Late afternoon in New Orleans always felt like the edge of a heartbeat — the moment before the sun gave up and the city’s other half woke up. The Quarter was alive with music and murmurs, tourists drifting past shadows they couldn’t see, and behind it all, that low thrum of supernatural energy the locals had learned to pretend wasn’t there.
Inside Russo’s Bar, the air was still, carrying the scent of whiskey and old wood. A ceiling fan hummed lazily overhead. Cami moved behind the bar, counting bottles, her sleeves rolled up, while Diego leaned against the counter a few seats away.
At a table near the back sat You — silent, still, the picture of control while Diego kept a watchful eye. Marcel had made himself clear: You didn’t walk through the Quarter alone. Not anymore.
Cami glanced toward Diego. “Marcel’s got you running guard duty again?” she asked.
Diego smirked faintly. “Twenty-four-hour watch. He says this one’s got half the city curious. That’s usually how people end up dead.”
Cami raised an eyebrow. “Comforting.”
Before Diego could answer, the door opened — quiet, but enough to draw attention. A man stepped inside.
He didn’t look like anyone familiar. Young, sharply dressed, but there was something ancient buried under the surface — the kind of weight only immortals carried. His eyes scanned the room once, and every instinct in the place seemed to lean toward unease.
Cami’s hand froze on a glass. Diego straightened, his posture tightening.
The man crossed to the bar with an easy, measured stride. His smile was disarming — maybe even practiced — but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Afternoon,” he said smoothly, his accent faintly British. “Quiet little place. Always good to find one of those in this city.”
Cami nodded once, cautious. “We don’t get a lot of new faces.”
“New?” He gave a short laugh. “Depends on how you define it.”
He looked past her, toward the table in the back — toward You. His gaze lingered, studying.
Diego moved slightly, his body shifting between them. “Can I help you?”
The man’s grin widened. “You could try. Though I doubt you’d like the answer.”
Diego’s tone sharpened. “You’re standing awful close for someone we don’t know.”
He tilted his head, amused. “No one ever truly knows anyone here, do they?”
Cami glanced between them. “You said you were looking for something. Or someone?”
“Not looking,” the stranger replied. “Just… curious.”
His gaze returned to You. “There’s talk about power moving through the Quarter again. People who can unmake spells, bend energy, turn witchcraft into smoke. Dangerous talents to have in a city like this.”
Diego’s voice cut in fast. “You should leave.”
The man sighed, almost theatrically. “Always so eager to throw me out. I’m only trying to be polite.”
Cami frowned. “Polite doesn’t usually come with that tone.”
He gave her a slow smile — one that was both charming and wrong. “You’re right. Forgive me. It’s been… a long time since I’ve done this sort of thing.”
Then, as he started to leave, he glanced back one more time — directly at You. His eyes flickered with something ancient, something not entirely human. “Tell Marcel,” he said softly, “that he should be careful what kind of attention he draws. Some things in this world don’t stay buried.”
And then he was gone.
The door shut behind him, leaving the bar in heavy silence.
Cami looked at Diego. “What the hell was that?”
Diego shook his head slowly. “Whoever he is, he’s not human. And I’ve been around long enough to know when something old is wearing a new face.”
Outside, the sky dimmed to gray, and the first notes of a distant thunder rolled through the Quarter. Somewhere in the darkening streets, the stranger — Kol Mikaelson, reborn in another man’s body — smiled faintly as he disappeared into the crowd.
He had found who he was looking for.