. A side glance. His lips twitched like he might laugh, but didn’t. “Cute.”

“I’m serious,” she said, unbothered. “You wanted Lexi gone. You staked her. Now she’s alive again because of me. And you don’t know what that means. Not for her, not for you in the future.”

Damon didn’t answer. He turned into the road leading to the Gilbert house and parked without a word.

Rita opened the door, her fingers brushing the handle. “Thanks for the ride.”

Damon’s voice stopped her. “You saved a vampire from true death tonight. That’s not just impressive. That’s unnatural. Even for us.”

She turned, meeting his gaze in the dark. “And?”

He leaned closer, his voice suddenly quiet, like a secret. “Be careful. This town eats miracles alive.”

She stepped out, closing the door behind her.

He watched her until she disappeared inside.

 

Sheriff Forbes stood outside the Grill, radio buzzing faintly at her side. Officers still milled about, cleaning up the chaos of the night. The vampire girl—Lexi—had vanished before they could lock her body up.

Damon approached with an easy swagger and a coffee in hand.

“Liz,” he greeted smoothly, offering her the cup.

“Damon,” she said warily. “You got something to say?”

He sipped from his own cup, then gestured casually to the alley behind the Grill. “About the body… You’re not gonna find it.”

Her brows pulled together. “Why not?”

He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Older vamps. Different biology. When staked in the heart, they… poof. Ashes. No remains. Nothing to bag and tag.”

Liz narrowed her eyes. “That true?”

“As true as vervain in your coffee,” he said, flashing a smirk. “You can thank me later. Without a body, no awkward questions from the coroner.”

She exhaled, torn between suspicion and relief. “That makes it easier.”

“Doesn’t it always, Sheriff?”

She nodded once. “Well, lucky we had that witness. Still can’t believe she managed to ID the vampire that fast.”

“Lucky break,” Damon echoed, his voice soft.

He walked away before she could ask any more questions.

 

The next morning, Lexi was sitting barefoot in one of the massive leather chairs in the Salvatore living room, wrapped in a gray blanket and sipping hot blood from a mug like it was tea.

Her eyes were brighter now. Sharper. Like death had burned off the fatigue of the centuries.

Stefan entered from the hallway. “You sure you’re okay?”

Lexi nodded slowly. “Physically? Yeah. Mentally? I think I’m still recalibrating.”

He sat on the edge of the couch across from her. “I’m sorry, Lex. For everything.”

She gave him a small smile. “Not your fault. It’s Damon’s.”

“He regrets it,” Stefan muttered.

Lexi raised a brow. “Oh, I’m sure. Especially after that little silver-haired angel brought me back.”

At the mention of Rita, Stefan smiled without realizing it. “She’s… different.”

“No kidding,” Lexi said. She tilted her head thoughtfully. “She risked herself for me. She barely knows me. That girl has more soul than half the humans in this town.”

“She’s trying to do the right thing. Always.”

Lexi sat up straighter, pulling the blanket tighter around her. “Which is why we need to get her out of here. Give her some distraction.”

Stefan blinked. “You mean leave?”

“I mean escape for a moment,” she said. “Mystic Falls is a vampire meat grinder with historical flair. If Damon doesn’t eat her alive, the council will eventually sniff her out. She needs some distance, even for a night”

He frowned. “And where exactly do you want to take her?”

Lexi smirked. “New York.”

 

Rita was curled on the porch swing, legs tucked under her, a book forgotten in her lap. The late sun filtered through the leaves above her, but her mind was still caught in the forest—Lexi gasping back to life, Damon’s strange hunger, Stefan’s trembling hands.

The creak of footsteps on the porch made her look up.

Lexi stood at the top of the stairs, sunglasses perched on her head, her usual confident aura restored.

“Hey,” Lexi greeted.

“Hey,” Rita replied, a bit surprised. “You’re okay?”

“Yes,” Lexi said. “Because I’m alive. Thanks to you.”

Rita smiled. “I’m glad it worked.”

“I’m more than glad. I’m… pissed and grateful and confused as hell. You rewrote the laws of death for me. That’s not something I can repay with some flowers.”

Rita shrugged. “I didn’t do it to get anything back.”

“Exactly,” Lexi said, walking over and plopping down beside her. “Which is why I want to give you something anyway.”

Rita turned toward her.

“Come with me,” Lexi said simply.

“…What?”

“To New York,” Lexi continued, pulling out a folded flyer from her back pocket and handing it over. “Bon Jovi’s hosting this masked after-party tonight. It’s exclusive, ridiculous, and totally insane. I want you there.”

Rita blinked at the neon-glossed flyer. “Me? At a rock star after-party?”

“Why not?” Lexi grinned. “You survived Mystic Falls. You brought a vampire back from the dead. You’ve earned at least one night of music, chaos, and maybe anonymous kissing.”

Rita laughed, a little breathless. “Anonymous kissing?”

Lexi winked. “Just saying. Masks are magic.”

She grew more serious then, folding her legs beneath her. “Look, you deserve to breathe. ”

Rita looked down at the flyer. “Stefan’s going?”

“I don’t know yet,” Lexi said. “Maye it will be a girl’s trip. And if Damon even thinks about coming, I’ll drop-kick him into the Hudson.”

Rita smiled despite herself.

“I’ll think about it,” she said quietly.

Lexi bumped her shoulder. “Good. And if you say yes, I bring you something killer to wear.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll love New York.”

 

The elevator ride up was silent — the kind of silence that buzzed. Rita was pressed between Lexi, radiant in a glittering silver jumpsuit, and Stefan, dressed like someone who wanted to disappear into a wall. His jaw was clenched, arms crossed, but he hadn’t stopped glancing at her since they left the hotel. Ever since she gave Lexi her blood and watched her gasp back to life — shaky, wide-eyed, alive — Stefan had been… weird. 

Rita adjusted the mask Lexi had handed her back at the suite. Black velvet, with lace accents and small gems under the eyes. Paired with Lexi’s blood-red silk dress — slit up the thigh, thin straps, no room for mistakes — she felt exposed. 

“You look fire, don’t worry,” Lexi whispered as the elevator chimed. “Try not to ruin too many lives tonight.”

Rita snorted, but her stomach twisted. She didn’t know how to act at parties. Not like this. But Lexi had insisted and Stefan hadn’t argued. So here they were.

The doors opened onto a penthouse that looked like it belonged in a dream: black-and-gold decor everywhere, strings of fairy lights floating in midair — enchanted? expensive? — and bodies dancing in dizzy rhythms. A live band played a grungy Bon Jovi remix, and the smell of expensive cologne, sweat, and spilled champagne filled the air.

It was unreal.

“Drink something,” Lexi called over the music. “Loosen up. I’ll be over there—” she pointed toward the VIP lounge. “Come find me when you’re ready to be reckless.”

Rita blinked after her and then turned to Stefan.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He nodded once, but didn’t meet her eyes.

“I need to do something. I’ll be close. Just… yell if anything’s off.”

He slipped into the crowd, his dark silhouette quickly swallowed by moving bodies.

And just like that, Rita was alone.

Well — not alone. Surrounded. But alone in a way that she didn’t know she needed..

She hovered by the bar, trying not to fidget, watching people with expensive shoes and mysterious eyes sip neon cocktails and pretend they weren’t all desperately trying to be seen. Rita wasn’t even sure what she wanted. Distraction? Escape?

She didn’t get a chance to decide.

A man stumbled into her, sloshing part of his drink onto her arm.

“Shit—sorry,” he slurred, his mask crooked. “Hey, you’re—whoa. You’re hot. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Rita backed up. “I’m not interested.”

“C’mon, don’t be a bitch.” He leaned in. His breath smelled like cheap whiskey and regret. “Let me see your face…”

He reached for her mask.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, loud this time.

But he didn’t listen.

Then —

“Is there a problem here?”

A new voice. Cool. Smooth. Probably British.

The drunk man turned. Rita didn’t have to — she felt the shift in the air before she saw him.

The newcomer was tall. Tall-tall. Dressed in a fitted black jacket over a black button-down, no tie, sleeves rolled slightly at the wrist. His mask — golden, shaped like a half-wolf, half-vine design — sat perfectly over striking features. Tousled blond curls peeked from the top. He looked expensive. Dangerous. 

“She’s with me,” he added, stepping between them without even touching her.

The drunk dude scoffed. “Whatever, man. Enjoy her.”

Before Rita could react, the guy was gone — probably already sniffing around someone else. His hands were shaking. Rage? Embarrassment?

“You okay?” the stranger asked, voice soft now. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No, I just—thank you.”

“You looked like you needed rescuing,” he said with a grin. “Lucky me.”

He didn’t move away. His eyes — pale blue, piercing and amused — locked onto hers. There was something dangerous about him, even behind the playboy exterior. Rita swallowed hard.

“You always crash in like a knight at parties?” she said, trying to sound casual.

He chuckled. “Only when the damsel looks like she bites.”

“Do I?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What do they call you?”

“Nik,” he said after a beat. “And you?”

She hesitated.

He noticed.

“No name?” he teased.

“No.”

His grin widened. He flagged the bartender without looking. “Two Sunsets.”

“I don't like much alcohol,” she said.

“You strike me as someone who pretends she doesn’t like sweet things.” He handed her a pink-orange drink in a chilled glass. “Just try it, I bet you’ll like it.”

She sipped. Her eyes widened.

“Told you,” he said, clearly delighted.

“It’s good.”

He leaned in, just a little. “So is the company.”

Oh. Okay.

Rita wasn’t used to being flirted with. His voice was like silk laced with sin. And his eyes never left hers — like he was memorizing her reactions. Studying her mouth. Her throat.

She downed the rest of her drink too quickly and coughed.

Nik laughed. “Careful. I was planning to get you drunk slowly.”

“I’m fine,” she said, but her cheeks were warm.

He ordered another. And another. And Rita — lightheaded, fizzy, alive — let herself lean against the bar, giggling more than she should.

“You’re trouble,” she told him, half-drunk now, propping her chin on her hand.

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

He stared at her. Not in a creepy way. In a curious way. Like she was a puzzle he was dying to figure out.

“Tell me something about you,” he said. “Something real.”

She licked her lips, thinking.

“I was almost dead once,” she said before she could stop herself. “But someone pulled me back.”

Nik blinked.

“Oh?”

She shrugged. “It’s a metaphor. Probably.”

He tilted his head. “I don’t believe in metaphors. Only stories.”

Their eyes met. Something shifted.

Rita wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, or the music, or the way his voice had dropped just slightly lower — but she felt pulled. Tangled. Like he’d reached inside her without touching her at all.

“You have eyes like someone who’s seen too much,” he murmured.

“Yeah? What do yours say?”

He stepped closer.

“That I’ve forgotten most of what I’ve seen,” he whispered. “But I think I’ll remember you.”

Her breath caught.

They were so close now. His scent was warm and earthy, like cedarwood and fire. His fingers brushed her hip, tentative but there — grounding her and igniting her all at once. His thumb ghosted along the silk at her waist. She didn’t pull away.

Rita wasn’t thinking anymore. She tilted her face toward his.

And when his lips brushed hers — slow, deliberate, real — she melted.

He kissed like someone who knew exactly how to devastate a person. Not aggressive, not greedy — but full of intention. His mouth tasted like rum and secrets. His hand found her cheek, cradling her like she was something fragile. His other arm wrapped around her lower back.

And she kissed him back.

Without fear. Without hesitation. She wanted it.

Her hands slid into the fabric of his shirt. His breath stuttered. His lips parted.

The kiss deepened. The moment was electric.

Rita felt it in her spine, like a spark that climbed bone and nerve until her entire body responded — opening, melting, needing. Nik kissed like he had no concept of time. Like the party didn’t exist. Like she was the only living thing in the universe.

His tongue brushed hers, coaxing, slow but firm, his hand sliding from her waist to the small of her back, guiding her closer until their bodies touched — chest to chest, hips to hips.

She gasped softly into the kiss.

That was when he murmured, low, right against her lips:

“Tell me your name.”

It slipped out like a confession.

“Rita.”

He stilled for half a heartbeat.

“Rita…” he repeated. Voice low. Voice reverent. Like her name had weight. Like he knew it. Like he wanted to keep it.

And then — he bit her.

Not harsh. Not brutal. Not like Damon. Or murderous like Vicki.

Nik’s fangs grazed her skin as if they were meant to be there, slipping into the space just under her jaw — a kiss turned into something darker, deeper. A mark.

She should’ve panicked. She should’ve pulled away. But instead, her breath hitched and—

Oh.

It felt… good.

A warmth exploded in her chest. Her body arched toward him, instinctive, drunk on adrenaline and blood loss and the way his mouth stayed latched onto her like she was a secret he couldn’t stop tasting. Her hands clutched his shirt. Her pulse roared. Her knees nearly buckled.

And Nik—

He growled. Actually growled into her neck as her blood hit his tongue. Like her taste short-circuited him.

She felt his hips press against hers.

Hard.

His cock — stiff and hot through his slacks — ground lightly against her belly as he pushed her back into the brick wall behind the bar.

Her mouth parted.

He kissed her again, still feeding, still holding her like she was his.

One hand curled around the back of her thigh, hiking her leg up to his waist. The other flattened against her lower back, drawing her into him, anchoring her like she was the eye of a storm. Her silk dress slid dangerously high. Her skin buzzed where he touched her. Her mind spun.

Rita moaned — soft, startled, real.

Nik lifted his head suddenly.

His lips were red with her blood. His eyes burned gold.

But it wasn’t hunger.

It was awe.

Because her wound — the twin holes on her neck — were already closing. Healing faster than any human should.

“You’re human but,” he breathed, sounding somewhere between reverent and turned the fuck on. “What… are you?”

Rita blinked up at him, drunk on everything — the bite, the kiss, the weight of his body. “I don’t know,” she whispered, dazed.

He brushed his fingers down her neck, tracing the spot that was already smooth again.

“Fascinating,” he murmured.

Then—

“RITA!”

Lexi’s voice rang out over the rooftop.

Nik exhaled sharply, the moment breaking like glass. He stepped back just slightly, letting her dress fall back into place. He took something from his pocket — a black card with gold lettering — and slid it gently between her fingers.

His voice ghosted against her ear.

“Call me. Anytime. Anywhere.”

And then he was gone.

No dramatic exit. No parting line. Just… disappeared into the crowd, like smoke.

Rita stood there for a second, heart racing, body still humming, card clenched in her hand.

Lexi appeared seconds later, eyes wild.

“There you are! Jesus, I’ve been—are you okay?”

Rita turned to her, cheeks flushed, lips kissed-swollen, neck clean.

Lexi blinked. “Why do you look like you just got struck by lightning?”

Rita giggled. Giggled.

A soft, dizzy, high little sound.

“I think… I really like masked parties,” she said, and slipped Nik’s card into her clutch like it was a secret she intended to keep.

Lexi stared at her like she’d grown wings.

“Okay, Rita. Spill. Now.”

But Rita just smiled.

And in her chest, something fluttered.

Something dangerous. Something new.

 

Nik or Klaus for the public slammed the door behind him and stood still for a long moment, chest rising and falling like he’d just come off a battlefield. The skyline stretched wide beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows — glittering and endless — but his eyes didn’t see it.

He could still taste her.

Rita.

The name hit his mind like lightning — simple, delicate, unforgettable. The way she said it, half-whispered against his mouth, had burned itself into him. Into his blood.

He dropped his jacket on the floor. The heat in his body hadn’t faded. If anything, it was worse now that she was gone.

Her blood was unlike anything he’d tasted in a thousand years. Sweet like strawberries and sun-warmed peaches — but laced with something ancient. Something that hummed in his chest like it belonged there.

And her body—

Fuck.

He remembered the way she melted against him, the way her leg curled around his hip, silk sliding up her thigh, warm skin against his palm. He could still feel the curve of her waist, the tremble in her breath when he pressed her against the wall. She liked the bite. Welcomed it. Wanted more.

She wasn’t afraid of him.

She liked it.

She wanted him.

And she healed.

Instantly.

That was the part that haunted him most — the bite marks closing right before his eyes. It shouldn’t be possible. Not on a human. It was… wrong. But also right. Like she wasn’t just supernatural — she was something else.

Something made for him.

Klaus swore under his breath and ripped off his shirt, running a hand through his curls, now damp with sweat. His pants felt tight. Uncomfortable. His cock had been rock hard since she moaned into his mouth. Since, she whimpered softly as his fangs broke her skin. Since, she trembled and clung to him like she’d never wanted anything more.

He was still hard.

And it wasn’t fading.

He tried to distract himself. Poured a glass of bourbon. Didn’t drink it.

Instead, he walked to the marble bathroom, flipped the light on, and turned the shower dial to ice-cold.

Steam rose anyway — not from the water, but from him.

He stepped under the spray, fully nude now, muscles tight, jaw clenched. Water rushed over his body, but the heat inside him only grew.

His hand drifted down.

Slowly.

He closed his eyes and leaned against the cold tile, his palm wrapping around his cock.

Rita.

He imagined her again — her head falling back, lips parted, eyes glazed with want. The sound she made when he bit her. The way her body pressed to his like she already belonged there. How soft she felt. How warm. How her blood had lit every inch of him on fire.

He pumped slowly, grip tightening.

Her voice in his head: “I was dead once.”

That blood. That mystery.

That damn smile.

He groaned, hips moving with each stroke, water cascading down his chest as he spiraled deeper into the memory. He imagined kissing her again. Lifting her against a wall. Tearing that red dress from her hips and sliding inside her until she screamed his name — his real name.

He cursed — low and guttural — as he came, hard and fast, spilling into his palm, his whole body tensing from the force of it.

It wasn’t enough.

Not even close.

He stood there in the cold water, head bowed, breath ragged.

He’d lived over a thousand years.

He’d touched gods and killed kings.

But no one had ever affected him like this.

Rita.

A stranger. A girl with eyes like secrets and blood that called to something ancient in him.

He’d planned on walking away.

But now?

Now he wanted everything.

Notes:

Hi everyone <33

This chapter ended up being a bit longer than usual, a little over 12,000 words, oops. There was just too much happening to stop early, so I let it unfold naturally. I hope the pacing works and that you’ll enjoy where the story is heading.

Also… thank you so much for 7,000 views on Silver Blood! I’m honestly so grateful for every read, comment, kudos, bookmark, it means more than you know. Your support makes writing this story even more special

Feel free to share your thoughts on this chapter, I always love reading your feedback and hearing what you think.

On a personal note: I’m waiting on the results of something really important tonight. If you have a little space in your heart, I’d be so thankful for a kind thought or quiet prayer. Just hoping everything goes the way I’ve been wishing 🕊️

Take care and see you as soon as possible <33

Chapter 11: eleven

⊰᯽⊱ ──── ⊰⚜︎⊱ ──── ⊰᯽⊱

 

⚠️ IMPORTANT NOTE ⚠️

Just a reminder, Rita and Elena are identical twins except that Rita’s hair is white/ silver and her skin complexion is more pale; cf. my profile picture.

+ There are some cast changes for some characters. 

Henry Cavill as FINN MIKAELSON

Daniel Sharman as KOL MIKAELSON

Jensen Ackles as ALARIC SALTZMAN

 

+ this is the official playlist of the story.

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1qEwOoVKYhS_zE2teQU9kHib1z_BOhZ30

the songs where Arabella is marked as singer are the songs that i wrote. they’re originals. 

don’t forget to give me credits! 

