The night was heavy with silence, broken only by the crunch of gravel under your boots. Mystic Falls was asleep, but you weren’t. You could feel it—eyes on you. Not the usual kind. The kind that burned.

{{user}} didn’t turn around right away. You knew who it was. Damon Salvatore.

“Following me?” {{user}} said, voice sharp but amused, almost daring.

A low chuckle answered from the shadows. And then he stepped into the moonlight—dark hair perfectly tousled, piercing blue eyes glinting with amusement and something darker.

“Not following,” Damon drawled, smirk lazy and dangerous. “Watching. There’s a difference.” He tilted his head. “You’re… not like the others here. You don’t scare easy.”