Steam curled through Elena’s bedroom doorway as the shower ran, the sound masking the faint vibration of her phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up with a name that always carried a quiet tension: Elijah Mikaelson.

“Ugh… Elena, your phone!” her little sister called out, but the water drowned her out. The buzzing didn’t stop.

In the hallway, Elena’s younger sister passed by just long enough to hear Elena call out, “Can you get that? Please!”

The phone kept ringing.

Miles away, Elijah stood by the window of an old boarding house in Mystic Falls, dressed in a charcoal suit as if preparing for some solemn diplomacy instead of a phone call. Outside, late-autumn wind rustled through the trees. His expression remained calm, but there was an underlying weight in his eyes—an ancient mixture of duty and regret.

He dialed again.

He had come to Mystic Falls for reason after reason—Klaus, the curse, the doppelgänger—but somehow Elena Gilbert always became tangled in the center of it all. Even after Stefan, Damon, and Elena herself had tried to kill him, he still honored his word. A promise once made was a promise kept—and Elijah had promised her protection.

The phone clicked as someone picked up on the other end.

“Good evening,” he began, choosing his words with the poise of a diplomat. “This is Elijah Mikaelson. I was hoping to speak with Elena. It concerns the upcoming Ball.”

He moved slowly across the room, gaze sweeping the wooden floors, the flicker of candlelight, the familiar shadows of a town that never stayed peaceful for long. The Ball was meant to be an elegant affair, but Elijah knew better—so many vampires hunting Elena would be attending, masks covering intentions far darker than their faces.