❧ rose and trevor ❧

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The SUV rumbled softly as it pulled into the shadowed carport of a remote, decrepit house, the vehicle blending with the darkness of the night. The engine cut off with a final, unsettling sputter, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Trevor, his face grim and purposeful, exited the driver's seat and strode to the back, his movements cold, mechanical. The house before him was a hollow shell of its former self—its once proud walls now sagging, the windows smeared with grime, and the scent of rot clinging to the wooden beams.

Amalie was unconscious in the trunk, her head slumped at an unnatural angle. Beside her, Elena lay still, her breath shallow, blood still seeping from her wounds, one to her back and another on her arm.

With little care, Trevor popped open the SUV's trunk, a faint creak escaping as he hoisted Amalie's body into his arms. She felt weightless, her limbs dangling loosely like a broken doll. His footsteps were heavy and methodical as he crossed the threshold of the house. The front door groaned as it swung open, the hinges shrieking from years of disuse, filling the air with a hollow, haunted sound.

The living room was dimly lit by a single flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling. Dust swirled lazily in the stale air, and the pungent scent of mildew lingered, mixing with the metallic tang of blood. Trevor barely glanced at his surroundings as he carried Amalie to the couch, her body sagging into the sunken cushions of the old, tattered fabric. She looked fragile and vulnerable—two things she rarely was. A deep frown creased his brow as he stared at her for a moment, as though contemplating something he couldn't quite voice.

With a grunt, he turned and headed back outside. Moments later, he reappeared, this time with Elena in his arms. Her wrists and ankles were still bound with rough ropes, the fibers digging into her skin, raw and bleeding. Trevor dropped her unceremoniously at the opposite end of the couch, her head falling back limply as she stirred, her face pale, her chest heaving with shallow breaths.

The smell of blood was sharp in the air now, making Trevor's nostrils flare. His vampire senses locked onto the wound on Elena's arm, the scent triggering a primal hunger deep within him. He knelt beside her, yanking the ropes free with a single swift motion, his eyes darkening as his fangs elongated, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

Elena's eyes fluttered open, panic flickering across her features as she became aware of her surroundings. "W-What do you want?" She whispered, her voice hoarse, thick with fear. Her body trembled, weak and defenseless.

Trevor leaned in closer, the veins under his eyes darkening, his fangs bared as he hovered just above her. "Just a taste," he muttered, his voice a low, dangerous rasp as his mouth descended toward her neck. The hunger in his eyes was ravenous, his control slipping.

Before his fans could pierce her skin, a sharp, commanding voice shattered the tension.

"Trevor!"

The air crackled with authority, and Trevor's movements halted. He hissed through his fangs, reluctantly pulling back as Rose appeared in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the weak light behind her. Her presence filled the room with an undeniable power, and her dark eyes bore into Trevor with a cold, unwavering intensity.

"Control yourself," Rose ordered, her voice low and firm, brooking no argument.

Trevor straightened, snarling softly under his breath, but he stepped away from Elena, his fangs retracting with a grunt of frustration. "Buzzkill," he muttered, his eyes flashing with annoyance before he turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Elena let out a ragged gasp, her body still trembling. She instinctively recoiled, pressing herself into the couch as Rose approached, her eyes wide with terror. "What do you want with me?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper, shaking with barely contained panic.

Rose moved closer, her gaze scrutinizing Elena as if searching for something, her expression shifting from cold indifference to something far more curious.

"Oh my God," Rose whispered, awe creeping into her voice as she studied Elena's features. "You look just like her."

Elena's pulse quickened, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared back at Rose in confusion. She could feel the weight of the woman's words pressing down on her. "But I'm not," Elena stammered, her voice cracking with desperation. "Please, whatever you think—"

"Be quiet," Rose snapped, cutting her off, her eyes flashing with irritation.

Elena swallowed hard, her body trembling as she tried to reason with her captor. "But I'm not Katherine," she insisted, desperation creeping into her voice. "My name is Elena Gilbert. You don't have to do this. "

Rose's eyes darkened, her lips curling into a tight, dangerous smile. "I know who you are," she said, her voice cold as ice. "I said, be quiet."

