The night air in Mystic Falls has a way of wrapping around you — warm in the lungs but cool enough to raise goosebumps on your arms. I’d moved here two months ago, traded in the city noise for a house with a backyard that bled into the woods and eventually opened onto the river.

The river was my favorite part. No traffic, no neon, no strangers brushing past me on the sidewalk — just the silver ribbon of water winding under the moonlight.

I’d gone down there tonight barefoot, my phone left on the kitchen counter. The grass was still damp from the rain earlier, cool under my toes.

I wasn’t expecting company.

“Careful,” a voice said from behind me, smooth as bourbon. “Lots of things lurk near rivers at night. Snakes. Coyotes. Handsome strangers.”

I spun around.

He was leaning casually against a tree, hands in the pockets of a black jacket that looked like it belonged in a vintage shop… or maybe a coffin. Dark hair, sharp jaw, blue eyes that gleamed even in the dim light.

“You scared me,” I said.

“Yeah,” he replied, tilting his head. “That tends to happen when a guy materializes out of nowhere.”

“Materializes?”

He smiled, slow and knowing. “Figure of speech… mostly.”

I should’ve asked what he was doing here. Or at least pointed out that my yard wasn’t exactly public property. But there was something magnetic about him — a pull I couldn’t quite explain.

“Do you live around here?” I asked.

“Sort of,” he said, wandering closer. “I prefer… passing through. Less commitment that way.”

“Sounds lonely.”

He smirked. “Sounds smart.”

The banter was easy, like skipping stones across the water. Somewhere between teasing questions and quick smiles, the conversation shifted — his gaze lingering, his voice dipping lower.

“Tell me something,” he said, “what are you running from?”

I laughed. “Who says I’m running from anything?”

He stepped close enough that I could feel the warmth of him. “Everyone’s running from something.”

And just like that, we were kissing.

———

It happened fast — grass under my back, the sound of the river rushing beside us. His hands were sure, his mouth demanding, like he was claiming something that had always been his.

The night blurred into heat and shadows and breathless laughter. I didn’t ask his name until we were lying in the grass afterward, the stars cold and bright above us.

“Who are you?” I asked, turning my head toward him.

He smirked. “Damon.”

“Damon…”

“Just Damon,” he said. “Don’t overcomplicate it.”

———

She didn’t see him again for three days.

Then, on a lazy afternoon in town, she spotted him. He was at the Mystic Grill, leaning against the bar with a glass of bourbon, laughing at something the blonde bartender said.

Her heart did something stupid — a little leap that made her want to smile. She walked toward him, rehearsing something casual in her head. Hey, Damon. Remember me?

But when he turned and looked at her, his face was politely blank.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

It took her a second to recover. “I… I live near the river. We met the other night?”

He studied her for a moment, then shrugged like he was being charitable. “Sorry. Don’t think so.”

She felt her face flush hot. “We—” she lowered her voice, “—we talked. By the river.”

He gave her that infuriating smile — the one that said you’re adorable, but I’m still in control here. “Pretty sure I’d remember you.”

And just like that, he turned back to his drink.