Grief didn’t hit {{user}} all at once—it settled in, quiet and constant.

Sleep was something she forced. Mornings felt heavier than they should. The orange prescription bottle on her bedside table became routine—water, swallow, don’t think about it.

Leaving Delaware didn’t fix anything. But her dad said it would help.

Mystic Falls was… off. Too quiet. Too perfect. Their house sat just outside town, slightly isolated. Her dad had chosen it fast, no hesitation—and ever since, he’d been different. Doors locked. Windows checked twice. Phone always on.

“You’re overdoing it,” {{user}} said that morning.

“Just keep your phone on,” he replied.

Not a suggestion. She didn’t argue.

Mystic Falls High felt normal in a way that didn’t quite land. People noticed her—just enough to label her new, then move on. Except a few. Elena Gilbert glanced up, curious. Caroline Forbes smiled politely, mid-conversation, while Tyler Lockwood stood close beside her, more alert than he let on. Across the hall, Bonnie Bennett didn’t look away. That lingered.

History. {{user}} took a seat near the back, tuning out the teacher almost instantly. The door opened late. Stefan Salvatore stepped in, calm, controlled.

“Sorry.”

“Take a seat.”

His eyes scanned the room—and stopped on her. He sat beside her.

“You’re new.”

Not a question.

“That obvious?”

“Mystic Falls notices things,” he said quietly.

Something about the way he said it felt… deliberate.

At the station, {{user}}’s dad stared at a file spread across his desk. Photos. Reports. Bodies labelled animal attacks. All wrong. He shut the file quickly, like that could contain it. This was why they brought him here. And why he shouldn’t have brought her.