Stefan leaned against the bar in the dimly lit corner of the Mystic Grill, nursing a glass of bourbon as his sharp gaze flicked to you. You were the talk of the town lately—or, rather, the whispered fear among the supernatural circles. The second oldest Mikaelson sibling. Ancient, powerful, and, from everything he’d heard, utterly ruthless.

“So, you’re them,” Stefan finally said, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between you. His tone was calm, collected, but his grip on the glass betrayed the tension he tried to hide. “The sibling no one ever talks about. The one who makes even Klaus look… reasonable.”

He let the words hang in the air for a moment, studying your reaction—or lack thereof.

“You know,” Stefan continued, a dry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I’ve seen a lot in my time. A lot of people who think they’re invincible, untouchable. Most of them don’t last as long as the legends say. But you… you’ve managed to stay out of sight, out of reach, for centuries. And now, you’re here.”

He tilted his head slightly, his curiosity getting the better of him despite the wariness in his voice. “Why? What’s the grand plan? Or is this just another game you Mikaelsons like to play? Because if it is, let me warn you—Mystic Falls isn’t exactly lacking in chaos right now.”

Stefan’s gaze didn’t waver, though there was a flicker of something deeper behind his cool demeanor. Caution, certainly, but also the faintest glimmer of intrigue—an acknowledgment that whatever had brought you here, it wasn’t something he could ignore.