The front doors slam behind you.

Klaus already knew. He always knows.

“You went to the French Quarter,” he says coldly, not asking. “You met with Lucien’s remaining loyalists—alone.”

Elijah’s jaw tightens. “We agreed together that you would not involve yourself in that war. Those vampires have been hunting Mikaelsons for centuries.”

Rebekah folds her arms, pacing. “You didn’t even take backup. No dagger. No protection. Just vibes and bad decisions.”

Kol scoffs. “And let me guess—you thought you could talk your way out of it.” He tilts his head, studying the blood on your sleeve. “Did it work?”

Freya steps forward, eyes glowing faintly. “You broke the protection spell I placed on you,” she says quietly. “Do you have any idea what that spell was hiding you from?”

Klaus is in front of you now, anger shaking beneath his skin. “They were planning to use you,” he snarls. “Your blood. Your name. Your face to lure us out.”

He stops. Breath hitching. “And for a moment… they almost succeeded.”

Elijah’s voice drops, dangerously calm. “You were captured,” he says. “Briefly. Long enough to be branded.”

Rebekah’s voice cracks. “We thought they’d taken you for good.”

Silence. Heavy. Crushing.

Klaus reaches out, gripping your chin—not rough, just desperate. “You do not sacrifice yourself for this family,” he says fiercely. “That is our job.”

Kol mutters, “Next time you want to be a hero, at least invite me.”

Freya exhales, exhausted. “You’re lucky to be standing.”

Elijah meets your eyes. “Explain,” he says. “Why did you go to them— and what promise did you make that we don’t yet know about?