❧ "it's not going to be enough" ❧

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Amalie sat on a bench in the town square, the early morning sun casting long shadows across the empty streets. Mystic Falls hadn't yet begun to wake, and for a moment, it felt like the world belonged to her alone. The air was thick with a stillness that pressed in on her, wrapping her in silence.

Amalie's mind drifted, circling the questions in her mind that wouldn't go away. Rose's werewolf bite had reappeared, worsening by the hour. The wound was brutal, festering, and Amalie couldn't shake the sense of dread building in her chest— the feeling that Rose's life was slipping away. She'd seen the expression Damon wore when he thought no one was watching—an uneasy mixture of helplessness and frustration. She knew that feeling all too well.

Then there was the mess with Stefan and Damon. She hadn't really figured out where she stood with Damon yet. It felt like a tangled web of mistrust, loyalty, and something else she didn't want to name. And Stefan, newly freed from the tomb, courtesy of Elijah. Stefan, who had killed her without remorse, or so she thought. They hadn't really talked since they first saw each other again, she was avoiding him, but their relationship was just so complicated. Amalie wasn't sure where she fit into any of it.

And then... Elijah.

Elijah, who occupied her thoughts. She'd been convinced he was the enemy, that his loyalty to Klaus would outweigh anything else. But then he was here, giving her gifts— gifts —as if she somehow mattered to him. There was something strange in his gaze when he looked at her, something that only left her with more questions than answers.

As if summoned by her thoughts, she felt his presence appear beside her, so silently that it didn't even startle her. She turned to see him seated beside her on the bench, his posture calm, his expression as serene as ever. Somehow, she'd expected him; as if some part of her had known he would come.

"I never cared for observing mortals," he noted softly, his voice the gentle rumble of stone smoothing over water.

Amalie looked at him, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Why is that?"

Elijah's gaze remained fixed forward, his expression unreadable. "Their lives are too...normal. Too small, in a way." His voice was low, tinged with an emotion she couldn't quite name, as though he were more invested in their fragility than he'd ever let on.

"Normal sounds kind of nice sometimes," she replied quietly, the sadness in her voice more vulnerability than she'd intended. A strange relief washed over her in his presence, a relief that she couldn't explain but felt down to her bones.

He turned, his gaze softened as he looked at her, his eyes holding a quiet intensity that made her breath catch. "How are you doing this morning, Amalie?" He asked, his voice gentle, his concern sincere. And though he was an Original—capable of anything and answerable to no one—there was an unmistakable tenderness in his tone.

She hesitated, her gaze drifting down to the cobblestones, the weight of everything pressing on her shoulders. Her fingers traced the hem of her sleeve absently. "Can I ask you something?"

Elijah looked at her, giving her his undivided attention. "Anything," he replied without hesitation, his presence steady and grounding, as if he would bear any weight she asked him to carry.

Amalie took a breath, still looking down. "Do you know of a cure for a werewolf bite?"

Elijah's expression shifted, the faintest tension tightening his shoulders. His usual composure faltered, and for a brief moment, she saw a flicker of panic in his eyes, sharp and piercing. "Have you been bitten?" His voice, though controlled, held a rare vulnerability, an urgency that surprised her.

She quickly shook her head. "No," she replied, the words tumbling out. "No, not me. It's Rose. She was bitten last night."

Elijah's face tightened as he processed her words, his mind clearly running through the possibilities. "I see. I'm sorry, Amalie," he said, his voice low and sincere, each word feeling like it held regret that he couldn't help her. "But there is no attainable cure." His eyes searched hers, and when he saw her shoulders slump, he reached a hand out, almost brushing against her arm before letting it fall, his fingers curling as though denying himself something he needed. "I'm truly sorry, Amalie."

Amalie swallowed, the bitterness of disappointment settling heavily in her chest. She'd known, deep down, that this was the likely answer, but hearing it from Elijah made it real. Rose wasn't going to make it.

They sat in silence for a moment, the air between them heavy and solemn. Amalie could feel his gaze on her, that unwavering steadiness that both comforted and unsettled her. She didn't know what to say, didn't know how to voice the whirlwind of emotions churning within her.

