❧ the universe is very  unfair ❧

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Summer had never been a time of ease for Amalie, but this one had been relentless even by her standards. The days had blurred into a strange, sunlit haze of exhaustion, each one weighted with the kind of problems that didn't resolve themselves, and nights were no better—filled with the voices of the dead that she could never put to rest. Peace wasn't a luxury her life afforded, and deep down, she'd stopped expecting it years ago. But even so, the last few months had been like a storm rolling in from every direction. Every time she thought she could steal a moment to breathe, another crisis reared its head, another carefully buried secret came clawing to the surface, and another soul demanded saving.

And at the center of the chaos was Jeremy Gilbert.

It was strange, the way he had carved a place in her life. Against all odds, they had become...friends. Or something like that. The label didn't quite fit, not neatly, anyway. Their connection was more like a knot—twisted and uneven, full of frayed edges, camaraderie threaded through with mistrust. She liked him more than she wanted to admit, though his tendency to leap before looking drove her mad. He was reckless in the way only someone who had already faced death could be, and she sometimes found herself snapping at him with a sharpness she later regretted. It had started months ago when Ana had let it slip—quite casually—that Jeremy could see her. The revelation was a thunderclap, splitting Amalie's life wide open and letting more complications pour in.

At first, she'd kept Jeremy at arms' length. Trust didn't come easy to her; it never had. She couldn't afford to be careless, especially with someone like Jeremy, who had one foot planted firmly in the mortal world and the other dangling precariously in the supernatural. Still, he was insistent, curious, eager in a way that grated on her nerves. And so, reluctantly, she had taken it upon herself to teach him—if only to stop him from stumbling headlong into a disaster neither of them could fix.

Teaching Jeremy wasn't easy. There was no manual for the kind of life she led, no convenient list of dos and don'ts for navigating a world populated by the restless dead. She had to start from the beginning, unraveling pieces of her own story she'd long since locked away. She told him about the Everhart curse, though not without hesitating over every word. She explained how her ghostly companions had been tethered to her since she was eight years old, how they whispered in her mind, their voices sometimes soft and pleading, other times jagged and angry, like knives scraping against stone. She didn't tell him everything—not how one of them had nearly killed her when she was fifteen, or how she'd learned the hard way that ghosts could manipulate. But she told him enough. Enough to see the worry flicker across his face, a reminder that this wasn't some story he could walk away from when it got too heavy.

"You can't tell anyone," she'd said firmly, her gaze sharp enough to cut. They'd been sitting on the front porch of the Gilbert house, the humid air thick with the smell of freshly cut grass. "Not Elena, not Bonnie, not anyone. You breathe a word of it, and I'll make you regret it. Seriously, Jeremy, don't test me."

He'd blinked at her, and for a second, she thought he might laugh. "Okay, okay. I get it. No telling."

She hadn't smiled back. "Good. Because if you do, I swear I'll drag you to Virginia Beach and shove you off the pier myself."

To her surprise, Jeremy had taken it all in stride. He asked questions—endless questions—but there was something genuine about his curiosity that caught her off guard. More than that, he'd forged a bond with Ana, a connection that both comforted and unsettled Amalie in equal measure. For years, Ana had been hers alone, the one constant in a life otherwise full of chaos. Now, Jeremy could see her too, and Amalie couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a harbinger of trouble.

Jeremy wasn't her only problem. Klaus had his claws in her too—albeit in a completely different way. He called often, usually late at night, when the rest of the world was still and she couldn't pretend the voices in her mind were anything but maddening. His voice was smooth, dripping with charm, as he talked about his hybrids, his plans, his endless games with Stefan. He liked to ask about her life, though—about the tiny, insignificant details of her day. The way he asked made her feel as though she mattered, though she knew better than to believe it. But his interest felt like an anchor, one that she didn't know whether to cling to or cut loose.

Of course, none of this made it back to Elena or Damon. They were laser-focused on tracking Klaus down, determined to save Stefan no matter the cost. They'd even come to her for help, not that she'd given them much. She couldn't tell them her tracking skills—what little of them remained—were tied to the ghosts she could talk to. That part of her had shattered long before she'd turned, leaving behind only broken threads and whispers she couldn't make sense of.

