Chapter Text
The car came to a stop in front of Mystic Falls High School just as the morning sun began to glint off the building’s windows. Hope got out first, adjusting her bag with a motion that was still pure habit. Rebekah followed, carrying herself with the natural elegance of someone normality could only ever imitate.
Kol stayed seated for a few seconds, his gaze fixed on the crowded entrance. Students moved everywhere—a carpet of voices, footsteps, laughter.
Too messy. Too unpredictable.
When he finally stepped out, he closed the door with deliberate calm. His eyes settled on the building as if he were assessing the exits, the blind spots, the hidden threats.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice low and flat. “I didn’t think Hell would have an entrance this… ordinary.”
Rebekah held back an exasperated sigh. “It’s a school, Kol. Not a war zone.”
He didn’t take his eyes off the entrance. “At least war zones don’t pretend they’re safe.”
Hope watched him closely. Back rigid, breathing controlled, eyes that never lingered on anything for more than a second. It was the posture of someone expecting an attack at any moment.
“Kol,” she said softly, stepping closer “they’re not going to eat you.”
He glanced at her for only a moment, then went back to scanning the crowd. “I’m not the one at risk.”
Hope opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but he kept going.
“I’m not going in,” he announced, cold and final. “I’m not spending hours in a building full of closed doors, sudden noises, and unpredictable teenagers. I already have enough recurring nightmares.”
Rebekah scoffed. “You could at least try to understand modern life.”
“I can do that by observing,” he replied, icy. “I’m not letting myself get trapped in a building like that.”
Hope held back a faint smile. “You can just say it: it disgusts you.”
“I’m not disgusted,” he answered, monotone. “Just uninterested.”
A bell suddenly rang—sharp, metallic.
Kol tensed slightly, then relaxed again.
Rebekah stepped up beside them. “Perfect. We’ve been here two minutes and you already look ready to bring the whole place down.”
“If it were necessary, I would,” Kol said, eyeing the place with distaste. Then he turned toward the street. “I’ll pick you up when you’re done. In the meantime… I have more useful things to do than pretend to be seventeen.”
Hope tilted her head. “Like what?”
“Planning how to bring the world to its knees, obviously.”
Rebekah sighed. “Dramatic.”
Kol didn’t smile. “Practical.”
He took a step back. Then another.
Every movement measured, controlled, like he was leaving a minefield behind him.
“Have a good day,” he said at last. His voice was flat, but not hostile. “Don’t die.”
Hope watched him walk away, his posture still far too alert for a school parking lot. Then she turned toward the building.
And together with Rebekah, she stepped into a world that was still trying to look normal.
The afternoon had settled slowly over the sports field, painting the grass in shades of orange and gold.
Hope had taken advantage of the emptiness to run a few laps—not to train, but to burn off the unease that had been following her for days.
Her breathing was steady, her eyes fixed on the white line of the track…
Until a familiar voice broke the quiet. “We’ve been looking for you for weeks.”
Hope turned.
Caroline was walking up along the track, determined, her expression tight. Tyler was a few steps behind her, arms crossed over his chest, looking uncomfortable.
And a little farther back, Bonnie—silent and watchful.
The full trio. Only Elena and Matt were missing.
Hope stayed where she was, wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’m guessing you’re not here to invite me to a picnic.”
“This isn’t the time to joke,” Caroline snapped, still walking toward her. “Not after everything that happened.”
Hope’s jaw tightened slightly. “Then talk.”
Caroline stopped a meter in front of her. “You lied to us. You pretended you were neutral, that you only wanted to help… and now you’ve taken their side.”
Hope didn’t look away. When she spoke, her voice was calm—cold. “I never said I was neutral.”
Caroline’s eyes widened, startled by how simple the answer was.
“They’re my family, even if they didn’t know it. Of course I choose them. I’ll always choose them,” Hope continued.
The blonde burst out “Then why did you get close to us? We can’t ignore what they do.”
Hope looked at her, steady. “And what have they done recently? Stefan stole all the coffins with Klaus’s siblings, and you all walked away unharmed. He, Damon, and Bonnie woke up the woman who helped kill them to create vampires—and again, you all walked away unharmed. Honestly, I’d say the Salvatores are causing a lot more problems than we are.”
Bonnie stepped a little closer, hesitant. “Klaus killed Jenna—Elena’s aunt.”