"You confuse me," she said quietly, her voice soft but resolute, breaking the silence that hung between them.

Elijah's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, a glimmer of gentle amusement sparking in his eyes. "How so?"

Amalie looked at him, a knot of frustration twisting in her chest. "One second, I'm convinced you're going to take me and Elena straight to Klaus. And the next, you're giving me gifts and making deals to keep us safe." She glanced away, shaking her head. "I just don't get it."

Elijah's smile softened, fading into a more thoughtful expression as he considered her words. "I understand how it must seem...contradictory," he said, his tone careful, his gaze never leaving her. "But there is a reason for my actions."

"Then explain it to me," she pressed.

Elijah looked away, his gaze sweeping across the square, a contemplative silence settling over him. "I would love to explain everything to you," he said, his voice dropping to a lower, more serious tone, "but not here. Not in public."

Amalie raised an eyebrow, feeling a tug of curiosity that only made her more cautious. "When, then?"

"Possibly later this evening," he suggested, his gaze meeting hers with unwavering intent. "In this same spot. Just the two of us."

She studied him, the urge to guard herself fighting against a yearning to understand him, to understand whatever strange force seemed to pull them together. Trusting Elijah—let alone anyone—wasn't easy for her, but her curiosity outweighed the warning voice in her head. Slowly, she nodded. "Alright. I'll meet you here."

Elijah's eyes softened, the intensity in them easing to something gentler, almost affectionate. "Thank you, Amalie," he said, his voice low, carrying a warmth she hadn't expected.

As he rose from the bench, he lingered for a moment, looking at her as if he wanted to say more, his gaze lingering on her face with an unspoken depth. "Until tonight," he said softly, his voice threaded with a quiet promise.

Amalie nodded, her heart heavy but steady. Somehow, despite the weight of everything that had happened, there was a flicker of hope now, a sense that her next conversation with Elijah would change something—between them. Elijah was an enigma, but she felt drawn to him, pulled by a need to understand the secrets he guarded so carefully.

###

Amalie sat alone at her desk in the dim light of her bedroom, the cool glow of her laptop screen casting soft shadows on her face. The quiet tap of her fingers against the keyboard was the only sound in the room as she scrolled through apartment listings, each overpriced rental blending into the next. She barely registered the details. It was all just a distraction, something to keep her mind occupied, to keep the whirlwind of emotions at bay for just a little longer.

But then, like the faintest shift in the air, she sensed she was no longer alone. Without looking up, she knew they were there—Max and Ana. Ana perched herself at the back of Amalie's chair, her arms crossed against the back, while Max got comfortable on her bed.

"Whatcha doing?" Ana asked, her voice light.

"Apartment shopping," Amalie replied simply, her voice as flat as the click of the trackpad as she scrolled past another out-of-reach rental.

Ana raised an eyebrow, a skeptical grin tugging at her lips. "Really?" She said, as though trying to hide a laugh. Her eyes danced with a knowing glint, one that said she wasn't buying it.

Before Amalie could answer, Max crossed his arms, his disbelief written all over his face. "Apartment shopping?" He repeated, his voice laced with incredulity. "Seriously? Don't you think you should be with Rose right now?"

Amalie's hand froze on the keyboard, and she let out a frustrated sigh before turning to face him. Max was staring at her, his brow furrowed. "Why?" She asked, her voice slipping into defensiveness despite her best efforts.

"Because you care about her," Max replied, as though it were the simplest answer in the world. "And she's dying."

Amalie blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of his words. She cast a quick glance at Ana, who was watching her with an expression somewhere between sympathy and exasperated. Then, with a mocking tilt of her head, Ana broke the silence, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, but Max," she said with a smirk, "don't you know? Amalie doesn't get close to people. This kind of thing isn't supposed to affect her. She's so good at keeping everything at arm's length ." Her words were sharp, but her gaze softened slightly, a glimpse of something like pity in her eyes.

Amalie clenched her jaw, a stubborn frown crossing her face. "She's just going to die," she said, her tone deliberately cold, empty of any feeling. "It's pointless to get all sentimental about it. I barely even knew her. And she did kidnap me. Remember that?"