In the midst of all this, Jenna had become a quiet, steady presence in her life. She handled the supernatural world with a grace that surprised Amalie, but even Jenna wasn't invincible. Sometimes, when the house was too quiet, Amalie could see the cracks beneath her composure—the fear and the helplessness she tried so hard to hide.

But the thing about summer storms was that they never stayed contained. Eventually, they rolled on, leaving wreckage in their wake. And as much as Amalie wanted to believe she could stay safe, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was already standing in the eye of the hurricane.

###

The sunlight poured mercilessly through the wide-open curtains, slashing across the dim, cluttered room. Jeremy groaned, burying his face into the thin, lumpy pillow for a few precious seconds before giving in to the day's demands. He slid down the bed, his bare feet colliding with the cold wooden floor. The floorboards creaked beneath him as he shifted. His hair stuck out in all directions, and the faint imprint of a pillowcase curved along his left cheek. He felt as crumpled as the hoodie he'd tossed onto the floor the night before.

"Maybe next time she'll go with an air horn," came Ana's voice, dry as ever, cutting clean through the silence.

Jeremy's head shot up, heart pounding, his sleep-hazed brain struggling to process the unexpected sound. His gaze darted to the corner of the room, where Ana was sprawled in the desk chair. One leg hung casually over the armrest, the other propped up on the desk, brushing against a crooked stack of forgotten textbooks. She wore her usual attire—ripped black jeans and a faded Smashing Pumpkins tee layered over a striped long-sleeve. The way the sunlight hit her made her look almost solid, as if she might lean forward at any moment and rearrange the mess on his desk. Almost.

"Jesus, Ana," Jeremy muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "Do you have to just...pop in like that?"

Ana chuckled, her fingers tracing lazy circles along the desk's edge. The chipped black nail polish on her fingers matched the scuffed combat boots she tapped lightly against the chair's base. "What's the point of being a ghost if I don't scare the hell out of you every now and then?"

Jeremy groaned again, reaching for the hoodie at his feet, tugging it on over his wrinkled T-shirt. "You didn't even give me a chance to recover from Elena's wake-up call."

Ana propped her chin on her hand, her grin widening. "Aww, poor baby. Big sister opened the curtains. How will you ever recover? Want me to haunt her for you? Rattle some shelves? Slam a few doors? Real poltergeist- level drama."

Jeremy snorted, shaking his head as he shuffled toward his desk. "You'd get bored in, like, five minutes. Besides, she'd probably call Bonnie to exorcise you or something."

Ana spun the chair with her boot, slow and lazy, her curls catching the sunlight as she tilted her head. "Eh, you're not wrong. But it'd be worth it for her face when stuff starts flying off the shelves. " She made an exaggerated ghostly "woooo" sound, her grin turning mischievous.

Despite himself, Jeremy laughed softly, grabbing his phone from a tangle of charging cables on the desk. The screen lit up, flooding his face with a faint blue glow. No new messages, no missed calls—just the same stale notifications that had been waiting for him since last night. He sighed and tossed the phone back onto the desk with a faint clatter.

Ana arched a brow, watching him like a hawk. "Don't tell me you're already in one of those moods," she teased, though there was a flicker of concern behind her tone. "C'mon, what's got you sulking now? Big existential crisis or just the usual 'I hate my job' shtick?"

Jeremy shot her a halfhearted glare as he leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms. "What do you care? You don't have to deal with crappy customers, minimum wage, or Matt yelling at you to clean tables faster." He paused, his lips quirking into a smirk. "Come to think of it, you don't have to deal with anything anymore. Must be nice."

For a moment, Ana didn't reply. Her grin faltered ever so slightly, her expression softening into something that didn't quite fit her usual sardonic demeanor. "Yeah, well," she said, her voice quieter now, "it's not all sunshine and rainbows over here either, in case you hadn't noticed. Besides, I do have to deal with you, which, let's be honest, is a full-time job in itself."

Jeremy rolled his eyes, shoving off the desk and pacing back toward the bed. "You're so funny. Really, hilarious."

