The library smelled like old paper and dust baked warm by the afternoon sun. Not abandoned—used, but lightly, like most things in Mystic Falls. Margaret sat cross-legged on her chair, a thick book balanced on her knees, fingers tapping the page with restless excitement.
"This is wrong," she said, scanning the index again. "It says complete record of local fauna, but half the things we saw on the way here aren't even mentioned. Not even a footnote."
Across the table, Martha didn't look up. Her book was thinner, denser. No pictures. Just equations and cramped annotations in the margins. "If it's not in the book," she said flatly, "there's probably a reason."
Margaret frowned. "What kind of reason?"
Martha finally raised her eyes, slow and unimpressed. She studied Margaret the way one inspected a cracked glass—deciding whether it was still usable. "You really don't notice anything, do you?"
Margaret blinked. "Notice what?"
Martha sighed, already tired. "For someone older than me and Bobby, you're shockingly oblivious." Her gaze dropped back to the page. "Even Bobby figured it out. And he's an idiot."
"That's mean," Margaret said automatically, though she was smiling.
Martha didn't respond. A few seconds passed. Then Margaret stood, walked around the table, and wrapped her arms around Martha's shoulders in a sudden, exaggerated hug.
"Marthaaa," she whined. "Don't be like that. You're always like that."
Martha stiffened. "I'm reading."
Margaret rested her chin on Martha's head anyway. "My little genius. Always reading scary books about scary things." She leaned down and kissed the top of Martha's hair before pulling away, grinning.
Martha scowled, cheeks faintly warm. "You're annoying."
Margaret was about to reply when a sharp horn sounded outside—long, deliberate, cutting clean through the quiet.
Both of them froze.
Margaret turned toward the window first. "Was that—?"
Martha was already standing.
A sinking feeling told her that whatever passed through the town rarely announced itself twice.
Outside, the street had gone quiet in that particular Mystic Falls way—not empty, just… holding its breath.
A truck idled near the curb, old and dented, paint sun-bleached into a dull gray. The engine coughed once, then twice, and two figures jumped down from the back with careless ease.
Kids.
That alone was enough to make Martha's stomach tighten.
They couldn't have been much older than her—maybe a year or two—but they felt wrong immediately. Silver hair caught the light like wire instead of silk, sharp and unnatural against their pale skin. Their eyes—red, not brown, not hazel, not anything that could be politely explained—tracked the street with unsettling calm.
Martha grabbed Margaret's wrist without thinking. "We're going back inside."
Margaret frowned. "Wait—"
"No," Martha said, already tugging her. "Now."
But Margaret wasn't looking at Martha. She was staring at the two newcomers with open curiosity, head tilted slightly, like she was solving a puzzle she liked. "Martha," she said slowly, "they're kids. Our age."
Martha hesitated.
That was true.
And worse—Margaret was right. They hadn't seen anyone their age. Not really. Just adults who watched too closely and old people who watched even closer.
Margaret slipped free from her grip. "I'll just say hi."
Martha muttered under her breath, "I can't believe you noticed that," and followed a step behind, every nerve tight.
The two strangers stood close together, murmuring to each other in a language Martha recognized just well enough to dislike. Russian. Low, clipped, intimate. Not whispered—spoken like they didn't care who heard.
Margaret, of course, charged straight into their orbit.
"Hi!" she said brightly, hands clasped behind her back like this was the most normal thing in the world. "I'm Margaret—and this is Martha." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "We're staying here for the summer. You guys just arrive?"
The siblings stopped talking.
They turned to her slowly, almost in sync, red eyes settling on her face. For a heartbeat, they just stared—assessing, measuring, like she'd interrupted something delicate.
Then they smiled.
It wasn't unfriendly. It just… didn't quite reach their eyes.
The boy stepped forward first. Taller. Sharper. His posture carried a casual confidence that didn't belong to someone his age. "Bruno," he said, accent thick but controlled. He gestured to the girl beside him. "This is my sister. Alexei."
Alexei dipped her head slightly, silver hair sliding forward like a curtain. Her smile was smaller, more contained—but her gaze lingered on Martha, curious in a way that made Martha's skin crawl.
"Nice to meet you," Alexei said.
Martha didn't answer right away.
Something in her chest whispered danger, quiet but insistent. Not loud enough to scream—just enough to be remembered later.
And she had the sinking feeling that later was coming fast.
They lingered by the curb, the truck still ticking as it cooled, the town stretching lazily around them like it wasn't listening.
Margaret was already gone.
Not physically—she was still right there—but her attention had locked onto Bruno with the intensity of a lighthouse finding a ship. He smiled, easy and confident, answering her questions without hesitation.
"Yes," Bruno said, hands in his pockets. "We just arrived. Grandmother too. We'll be staying a while."