 

⊰᯽⊱ ──── ⊰⚜︎⊱ ──── ⊰᯽⊱

 

The scrape of chair legs and the hum of chatter filled the history classroom. Rita slipped into her usual seat beside Bonnie, who was doodling in her notebook, and offered her a small smile. Elena sat one row behind them, deliberately angled toward Stefan like her eyes couldn’t stop trailing him.

At the front of the room, a man in his mid-thirties adjusted his jacket sleeves and turned to face the class. His smile was practiced—friendly, but maybe a little too practiced.

“Good morning, everyone. Alrighty.” He scrawled something on the board in sharp white chalk. Saltzman.

Rita tilted her head, silver-white strands falling forward as she studied him.

“Alaric Saltzman,” he announced. “It’s a mouthful, I know. Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.” He chuckled, the sound bouncing off the walls. “Saltzman is of German origins. My family emigrated here in 1755 to Texas. I, however, was born and raised in Boston. Now the name Alaric belongs to a very dead great-grandfather I will never be able to thank enough.”

Elena mouthed, “Are you okay?” toward Bonnie, who just shrugged and kept scribbling.

“You’ll probably want to pronounce it ‘Alaric,’” the teacher continued, correcting with a smile, “but it’s actually ‘Alaric.’ So, you can call me Rick. I’ll be your new history teacher.”

Rita’s pencil tapped idly against her notebook. She could feel his eyes sweep across the room, cataloguing faces. For a moment too long, his gaze lingered on Stefan and Elena. Her chest tightened.

 

Later, Jeremy walked into the room while Saltzman was eating lunch at his desk.

“Hey, Mr. Saltzman? I’m Jeremy Gilbert. You wanted to see me?”

Alaric finished chewing, then gestured Jeremy closer with a half-smile. “You know that your old teacher had a jackass file? No joke.” He held up a folder, the words Gilbert, Jeremy typed neatly on the label. “It’s basically an opus to you.”

Jeremy frowned, clearly alarmed.

“Don’t worry,” Alaric said, tossing it in the trash. “I’m not him. Clean slate. Now, let’s talk about grades.”

Jeremy shifted awkwardly. “I know it’s been rough, but I’ve been trying to turn them around.”

“I saw that.” Alaric nodded. “Problem is, half a semester of failing grades still drags you down. This is the part where you say, ‘What can I do to change that?’” His smile widened. “I’m glad you asked. Extra credit. Write me a paper. Keep it local. No Wikipedia-regurgitate. Make it sing and you’re back on track.”

“Yeah, totally. Whatever.” Jeremy gave a small, grateful smile.

“Good.” Alaric leaned back. “You’ve got a week.”

Jeremy’s eyes dropped to the large ring on his finger. “That’s a cool ring.”

Alaric froze a fraction before forcing a chuckle. “Thanks. It was my father’s. A little garish, but family, you know?” He set his sandwich down and leaned forward again. “One more thing—your sister, Rita. I noticed Tanner had some notes about her. Said you two might need future… private lessons.”

Jeremy’s brows pinched. “Rita? Why?”

“Oh, nothing bad,” Alaric said casually, but his gaze flicked too quickly back to the folder. “Just making sure she’s acclimating. She’s new here, right?”

Jeremy nodded slowly. 

 

Outside the school, Stefan sat at a picnic table, watching the late-autumn wind rustle through the trees. Elena crossed the lawn, arms folded tightly, her frustration written across her face.

“Hi,” Stefan greeted softly.

“You didn’t reply to my texts,” she said, sliding onto the bench. “In class, you ignored me. I was worried.”

Stefan nodded once, solemn. “I got your messages. I’m sorry. But what I want to say… it shouldn’t be said over the phone.”

Her heart thudded. “Then tell me.”

“I won’t be coming to school anymore,” Stefan admitted. “I’m going to back off. Keep my distance. It’s the right thing to do.”

Elena blinked, her lips parting. “Back off from school, or from me?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at her with those steady eyes.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said tightly, voice clipped.

“It’s better this way.”

“You’re angry,” he murmured. “That’s good. It’ll be easier if you hate me.”

Elena exhaled sharply, fighting the burn in her throat. “Right. Before you disappear, maybe you should tell your brother to stop threatening my friend.”

Stefan’s brows pulled together. “What would Damon want with Bonnie?”

“She has this necklace. Sarah got it from him and gave it to Bonnie. Now Damon wants it back, and he’s tormenting her.”

“Over a necklace?”

“It’s not just any necklace. It has to do with Bonnie’s heritage. It belonged to one of her ancestors who lived here during the Civil War…” Her voice faltered. She remembered. Stefan and Damon were alive then. “When you and Damon lived here.”

Stefan’s expression shifted, uncomfortable. “Her name was Emily. Katherine’s handmaiden. And a witch.”

Elena blinked, surprised. “You know? About Bonnie?”

“The first night you invited me to dinner, I made the connection.”

“And now Damon knows too. And for some reason, he wants that necklace.”

“What does it look like?”

“It’s an antique iron setting with an—”

“Amber crystal,” Stefan finished grimly. “I know it. It belonged to Katherine. Emily gave it to her. Which means…” He trailed off, confusion flickering across his face.

“Which means what?” Elena pressed.

“I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.” He stood abruptly. “Let me talk to Damon.”

“Will he tell you?”

Stefan’s jaw tightened. “I’ll get it out of him.”

 

The Mystic Grill buzzed with its usual low hum of clinking glasses and murmured conversations. Jeremy sat opposite Jenna in a corner booth, a plate of untouched fries cooling between them.

Jenna stirred her straw through a soda absentmindedly. “So, have you picked a topic yet?”

Jeremy shook his head. “Not yet. It’s gotta be local and non-internet research, so…”

“That’s easy,” Jenna said brightly. “You’ve got all your dad’s stuff.”

Jeremy frowned. “What stuff?”

“The ‘How the Gilberts came over on the Mayflower’ kind of stuff. All that family lineage from way back. He was obsessed with history. It’s all boxed up in the closet.”

Jeremy leaned back, chewing his lip. He hadn’t touched any of those boxes since the funeral.

Before he could answer, a shadow fell over the table.

“Jeremy,” Alaric’s smooth voice said.

Jeremy’s jaw clenched. “Mr. Saltzman.”

“This is my aunt, Jenna,” Jeremy added quickly.

Jenna looked up, her face lighting with the kind of warmth she hadn’t shown in months. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jenna.”

Alaric extended his hand, shaking hers with practiced ease. “Alaric Saltzman. Please, call me Rick.” His eyes flicked toward Jeremy. “Your nephew’s got a good head on his shoulders. Just needs the right push.”

“Jeremy was telling me about the paper,” Jenna said, smiling. “Thanks for giving him another chance.”

Alaric’s lips curved. “It was my first day. Gotta make a good impression.”

Jeremy forced a small nod, but the way Alaric’s gaze lingered on Jenna—and then shifted briefly, too briefly, to him—made his stomach tighten. Something about him rang wrong, though Jenna looked oblivious, almost charmed.

 

At the bar, Damon swirled a drink lazily, lounging like the world owed him something. Stefan slid onto the stool beside him, ordering a coffee with tight restraint.

“So, Stefan…” Damon smirked, leaning in. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should start over. Give this brother thing another shot. We used to do it oh-so well once upon a time.”

Stefan’s jaw clenched. “I don’t, Damon. I can’t trust you to be a nice guy. You kill everybody, and you’re so mean.” His voice pitched higher, mocking, before giving up with a sigh. “You’re really hard to imitate. Then I have to go to that lesser place…”

Damon grinned like a child who’d just pulled off a trick.

“So, what’s with the bottle?” Stefan asked.

“Crash diet,” Damon said. “Trying to keep a low profile.”

“You could always just leave,” Stefan suggested coolly. “Find a new town to turn into your personal Gas ’n’ Sip.”

“I’ll manage.” Damon tipped his glass. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

“I’m not here to keep an eye on you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Why not?” Stefan countered, though his eyes said otherwise.

 

Later that evening, the Gilbert kitchen smelled of tomato sauce and garlic bread. Pots clinked on the stove as Caroline leaned against the counter, giggling with Rita over a shared joke about how Elena’s apron looked way too pristine for someone cooking.

Elena caught the look, irritation flashing in her eyes.

Caroline rolled hers. “What?”

Bonnie sat down a cutting board. “I know it sounds crazy, but the necklace Sarah gave me was giving me nightmares. I had to get rid of it.”

“You threw it away?” Rita asked, brows knitting.

Caroline shrugged. “You could’ve just given it back to her.”

“Why?” Elena snapped, sharper than she meant. “So she could give it back to Damon?”

Caroline huffed. “Screw Damon, that weirdo. Are we doing manicures or what? Who’s got their kit?”

“Mine’s in my bag,” Bonnie murmured.

Caroline dug through her purse. “So, Elena… how long do you think this fight with Stefan’s gonna last? Is it, like, permanent?”

“I don’t know, Caroline.” Elena’s voice was brittle.

Caroline pulled something from the bag and froze. She held it up, the crystal catching the kitchen light. “Then why are you lying, Bonnie?”

Elena’s eyes went wide. “Caroline!”

“I’m not lying,” Bonnie swore, panic in her voice.

Elena shook her head. “I saw you throw it into a field.”

Caroline dangled it, smug. “Then explain this.”

Bonnie’s throat bobbed. “Emily.”

Rita blinked. “Who’s Emily?”

“The ghost,” Bonnie whispered.

Caroline snorted. “Oh, the ghost has a name now?”

“Caroline, please,” Elena begged.

Bonnie’s eyes flicked to Rita. “I don’t know why she won’t leave me alone.”

“Maybe she wants to tell you something,” Rita offered softly.

“You think so?” Bonnie asked Elena, hope sparking in her tone.

Caroline crossed her arms. “What is going on? Why am I not part of this conversation? You two always shut me out.” She pointed toward Rita, her voice rising. “Rita’s the only one who actually talks to me!”

“That’s not true,” Elena protested.

“Yes it is,” Bonnie said firmly. “I can’t talk to you. You don’t listen.”

“That’s not true!” Caroline shot back.

“I’m a witch.”

Caroline scoffed. “Yeah, don’t we all know it.”

“See?” Bonnie’s voice broke. “That’s exactly what I mean. I’m trying to tell you something, and you don’t even hear it.”

Caroline’s arms dropped slightly. “I listen! When do I not listen?”

Rita sat down the knife she was holding, watching the three of them unravel around the kitchen table. The air grew heavy, charged—like something was already waiting in the shadows, watching, just biding its time.

 

Jenna slid into the booth across from Alaric, dropping her purse beside her. She exhaled, shaking her head with a rueful smile.

“Jeremy totally ditched me.”

Alaric tilted his head. “Where’d he go?”

“Home. It’s close, he can walk it.” She waved it off, though her lips twitched. “Teenagers, right?”

He chuckled. “Right. So, are you from here? One of those Mystic Falls lifers?”

“I’m more of a returnee.” Jenna’s eyes flicked toward the window, like the town itself carried baggage. “I left for school, stayed gone for a while… then I came back. And, well—there’s also the other reason.”

Alaric leaned forward slightly. “The other reason?”

“A guy. Logan.” Jenna’s tone was dry as old paper. “He lied, cheated, reeled me back in, and then—predictably—left me again.” She took a sip of her drink and set the glass down with a clink. “Your turn. Any tragic love stories?”

“The basics.” His smile was almost gentle. “Fell in love young. Married young. She died.”

“Oh.” Jenna froze, eyes widening. “Wow, that’s… heavy. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

He lifted a hand like it was nothing. “Don’t worry. It’s the kind of thing that ends conversations. Or starts them.”

She studied him a beat. “What happened?”

“You, me, and the North Carolina police department would all love to know.” His mouth curved, but there was no humor behind it. “Cold case.”

Jenna hesitated, then nodded slowly. “That’s… rough.”

“Yeah.” His voice dropped, casual again. “So. New scenery, change of pace. That’s why I moved here. Mystic Falls has a rich history.”

Her lips curved faintly. “You’ll fit right in.”

 

Across the restaurant, the Salvatore brothers stood near the dartboard, the low thump of darts punctuating their conversation.

“Lucky shot,” Damon muttered, watching Stefan’s dart land near the bullseye.

Stefan smirked faintly. “More like skill. Decades of practice.”

“You’re beating me.”

“Yeah. Because I’m better than you.”

Damon’s eyes narrowed. “I’m onto you. This whole reverse psychology thing? A little transparent, but… hey, points for effort.”

Stefan plucked his next dart, calm as stone. “You’d prefer the brooding forehead routine?”

“Seriously, Stefan,” Damon said, voice lowering as he leaned closer. “What game do you think you’re playing?”

Stefan turned his head, meeting his brother’s eyes with quiet steel. “Funny. I’ve been asking you that for months. Frustrating, isn’t it?”

Damon’s smile was sharp, but his grip on the dart tightened. “Touché.”

 

Caroline crossed her arms, exhaling like she’d finally reached her breaking point.

“Bonnie. Look, it’s just not me. I don’t buy into the whole woo woo thing. But if you do—fine. Then I’m in.” Her voice softened. “That’s all it takes for me, because you’re my best friend. You and Rita.”

She threw a quick glance toward the kitchen where Elena and Rita lingered, one brooding, the other hesitant.

“And yeah, I’m saying this loud enough so you both hear me. I didn’t realize how real this was for you, Bon, but I’m listening now, okay?”

Bonnie blinked, lips parting, touched despite herself.

Caroline turned, calling toward the doorway, “Elena, Rita, you can come in. We’re done.”

Rita slipped in, a shy smile flickering across her face. Elena followed, her expression carved from storm clouds.

“There is way too much drama in this room,” Caroline announced. “So… what do you guys wanna do? Oh, I know. Let’s have a séance.”

Bonnie stiffened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Caroline’s grin sharpened. “Come on. Let’s summon some spirits. This Emily chick owes you some answers.”

Rita’s face dropped. “Absolutely not. Opening a breach in the Veil is dangerous—like, catastrophically stupid.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Riri. If this is about us watching Paranormal Activity last week, I swear it was just a movie. Nobody’s getting dragged off by a demon.”

“I’m going to my room,” Rita muttered, already backing away. “But if anything explodes, scream loud enough, and I’ll come save your butts.”

Elena’s mouth tightened, but she didn’t stop her. Rita slipped out, pulse quickening—her instincts screamed to stay away.

 

They gathered in Elena’s bedroom, the lights dimmed, candles flickering in the corners.

Bonnie fidgeted. “What exactly are we doing?”

Elena shrugged. “I… don’t know.”

Caroline smirked, arranging the candles like she’d done this a hundred times. “Just shut your eyes and concentrate. Deep breaths. Bonnie—call her.”

Bonnie glanced between them. “Emily… you there?”

Caroline groaned. “Seriously? That’s all you’ve got? You sound like you’re texting a ghost. Try harder.”

“Fine.” Bonnie straightened, voice trembling but stronger. “Emily. I call on you. If you have a message, I’m here to listen.”

The flames on the candles flared, shooting higher.

Elena’s breath caught. “Did that just—”

“Yeah,” Caroline whispered, eyes wide. “It totally did.”

Bonnie shook her head quickly. “It’s just… the AC. Draft or something.”

Caroline leaned in, whispering like a dare. “Ask her for another sign. Go on.”

Bonnie swallowed hard. “Emily, if you’re among us… show us a sign.”

They held their breath. For a long moment, nothing. Just the hum of silence.

“See?” Bonnie whispered. “It’s not—”

The windows burst open at once, curtains flying, wind howling into the room.

Bonnie screamed, stumbling back. “I can’t—I can’t do this. I’m done.” Her hands tore at the necklace. She ripped it off and hurled it onto the floor by the candles, which extinguished in the same instant. Darkness swallowed them.

“Get the light!” she cried. “Please—someone—”

“I got it,” Elena fumbled, reaching for the lamp.

The room glowed weakly. They all turned.

Bonnie’s voice cracked. “You guys… the necklace. It’s gone.”

 

The football field was empty, the floodlights long dead, the grass silvered by moonlight. Damon slowed to a halt in the middle of it, hands stuffed in his pockets, suspicion written all over his smirk.

“What are we doing here?” he asked.

“Bonding.” Stefan picked up a ball from the ground and lobbed it toward him. “Catch. Go on. Give it a try.”

Damon snorted, snatching it with vamp-speed. “Don’t forget who taught you how to play this game.”

Within seconds, they were darting across the field like shadows—brothers once again moving too fast for human eyes, tackling, dodging, pushing. Stefan slammed Damon down into the grass with a little too much satisfaction.

“[groans] That hurt.” Damon rubbed his ribs as he sat up.

Stefan shrugged. “Downside of my diet. Getting hit actually hurts a little bit.”

Damon eyed him, amused. “I’m impressed, brother. Booze and darts, sentimental football, and now—what? Starry night confessions?” His grin sharpened. “What do you want, Stefan?”

Stefan’s jaw tightened. “It wasn’t real, Damon. Our love for Katherine. She compelled us. We didn’t have a choice.” His voice lowered, almost bitter. “Took me years to understand what she did to us.”

Damon’s expression hardened instantly. “No,” he said flatly, pushing off the ground. “We are not taking that on tonight.” He turned away.

“What do you want with Katherine’s crystal?” Stefan called after him.

Damon froze mid-step. Slowly, he turned his head. “How do you know about that?”

“Elena told me. You knew she would.”

For a heartbeat, something sharp glinted in Damon’s eyes. Then he chuckled darkly. “How do you know it was Katherine’s? Emily gave it to her on her last night. I was with her, Stefan. You weren’t.”

“I was the last one to see her.” Stefan’s tone was steel. “Now answer the question. What do you want with the crystal?”

Damon vamp-sped into his face, their foreheads almost touching, his voice a whisper edged with venom.

“I could rip your heart out and not think twice about it.”

Stefan didn’t flinch. He smirked. “I’ve heard that before.”

Damon’s smile curved—feral, gleeful. “I’ve got a bigger surprise for you. I’m gonna bring her back.”

The words landed heavy between them. Stefan’s voice was quiet. “How?”

“Before Katherine and the others were taken,” Damon began, his tone suddenly sharp with memory, “you remember this town? Fear, hysteria. Vampires hunted one by one. When they came for Katherine, I went straight to Emily. Told her I’d do anything. Name her price. Just protect her.”

“And she did,” Stefan whispered.

Damon nodded once. “Some kind of spell. With the crystal. While the church was burning, and we thought Katherine was with it… she wasn’t.”

Stefan’s throat worked. “I saw her go inside…”

“There’s a tomb beneath the church.” Damon’s smile twisted, cruel in its delight. “Emily sealed her inside, safe and sound. A mystical holding cell for the last century and a half.” He stepped back, watching the horror creep into Stefan’s expression. “You’re the expert on starving vampires, Stefan. Imagine her. A hundred and forty-five years without blood. How do you think she’s doing?”

Stefan shook his head. “Witches can’t—”

“Oh, but they can,” Damon cut him off. “Did you know they use celestial events to fuel their magic? Neither did I. Until Emily used the comet. Poured its energy into the crystal. And now… the comet’s passed again.” He spread his arms wide. “And here we are.”

Stefan’s voice cracked with disbelief. “Why would she do this for you?”

Damon’s grin thinned. “Because she knew they’d come for her too. And I promised her one thing. That her lineage would survive.”

Stefan blinked. “I remember. You saved her children.”

Damon leaned closer, voice dropping to something dangerous. “Exactly. It’s the only reason I haven’t ripped Bonnie Bennett’s throat out to take back what’s mine.”

