The Salvatore house was quiet. Damon and Stefan were out dealing with some “mysterious stranger” sightings. You were sitting on the porch steps, the fading sunlight warm against your skin, when you heard the faint crunch of gravel down the long driveway.

A figure appeared — long dark curls, sharp eyes, moving with a confidence that felt… familiar. But it wasn’t Elena. There was something off — the smirk, the way she looked at you like she already knew every secret you’d ever had. She stopped a few feet away, head tilted, lips curling.

“...Well,” she purred, her voice dripping with amusement. “You must be the other Salvatore.”