Ana's grin returned, though there was a faint edge to it now, a sharpness that wasn't quite playful. "Oh, I know. But seriously, you should get moving before Elena decides a bucket of cold water is the next logical step. She'd got that determined 'mom' energy going on lately, and I wouldn't push her if I were you."

Jeremy groaned, flopping back onto the unmade bed with all the enthusiasm of a dying fish. "What's the point? Matt can fire me for all I care. Might actually do me a favor."

Ana rose from the chair and walked over to the bed. She perched on the edge of it, her feet dangling just above the floor. She was close enough that Jeremy could feel her presence—the faint hum of energy that always seemed to surround her—but far enough that it was clear she wasn't really there. She gave him a long look, her dark eyes narrowing slightly.

"Okay, first of all, that's a garbage attitude," she said, her tone sharper now, more direct. "Second, if you keep moping around the house all day, you're gonna drive me crazy. And let's face it, I'm already halfway there."

Jeremy reached for a pillow and hurled it at her, but it sailed clean through her, hitting the wall with a muffled thud. Ana didn't flinch; she just smirked, spreading her arms in mock triumph.

"Nice try," she said. What's next? Throwing your shoe? Maybe I'll dodge it just to make you feel better."

"You're the worst," Jeremy muttered, though his lips twitched into something resembling a smile.

"And you're predictable," Ana shot back. She leaned forward slightly, her expression softening. "But seriously, Jer. Get up, go to work, do something. You not doing yourself any favors sitting around in your self-pity bubble."

Jeremy sighed heavily, staring up at the ceiling. The paint was peeling in patches, forming shapes that vaguely resembled clouds—or maybe faces. He tried not to look too closely. After a long moment, he sat up, rubbing his face with both hands.

"Thanks for the pep talk, Coach," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Ana shrugged, swinging her legs like a bored child. "Anytime. Now, get moving before your sister comes back in with the nuclear option."

Jeremy grumbled but stood, shuffling over to his desk to grab his sneakers from underneath it. As he laced them up, Ana watched him, her expression unreadable.

"You know," she said suddenly, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "For what it's worth, you're not a total screw-up. At least, not all the time."

Jeremy glanced at her, caught off guard. For a moment, the sunlight illuminated her face, highlighting the faint shimmer of her ghostly form. She looked almost alive.

"Thanks," he said softly, his voice losing its usual edge. "For what it's worth, you're not the worst ghost I've ever met."

Ana grinned, leaning back and crossing her arms. "High praise when the competition is just Max, but I'll take it."

Jeremy laughed, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and headed for the door. As he stepped into the hall, he glanced back one last time. Ana was already back in the desk chair, spinning in slow, lazy circles, one leg hooked over the armrest, her grin as sharp as ever.

It was an odd friendship, sure. But for Jeremy—a boy caught in the limbo of grief and survival—and Ana, a ghost forever stuck on the edge of the living world, it worked,

###

The patio of the Mystic Grill buzzed with the kind of subdued energy that only summer could bring—a mixture of lighthearted chatter, the occasional clink of ice against glass, and the low hum of cicadas droning lazily in the background. String lights crisscrossed overhead, swaying faintly in the warm breeze, their bulbs unlit for now, waiting for dusk to settle in. Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the gaps in the slatted awning, spilling golden pools across the well-worn wooden floorboards. The smell of fried food hung in the air, mingling with the sharp bite of fresh coffee and, faintly, the tang of car exhaust drifting in from just beyond the patio's railing.

Amalie sat across from Jenna at one of the smaller tables, tucked into a corner near the railing where a flowering jasmine plant spilled over the edge of its ceramic pot. Their glasses of iced tea sat between them, sweating into flimsy paper napkins. Amalie absently twirled her straw, watching the ice cubes clink together in slow circles, while Jenna leaned back in her chair, spinning a silver ring around her finger—a nervous habit she hadn't yet admitted to.

"You know," Jenna began, her voice carrying that particular brand of teasing nonchalance that only close friends could manage. "I've been thinking about it, and the universe really isn't fair."

Amalie glanced up, her brow furrowing slightly. "What are you talking about?"