The silence was suffocating, broken only by Damon’s low, satisfied chuckle.

“But a deal’s a deal. So…” He bent to pick up the football and tossed it lazily toward Stefan. “You wanna go another round?”

 

The candles still smoked, their thin trails of gray curling upward like ghostly fingers. The room felt colder, heavier, as if the séance had cracked something open and let it seep in.

Elena’s voice was sharp, almost trembling.

“Okay, fun’s over, Caroline. You made your point. I get it. Now give it back.”

Caroline blinked, wide-eyed and defensive. “What? I didn’t take it! I—what even happened?”

Elena’s shoulders stiffened. “I don’t know. Nothing.” She raised her voice, scanning the hallway. “Rita? Jeremy, are you home?”

Rita appeared at the doorway, her face tight with alarm. “I heard you guys scream. What happened?”

Before anyone could answer, Bonnie’s eyes darted toward the bathroom. The crystal lay glittering faintly against the tiles. She stepped inside to grab it, and the door slammed shut with a violent crack.

“Guys!” Bonnie’s voice was panicked. “Open the door! Help me!”

Rita’s blood went cold. She lunged at the knob, pounding her fists against the wood. “Bonnie! Bonnie, what’s going on?!”

“Bonnie!” Caroline’s shrill voice overlapped hers as both girls clawed uselessly at the locked door.

“Try the other side!” Elena’s voice was sharp, frantic. She ran for the hall while Caroline kept hammering at the door.

“Bonnie! Unlock it!”

Inside, Bonnie screamed again—then silence, suffocating and heavy. The lock clicked. Slowly, the door creaked open.

Bonnie stood there, her head in her hands. When she finally looked up, her eyes weren’t hers.

“I’m fine,” she said evenly, but her tone was wrong. Lower. Ancient. “Who are you?”

Rita froze. “Bonnie… it’s me. It’s Rita.”

A pause. Then, like an echo from a hundred years back: “Yes. Right. Rita.”

Caroline let out a shaky laugh, her nerves unraveling into annoyance. “Unbelievable. You were totally faking it.”

“Caroline,” Elena snapped, warning in her voice.

“No! You scared the hell out of me!”

Bonnie straightened, but the way she held herself wasn’t Bonnie at all. Her lips parted. “Bonnie?” she repeated, like she was testing the name. Then, calmly: “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

She moved fast, rushing down the stairs, skirts brushing the banister. Elena and Caroline scrambled after her, panic loud in their steps. Rita bolted too, heart hammering against her ribs.

“I can’t believe I fell for it,” Caroline muttered under her breath.

Elena caught up, voice cracking. “Bonnie, are you okay?”

Bonnie didn’t even blink. “I must go.”

“She’s leaving,” Caroline said, flinging her hands in exasperation. “Well guess what? I’m leaving too.”

“You can’t leave!” Elena’s desperation bled through every word.

Caroline huffed. “I can. I’ve had enough freaky witch stuff for one night.”

Bonnie—no, Emily—stopped at the door, hands brushing over the handle as if testing it. Then she turned, her face serene and wrong. “Thank you for having me. I’ll take it from here.”

“Where are you going?” Elena asked, her voice breaking.

Emily’s eyes flicked over them, sharp and endless. “Back to where it all began.”

“Bonnie!” Rita cried, her voice cracking. Her chest squeezed. “Emily, wait—”

Emily’s voice dropped like a vow. “I won’t let him have it. It must be destroyed.”

And with that, she was gone.

The door slammed shut behind her. Elena threw herself at it, tugging, shaking, but it wouldn’t budge. “No, no, no—”

“What’s happening?” Caroline whispered, backing up.

“I don’t know! The door, it’s—” Elena yanked again, until suddenly, it gave way and burst open.

Jeremy stood on the other side, caught mid-step, eyebrows shooting up at the sight of three girls screaming at him.

“What the hell?”

Caroline jumped, her nerves fried. “I’m outta here. Rita—please, come with me.”

Rita’s throat was tight. She gave a stiff nod, snatched her bag, and followed, her gaze flickering back to Elena’s panicked face.

Elena didn’t even notice. Her hands were already shaking as she pulled out her phone, dialing.

“Stefan? It’s Bonnie. Something’s wrong.”

“What happened?”

“She’s possessed. Emily’s inside her. She said something—she said she won’t let him have it, that it must be destroyed—and then she just… left.”

There was silence on the line, then Stefan’s voice, calm but tense. “Where do you think she went?”

Elena’s breath caught as she remembered Bonnie’s dreams. “Fell’s Church. By the old cemetery. That’s where Emily always takes her. Stefan, we have to help her.”

“Stay there,” Stefan said, sharp and final. “I’ll find her.”

The line went dead. Elena stood frozen in the silence, the house suddenly too big, too dark.

 

The church ruins rose out of the darkness like broken teeth, jagged and skeletal against the night sky. The earth smelled of damp ash and rot, the ghosts of fire still clinging to the stones.

Stefan moved first, pulling Damon off a branch where Emily had flung him. Damon landed hard, groaning.

“It hurts,” he snapped, dragging himself up, brushing dirt from his jacket. “This is why I feed on people.” His voice was sharp, bitter.

From the shadows, Bonnie—or rather, Emily—stepped forward. Her posture regal, eyes ancient. She wasn’t Bonnie anymore, not even close.

“Stefan,” she said, her voice low and echoing, centuries layered in her tone.

“Hello, Emily.” Stefan kept his voice steady, but his shoulders stiffened.

“These people don’t deserve this,” Emily intoned, staring at Damon with cold fury. “They should never have to know such evil.”

“What do you mean evil?” Stefan asked carefully.

Damon’s lip curled back. “Emily. I swear to God, I’ll make you regret this.”

Emily didn’t flinch. “I won’t let you unleash them into this world.”

Them . The word hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

Stefan’s eyes flickered to Damon. “Them? What part of the story did you leave out?”

Damon scoffed. “What does it matter?”

“Emily.” Stefan’s voice sharpened. “Tell me what you did.”

Her gaze softened just a fraction. “To save her, I had to save them.”

Stefan’s stomach dropped. “You saved everyone in the church?”

Emily nodded once, her expression grim. “With one… comes all.”

The silence fractured with Damon’s voice, venomous and desperate. “I don’t care about them. I just want Katherine.”

Stefan’s jaw locked. His eyes narrowed. “I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t believe a single word that comes out of your mouth. This isn’t about love, Damon. It’s about revenge.”

Damon’s smirk was sharp, a blade hidden in charm. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Damon,” Stefan pressed, stepping closer. “You can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Damon’s eyes gleamed in the firelight of rage. “They killed twenty-seven people and called it a war battle. They deserve whatever they get.”

“Twenty-seven vampires,” Stefan corrected, voice low but firm. “You can’t just bring them back.”

“This town deserves it,” Damon bit out. “Every single drop of blood spilled is on them. And don’t fool yourself, brother—it will happen again. They already know too much. And when they do? They’ll burn your little grand-witch next to us.” He jerked his chin toward Bonnie’s possessed body. “Trust me.”

Emily’s voice cut through his anger like a bell tolling. “Things are different now.”

“Don’t do this,” Damon begged, voice cracking in a rare moment of desperation.

But Emily’s resolve was iron. “I can’t free them. I won’t.”

Her hands lifted. The ancient words rolled off her tongue, sharp and final.

“ Incendia !”

The pentagram carved into the dirt flared to life. Fire erupted, a wall of flames surrounding her in a perfect circle. Heat scorched the air, licking against Stefan’s skin.

Damon lunged forward. “No! No, please!”

“Bonnie!” Elena’s scream split the night. She tried to run, Stefan catching her arm just in time.

“No!” Damon howled, voice raw with loss.

Emily raised the necklace high, her expression fierce and mournful all at once. With a sharp motion, she hurled it upward.

The crystal exploded mid-air, shards of light raining like glass stars before vanishing into smoke.

When the fire died, so did Emily’s hold. Bonnie collapsed, gasping, blinking wildly as if surfacing from drowning.

“What—what happened?” she stammered, horror dawning in her eyes.

But Damon was already on her. His fangs tore into her neck, rage and hunger spiraling into violence.

“Damon, stop!” Elena screamed, her voice breaking.

Stefan’s body was a blur. He ripped Damon off her, shoving him back with all his strength. “Enough!”

Bonnie slumped to the ground, her pulse weak. Blood stained her skin, a crimson slash across pale flesh.

“She’s alive,” Stefan said quickly, kneeling beside her, panic breaking through his calm mask. “Barely.” He didn’t hesitate. He bit into his wrist, pressing it to Bonnie’s lips.

Elena gasped as red trickled into her friend’s mouth. “Stefan—what are you—”

Bonnie stirred. Her throat worked as the blood slipped past her lips.

Before their eyes, the wound on her neck began to close, knitting together like it had never been there.

Elena’s breath caught in her chest. “Her neck… it’s healing.”

The world was quiet again, except for Bonnie’s weak breaths and Damon’s heavy, furious silence.

 

Caroline slammed her bedroom door shut behind them with a groan. “Ugh. Never again. No more séances, no more witchy freak-outs, no more candles blowing themselves out.”

Rita dropped her bag near the desk and let herself fall face-first onto the bed. “That was officially the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.”

Caroline plopped down beside her, still hugging her pillow like a lifeline. “I was just trying to… lighten the mood! Instead, we got Bonnie possessed, Elena brooding, and me screaming like a five-year-old watching The Ring for the first time.”

Rita muffled a laugh into the blanket. “And you dragged me into it after I literally said opening the veil was dangerous.” She rolled onto her back, hair fanning out over the duvet. “We’re never speaking of this again. Pact?”

Caroline lifted her pinky. “Pact.”

They linked fingers, giggling softly, and for the first time that night, the tension in the air seemed to break.

It didn’t take long for Caroline to drag Rita into matching pajama mode. Caroline changed into silk shorts and a camisole while Rita, predictably, chose a short and an oversized T-shirt that slipped off one shoulder. They sat cross-legged on the bed, surrounded by snacks Caroline had smuggled upstairs—Oreos, chips, gummy bears, and two cans of soda.

For a few moments, they just ate in silence, the fizz of the soda filling the air. But Caroline’s brain never stayed quiet for long. She sighed dramatically, staring at the ceiling.

“Okay, so… don’t freak out,” she began.

Rita narrowed her eyes. “That’s never a good start.”

Caroline twisted the tab of her soda can, lips pressing together before she blurted it out: “I kissed Sarah Fell.”

Rita blinked. “Wait. What ?”

Caroline grabbed a pillow and buried her face. “On Stefan’s birthday. We… sort of… hooked up. Well, not hooked up ‘hooked up’, but kissed. Like, seriously kissed.”

Rita’s jaw dropped. “Caroline! That’s huge! And you didn’t tell me until now?”

Caroline peeked out from the pillow, looking both thrilled and horrified. “Because now she’s completely ignoring me. No texts, no eye contact in the hallway. I think she blocked my number. And then—” her voice cracked with outrage—“I saw her cozying up to Matt Donovan! Like hello? Pick a lane!”

Rita sat up straighter, indignant on her friend’s behalf. “That’s awful. You need to confront her. Ask her what it meant, otherwise you’ll just keep… spiraling.”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “And what makes you the romance expert all of a sudden? Something happen to you?”

Rita’s face heated instantly. “…maybe.”

Caroline gasped, grabbing her arm. “Spill! Don’t you dare hold out on me.”

Rita hesitated, then ducked her head, whispering like it was a dangerous secret. “When I was in New York… I kissed someone.”

Caroline froze. “Someone who?”

“I don’t know,” Rita admitted softly. “A stranger, Nik. We just… met at a party, and it happened. He was mysterious, magnetic. And the kiss—” she trailed off, eyes distant, lips curving in a shy smile. “It was the most beautiful kiss of my life.”

Caroline clutched her chest in fake pain. “Excuse me, rude. What about my kiss?”

Rita laughed, shoving her lightly. “No offense, Care. Yours was sweet, but this was… different. He kissed me like I mattered.” Her voice lowered, almost trembling. “And when he bit me…”

Caroline’s head snapped up. “Bit you?”

Rita nodded quickly. “Not in a creepy way like Damon. It was tender, almost reverent. And I… liked it. I felt this strange sensation in my stomach, like… wings fluttering.”

Caroline dissolved into laughter. “Babe, that’s called butterflies.”

Rita groaned, covering her face. “I sound ridiculous.”

“You sound like a girl who’s crushing hard on a mystery HOT man.” Caroline bounced on her knees. “So, did you at least get his number?”

“He gave me his,” Rita whispered. “But I don’t know if I should text him. I mean, what would I even say?”

Caroline’s mouth curved into a mischievous grin. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

Before Rita could react, Caroline snatched her phone, scrolling until she found the number saved under a single word: Nik.

“Caroline, don’t!” Rita yelped, reaching for it.

“Too late!” Caroline typed furiously, giggling the whole time.

Rita dove across the bed, but Caroline raised the phone out of reach, her silk pajamas shimmering in the light as she danced away. “Nooo!” Rita squealed. “Give it back!”

But Caroline had already hit send. The message glowed on the screen.

I think all the time about your bite in my neck, Rita.

Rita screamed into her pillow, mortified beyond belief, while Caroline collapsed into helpless laughter. “Oh my God, your face! Worth it!”

“You’re evil!” Rita groaned. “He’s going to think I’m insane.”

“No, babe, he’s going to think you’re bold. And trust me—guys love bold.” Caroline grinned, smug and satisfied.

 

Across the ocean, in a dimly lit loft in Chicago, Niklaus Mikaelson sat in his studio, an empty glass of whiskey abandoned beside his easel. His sketches were scattered across the floor—half-finished, restless lines of faces and ruins, none of them satisfying. For hours, he had been pacing like a caged animal, thoughts circling the same bitter truth.

She hadn’t reached out.

That girl. That strange, silver-haired creature who had stolen a kiss in New York, who had looked at him like she saw something more than the monster he was. She’d walked out of his life, and he’d been left with nothing but her name whispered in his memory.

Rita.

Klaus raked a hand through his hair, jaw tight. He’d given her his number. He wasn’t a man who waited. Yet here he was, days later, checking his phone like some lovesick fool. Silence. Nothing. Not a single word.

“Bloody typical,” he muttered, tossing the phone onto the table. “Trust me to fall for a girl who vanishes.”

The device buzzed a second later.

He froze.

Slowly, he reached for it, his heart lurching despite himself. When he saw the name lighting up his screen, a breath escaped his chest he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Rita.

His thumb swiped over the screen, and then he read the message.

I think all the time about your bite in my neck, Rita.

Niklaus blinked, stunned into silence. For weeks, he had been half-convinced she’d forgotten him, that he had imagined the spark between them. And now… this. Bold. Unapologetic. A confession dressed as a provocation.

A laugh broke from his throat—low, rich, dangerous. His sour mood evaporated, replaced with something sharp and exhilarating. She hadn’t forgotten. She remembered every second.

“She misses me,” he murmured to himself, savoring the words like fine wine. “She bloody misses me.”

His fingers hovered over the keyboard only a moment before he crafted his reply, deliberate and cruelly sweet:

And I think all the time about sinking my teeth into you again, sweetheart. Perhaps next time, I won’t stop.

He pressed send, leaning back in his chair, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

For the first time in days, Niklaus Mikaelson felt alive again.

 

The Bennett house had always felt alive. Not in the way people said about homes filled with memories, but in the literal sense: the air hummed faintly with a vibration that prickled against Rita’s skin as she stepped onto the porch. Wind chimes clinked in a rhythm too steady for the breeze, and somewhere deep in the wood of the siding, the past seemed to breathe.

Bonnie’s voice drifted through the door when she opened it, hesitant but warm.

“Hey. You came.”

“Of course,” Rita said softly. Her voice caught for a moment. After last night—the séance gone wrong, Emily’s possession, the way Bonnie had looked both terrified and lost—Rita couldn’t just stay away.

Inside, the house smelled like sage and lemon polish, the faint tang of candle smoke woven into everything. Rita followed Bonnie through the living room, noting shelves lined with books worn by generations, jars of herbs labeled in curling script, and the comforting clutter of a space that had been used for magic long before either of them was born.

Sheila Bennett was waiting in the armchair by the window. Her posture alone commanded respect: back straight, shoulders settled, gaze sharp even before it lifted to meet Rita’s. Her presence was both soothing and intimidating, like fire in a hearth—warm, but dangerous if you got too close.

“Grams,” Bonnie said cheerfully, “this is… Rita. Elena’s twin.”

For a moment, Sheila’s eyes softened at Bonnie, then flicked toward Rita with keen curiosity. “Ah. So this is the one I’ve been hearing about in pieces.”

Rita’s hands fidgeted at her sides, instinctively defensive. “Only good things, I hope.”

Something like amusement flickered in Sheila’s expression. “Depends on who’s been talking.”

Bonnie glanced between them nervously, then pulled Rita forward. “She wanted to check on me after last night.”

“Last night.” Sheila’s voice thinned like paper. “That foolish business with Emily.”

The reminder made Bonnie wince. Rita shifted closer to her, almost protective. “It wasn’t Bonnie’s fault,” she said quickly. “She tried to stop it.”

Sheila studied Rita in silence, then extended her hand. “Well. If you’re going to stand in my house and defend my granddaughter, the least you can do is let me get a sense of you.”

Rita hesitated. The request was simple, but her gut twisted, like it always did when someone new reached for her. Still, refusing would feel wrong. Slowly, she placed her hand in Sheila’s.

The effect was instant.

A warmth surged through Rita’s palm, curling up her wrist like liquid sunlight. Sheila’s eyes widened, her breath catching audibly. Rita felt it too: a resonance, like two notes of the same chord vibrating together.

“You…” Sheila whispered, almost to herself. “What on earth are you?”

Bonnie blinked. “Grams?”

Sheila quickly withdrew her hand, covering the reaction with a cough. “Nothing, child. Just age catching up to me.” Her gaze, however, never left Rita’s face. The warmth hadn’t faded; it pulsed in the air between them, impossible to ignore.

Rita swallowed. “I—” She almost confessed right there, but something held her back. Not in front of Bonnie. Not yet.

Bonnie’s eyes darted between them, suspicion rising. “Okay, weird vibe check. Did something just happen?”

Sheila smoothed her skirt and rose with deliberate calm. “Bonnie, why don’t you fetch that herbal blend that you like from the pantry? The one for focus. I think, it’s in a jar with a blue or red lid.”

Bonnie frowned. “We don’t need tea—”

“Bonnie.” Sheila’s tone carried the weight of a command honed by decades. Bonnie’s shoulders slumped.

“…Fine.” She gave Rita a quick look, concerned but obedient, before heading into the kitchen.

The silence that followed was heavy. Sheila’s eyes pinned Rita like an insect under glass. “You’ve been keeping secrets, haven’t you, child?”

Rita’s pulse stumbled. “It’s not—”

“Don’t lie. I felt it the second I touched you.” Sheila stepped closer, lowering her voice. “That warmth. That… pull. That isn’t mortal, and it resonates with my magic.”

Rita exhaled shakily. She’d known this moment would come sooner or later. But under the gaze of a woman like Sheila Bennett—a witch whose reputation stretched beyond Mystic Falls—it felt different.

“You can’t tell Bonnie. Not yet,” she whispered.

