[Location: The Bennett Residence – Living Room] [Time: 6:00 AM – The Morning After the Tomb]
My phone rang in the dark. A shrill, piercing sound that cut through the silence of my room.
I didn't need to look at the Caller ID to know who it was. I knew what happened when the sun came up.
I picked it up. "Bonnie?"
"She won't wake up," Bonnie's voice was small, fractured. "Adrian, she... she's cold. Grams won't wake up."
I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I forced my voice to be steady, the anchor in her storm. "Bonnie, listen to me. Did you call 911?"
"Yes," she sobbed. "They're here. They said... heart failure. But it wasn't her heart, Adrian! It was the spell! It was the tomb!"
"I'm coming over," I said. "Don't say anything to the paramedics about the spell. Just say she was tired. Do you understand? You have to protect the secret."
"I don't care about the secret!" she screamed, the raw grief tearing through the phone. "I want my Grams back!"
"I know," I said softly. "I'm on my way."
I hung up.
I sat there for a moment in the grey morning light. The guilt was a physical weight in my gut, heavy and cold. I could have called an ambulance last night. Maybe they could have saved her. Maybe not. But I chose not to.
I stood up and walked to the mirror. My face was impassive. The Salaryman mask was firmly in place.
"Asset management," I whispered to myself. "You manage the asset, even when it breaks."
[Location: The Bennett Residence – Front Lawn] [Time: 6:30 AM]
The ambulance was leaving silently—no sirens. That meant there was no rush. The patient was gone.
Bonnie sat on the front porch steps, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the grass. Elena was already there, holding her hand.
I walked up the driveway. I was wearing a black hoodie and jeans.
Elena looked up at me. Her eyes were red. "It happened in her sleep."
I sat on the other side of Bonnie. I didn't say anything. I just put my arm around her shoulders.
Bonnie leaned into me. She was shaking.
"It's my fault," she whispered. "We shouldn't have opened it. She told me not to."
"It's not your fault," I lied. "It was Damon. He forced our hand."
"Damon," Bonnie said the name like a curse. Her sorrow was hardening into something else. Hate.
"He got what he wanted," Bonnie hissed. "And I lost everything."
"He didn't get what he wanted," I said quietly. "Katherine wasn't there. He did it for nothing."
Bonnie looked up at me, her eyes wild. "Nothing? She died for nothing?"
"No," I said, looking her dead in the eye. "She died protecting this town. She held that seal to keep the monsters in. She died a hero, Bonnie. Don't ever forget that."
It was the narrative she needed. It gave her grandmother's death meaning. And it aimed her anger squarely at the vampires.
"I won't," Bonnie whispered. "And I won't let them hurt anyone else."
I felt the shift in her magic. The air around us grew static. The grief wasn't breaking her; it was forging her.
Asset Status: Radicalized.
Bonnie Bennett was no longer a reluctant witch. She was a soldier. And she trusted me because I was the human standing beside her, not the vampire who pushed her.
[Location: The Salvatore Boarding House – Main Hall] [Time: 11:00 AM]
If the Bennett house was a funeral, the Salvatore house was a frat party in hell.
I walked in. The place was trashed. A antique chair was smashed against the wall. Books were ripped apart and scattered across the floor like confetti. Empty bourbon bottles lined the mantle.
Damon was lying on the rug in the center of the room, staring at the ceiling chandelier. He was still wearing the same clothes from last night.
Stefan was sitting in a chair nearby, watching him. Stefan looked exhausted.
"Morning, sunshine," Damon drawled without moving. "Here to gloat? Or did you bring a shovel to bury me?"
"I heard about the furniture," I said, stepping over a broken table leg. "I assume the chair insulted you?"
"It looked at me wrong," Damon said. He sat up, his movements fluid but erratic. "So. Katherine Pierce. The myth. The legend. The bitch who wasn't there."
He laughed. It was a jagged, ugly sound. "145 years, Adrian. I spent every day thinking about getting her out. And she was never in there. She was in Chicago. Or Paris. Laughing at me."
"She played you," I said bluntly. "She plays everyone."
Damon's eyes flashed dangerous. He blurred—standing in front of me in an instant.
"Careful," Damon whispered. "I'm in a 'kill the messenger' kind of mood."
"Sheila Bennett is dead," I said.
Damon froze.
"What?" Stefan stood up. "Grams?"
"Her heart gave out," I said. "The spell was too much. Bonnie found her this morning."
Damon stared at me. For a second, I saw a flicker of guilt. But he buried it instantly under layers of indifference.
"Collateral damage," Damon shrugged. "Witches are fragile. It happens."