Elena's voice was barely a whisper as she asked again, "What do you want?"

Rose's patience snapped. In one swift, brutal motion, she slapped Elena across the face, the sound of the blow echoing through the room. Elena's body crumpled, her vision blurring as the force of the hit knocked her unconscious. Her head lolled to the side, her cheek reddening from the harsh impact.

"I want you to be quiet," Rose muttered under her breath, her tone icy as she watched Elena's limp form for a moment before turning away.

The room fell into a tense silence, broken only by Rose's steady breaths as she composed herself. Several seconds passed before Amalie stirred from her end of the couch, the fog of unconsciousness lifting slowly. Her hand instinctively went to her neck, fingers brushing the sore spot where her neck had been snapped. A soft groan escaped her lips as she sat up, blinking rapidly to clear the lingering haze from her mind.

Rose's head snapped in Amalie's direction, her eyes widening with a strange mix of awe and disbelief. "My God," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You really do exist."

Amalie's brow furrowed, her eyes narrowing as she struggled to orient herself. The room spun for a moment, the sensation disorienting, but when her vision cleared, she focused on the woman standing before her.

"Do I know you?" Amalie asked, her voice rough with exhaustion.

"No," Rose said softly, shaking her head. Her tone was reverent, as though she were speaking to something far more significant than a person. She took a step closer, her eyes flickering with an unsettling curiosity. "But I've heard of you."

Amalie's gaze flicked to the other end of the couch, where Elena's unconscious body lay, her face pale and slack. Blood stained her sleeve, and Amalie's pulse quickened as the pieces of the puzzle began to click into place. Elena. Katherine. Doppelgangers. But why was she here? What did she have to do with any of this?

Her eyes snapped back to Rose, suspicion sharpening her gaze. "What do you want from me?" She demanded, her voice low and dangerous. There was a hard edge to her tone, but beneath it, a flicker of uncertainty lingered.

Rose's expression darkened, the awe fading from her face as her eyes turned cold. "All will be explained," she said curtly. She turned on her heel, her footsteps barely audible as she left the room, her presence vanishing into the shadows beyond the doorway.

###

Amalie sat on the edge of the old, threadbare couch, her knees loosely pulled to her chest, arms draped around them. She stared out at the dimly lit room, her mind racing, but her body still. The deep purple dress she had worn to the masquerade now clung awkwardly to her, the delicate fabric crinkling in all the wrong places. It felt constricting, inappropriate—an elegant reminder of how quickly the night had spiraled from the glamor of the party into this.

She shifted uncomfortably, wishing she had been kidnapped in anything other than this dress, but there were far more pressing matters at hand. Her mind kept circling back, replaying the events leading up to this moment. How had everything fallen apart so quickly? The panic attacks, the voices, the ghosts—then Trevor. Everything had happened so fast, like she'd been caught in a tidal wave and hadn't found her way to the surface yet.

The room around her was deathly quiet, the silence oppressive. She could hear the faint hum of the old house settling around them—the creak of the floorboards, the groan of decaying wood. Dust motes floated lazily through the dim light streaming in from the cracked window, and Amalie focused on them, trying to calm her rapid thoughts.

Then, beside her, Elena stirred. Amalie's attention shifted as she watched Elena slowly regain consciousness, her movements sluggish, her face scrunched in confusion. Elena blinked hard, as if trying to shake off a fog. Her eyes, heavy with exhaustion, finally settled on Amalie, a flash of recognition mingled with panic darting across her features.

"What's going on?" Elena whispered, her voice rough and disoriented.

Amalie didn't move, didn't shift her posture, but her eyes flicked over to meet Elena's. Her voice was quiet, detached, as if the weight of everything pressing down on she had stripped away her ability to care. "I don't 't know."

Elena sat up straighter, rubbing her wrists where the ropes had cut into her skin. Her face twisted in frustration. "Can you do anything?" She asked, her voice tinged with desperation, her eyes searching Amalie for some kind of hope.