Jenna's lips curved into a knowing smirk as she leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table. The sunlight caught in her auburn hair, bringing out faint copper undertones. "You. You have five soulmates, Amalie. Five . And I can't even find one ." She punctuated her words with an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head in mock defeat.

Amalie froze mid-twirl, her straw slipping between her fingers as her face flushed a faint shade of pink. "Oh my God, don't start," she muttered, quickly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her gaze darted down to her glass, watching the rivulets of condensation trickle down the napkin, as though they were suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.

Jenna's laughter rang out, bright and teasing. "I'm just saying! Five soulmates. That's not excessive or anything. Meanwhile, I'm over here weighing the pros and cons of reactivating my dating app profile in a town where half the population is either a vampire, a werewolf or dead ."

Amalie groaned, shaking her head in exasperation. "Fine. You win. I'm impossibly lucky, and you're tragically single. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Thank you," Jenna said with faux satisfaction, nodding as though she'd just won a long-fought debate. "At least you admit it."

Desperate to shift the conversation away from her apparently enviable romantic predicament, Amalie blurted out the first question that came to mind. "So, uh...what's going on with you and Alaric?"

The smirk on Jenna's face faltered slightly, fading into something softer more contemplative. She sat up straighter, her fingers resuming their restless spinning of the silver ring. "I think we're just gonna stay friends," she said after a moment, her voice steady but threaded with a faint undercurrent of resignation. "He lied about...well, basically everything, and it's going to take me a while to trust him again."

Amalie nodded, her expression softening as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "That makes sense," she said gently.

Jenna shrugged with one shoulder, the movement light but deliberate. "Being single's fun, though," she added, her tone lifting in an attempt to steer the conversation back to something lighter.

"Yeah," Amalie agreed, though her tone was distracted, her focus on Jenna's fingers and the way they lingered on the ring. "It is."

"Not that you'd know anymore," Jenna teased, her grin returning as she raised an eyebrow. "You've got your five-soulmate circus to keep you busy."

Amalie shot her a sharp look, but the laugh that escaped betrayed her amusement. "You're relentless, you know that?"

"Someone's gotta keep you on your toes," Jenna said with a shrug, settling deeper into her chair. Her tone shifted, becoming more casual. "Are you going to Elena's birthday party tonight?"

Amalie hesitated, tilting her head slightly. "Maybe. I might stop by for a bit."

"Really?" Jenna blinked, her surprise clear. "Elena's friends getting drunk and trashing the house doesn't sound like your scene."

"It's not," Amalie admitted with a faint chuckle. "But I guess it wouldn't kill me to show up. Say happy birthday, check in on the chaos, and sneak out before things get messy."

Jenna snorted. "Well, good luck with that. I'm skipping it entirely."

"Why?" Amalie leaned forward, curiosity lighting her expression. "You should go. It's not like you'd be the oldest person there."

"Not a chance," Jenna said, laughing softly. "It's just going to be a bunch of high schoolers. Plus, we had a mini-celebration this morning. I gave Elena that bracelet she wanted, so I've done my part . And, honestly?" She paused, her grin fading into a wry smile. "I don't feel like getting cornered by Alaric for another awkward 'we need to talk' conversation."

Amalie tilted her head, her eyes drifting to Jenna's restless hand again. "What's with the ring?" She asked, her curiosity piqued. She recognized it as the one Jeremy wore—and Alaric.

Jenna glanced down, her fingers pausing mid-spin. "Jeremy gave it to me yesterday," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "I tried to tell him I didn't need it and that I'm not even a Gilbert, but..." She shrugged, rolling her eyes lightly. "He wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Neither is Alaric," Amalie pointed out, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. "But he's got one too."

Jenna chuckled softly, leaning forward. "Fair point."

Before Amalie could respond, Jeremy appeared beside the table, balancing a tray of drinks. His Grill uniform was wrinkled, and there was a faint coffee stain near the collar. A pen was tucked behind his ear, and his hair was an unbrushed mess, though the tired grin on his face made up for it.

"Hey," he said, setting the tray down at the neighboring table before turning back to them. "You two doing okay? Need refills or anything?"

Jenna waved him off, her grin matching his. "We're good. What about you? You look like you've been