“I decide what my granddaughter should or shouldn’t know,” Sheila countered, but there was no cruelty in it—only truth. “Still… if you want me to keep a secret, I need to understand what it is I’m keeping.”

Rita hesitated, then nodded slowly. Her voice was low, almost a confession. “My blood. It… heals people.”

Sheila’s brow furrowed.

Rita pressed on, words tumbling now that the dam was cracked. “It’s not just cuts or bruises. I’ve seen it close wounds that should’ve killed someone. And… it erases compulsion. From vampires.”

Sheila’s lips parted in shock.

“I even brought someone back recently,” Rita whispered. “She’d been staked. Dead for minutes. And when my blood touched her… she came back. Alive.”

The silence stretched, weighted with disbelief and awe. Sheila finally drew in a breath, steadying herself. “That’s not possible.”

“I wish it wasn’t.”

For the first time, fear crept into Sheila’s face. Not of Rita, but of the implications. “Child… do you know what you’ve just told me? The kind of power you’re describing—witches would kill to study it. Vampires would tear this town apart for a drop of your blood.”

“I know,” Rita said softly. “That’s why I don’t want Bonnie to know. Not yet.”

Sheila studied her for a long, heavy moment then  moved to the low table by the window, pulling down a clay bowl painted with fading sigils. From a shelf she gathered jars—sage, vervain, rosemary, dried lavender—her hands steady, her face unreadable.

“These herbs carry resonance,” she explained, more to herself than Rita. “They align with the flow of spirit. When burned, they reveal what lingers around a person.”

Rita stayed still, watching as Sheila pinched each herb into the bowl. The smell was sharp, green, earthy. When she struck a match, the smoke curled upward in twisting spirals. At first it smelled like any fire. Then it shifted—sweeter, heavier, with an undertone that made Rita’s skin prickle.

Sheila’s eyes widened. “The fire recoils from you.”

Rita’s chest tightened. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Sheila said slowly, “the earth doesn’t know what you are.

Sheila sprinkledmore  herbs into the bowl and whispered a chant. The flame inside guttered, then bent sharply away arround Rita like it refused to touch her.

“What are you doing now?” Rita asked.

“Testing something.” Sheila’s voice was calm, but her hands moved with the precision of ritual. She sprinkled herbs into the bowl, murmuring words under her breath. The air grew thick, charged. Rita’s skin prickled.

“Ancestors,” Sheila intoned softly, eyes half-lidded. “Hear me. A presence lingers before me. What do you see?”

The flames bent inward as if a wind sucked the air from the room. Sheila’s eyes fluttered, distant, like she was listening to voices only she could hear. Then, her brows furrowed. Confusion.

“…They don’t see you,” she murmured, gaze snapping back to Rita.

Rita stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Sheila’s voice grew sharper, urgent. “I spoke your presence, and it blurred. Like static. Like your name was torn away before it reached them. They asked me who I was speaking of.”

Rita’s breath caught. The same unease she’d always carried—the way she felt unseen, untethered—suddenly had an explanation.

“They can’t hear you. Can’t see you,” Sheila whispered, almost in awe. “Even Emily—she must’ve known you when she crossed. But when she returned, she’d forget.”

Rita’s stomach dropped. “So I don’t exist to them.”

“Not in any way that matters.” Sheila extinguished the candles with a sharp gesture, leaving only smoke curling in the dim room. She turned back, her expression grave. “That makes you dangerous. And precious.”

Rita’s hands trembled at her sides. “Why me?”

Sheila’s eyes softened, almost pitying. “I don’t know. But I’ll tell you this, child—if the Ancestors cannot claim you, then you are something older. Something outside their grasp. And that will terrify them.”

A sound echoed faintly from the kitchen—Bonnie’s footsteps returning. Sheila leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper meant for Rita alone.

“Keep this between us. Not a word to Bonnie. Not until the time is right. Do you understand?”

Rita nodded quickly, relief and dread colliding in her chest. “Yes.”

The moment Bonnie reappeared in the doorway, holding a jar with a bright yellow lid, Sheila straightened as though nothing had passed. “Good girl. Now put the kettle on. Rita and I will take our tea strong today.”

Bonnie’s shoulders relaxed, oblivious. “Sure, Grams.” She disappeared again.

Sheila turned back to Rita one last time, her gaze piercing. “You carry something I’ve never seen before. And if word of it spreads, it’ll draw storms you can’t imagine. Be careful who you trust, Rita Gilbert.”

Rita swallowed hard, the weight of the secret pressing tighter against her ribs. “I will.”

But in the quiet that followed, with the scent of sage still heavy in the air, she wondered if it was already too late.

 

The night air outside Mystic Falls High carried the faint buzz of crickets, the hum of a distant streetlamp. Caroline was balancing on her heels, scrolling through her phone, while Rita leaned against the brick wall, arms crossed, keeping her eyes on the parking lot.

Caroline pressed her phone to her ear dramatically.

“Bonnie, where are you? We’re ready to go. We’ll be outside.”

She snapped the flip shut and groaned.

“She better not have ditched us for some witchy after-party.”

Rita smirked faintly. “If she did, she owes us waffles for life.”

Headlights cut across the lot, the beam sweeping over their faces. An SUV rolled up and stopped right in front of them.

The window slid down. Logan Fell’s smug grin appeared.

“Hey, damsels in distress, need a ride?”

Rita’s jaw tightened. She muttered under her breath, sharp enough for only Caroline to catch and giggling, “Logan ScumFell .”

Caroline’s eyes went wide in mock recognition.

“Oh my God. Logan Fell, channel 9, is that you?” She clutched her chest like a soap opera actress. “Star reporter slash babysitter extraordinaire?”

Logan’s grin twitched, annoyed. “I used to babysit you, Caroline Forbes. Don’t mock me.” His gaze slid to Rita, lingering too long. “Hi, Rita.”

Rita’s stomach churned. His tone was too familiar. Too hungry.

Caroline, oblivious, flipped her hair. “Well, we were supposed to go home with Bonnie, but she pulled a Houdini on us.”

Logan leaned an elbow on the window frame, an easy smile hiding sharp edges. “Not a problem. It’s on my way. Hop in.”

Rita shot Caroline a look. “Maybe we should—”

But Caroline was already tugging her toward the car. “Come on, Riri, it’s fine. Fate is literally handing me career connections.”

Rita slid reluctantly into the back seat, every nerve on edge.

As the car pulled away, Caroline leaned forward eagerly.

“You know, this is fate.”

Logan chuckled. “And why’s that?”

“Because I’m into broadcast journalism. So, can I ask you a couple questions? Maybe… shadow you?”

“Anything you want,” Logan said smoothly. “But first—buckle up, ladies.”

Caroline reached for her seatbelt, still smiling. That’s when Logan’s expression shifted. Dark. Predatory. In one swift motion, his hand shot out, slamming her head against the window.

The crack of impact echoed. A streak of blood smeared across the glass as Caroline slumped unconscious.

“Caroline!” Rita screamed, fumbling for the door handle. Her heart pounded so violently it hurt.

Before she could pull it open, Logan’s hand twisted back and smashed her skull against the opposite window. Pain detonated in her head, warm blood trickling instantly down her temple.

The metallic scent filled the car—except it wasn’t just metallic. Her blood bloomed into the air like perfume: sun-warmed peaches, wild strawberries, faint freesias, something golden and intoxicating.

Logan froze, nostrils flaring. His pupils dilated.

“What the—” His voice broke into a guttural moan as he leaned closer, tongue swiping the blood trailing down her cheek. The taste detonated inside him. Fire and sunlight, and he moaned deep in his chest, grip trembling with the effort to restrain himself.

“God—what are you?” he rasped, licking again, eyes wild. For a moment, his gums ached, fangs threatening to snap free, his fangs pressed at the edge of breaking through, his body screaming to drain her dry.

Rita whimpered weakly, vision swimming. She kicked uselessly at the seat in front of her, trying to stay awake. The world tilted, black edges creeping into her sight as Logan fought his own hunger, shaking with both ecstasy and rage.

 

Meanwhile, inside the school hallway, Elena and Stefan walked side by side, Elena’s face pale and troubled.

From the opposite end, Sarah Fell and Matt Donovan strolled toward them, smiling like kids with a shared secret.

“Hey,” Sarah greeted breezily.

Elena stopped Matt with a sudden urgency. “Hey—have you seen Logan Fell? The news guy?”

Matt shrugged. “Yeah. He just gave Caroline and Rita a ride home.”

The words landed like a punch. Elena’s face drained of color, panic sparking instantly.

Stefan’s head whipped around, eyes flashing predator-bright for a split second. Without a word, he muttered, “Stay here.”

“Stefan—” Elena’s voice cracked, but he was already gone, moving so fast he blurred out of sight.

Elena stood frozen in the hallway, fear clawing her chest.

 

Stefan had already reached the SUV by the time Damon picked up his phone across town. His voice was tight, clipped with fury.

“They took them.”

Damon leaned against the bar, glass in hand. “Who took who?”

“Logan Fell. He has Caroline and Rita.”

The glass in Damon’s hand shattered before Stefan even finished the sentence. His voice dropped into something lethal, vibrating with rage.

“He touched who ?” Damon’s breath hissed like a blade unsheathed. “If he so much as laid a fang on her—”

“Focus,” Stefan snapped on the other end, already tearing the SUV door open. “I’m handling it.”

“No, brother.” Damon’s voice was a low growl, filled with promise. “You handle getting them out alive. I’ll handle Logan.”

For the first time in decades, Stefan believed him.

 

The sheriff’s cruiser cut through the night like a blade, headlights bouncing against darkened storefronts. Liz Forbes’ grip was tight on the wheel, knuckles pale. The phone pressed against her ear made her pulse thrum harder.

“Where are you?” she asked, her voice already edged with dread.

On the other end, Logan’s laugh oozed through the speaker, smug and venomous.

“Relax, Liz. Your daughter and little Rita Gilbert have expressed an interest in journalism. Thought I’d… foster their curiosity.”

Liz’s stomach sank. “What do you want?”

There was a pause, and when Logan spoke again, his voice was dripping with malice.

“The satisfaction of turning a Gilbert and your daughter into vampires. Consider it poetic justice.”

Her heart lurched, rage and terror colliding. “Logan—”

But his words were cut short by chaos.

The SUV jolted to a sudden stop at an intersection. A blur of motion ripped Logan straight out of the driver’s seat. One second he was gloating, the next Stefan had him by the throat, slamming him onto the pavement with a force that cracked asphalt.

Rita stirred in the backseat, head pounding, warm blood drying sticky against her temple. Her vision swam in and out of focus, but she registered Stefan’s dark silhouette outside, his movements sharp, predatory. Beside her, Caroline groaned, shifting weakly, still dazed from the blow.

Logan scrambled to his feet, fangs bared. “You think you can stop me, Stefan?”

The words barely left his mouth before gunfire split the night. A bullet tore through him, sending him sprawling back onto the pavement.

From the shadows of the woods, Damon emerged. The gun in his hand gleamed silver under the streetlight. His smirk was wicked, but his eyes were pure fire.

“Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?” he drawled, stepping closer to Logan’s writhing body.

Then his attention snapped to Stefan. His voice dropped, deadly serious.

“Get them out of here.”

Stefan didn’t waste a second. He yanked open the passenger door. Rita blinked up at him, eyes glassy, lips parted like she was caught between consciousness and a nightmare. Hunger hit him suddenly, and he refrained himself with difficulty.

“Rita.” His voice softened only for her, firm but reassuring. “I’ve got you.”

In one smooth motion, he lifted Caroline into his arms and leaned down to pull Rita against his back, securing her like she weighed nothing. Her hands clutched at his shoulders instinctively, small and trembling.

Behind them, Liz’s voice was still spilling from Logan’s discarded phone on the pavement. “Logan? Logan, what happened?! Logan!”

Damon stooped casually, picked up the device, and pressed it to his ear. His smile was razor-sharp, though Liz couldn’t see it.

“Sheriff,” he greeted silkily. “Yeah, it’s Damon.”

Her breath hitched. “Where are the girls?”

Damon glanced at Stefan disappearing into the night with both Caroline and Rita secured in his arms. The sight made his jaw clench—Stefan touching her, holding her. But now wasn’t the time.

“They’re fine,” Damon said, his tone deceptively calm. “I’m on Elm Street.”

The phone clicked shut. Damon looked down at Logan’s twitching body, hatred simmering just under his skin. His fingers flexed around the gun, and for a brief second, he considered ending it right then and there.

But the image of Rita’s blood trickling down her temple—the way Logan had obviously licked it—flashed through his mind like gasoline on fire. Damon’s smirk vanished, replaced with a raw fury that promised Logan’s death would not be clean.

 

The driveway was hushed when Stefan and Elena pulled in, the car’s headlights slicing across the Gilbert porch before dimming into silence. Neither of them moved when Elena cut the engine. For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped just for them—two figures lingering in the bubble of a parked car, weighed down by too much unsaid.

Elena’s hands tightened on the steering wheel before she finally broke the silence.

“What I said before—about you leaving.” Her voice trembled, but her eyes didn’t look away. “It was harsh. And thank you… thank you for saving my sister. For saving Caroline.”

Stefan shook his head, quiet, his jaw tight with guilt. “No, you had every right.”

The way he said it, like a man already halfway gone, made something twist in Elena’s chest. She drew in a breath. “You asked me once what I wanted my future to be,” she whispered. “I wanted to be a writer. My mom… she pushed me in that direction from the moment I could read. She supported me, encouraged me, gave me my first journal, she’d buy me pens that were too nice for school. It was our thing. Then she died, and saying ‘writer’ felt like picking at a bruise. I know you think you brought the bad into my life, but—” a tiny laugh—“the bad was already squatting in the living room. I was drowning before you ever showed up.”

Her throat closed around the memory. Stefan’s gaze softened, but he said nothing.

“I can’t see myself being a writer anymore. That was… us. That was something we shared, and now it just hurts.” She blinked hard. “You think you’ve put all this bad stuff in my life, Stefan, but it was already there. I was buried in it.”

He looked away, his profile carved in shadow. “This is different.”

“It doesn’t make it any less painful.”

“I know it’s hard to understand.” His voice was low, almost desperate. “But I’m doing this for you.”

Stefan pushed open his door, leaving the words like a finality between them. He stepped out into the night. Elena sat frozen, heart pounding, staring at his retreating back as he walked toward the house.

“No.”

The word burst from her before she could stop it. Stefan halted, shoulders rigid.

“You don’t get to make that decision for me,” Elena said, throwing open her door. Her feet hit the gravel, steady despite the tremor in her body. “If you walk away—it’s for you. Because I know what I want.”

Her voice broke, but she didn’t falter. “Stefan… I love you.”

The words hung in the air like fragile glass. For a heartbeat, Stefan didn’t move. Elena felt the sting of tears, terrified he would keep walking. But then—slowly, almost painfully—he turned. His eyes glistened, the guarded wall in them cracking.

In two strides he was in front of her, cupping her face with trembling hands. The kiss that followed wasn’t soft—it was raw, urgent, like he had been starved for her and couldn’t hold back any longer. Elena gasped against his mouth, her fingers threading through his hair as he pressed her back toward the porch wall.

The world shrank to the heat between them, the scrape of wood against her back, the solid press of his body. His kiss deepened, swallowing her whole, until she thought she might dissolve from the sheer force of it.

And then it happened—his hunger breaking loose.

Elena felt the shift: Stefan’s body tensing, his breath stuttering against her lips. When he pulled back, his head dropped to her shoulder, his chest rising and falling too fast. She felt the brush of his lips at her throat before he jerked away, back turned, shame rolling off him in waves.

“Don’t,” she whispered, reaching for him.

“Elena, I can’t—” His voice cracked, his shoulders heaving.

“Yes, you can.” She stepped closer, trembling but unafraid. Gently, she laid her hand against his cheek and turned his face toward her.

Red eyes stared back at her. Dark veins crawled beneath them like fractured glass. For a moment, she thought he might rip himself away. Instead, Elena traced the veins with her fingertips, her touch feather-light.

Stefan froze. The hunger in him warred with something else—something stronger.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered.

Her kiss was soft this time, but he clung to it like salvation. Slowly, his face smoothed, the monstrous edges receding, until only Stefan remained—raw and aching. He kissed her again, gentler now, but no less desperate.

Elena laced her fingers through his, tugging him toward the door. He followed without resistance, like she was the gravity tethering him to this earth.

Inside, the house was quiet. Shadows flickered across the floor as Elena led him up the stairs, pausing only when they reached the landing. She pushed him lightly against the wall, claiming another kiss with breathless boldness that made him smile against her mouth. Their laughter dissolved into heat, into hands that couldn’t stop touching, until they stumbled into Stefan’s room.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Elena had never been here before, and it showed in the awe in her eyes as she glanced around. But Stefan couldn’t stop long enough to let her look—his hands were on her, urgent, reverent.

He kissed her as if he was afraid she’d vanish if he paused. Her back met the edge of his desk, and he steadied her by the waist. His fingertips grazed under her shirt, tentative at first, then firmer when she leaned into him instead of pulling away.

Her own hands slid beneath the lapels of his jacket, pushing it down his arms until it fell forgotten to the floor. She wanted skin, wanted him unarmored. Stefan hesitated, always teetering on the line of restraint, until she guided his hand higher, pressing it flat against her heartbeat.

“Feel that?” she breathed. “That’s for you.”

The sound he made—half groan, half plea—sent shivers across her spine. He kissed her again, harder, his control fraying. When her shirt lifted over her head, he froze for a second, eyes tracing her like she was something sacred.

“Elena…” His voice was ragged, reverent.

She smiled, flushed, nervous and bold all at once. “Don’t look at me like I’m breakable. I’m not.”

But he did—he always would. And then his mouth was on her collarbone, kissing, tasting, worshiping.

By the time her back met the mattress, Elena felt like fire under skin. Stefan hovered over her, braced on his forearms, his weight caging her in without crushing. Their eyes locked. For the first time since she’d met him, she saw no distance in his gaze—just hunger, love, and terror bound together.

“We don’t have to,” he said. The words shook. “Not tonight.”

Elena cupped his face, her thumb brushing his lip. “I want this. I want you.”

The permission was all he needed.

His mouth claimed hers again, and everything blurred into sensation: the tug of his lips, the warm scrape of his stubble, the sharp inhale she gave when his hand skimmed down her thigh. He kissed her as if he was memorizing her, every angle, every sound.

Her hands wandered too, curious and unafraid. She explored the muscles of his back, the curve of his shoulders, the way he trembled when she traced the line of his jaw. When she pulled his shirt over his head, she gasped softly—he was carved in shadow and light, scarred by years she couldn’t imagine, yet so human under her touch.

“Beautiful,” she whispered.

He shook his head, but she silenced him with another kiss.

Clothes became a trail across the room—her jeans tangled with his, socks abandoned near the bedpost. Each layer shed more of their fear until only skin remained, flushed and alive.

Stefan slowed then, hovering above her, his forehead pressed to hers. “Tell me to stop, Elena. If it’s too much—”

Her answer came in action, not words—her hips rising to meet his, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her mouth whispering his name like a vow.

The first push was careful, almost hesitant. Elena gasped, clutching at him, every nerve sparking alive. Stefan’s control nearly snapped; she felt it in the way his breath broke against her ear. But he forced himself to still, to let her adjust, his lips peppering kisses across her temple, her cheek, her shoulder.

“Look at me,” she said softly.

He did—and the sight of her beneath him, wide-eyed but unafraid, wrecked him completely.

