Chapter Text
I had been on airplanes before with my family. But this time didn’t feel the same. The other times were happier—because my favorite person always let me sit right next to him. Mommy and daddy were always my number one but I had another favorite person; that always read books to me, even when he was tired, and he gave me breaks with little bowls of strawberries or apple slices.
But my favorite person didn’t remember me anymore. Uncle Kol told me that at the airport, his voice all soft, like he didn’t want to say it too loud. My chest felt heavy when he said it, like when I carry Wolfie too long in one arm. Henri was asleep already, curled up for his afternoon nap. I wanted to nap too, but not yet. I begged Uncle Kol to ask my favorite person to read to me—just like before.
When we climbed inside the plane, I followed Uncle Kol into the private bedroom. A lady in a neat blue uniform met us there. She smiled when she saw me hugging Wolfie tight. “Hi there, you’re so cute. May I put your stuffed bear on one of the seats?”
I frowned and shook my head quickly. “It’s not a bear. It’s a wolf.” My arms hugged Wolfie closer so she knew I meant it.
“Oh, my mistake,” she said kindly. “Would you like me to put the wolf plushie on the chair so you can sleep too?”
I shook my head again, harder this time. Wolfie belonged with me. I sat at the edge of the bed, watching as she whispered something to uncle Kol. He bent down carefully, laying Henri on the mattress. My baby brother’s cheeks were pink from sleep. I crawled across the blanket as quiet as I could, helping uncle Kol tuck pillows around him so he wouldn’t roll.
“Darling,” Uncle Kol said gently, holding out his arms, “let’s give Henri time to rest. Come with me.”
I climbed into his arms but stared into his eyes so he’d know I was serious. “We can’t leave Henri alone. He sleeps good with Mommy, Auntie Bex, or Auntie Davina.”
Uncle Kol’s lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh. “Just this once, darling. Remember, you wanted someone very special to read to you? Unless you’ve changed your mind and wish to nap instead?” He lifted one eyebrow high like he always does when he’s teasing me.
I shook my head quickly. “No. Let’s go, please.”
He chuckled and carried me out. That’s when I spotted the back of Daddy’s head in one of the big airplane chairs in the front seats. My heart jumped. I wanted to run to him, to say hi, to climb onto his lap—but then I remembered. I wanted my favorite person to read to me first.
Uncle Kol stopped walking and turned toward the row of seats. My backpack sat there, right beside Uncle Elijah. I ducked my head into Kol’s shoulder, suddenly shy. Uncle Elijah hadn’t talked to me much today. He’d only sat with Henri earlier. What if he didn’t want me bothering him now? What if he didn’t even like me?
“Brother,” Kol said smoothly, his voice light but knowing, “there’s a little lady who refuses to nap without her story. Past her nap time already, I’d say. Would you mind?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, hugging Wolfie tight to my chest. My cheeks grew warm. Maybe Uncle Elijah thought I was rude for only saying hi to Daddy earlier.
Then I heard his voice. Clear, calm, gentle. “Of course not. I was about to catch up on my reading anyway. You’ve caught me at the perfect time.”
Uncle Kol set me down gently on the seat beside Uncle Elijah, giving my hair a playful ruffle before walking away. I didn’t look up right away. My fingers twisted around Wolfie’s soft ear, my heart thumping like when I run too fast in the garden.
Then uncle Elijah’s hand came into my view—long fingers, steady—but soft when they brushed against the edge of my backpack. “Shall we see what story you’ve brought along?” His voice was calm, the way rivers sound when the water moves but doesn’t splash.
peeked up at him. His face was quiet, not smiling wide like Uncle Kol’s, but not frowning either. Just…thoughtful. My favorite person always looked like that, like he was listening to something nobody else could hear.
I nodded quickly, unzipping my bag and pulling out the little book with the worn cover. Goodnight Moon. The corners were bent, and a tiny crayon mark streaked across one of the pages where I’d once tried to draw a star. “This one,” I whispered, holding it out.
Uncle Elijah accepted it with care, as if it were a priceless book from one of his tall shelves instead of a bedtime story with bunnies and kittens. He opened the first page, his voice low and steady as he began to read.
“In the great green room, there was a telephone, and a red balloon…”I curled closer, hugging Wolfie tight, the words sinking into me like warm blankets. His voice hadn’t changed. Even if he didn’t remember me, the sound of him reading was the same. Like honey poured slow. Like safety.