“And Damon Salvatore killed Vicki Donovan, the only family your childhood friend Matt had,” Hope replied, “and yet I don’t see you this outraged about it. Same with Tyler’s uncle, Mason. Either you’re hypocrites, or you pick and choose when it comes to defending your friends.”
No anger. No shouting. Just a simple, undeniable statement that landed like a blade to the chest.
Tyler stiffened, because Hope was completely right. When it came to defending Elena, they were always on the front lines. But when it came to what he or Matt had gone through, there was never anyone.
Caroline took a step forward, her eyes full of pain she tried to disguise as indignation. “I’m not going to correct you about Damon. More than anyone, I know how much Damon has hurt people in this town just for fun. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re working with the Mikaelsons. What do you expect us to do?”
Hope drew a slow breath. “I don’t expect anything. And your feelings are more than valid, Caroline.” Her tone was more understanding now. “But I wish you’d stop using double standards. My interactions with you didn’t have ulterior motives. And if I can get past the fact that your friends tried to kill my family, then you can accept that when it comes time to choose, I’ll choose them.”
Tyler crossed his arms, glancing uncertainly at the others. “She’s not entirely wrong.” The words earned him several glares.
“Don’t look at me like that… being one of Klaus’s hybrids isn’t that bad. I don’t have to keep turning and feeling every bone break one by one. And no offense, but nobody in this town besides you, Caroline, has ever been by my side the way the other hybrids have. This is the first time I’ve felt like I’m part of a pack.”
Caroline shot him a look that could’ve burned. “Sure. And I guess that has nothing to do with that little hybrid friend who keeps making googly eyes at you.”
Tyler rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Again? I already told you there’s nothing going on.”
Caroline turned back to Hope, more tired than angry now. “I miss the you who hadn’t chosen a side yet.”
Hope looked at her with an expression that wasn’t hostile, but it was final. “I’ve always been on their side, Caroline… you’re the ones who see me differently now. I haven’t changed by an inch.”
The silence that followed was heavy as lead.
Hope started to turn away, but then she noticed Elena had arrived earlier, standing off to the side the whole time.
Hope sighed. “I’m sorry about Jenna,” she said quietly. “If I’d gotten here a few months earlier… maybe I could’ve stopped it.”
Elena lowered her gaze, fingers nervously intertwined. “It’s not your fault. But… thank you.”
Then she added, more serious, “I know you’re the reason Klaus didn’t go after Jeremy when he was trying to get the coffins.” She sighed. “Thank you… After Alaric left, Jeremy is the only family I have left.”
Hope looked away, knowing perfectly well she was the reason Alaric had left… but Josie and Lizzie needed to be born, and if she had let things go the way they had the first time, Alaric would have died human, with no way to bring him back.
“You and Jeremy had nothing to do with it,” Hope said at last. “That was on the Salvatores.”
Elena nodded slowly.
Bonnie stepped forward, closer than expected. “You keep saying they’re your family. That’s not just a metaphor, is it? Esther said you had her blood…”
“It’s true,” Hope answered. “Labonaire was my mother’s last name. My father is a Mikaelson.”
The words were followed by stunned looks. “The only one who knew I existed until a few weeks ago was Kol. The others only found out who I was after the confrontation with Esther…”
Then Hope looked at Bonnie with a small, sad smile, changing the subject. “Have you found someone to teach you how to manage your magic? You come from one of the oldest families, after all. Sooner or later you have to learn to control that power.”
Bonnie froze, surprised. Then, reluctantly, she admitted, “No… My mother came back into my life recently. But she’s too busy learning how to be both a witch and a mother again to have time to teach me.”
Right. In the future, everyone in the Mystic Falls crew had written a book for the school—each telling their own version of what happened. She forgot about their parents. Since Hope and Kol dealt with Esther, Bonnie’s mom never had to be turned into a vampire. And because Alaric was out of town, Caroline’s dad didn’t die.
“I have an aunt, if you want. You haven’t met her—her name is Freya, and she’s a witch. One of the best. And Kol…” Her smile bent, almost nostalgic. “Kol has learned more spells than I can count. He was my mentor for two centuries.” Then she smiled. “If you ever need it, you can ask.”
They stared at her as if she’d just revealed that the Mikaelsons could turn asphalt into lava.
“If you don’t trust them,” Hope concluded “I can teach you something myself. Before I leave.”
Caroline frowned. “And how exactly would you tutor a witch?”