"Don't let Bonnie hear you say that," I warned. "She has her magic back. And she hates you, Damon. If she sees you, she might try to melt your brain."
"Let her try," Damon scoffed. He walked back to the bar. "I've got nothing left to lose."
"Actually, you do," I said.
I pulled a folder from my bag.
"The Council knows something happened last night," I lied. (They didn't, but fear kept him focused). "Sheriff Forbes found fresh tire tracks near the ruins. If you go on a bender, Damon—if you start killing locals because you're sad—they will find you. And this time, Stefan won't be able to cover for you."
Damon poured a drink. "So what? Let them come. I'll kill the Sheriff. I'll kill the Mayor. I'll kill the whole town."
"And then you'll be alone," I said. "Truly alone. No Stefan. No Elena. Just you and the eternity you hate."
Damon paused, the glass halfway to his lips.
"You need a project," I said. "You need a distraction."
"And you have one?" Damon asked, eyeing me.
"Alaric Saltzman," I said. "The teacher. He's still hunting you. Why don't you find out why? Instead of killing him... play with him. Find out what he knows about Isobel."
Damon's eyes narrowed. "Isobel. The wife."
"She was researching vampires," I said. "Maybe she found Katherine. Maybe Saltzman knows where she is."
It was a tenuous thread, but it worked. Damon's obsession shifted.
"If he knows where Katherine is..." Damon muttered. "I'll peel the information out of his skull."
"Or just ask him," I suggested. "Buy him a drink. It's less messy."
Damon downed his bourbon. "Fine. I'll go bother the teacher. It beats sitting here listening to Stefan brood."
He grabbed his jacket and walked out.
I looked at Stefan.
"He's going to be unstable for a while," I said.
"I know," Stefan sighed. "Thanks for... redirecting him."
"I'm not doing it for him," I said. "I'm doing it so he doesn't eat the waitstaff at the Grill."
[Location: An Abandoned Farmhouse – Route 9] [Time: 2:00 PM]
The farmhouse was a rotting carcass of wood and peeling paint, sitting in the middle of an overgrown field. It was off the grid, foreclosed three years ago.
Perfect for refugees from 1864.
I parked my Jeep behind the collapsed barn. I grabbed my satchel.
Inside the bag:
Three Blood Bags (O-Negative).
A Map of the United States (circa 1860).
A burner phone.
A wooden stake (just in case).
I walked up to the porch. The wood creaked ominously.
Before I could knock, the door opened.
Anna stood there. She looked tired, but relieved.
"You came," she said.
"I honor my deals," I said. "How is she?"
"Hungry," Anna said. "But stronger."
She stepped aside.
I walked into the living room. It was dusty, filled with cobwebs. Sitting on a moth-eaten sofa was Pearl.
She looked much better than the night before. Her skin was pale but human-looking. Her eyes were sharp, scanning me with the wisdom of five centuries.
"The human conspirator," Pearl said. Her voice was elegant, carrying the cadence of a different era. "Anna tells me you provided the blood."
I took the blood bags from my satchel and placed them on the coffee table.
"A housewarming gift," I said.
Pearl looked at the bags. "Plastic. How... clinical."
"It's cleaner than hunting," I said. "If you hunt in Mystic Falls right now, the Council will find you. They have vervain. They have compasses."
Pearl sat up straighter. "I remember the Founders. Jonathan Gilbert. The Lockwoods. Arrogant men."
"Their descendants are just as arrogant, but they have better technology," I said. "You need to lay low, Pearl. At least until you regain your strength."
"And why does a human care about my safety?" Pearl asked, her eyes narrowing. "Anna says you want information. About... wolves."
"I want to know about the Seven Packs," I said. "The original bloodlines."
Pearl laughed softly. It was a dry sound. "Werewolves. Filthy beasts. We spent centuries avoiding them. Why do you seek them?"
"Academic curiosity," I said.
"Liar," Pearl smiled. "You seek power. I can smell the ambition on you, boy. It's thicker than your cologne."
She stood up and walked to the dusty window, looking out at the field.
"In 1864," Pearl began, "I was an apothecary. I sold herbs to the town. But my real business was with the supernatural underground. Vampires came to me for daylight rings. Witches came for sage."
She turned to face me.
"And occasionally, they came. The wolves. They needed Wolfsbane to manage their turns. To weaken the pain."
I pulled the 1860s Map from my bag and spread it on the table.
"Where were they?" I asked. "Show me."
Pearl walked over. She looked at the map. Her finger—long and manicured—traced a line across the paper.
"The Lockwoods were here, obviously," she pointed to Virginia. "The North East Atlantic Pack. Rich. Political. They hid in plain sight."
