Angelina had been part of Elena’s life for as long as she could remember. From scraped knees in childhood to tearful confessions during late-night calls, Angelina had always been there — loyal, constant, safe.

But safety was something fragile in Mystic Falls.

Elena hadn’t planned on freeing Elijah Mikaelson. The Salvatore brothers had put him down for a reason. Still, answers came at a cost, and sometimes you had to strike uneasy bargains with the very people you swore you’d never trust.

Now, walking through the Lockwood Mansion’s warm glow of chandeliers and murmuring guests, Elijah looked almost out of place — a dark, elegant shadow among the living. His freshly pressed suit, the sharp gleam in his hazel eyes, the measured steps… everything about him whispered control, and yet there was something just beneath it — an edge, a quiet hunger.

They turned a corner, and Elijah’s gaze drifted, catching on a young woman across the room. Angelina. She moved through the crowd with purpose, her expression sharp in her search for someone, but the moment their eyes met, she hesitated — just for a breath.

It was enough.

“Who is she?” His voice was smooth, but there was weight to it, the kind of question that didn’t come from idle curiosity. His eyes stayed on Angelina, as if memorizing the way she held herself, the slight tilt of her head, the faintest shift of her stance.

Elena’s steps faltered. “That’s… Angelina,” she said at last, her voice quiet, wary. “A close friend.”

Her tone was careful, guarded. The last thing she needed was for him to see how much the name meant to her. Elijah already had every reason to seek vengeance on those the Salvatores cared about.