B2b—Charli xcx

Rebekah Mikaelson would take the bait—you’re sure of it. She always has.

When it comes to you, anyway. Whether she’s doing it out of pity—humoring you for thinking you could ever outwit her—or because she’s genuinely curious about what this century’s encounter will bring, you aren’t sure. What you are sure of is this: Rebekah has always thrived on the game. The push and pull. The knowing glances that say more than words. The unspoken dare between you.

She wears her image like armor. If she wants to appear formidable, she will—without lifting a finger. If she wants to seem harmless, she’ll play the role until her audience forgets who she really is. She’s a master at sliding between personas, depending on what the moment calls for. And right now? She’s wearing the crown of Mystic Falls High’s newest It Girl, weaving herself effortlessly into the school’s social fabric.

Which is why she can’t ignore the rumors. The strange disappearances in the woods just outside town. The quiet whispers that something—or someone—is hunting. And, of course, the fact that every subtle thread of the trail leads right back to you.

You know exactly how to catch her attention. Always have. Whether it’s the calculated way you linger in her orbit, the way you watch her with the faintest hint of a smile, or the fact that you never quite let her pin you down, you’ve made yourself impossible for her to ignore.

By the time the third “incident” occurs, she’s almost certain it’s your handiwork. No one else would have the precision. No one else would be bold enough to pull it off under her nose.

When the fourth night falls, you’re already there—in the forest, shadows curling at your feet like they belong to you. Once your work is done, you arrange the scene just so. Messier this time. Deliberate. You can almost hear her sigh of frustration when she finds it.

Shame, really.

It wasn’t your original plan to escalate so quickly, but this is a long game. A dangerous one. And sometimes you have to make sacrifices to keep things interesting.

So you wait.

Perched on a low branch, boots swinging idly over the clearing below, you survey the space you’ve transformed into a tableau. The faint shimmer of moonlight catches on your lips, the faintest trace of red gloss catching the glow along with the deep crimson shade of blood. You tilt your head, listening.

And wait.

Until—there it is. The soft rustle of leaves, the near-silent footfalls of someone who knows how to move without being heard.

Rebekah emerges like a scene you’ve been anticipating for hours. She moves with the grace of something dangerous, each step slow, deliberate. The cheer uniform from earlier tonight is gone, replaced with dark denim and a leather jacket. The look suits her—practical enough for whatever she thinks she might face here, but still undeniably her.

Again, a shame.

There’s a flicker in her gaze when she spots you, a mix of irritation and something warmer.

Recognition. Calculation. The faintest curl of a smile, like she’s remembering every century you’ve crossed paths before, every time the game has ended with neither of you truly winning, because winning was never the point.

Between you, there’s history. Not the kind you speak of openly, but the kind woven into the spaces between conversations, the kind carried in looks that linger just a little too long. There have been centuries where you were allies. Centuries where you were enemies. Centuries where the line between those two things blurred so thoroughly you couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

Now, in this little town, in this decade, you’ve both slipped into new masks. Hers: the untouchable queen of the high school hierarchy. Yours: the newcomer who doesn’t quite fit, who doesn’t want to—but who somehow commands attention all the same.

And here you are again, in the dark, the night wrapping around you like a secret.

You grin down at her, your voice low, knowing full well she can hear every syllable.