I shut my eyes for a moment, pretending. Pretending this was before leaving my parents and forgetting, before baby Henri needed more attention, before Daddy had to fix so many scary things. Pretending I still belonged right here, tucked under my favorite person’s arm, listening to him read.
Uncle Elijah turned a page. His sleeve brushed against my hand, and I dared to lean closer until I could rest my cheek against his arm. He didn’t push me away. He just kept reading.
“Goodnight room, goodnight moon, goodnight cow jumping over the moon…”
My throat tightened. I blinked hard, but a little tear slipped out anyway, hiding against Wolfie’s fur. Because he didn’t know. He didn’t know he was my favorite person, or that this story was ours. But still—I listened. Because even if he’d forgotten me, I would never forget him.
My eyelids kept fluttering, heavy like they had little rocks on top of them, but I didn’t want to miss any of uncle Elijah’s words. His voice was smooth and deep, like when Mommy hummed to Henri, only slower—each sound wrapping around me like a blanket.
I hugged Wolfie tighter and scooted closer, my legs dangling off the seat until my toes touched the edge of his polished shoes. He didn’t move me away. Instead, I felt the soft brush of his sleeve when he turned a page, and it smelled faintly like the cologne Auntie Bex always teased him about—something clean and sharp, like winter air.
The book’s pages whispered each time he flipped them, and I pressed my cheek against his arm, trying not to breathe too loudly. He didn’t stop reading, but his voice dipped a little lower, like he knew I was drifting.
My eyes finally closed, and the last thing I felt was uncle Elijah’s hand—gentle, careful—tucking a stray curl behind my ear so it wouldn’t tickle my face. That tiny touch made me feel safe, like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Then everything melted into dreams, with his voice still echoing softly inside them.
Elijah continued to read, his voice steady though softer now, aware of the small weight pressed against his arm. Hope had curled herself nearer without a word, her little wolf clutched so tightly to her chest it almost disappeared in her embrace. He turned the page with measured care, unwilling to disturb her, though her eyelids had already surrendered to the heaviness of sleep.
It was then he noticed it—a faint shimmer tracking down her cheek. A single tear, unbidden, slipping quietly as though her dreams had borrowed the burdens of her waking world. Elijah’s breath stilled for a moment. He did not move quickly, nor did he allow his features to betray the ache that flickered within him. Instead, with the same precision he afforded every vow he had ever spoken, he reached into his pocket for his handkerchief and brushed the tear away with the lightest touch, so gentle it did not stir her.
Hope sighed softly, her small body relaxing further against him, trusting him with the unguarded ease of a child. He closed the book in silence, setting it aside, and adjusted her position so her head rested more comfortably against his arm. His hand lingered just long enough to smooth back a curl that had fallen across her brow.
In that quiet, Elijah allowed himself a rare indulgence: the faintest smile. Not indulgent in joy, but in reverence. She was his niece, Klaus’s daughter—fragile, extraordinary, and already carrying the weight of a legacy she had not asked for. And though he would never voice it aloud, Elijah made a silent vow in that stillness, as her breathing grew even against his side: he would never let her tears go unanswered, not while he endured to protect her.
So he sat, motionless and steady, a sentinel cloaked in gentleness, while Hope slept in perfect trust at his side.
After several minutes, the steady murmur of Kol’s voice with Niklaus came to an end, and I heard the quiet tread of his footsteps approach. I did not look up at once; my attention was still on the small weight nestled against my arm, her breath warm and even, her curls pressed to the sleeve of my jacket. But when Kol finally came to stand before us, I caught the way his expression altered—mischief dimmed, sharp edges softened—as his gaze settled on his sleeping niece.
“Our brother wants a word with you,” Kol said at last, voice pitched low, as though even he was unwilling to disturb her peace. His mouth curved into the faintest smile before he added, “I’ll see her to the bed beside Henri.”
I tightened my arm almost imperceptibly around Hope, reluctant. “You’re sure she won’t wake?” My tone betrayed more hesitation than I intended; the thought of her startled awake, frightened or unsettled, was not one I wished to invite.
Kol’s brow lifted, though without mockery. “I’m positive. She’s a light sleeper like her mother most days, but she was up early. Today has wrung the energy right out of her.” There was no boast in his words, only a quiet certainty. And when he bent to gather her into his arms, he did so with a care I had not thought him capable of—supporting her small head, tucking Wolfie close against her chest, cradling her as though he had done it a hundred times.
I watched, silently struck. For all of Kol’s sharpness, his volatility, there was no denying the change wrought by these children’s presence. He who once reveled only in destruction now moved with a gentleness I had scarcely imagined. It was, I admitted to myself, a fact undeniable.
