she saw Elijah standing in the room, his gaze warm and unhurried. Jenna stood beside him, oblivious to the tension that gripped the room. She smiled politely, oblivious to the electricity between them.

"Elijah?" Amalie said, genuinely surprised—and a little shocked—to see him here.

Jenna looked between them, her brows raised in curiosity. "You two know each other?"

Elijah's smile was gracious, his eyes lingering on Amalie for a heartbeat too long. "Yes, we've met briefly," he replied smoothly, his tone polite but tinged with something softer.

Amalie's mind raced. She hadn't expected to see him again so soon—especially not here, in the Gilbert house. "Elijah, what are you doing here?" She asked, her tone strained.

Before he could respond, Jenna interjected, clearly unfazed. "He's the writer I mentioned earlier," she explained with a smile, blissfully unaware of the tension filling the room.

"Oh..." Amalie said, the word slipping out as she tried to process the situation.

Jenna glanced between them with a knowing smile, clearly assuming they were more familiar than she'd thought. "I'm going to go find those files you were asking for. Are you okay waiting here?"

"Of course," Elijah replied smoothly, though his gaze never left Amalie's. "Take your time."

As Jenna walked away, she turned back to Amalie. "Oh my God," she silently said as she looked between Amalie and Elijah one last time before turning away.

Amalie gave her a weak smile, watching her leave before turning her attention back to Elijah. He stood there, his calm gaze never wavering, and as his eyes drifted to her neck, a subtle warmth lit his face.

"You're wearing the necklace," he marked, his voice soft but filled with something more—relief, perhaps, or even pride. "It suits you."

"It was...a nice gift," she replied, watching his face for any sign of motive. "I figured there's no harm in wearing it, at least for now."

Elijah's face softened, his eyes lighting up at her words. "I'm glad. I hoped it might serve as a small reminder." He took a small step closer, his expression gentle.

She looked away, a faint blush creeping to her cheeks. "It's just a necklace, Elijah."

"Of course," he said, though the slight smile lingering on his lips hinted at his delight. For a moment, they held each other's gaze in the quiet space between them.

The warmth faded as Amalie regained her composure, narrowing her gaze. "What are you doing here?"

Elijah's gaze didn't falter. "As I said, I'm here for the files," he replied smoothly.

Amalie's brow furrowed, not buying it. "The real reason, Elijah."

He glanced toward the staircase, ensuring they were alone before speaking, his voice lowering to an intimate murmur. "I'm here to make a deal with Elena."

Amalie felt a cold knot form in her stomach. "A deal? What kind of deal?"

Elijah's expression grew serious, his voice calm but weighted. "As I told you yesterday, I need Elena to stay safe. Klaus will stop at nothing to find her. And I was hoping you might help me."

Amalie's eyes narrowed, suspicion sparking in her expression. "So...the necklace and the flowers were just some kind of bargaining tool? You thought you could buy my help with a few gifts?"

For the first time, Elijah's composure wavered, his face softening as he took in her words, visibly affected. "Of course not," he said, his voice quiet and laced with a hint of hurt. "That was not my intention at all ."

Amalie crossed her arms, her skepticism not fading. "Then what was your intention?"

Elijah held her gaze, stepping closer until he was nearly within reach, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur. "I...hope to get to know you more, preferably without the company of others. I don't seek to manipulate you , Amalie. I only wish for you to speak with her." His voice softened, the sincerity in his tone disarming. "Let her know that I would like to talk. That's all I ask of you."

Amalie's gaze searched his face, her defenses faltering at the raw she saw in his eyes. She held his gaze, weighing his words, searching for any hint of deception. "And if she doesn't want to make a deal?" She asked finally.

Elijah's expression remained calm, though a flicker of regret darkened his gaze. "Then I will find another way to ensure her safety," he replied, his voice laced with quiet resignation. "But I'd prefer not to resort to...drastic measures."

After a moment, she sighed. "I'll talk to her," she said, her voice softer now. "But I can't promise anything."

A look of relief softened Elijah's features, and he gave her a small, grateful nod. "Thank you, Amalie," he murmured, his gaze lingering on her, a quiet affection shining through. "That's all I ask."