Hope lifted an eyebrow in challenge, then closed one hand into a fist and opened it again. A glowing butterfly began to flutter above their heads, while everyone stayed frozen in place.
Elena was the first to snap out of it. “Wait… before you leave?” she asked, uneasy at the thought of staying in the same town as the Mikaelsons without Hope around.
If she’d admitted out loud that the girl was the one keeping them on a leash, they would’ve torn her heart out. And yet that was exactly how it was.
Hope nodded. “I have the last things to take care of, and then in a few months my family and I will go to New Orleans…”
The relief on their faces at that news was unmistakable.
Bonnie inhaled softly. “Thank you… for the offer. I’ll think about it.”
Hope took a step back. “Good. Then… I’ll see you around.”
And she turned away, leaving behind the field, the town, and the version of herself that had tried—just for a moment—to be normal.
The late-afternoon sun slanted in through the villa’s windows, staining the corridors copper and stretching the shadows long.
Klaus was crossing the landing when he caught something—fresh paint, faint, almost forgotten.
He stopped.
Hope’s bedroom door was slightly ajar, a blade of light cutting through the dim hallway. He hesitated for a moment, uncertain, then knocked lightly with his knuckles.
No answer. He pushed the door open anyway, stepping inside.
Hope was there, standing in front of an easel. A paintbrush rested between her fingers, held so still for so long that the drop of color on its tip had dried. She stared ahead without really seeing, as if she were searching for something in that blank white space she still didn’t have the courage to fill.
Klaus remained in the doorway, suddenly awkward in his own role. “Hope?”
She turned slightly, a small, fragile smile. “Sorry. I was spacing out.”
“Can I…?” he asked, gesturing to the space beside her.
Hope nodded.
Klaus moved closer, careful not to disturb anything, as if the room were an equilibrium too delicate to bear the weight of his steps. “What’s wrong?” The question came out rougher than he meant. He cleared his throat. “I mean… is there anything I can do?”
Hope lowered her gaze to the brush. “I’m just… rusty.”
Klaus lifted an eyebrow. “Rusty?”
Hope inhaled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “During the war I didn’t have much time to paint. And even if I had, we were changing locations every day—canvases and brushes would’ve been too bulky to carry around.”
A brief smile flickered across her face. “At some point Kol gave me a box of pencils, so I at least started drawing again. But… it’s been a long time since I last painted. I don’t know if I still remember how.”
Klaus stayed silent for a few seconds. It wasn’t just surprise. It was something deeper, older. Painting had always been a way to bring order to chaos—and seeing Hope doubt her own hands did something inside him.
“You don’t forget how,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “Not really.”
Hope looked at him, uncertain, as if searching for proof in his eyes. Klaus stepped behind her—not too close.
Hope’s hand trembled as she picked up a fresh brush loaded with new paint.
Klaus watched for a beat, then—moving slowly, the way you would approach a wounded animal—he took her hand. His skin was warm, a kind of contact they hadn’t yet learned how to handle. His chest settled against her back.
Hope held her breath. Klaus guided her hand toward the canvas.
The tip of the brush touched the white.
A short stroke. Simple.
“See?” he murmured. “You don’t forget.”
Hope didn’t speak. A small shiver moved through her chest, and he felt it in the tension of her hand.
For a moment, the world narrowed to that line of color and the quiet warmth holding them together.
“Thank you,” Hope whispered, without turning around.
Klaus closed his eyes for an instant, gathering the courage not to run from the moment.
When he opened them again, he guided his daughter’s hand into another line on the canvas—and it almost felt like the painting was becoming a symbol of what they were rebuilding. Together.
The villa was unusually quiet in the late afternoon.
Hope walked down the hallway with slow steps, letting the stillness settle over her like a cloak.
She stopped when she heard a soft voice—a muted laugh—coming from the side sitting room.
Curious, she moved closer.
Freya was sitting on a modern-lined couch, legs crossed elegantly, a glass of wine in her hand. Sage, leaning against the backrest beside her, was smiling with a kind of warmth you didn’t often see on a face as old as hers.
And Finn…
Finn looked like a man who hadn’t truly breathed until that moment.
Hope paused on the threshold, unseen for an instant.
He was sitting across from the two women, posture composed, but his expression… it held something new. Relief that edged into joy. A light Hope had never seen in him.