Ana scoffed, shaking her head. "That's just classic Amalie, isn't it? Always with the deflection," she said, a hint of anger seeping into her voice. "You act like none of this matters, like it's just another bump in the road, but we both know that's a lie."

Max shifted closer, his gaze fixed on her, a mixture of frustration and concern in his eyes. "You're sitting here pretending like you don't care, but we see through you, Amalie."

Amalie's gaze dropped to the floor. She hated that they saw through her, hated that they were right. But admitting it? Admitting that she couldn't shake the helplessness, the rising sadness clawing at her chest—that was harder.

"I'm not pretending," she muttered, though her voice had lost its edge, the fight fading from her tone. "Rose is going to die. There's nothing I can do. What's the point of sitting around just to watch it happen ?"

Ana leaned in, her face softening as she tilted her head, her voice quiet but firm. "The point is that she needs someone right now," she said gently.

Amalie glanced up at her, her chest tightening at the truth in Ana's eyes. She knew that feeling—that desire not to be alone, to have someone there, even in the darkest moments. "She's got Damon," Amalie murmured, the words hollow even as they left her mouth. "He's the one who cares about her."

Max sighed, his shoulders slumping as he shook his head. "And what about you? What about how you feel?"

Amalie's eyes flashed, and she met his gaze. "What about it?" She snapped, the defensiveness creeping into her voice. "I barely knew her. She was just...there."

Max's expression softened, his voice steady but compassionate. "She was more than just 'there,' and you know it," he said gently. "You're just scared of letting yourself care."

The words caught in her throat, and for a moment, she couldn't speak. She wanted to deny everything, to tell them they were wrong, that Rose's impending death was just another loss she would get over. But it did matter.

"She doesn't deserve to die like this," Amalie muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, a crack in her words betraying the sorrow she had tried so hard to bury.

Ana reached out, her ghostly hand hovering just above Amalie's shoulder, as if she wanted to comfort her but couldn't. "No, she doesn't," Ana agreed softly. "But she doesn't need to die alone."

Amalie swallowed hard, blinking against the sudden burn of tears that threatened to rise. She turned her attention back to her laptop, staring blankly at the screen. She didn't want to face it. Didn't want to feel the inevitable loss that was coming.

But it was too late. The cracks were already forming in the walls she had built.

"I don't know if I can watch it happen," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Max knelt down beside her, his ghostly presence surprisingly solid at that moment. "You don't have to watch," he said quietly. "But just be there for her. Not because you owe her anything, but because it's the right thing to do. For you."

Amalie nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. She stared at the laptop screen for a long moment, then sighed, closing the lid with a soft click.

"Yeah," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Maybe you're right."

###

The air in Damon's bedroom was thick with the smell of sickness and sweat. Amalie stepped inside slowly, the door creaking softly as it opened, her eyes immediately drawn to the bed. Rose lay there, pale and drenched in sweat, her skin clammy and thin, her breathing a strained rhythm, shallow and labored. Blood stained the sheets, and her face was gaunt, the area around her eyes swollen. It was clear that each breath was a battle, each rise and fall of her chest a struggle against the pain overtaking her.

Elena sat beside Rose's head, her face drawn with worry, fingers clenched tightly around the edge of the blanket. When Elena noticed Amalie in the doorway, their eyes met briefly, and Amalie made a small gesture—a quiet request for a moment alone with Rose.

Elena nodded, her gaze flicking to Rose before she got to her feet. "I'm...I'm gonna go get some new sheets," she murmured softly, her voice breaking on the words. She hesitated, glancing between Rose and Amalie, before slipping out of the room with one last, sad look.

Amalie's chest tightened as she stepped closer to the bed. Her legs felt like they were made of lead, each step weighed down by the dread churning inside her. She had no idea how to do this—how to say goodbye to someone who, only recently, had begun to mean something to her. But the intensity of that connection made this moment hurt all the more.

"Hey, Ams," Rose croaked, her voice rough and faint, the affectionate nickname emerging weakly, but there was warmth in it.