I saw as Kol disappeared into the bedroom, Hope’s small frame cradled securely in his arms. He moved with an unexpected tenderness, careful not to stir her from her slumber. Only once the door had shut did I turn and cross the cabin, where another sight gave me pause.
Niklaus sat in the wide leather chair, the doppelgänger lying asleep across his lap. Her head rested against his chest as though it belonged there, one hand curled in the fabric of his shirt. I could not discern if she had shifted in her sleep or if he had allowed it. What was evident, however, was that he did not push her away. Quite the opposite—in the very moment I lowered myself into the seat across from him, I noted the subtle way his arm drew her closer, his body angling as though to shield her from my scrutiny.
He broke the silence with an air of casualness I did not believe. “I already have a vampire in mind for the ritual,” he said, his hand resting against the curve of her shoulder, fingers still. “What I lack is a witch I can trust…and a wolf.”
I withdrew my phone, not to dismiss him, but to balance the weight of his words against something lighter. A few gestures brought me to the site where I often indulged in rare acquisitions. My finger hovered briefly, then selected volumes—first editions of children’s fairytales, alongside collections of Greek and Norse mythology. All of them meant for a four-year-old girl who loved to hear stories.
Niklaus’s lips curved. “It seems you have weightier business to attend to, Elijah. Tell me, am I boring you, brother?” The sarcasm was familiar, honed sharp, but I could hear the undertone. If not for the girl sleeping in his arms, his temper would already have flared.
“Did you know,” I replied, allowing myself a rare flicker of warmth, “that Hope insists upon being read to before her nap and again each night?” I slid the phone back into my pocket. “I’ve just arranged for a shipment of first editions to arrive at our destination. She will be delighted.”
For the first time in our exchange, Niklaus looked at me directly. A shadow of surprise crossed his features before he smothered it beneath a smile. “I did not. It seems the little one takes after her uncle in that regard.” His thumb brushed absently over the doppelgänger’s sleeve, almost a thoughtful gesture. “Although, if memory serves, you were the one who lectured me—at length—on the dangers of spoiling a child too young.”
His words carried jest, but I couldn’t be the one to discourage Hope in her favorite activities. And in truth, I could not deny it. Some bonds were worth the risk of indulgence. “This is no ordinary child,” I said at last, my voice quieter than I intended, though steady. “She is my niece. And whatever is required for her day to begin—and end—in happiness, I will provide.”It was more than sentiment; it was a vow. One I would not break. For all my restraint, all my careful distance, I knew this to be true: protecting her wonder was as essential as protecting her life. Just as I finished speaking, the cries of my nephew started.
Bonnie…..Bonnie Bennet.
Her name wouldn’t stop echoing in my mind, hammering like a curse. The second the witch uttered it, I felt the floor vanish beneath me. My head spun with too many thoughts, and before I knew it, I had blurred out of the room, away from everyone’s eyes.
But what cut deeper than the name itself was the witch’s smug voice following after me, like a dagger aimed straight at my chest: “Luck won’t be on your side or theirs. You did what he wanted and fell into the trap. So easy, so simple. Bonnie assisted by locating you all.”
I had felt the heat behind my eyes before I saw the change—gold flooding my irises, a predator’s warning. I couldn’t touch her, couldn’t bite her, couldn’t unleash what boiled inside me. So instead, I tore through the living room. I didn’t care that Elijah had just finished the remodeling, didn’t care about the gleaming woodwork or carefully chosen furniture. I smashed and ripped anything within reach until the rage coursing through me still wasn’t enough.
When even that failed, I ran. Out of the house, through the streets, until I didn’t know what block I was on anymore. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing in my pocket—Rebekah’s name flashing again and again. I pressed ignore, the guilt clawing, but I couldn’t hear her voice. Not now. Not when my former best friend had just betrayed me and, worse, jeopardized the lives of my children.
I sank onto a bench, my hands trembling as I wondered what my children were doing and how Kol was holding up. Around me, the world was painfully normal: residents with their morning coffees, tourists laughing and snapping photos as though happiness were something permanent, unshakable. How could everything look so ordinary when my life had been ripped open again?
Finally, I pulled out my phone. Not for Niklaus, not for Rebekah—I couldn’t bear the sound of either of them yet. There was only one person who would answer me, no matter the hour.
The line clicked almost immediately. “Hello?” A rustle, then her voice sharpened, anxious. “Elena? Are you alright? Where are you?”