The rhythm they found was tentative at first, then surer, a conversation written in touch and breath. Elena clung to him, nails dragging lightly down his back, drawing groans from his throat that she’d never heard before. Her name spilled from his lips like prayer, broken and desperate.

She kissed the veins at his throat, kissed his mouth when his fangs threatened to break through, kissed the man and the monster both. “I’m here,” she whispered between gasps. “I’m yours.”

That undid him.

Their movements grew hungrier, synced, her body learning his, his restraint fraying until all that was left was love and need and the wild, beautiful mess of giving in. Elena felt herself unravel, the heat coiling tight until it broke in a rush of stars behind her eyes. Stefan followed, clinging to her like he’d never let go.

For Stefan, it was salvation. For Elena, it was the first time she truly felt alive since the day her parents died.

They finally stilled, their hands entwined, their bodies pressed close, Elena rested her cheek against his chest. His heart—steady, solid—thundered beneath her ear.

Later, wrapped in Stefan’s shirt, Elena lay curled against him, tracing idle patterns along his skin. His arm was draped protectively around her, his hand stroking her hair in slow, soothing motions.

“I’ve never been in your room before,” she murmured, eyes drifting toward the shelves and relics lining the walls.

“Hm,” Stefan hummed, a faint smile tugging his lips. “It hasn’t changed much over the years.”

“Do you leave everything here when you come and go?”

He nodded. “It’s the only place that’s… remained constant. This room holds every memory I ever thought was worth keeping.”

Elena’s chest tightened at the quiet reverence in his tone. She smiled softly, kissing the place above his heart before tucking herself closer.

For a while, there was only warmth and silence but eventually, Stefan stirred. “Are you thirsty?”

Elena laughed lightly. “Maybe a little.”

“I’ll get you something,” he promised, kissing her once before slipping out of bed.

The moment the door closed behind him, Elena let herself breathe. Her eyes roamed the room, curiosity tugging her upright. Barefoot, she padded across the floor, fingers brushing over trinkets, photos, the weight of history in every corner.

And then she saw it.

The photograph.

Her chest constricted as she lifted it. The face staring back at her was hers—almost. Same eyes, same curve of jaw, same smile. Katherine.

Her fingers trembled as she set the picture down, eyes burning. The necklace Stefan had given her slid from her neck, clattering onto the photo frame. It felt like betrayal.

By the time Stefan returned, water glass in hand, the room was empty.

“Elena?” he called, panic rising when he saw the abandoned necklace and the photo. His throat tightened.

She was gone.

 

Elena’s car roared down the deserted road, her vision blurred by tears. She tried calling Rita—anything to ground herself—but the call went unanswered. Rita, safe in Caroline’s arms that night, was blissfully unaware of the storm breaking Elena apart.

Her grip tightened on the wheel, sobs clogging her throat. She didn’t see the shadow until it was too late.

A man stood in the middle of the road.

She slammed the brakes, but the figure hit the windshield with a sickening crack. The car flipped, metal screaming against asphalt, glass shattering in a rain of sparks.

When it finally stilled, Elena hung upside down, seatbelt digging into her shoulder, the taste of blood in her mouth. Dazed, she blinked through the spiderweb cracks in the windshield.

The man she had hit—broken, lifeless seconds ago—was standing again. Slowly. Too slowly.

And he was walking toward her.

Notes:

hiii ♡

extra long chapter this wee <3 ngl it kinda feels like i just dropped a mid-season finale lol. thank you sm for reading through all the chaos. i might’ve gone a little feral...

also… we’re about to hit 10k views soon and we have 500 kudos, that’s absolutely INSANE. like?? tysm for every single read, kudos, comment, and bookmark. it seriously means the world to me and i love seeing all your reactions <33 is wattpad still popular for tvd fic, should i post here too?

next chapter’s in two weeks finally, can’t wait to show u what happens after that crash.
love u all, see u soon

+ if ur interested to reach me, to exchange with me about anything
my insta is @arabellaxjia (it's just for communication)
my reddit is https://www.reddit.com/u/user-bella/

Chapter 12: NOTICE [IMPORTANT]

Hello everyone, 

my macbook doesn’t work since morning, all my chapters are on my mac, it’s stupid I know.

I admit that I panic a little bit. In fact the keyboard doesn’t work and the cursor (idk if this is the word in english) bug. I’ll wait a little before taking it to the repairman because sometimes within a few days the keyboard work again and I don't want to spend another €400 on this mac. Don't panic if there is no chapter on Friday. It will be posted (I hope) on Sunday or Tuesday.

Sorry for not responding ur comments, I wanted to respond today as I finally come back to Paris. I’m not really comfortable on the phone so I hope that u guys understand. 

I will delete this notice once the chapter 12 will be published .

 

+ The story is a Mikaelson men harem! 

 

I don’t intend to pair any of the Salvatore with Rita. The Salvatore are one sided. Rita will NEVER consider to be with Damon because of what he did to Caroline and she will NEVER consider Stefan because Elena was with him first. Sorry if it wasn’t clear. I paired them in the tags because of some the future events. 

I will change some pairings tag soon because I developed the story but should I change it when they appear on the story or now ? I don’t want to spoil too much honestly… 

 

Sur ce, have a nice day and pray for my mac pls 😭

 

Chapter 13: twelve

⊰᯽⊱ ──── ⊰⚜︎⊱ ──── ⊰᯽⊱

 

 

Elena never saw him until it was too late.

A man stood in the center of the road, pale and still against the dark trees. She slammed the brakes, the car shrieking in protest, but the impact came anyway. Metal screamed. The world spun sideways, then over and over again, glass shattering, seatbelt biting into her shoulder until everything stopped with a violent lurch.

She hung suspended, blood in her mouth, the airbag deflating uselessly in front of her. The windshield was a cracked spiderweb and through it she saw him—the man she had hit. His neck was bent at an impossible angle, but slowly, impossibly, he straightened. Bones snapped back into place as he rose, eyes black, smile sharp.

Her heart tripped into panic. She screamed.

The man started toward the car—calm, patient steps like she had nowhere else to go. And she didn’t. Her fingers clawed at the seatbelt, but the buckle wouldn’t release. Panic only made her clumsier.

Then, just as he reached the hood, he stopped. His body twitched, stuttered—and then he bolted into the woods, gone in an instant.

A shadow replaced him, faster, familiar.

“Damon?” she gasped.

“How ya doing in there?” he asked, crouching by the mangled door, eyes bright with amusement.

“Help me,” she stammered. “I can’t get it—the seatbelt—”

“Shh, shh.” His voice gentled as he reached in. “Hands on the roof. Just like that. One, two—” The buckle snapped free under his hand. “Three. Got you.”

He pulled her out carefully, easing her weight against him. For a second her legs held. Then they gave out. Damon caught her before she could hit the ground, hands firm on her shoulders.

“Easy.” His gaze scanned her quickly, too intense. “Anything broken?”

She shook her head, still trembling.

“You’re fading fast, Elena. Look at me.” His hand tipped her chin up. “Eyes on me. Focus.”

Her vision blurred. She tried to anchor on his face, those eyes that never looked away. “I look like her,” she whispered.

Damon’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Katherine…” The name slipped out on her last breath before the world collapsed.

Her body sagged. Damon lowered her gently to the pavement, brushing his fingers across her cheek like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. “Up you go.” He lifted her into his arms and carried her away from the wreck.

When she woke again, it was to the steady rumble of a car and the dizzy lurch of a highway. Her head throbbed as she blinked, realizing she was in Damon’s car, wrapped in the scent of leather and gasoline.

“Morning,” he said lightly, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against it.

Her heart jolted. “Where are we?”

“Georgia.”

She sat up too quickly. “No. No, we’re not. Damon—seriously—where are we?”

“Seriously,” he repeated, a crooked smile on his face. “Georgia. How you feeling?”

She ignored the question. “I hit a man—he got up. Who was that?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

Her hand flew to her pocket. Empty. “Where’s my phone? Damon, we need to go back. Nobody knows where I am. Pull over.” Her voice rose. “Pull over!”

He sighed, flicked the blinker, and guided the car onto the shoulder. “You were way more fun asleep,” he muttered.

Elena shoved the door open and stumbled out, her legs barely steady beneath her. Damon was on her in an instant, crouching in front of her like she might bolt.

“Hey,” he said, steady and soft.

“I’m fine,” she lied, though her body swayed. “We have to go back.”

“Come on, Elena. We’ve already come this far.”

“Why are you doing this? I wrecked my car, and now you’ve dragged me to Georgia. This is kidnapping.”

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” His smirk was infuriating.

“You’re not funny. I’m not going to Georgia.”

He tilted his head. “Well, you’re in Georgia. And without your little necklace, I could make you very agreeable.”

Her throat tightened. “What are you trying to prove?”

Before he could answer, her phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. He slid it out and grinned. “Boyfriend’s calling.”

“Give it to me—”

He pressed it to his ear. “Elena’s phone!”

“Where is she?” Stefan’s voice was sharp. “Is she okay?”

Damon glanced at her, smirk tugging his lips. “She’s right here. Fine.”

“Put her on.”

Elena shook her head furiously. Damon’s smile widened. “Yeah, I don’t think she wants to talk right now.”

“Damon, if you touch her—”

“Have a nice day,” Damon cut him off, then ended the call.

Elena’s stomach twisted. “Please. No one knows where I am. Can’t we just go back?”

“We’re almost there,” he said easily.

“Where is there?”

“A little place outside Atlanta. Step away from your life for five minutes, Elena. It’ll still be waiting when you get back.”

She hesitated, shaken and raw. “Am I safe with you?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t—compel me?”

“No.”

Her eyes searched his face. “Can I trust you?”

“Get back in the car,” he said simply.

Something in his tone left her no choice. She climbed in.

The road stretched ahead, the sky paling at the horizon. Damon drove one-handed, the other drumming on the wheel, eyes forward. After a while, he spoke—casual, like they were on a joyride.

“So. Tell me about Rita.”

Elena stiffened. “What?”

“What’s her favorite movie?” He flicked her a glance. “Yours is probably The Notebook . Hers?”

Elena’s mouth opened. “She watches a lot of things, I guess.”

“Food?”

“Caroline says she likes pancakes,” she offered, the words sounding hollow.

He hummed, amused. “Book?”

“I… I don’t know.”

The silence stretched, heavy. Damon’s smirk slid into place. “So you don’t know her favorite book. Or color. Or much of anything, really. What kind of twin sister doesn’t know those things?”

Elena’s chest squeezed. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Idle curiosity.” He tapped the wheel again. “Or maybe I just like knowing things about her.”

Her glare burned the side of his face, but he didn’t look away from the road. His voice dropped, quieter, smug.

“You don’t even know her biggest secret.”

Her heart stuttered. “What do you mean?”

Damon’s smirk curved sharper. “Guess you’ll find out one day. Or not.”

The car swallowed the silence whole, carrying them deeper into Georgia.

 

Elena’s knuckles were still white when the trees finally thinned and billboards began shouldering the highway. Her head throbbed a dull, relentless beat. The adrenaline had burned off, leaving the kind of shaking that started in the bones and refused to stop.

“So,” she said, rubbing at the ache in her shoulder, “where’s my car?”

“I pulled it off to the side of the road,” Damon answered, casual, as if they were discussing lost keys. “I don’t think anyone will bother it.”

“What about the man in the road?” She swallowed. The image of him reassembling himself from wrong angles kept flashing like a broken slideshow. “Was he a…?”

“From what I could tell,” he said, “yeah.”

“You didn’t know him?”

“If I’ve never met him, I wouldn’t know him.” He flicked her a look that said she should keep up. “It’s not like we all hang out together at the Vamp Bar & Grill.”

She made a face despite herself. “Your Yelp reviews would be brutal.”

“Only three stars because the appetizers are mostly people.” He sounded pleased with the joke.

The car slid off the interstate and into surface streets, old brick and hand-painted signage. Neon hummed ahead, a pink script flickering above a squat building with a tin roof.

Damon parked. “We’re here.”

Elena stared at the sign. Bree’s Bar. “You brought me to a bar?” She glanced down at herself—blood on her sleeve, dirt on her jeans. “I’m not old enough. They won’t let me in.”

“Sure they will,” he said, already out of the car.

They stepped into warmth and noise. The place smelled like fryer oil and lavender cleaner. A jukebox mumbled something from the nineties. The low light made everything look softer, until you looked close and saw the edges.

Behind the counter, a woman, pretty, dark skin looked up, went still, and then lit like a match.

“No,” she said, already grinning. “No, it can’t be. Damon. My honey pie.”

Before Elena could blink, Bree had Damon’s face in her hands and her mouth on his, a quick, possessive kiss that tasted like old summers and old sins. She pulled back and, with the kind of theater born from practice, lifted a bottle high.

“Listen up, everybody!” she called, voice like a bell. “Here’s to the man who broke my heart, crushed my soul, destroyed my life, and ruined any and all chances of happiness!”

A ragged cheer went up. Shot glasses clinked. Bree poured like a woman in command of her stage.

“Drink up!”

Damon laughed, that low wolf thing that made people forgive him. He tossed back his shot; Bree did the same and hissed in pleasure.

Then Bree turned to Elena, smile curving with interest. She poured another, slid it across. “So, how’d he rope you in?”

“I’m not roped in,” Elena said, bristling. “Actually I’m dating his—”

“Honey,” Bree interrupted, amused, “if you’re not roped, you’re whipped. Either way, enjoy the ride.” She winked, poured more.

“I’m not drinking,” Elena muttered, pushing the glass a fraction back.

“Have a seat,” Damon told her, taking the stool like he owned the room. “Hydrate if you must.”

Elena perched, spine straight. “So… how did you two meet?”

“College,” Bree answered, with the kind of nostalgia that cuts both ways.

Elena swung her gaze to Damon. “You went to college?”

He smiled like a cat. “I’ve been on a college campus, yes.”

“About twenty years ago,” Bree went on, wiping a ring of condensation from the bar. “When I was a sweet, young freshman, I met this beautiful man and fell in love. Then he told me his little secret, and I loved him more. Because I had a little secret of my own that I was dying to share with somebody.”

“She’s a witch,” Damon murmured in Elena’s ear, like gossip at a brunch table.

Bree didn’t pretend otherwise. “He changed my world, you know.”

“I rocked your world,” Damon corrected, shameless.

Bree laughed and aimed a knowing look at Elena. “He is good in the sack, isn’t he? But mostly he’s just a Walk-Away Joe.”

Elena scowled. “So what is it that you want?” Bree asked Damon then, the hostess mask slipping just enough to reveal the steel underneath.

Damon swiveled the glass, letting the light catch it. “Information.”

“On?”

“A door,” he said. “How to open one that was shut a very long time ago.”

Bree’s eyes cooled. “You always did love a tomb.”

“You always loved the rules.” He smiled with all his teeth. “Rules are for people who can’t afford better options.”

Bree leaned on her elbows, close enough for Damon to smell the cinnamon on her breath. “Better options come with better prices.”

He tipped his head, conceding the point. “You help me, I owe you. That’s a currency you know I honor.”

Honor wasn’t the word Elena would have chosen, but Bree’s mouth tugged anyway. 

Bree slid a beer across the counter like it was part of a ritual, the glass sweating rings onto wood that had a thousand stories carved into it already. Damon didn’t drink yet. He watched the way the bubbles climbed, eyes bright with that particular brand of charm he wore when he wanted something.

“Come on,” he said, almost coaxing. “There’s gotta be another way.”

Bree arched a brow, all sugar on top, steel underneath. “After all these years, it’s still only Katherine.” Her mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “How do you even know she’s still alive?”

“You help me get into that tomb,” Damon said, “and we’ll find out.”

“I already did.” She tipped her chin toward the ceiling, like the past was written up there. “Twenty years ago. Remember?” She lifted a finger for each word, sing-song. “Three easy steps: comet. Crystal. Spell.”

Damon’s grin pulled sideways. “There’s a little problem with number two. I don’t have the crystal.”

“That’s it, baby.” Bree’s voice softened the way people do when they’re about to say something that hurts. “There is no other way. It’s Emily’s spell.”

“What about a new spell,” he pressed, “with a new crystal that overrides Emily’s?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” she said, the patience of a teacher correcting a bright, willful student. “Emily’s spell is absolute. You don’t get to cheat it. You can’t get into that tomb.”

Silence hummed a second, threaded with the bar’s low music and the clatter of ice farther down. Damon leaned back on the stool like none of this touched him, like wanting something for a century hadn’t carved grooves in him you could fall into.

Elena sat beside him with a basket of fries she hadn’t asked for, a glass of water she’d asked for twice, and the feeling of being watched by things she couldn’t see. Damon plucked a fry, popped it into his mouth like a boy on a field trip.

“So,” she said, because somehow the world had narrowed to trivia and impossible doors, “let’s just say that I’m descended from Katherine. Does that make me… part vampire?”

Damon half-smiled around his chewing. “Vampires can’t procreate.” He took another fry, flicked his eyes at her. “But we love to try.” The smirk landed; she rolled her eyes. “No. If you were related, it would mean Katherine had a child before she was turned.”

“Did Stefan think he could use me to replace her?” The question left before she could dress it up as something else.

“Kinda creepy if you ask me,” Damon said, too light, and then, without missing a beat, “Come on, what? You don’t like pickles? What’s wrong with you?”

She nudged the spear away with a look. “How can you even eat? If technically you’re supposed to be…”

“Dead?” he supplied in a mock-whisper, amused. “Not such a bad word.” He shrugged. “As long as I keep a healthy diet of blood in my system, my body functions pretty normally.”

“And this—” she gestured between them, the fries, the easy banter that wasn’t easy at all “—this nice act. Is any of it real?”

He was about to laugh it off, she could tell, when Bree reappeared like a cue, cold bottle in hand.

“Here you go.” She passed Damon a beer. He took it with a pleased little hum.

Elena, impulsive, reckless, tired: “I’ll have one too.”

Damon cut her a surprised look, like she’d just decided to be fun at the worst possible time. “Hmm?”

“Time-out, remember?” Her mouth was dry; her hands were buzzing. “For five minutes. That five minutes needs a beer.”

Bree’s smile warmed like she approved of the choice even if she didn’t approve of the girl. “There you go.” The bottle bumped Elena’s palm, cool and sweating.

Elena took a sip and made a face—more at herself than the taste. Damon watched her like she was a puzzle with a hidden door. He tapped his bottle to hers once, a quiet cheers that didn’t pretend to be anything else.

“Damon,” Bree said then, and the softness was gone. “What you’re asking for? It’s not just an old key you can jiggle in the lock. Emily sealed that place with her blood and death. Doors like that stay shut for a reason.”

“Everything stays shut,” he said mildly, “until it doesn’t.”

“The tomb can maybe be opened,” Bree said suddenly, her voice low.

Damon’s head snapped up. “You’re lying.” His tone was soft, almost coaxing, but the sharpness in his eyes made Elena’s stomach twist.

“I’m not,” Bree insisted. “Emily’s grimoire—her spellbook. If you know how she closed the tomb, the reversal process will be in there. You can open it.”

Elena’s pulse jumped. She didn’t understand half of what they were talking about, but the intent in Damon’s face—desperate, hungry—was unmistakable.

“Where is this book?” he asked, stepping closer. His voice lost all pretense of charm, dropping into something dangerous.

Bree faltered, shaking her head. “I—I don’t know.”

Damon’s lips curled. “You have no idea.”

“I’m telling you the truth,” she said quickly, her hand tightening on the glass as if it were a lifeline.

