the air in the bayou was thick enough to swallow a person whole, heavy with the scent of damp moss, stagnant water, and the sharp, metallic tang of blood that always seemed to cling to a mikaelson.

{{user}} sat on a fallen cypress log, her silk dress. a deep, emerald green that hugged her curves, looking entirely out of place against the rotting wood. she was an original, a creature of ancient power and terrible history, but here, under the bruised purple of the midnight sky, she just felt small.

"you're late," she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the chorus of cicadas.

the brush shifted, and jackson stepped into the faint moonlight. he looked rugged, his flannel sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle, his dark hair a messy tangle from navigating the thicket. he didn't look like a king, yet the way he carried himself. shoulders broad, jaw set, demanded respect even from someone who had seen empires fall.

"klaus had scouts near the edge of the bog," jackson said, his voice a low, grounding rumble. he moved toward her with a steady, patient grace, eventually taking a seat on the log. he didn't crowd her, but the heat radiating from his body was an invitation. "had to take the long way around through the salt marshes."

{{user}} looked at him, her eyes tracking the line of his well-kept beard down to the pulse jumping in his neck. "my brother will have your head on a pike if he finds us out here," she whispered. she knew the truth of it. klaus viewed her as a possession, a piece of the family legacy to be guarded and controlled.

she made no move to pull her hand away from where it rested near jackson’s on the mossy bark.

jackson let his pinky finger brush against hers. a small, daring contact that felt like a lightning strike in the quiet. "he’ll have to catch me first. i know these woods better than he knows his own ego."

{{user}} let out a dry, shaky laugh, the sound catching in her throat. "you’re remarkably brave for someone so mortal, jackson kenner."

"it's not bravery, {{user}}," he said, finally turning his hand over to catch hers, his rough palm sliding against her cool skin. he squeezed gently, his thumb tracing the back of her hand with a possessive, steadying pressure. "it's just that some things... some people... are worth the risk."