Stefan stood there, motionless, his eyes fixed on the door Lexi had just walked through. He had seen the look on her face before she turned away. It was clear, impossible to miss. She was hurt. Not angry, not scared. Hurt. The way he had talked down to her in front of Leo, the way he had called her careless and said she spoke before thinking—it had cut her. That look stayed with him, settled in his stomach like a heavy stone that would not dissolve. He could still feel it pressing down on him from the inside.
But what else could he have done? He knew Leo. He knew what Leo was capable of, what he had just done to Lexi with only a few words and a steady gaze. If Stefan had not spoken the way he did, if he had not bowed and apologized and taken the blame, Leo would have taken things further. He would have kept pushing. And Lexi, his best friend, the only person who had never given up on him, might have ended up in real trouble. That thought scared him more than any threat Leo had ever made against his own life. He could not let that happen. Not to her. Never to her.
A voice cut through his thoughts, light and casual, like they were discussing the weather.
"Hey," Leo said. He tilted his head slightly, his expression one of mild, genuine curiosity. "What's wrong with Lexi? Why'd she get so emotional and run off like that, huh, Stefan?"
His tone was easy, almost friendly. But Stefan knew better. Leo did not care about Lexi. Not one bit. In Leo's mind, she was the one who had walked up to his table without an invitation. She was the one who had sat down and started asking questions. He had never gone looking for her. So why should he care if she was upset? He was just asking to pass the time, to fill the silence, to see what kind of expression Stefan would make when forced to answer.
And honestly, watching Stefan's face shift and tighten as he searched for the right words was entertaining. Especially after that question Leo had thrown at Lexi. That had been a good move, a strong move. But Stefan's answer, the way he had twisted Leo's accusation into a simple misunderstanding, the way he had taken the blame and smoothed everything over for Elena's sake—that was smooth. Leo had to admit, he was impressed. Not everyone could flip a situation like that, make black look white and wrong look right. Stefan could. And Leo enjoyed watching him do it, like a little performance staged just for him.
Stefan forced another smile onto his face. It was tight, uncomfortable. He pulled his gaze away from the door and turned to look at Leo. He chose his words carefully, one by one. "Maybe she really didn't sleep well," he said. "She's been traveling a lot lately" He paused, then stood up from his chair. The movement was slow, deliberate. He was nervous now, thinking about Lexi out there alone, upset, replaying his words in her head. "Maybe I should go after her," he continued. "Make sure she's okay."
Leo considered this for a moment. His hand made a small, casual gesture. Go ahead. He had already had enough fun for one night. Pushing further, especially with Elena still sitting right there, watching everything with her curious brown eyes, was not wise. Letting them go was the cleanest move.
"Sure," Leo said.
Stefan nodded once. He did not say goodbye to Elena. He did not look back at Leo. He simply turned and walked toward the door. His path cut through the crowded Grill, weaving between tables and around people standing in groups. He moved with that quiet, fluid grace that vampires had, slipping through gaps that seemed too small. His hand reached the door handle. He pushed it open. The night air rushed in briefly, then swallowed him as the door swung shut behind him.
Elena watched him leave. Then she turned her attention back to Leo.
Her arms were folded now, resting on the edge of the table. Her expression was unreadable, a smooth surface with nothing written on it. The irritation from before, the flash of jealousy when Lexi had flirted with him, was gone. Those feelings had been pushed aside by something else, something bigger and harder to name. Her mind felt like it had just been on a rollercoaster ride, the kind where your stomach drops and your thoughts scramble to catch up with what your eyes are seeing.
She had watched Stefan speak to Leo in a way that did not make sense. His voice had been low, careful. Every word had been measured and weighed before he let it leave his mouth. He had apologized. He had taken blame for things that were clearly not his fault. He had spoken to Leo like a servant addressing an emperor, waiting for permission to exist in his presence. And then Lexi, that confident, bold woman who had swept into their table like she owned it, had suddenly become emotional and fled. The connection was obvious. Something had happened during that magic trick, that strange moment when Leo had asked her what she desired. Elena did not know what it was, but she knew it was real.
She leaned back against her chair. The noise around them had grown louder as the night deepened. More people had packed into the Grill, the music seemed louder, the laughter more frequent. But none of it touched their table. The bubble of tension around them kept the outside world at a distance.
Elena looked into Leo's eyes. Her voice was steady, calm. "Leo," she said. "Do you take me for a fool?"