She moved her finger west.
"Here," she pointed to the Appalachian Mountains. "The Malraux. Brutal. They lived in caves, away from civilization. They didn't hide what they were."
She moved her finger south, to the bayous of Louisiana.
"The Crescent Wolf Pack. New Orleans. They were practically royalty down there. Though I hear the vampires drove them into the swamp."
She moved her finger to the Pacific Northwest.
"The Poldark. They controlled the fur trade. Very secretive."
She tapped three more locations: Russia (The Basq), China (The Zhang), and one somewhere in South America.
"The Seven Families," Pearl murmured. "Though by 1864, the bloodlines were diluting. Vampires hunted them for sport. Klaus hunted them for... whatever Klaus does."
I stared at the map.
Lockwood (Virginia) - Access: High.
Crescent (New Orleans) - Access: Possible (Hayley Marshall is there).
Malraux (Appalachia) - Access: Difficult.
Poldark (Oregon/Washington) - Access: Unknown.
"This is good," I said. "Do you know names? Descendants?"
"The Malraux were wiped out by Klaus in the 1920s," Pearl said. "Or so the rumor goes. The Crescents are likely still in the Bayou. The Lockwoods... you know them."
She looked at me.
"Why do you want this?" Pearl asked again. "Are you hunting them?"
"I'm collecting," I said cryptically.
I folded the map.
"Thank you, Pearl."
"I have a request," Pearl said. "I want to know where the others are. The vampires from the tomb. Did any others escape?"
"No," I lied. (Actually, a few might have slipped out in the chaos, like Harper, but I needed Pearl focused on me). "Just you and Anna. The rest are sealed."
"Good," Pearl said coldly. "They were fools. Frederick. Bethanne. They would only bring war. I just want to live."
"Then stay here," I said. "I'll bring you blood. I'll bring you news. You tell me everything you remember about the old world."
"A fair trade," Pearl said.
I walked to the door.
Asset Secured: The Map. Asset Secured: Pearl (Intel).
As I stepped onto the porch, I felt a vibration in my pocket.
The Gilbert Watch.
It wasn't buzzing for Anna or Pearl. The pattern was different.
Short. Short. Long.
It was the signal I had calibrated for Active Werewolf Gene.
But Tyler wasn't here.
I stopped. I looked at the treeline of the forest surrounding the farm.
Someone was watching.
Someone with the wolf gene.
Jules? Mason Lockwood? Or maybe a straggler from the Malraux pack?
I didn't react. I kept walking to my Jeep.
I got in, locked the doors, and drove away slowly.
I checked the rearview mirror.
A figure stepped out of the woods. A man. Rugged. Wearing flannel.
Mason Lockwood.
He was back in town early. And he was watching the vampires.
New Player on the Board.
Mason had the Moonstone on his mind. He would go to the Lockwood mansion, find the fake stone, and realize someone beat him to it.
Then he would start hunting the thief.
I smiled.
"Come and find me, Mason," I whispered. "I need your venom anyway."
[Location: The Cross Residence – Bathroom] [Time: 10:00 PM]
I stood in the shower, letting the hot water pound against my back.
The board was getting crowded. Damon. Stefan. The Council. Anna. Pearl. Mason Lockwood. Alaric.
I was spinning too many plates. As a human, one slip meant death.
I looked at the bite scar on my shoulder. It was a pink pucker of healed skin.
It was time.
I couldn't wait for the Upgraded Serum to turn. I needed the durability now.
I turned off the water.
I stepped out and wiped the steam from the mirror.
I needed to die.
But I needed to die in a way that looked like an accident, or a tragedy, so I could explain it away to my parents and the town without blowing my cover.
And I needed a blood source.
I thought about the vial of Vicki's Blood in my fridge. It was weak. Newborn blood.
I thought about Damon's Blood. Chaotic. Stefan's Blood. Ripper tendencies.
I needed Katherine's Blood.
But she wasn't here.
Wait.
There was one other source.
Pearl.
She was 500 years old. She was rational, strong, and a leader. Her bloodline was potent. She was older than the Salvatores.
If I turned with Pearl's blood, I would be stronger than a standard newborn.
I formulated the plan.
Operation: Rebirth.
Get Pearl's blood (Trade intel for it).
Stage a "car accident" or a "fall."
Die with the blood in my system.
Wake up.
Feed (on a blood bag).
Explain the "miraculous survival" to the town.
I looked at my reflection.
"Goodbye, Adrian the Human," I said. "You did good work."
I turned off the light.
Tomorrow, I would start the process of becoming a monster.
[End of Chapter 20]