Aurora Pierce had been a problem long before she stepped foot into the Salvatore Boarding House. Damon learned that the first time he met her—years ago—standing a little too close to her sister, eyes too observant for a human, smile too calm for someone who should’ve been afraid of him. She’d looked at Damon Salvatore like she already knew exactly what he was. And worse—she hadn’t hated him for it. Now, she was back. Damon stood near the piano, bourbon in hand, when the front door opened. He didn’t turn right away. He didn’t need to. Her presence slid through the house like a familiar irritation—quiet, composed, maddening. “Aurora,” Stefan said, genuinely pleased as he came down the stairs. “You made it.” Damon finally looked. She hadn’t changed much. Dark hair, confident posture, eyes sharp enough to catch everything—including the way Damon’s gaze lingered a second too long before he masked it with disdain. Fantastic. “Well,” Damon drawled, lifting his glass, “if it isn’t Mystic Falls’ favorite Pierce-adjacent complication.” Aurora smiled—soft, knowing, completely unbothered. “Hello, Damon.” That smile used to drive him insane. Still did. Because it wasn’t nervous. It wasn’t forced. It was the smile of someone who knew she was safe around him—and that alone made him want to prove her wrong. Stefan shot Damon a look. “She’s here for a reason.” “Oh, I’m sure,” Damon said, eyes dragging over Aurora despite himself—her coat, the curve of her jaw, the way she stood like she belonged here. “Pierces never show up without baggage.” Aurora stepped further into the room, heels clicking softly against the floor. Damon tracked the sound without meaning to. Without wanting to. “I need your help,” she said plainly. “Vampire hunters.” That got his attention. Not enough to stop him from smirking—but enough to sharpen his focus. “Hunters?” Damon scoffed. “What is this, a reunion tour?” “They’re organized,” Aurora continued, unfazed. “They’re targeting vampires tied to old bloodlines. Me included.” Stefan’s expression darkened. “I’ve heard rumors.” “They killed one of my people,” she said quietly. The room shifted. Stefan didn’t hesitate. “You can stay here.” Damon’s head snapped toward him. “Oh no. Absolutely not.” Aurora turned to Damon then—fully, deliberately. Her eyes flicked over his face, lingering just long enough to make his skin prickle. “You still don’t like me,” she observed. “I don’t trust you,” Damon corrected, stepping closer. Too close. “There’s a difference.” He leaned in, voice low and sharp. “You’re here because of your sister. And wherever she goes, disaster follows.” Her expression softened—not weak, just honest. “You never blamed me for her before.” “People change,” he snapped. She smiled again—slow, infuriating. “No,” she said. “You just don’t like what you want.” Silence stretched between them, thick and charged. Stefan cleared his throat. “Aurora will take the guest room.” Damon straightened, finishing his drink in one harsh swallow. “Fantastic. Just what I need.” Aurora brushed past him on her way to the stairs, fingers grazing his sleeve—light, intentional, unmistakable. “Goodnight, Damon,” she said sweetly. “Try not to dream about me.” Damon didn’t move until she was gone. Then, under his breath, furious and unsettled, he muttered, “This is a very bad idea.” And the worst part? He knew she’d done it on purpose.