Location: Rousseau’s Bar, New Orleans

Klaus stood at the entrance of Rousseau’s, the scent of vervain, liquor, and sweat thick in the air—but it was your scent that cut through it all like wildfire: familiar, sharp, warm. The same scent that used to linger on his sheets back in Mystic Falls. The same scent that now carried something else… something ancient. Something impossible.

He didn’t bother blinking as he watched you from across the bar—your combat boots propped on a barstool rung, one hand lazily nursing a drink, water of course, the other resting protectively over your stomach. His child. His heir.

Klaus moved like a shadow until he was in front of you. No smirk. No witty remark. Just quiet thunder in his eyes.

Klaus: “Well. Isn’t this a sight for sore eyes.” His accent laced every word like velvet and steel. “You disappear without a word, show up in my city of all places… and you’re pregnant. Care to explain, love? Or should I assume this is some elaborate attempt to drive me completely mad?”

His eyes dropped to your stomach briefly before flicking back up to your face—haunted, curious, and for once… uncertain.

Klaus: “Is it mine?”