Bree’s gaze flicked—once—over Elena’s bare throat, over the thin vein that beat there, over. The witch’s smile was perfect. Her eyes weren’t.

“Eat your fries,” Bree told Elena sweetly. “You’ll need the salt after all that driving.”

Elena swallowed and didn’t know why the line made her colder.

Damon tipped his bottle back, wiped his mouth with his thumb, and looked pleased with the shape of the night. He shouldn’t have.

Bree glanced at Elena again—considering now, not just amused—and back to Damon. “I have to make a call.”

“Of course,” Damon said. 

Bree drifted down the bar to refill drinks, murmured to a man with a hat pulled low, and then disappeared through a half door that said ‘Employees Only’ in flaking paint.

Left in the warm dim, Elena breathed out and tried to unknot her hands.

Damon watched her for a beat. Then he did that thing he’d started on the highway—that deliberate poke he called conversation.

“Where were we? Rita’s favorite color?”

She stiffened. “Not this again.”

“I didn’t hear so many satisfying answers last time,” he said lightly. “Blue? Green? Something that looks good on a girl with white hair?”

“Silver,” Elena said, before she could stop herself. Then, flustered, “I mean—she has silver hair, so—”

Damon’s smile grew lazy, satisfied. “You love to decide for people, Elena. It’s sweet, until you realize you never asked them who they are and what they want.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s accurate,” he said, because accuracy, for him, was cruelty dressed as fact. Then, softer, the knife twisting. “And as I said before, you don’t even know her biggest secret.”

Her heart stuttered. “What are you talking about?”

He didn’t answer. He slid off the stool, dropped a twenty on the bar for a tab that didn’t need paying, and stretched like a cat. “I’m going to grab a snack. Don’t go anywhere.”

Elena frowned. “Snack? From where?”

He already had the door half open. “From who, you mean.”

The bell above the door jangled. Cool air stirred the edges of napkins, lifted strands of Elena’s hair, then settled. She watched the door for a second longer, because sometimes Damon did what he said and sometimes he did the thing that made the moment spiral.

The room shifted when Bree came back. It was in the way conversation dimmed around their end of the bar, in the way a couple of men pretended to care very much about a baseball game on a muted TV. Bree was smiling, chin lifted, but there was something hot and bright behind her eyes now—purpose or hunger.

“Still not drinking?” she asked, setting a fresh glass down anyway. It was a delicate pink, sugared rim. Pretty.

Elena put her fingers around the water she’d barely touched. “I said no. I don’t want alcohol”

“Suit yourself.” Bree’s tone was sunny. She leaned forward, forearms braced, close enough that Elena could see the tiny white scar at the corner of her mouth. “You from here?”

“No.”

“College girl?”

“High school.”

Bree’s smile flickered. “Oh.”

Elena lifted her chin. “Damon’s not—whatever you think. He… pulled me out of a wreck.”

“I believe that,” Bree said, and something in her voice made Elena still. It was too smooth. “Do you know how to make that kind of luck last?”

“What?”

Bree’s fingers traveled to the necklace of Elena’s throat—bare skin. No vervain charm. “You don’t have any protections. Brave. Or reckless.”

“I left it at home,” Elena said, hating how defensive she sounded.

“Of course you did.” Bree’s eyes warmed; her tone did not. “You know—where I come from, girls with your face tend to find trouble. Sometimes trouble finds them back.”

“My face?”

“Doppelgänger,” Bree said, soft as an endearment. “Blessing and curse.”

The word slid over Elena like ice. “You know what that is?”

“Baby, I know what most things are.” Bree glanced toward the door Damon had taken, then back again. “And I know a opportunity when it walks in.”

Elena went very still. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Bree said gently, “you’re special, Elena. Your blood carries a lot of power. I need it for a door that shouldn’t have been opened.”

“I don’t—” She stopped. “You’re talking about the tomb.”

“I’m talking about undoing something that shouldn’t have happened,” Bree said, impatience flashing. “A death that went wrong. A balance knocked sideways.”

Elena stared. “Who?”

Bree pressed her lips together. “Someone I loved.”

The jukebox flipped songs with a thunk. Outside, a motorcycle went past, its growl fading down the street. Elena’s heartbeat slowed enough for her to hear the rest.

“I can’t help you,” she said, quiet. “Even if I wanted to.”

“Sure you can,” Bree said sweetly. “You can bleed.”

Elena pushed back from the bar, throat tightening. “No.”

Bree’s hand shot out faster than a human’s and caught Elena’s wrist. Witch-fast, not vampire-fast, but quick enough that the stool skidded on scuffed linoleum. The pretty pink drink toppled and bled sugar down the wood.

“Don’t make this harder,” Bree said, voice still pleasant, like she was coaxing a child down from a tree.

“Let go.” Elena yanked, but the grip was iron. Bruise-tight.

Bree leaned over the bar, close enough that Elena could smell clove and something bitter. The charm was gone from her face now; the truth was there instead—a woman who had decided her blood was important and intended to collect it.

“I tried nice,” Bree said. “I tried polite. But this is bigger than you.”

“Bigger than me usually means I get hurt,” Elena snapped, fear surfacing as anger.

Bree’s other hand emerged from beneath the bar with a flash of surgical steel—clean, narrow blade. Not a knife for brawls. A knife for precision.

Elena’s stomach dropped. “Bree—”

“Hold still,” Bree murmured.

Elena moved. She twisted on the stool, drove her shoulder into the bar, tried to wrench her wrist free. Bree’s grip didn’t falter. The tiny blade kissed Elena’s forearm and drew a fine, bright line. Pain bloomed, small but bright. A bead of blood welled and slid.

Bree inhaled, and Elena saw it—the way the witch shook, just for a heartbeat, when the scent hit. Not vampiric hunger. A different kind of greedy. Magic greedy. The air pricked like static, lights humming harder.

“Thank you,” Bree whispered.

Elena’s fear sharpened into a single hard point. She did the only thing available—she knocked the bar caddy at Bree’s face. Napkins, straws, toothpicks—sharp paper confetti. Bree jerked back on instinct, eyes closing against the sting.

Elena ripped her wrist free and stumbled off the stool, nearly fell, caught herself, ran.

She didn’t get far.

Bree vaulted the counter with a witch’s athletic ease and caught Elena by the back of her jacket. The blade flashed again, and Elena slammed backward with all her weight, pinning Bree against the bar. Bottles chimed. Someone in a booth half rose, then thought better of it and sank back down.

“Don’t be stupid,” Bree hissed into Elena’s ear. “Five seconds and it’s over.”

Elena’s breath heaved. “No.”

Bree swore, shoved them both sideways down the narrow hall that led past the restrooms toward a back office door. The music from the main room dulled to a bass thud; the air turned cooler. Elena’s shoes scudded on the tile. She caught sight of herself in the cracked mirror over the hand dryer—flushed, wild-eyed, a thin red line on her forearm shining like a warning—and then Bree slammed her through the office door.

The room was cramped: a metal desk stacked with receipts, a corkboard bristling with pins, a safe in the corner. It smelled like ink and lemon oil and a faint undertone of slept-in. Bree kicked the door closed behind them.

“Sit,” she ordered.

“I’m not a dog,” Elena spat, but she sat because Bree pushed her into the chair and because her legs felt made of water.

Bree grabbed a clean rocks glass from a shelf and set it on the desk, then reached for Elena’s arm again.

“Please,” Elena tried one last time, breathless. “Don’t do this.”

“Don’t worry,” Bree said, and Elena hated the kindness in it. “It’s for a good cause.”

“For who?”

“Lexi,” Bree said, like a prayer and a curse.

Elena blinked. “Stefan’s best friend. She’s—”

“Alive, unnaturally,” Bree snapped. “And you’re going to help me fix that.”

Elena didn’t have time to answer.

The door behind Bree opened without a sound.

A hand pushed through Bree’s back like it was butter. Fingers closed around a heart that was still trying to understand. Bree’s breath hitched on a tiny, incredulous oh—

—and the beating thing came out in a single, wet pulse.

The glass on the desk rattled. Bree stared down at the sudden red blooming across her shirt, more affronted than afraid. Then she sagged.

Elena’s scream got lost somewhere between her throat and the ceiling.

The woman behind Bree lowered her to the floor with an awful gentleness and then lifted her eyes to Elena.

“Hey, Elena,” Lexi said.

The floor slid sideways, slow and cruel. . Not the spinning of metal and ditch and sky—something slower and crueler. Elena’s mouth opened and closed. “You—”

“Shouldn’t be here?” Lexi finished, lips curving without humor. “I keep hearing that.”

She dropped the heart into the empty trash can beside the desk with a soft, obscene thud. Wiped her hand on a bar towel. For a moment, she just stood there, listening—to the bar beyond the door, to the silence inside Elena that had become a shriek.

“Breathe,” Lexi said, not unkindly.

Elena did, hiccuping air into lungs that had forgotten the choreography. “Stefan tell me you were—”

“Supposed to be dead,” Lexi said. “Yeah, I know. But I’m alive, thanks to your sister. ”

Her eyes flicked to the thin cut on Elena’s arm, to the glass on the desk, to the blade still in Bree’s hand. Disgust flickered. “She was going to bleed you.”

Something like shame heated Elena’s face, stupid and misplaced. “I told her no.”

“I saw.” Lexi crouched to close Bree’s eyes with two fingers. “I came because she called wolves while the shepherd was out. She and my ex thought tonight was for settling scores.”

“Lee?” The name jumped up from some memory of a memory. At Stefan’s party, she talked about the love of her life. 

Lexi’s face didn’t move. “I killed him.”

Elena swallowed hard. “You—”

Lexi stood again. “Bree saw me as an abomination. Said I was a mistake that needed fixing. She convinced him that killing me again would fix the balance. That I’d thank them for it on the other side.” A tiny, vicious smile. “They were half right. I fixed it.”

Elena glanced at the door like it might undo itself. “Damon—he’ll be back any second.”

“Good,” said a new voice from the hall.

Damon clocked the scene in a breath — body, blood, Lexi. The paper bag crinkled in his fist. “Well,” he said flatly. “This is cozy.”

He crossed the room before Elena could say don’t and slammed Lexi into the cinderblock wall hard enough to shake the desk. The glass on it jumped and toppled. Elena flinched. Damon’s forearm pressed across Lexi’s collarbones, hand at her throat. He leaned in, voice cold.

“You looking for round two?” he asked. “Because you didn’t like how round one ended.”

Lexi didn’t struggle. Didn’t blink. “If I wanted you dead, Damon,” she said, calm as weather, “you’d be ash already.”

He bared his teeth. “Try me.”

She moved.

It was fast—older fast, the kind that made even Damon look clumsy for a heartbeat. She twisted under his arm, broke his grip, and turned the weight back on him. In the next breath, he was the one pinned, his cheek to the wall, her hand splayed between his shoulder blades.

“No parlor tricks,” she murmured. “Just seniority.”

“Get off me,” he snarled.

“Gladly.” She stepped back and he rounded on her, eyes black, lip curled. She didn’t flinch. “I’m not here for revenge,” she said. “If I was, I wouldn’t announce it.”

He laughed, short and mean. “Right. You did the rounds and decided mercy for me. How generous.”

“You’re not breathing because of mercy,” Lexi said. “You’re breathing because of Stefan.”

The name hit the air like a boundary. Damon’s smile cracked. “Always the Boy Scout.”

“Always the reason you’ve got a second chance you don’t deserve.” Lexi’s gaze flicked to Elena, softened a fraction. “You okay?”

Elena nodded because anything else would turn into more noise. “I think so.”

“Go wait by the car,” Lexi told her gently.

Elena stood. The room teetered at the edges and then steadied. She stepped around Bree’s body without looking down, because she didn’t know what it would do to her to see that face with all the life gone. At the door, she hesitated. “Thank you,” she said, to the woman who had dragged her out of a grave she didn’t even know she was standing in.

Lexi looked at her like she understood the real shape of the thanks. “Go on,” she said.

Elena slipped into the hall, leaned against the cool plaster, and breathed. The noise of the bar bled back in—glasses, laughter too loud, the jukebox limping toward a chorus. She wiped her face. Her hands shook. She pressed her forearm against her chest and felt the thin sting of that tiny cut and thought about how close she had come to being a vial in a stranger’s pocket.

In the hallway, Elena straightened when Damon emerged. His eyes slid over her face, sharp and unreadable. He had blood on his shirt. He didn’t bother to wipe it yet.

“You okay?” he asked, like the words weren’t strange coming from his mouth.

She nodded, then found her voice. “She saved me.”

“Lexi?” He made a face. “Don’t get used to it.”

They moved through the bar together, Damon a step ahead, cutting a path to the door. Bree’s regulars pretended not to watch. The vampire sighed, and started to compel everyone.

Outside, the parking lot glowed sodium-orange. Damon tossed the paper bag into the passenger footwell and circled to the driver’s side. Elena hesitated with her hand on the door.

“What did she mean,” she asked quietly, “about… being alive thanks to Rita?”

“Ask her yourself,” he said, throwing her own lesson back at her with a little twist. He leaned on the roof, looked at her properly. “Why do you think you never noticed your sister’s secrets when you babysit everyone else’s?”

Elena bristled. “That’s not what I do.”

“That’s exactly what you do.” He opened her door. “And you’re good at it. Just not with her.”

She wanted to demand he explain. She wanted to tell him to shut up. She wanted to go home and scrub the bar from her skin and the office from her head and the word doppelgänger from her bones. Instead, she slid into the seat and shut the door.

Damon got in and started the engine. For a long second, he didn’t pull out. He watched the bar, the dark windows. He drummed his fingers on the wheel.

Elena looked out the window so he couldn’t see the heat in her face—that collapse in her chest when she realized how little she knew. The car rolled out of the lot and onto the road, neon shrinking in the mirrors until it was just another smear of color against the night.

They did not speak for several miles. The road opened its long dark throat. Elena pressed her palm against the cut on her forearm, felt the small throb, a metronome to a thought she didn’t want.

Finally, she said, “You said I don’t know her biggest secret.”

“I did,” he agreed.

She closed her eyes for a moment, the highway hum lulling and threatening. “I hate you,” she said, even though she didn’t, not exactly.

He sounded pleased. “You’re not the only one.”

They drove through the night until the sky went the color of a healing bruise. Highway turned to two-lane, pines pressed close, and the familiar sign for Mystic Falls rose out of the mist like a memory she wasn’t sure she wanted back.

 

Damon didn’t talk. Elena didn’t either. The silence between them wasn’t comfortable—more like a truce after a fight that neither of them wanted to admit they’d lost. When the Salvatore house appeared at the edge of town, he didn’t turn in. He kept going.

“You’re taking me home,” Elena said, not a question.

“Scout’s honor,” he said, which meant nothing coming from him, and yet he did.

They turned onto her street. The Gilbert house sat quiet and wary in the pale light. The porch light was still on, but not in the gentle I’ll-leave-a-light-on-for-you way—more in a where the hell are you way. Elena’s stomach sank.

Damon pulled to the curb and put the car in park. He didn’t look at her. “You should, uh… tell your aunt I’m the nice one.”

Elena barked a laugh she didn’t feel. “Right.”

He finally glanced over, eyes a little softer than usual. “You’re safe.”

“For now,” she said, and reached for the door.

“Elena,” he added, like a thought that didn’t want to be said. “Don’t let anybody bleed you for their cause.”

She met his gaze. “That a confession?”

“A tip,” he said, mouth crooked. “Go.”

She slipped out. By the time she reached the porch, his taillights were already a red thread turning the corner.

The front door swung open before she could touch the knob. Jenna filled the space, hair in a messy knot, face blotched from crying that had hardened into fury.

“Where have you been?” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it hit harder for the control in it. “Elena. I have been calling you all night. I called the sheriff. I called your friends. I almost called the emergency rooms.”

“I—” Elena began, then stalled, because kidnapped to Georgia by a vampire you sort of tolerate sounded deranged even in her head. “There was an accident.”

Jenna’s eyes checked her from head to toe, snagged on the dried blood at her sleeve, the dirt on her jeans, the thin line on her forearm she’d forgotten about until that moment. Terror flickered behind the anger. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” The word wobbled. “I’m okay. I promise.”

Jenna stepped back to let her in, then shut the door with a definitive click. “You don’t get to do that,” she said. “Disappear. Not answer your phone. Make me think—” She broke off, shook her head like she could dislodge the images. “No. That ends now.”

“Jenna—”

“Sit.” She pointed to the couch like she’d done when Elena and Jeremy were kids and had come home muddy with stories instead of excuses.

Elena sat. Jeremy hovered in the doorway to the hall, hair smashed on one side from pretending he’d slept. He said nothing, but his eyes were too awake.

Jenna folded her arms. “Grounded.”

The word floated between them, almost absurd in its normalcy after the last twelve hours. Elena blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. Grounded.” Jenna’s voice trembled, then steadied. “No parties, no late nights, no sleepovers, no ‘I’m going to study at the Grill and somehow come back at midnight’. Phone on. Location on. You go to school and you come home. For two weeks.” She paused, jaw tight. “Minimum.”

“Jenna,” Elena said, softening, “I’m sorry. I should have called. I—things got out of control.”

“That’s the problem.” Jenna pointed at the thin cut on Elena’s arm. “Everything keeps getting out of control around you, and I’m standing here handing out Band-Aids like that’s parenting.” Her eyes shined. “I can’t lose you. Do you hear me? I cannot lose you.”

The fight Elena had braced for dissolved. Guilt rushed in to fill its place. “You won’t,” she said, and for once she wasn’t just saying it to be soothing—she wanted it to be true more than anything. “I’ll… I’ll do better.”

Jenna exhaled, some of the iron in her spine unclenching. “Okay,” she said, brisk again, because if she didn’t move, she’d cry. “Go wash up. We’ll talk later. And you owe me every single detail that is not going to give me a heart attack.”

Elena stood, nodding. Her legs remembered how to be legs. Jeremy slid out of the doorway as she passed, the angle of his mouth not quite a smile, not quite a frown.

“You good?” he asked, low.

“Define ‘good’.”

He huffed. “You look like you wrestled a raccoon.”

“Feels about right,” she said, and kept going.

 

Stefan was sitting in her bed when Elena entered her bedroom, she pulled the door closed behind her so Jenna wouldn’t hear. The morning had gone from bruise to pearl; the air held the first thin warmth of day.

“I would have knocked,” Stefan said quietly, “but I thought Jenna might kill me.”

“She might,” Elena said, then: “Thank you. For… for coming after me.”

“I didn’t get there in time to matter,” Stefan said. “Lexi called me.”

Elena’s mouth tilted. “She saved me.”

“I know.” Something like relief crossed his face and vanished. “Are you okay?”

“I will be.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Damon took me to Georgia. Bree—his friend—she tried to take my blood. Said she could use it for a spell. Lexi stopped her. Killed her.” The words sounded like they belonged to someone else’s story. “Damon and Lexi yelled at each other and then… we left.”

You said no more lies,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Only the truth. I can handle the truth, Stefan. I can handle the fact that you’re a vampire, that Damon exists, that Bonnie’s a witch. I can handle all of it. But this—” her throat closed, “—this lie? I can’t.”

Stefan took a slow step toward her, his expression heavy, pained. “You are not Katherine,” he said softly. “You are the opposite of everything she was.”

Elena’s chest heaved. “And when did you figure that out? Before you kissed me? Before we—” her voice cracked, “—before everything?”