Sage leaned toward Freya, animated. “...and then Finn insisted the best place to turn me was a quarry haunted by restless spirits. Can you believe it? I thought he was joking.”
Freya laughed openly, free and bright. “Oh, little brother… I’d expect something like that from Niklaus or Kol, not you.”
Finn blushed—almost imperceptibly—but his smile stayed, soft and genuine. “It wasn’t haunted,” he muttered. “Just… moderately unsettling.”
Sage looked at him with shining eyes. “Finn, there were voices. Real voices. And a ghost hand grabbed my arm.”
Finn cleared his throat, taking a sip from his glass. “A perfectly explainable phenomenon.”
“Oh yeah?” she shot back, laughing. “Explainable like you falling into the mud just to run out of that place?”
Freya laughed even harder. Finn covered his face with one hand. “Sage…”
“Sweetheart, it’s the truth,” she said, touching his knee affectionately.
Hope held back a smile. That gesture—simple, natural—hit something inside her.
Finn wasn’t a man who let people touch him easily. Nor a man who laughed. Nor one who allowed himself to be happy.
And yet, in that room, with those two women… he seemed lighter.
Sage excused herself for a moment, stepping out to answer her phone.
Freya watched him with the same tender astonishment Hope felt. “I don’t know her well,” she said softly, “but she seems strong and independent. And she waited for you for nine hundred years…” Her voice gentled even more. “I’m happy you found each other.”
Finn looked at her, his expression softening. “So am I…”
Sage came back a moment later, muttering something about Rebekah—without venom.
Freya laughed again, and Finn laughed with her.
Hope, silent in the shadows, felt her chest fill with unexpected warmth.
It wasn’t the dramatic scene she might’ve imagined for their family. No solemn declarations, no tears, no theatrical embraces.
It was something better. It was… normal.
Finn turned to Freya, a trace of seriousness tucked into his smile. “Sister… thank you. For being here. For… all of this.”
Freya shook her head, leaning a little closer. “Don’t thank me. Meeting our family is all I’ve ever wanted.”
Finn lowered his eyes, moved in a way he didn’t show openly.
Hope decided that was her cue to leave them to their peace. She slipped away quietly, without being noticed, a small but sincere smile on her lips.
For Finn—after a millennium of solitude… that was full happiness.
Klaus’s study was steeped in a heavy silence, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace. The orange light threw shadows across the walls, drawing trembling lines around the two figures bent over the table.
Hope sat in an armchair, legs crossed, eyes fixed on a city map covered in hand-drawn symbols. Kol stood beside her, running a finger over the notes with precise, almost mechanical movements.
There was no trace of amusement or lightness—only icy focus.
They had been sunk in that silence for several minutes when the door opened without warning.
Klaus stepped in. He stopped in the doorway, taking them both in. Arms crossed. One eyebrow slightly raised.
“May I ask,” he began with that smooth calm that fooled no one “why you’re behaving like two generals planning the siege of a kingdom?”
Kol didn’t turn right away. He finished marking a spot on the map, then answered, almost bored, “Because we are. In a way.”
Hope held back a smile. It was impossible not to catch the faint flicker in her eyes when she and Kol exchanged a look—one of those silent classic dad thoughts they’d both had at the exact same time.
Klaus took a few steps into the room, his boots sounding against the wooden floor.
“You know,” he said, looking between them “in my experience… when two members of my family wear that particular concentrated expression… it means a threat is getting closer.”
Kol only lifted his eyes to him. “Correct.”
Klaus went still. Kol’s tone—that clean, surgical edge—left no room for irony.
“Silas?” the hybrid asked, his voice flat.
Hope inhaled softly. When she spoke, it was with controlled calm. With respect. “Yes. He’s more complicated than Dahlia or Esther. He can get into an Original’s mind without effort.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
Klaus didn’t move for several seconds. He still didn’t know who Silas truly was beyond the fact that he was the first immortal, but he could see the pronounced tension in Kol’s shoulders.
“What happened,” he asked, with dangerous quiet “in the other timeline?”
Kol didn’t answer. His body had gone rigid, as if that question were a blade pressed to his spine.
Hope looked at him, tense. Kol couldn’t hide that micro-second of hesitation.
Klaus saw it. And repeated, his voice lower, colder: “Kol. What happened?”
Kol kept staring at the map. Breathing steady. Back straight.
Then he spoke. “I died.”
Klaus remained completely still even though the words hit him like a slap. His pupils tightened slightly. Blood roared in his ears like distant thunder.