Amalie froze, her heart lurching at the sound of her name said so tenderly. No one had ever called her that. In that one word, Rose had taken a step past the walls Amalie had built around herself, breaking through the armor in a way that left her feeling exposed. She forced herself to respond, managing a small, shaky smile as she sat down on the bed, resting her back against the headboard.

"Hey," Amalie whispered, barely more than a breath, as she reached out to gently lift Rose's head, easing it into her lap. She ran her fingers through Rose's damp hair, letting her touch linger, trying to bring some comfort in the only way she could. Rose's eyes closed, her shoulders easing as she let out a quiet, almost relieved sigh. For a fleeting moment, the tension in her body softened, and Amalie felt her pulse slow under her touch.

"I'm sorry," Amalie whispered, her voice trembling, the words slipping from her like a confession she could no longer hold in.

Rose's eyes opened just slightly, her brow furrowing in gentle confusion. "For what?" She rasped, her voice barely more than a whisper, as if the idea of ​​Amalie apologizing to her was inconceivable.

Amalie swallowed, her fingers still threading through Rose's hair. "It was supposed to be me," she murmured, her voice breaking slightly. She couldn't look at Rose, couldn't bear the weight of her gaze. "She was coming after me."

Rose's face softened. "No," she breathed, her voice as soft as the ghost of a whisper. "She was coming after Damon." She paused, a faint, wistful smile tugging at her lips. "But I'm glad it was me...you're just a baby." Her smile grew, though it was tinged with sorrow. "I've already lived."

Amalie's vision blurred with tears, her hand pausing in Rose's hair as her chest tightened painfully. "That wasn't living, Rose," she whispered, her voice barely holding together. "You were running for most of your life."

Rose's smile deepened, a brief light returning to her eyes, as if she were seeing something only she could. "Before that...my life was pleasant," she murmured, her voice distant, dreamlike. "Fields...horses. ..open air." She took a slow, ragged breath, her voice fading to a whisper. "And even when I was running...I had Trevor."

Hearing Trevor's name brought a fresh ache to Amalie's heart, a reminder of the things Rose had endured and everything she'd lost. She saw, now, what Rose's life had been—a series of moments lived in the shadows, forever haunted by the constant threat of death. And yet, even now, Rose was finding peace in those fractured memories. Amalie's hand trembled as she continued to stroke Rose's hair, the simple gesture an anchor against the wave of emotions rising within her.

A tear slipped down Amalie's cheek, and she quickly brushed it away. She sniffed, a tight, burning sensation building in her throat as she tried to keep herself together.

"I should've done something," Amalie whispered, her voice thick with the grief she could no longer contain. "I should've..."

Rose's hand found hers, her cold fingers curling around Amalie's in a gentle but firm grip. "You did everything you could," she murmured, her voice barely audible but filled with a fierce, quiet sincerity. "It's not your fault, Amalie." "

Amalie shook her head, a helpless frustration filling her chest. "I don't know how to let go," she admitted, her voice raw and broken. "I don't know how to say goodbye to someone who didn't deserve this."

Rose's eyes fluttered closed, a faint, peaceful smile on her lips. "Then don't," she whispered, her words drifting like a feather caught in a breath of wind. "Just...be here with me." Her hand loosened, her grip on Amalie's fingers slipping as her breathing slowed, each breath more fragile than the last.

Amalie knew Rose wasn't gone yet—her chest still rose and fell, though faintly. But this felt like a goodbye all the same, a final, gentle surrender. And as she sat there, her fingers still brushing through Rose's hair, her heart splintered, each fracture cutting deeper with every labored breath Rose took.

For a long time, Amalie stayed with her, tears slipping silently down her face as she offered what little comfort she could, the weight of the moment settling over her like a heavy blanket. She wanted to be strong, wanted to hold it together, but the grief was relentless, and as Rose's breathing grew fainter, Amalie felt a part of herself breaking.

Finally, when she could no longer bear it, Amalie gently eased herself out from under Rose, laying her back against the pillows with as much tenderness as she could. She wiped her face with trembling hands, but the tears wouldn't stop. With one last, lingering glance at Rose, she slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Once outside the bedroom, she leaned back against the wall, her body shaking as the sorrow finally overcame her.