A confused expression appeared on his face. His brow furrowed slightly. His mind was clearly searching for the source of her question, flipping through recent memories. He landed on one: his distraction earlier, when she was telling him about her favorite romantic spot and he had been somewhere else entirely. His expression softened into apology.
"Elena," he began. "I am really sorry about that. You know, sometimes you can't—"
She interrupted him. She leaned forward, bringing her face closer to his. Her folded arms pressed against the table's edge.
"I am not talking about that, Leo," she said. Her voice was firm, cutting through his apology like a blade through soft fruit. "I am talking about how Stefan just talked to you. Like you are some kind of prince. Like he owes you something. And then Lexi, after your little magic trick, suddenly got emotional and ran off." She paused, letting the weight of her words settle between them. "Tell me. What the hell is going on?"
Leo sat frozen for a moment, caught off guard by the sharpness in Elena's voice and the directness of her question. He had not expected her to notice. To him, the exchange with Stefan and Lexi had been subtle, a quiet war fought with glances and carefully chosen words. But Elena had seen it. She had picked up on the tension, the imbalance, the strange way Stefan had lowered himself. It impressed him. It also put him in a difficult position.
His mind worked quickly, weighing options. He could lie. He could brush it off with another excuse, another half-truth about stress or tiredness or Stefan simply being an odd person. That would be easy. That would keep the peace, keep her in the warm, safe bubble of normal human life. But she would find out eventually. He knew the plot. He knew what was coming. Vampires would not stay hidden forever. The tomb, Katherine, the endless supernatural chaos of this town—it would all surface sooner or later. If he lied now, if he let her believe his lies, then when the truth came out it would hit her harder. It would become a crack between them, something she could point to and say, You kept this from me. You made me feel stupid for asking.
He did not want that. Better to tell her now, in his own words, in a way he could control. At least then this would not become a weakness he had to guard against. At least then he could move openly.
He looked at Elena. His voice, when he spoke, was gentle and honest. There was no mockery in it, no condescension. He was not trying to protect her from the truth anymore.
"Elena," he said. "Even if I tell you the truth, you might not believe it."
It was not a challenge. It was a simple statement of fact. How could a normal person, a girl who had grown up with school dances and homework and family dinners, believe that vampires existed? How could she accept that the handsome stranger at the next table and the beautiful blonde who had just fled were creatures that had lived for centuries and survived on human blood? It was impossible. It was insane. And yet it was real.
Elena's brows furrowed. His question annoyed her. It felt like a deflection, a way to avoid answering by pretending the answer was too big for her to understand. Her bad mood, which had softened a little, crept back into her voice.
"Leo," she said, her tone flat and impatient. "Are you going to tell me, or not?"
Leo sighed. It was a quiet sound, heavy with resignation. He leaned back against the wooden chair. His eyes drifted away from her face and scanned the crowd flowing past their table. People laughing, people drinking, people living their ordinary lives completely unaware that monsters walked among them. This was not the place. The Grill was too loud, too public, too full of ears that did not need to hear what he was about to say.
"We have to go outside, Elena," he said. "I can't talk about that here."
She looked at his face. The playfulness was gone. The casual confidence had drained away, replaced by something serious, almost grim. Whatever he was about to tell her, it was not a joke. It was not a small thing. She swallowed her irritation and nodded.
They stood up together. Leo pulled some bills from his pocket and dropped them on the table, enough to cover their drinks and leave a tip. Then he turned and walked toward the door. Elena followed.
Outside, the night air was cooler than the crowded warmth of the Grill. Leo did not stop walking. He crossed the road with steady, purposeful strides. His car sat in the parking lot, dark and waiting. He unlocked it, walked around to the passenger side, and opened the door. He stood there, holding it, looking at Elena.
She paused. The wind picked up slightly, catching strands of her hair and pulling them across her face. She pushed them back with one hand gesture. Then she stepped forward and lowered herself into the passenger seat. He closed the door behind her.
The car was quiet. The sounds of the street were muffled by glass and metal. Leo walked around to the driver's side and got in. He sat for a moment, his hands resting on the steering wheel, not moving. The soft glow of the dashboard lights cast a pale illumination over the interior, catching the edges of Elena's face, the curve of her shoulder.
He turned to look at her. His expression was calm, but there was something underneath it—a weight, a gravity that had not been there before.
"Elena," he said. His voice was low, steady. "Do you know about vampires? Like the ones in supernatural novels?"
....
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