“Before I met you.”

The room tilted. “What?”

He swallowed. “The first day of school. When we met… It wasn't the first time. I’d already seen you. May 23, 2009. The night your parents’ car went off Wickery Bridge. I heard it. I wasn’t fast enough to save them, but I pulled you out. Your dad—he made me save you first. I watched you breathe again, and I saw your face. You looked exactly like her. I couldn’t believe it.”

Elena’s eyes burned. “That’s why they called it a miracle,” she whispered.

“I couldn’t stay away,” Stefan admitted. “I had to know if you were Katherine. So I learned everything I could about you. And I saw you weren’t her. Not even close.” He hesitated, then forced the words out. “But something never made sense. You were a Gilbert. She was a Pierce. The resemblance was… impossible.”

Her pulse pounded in her ears. “Why do I look like her, Stefan? What are you not telling me?”

His eyes softened, and for a moment he looked younger, almost human. “I checked the records. Mystic Falls General has no admission for Miranda Gilbert. No record of her ever being pregnant. Elena…” He drew in a shaky breath. “You and Rita were adopted.”

The word hung between them, heavier than stone.

Elena’s body went cold. She stumbled back a step, shaking her head. “No. No, that’s—” Her voice broke. “Jenna would’ve told us. She would’ve told Rita.”

“She doesn’t know,” Stefan said gently. “Or she’s protecting you both. But the truth is there, Elena. On paper. I wouldn’t tell you this if I wasn’t sure.”

Her arms wrapped around herself, like she could hold her world together if she squeezed tightly enough. Tears spilled hot down her cheeks.

“I can’t tell her,” she whispered finally. “I can’t tell Rita. She’s been through too much. This would break her.”

Stefan stepped forward then, pulling her against his chest. She let herself collapse into him, sobs muffled against his shirt as he held her, murmuring, “I love you. That’s what matters. I love you.”

But Elena’s heart twisted. Because for the first time, she wasn’t sure love was enough to keep the truth from shattering everything.

“Rita,” she said, a small sound in a larger morning. “I have to tell—”

She stopped. The thought finished itself and frightened her more than the first part had. Rita can’t handle this. Not now. Not with everything she went through, not with Damon circling, not with… whatever else was breaking under the surface of her sister’s smile.

Stefan watched her decide. “Elena.”

“She can’t know,” Elena said, sharper than she intended, like the edge of the choice cut her. “Not yet. Not—until I know what to do with it. Until I can… I don’t know.” She pressed the heel of her hand between her eyes. “If I tell her now, it’ll crack her open.”

“Secrets crack people, too,” Stefan said softly. “Sometimes worse.”

“I’m not doing it to hurt her.” She dropped her hand, fierce in the way only fear can be. “I’m doing it to protect her.”

He didn’t argue, but something in his face said he wanted to. “Okay,” he said finally. “It’s your call.”

“It is,” she said, because it had to be.

The door creaked behind her. Jenna had cracked it open again, her impatience an audible thing. “Elena?” she called, pointedly. “School in twenty, remember how clocks work?”

“I remember,” Elena called back, then lowered her voice to Stefan. “Thank you. For looking.”

“I’ll keep digging,” he said. “Carefully.”

“And Stefan?” She hesitated. “Damon asked me questions about Rita. Stupid ones—favorite color, movie, book. I didn’t know half the answers. He… enjoyed that.”

“He enjoys anything that puts a crack between people,” Stefan said, mouth hard. “Don’t let him make one where there isn’t.”

Elena’s laugh was humorless. “Feels like he doesn’t have to. We make them on our own.”

He looked like he wanted to touch her and didn’t. “I’ll see you later.”

“Okay.”

He stepped off the porch, then turned back once more. “Elena,” he said, and in his voice was the thing they hadn’t dealt with yet, the photograph waiting like a trap in his room. “About last night— I’m sorry.”

“Not now,” she said, because she would drown if she tried to swim that, too. “Please.”

He nodded, half-bowed in that old-fashioned way he had, and was gone.

Elena closed the door and found Jenna in the hall with a mug of coffee. 

“School,” Jenna repeated. “You have ten minutes to look less like a runaway and more like a proper student.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Elena said, because it made Jenna feel like she had the upper hand again. She headed for the stairs, then paused. “Jenna?”

“What.”

“Thanks for… grounding me.”

Jenna stared, then huffed out something like a laugh. “Don’t make me add a week for sarcasm.”

“It wasn’t sarcasm,” Elena said, and escaped before Jenna could call her on the lie it also was.

In the bathroom, she scrubbed her forearm until the thin cut looked less like a headline and more like a scratch. Water ran pink for a second, then clear. She pressed her palms to the sink and let the mirror tell her things she didn’t want to hear.

 

The house had grown strange in ways Rita couldn’t quite name. Not sharp or hostile—just… off. Jenna moved through the kitchen with a little more care in her eyes when they landed on Rita, her voice gentler than usual, almost indulgent. Elena was the same—hugging her more suddenly, brushing her hair back from her face in absent moments, smiling too wide when Rita caught her looking.

It wasn't suspicion. It was something worse. It was pity.

And Rita didn’t understand why.

They thought they were hiding it well, but every gesture carried weight. Every soft word made Rita’s stomach tighten. She would ask a question about their mom, about Miranda, and Elena’s mouth would flatten. She’d ask Jenna if she remembered what it was like when they were babies, and Jenna would change the subject, steering the conversation away like it was a roadblock.

Sometimes she caught them whispering in the kitchen after they thought she’d gone to bed. Words too quiet, glances too heavy. When she entered, they smiled at her like nothing had happened. Like she was fragile glass they were terrified of breaking.

The truth, heavy and sharp, lived just under the surface. Rita could feel it. She just didn’t know what it was.

 

The night of the decade dance, the distance became impossible to ignore. Elena disappeared with Stefan; Damon was nowhere to be found. The gym glittered with streamers and spinning lights, but Rita stood alone in the corner until she slipped back out, too tired to pretend.

Oddly, relief followed her home. Damon’s absence meant only one feeding that week, though even that had been unbearable. His hand gripped her waist, pulling her flush to him until she could feel him hard against her stomach. The shame of it made her cheeks burn even now. He’d whispered an apology after she shoved him away, but the words had dripped with something that wasn’t remorse. It had been humiliating, the kind of memory that lodged in her body and refused to let go.

Jeremy, at least, seemed lighter. She noticed it in his smile, in the way his eyes softened when his phone buzzed. He admitted he was seeing someone, Anna but wouldn’t give her a description. Rita didn’t push. If Jeremy had found something worth holding close, he deserved the privacy.

Caroline tried to drag her out again that weekend. “Come on, Riri, it’ll be fun. Music, good looking university guys—you can’t just keep hiding.”

But Rita had shaken her head, exhausted. “Not tonight, Care. You go. Have fun.”

Caroline had pouted, then relented, squeezing her hand. “Fine. But you owe me.”

So Rita stayed in, curling on her bed with a book. She tried to lose herself in the words, but the silence pressed too hard, heavy with things unsaid.

When the phone rang, she startled so badly the book slipped from her hands. She grabbed the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Rita.” Sheila Bennett’s voice filled the line—warm, commanding, urgent.

Her chest tightened. “Grams? Is Bonnie okay?”

“She’s with me,” Sheila said quickly. “She’s safe. But I need your help, child. It’s very important. More important than you know. We’re at the edge of the party grounds, in the woods. Caroline can tell you where.”

Rita’s pulse hammered. “I’ll be there.”

She didn’t hesitate.

She bolted downstairs, coat in hand. Jenna looked up from the couch, eyes softening instantly. “Hey, slow down. Where are you off to?”

“To the Duke party,” Rita said, a little breathless. “Caroline’s waiting. Can you give me a ride?”

Jenna’s lips curved in relief, almost fond. “Of course, honey. Grab your shoes.”

The drive was quiet, the hum of the engine steady. Jenna glanced over once, smiling faintly. “It’s good you’re going out. You’ve been… a little cooped up.”

“I guess,” Rita murmured, looking out the window. The dark trees blurred by.

Jenna reached over, squeezing her hand. “You’re stronger than you think, you know that?”

The words landed heavy. Rita blinked at her, confusion curling in her chest, but Jenna just smiled and turned her eyes back to the road.

She didn’t press.

When they reached the edge of the school grounds, the dance music pulsed faintly in the distance. Jenna parked and squeezed Rita’s hand again. “Don’t stay too late, okay?”

“I won’t,” Rita promised.

She slipped into the night, the cold air catching on her skin. Lantern light faded behind her as she stepped into the woods, the trees pressing close, the air heavy with something she couldn’t name.

Rita crossed the open grass, slipping past laughing students and the glow of decorations, until the shadows of the woods swallowed her whole.

It didn’t take long to find them.

A clearing opened up between the trees, the air inside it heavy, buzzing with energy that prickled across her skin. 

Sheila Bennett stood at the center, regal, commanding. Bonnie hovered near, clearly anxious. Elena was there too, face tight with worry, Stefan at her side. Damon leaned against a tree, smirk curling at his mouth, a blood bag swinging from his hand.

Rita stopped at the edge of the circle. “What is this?”

“Rita.” Sheila’s voice carried, steady as a bell. “Come here, child.”

Every instinct told her to stay back, but her feet moved forward anyway, the charged air prickling against her skin.

Her voice was small, tight. “What’s happening?”

“It’s time to open the tomb,” Sheila said simply, the words heavy as stone. Her eyes locked on Rita’s. “But to do it, you have to help us. We need your strength. We need to channel you.”

Rita froze. “A tomb? Channel… me?”

“Yes.” Sheila’s eyes softened, but her tone stayed firm. “Your blood carries something rare and powerful , something I can use to anchor the spell. Without it, this magic could tear us apart. With you… we can hold it together long enough.”

Rita’s pulse thundered in her ears. She looked to Elena, but her sister’s gaze dropped, lips pressed tight, as if she’d already known this was coming.

That hurt more than the words themselves.

Rita’s breath hitched and her chest squeezed. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to.” Damon’s voice slid through the air, lazy and sharp. “You just need to say yes.”

Elena flinched. Stefan’s jaw locked. The girl shifted her grip on the blood bag, her dark eyes fixed on Rita like she was already part of the plan.

“Why me?” Rita whispered, almost pleading.

Sheila stepped closer, her presence filling the space like firelight. “Because, child… you’re stronger than you know. And tonight, with your strength we need to keep this town safe.”

Rita’s hands trembled at her sides. She didn’t understand, didn’t trust—but Grams had asked. Grams had never asked her for anything before.

Her lips parted, the word catching in her throat. “…Okay.”

 

The torches ate up the night one by one, catching fast under Sheila Bennett’s match like they had been waiting years to burn. Smoke curled upward and snagged in the low branches; pine needles hissed and went still. The clearing had a held-breath feeling, the kind that made Rita’s skin buzz. She stood between Bonnie and Sheila, their hands linked with hers, warmth on both sides, the bones of Sheila’s fingers hard as roots.

“Air,” Grams said, a bell of a voice that didn’t need the firelight to command the room. “Earth. Fire.”

“Water,” Bonnie followed, lifting the plastic bottle she’d been palming like a talisman. Her fingers trembled; her mouth didn’t.

Sheila took it and tipped it slow. The water pattered onto carved grooves in the rock; it didn’t sizzle so much as shiver, tiny ripples racing outward like the tomb itself had flinched.

“That’s it?” Elena blurted from the mouth of the tunnel, arms crossed too tight. “Just water from the tap?”

Sheila’s head turned on a hinge. “As opposed to what?” The look on her face saying you’re two breaths from being turned into a toad.

“I just figured maybe it would have to be blessed or mystical or something.”

Sheila huffed from somewhere near her soul and looked away first—which felt like a gift. “Magic isn’t in the bottle, child. It’s in the hands.” Then, to the circle, sharper she said. “Don’t let her rattle you.”

Rita squeezed Bonnie’s fingers. “We’re good,” she breathed. But her stomach had knotted. Elena’s comments weren’t cruel, just… not helpful. Not here.

Leather rustled behind them. Damon uncoiled a blood bag with a flourish, the clear tube glinting in torchlight. 

“What’s that?” Stefan asked, already knowing, already displeased.

“Care package. Gotta have something to get Katherine on her feet.” His eyes slid to Elena, slow and pointed. “Unless your girl’s offering a vein. Or—” his attention tipped, teeth flashing at Rita “ Maybe, Rita wants to play nurse.”

Rita rolled her eyes at him on instinct, quick and small, because the last thing she wanted was to feed him attention. Heat crept up her neck anyway. She felt the memory of his hand on her waist and his fangs on her neck like a phantom bruise on her skin..

“All this, for love,” Damon said lightly, because he could still make that word sound like an insult. He leaned closer to Stefan, voice dipping. “Admit it—you can’t wait to get rid of me.”

Stefan gave him a dry, humorless breath that passed for a laugh. “I can’t wait to get rid of you.”

“Mm,” Damon purred, pleased.

Sheila’s fingers tightened on Rita’s. “Enough.” She closed her eyes; Bonnie followed. “Hands.”

Rita drew a breath that didn’t quite fill her lungs and let her own eyes fall shut. The moment their grip firmed, it hit: a tug, low and insistent, like a tide had turned inside her and was going out, carrying heat and something brighter with it. Her pulse beat in their palms. The air around them thickened like honey warming.

Sheila’s voice came first, low and old. “Per aerem, per terram, per ignem, per aquam”

Bonnie caught it, softer but sure. “Per spiritum, per sanguinem”

Rita didn’t know the words, but the sound of them thrummed against her bones. It feels like Latin. It felt like a key being turned in a lock you couldn’t see. A second current braided with the first—the rooting pull of Sheila’s power and the new, sharp, bright flare of Bonnie’s, then a third, thinner thread. Rita, siphoned, drawn, woven in.

“What are they saying?” Damon muttered, and for once it wasn’t mockery; there was a tilt of awe in it.

“Sounds Latin,” Stefan said.

“It isn’t,” Elena said, softer now, uncertainty undercutting the snark. “It’s—something else.”

Bonnie’s lashes flickered; she didn’t open her eyes, but annoyance flared across her face like a shadow. 

The torches bowed toward the tomb door, flames bending in defiance of air. Heat pressed Rita’s cheeks. Sheila raised their joined hands and the chant climbed, words sharpening.

“Phasmatis et sanguis, nos vocamus. Aperite ianuas inter vivos et mortuos. Per ignem et terram, per spiritum et sanguinem, solve vincula, solve vincula, solve”

The rock groaned.

Elena’s fingers closed tight around Stefan’s forearm. “What’s happening?”

The door shuddered. Dust fanned across the ground and lit the air like powdered bone. The seam down the middle split with a slow, reluctant screech. Cold poured out, old and wet and wrong.

Bonnie’s eyes flew open. “It worked.”

“Of course it worked,” Sheila snapped, but pride cut the words warm. Rita felt the pride too, in the way the pull on her blood eased a fraction, in the small grateful pressure of Grams’s thumb against the back of her hand. For half a heartbeat she wanted to smile. Then the smell hit, stone and rot and old iron and the feeling was gone.

Damon’s grin brightened like the flames. “We’ve got fires to build,” he tossed to Stefan.

Stefan brushed a knuckle across Elena’s shoulder. “I’ll get the gasoline. I’ll be right back.” He said it to her, but his eyes touched Rita, too: stay here. She nodded.

Damon’s gaze slid from Sheila to Bonnie to Rita, then to Elena like a predator checking exits. “You ready?”

“What?” Elena asked warily.

He spread his hands. “What, you think I’m going in alone so your witches can slam the door and leave me to nap with the mummies?” Before anyone could answer, he hooked an arm around Elena’s waist and pulled her in, clean and fast.

“Don’t you dare take her,” Sheila said, too calm, and the earth answered the threat with a low, sympathetic hum. “I will bring the walls down.”

“You’ll bring them down if I don’t,” Damon said, smiling thinly. “As much as I trust you?”

“As much as I trust you,” she shot back.

“Enough,” Elena snapped, brittle, trying to own the choice even as her heart beat loud enough for everyone to hear. “He needs leverage. He needs to know you won’t shut it on him. I get it. I’ll go.”

“Elena, don’t—” Rita reached with her free hand, uselessly. Elena didn’t look over. Didn’t let herself.

Damon plucked a torch from the ring, dipped his head into a parody of manners. “May I?”

Rita bit out, “Bring her back, Damon.”

His eyes met hers over the flame. For once, no joke. “Trying,” he said, and the honesty of it unsettled her more than the lies ever did.

Elena nodded to the circle, apology, plea, promise, all messy together and stepped with him into the dark. The torchlight dwindled fast.

“Stay with me,” Sheila murmured to Rita as their hands lowered. “We’re not done.”

Rita swallowed and nodded once. Sweat tickled at the back of her neck. She was already tired in a way that felt marrow-deep.

 

The tomb was dark and quiet. Damon’s torch painted quick gold arcs as he moved, drawn like a compass needle. Elena kept pace, the beam of her flashlight shaking the least when she remembered to breathe.

“What is that?” she whispered when the first whisper rose, soft, hungry, many-mouthed, from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“They can sense you,” Damon said, eyes moving. “Now, where is she?”

“Katherine?” Elena said. “Stefan said—” and then stopped, because he hadn’t said anything. 

Damon’s attention snapped to a shadow and he veered, leaving Elena with an armful of darkness and cold air that moved like it knew her name.

“Damon!” Her voice hit rock and came back thin.

 

Up above, a scuff sounded at the top of the stairs. Another shape broke the torchlight that spilled from the threshold.

“Hey! Anna, right?” Bonnie barked, spinning toward it. The girl who kidnapped her, small, sharp, old in the eyes darted down the steps, fast enough to blur. “You’re not going in there!”

“You think you can stop me?” she said, and the way she smiled made Rita’s nerves scrape.

“Bonnie,” Sheila warned, and there was so much knowing in the word that Bonnie’s shoulders softened a fraction despite herself. She stepped aside. Anna snatched a dropped flashlight, gave Rita one unreadable glance, and was gone.

Rita rounded on Grams anyway, fear hitting her temper on the way up. “Why did you let her go in?”

“Because she isn’t coming out, darling,” Sheila said, not unkind and not sorry. “None of them are.”

Rita’s mouth went dry. “Damon took Elena—”

“Elena is human,” Sheila said, and there it was, the line in the sand she had drawn hours ago and never pretended otherwise. “She can cross both ways.”

“And if he doesn’t let her go?” Rita asked, pulse spiking.

Sheila’s gaze flicked to the open door. “Then we make him.”

 

On the ground level, on the far side of the clearing, a different fight was being negotiated. A husk of a man who called himself Ben squared his shoulders at Stefan like he had convinced himself confidence could fill the same space as skill.

“You really think she cares about you?” Stefan asked, not unkind and not curious. “You’re disposable.”

“I don’t care,” Ben snarled. “She already gave me what I want.”

“Eternal life?” Stefan’s mouth tipped. “Are you really that stupid?”

Ben’s face changed; the human part peeled back. “I’ve heard about you. You don’t feed.” He prowled closer. “You’re not strong enough to beat me.”

He lunged. Stefan didn’t move until the last possible second, then punched through the motion with a vicious, clean efficiency and put Ben on his back. The gasoline can waited beside the stacked wood; Stefan picked up the hose with one hand, the torch with the other.

Ben laughed, pushing up onto an elbow. “That's all you got?”