“Caroline?” The name left me like a breath I’d been holding for hours. I needed her here. She was the one who could stand up to Bonnie, who could anchor me, who could remind me who I was when everything else slipped away.
“Elena, I need you to tell me where you are. This instant! Rebekah is worried, and don’t even get me started on your husband.” Even across the world, I could hear her impatience—could picture her pacing, her heels snapping against marble floors, one hand on her hip, the other gesturing wildly as though I could see it.
“I’m fine. I—”
“No.” Her voice cracked like a whip, silencing me. “We’re best friends. That entitles me to know certain things before anyone else. Do you know how I found out? From Marcel. Marcel, Elena. I’m Henri’s godmother, for crying out loud!”
Her words stung, not because they weren’t true, but because they were. “There was no time,” I tried, my throat tight. “Not even Jere knew. The less people who knew, we thought, the better—”
“Elena.” She cut me off again, her anger sparking with that familiar Caroline fire. “I’m getting on the next flight out with Stefan. Don’t you dare try to stop me. I’ve seen enough of France and Greece to last a lifetime, and I won’t sit by while you face this alone. Not when my godson is out there. Not when you need me.” Her voice caught, trembling beneath the steel. “You’re my family. We’re in this together. Always.”
Her words struck me harder than I expected. My hand slid unconsciously to the hem of Nik’s shirt that still hung on me, my fingers twisting the fabric. The scent of him clung there, grounding me, keeping the tears from spilling.
“She helped him, Care,” I whispered. “Bonnie planned this.”
The gasp on the other end was sharp, followed by a string of curses only Caroline Forbes could spit with that kind of venom. I heard Stefan in the background asking what was wrong.
“I’m going to kill her,” Caroline snapped, no hesitation in her tone. Then, muffled: “Stefan, we need to be on a plane. Now!”
A few frantic seconds later, her voice was back, urgent and unwavering. “I’m coming. Just… wait. Don’t make any decisions without me. And that includes Klaus and the rest of the Mikaelsons.”
And for the first time since the witch had said Bonnie’s name, I felt the tiniest flicker of relief. Caroline was coming. And when she did, Bonnie would have no idea what storm she had unleashed in us all.
The moment I ended the call, the city around me had shifted. Night had already swallowed the streets—lamplight stretching in gold lines across the pavement, the chatter of tourists dimmed into a softer hum. Time had slipped through my fingers without me realizing.
I rose slowly from the bench, my legs stiff, my body heavier with everything I now carried. With a single breath, I blurred into motion, flashing through the quiet streets until I reached the one place I still dared to call home.
The sight that greeted me in the driveway made my stomach knot. Only two cars were there—Kol’s sleek one parked carelessly at an angle, and my own. None of the others. Which could only mean one thing: Niklaus had mobilized everyone. Our family—his hybrids included—scouring the city in search of me. The realization pressed on my chest, suffocating. He wouldn’t stop until he had me safely back under his gaze, no matter what destruction he left in his wake.
I lingered at the foot of the steps, forcing myself to take a deep breath. One, two, three… all the way to ten, until my hands stopped trembling. Whatever chaos awaited inside, I needed to meet it with control, not fear. Not when my children’s safety depended on me.
The front doors loomed ahead, tall and familiar, yet tonight they felt more like a threshold to something I couldn’t predict. I pushed them open, half-expecting to hear Nik’s temper echoing through the halls—shouted orders, splintering wood, the sound of his wrath unleashed. But instead… silence. A silence so complete it unnerved me.
The house smelled faintly of varnished wood and lingering smoke from the fireplace. My footsteps against the floorboards were too loud in the stillness as I crossed the foyer, glancing toward the sitting room, the dining table—untouched, all too perfect.
It wasn’t until I reached the stairs that I noticed it: every door upstairs was shut tight, locked behind the hush of the household. Every door… except one. Henri’s. A sliver of golden lamplight spilled out into the hallway, beckoning me toward it like a fragile thread.
I froze at the foot of the staircase for a moment, my hand gripping the banister, listening—half in dread, half in desperate hope.
Klaus had woken me gently, the brush of his hand against my arm pulling me from sleep. His other arm still anchored me against his chest, and only then did I realize—I’d spent the entire flight and even the car ride curled into him. Heat rushed to my cheeks as I quickly sat up, slipping free from his hold, though every part of me protested the distance. He drew me in without even trying, like gravity itself had chosen him, and I hated how easily I let it happen. What was wrong with me?
