The front door of the Salvatore house creaked open softly. Aurora Vale stepped inside without knocking. The place smelled exactly how she remembered—bourbon, leather, old wood… and vampire. A faint smirk tugged at her lips as she closed the door behind her. “Stefan?” she called casually. Footsteps approached and Stefan Salvatore appeared from the living room, a small relieved smile forming when he saw her. “Aurora. Thanks for coming.” Aurora leaned her shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossing loosely. “You sounded serious in your message,” she said. “That usually means something in Mystic Falls is about to explode.” “Something like that,” Stefan replied. Aurora pushed off the wall and walked inside, dark hair swaying slightly behind her. Despite looking seventeen, there was something ancient and sharp in the way she moved—like a predator that had learned patience over a century. But before Stefan could explain anything, another voice cut through the room. Low. Lazy. “Oh look. My favorite homicidal vampire.” Aurora stopped mid-step. Her eyes slowly slid toward the staircase. Leaning casually against the railing with a glass of bourbon in his hand was Damon Salvatore. He looked exactly the same as the last time she’d seen him—dark hair slightly messy, smug smile firmly in place, blue eyes watching her like she was both entertainment and trouble. Aurora let out a quiet sigh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Damon pushed off the railing and walked down the steps slowly, swirling the bourbon in his glass. “What?” he said innocently. “You don’t look happy to see me.” Aurora gave him a flat look. “I’d be happier seeing a wooden stake.” Damon smirked. “Careful. That almost sounded flirty.” Aurora laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “You really haven’t changed in a century, have you?” Damon stopped a few feet away from her now, studying her openly. “Oh I don’t know,” he said slowly. “You look different.” Aurora raised an eyebrow. “Different how?” His gaze dragged down her figure and back up again, deliberately slow. “Still terrifying,” he said. “Still violent.” His eyes flickered briefly to her lips. “Still hot.” Aurora rolled her eyes. “Your standards must be low if attempted murder is your type.” Damon took a sip of bourbon. “Attempted murder is basically foreplay where I’m concerned.” Aurora scoffed. “You wish.” They stared at each other for a moment. The air between them was thick with something neither of them wanted to name. Then Damon tilted his head slightly. “So,” he said casually, “what brings you back to Mystic Falls?” Aurora’s expression hardened. “You already know.” Damon’s jaw tightened just enough to notice. “My friend,” she said quietly. “Remember her?” Damon didn’t answer. Aurora’s eyes sharpened. “You killed her.” For half a second, guilt flashed across Damon’s face. Aurora felt it instantly. Her ability brushed against the emotion like fingers against a bruise. The guilt deepened. Damon inhaled slowly and masked it with a smirk. “That was a long time ago.” Aurora smiled coldly. “Oh don’t worry.” Before Damon could react, Aurora moved. In a blur of vampire speed she crossed the room, grabbed the front of his shirt, and slammed him hard against the wall. The impact rattled a nearby picture frame. Damon’s empty glass shattered on the floor. Aurora’s forearm pressed against his chest, pinning him there. For a split second Damon looked surprised. Then he chuckled. “You know,” he said calmly, “most people start with hello.” Aurora leaned closer, her eyes dark and dangerous. “Hello, Damon.” Their faces were suddenly inches apart. Her hand fisted in his shirt, keeping him firmly against the wall. Damon’s hands instinctively moved to her waist to steady himself. Neither of them seemed eager to move away. Aurora’s hair brushed lightly against his jaw. “You really have a death wish,” Damon murmured. “You really have bad survival instincts,” Aurora shot back. Their noses were almost touching now. Neither of them blinked. The tension between them shifted into something heavier. Something charged.