###

Amalie stood outside Elena's bedroom, her hand hovering just above the smooth wood of her door. She took a steadying breath before giving a soft knock. After a pause, Elena's voice sounded faintly from within, soft but edged with exhaustion.

"Come in."

Amalie pushed the door open, slipping inside and closing it quietly behind her. The room was dim, the only light coming from the glow of a bedside lamp, casting a warm, muted hue over the space. Elena was curled up at the edge of her bed, arms wrapped around her knees, the weight of recent events etched into the tense lines of her face.

"Okay, don't freak out," Amalie began, keeping her voice low but urgent as she took a step forward.

Elena's gaze snapped up, her tired eyes immediately sharpening, the melancholy in her expression shifting to something more alert—wariness simmering beneath the surface. "What?" She asked, her voice taut with suspicion, her full attention now pinned on Amalie.

Amalie hesitated, her mind racing for the right words, though she knew none would soften the blow. "Elijah is here," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper, her gaze meeting Elena's. "He wants to talk."

Elena's eyes widened, her body going rigid as she stood slowly, her hands gripping the edge of the bed. "What?" She whispered, the single word escaping her lips on a shaky breath. Her mind flashed to Damon's earlier warning—that Amalie could be working with Elijah—and now, here she was, delivering his message. Suspicion darkened her gaze as she took a cautious step forward, her trust hanging by a thread. "Why is he here? Are you...are you working with him?"

Amalie quickly shook her head. "No. I'm not working with him, Elena," she said, her tone firm. "I had no idea he was coming. Jenna let him in before I could stop her." She held Elena's gaze, willing her to see the truth. "He just wants to talk. That's all. Nothing else."

Elena's gaze narrowed, her suspicion still simmering beneath the surface. "You let him into the house?"

Amalie let out a frustrated, rubbing the back of her neck. "Jenna invited him in. By the time I knew it, he was already in your living room," she explained, her voice tinged with exasperation. "Besides, I technically can't invite him in myself."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with tension. Elena's mind raced, torn between the instinct to keep her distance from Elijah and the undeniable curiosity stirring within her. Finally, with a shaky breath, she nodded, though her voice trembled enough to betray her apprehension.

"Okay," she said softly, her tone uncertain. "But...what does he want?"

Amalie's gaze softened, a flicker of sympathy crossing her face. "He said he wants to make a deal. Claims it's for your safety."

Elena's expression faltered, her suspicion blending with reluctant intrigue. "A deal?" She repeated.

Amalie nodded. "Look, I don't know all the details. He seemed...sincere, but it's up to you. If you don't want to talk to him, I can tell him to leave. But I think he might be our best shot at understanding what Klaus is planning."

Elena stood silently, her thoughts a whirlwind. She felt the pull of a dozen conflicting interests—Damon's warnings, Stefan's advice, her own urge to run away from Elijah, and yet...her curiosity. She glanced at Amalie, who was watching her with a calm patience that felt grounding in the chaos. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she nodded again, this time more resolved.

"Okay," she said, her voice firmer, though her hands still trembled slightly. "I'll talk to him."

Amalie gave her an encouraging nod and turned toward the door. "I'll go get him—" She paused, her hand on the doorknob, her words falling away as she opened the door and found Elijah standing just outside, hands clasped behind his back, his posture straight and polite, as though he'd been waiting there all along.

"Ah," Elijah said smoothly, his voice soft and even. "I thought I might save you the trouble."

Amalie blinked, momentarily thrown by his sudden appearance. "Right," she muttered. She glanced back at Elena, whose face had gone pale, her eyes widened at the sight of him.

Elijah took a step forward but remained in the doorway, his posture courteous, as though mindful of the fact that this was Elena's space. "Good evening, Elena," he greeted, his tone polite, voice carrying a quiet warmth. "I hope I'm not intruding."

Elena swallowed hard, her nerves obvious as she forced herself to meet his gaze. "No, it's...it's fine," she managed, though the tension in her posture told a different story.

Sensing the unease radiating from Elena, Amalie moved to step aside. "I'll leave you two alone," she said, though a quick glance from Elena—wide-eyed and silently pleading—made her hesitate. It was a look that said, please don't leave me alone with him, a subtle request for backup.