Amalie's response was a soft, resigned sigh. "No. They're old—probably older than Katherine. I'd stand no chance against them." Her gaze drifted toward the door, her body tense, as if expecting their captors to burst back in at any moment. "And even if I could, there's two of them. One of me."

Elena was quiet for a moment, her breath catching as the reality of their situation settled over her. Amalie's words held a defeat that was impossible to ignore, and it deepened the pit of fear growing in Elena's chest.

"What do they want with us?" Elena whispered.

Amalie hesitated, her mind racing, piecing together the scraps of overheard conversations. She glanced at Elena, weighing her response. "They were talking about someone named Elijah," she said, her voice low, as though speaking his name aloud could summon him.

"Elijah?" Elena echoed, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Who's that?"

"I don't know," Amalie admitted, her voice soft but laden with tension. "But apparently, that's who's coming here."

The words hung in the air like a dark omen. Neither of them spoke for a moment, the weight of the unknown pressing down on them both. The fear of what lay ahead gnawed at them, growing heavier with every silent beat that passed between them. Amalie's mind spun with possibilities, none of them good.

The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, until Elena broke it with a hesitant question. "What happened to you yesterday?"

Amalie froze, the question cutting through her thoughts like a blade. Her stomach twisted as memories of the panic attack flooded back—the ghosts, the noise, the crushing fear. It all played in her mind like a nightmare she couldn't wake from. She clenched her jaw, her gaze hardening as she stared at the floor.

"I don't want to talk about, Elena," she replied firmly, her voice clipped and final.

Elena frowned, her brow creasing in concern. "But if it's useful—"

"Trust me," Amalie snapped, her voice sharpening like a whip, her eyes flashing with frustration. "It isn't."

Elena recoiled slightly, recognizing the wall Amalie had thrown up between them. She knew better than to push any further, not now. The tension in the room settled again, but it was heavy, suffocating.

Amalie's eyes drifted toward the far wall of the room, her mind wandering. For once, the voices were quiet, but the peace didn't bring her any comfort. Instead, it left her feeling hollow and lost. More lost than she had ever felt before. There was a gnawing sense of helplessness, a vulnerability she despised, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was trapped—not just physically, but emotionally too.

It was Elena who spoke next, her voice tentative, almost apologetic. "Why aren't you working with Katherine anymore?"

Amalie didn't respond immediately. Her body tense, her eyes still fixed on the floor as she struggled to find the words. Elena waited, watching her closely, sensing that whatever answer was coming, it would reveal more than just the surface-level details.

After a long stretch of silence, Amalie spoke, her voice low and bitter. "She wasn't being straight with me."

Elena's eyes widened, surprise flickering across her face. "What do you mean?"

A humorless laugh escaped Amalie. She shook her head, her jaw clenched as the resentment bubbled to the surface. "Every time I asked a question, she'd shut me down. She never told me the truth—not really." The words were laced with betrayal, each syllable a reminder of how deeply Katherine had manipulated her.

Elena listened, her concern deepening. She had seen firsthand how Katherine used people and twisted their loyalty, but seeing it play out with Amalie was different. It was unsettling.

"So, you left?" Elena asked gently, though she already knew the answer.

Amalie nodded, her gaze still distant, her voice flat. "I was nothing but a tool to her. She used me when it was convenient and kept me in the dark about everything else. I didn't realize how much she was hiding until recently."

Elena was quiet for a moment, absorbing what Amalie had said. She could only imagine how deep the wound went, how much trust Amalie had placed in Katherine—only for it to be ripped away. The realization made Elena's heart ache with empathy.

"Are you okay?" Elena asked softly, her voice laced with genuine concern.

Amalie inhaled sharply, her defenses snapping back into place. "I'm fine," she said quickly, her voice a little too sharp. She saw the flicker of doubt in Elena's eyes and softened, her tone dropping. "I'm fine," she said quickly, her voice a little too sharp. ," she repeated, though this time it sounded more like a reassurance she was giving herself than an answer for Elena.

The room fell silent again, the tension between them shifting but still present. The night had left them both raw, exposed in ways they hadn't expected, and though the danger that surrounded them was still very real, there was a deeper, more personal threat lurking beneath the surface. Neither of them knew what would happen next, but the weight of it pressed down on them both.