He said something, his voice smooth and low, but the words blurred past me before I could catch them. My mind was already spinning as I followed him through the gleaming hotel corridors. Everything about the place screamed luxury, but the uncertainty of where exactly we were—and why—left my nerves strung tight. Then he opened the door to my room, and I froze, my breath catching in my throat.
The room felt like something out of a dream—luxury wrapped in history. The first thing that caught my breath was the view. Towering windows stretched from floor to ceiling, and through them, the Eiffel Tower stood so close it felt like I could almost reach out and touch the cold iron lattice. Morning light spilled across the skyline, brushing over Parisian rooftops before flooding into the room and wrapping everything in soft gold.
I inhaled, catching the faintest trace of lavender drifting from a vase of flowers on the nightstand. They sat just beside a golden lamp whose base gleamed even in daylight. I imagined the way it must glow in the evening, casting the whole room in a soft amber haze. My eyes drifted to the bed—it was impossible not to. The headboard alone was art, carved with ornate details, its tufted surface making it look like it belonged to another century. Silken linens spilled over the mattress, smooth and inviting, with a quilt folded neatly across the edge, waiting to be tugged up in a sleepy moment of indulgence.
At the foot of the bed stood a bench, its carved legs polished to a shine. I trailed my fingers across the upholstery as I passed, soft and cool under my touch, a small luxury that made the space feel even more decadent. Across the room, an armchair angled toward the window begged to be claimed—perfect for watching the world below while wrapped in a blanket with a cup of coffee.
I could imagine already waking up to the wooden floor warm under my bare feet, its herringbone pattern polished to a golden sheen. Every step I took felt like a quiet reminder of where I was—Paris, in all its impossible elegance. Even the walls whispered stories, their intricate moldings and subtle gilded flourishes pulling me into the kind of romance I thought only belonged to novels.
And then, of course, there was the presence of the tower itself. No matter where I stood, it dominated the view, steady and certain, like a witness to every secret, every promise, every stolen kiss that might unfold here.
The hotel room was beautiful in a way that almost hurt to look at—the glow of Paris slipping in through the glass, gilded lamps that made the cream walls shimmer. I’d dreamed of seeing this city since I was a little girl, but not like this. Not as someone dragged along, trapped in someone else’s plan.
“Why are we here?” I finally asked, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. “I thought we were going back to Mystic Falls.”
I tried to keep my face neutral, tried to bury the swirl of emotions that threatened to show, but every second felt like they were crawling closer to the surface.
Klaus lounged near the window, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, as if my outburst were nothing more than background noise. His tone was maddeningly calm when he finally answered. “We are here to find two pieces I’m missing to complete the ritual. Once I’m a hybrid, we will go back to your home city.”
There was no hesitation in his voice, no flicker of doubt. He wasn’t just unbothered—he wanted me to absorb it, to accept it, to bask in the idea that Paris was some kind of prize rather than a gilded cage.
“But I didn’t bring any clothes with me.” My arms folded tight across my chest before I even realized it. I hated how desperate I sounded, but I needed him to hear it. “I need to go back home. Please.”
The word please burned on my tongue, but I couldn’t stop myself. He had to know that this—being here, being with him like this—wasn’t okay. He hadn’t exactly dragged me here, not when I had taken his hand and followed. That choice haunted me now, sitting heavy like a bruise I couldn’t rub away.
“That’s no issue.” His words came smoothly at first, calm, almost indulgent. “I’ll buy what you need.” But then, just as quickly, the warmth disappeared. His eyes hardened, and the last part of his sentence fell like a blade. “Going back home will have to wait for now.”
He crossed his arms, the small shift in posture enough to remind me just how immovable he was.
“You can’t seriously just have me wait here?!” The frustration in me cracked open all at once. My body surged forward before my mind could stop it. I sprinted toward the door, toward freedom—toward anything that wasn’t him.
But he was faster. Of course he was faster.
In the blink of an eye he was there, blocking the doorway, his frame towering and immovable. I froze, every sense drowning in the nearness of him—the clean spice of his cologne, the brush of his breath against my hair, the shadow he cast over me like a stormcloud.
“You will do as I say,” he murmured, voice low, rich, dangerous. It wasn’t a threat, not exactly. It was a promise, carved into stone. His eyes locked on mine, and I hated the way they made me feel—both cornered and impossibly drawn in.
“Right now,” he continued, tilting his head slightly, “you can either go bathe while I get clothes for you… or I can drain you. Which will it be?”
The air between us grew sharp and thin. My pulse thudded in my throat, screaming at me to choose, to move, to do something.
And still, part of me couldn’t look away.