“No,” Stefan said, voice like a door swinging shut. “I’ve got this.” The torch found the stream. Fire leapt the gap like it had been begging to be invited. Ben wore it, howled, staggered into the night, and fell. The smell turned the air ugly.

 

“Damon?” Elena called again, quieter now. Whispers answered that sounded like hunger taught itself to talk.

Her flashlight jittered across a shape that wasn’t a wall. A face or what had once been one tightened around bone, lips peeled back and cleaved with cracks, veins like black threads spidered under papery skin. Dozens more loomed as she pushed on, huddled in the tomb’s ribs.

She tripped and went down hard, breath bursting out of her chest, palm scraping stone. Her light skittered; it landed on a body slumped against rock inches from her hand.

Its eyes opened.

Red, starved, empty. They tracked up her arm to her throat like there was a map there he remembered. Elena’s scream ripped itself out of her. She crab-scuttled back, stood, turned  and met a girl with a flashlight and an old, bright hate.

Anna.

“You must have a taste for it.” Anna mused, lanterning Elena’s face. 

Elena backed until her spine hit something that gave. A cool, delicate hand slid around her forearm. She looked down into an asian face, beautiful even like this, sleeping with her eyes open.

“Mother,” Anna breathed, all the iron melting out of her voice. She dropped to her knees and touched her mother’s cheek with such tenderness Elena’s breath shook.

Then Anna’s eyes cut up. “Your boyfriend did this. You know.”

“No,” Elena said quickly, heart in her mouth, “His father did.”

“And Jonathan Gilbert,” Anna said, and ignited the name like kindling. She stood, smile gone. “I made a choice a long time ago that Gilbert blood would wake her.” 

She leaned closer; Elena felt the cold of her breath. “I had Jeremy all ready… but the doppelgänger of Katherine will do the job, too.”

Elena didn’t wait to register the threat in the word. She ran. Anna didn’t move so much as appear in front of her and caught her wrist in a grip that felt like iron polite enough to shake hands. Pain needled. Teeth broke her skin. Elena screamed.

 

“Stefan!” The sound tunneled through rock, high and thin and real enough to cut. Rita flinched hard enough that Bonnie squeezed her hand.

“I have to—” Stefan didn’t finish the sentence. He was already moving.

Sheila caught his arm with a strength that would have surprised him yesterday. “If you go in there, you won’t come out.”

“What did you do?” he snapped, fear acid-burning his control. Rita had never seen that look on his face and almost looked away.

“We opened the door.” Sheila’s jaw was set. “We did not remove the seal.”

“What’s the seal?” Rita asked, because no one else had and her whole body needed to know.

“Some seals keep vampires out,” Sheila said. “This one keeps them in.”

“Elena’s human,” Stefan said, breathing fast, making the math out loud to stay sane. “She can leave. Anna can’t. Katherine can’t. Damon can’t.” His eyes pinned Sheila. “You were never planning to break it.”

“I told you,” she said, not flinching. “I will protect my own. Elena can get out. That is what matters.”

“Grams,” Bonnie begged, the word splintering. “Please—”

Another scream. Stefan tore free. “I’m going,” he said, and did.

Bonnie lunged after him. Sheila blocked the entrance and Bonnie hit her chest with a noise that cracked Rita’s heart. “You can’t just leave him—leave them in there!”

“He made his choice,” Grams said, but the certainty in it wavered for the first time.

“No.” 

Bonnie stooped and caught the Grimoire off the stone, breath coming wild. She shoved it open, pages whispering. “No. Show me what to do. I’ll do it.” She looked at Rita, eyes bright and terrified. “We’ll do it.”

“We are not strong enough,” Sheila said, but her hands were already reaching for the book. “Even if we could push the seal down, there is no guarantee we could set it back.”

“You said yourself,” Bonnie whispered, tears glassing her voice, “many things can fuel a witch’s power.”

Rita’s hand found Sheila’s sleeve. “Take it,” she said, shocked at how steady she sounded. “Whatever you need. I’ll survive.”

Sheila’s eyes searched her like she was a riddle with a heartbeat. One thumb brushed Rita’s cheek, gentle and proud and scared. “You’re a brave child,” she said, soft enough only Rita heard it. Then, to Bonnie: “On your mark.”

They stepped back into the circle—no time to rebuild chalk lines; their bodies would be the circle now. Rita took both their hands, and the pull this time was a rip tide. Her ears roared; the torches leaned so hard toward the door their flames stretched thin as flags.

 

In the deep, Anna shoved Elena down across Pearl’s lap like an offering and hoisted Elena’s bitten wrist toward her mother’s mouth. Blood ran bright and wrong.

“Don’t,” Elena begged, wrenching, “please—please don’t—”

“Hush,” Anna said, and for a second the word trembled; she was a girl again, not a blade. “I’m going to get you out,” she told Pearl, fierce and shaking, “I’m going to—”

“Let her go.” Stefan’s voice wasn’t loud. It had a different kind of power.

Anna’s head snapped up. “No.”

He blurred. She blurred back, caught his wrist, and tried to twist. He took the twist and used it, spun her, shoved her hard into a pillar. Stone cracked. Elena slid off Pearl’s lap to her knees and crawled, left hand cradling the right. Stefan yanked her upright, set her on her feet, pushed her toward the exit. “Go. I’m behind you.”

Anna dropped low, fast as a knife, to take out Elena’s legs. Stefan stepped into her path with a speed that looked like teleportation and put his shoulder into her, sending her skidding. It bought Elena the gap she needed to run.

Pearl stirred.

She didn’t wake; it was worse than that. Her eyes opened, slow, lovely, empty—and her mouth parted in a way that had nothing to do with affection. Her nostrils flared. Elena’s blood pulsed in the wet red at her wrist and Pearl moved like a dream, like a puppet at the end of a string, toward it.

“No.” Stefan was there first. He didn’t relish it; he didn’t apologize for it. The stake slid out of his jacket the way the torch had slid into his hand earlier. Inevitable, practiced, a tool, not an event. “I’m sorry,” he said, and sounded like he meant it. Then he drove the wood home, clean and sure.

Pearl’s body arched and went empty all over again, really empty this time. Elena made a small, awful sound and stared at the ground, because looking at the face felt like a sin.

Anna made a sound too—raw and full of an old grief that had never gotten to be grief and then launched. She went for Stefan’s neck with both hands, a clean snap the goal. He caught her wrists mid-flight, their faces inches apart, both of them snarling like it meant something to one of them. He ducked, drove an elbow into her ribs, spun, slammed her back into the stone. She kneed; he blocked. She grabbed for the stake still in his hand, he pivoted, wrenched it free and let it clatter away. He didn’t want a second death on him tonight if he could help it.

“You took her,” she hissed.

“I had to,” he said, feeling remorse. 

She went for the snap again, fingers closing around the hinge of his jaw. He chose then. His hand flashed up, palm to the side of her head, and wrenched—not full force, not forever, just enough. There was a crack. 

Her body went limp, suddenly heavy. He caught her before she fell, because it mattered to him even when it shouldn’t, and eased her down beside her mother. “I’m sorry,” he said again, to both of them this time, and turned.

Elena’s flashlight skittered ahead, wild. He followed the beam.

 

At the threshold, Bonnie and Sheila spoke the Grimoire into the air and made the air listen. Rita stood between them like a wire, current arcing through her, buzzing under her tongue, in her teeth, down her spine. The chant changed—thicker vowels, older words:

“Claudite apertum, sed tenete limen. Per sanguinem non innoxium, per animam non fractam, cede, cede, cede”

The torches surged like a wind had found them underground. The stone lip of the doorway thrummed. Elena, bloody, wild-eyed but alive broke into the antechamber and stumbled toward the light.

“Elena!” Bonnie gasped, not daring to drop a hand, not daring to blink.

“Stefan—” Elena gulped some air. “He’s— behind me.”

Sheila didn’t look up from the page. “Hold it,” she told the magic; tone like a command to a child about to touch a stove. “Hold.”

Rita’s vision haloed. The pull on her blood wasn’t a pull anymore; it was a pour. She felt hollowed and bright, like a bell. “Grams,” she croaked, “I’ve got you. Take it.”

“I know,” Sheila said, and for a fierce second the pride in her voice refilled what the spell had emptied.

Stefan appeared in the doorway, vampire fast but human small next to what the tomb made him. He stopped like he’d hit a wall you couldn’t see.

“What are you doing?” Elena cried, turning back to him.

“I can’t,” he said, and the two syllables landed like a dropped plate. “The seal— it’s still up. I can’t cross.”

“You went in not knowing if you could come out?”

He looked down. “I heard you scream.”

“Oh my God.” She started toward him, stopped short of the invisible line, hands useless in the air. “We can’t leave him. We promised.”

“I know,” he said, and meant it.

Sheila’s voice cut across, thinner now but still iron. “Even if we bring it down, we can’t hold it. Not long.”

Stefan’s eyes flicked to Elena, to the circle, to the tunnel behind him where Damon’s light still moved. He made the decision he was always going to make. “Then I’m going back.”

He slipped into the dark again, leaving Elena in the doorway with her breathing and her faith.

 

Damon had torn the tomb open with a century of wanting. What came after wanting, he was terrible at. He moved through the chamber like a man who had rehearsed a reunion and found out the other half of the scene was missing.

“She’s not here,” he said when Stefan found him, voice dead and bright at once, like something had gone brittle and was pretending to be unbreakable.

“What?”

“She’s not here,” Damon repeated, louder, and ripped the blood bag out of his jacket like it had betrayed him. He hurled it. It hit the wall; red splattered like a cheap mural.

Stefan stepped in, steadier than he felt. “Then we go.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Damon snapped, pacing, wire-tight. “They locked her in.”

“Then she got out,” Stefan said. “Or she never— Damon. If we don’t leave now we don’t leave.”

“How could she not be here?” Damon asked the air, and the grief in it was an absence the size of a century.

“Because she’s not worth spending eternity in a hole,” Stefan said, voice sharpening. “She’s not worth it.”

Damon shoved him, palms flat and mean. “No.”

“Damon.” Elena’s voice broke through, frayed and brave. She stepped into the chamber just enough to be seen, not enough to be caught. “Please.”

He looked at her. Something in his face closed; something else opened. “Fine,” he spat, and didn’t mean the word in any language but the one that got them moving.

They ran.

 

“Bonnie—keep going.” Sheila’s hand shook in Rita’s, and that scared Rita more than anything had tonight. “They better hurry,” Grams threw to Elena without looking. “Tell them to run.”

“They’re coming!” Elena shouted down the throat of the tomb. “Now!”

Bonnie’s lips moved; her breath hitched. “Oh my God—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Sheila said, and put every year of her life into making it true.

Rita dug deep where there should have been nothing left and found—ridiculously—more. “Take it,” she whispered. “I promise. I can do this.” She didn’t know if it was true. She made it true by saying it.

Torchlight flared then guttered—three candles in a storm. Damon burst out first, eyes too wide in a face that looked suddenly, terribly young. Elena didn’t even think; she grabbed him by the sleeve and yanked. He didn’t fight her. Stefan’s shadow grew and then he was there, and Elena turned and threw her arms around him with a sound that wasn’t a word.

The door shivered. The flames went out like someone had pinched them between finger and thumb. The opening yawned once, last, and sealed, a quiet finality that felt like a lid sliding home.

The silence that followed was huge. Then everything happened at once.

Bonnie’s knees buckled. “Grams—” She would have gone face-first if Sheila hadn’t hauled her up with the last of her strength and shoved her toward Rita. “Hold her,” Grams rasped.

“I’ve got you,” Rita said, catching Bonnie’s shoulders, lowering her to the ground, cradling her head. Bonnie’s eyes fluttered like moths.

Sheila swayed. Her fingers loosened from Rita’s and dangled. “No,” Rita said, and the word came out a knife. She slid to knees already bruised and caught Grams around the ribs as she went, easing her down, hearing the terrible raggedness of her breaths.

“I told you,” Sheila tried to scold and coughed instead. “Too much.”

Rita’s hands were shaking. Fear iced her spine. She knew—too well—how Grams felt when she had bled out under a kitchen light, when a life went quiet in your arms. “No,” she said again, fiercer. “We’re not losing you tonight.”

She didn’t think. much. She acted the way she always did when her heart bolt-cut the rules. She bit the inside of her cheek, hard enough to taste iron, dug a nail into the pad of her thumb until blood welled bright. “Grams,” she whispered, lifting Sheila’s hand and smearing red across the thin skin at her wrist. 

“Drink. Please.”

“Rita—” Elena started, startled, but the warning in her voice died on her tongue when Sheila’s lashes flickered and her mouth parted in reflex. Rita pressed her bleeding thumb to the old woman’s lips. A few drops, no more, but it felt like lightning going in the wrong direction.

The change was small and instant. Sheila’s breathing smoothed a fraction. Color seeped back where chalk had replaced it. She blinked hard, focused on Rita’s face, and managed a ghost of a smile. “Stubborn girl. You’re so precious.”

“Learned from the best,” Rita said, and only then realized her own vision had gone grainy. She tried to pull her hand back. The chant muffled, torches smeared into comets, and then the ground rose to meet her.

“Rita?” Bonnie struggled up on her elbows, panic new and sharp. “Rita—”

“I’m okay,” Rita meant to say. What came out was a soft oh. The edges of the trees went painted; the stars dropped out. She felt Elena’s hands on her shoulders a half-second before she felt the ground.

Elena caught her, slid under her head with a care that made her own eyes flood. “I’ve got you,” she whispered, the words saying a different thing. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything I’m hiding. I’m sorry for tonight. I’m sorry I let you stand there and carry us all. The apology shook into Rita’s hair.

Damon stood a little apart, chest heaving, staring at the sealed door like he could will it to confess. Stefan looked from Bonnie to Sheila to Rita, calculation and care warring behind his eyes. “Is she—”

“She’ll wake up,” Sheila said, voice thin but sure. She touched Rita’s cheek with the back of her fingers, reverent and afraid and grateful. “She will. She gave what she could. Maybe a little more.” 

She cut a look at Elena that said we will talk about this later, and Elena nodded, a tear slipping before she could catch it.

Bonnie crawled to her knees and took Rita’s limp hand, pressing it to her own cheek. “Hey. Riri. You did it. You absolute maniac.” A wet laugh. “Wake up so I can yell at you for being braver than me.”

Rita didn’t answer, but her breathing was even. Her lashes left small shadows on her cheek in the dying light.

Behind them, Damon dragged a hand down his face and said, raw and flat, “She wasn’t there.” No one answered, because there was nothing kind to say.

The woods around them exhaled. The smoke thinned. Somewhere far off, the dance was still going like a different universe, drums and laughter leaking through trees. Here, the night had re-sealed its mouth.

Elena bent and kissed Rita’s temple. “I’m here,” she said, a promise she wasn’t sure how to keep. “We’re here.”

And for the first time since the door had opened, it felt true.

 

The world was gone.

Rita opened her eyes to silence and white. A corridor stretched before her—long, endless, with smooth walls and a floor that gleamed like polished marble. Dozens of wooden doors lined each side, each one different, their frames carved, their handles shining faintly in the pale light. There was no sound, no air, just the faint hum of something beyond her understanding.

Her first thought was the simplest, the most terrifying.

I’m dead.

A sigh slipped past her lips. Her body felt weightless, but her heart thudded in her chest all the same. Slowly, she pressed her palm to the nearest door—the first on her right. The wood was warm under her hand, familiar despite being a stranger.

With a shaky breath, Rita pushed it open.

The room inside was nothing like the corridor. Rich mahogany walls gleamed in the dim light. Red velvet curtains cascaded from the high windows, heavy and regal. The air smelled faintly of dust and iron. And in the center of the room stood two coffins.

They were magnificent: dark wood polished to a shine, carved with curling patterns of vines and beasts, trimmed in gold. Their presence filled the chamber, heavy, inevitable.

Something tugged in Rita’s chest. Her feet moved before her mind caught up, carrying her closer. She stopped at the coffin on her left, her hand hovering above the lid. Every nerve screamed at her not to touch, but instinct overrode fear.

Her fingertips brushed the cool wood.

Her lungs filled with a sudden breath, as if the room itself commanded her to live in that moment. Slowly, hesitantly, she pushed the lid open.

The hinges creaked.

Inside, a man lay still as stone.

Her heart stuttered. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Broad shoulders beneath a simple linen shirt, long dark hair spilling like ink across the pillow, a strong jaw shadowed by stubble. His skin was gray, lifeless, but it only sharpened the perfection of his features. He looked carved rather than born. A dagger jutted from his chest, its hilt ornate, as if it had been placed there as both punishment and preservation.

Rita’s breath trembled out of her. She couldn’t look away.

Her fingers twitched, aching to touch his face, to know if he was real. Something deep in her bones whispered his presence was wrong and right all at once, terrifying and magnetic.

And though his eyes were closed, though he lay still as death, Rita felt it. 

The faintest echo of a heartbeat, like a drum sounding far beneath the earth.

Her hand shook as she hovered above the dagger. Every instinct screamed don’t touch it, but something deeper pulled at her, a thread knotted in her bones. Before she could second-guess herself, Rita wrapped her fingers around the hilt.

The metal was cold—colder than anything she had ever felt. She drew in a sharp breath and pulled.

The dagger slid free with a whisper, leaving a gaping wound in the man’s chest. For a moment, nothing happened. He didn’t move. His body remained gray, statuesque, lifeless.

“Please,” Rita whispered without knowing why. Her hand rose to his face, trembling as she brushed her fingertips against his cheek. The skin was cool, marble-like, but softer than she expected.

And then—his eyes snapped open.

They were a stormy gray, ringed in black. Dark veins crawled beneath them like lightning striking glass. Rita gasped, frozen, but he moved before she could. His hands shot up, strong as iron, pulling her closer.

His fangs plunged into her neck.

Rita screamed, but the sound choked off almost instantly. There was no pain—only a strange, electric rush. His teeth pierced her skin, but instead of agony, warmth spread through her veins, dizzying and sweet. Her body shook, not from fear, but from the intensity of the sensation.

The man groaned low in his throat, swallowing greedily. His lips pressed harder to her neck, pulling mouthful after mouthful like a man starved for centuries. His voice broke between gulps, half a moan, half a purr.

“Ek þakka þér, litli…” (Thank you, little one.)

His forehead pressed to hers, the motion startlingly tender even as his mouth still lingered at her throat. The sound he made was almost a rumble, a contented purr reverberating against her skin.

He finally drew back, his mouth stained with her blood, his breathing heavy. His eyes searched her face, wild yet reverent.

“Ertu niðr frá Tatía?” (Are you a Tatia descendant?)

Rita’s lips trembled, words breaking. “I– I don’t understand…”

He touched her jaw gently, his thumb smearing the faintest trace of her blood across her skin.

“Mīn nama is Finn,” he said slowly, voice deep and archaic. “I crave thy pardon if I have startled thee. I was sorely hungered, and thy scent… drew me.”

Notes:

heyyy! thank you so much for the 13k 🥹🤍
it honestly means the world. for the moment my Mac is still dead (rip ), so I had to completely rewrite these chapters from scratch and on my phone. if the flow feels a little different and the editing not as good, that’s why.
I’m sorry if it’s not my best but I really didn’t want to keep you waiting…
thank you for being patient with me and still supporting this story. your comments and kudos keep me going <33
do you watch any c-drama? theses day I’m OBSESSED with the legend of the female general & prisoners of the beauty, theses are sooo good !!!
thanks for reading, have a lovely day everyone 🤍