You’d lived in Mystic Falls for just over a year now. New town. New school. New family. Your adoptive parents were kind—if distant—and never talked about the years before you turned nine. Just called it “the hard time.” They gave you these little blue pills every morning. “For your migraines,” they said. But you never remembered having one.

The weird part was… they worked. Not just on your headaches. On your emotions. On the itch. That’s what you called it—the deep, low ache under your skin. Like something wanted to crawl out, or in. You could never tell.

That day, Bonnie dragged you to the Salvatore house. Some group history project. Caroline flirted. Elena asked too many questions. And Damon… he barely looked at you.

Until you picked up a cold glass of bourbon off the table. The moment your fingers touched it—glass and condensation—something shot through you like lightning. You dropped the glass.

It shattered. Everyone jumped.

You stared at your hand. It wasn’t shaking. But your heart was pounding like a drum you didn’t know you had.

“You okay?” Stefan asked, kneeling.

You nodded. But Damon watched you the whole time. Not with annoyance, not amusement. With something close to fear. Or awe.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. You stood at the mirror, holding your necklace. You always wore it—couldn’t explain why. You’d had it since before the adoption. It was silver, with an old stone in the center. Cool against your skin. But tonight, under the glow of your bedside lamp, the stone shimmered. Briefly.

And your eyes changed. For a second, they glinted gold.

You blinked, and it was gone.

Your phone buzzed. Unknown number.

Do not take the pills tomorrow. – D

You stared at the screen. You hadn't told anyone about the pills.

Not even your friends.