"They're vampires… they all are." Grayson's voice barely rose above a whisper, but the weight behind his words was palpable.
Miranda, who had just stepped into the room, froze. She had caught the tremor in his voice, something that was so unlike him, and it made her uneasy. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she looked at her husband, standing rigidly by the window with his back to her. The dim light filtering through the curtains cast long shadows across the room, accentuating the tense atmosphere that clung to the air.
"What are you talking about, Grayson?" Miranda asked, her voice soft, laced with concern. She took a tentative step forward, noticing the way his shoulders were hunched, as if weighed down by an invisible burden. "And why do you look like that? What's wrong?"
Grayson turned slowly to face her, his eyes wide and frantic. He looked like a man who had just seen something that shattered his entire reality. His lips parted, but no sound came out for a moment, as if he couldn't quite find the words. His face was pale, and sweat dotted his brow. The journal that had slipped from his hands moments ago lay forgotten at his feet.
"We have to leave, Miranda," he finally said, his voice barely steady. His eyes darted around the room, as if he were being watched, or worse—hunted. "We have to get out of Mystic Falls. Get the kids, we're leaving."
Miranda blinked, trying to process what she was hearing. Her heart skipped a beat as confusion clouded her thoughts. Leave Mystic Falls? Just like that? "Grayson, what are you—" she stopped herself, realizing she wouldn't get any clear answers from him in his current state. His expression was wild, desperate, and something told her that pushing him right now would only make things worse.
Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, her nails pressing into her palms as she took a steadying breath. "Okay," she murmured, trying to sound calm, though she didn't understand what had him so rattled. She decided to switch focus, thinking perhaps that grounding him in the present would help. "The Salvatore brothers… Damon and Stefan. They're outside. They're looking for you."
As soon as the names left her lips, she saw it—a flicker of something dark in Grayson's eyes. It was more than fear; it was a deep, visceral dread. His jaw clenched so tightly she could see the muscle twitch beneath his skin. He recoiled slightly, as if the mention of Damon and Stefan physically hurt him.
She hesitated, watching his reaction with growing unease. "Did you hear me?" she asked, her voice softer now, as if afraid to push him too hard.
He didn't answer, didn't even blink. His gaze had grown distant, locked onto something far beyond the room they were in, far beyond her. It was like he was already gone, lost in the terror that gripped him. His breathing had quickened, shallow and erratic, his hands shaking by his sides.
Miranda stood there for a moment longer, her heart hammering in her chest. She knew Grayson well—he was not the type to scare easily, let alone lose himself to it. But whatever he had discovered, whatever he had seen or read in that journal, it had broken something inside him.
Without another word, she turned away, leaving him standing there. She could feel his panic, his fear gnawing at the edges of her own calm. But she needed to stay grounded, to figure out what was happening. Maybe once he had calmed down, she could make sense of all this. Right now, though, she had to confront the Salvatore brothers.
"He'll be with you in a moment," Miranda said, descending the staircase with practiced grace, her face a mask of calm despite the storm brewing inside her.
Damon looked up from where he lounged casually on the couch, flashing her a charming, but knowing smile. "Okay, and while you're at it, could I trouble you for something to drink? My throat's a bit dry." His voice was smooth, yet there was something sly hidden behind his polite request, his piercing eyes never quite leaving hers.
Miranda forced a smile, nodding. "Of course. Please, make yourselves at home," she replied, though her words felt distant, her mind clearly elsewhere. She quickly turned on her heel and headed to the kitchen, her footsteps soft but hurried.
As soon as she disappeared around the corner, Stefan shifted in his seat. His gaze flickered toward the stairs, and in one fluid motion, he stood up. His movements were quiet, almost too quiet, as if he were trying to avoid attracting attention. He glanced toward Damon, who was still reclining with a lazy smirk on his face, seemingly unconcerned with his brother's sudden restlessness.
But before Stefan could even take a step toward the staircase, a blur of motion appeared before him, and suddenly Henrik stood in his path. His arrival was so swift, it sent a gust of wind rippling through the room. Henrik's eyes, usually calm and measured, were sharp and glowing with power.
"Stand down," Henrik said, his voice low, but commanding, like a distant rumble of thunder. He didn't raise his voice, but the authority behind it was enough to freeze Stefan in place. "Don't even think about doing what you intend to do."
Stefan blinked, his brows furrowing in surprise. He hadn't even heard Henrik approach, and now he was standing directly in front of him, blocking his path. His jaw tightened in frustration, but he said nothing.
From the other side of the room, Elena and Margaret, who had been engaged in a quiet conversation with Henrik moments ago, suddenly felt the shift in the air. Elena glanced over, her expression shifting from mild curiosity to concern when she realized Henrik was no longer with them. She turned toward the source of his voice and saw him standing between Stefan and the staircase, a tension she hadn't noticed before now filling the room.
"What's going on?" Elena asked, stepping forward hesitantly, her eyes flicking between Stefan and Henrik.
Meanwhile, Margaret remained seated, her legs crossed, watching the unfolding scene with a glint of interest in her eyes. Unlike Elena, she seemed entirely unfazed by the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Her lips curled into a faint smile as she leaned back in her chair, her gaze never leaving Henrik and Stefan. She wasn't going to interfere—this was far too entertaining to interrupt.
Stefan clenched his fists, his posture stiffening as he took a step back, forced to reconsider his plan. He wasn't reckless enough to challenge Henrik outright.
Henrik didn't move, his gaze unwavering as he stared down Stefan. His presence alone seemed to command the room, like a predator watching its prey with cold, calculated patience. "Go no further, or you won't like what happens next," he warned, his voice smooth, but with a dangerous edge.
Elena let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she approached Henrik. "What was that all about?" she asked softly, her eyes still darting between him and Stefan.
Henrik's face softened slightly as he glanced at Elena, but the underlying tension in the room still lingered. "Just making sure everyone stays where they're supposed to be," he replied cryptically, before turning his attention back to Stefan, his gaze a silent warning that the matter wasn't entirely over yet.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen."