I'm genuinely getting tired of cutting myself over this shit. Reaching down to my calf, I unstrap my Kriss and quickly slash my hand—damn flesh wound. Secreta tua revelentur. A submission spell capable of revealing the true nature of a room or object. It's a relatively basic spell that could easily be cast with traditional magic, and especially without the need for blood. But the risk of losing any advantage my memory might offer is a no-go until I find a fix. The joys of magic—no matter how much of a pain in the ass it can be.
But alas, I see my spell taking effect. A sigil of a crescent moon is carved into the floor—sloppy work, I must say. I used the same blade to perform my spell, and now I pry open the floorboard. There it is, just as I vividly remember: the box. I open it, and there lies the moonstone. Wasting no time, I slip it into my pocket. Before I replace the box, I take the note I had prepared earlier from my back pocket and slip it inside. Then I place the floorboard back into position.
Now, to hide the fact that I was ever here. Quidquid requiritur fiat. God, I love glamours.
The moonstone tucked safely in my pocket, I move with purpose, slipping through the shadows of the room. My eyes scan the space, quickly assessing what's hidden. Emily's talisman has to be somewhere here, and I'm not in the mood to waste time.
A minute passes. Two, maybe. There's no need to slow down, reaching out with just a flicker of my magic. The subtle buzz hits me—a faint resonance, like a tugging pulse. There it is. A shift in the air, just enough to tell me where to focus. A flicker of a sigil appears. While not a crescent moon, it seems to be a pentagram, yet another change in this universe. Is it the timeline or both? Regardless, just like last time, and with practiced speed, I pry open the floorboard. No surprise, there's the box. I don't even bother with the lid this time—just grab the talisman, feeling the cold metal, the intricate design wrapped in power.
A swift glance around to make sure nothing's out of place, and I slip it into my pocket along with the moonstone. The box goes back where it was, the floorboard goes down, and the illusion wraps itself up tight.
Now to leave.
I make my way toward the exit, but something makes me pause. The faintest shift in the air. A brush of energy. I glance up and see Damon and Caroline. They're near the door, locked in some conversation, but as I pass, our eyes meet for a second.
Damon's gaze sharpens, and I can see the recognition hit him. A flash of surprise was followed quickly by a flare of anger. He doesn't know how I got it, but the sight of me with the talisman wrapped loosely around my fingers makes his blood boil. And I can't help but give him a mocking salute, my lips curling up as I walk past them. Caroline's eyebrow twitches, caught somewhere between curiosity and caution, but I savor Damon's expression. His fury, his confusion—it's all there, evident for everyone to see.
Too bad he won't figure it out until it's too late.
(Damon Pov)
Who the hell is this guy? That's the question swirling in my head as I watch him slip out of sight, that damn smirk still etched into my mind. He didn't just look at me—he sized me up. Like he knew me. Like we had history. I don't recognize him, but the way he carried himself, the way he waved that talisman around so casually… He knows something. Or at least, he wants me to think he does.
And that talisman—Emily's talisman. There's no mistaking it. The design, the weight of its power, the unmistakable feel of her magic wrapped around it. No one's supposed to know about it except me and Emily. Maybe her descendants, but they're barely a footnote in this town's long, messy history. So how does he have it? How did it end up in his hands?
A thousand possibilities race through my mind, none of them good. Did I kill someone he cared about? Maybe he's tied to the tomb vampires somehow—family, revenge, unfinished business. I've left a trail of destruction behind me, but nothing about him screams "grieving relative." He's too polished for that, too… deliberate. The way he moved through the room, the way he held himself—it wasn't grief. It was power. Confidence. And that pisses me off even more.
I turn to Caroline, still standing there looking confused, and resist the urge to snap at her again. "Stay here," I say sharply, before stalking off to find someone who might actually be useful. Bonnie. If anyone can figure out what's going on, it's her.
It doesn't take long to track her down—she's chatting with some people near the stairs, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else. I grab her arm and pull her aside, ignoring her protests.
"Damon, what the hell?" she snaps, yanking her arm free.
"I need information," I say, cutting straight to the point. "On a guy. Tall, cocky, carrying something he shouldn't have."
Her brows knit together in irritation. "And you think I'm a psychic hotline now?"
I glare at her. "Bonnie, focus. His name's Hunter. He's got Emily's talisman."
That gets her attention. She frowns, clearly unnerved, but doesn't push back. Instead, she pulls out her phone and starts scrolling. "Hunter, huh? Let's see... Savannah. That's where he's from. Recently moved here, though. And, uh… he's rich. Really rich."
"Rich?" I repeat, my tone dripping with disbelief. "He didn't exactly look the part."
Bonnie shrugs. "Maybe he's slumming it for fun. I don't know. But he's top of his class, apparently. Perfect grades. Perfect record. The whole 'golden boy' package."
I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Of course, he's perfect. Why wouldn't he be?" The information is useless—just surface-level crap that doesn't get me any closer to figuring out who he is or what he wants. My frustration boils over, and I slam my hand against the nearest wall. Bonnie flinches, but I don't care.
"Seriously, Damon? What's your problem?" she snaps.
"My problem?" I spit back, my voice rising. "My problem is some stranger waltzing around with something he has no business having. And apparently, no one in this town knows a damn thing about him." I turn and walk away before she can say anything else.
Back in the main room, I scan the crowd, hoping to catch another glimpse of him. Nothing. He's gone. I try a few other people—ask subtle questions, throw his name around—but it's the same story everywhere I go. Hunter. Savannah. Rich. Perfect. No dirt, no drama, no clue why he's here or what he's after.
By the time I step outside, my patience is completely gone. The night air is cold against my skin, but it does nothing to cool the anger burning inside me. I need to hit something, break something, kill something. But instead, I just stand there, fists clenched, staring into the darkness like it'll somehow give me answers.
Who is he? Why does he have Emily's talisman? And why the hell does he act like he knows me when I've never seen him before in my life?
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. This isn't getting me anywhere. If I can't figure him out on my own, I'll need help. Someone who knows how to dig deeper, who might have connections I don't.
A slow smirk spreads across my face as the thought hits me. "Looks like it's time to pay my little brother a visit," I mutter to myself.
Stefan's not going to like this. But then again, I never said I cared.