Amalie stared at the dust swirling in the dim light, her mind still racing, the questions piling up in her head like an avalanche she couldn't stop. Rose's strange curiosity, Trevor, the mention of Elijah—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle she wasn't sure she wanted to solve.

And deep down, in the quiet corners of her mind, she knew that whatever was coming next would change everything.

###

Amalie sat rigid on the edge of the tattered couch, her eyes locked on the darkened room around her. The atmosphere was stifling, with boards nailed haphazardly across the windows to block out the sunlight, casting long, jagged shadows that stretched across the floor like skeletal fingers. The air felt thick as if the house itself was pressing in on them.

Across the room, Rose was boarding up the last of the windows, hammering each nail with sharp, deliberate precision. The sound of metal meeting wood echoed through the silence, the sharp thud digging into Amalie's nerves like needles. She stole a glance at Elena, who sat beside her, pale and trembling. Elena's hands were balled into tight fists, her knuckles white.

Elena finally broke the silence, her voice trembling but trying to be strong. "Why are we here?"

Rose didn't even glance up from her task. "You keep asking me these questions like I'm going to answer them," she said, her tone detached, almost bored, though there was an undercurrent of something darker, more dangerous lurking beneath.

Elena's frustration surged, her voice rising with desperation. "Why won't you?" Her eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and fear, but beneath that defiance, there was a flicker of something more vulnerable. She was terrified. They both were.

Rose paused in her work, her lips curving into a small, cruel smile as she turned her head slightly, not fully looking at them but making her presence clear. "That's another one," she said, the mockery in her voice sending a chill down Amalie's spine.

Elena let out a sharp, uneven breath, her patience unraveling. "You got us, okay?" She snapped, her voice cracking under the weight of her fear. "It's not like we can go anywhere. The least you can do is tell me what you want." The final word trembled in the air, betraying the fragility she was trying to hide.

For a moment, Rose's expression softened, but not out of sympathy—more like a mocking indulgence. She set the hammer down with a slow, deliberate motion, as if savoring the tension that had wrapped around the room. "I personally want nothing, " she replied, her tone cold and dismissive. "I'm just a delivery service."

Amalie, who had been trying to piece together fragments of overheard conversations and stolen glances, couldn't help herself. "Delivery to who? Elijah?" Her voice was low but steady, though there was a tremor of uncertainty beneath it. She was grasping for something, anything, that could make sense of their situation.

Rose turned fully this time, an amused glint in her dark eyes. "Two points to the eavesdropper," she said, her voice laced with condescension, as though Amalie was a child fumbling in the dark, trying to play at being clever.

Amalie's eyes narrowed. "Who is he? Is he a vampire?" Her words were sharp, and though she tried to keep her fear in check, the crack in her voice was undeniable. She hated the vulnerability that bled through, hated feeling like she was always a step behind.

Rose gave a weary smile, as though she was amused by Amalie's ignorance. "He's one of the vampires. The Originals."

The weight of that word—Originals—hung in the air like a storm cloud, thick and heavy with unspoken meaning. Amalie exchanged a glance with Elena, whose wide eyes mirrored her own confusion. Neither of them fully understood what that meant, but the dread that accompanied it was unmistakable.

Elena leaned forward, her brow furrowed. "What do you mean, 'The Originals'?" There was skepticism in her voice, but also something else—an instinctive fear, the kind that came from realizing that everything you thought you knew was about to change.

Rose's lips curved into a smirk. "Haven't the Salvatores been teaching you your vampire history?" She asked, her tone dripping with condescension, each word a needle poking at the gaps in their knowledge.

"You know Stefan and Damon?" Elena pressed, her patience growing.

Rose shrugged casually, as though the topic bored her. "I know of them ," she replied, turning back to the window. "A hundred years back, a friend of mine tried to set me up with Stefan. She said he was one of the good ones. I'm more of a sucker for the bad boys though, but I digress." Her voice trailed off into a casual, almost nostalgic tone as if they were discussing a trivial matter.

Elena, however, wasn't interested in her reminiscing.