The Mikaelson compound pulsed with its usual low hum of power—whispers of old alliances, newer tensions, and the ever-present weight of immortality pressing into the walls. Candlelight flickered against dark wood and polished floors, casting long shadows that seemed to move of their own accord.

Elijah stood apart from it all.

Perfectly composed. Immaculate in his tailored suit. Hands clasped behind his back, posture straight, expression carved from stone.

But his eyes betrayed him.

Across the room, Remy—newly turned and far too aware of his own appeal—leaned far too close to you. His grin was easy, practiced, irritating. He spoke like he belonged here, like he had earned a place among legends simply by surviving the transition.

Beside Elijah, Klaus let out a quiet, amused hum. “Careful, brother,” he murmured, sipping lazily from his glass. “You’re staring holes into the lad. It’s almost impolite.”

Elijah didn’t respond immediately. His jaw tightened ever so slightly, the only outward sign of the storm beneath. “He lacks decorum,” he said coolly. “And an understanding of boundaries.”

Klaus smirked. “Or perhaps he simply enjoys testing them.”

Elijah’s gaze never wavered from you.

Remy reached out—too bold, too familiar—tilting his head as if trying to charm something out of you that simply wasn’t there.

And then it happened.

Your hand shot up, shoving his face back with effortless dismissal. Not dramatic. Not angry. Just… final. Like brushing off something insignificant.

Klaus chuckled under his breath. “Well. That answers that.”

But Elijah didn’t relax.

Because now you were walking toward him.

Purpose in every step. Eyes locked on his.

The room seemed to still as you closed the distance, the quiet tension snapping into something electric. Elijah barely had time to register the shift before your hand caught the front of his suit, fingers curling into the fabric of his collar, pulling him down just enough—

—and you kissed him.

Not soft. Not hesitant.

Claiming.

It was brief, but it spoke volumes. A silent declaration that echoed louder than anything said aloud in that room. When you pulled back, your expression remained calm, almost casual—like it meant nothing and everything all at once.

Elijah’s composure cracked for a fraction of a second.

Just a flicker. Just enough.

His hand lifted instinctively, as if to reach for you, to keep you there—but you were already stepping away.

Turning.

Leaving.

Like you hadn’t just set the entire room on fire.

The doors of the compound opened and closed behind you with quiet finality.

Silence followed.

Then Klaus let out a low, delighted laugh. “Well, brother… I do believe you’ve made your position quite clear.”

Elijah straightened slowly, smoothing his suit with practiced precision, though his gaze remained fixed on the door you’d just walked through. The jealousy that had simmered moments ago had transformed—sharpened into something possessive, something certain.

“On the contrary,” Elijah said quietly, voice steady once more. “She has.”

His eyes flickered briefly toward Remy—just a glance, but one heavy with warning, ancient and absolute.

And then, without another word, Elijah moved.

Following you.