Hope stepped in immediately, moving toward them. “There’s no danger,” she said quickly. “The first thing I did when I came back from the future was burn the white oak they used. The bridge, the sign—everything that could kill one of you is ash.”
Kol lifted one shoulder, finally pulling his gaze from the map. “It’s true. The last piece of white oak is with you. The little knight you carved for Rebekah when you were...”
Klaus had already moved with vampire speed to the container where he kept family objects. He grabbed the knight and, after looking at it with a hint of nostalgia, tossed it into the fireplace flames.
“You’re efficient, you know that?” Kol said, dryly.
Hope nodded, amused. “Either way, Kol can’t die. We’re linked. White oak doesn’t work on him anymore.”
Klaus inhaled softly—something like a restrained growl.
“How did you come back,” he asked, curious, his voice still rough “in the other timeline?”
He wanted to know, so he could bring one of his brothers back if it ever happened.
This time Kol looked at him. Klaus went on alert at the caution in Kol’s movements. “Esther.”
Klaus stiffened sharply.
Kol continued, calm: “You and Elijah were reckless enough to consecrate her remains in New Orleans. You made her one of the Ancestors. And she found a way to bring me and Finn back in the bodies of two witches.”
The realization that Finn had died too left a hollow in Klaus’s stomach. How had he let two of his brothers die? Then irritation rose as he processed what Kol had just admitted.
Klaus took a step forward, every nerve tight. “You allied yourself with her?”
Kol shook his head. “No.” Then, lower: “But I accepted the chance to come back. After all… none of you reacted much to my death. I was… resentful.”
Hope held her breath. She hadn’t expected that honesty. But she shouldn’t have been surprised—if there was anyone Kol was open with about his feelings, it was the hybrid.
“What do you mean we didn’t react?” Klaus asked, confused.
“I was the usual me, Nik. Unpredictable, terrifying, a psychotic Original,” Kol tried to soften it. But Klaus’s expression stayed serious. “We didn’t have the relationship we have now…”
“So?” Klaus snapped, genuinely disturbed. “You’re our brother, Kol. We loved you in every century and in every version of ourselves. In what kind of world do I, Rebekah, and Elijah not react to your death?”
Kol hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “You were searching for the cure. I was trying to stop you because to find it you would’ve had to wake Silas and risk unleashing hell on earth” he explained.
“And he was right” Hope muttered under her breath.
Kol shot her a faint smile, then continued. “Rebekah, once she found out, focused even more on finding the cure. Elijah was away when it happened…” Reluctantly, he finished “I suppose you were the one who reacted the most, in some way… They killed me right in front of you, after all.”
Klaus looked even angrier after that. Kol shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, Nik. I came back after a few months…” He trailed off, lost in thought, and a slight smile appeared out of nowhere—small, memory-soft, almost warm.
Klaus narrowed his eyes. “What’s so funny?” The question wasn’t gentle. It was irritated.
Kol lowered his gaze to the map, tracing the lines absentmindedly.
“It was probably the best period of my life,” he said at last. His voice was calm, but not distant. “I had magic again. I met my wife. And we finally stitched a part of our relationship back together.”
Klaus frowned, caught off guard by that sudden turn. The idea of Kol married was still a strange concept to absorb.
Kol tilted his head slightly, as if pulling up a memory he hadn’t touched in a long time. “I accused you of never truly loving me” he added, with the faintest grimace. “All while, in the meantime, I was giving you aneurysms one after another.”
Klaus’s reaction was immediate, instinctive—a barely perceptible stiffening, like someone had pricked him with a needle.
Kol noticed, but didn’t stop. If anything, his smile became more alive, more real.
“You lost your patience,” he went on. “You pinned me to the wall and yelled that I was an idiot. That I was your brother. And that of course you loved me, in spite of everything.”
For an instant, his eyes lit with something like gratitude.
“It was the first time,” he said more quietly “after… a long time, that I actually believed you.”
The silence that followed was tense, charged.
“And how long had you stopped believing it, exactly?” Klaus asked. The further the conversation went, the sharper his voice became, barely held back.
Kol hesitated. Not long—but long enough to matter. That hesitation, strangely, seemed to cost him more than admitting Esther had brought him back.
“Since…” He inhaled slowly. “After the transition?”
Klaus took a sharp step forward. “Is that why you pulled away?” he asked—hurt before he was angry.
