lean, with light brown hair neatly combed back and a face that could have stepped out of a movie. His button-up shirt was slightly wrinkled, as though he'd been wearing it all day, and there was something in his green eyes that held her attention.

"Um...sure," she said, her voice a little hesitant. She glanced around the diner, half expecting to see someone staring at them.

The boy slid into a seat across from her, offering a small smile. "Thanks. Place is a little crowded tonight."

Amalie raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, it's Friday. What'd you expect?"

He chuckled softly, resting his arms on the table. "Fair enough."

For a moment, they just looked at each other, and Amalie realized she was staring. She quickly dropped her gaze to her milkshake, feeling heat creep into her cheeks.

"I'm Stefan, by the way," he said, breaking the silence.

"Amalie," she replied, looking up again. Her lips quirked into a small smile. "Nice to meet you, Stefan."

"Nice to meet you too." His smile widened slightly, something boyish in it.

"So," he said, leaning back in the booth, "what brings you here tonight? Just you and your milkshake?"

Amalie laughed softly. "My best friend bailed on me. And my brother's too busy with his own love life, so...it's just me, this milkshake, and...well, you, I guess."

"Well, then I'm in good company," Stefan said, his tone light but sincere.

"Are you always this charming?" She teased, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned, and the tension she hadn't realized she was carrying began to melt away. "Only when I'm lucky enough to find an empty seat across from someone interested."

Amalie rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. "Right. So, Stefan, what's your story?" She asked, resting her chin on her hand.

He shrugged, his smile softening. "I'm just passing through, really. Visiting an old friend."

Amalie tilted her head. "What kind of friend?"

"The kind who'd probably say I don't visit enough," he said with a faint chuckle.

There was something distant in his tone, a shadow that crossed his face briefly before he pushed it aside. Amalie noticed it, but she didn't press. Everyone had their secrets, and she had just met this man, so she wasn't going to ask.

"What about you?" He asked, steering the conversation back to her. "What's your story, Amalie?"

"Oh, you know," she said lightly, stirring her milkshake again. "Someone who lives in a city that's not made for her. Nothing too exciting."

"I don't know," he said, his eyes glinting with curiosity. "You seem like the kind of person who makes life exciting."

She raised an eyebrow, grinning. "You've known me for all of five minutes. That's a pretty big assumption."

"I'm good at reading people," he said, his voice teasing but earnest.

They talked for a while after that, their conversation light but tinged with an unspoken connection. Amalie didn't know what it was about him—this boy seemed to have appeared out of nowhere—but there was something about Stefan that made her want to keep talking, to keep him sitting there across from her.

###

The memory of that night at the diner still lingered vividly in Amalie's mind, like an old photograph that refused to fade. As she finished recounting the story to Elijah, her voice softened.

"I had no idea vampires actually existed at the time," Amalie said, leaning back against the couch. A faint, bittersweet smile tugged at her lips as she stared at the mug of tea she hadn't touched in a while. "I had no idea vampires actually existed at the time," Amalie said, leaning back against the couch. Just thought Stefan was a cute guy passing through town. And, to be fair, he was. But a couple of weeks later..." She hesitated, her smile fading. "I died."

Elijah, who had been quietly watching her, straightened slightly at those words. She felt the shift in his attention, the intensity in his gaze sharpening.

Amalie glanced at him, her expression faintly apologetic, though she wasn't sure why. "Katherine had been compelling me to drink her blood," she continued softly, "she said it was just a precaution. But she knew who I was to you. To all of you. And I guess she thought I'd be valuable. That she could exchange for her freedom if she ever needed to."

Elijah's expression remained unreadable, but there was a storm brewing behind his calm exterior. She could see it in the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his hand rested on his knee, perfectly still.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and fragile, as Elijah absorbed everything she had just told him. Every detail. Every implication.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. "How did you die?" He asked, his voice low but steady.

Amalie hesitated, her hands curling slightly in her lap. She didn't like talking about this part—it was messy and painful, and the person responsible was someone Elijah knew. But she had already come this far.

"Stefan," she said bluntly, her voice firmer than she expected.

Elijah's eyes darkened, his composure slipping for just a fraction of a second before he recovered. "He drained you," he said, though it wasn't a question.

Amalie nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor. "He fed from me," she murmured. "I don't think he meant to kill me, but...it happened. And then I woke up in a hotel room, alone . Katherine found me." She paused, her voice softening. "She taught me the basics. What it all meant."

Elijah didn't speak immediately, but she could feel the tension radiating from him. His hands, resting loosely on his knees, clenched slightly into fists before he released them again.

"It should have been one of us," he said finally, his voice low and measured, though there was an unmistakable edge to it. "Not Stefan. Not...anyone else."

Amalie blinked, startled by the quiet anger in his tone. "Elijah—"

"I'm not angry with you," he interrupted, his gaze locking onto hers. "But I cannot deny the anger I feel knowing that it was Stefan who turned you, and not one of us."

Amalie wasn't sure how to respond. Part of her wanted to comfort him, to tell him it didn't matter now, that she had made peace with it. But another part of her understood his anger all too well.

Elijah exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax. "And Katerina," he added, his tone softening slightly. "For all her selfishness, I suppose I should be...grateful."

Amalie raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite the tension in the room. "Did you just admit to being grateful to Katherine?"

"Don't tell her," Elijah said dryly, his lips quirking into the faintest of smiles.

The tension eased between them, replaced by a quiet, intimate warmth. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching into something comfortable. The low hum of the apartment around them seemed to fade, leaving only the sound of their breathing and the quiet crackle of the candle on the coffee table.

"I should probably go," Elijah said eventually, though he made no move to stand.

Amalie frowned slightly, tilting her head. "Why?"

"You've been through enough today," he said gently. "I don't wish to intrude on your space any longer."

Amalie hesitated, her heart sinking slightly at the thought of him leaving. But she nodded, standing as he rose from the couch. "I'll walk you to the door," she said softly.

They moved together toward the entrance, their steps slow and unhurried. When they reached the door, Amalie leaned against the frame, watching as Elijah turned to face her.

"Thank you for telling me," he said quietly, his dark eyes searching hers. "I know it wasn't easy for you."

She shrugged, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. "It's okay, you deserved to know."

Elijah reached out, his hand brushing against hers lightly before he pulled her into a hug. It wasn't tentative or awkward—it was warm and grounding, his arms wrapping around her as if they had done this a thousand times before.

Amalie stiffened for a moment, surprised, but then she melted into him, her hands resting lightly against his back. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of him, a mix of cedar and something unplaceable.

Neither of them spoke. They didn't need to.

After a moment, Elijah pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her gaze. His hands lingered on her arm, his thumb brushing against her skin in a way that sent a quiet shiver through her.

"You have changed so much in my life, Amalie," he said softly, his voice carrying a weight that made her chest ache. "Even in the short span of actually knowing you."

Her breath caught, and she wasn't sure if it was his words or the way he was looking at her—like she was something rare and precious.

"Elijah," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, but she didn't know what to say.

He smiled faintly, leaning down just enough to press a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary. When he pulled back, his hand dropped from her arm, leaving her feeling cold despite the warmth in the room.

"Goodnight, Amalie," he said, his voice low and steady.

"Goodnight," she replied, her voice quieter now, almost trembling.

And then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him. Amalie stood there for a moment, staring at the door, her heart still racing. She touched her forehead absently where his lips had been, the ghost of the moment lingering long after he'd left.