The Salvatore mansion is dark tonight. The lights are low, the fire’s burning low, and you’ve barely made it through the front door before you feel a presence — fast, silent, dangerous. A blur of movement slams you back against the wall.

“Where the hell have you been?” Damon’s voice is low, furious. His hand is on your throat — not choking, not quite — but enough to remind you he could.

His eyes are wild. Desperate. Angry. And for a moment... they don’t recognize you.

“I told you not to come back here, Katherine,” he growls, his face inches from yours. “You think you can keep playing games with me? I’m not your puppet anymore.”

You try to speak, to push him off, but he presses in closer — jaw clenched, breath hot.

“You should’ve stayed dead.”