Kol raised his eyes to him. There was no challenge there, only ancient exhaustion.
“Can you really blame me?” he said. “You, Rebekah, and Elijah never bothered to make me and Finn feel like we were part of always and forever.”
He paused, then sighed, as if he were letting go of something he’d held too tightly for too long. “And then… I was jealous.”
Klaus lifted an eyebrow, puzzled.
“I lost as much as you did that night,” Kol continued. “You lost your wolf. I lost my magic. And yet Rebekah and Elijah justified you far more than they ever did me.” His voice dropped. “They stayed at your side for centuries, trying to help you break the curse. While I…” He swallowed. “Every time I so much as hinted I wanted to find a way to get my magic back, I was treated like a spoiled child.”
The room seemed to suspend itself. As if even the air had decided not to move.
Klaus took several deep breaths, visibly trying to calm down. After a few seconds, he moved.
He didn’t say anything. He simply took three steps forward—slow, deliberate.
Then he wrapped one arm around Kol’s shoulders, drawing him in until their temples touched.
Kol didn’t stiffen.
His body gave immediately, turning softer, more human—as if that single contact was the only place in the world where he could lower his guard without risking shattering.
“Don’t you dare doubt it again,” he growled. Then, quieter—almost gentle: “Sounds exactly like us, hm? Always waiting until we’re at the edge before we talk.”
“It does” Kol murmured, with a faint smile.
Klaus let him go slowly, like he didn’t want to break the moment completely, then turned back toward the table. He drew in another deep breath.
“And so,” he said, becoming himself again “what’s the plan to keep this Silas from ruining our day?”
Kol and Hope—who was almost moved after witnessing that scene—exchanged a look.
War, after all… was back at their door.
Night had settled silently over Mystic Falls, carrying with it the scent of autumn and the illusion of calm in a town that tried to forget it was built atop a graveyard of legends.
The Mikaelson estate stood at the edge of the woods, a dark silhouette against a silver sky. The windows still lit cast fragments of warm light across rain-damp glass, as if the building itself were breathing.
Inside, Rebekah had just closed the door behind her. She dropped her bag onto an armchair with a huff. Elijah, seated by the fireplace, lifted his gaze from the book he’d been reading.
Rebekah poured herself a glass of wine and moved to the window. Outside, the moon shimmered in the driveway puddles, and a light wind stirred the leaves.
“Any news?” she asked after a moment, without turning. “Has our brother declared war on someone, or has he stayed calm?”
“Niklaus doesn’t do calm,” Elijah replied with a faint smile. “But for now, I’d say he’s content with the quiet.”
As if to contradict him, the sound of an engine rolled up the drive. Not a sleek car, not one of theirs—a pickup, heavy, its rumble deep and steady.
Rebekah leaned forward, her glass suspended midair. “Were you expecting someone?”
Elijah rose slowly, closing the book. “No.”
That single word filled the room with attention. The truck stopped in front of the front doors. The headlights stayed on for a moment, then shut off, leaving the face of the villa washed in a soft, golden glow.
The doors opened at the same time.
Two figures stepped out first—men, broad-shouldered, moving with steady purpose. The scent of wolf blood mingled with vampire: hybrids.
They were alert, but relaxed, like men escorting someone they didn’t fear.
Then, from the shadow of the back seat, she stepped out.
A girl who couldn’t have been more than nineteen straightened, chin lifted, stride sure. Brown hair fell over her shoulders, stirred by the wind—and when she looked up at the house, the porch light caught her eyes.
For an instant, they flashed gold.
Nothing else was needed. That single moment gave shape to the omen.
Elijah came to the window beside Rebekah, his face tense, eyes fixed on the figure moving up the path.
“Who is she?” he asked quietly.
Rebekah shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Elijah watched the girl reach the front steps, every gesture measured, but carrying a strength she didn’t bother to hide. Behind her, the two hybrids exchanged a nod, as if they were escorting an ally, not a prisoner.
When the stranger lifted her hand and knocked, the sound echoed through the air like a heartbeat.
Three knocks. Sure.
Elijah drew a slow breath and headed for the door. Behind him, Rebekah set her glass down, her full attention captured now.
The handle turned. The door opened.
And there, on the threshold between the villa’s warm light and the night’s darkness, the girl lifted her chin and looked them up and down—like a challenge.
“Who the hell are you?”