章 97: "Stefan wouldn't—"
The tension in the room hadn't entirely dissipated as Miranda returned, carrying a tray with two glasses of iced tea. Her hands trembled slightly, though she tried her best to steady them, forcing a polite smile onto her face as she approached Damon and Stefan.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen," she said, setting the tray down on the coffee table in front of them. Her voice carried a strained warmth, the kind that comes with someone determined to maintain composure despite the unease bubbling beneath the surface.
Damon, ever the charmer, offered her a gracious smile as he reached for one of the glasses. He swirled the liquid thoughtfully before taking a small sip, his eyes never leaving Miranda's. "Much appreciated, Miranda," he said smoothly, though there was a distinct undercurrent of mischief in his tone.
Stefan, however, remained standing, his expression more serious. His sharp gaze tracked every subtle movement in the room, finally landing on Grayson as he descended the stairs. Grayson's face was still pale, but his jaw was set with determination, his earlier panic now hidden behind a mask of resolve. He hesitated when he saw Stefan, but Damon's calm demeanor seemed to ease some of the tension.
Damon rose from his seat with an almost lazy elegance, placing the glass back onto the tray with a soft clink. "Grayson," he greeted, his voice light but with an edge of knowing. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, intricately carved box. It was old, its wood dark and polished with age, and the faint scent of cedar wafted into the room as he held it up.
"This," Damon continued, taking a deliberate step forward and handing the box to Grayson, "is the final piece. Straight from Pearl."
Grayson's hand hovered for a moment, his eyes flickering with uncertainty as he glanced between Damon and the box. Finally, he took it, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should have been. His fingers brushed against the smooth surface as he opened it, revealing a small, antique key nestled inside. His breath hitched almost imperceptibly as he stared at it, realization dawning in his eyes.
Stefan stepped closer, his presence more commanding now. His posture was rigid, and though he said nothing, the intensity of his gaze spoke volumes. His eyes bore into Grayson's, a silent warning etched within them. It was as if he were telling him, Don't make a mistake with this. Don't forget who gave it to you.
Grayson swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly as he nodded. His voice came out hoarse, almost a whisper. "Thank you."
Damon tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a faint smirk. "Don't mention it," he said, his tone almost mocking, though there was an undercurrent of sincerity in his words. He turned toward Stefan, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Time to go, brother."
Stefan lingered for a moment, his eyes narrowing just slightly as they met Grayson's. His jaw tightened, and his lips pressed into a thin line before he turned on his heel and followed Damon toward the door.
As they reached the threshold, Damon paused and glanced back over his shoulder, his grin widening. "Oh, and Grayson?" he called out, his voice dripping with nonchalance. "Try not to lose it this time. It's not like we can just pick up another one at the store."
With that, he strolled out into the fading light, Stefan close behind him.
Grayson stood frozen for a moment, the box still clutched tightly in his hands. Miranda stepped closer, her brows knitting in concern as she placed a tentative hand on his arm. "Grayson, what's going on?" she asked softly.
But he didn't answer, his eyes fixed on the key as if it held answers to questions he wasn't ready to face. His shoulders sagged slightly, and a faint shiver ran through him. Whatever had just transpired, Miranda could tell it was only the beginning of something much larger.
Outside, Damon and Stefan walked in silence for a few moments, the evening air cool against their skin. Finally, Stefan broke the quiet, his voice low and sharp. "Do you think he'll figure it out in time?"
Damon chuckled softly, his hands slipping into his pockets. "If he doesn't, that's his problem. We've done our part." His smile faded slightly, and his expression grew distant, his usual playful air giving way to something far more serious. "But let's just hope he makes the right choice—for everyone's sake."
Stefan said nothing, his jaw tightening as he cast a lingering glance back toward the house before the brothers disappeared into the shadows of the night.
Back At The Gilbert House
Elena's brow furrowed as she leaned against the porch railing, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The soft glow of the porch light highlighted the worry etched across her face, her usually warm hazel eyes clouded with concern. She hadn't missed the charged atmosphere in the house or the pointed exchange between Henrik and Stefan before he left with Damon.
Her gaze flicked toward Henrik, who stood a few feet away, his tall frame bathed in the dim light. He was tense, his posture rigid as he stared off into the darkened yard. His jaw was tight, and his hands hung loosely at his sides, though his fingers twitched occasionally, betraying the storm of thoughts raging in his mind.
"What happened, Henrik?" Elena asked finally, her voice soft but insistent. She took a step closer, her eyes searching his face. "Why did you confront Stefan like that? What aren't you telling me?"
Henrik sighed deeply, running a hand through his tousled hair. His shoulders slumped slightly as if the weight of the question was too much to bear. He hesitated, his lips parting and closing again, the struggle evident in the flicker of doubt that crossed his features. Finally, he turned to face her fully, his expression shadowed with worry.
"Grayson found out," he said, his voice low and steady, though there was an edge of frustration simmering beneath his words. "He knows about us—about what we are."
Elena's breath caught in her throat, her arms dropping to her sides. Her heart pounded as she stared at Henrik, disbelief mingling with a rising tide of fear. "He knows they're vampires?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Henrik nodded, his jaw tightening. "And Stefan… He wanted to take care of him." His voice darkened, and a flash of anger lit his eyes. "He thought it would be better to eliminate the problem before it escalated."
Elena's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide. "No…" she murmured, shaking her head as if denying the very possibility could make it untrue. "Stefan wouldn't—"
"Yes he wouldn't but look at the greater picture, if Grayson was to rat them out to the Council, then there is going to be another bloodbath in Mystic Falls and nobody wants that." Miranda said which surprisingly was what Henrik was about to say.
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