You didn’t plan on seeing Caroline Forbes again. Not after the wedding. Not after the blood.

The memory came in flashes—the music cutting off mid-note, Jo gasping, crimson blooming over white silk, Kai’s smirk just before you tore through him. You’d buried him with your own hands. It hadn’t changed anything.

The Gemini Coven had made sure of that. They’d pulled Josie and Lizzie from Jo’s body before her last heartbeat and put them in the only vessel they thought could carry them to term: Caroline.

You hadn’t forgiven them. You hadn’t forgiven anyone.

Years later, the arrangement worked because it had to. Caroline handled the school runs and the daylight schedules. You handled the nights, the things that stalked past midnight. The twins knew you both, loved you both. That was enough to keep the uneasy truce.

The drop-off was at Caroline’s kitchen table—a bright, airy place that looked like it belonged in a catalogue. You never stayed long.

Today, she was pulling snacks from a cupboard while the twins were upstairs packing.

“You’re late,” she said without turning around.

“You’re lucky I showed at all,” you replied, dropping your keys on the counter.

“Nice. Good co-parenting attitude.” She shut the cupboard with a little more force than necessary, finally looking at you. “They’re excited for the weekend.”

You nodded once. “I’ve got plans for them.”

“Plans that don’t involve the supernatural, right?”

You smirked faintly. “Define supernatural.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re impossible.”

“You knew that before you volunteered to carry my kids.”

“That wasn’t volunteering, that was survival,” she shot back, but there was no real venom in it.

The twins came bounding down, voices overlapping as they told you about school, friends, the usual chaos. You let them talk, absorbing the rhythm of their excitement. Caroline stood back, arms folded, watching the three of you like she was making mental notes.

When they were ready to leave, she crouched to hug them, her voice soft but firm as she told them to behave. Then she straightened, meeting your gaze.

“Bring them back Sunday night. No later.”

You gave a short nod. “Fine.”

Later, when you returned them, the evening had that sharp autumn bite in the air. Caroline opened the door before you could knock, hair slightly messy, phone in hand.

“Everything go okay?”

“They’re alive,” you said, stepping past her into the kitchen while the girls ran upstairs.

“You know, most parents would give a little more detail than that.”

“I’m not most parents.”

She poured herself a glass of water, leaning against the counter. “You know, for someone who keeps saying he doesn’t want to be here, you show up. Every time.”

“Because it’s not about you,” you said flatly.

Her eyes held yours for a long moment. “No. But it’s not just about them either. You and I are stuck in this, whether we like it or not.”

You shrugged. “We’ve survived worse.”

You didn’t linger. You never did. But as you walked out into the cool night, you caught the faint sound of Caroline upstairs, laughing at something the twins said.

It was strange, how the sharp edges between you had dulled—not into friendship, but into something workable. You weren’t allies, not exactly. But you were both built around the same unshakable center now: Josie and Lizzie.

And that was enough to keep the peace. For now.