Margaret clasped her hands together. "Us too! Martha and I—well, and our family—we're new. Like, new new." She leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "You wouldn't happen to be giving us a tour of the town, would you?"
Martha almost sighed aloud.
Bruno chuckled, clearly amused. "Sure. Why not?"
Margaret beamed like she'd just been handed the sun.
Alexei shifted closer to her brother the moment Margaret stepped nearer, half-hiding behind his arm. She couldn't have been much older than Bobby—small, slight, red eyes peeking out cautiously from beneath silver bangs. When Margaret waved enthusiastically, Alexei shrank back another inch.
"Oh," Bruno said, glancing down at her. "Sorry. She's… reserved."
"That's okay!" Margaret said immediately, unfazed. "I'm not. I'll make up for both of us."
She laughed at her own joke, bouncing on her heels, pure, unfiltered enthusiasm radiating off her like heat. If joy were a weapon, Margaret would've been lethal.
Martha said nothing.
She stood slightly apart, arms folded, eyes moving—not scanning wildly, but measuring. Watching posture. Timing. The way Bruno answered questions without thinking, the way Alexei didn't answer at all.
Be slow to speak, slow to judge, she recalled—Socrates, or maybe Plato quoting him. Wisdom didn't rush. Ignorance did.
Another thought followed, sharper: Judge a man by what he does when he thinks no one is looking.
Alexei wasn't looking at Margaret anymore.
She was looking at Martha.
Their eyes met.
Red. Not bright—deep. Old. Too steady for a child.
Martha felt it then. The faint pressure behind her temples. The sense of being evaluated in return.
She frowned.
Not fear. Not panic.
Calculation.
If these two were threats, she'd know soon enough. People always revealed themselves eventually. All you had to do was watch—and wait.
And Alexei, still half-hidden behind Bruno, smiled just a little less shyly than before.
They were just about to leave when Martha felt it.
Not a sound at first—more like pressure. A subtle wrongness, as if the air had shifted its weight. Then the bell rang.
It echoed from the center of town, deep and metallic, vibrating through the streets. Pigeons burst from the bell tower in a sudden gray spiral, wings beating like static. Almost immediately, school buses began rolling in from side streets—yellow, clean, on schedule.
Too on schedule.
Margaret didn't notice. She was already talking—excitedly—to Bruno about an arcade she'd spotted earlier. Alexei nodded along, quiet but attentive, while Bruno laughed and pointed down the road.
Martha stood still.
Correction, her mind supplied.
Not coincidence. Not timing. A response.
They noticed there were no kids.
So the town produced some.
Her jaw tightened.
"Arcade sounds fun!" Margaret chirped. "We should all go together."
Martha almost scoffed. Almost.
She told herself it didn't matter. That unlike Bobby, she wasn't here to unravel the town's secrets. Curiosity was a trap. People who chased it ended up dead—or worse.
She could ignore this.
She was ignoring this—
"Martha!" Margaret grabbed her hand suddenly, yanking her forward. "Come on!"
The motion snapped her out of her thoughts and dragged her straight into the group. Bruno turned, smiling. Alexei lingered a step behind, eyes flicking between them.
"So," Bruno asked, casual, "what do you like to do?"
Martha hesitated. Then answered honestly.
"Read."
"Oh! What kind?" Margaret asked, already grinning like she'd won something.
"Physics," Martha said. "Mostly theoretical. Particle dynamics. Astrophysics. Propulsion systems."
She paused, then added, almost to herself, "It's funny how most people think rocket science is about engines, when the real difficulty is mass optimization under relativistic constraints."
Silence.
Bruno blinked.
Margaret froze mid-step.
Alexei stopped completely.
"…What?" Margaret said.
Martha realized—too late—that she'd said it out loud.
Before she could retract, Margaret burst out laughing and wrapped her arms around Martha from behind, squishing her cheeks. "This," she declared proudly, "is our family's Little Genius."
Martha scowled. "Let go."
"Nope."
Bruno chuckled, recovering. "Alexei likes reading too," he said. "Mostly law. History."
Alexei nodded, then added softly, "Politics."
Martha's hands stilled.
She turned slowly, studying Alexei again. The red eyes. The posture. The way she chose her words.
Dangerous and smart, Martha thought.
That was worse.
Much worse.
Her curiosity stirred despite herself, sharp and unwelcome. She didn't like puzzles she couldn't solve—but she liked even less pretending they weren't there.
She looked away, lips pressed thin.
Bobby, she thought bitterly. If you don't show up soon, I'm stuck babysitting idiots and potential threats.
Margaret squeezed her again, oblivious, already dragging her toward the arcade.
Martha let herself be pulled.
For now.