But Amalie gave her a quick, reassuring thumbs-up behind Elijah's back, a small, encouraging gesture that felt insufficient against the nerves simmering beneath Elena's calm façade. She had to leave, though; this was a conversation Elena needed to face on her own.

Elijah's expression remained neutral, though he must have noticed the silent exchange. "Have a good night, Amalie," he said, his voice polite, a touch of warmth beneath the formality.

"Good night," she replied quietly, slipping out of the room and down the stairs, her mind swirling with questions. The whole thing confused her—Klaus' goal, her involvement, Elijah himself. She wanted answers but she didn't know when she would get them.

###

Amalie walked down the quiet street, the cool night air brushing against her skin as she made her way back to the Salvatore house. Her mind was spinning with questions, but the crisp breeze helped, clearing her thoughts, even if just a little. The The world around her was cloaked in silence, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hum of the sleepy town.

As she turned a corner, a familiar chill passed through her—the telltale sensation that always preceded an encounter with the dead. She tensed slightly, senses sharpening. Then, like a shadow flickering into form, Max appeared beside her, his ghostly figure taking shape in the faint moonlight.

Amalie flinched, just a little, his sudden appearance catching her off guard. It had been a while since she'd seen him, and her reaction was almost instinctive. "Where have you been?" She demanded, her voice edged with both surprise and irritation.

Max chuckled, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket as he matched her pace. "You know my tie to you isn't as strong as Ana's," he said with a shrug. "I come and go when I feel like it ."

"I know," Amalie muttered, her voice softening even though her irritation lingered. She studied his face, genuinely curious. "It's just...it's been a while. Where did you go?"

Max raised an eyebrow, his smirk fading, though the hint of teasing remained. "What, did you miss me?" He asked, his tone light, but a shadow of something deeper lay beneath.

Amalie rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "I know you're technically a curse and all," she said dryly, "but sometimes I worry about you guys."

He blinked, clearly caught off guard, though he quickly masked it. "Worry?" He repeated, an amused spark in his eyes. "Amalie, we're already dead. Not much can happen to us now."

Amalie's expression softened, though she kept her gaze sharp. "I'm serious, Max."

Max's smirk faded, his gaze drifting, becoming more distant. After a moment, he sighed, his voice softer, stripped of its usual playfulness. "I just needed some space, I guess."

They walked in silence for a moment, and Amalie noticed the way his eyes darted away from her, scanning the trees along the side of the road. He looked as if he were searching for something—or someone.

"Does it have to do with...them?" She asked, almost hesitant. Max had always been cagey about his past, and she'd learned not to push. But tonight, with the look in his eyes, she couldn't hold back her curiosity.

Max's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond immediately. After a beat, he gave a low chuckle, more to himself than to her. "You're nosy, you know that?"

She shrugged. "You don't just vanish without a word for weeks and expect me not to ask questions."

Max sighed, his gaze drifting to the tree line. "It's nothing you need to worry about."

Amalie frowned, her curiosity sharpening as she watched him. She noticed the way his expression shifted—just for a second—when he glanced toward the distant hills, where the trees were thick and dark under the full moon. His face softened, an almost haunted look in his eyes, and something clicked in her mind.

"Max," she said slowly, watching his reaction carefully. "Were you...visiting your family?"

He didn't answer, but the faint tension in his shoulders gave him away.

"They're still alive, aren't they?" She guessed, her voice gentler now. Max had only been dead for twenty years—not so long ago as to be forgotten, but long enough that she hadn't expected him to still be keeping tabs on his relatives.

Max exhaled, his smirk fading as he stared straight ahead. "They don't know I'm around," he muttered. The words carried a bitterness that caught her off guard. She stole a glance at his face, catching the faintest hint of pain there before he masked it.

"They live up north," he continued after a pause, almost as if he couldn't stop himself. "Some small town in Connecticut. Middle of nowhere. The woods are good for...their kind."

Their kind. The words felt loaded, and Amalie felt a chill creep down her spine as an understanding dawned.

"Max...are they...?" Her voice trailed off, and she didn't know how to finish the question.

