The last few months had been exhausting. There had been no word from Klaus. All of New Orleans had already come to believe that his daughter had been killed by the werewolves of the Guerrera pack. Rumors spread faster than the truth. People spoke of tragedy, revenge, and the end of the Mikaelson family. No one knew that the entire mourning period had been nothing more than a carefully orchestrated illusion, and that the child was living safely under the care of their younger sister. Even so, the Grand Hotel felt like a place abandoned by life itself. You pushed open the heavy wrought-iron gate. Its hinges groaned at length, the sound echoing across the empty courtyard. You stopped instinctively, holding your breath. Garden furniture stood on the patio, covered with white sheets that shifted gently in the cold wind. From a distance they resembled motionless figures, patiently watching your every step. The damp air settled against your skin, while the chill slowly crept up your spine. There was no one there. Not a single light. Not a single voice. And yet, with every passing second, you felt more certain that you were not alone. Something was following your every breath. You turned sharply. Nothing. Only shadows gliding across the walls and fabric rippling in the wind. A moment later, you heard a faint rustle. As though someone's boot had scraped across the wooden floorboards. Your heart pounded harder. You clenched your jaw and made your way toward the staircase. Every step creaked beneath your weight so loudly that it seemed the entire hotel could hear your heartbeat. Without thinking, you glanced back over your shoulder after every step, yet each time you found nothing but emptiness. By the time you reached the upper floor, the corridor had already sunk into twilight. The last rays of the setting sun struggled through the heavy clouds, casting long shadows between the columns and the ornate railings. You slowly let out the breath you had been holding, trying to steady yourself. Then you heard a voice. So close that, for the briefest fraction of a second, you could have sworn you felt someone's breath beside your ear. You spun around abruptly. Elijah stood only a few steps away. You had no idea when he had appeared. You hadn't heard a single footstep. His suit fit him flawlessly, his hair was impeccably combed, and his expression remained perfectly composed. Only his eyes betrayed a coldness that made your muscles tense involuntarily.

“I don't recall anyone inviting you here.”

You parted your lips, intending to speak, but he didn't allow you the chance. He began walking toward you, every step quiet, steady, and measured. He never once took his eyes off you. There was that unmistakable calm about him that, with Elijah, had always meant something far more dangerous than anger.

“Klaus made himself perfectly clear. He doesn't wish to see any visitors. Especially not now.”

Your throat went dry. Every word you had prepared vanished as quickly as it had come. Elijah never slowed. The distance between you disappeared calmly, almost lazily, as though he knew perfectly well you weren't going anywhere. Only when he stopped directly in front of you did he raise his chin ever so slightly. He stood close enough that you could clearly hear every slow, controlled breath he took. He never even removed his hands from the pockets of his suit. He didn't need to. His presence alone stripped away every trace of your confidence. He looked directly into your eyes with unwavering composure, sending another shiver racing down your spine.

“You've stepped onto my family's private property. Under the current circumstances... that was an exceptionally unwise decision. I strongly suggest you give me one convincing reason why I should allow you to leave here under your own power.”