He glanced at her, his gaze sharper than usual. "Werewolves, yeah." He said it bluntly, his tone almost defiant, as if daring her to react.

Amalie's eyes widened, but she quickly schooled her expression. "I didn't know."

He shrugged, his expression guarded. "It's not something I like to advertise."

They walked in silence again, and Amalie tried to imagine what it must have been like—growing up in a family of werewolves. She felt the pieces falling into place, but something still didn't quite fit.

"How did you..." She hesitated, choosing her words carefully, "find out?"

Max's face darkened, his gaze turning inward. He didn't answer right away, and for a moment she thought he wouldn't tell her. But then he did.

"I didn't know, not until the end. My parents never told us, not me or my sister or my brother." His jaw tightened, and his eyes took on a distant look. "Noah was the one who found out. The hard way." Amalie had never seen Max like this before—so raw, so exposed. She wanted to say something, to comfort him, but she knew he just needed to speak this out loud.

He took a deep breath, his voice steadier now, though it was lined with bitterness. "It was an accident. Noah had got into a car crash with his girlfriend in the car...She died and he caused it. It was an accident, but it was enough. When the next full moon hit, he turned—and he got to me."

Amalie's heart clenched at his words. She hadn't expected this. "Max, I'm...I'm so sorry."

Max shook his head, as if to shake off the past. "It's been twenty years, Amalie. Doesn't matter anymore."

But as they continued walking, she could see it did matter—maybe more than he'd flick admit. They passed under the full moon's light, and Amalie noticed the way his gaze flickered toward it, a mixture of longing and resentment in his eyes.

"You still watch over them?" She asked gently.

"They're my family. Doesn't matter if I'm dead."

They reached the edge of the Boarding House property, and he stopped, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as he looked up at the old house. He gave her a faint smile. "You should get inside," he said. "It's a full moon, and with Tyler..."

Amalie nodded, lingering a moment longer, sensing the weight of his solitude. She wanted to say something, to offer comfort, but the words slipped through her fingers like sand.

"Max..." she began, but he'd already started to fade, his form dissolving into the shadows.

As she stepped inside the Boarding House, she couldn't shake the feeling of his presence, his sadness lingering in the cool night air. For the first time, she understood the depth of what he'd lost—and the quiet ache of a ghost forever tethered to a world that had moved on without him.

The cool air inside the house was a stark contrast to the chill outside, and she pulled off her hoodie, rubbing her neck as she released a long, weary sigh. She could think of little else besides a hot shower, a way to wash away the stress and worry that now clung to her like a second skin. She tossed her hoodie onto a nearby chair and headed deeper into the house, the silence around her calming, steadying.

But then, a sudden, sharp crash split the quiet—a sound like shattering glass echoing from somewhere down the hall. Amalie froze, her body tensing, eyes flicking toward the direction of the noise.

Before she could move, Damon and Rose appeared beside her, their expressions sharp with alarm, both clearly having heard the same sound. Damon's eyes were dark, his expression focused, while Rose's tense, wary stance suggested she was poised to fight. Without a word, they moved together toward the living room, a silent understanding between them.

As they entered, Amalie's gaze shot to the source of the noise—the large window on the far side of the room. The thick glass had started to crack, deep, jagged lines splintering across its surface. In the dim light, she watched as the lines grew, splitting and spreading like a spider web. Then, in a single instant, the glass shattered, spraying fragments across the room, and a large, snarling wolf leaped through the window, landing with a heavy thud on the wooden floor.

Damon moved first, reaching for a sword mounted on the wall, the metal scraping with a harsh ring as he unsheathed it. But before he could raise the blade, the wolf sprang forward, its massive frame barreling into Amalie and knocking her backward.

She hit the floor hard, the weight of the wolf's body pinning her down, its hot breath inches from her face. She could see the sharp gleam of its fangs as they snapped in her direction, and she twisted, trying to escape its reach. But the wolf was relentless, its eyes wild, fixed on her, and for a split second, panic surged through her. Just as its jaws came down, Rose leaped forward, shoving the wolf off with all her strength.

The force of Rose's push sent the wolf stumbling back, but it turned in an instant, lashing out, its jaws clamping down on her shoulder. Rose's scream ripped through the