[Setting: The Cross Residence – Adrian's Bedroom] [Time: Late Night – The Same Evening]
The digital clock on my nightstand read 3:14 AM. The witching hour.
Outside, the Seattle rain tapped a relentless, rhythmic code against the glass, like fingers trying to pry their way inside. In my old life, the sound would have been soothing. Now, it sounded like a warning.
I sat at my desk, the glow of my laptop screen turning my skin a sickly blue. My room was a shrine to a teenager who no longer existed. Trophies on the shelf. A framed photo of me crossing the finish line at districts. A varsity jacket draped over the chair.
They were artifacts of a peace time that was effectively over.
I opened a new encrypted file on my hard drive. I didn't name it "Vampires." I named it AP History Notes.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. The tremble was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp focus. If I was going to survive Mystic Falls, I couldn't rely on vague memories of a TV show I watched over my ex-wife's shoulder years ago. I needed a Bible.
I began to type, my eyes darting to the door every few seconds, paranoid that even here, miles away, they could hear me.
Entry 1: The Threats. The Originals. The First Family. Indestructible. Capricious. Klaus Mikaelson is the apex predator. Do not engage. Do not attract attention. Damon Salvatore. Impulsive. Cruel. Uses a crow and fog. Weakness: Katherine Pierce, Elena Gilbert. Stefan Salvatore. The Ripper. brooding. Weakness: Human blood, guilt.
I stared at the names. They weren't characters anymore. They were sharks swimming in the water I was about to jump into.
I moved to the next section.
Entry 2: The Assets. Vervain. Essential. Grows near the ruins. Must acquire immediately. Gilbert Watch. Detects vampires. Currently with Jeremy? Or in the attic? Moonstone. In the soap dish. Do not touch it yet.
I typed until my fingers ached and the sun began to bleed a bruised purple light through the curtains. I wasn't just planning; I was shedding my skin. The Adrian Cross who worried about SAT scores died tonight. The Adrian Cross who planned to kill for survival was being born.
[Setting: Ridgeway High School – The Courtyard] [Time: 12:00 PM – Three Days Later]
The sunlight was too bright. The laughter was too loud.
I sat on a concrete bench, a sandwich untouched in my lap. Around me, the high school ecosystem churned on. Girls gossiped about prom dresses. Guys argued about fantasy football.
They looked different to me now. They looked fragile.
Soft. Bags of blood wrapped in thin skin, walking around with no idea that they were at the bottom of the food chain.
"Adrian? Earth to Adrian."
I blinked, snapping back to reality. Jessica was standing in front of me, her brow furrowed. She looked hurt.
"I've been calling your name for like, a minute," she said, crossing her arms. "Are you okay? You've been acting weird since you told us you were moving."
I looked at her neck. I could see the pulse thrumming there, steady and strong.
Damon would tear that throat out without blinking, a dark voice whispered in my head. And you couldn't stop him.
"I'm fine, Jess," I lied, forcing the Golden Boy smile onto my face. It felt heavy, like a mask made of lead. "Just... stress. Packing, you know?"
She sat down next to me, her hand brushing my knee. "I'm going to miss you, you know. We all will."
I looked at her hand. Warm. Human.
I stood up abruptly. The proximity made me nauseous. I couldn't afford attachments. Not to people who couldn't protect themselves. In Mystic Falls, love was a weakness. Love was leverage.
"I have to go," I said, my voice colder than I intended. "I have to return some library books."
"Adrian—"
I walked away without looking back. I could feel her eyes on me, confused and hurt. It was better this way. I had to sever the ties. I had to practice being alone.
[Setting: The Local Hardware Store] [Time: 4:30 PM – One Week Before Departure]
The bell above the door chimed. The store smelled of sawdust and oil.
I wasn't here for home improvement.
I walked down the aisle, my eyes scanning the shelves. I grabbed a jagged, sturdy distinct piece of oak doweling. It was meant for closet rods.
"Building a closet?" the old man at the counter asked as I slapped three of them onto the counter, along with a whittling knife and a heavy-duty flashlight.
"Something like that," I muttered.
I bought a sharpening stone. I bought a canister of pepper spray—useless against vampires, but effective against humans who might be compelled to attack me.
I paid in cash. No paper trail.
When I got to my car, I sat in the driver's seat and gripped the oak wood. It felt solid. Heavy.
I wasn't delusional. I knew that if an Original wanted me dead, a piece of wood wouldn't save me. But against a newborn vampire? Against a tomb vampire desperate for a meal?
This was my only defense.
I drove home in silence, the wood rattling in the passenger seat.
[Setting: The Cross Residence – The Garage] [Time: Night – Two Days Before Departure]
Thwack.
The knife shaved a curl of wood off the dowel.
Thwack.
Another curl. The tip was getting sharper.
I sat on an overturned bucket in the garage, the single bulb swinging overhead casting long, dancing shadows against the concrete. My hands were blistered, but I didn't stop.
I was carving stakes.
It was ridiculous. It was insane. If my parents walked in, they'd send me to a psych ward. But I couldn't stop. The repetitive motion grounded me.
Sharpen the point. Harden the heart.
I thought about Elena Gilbert. The girl who started it all. She was just a girl right now. Probably writing in her diary about how sad she was. She had no idea that her existence was about to drag everyone around her into hell.
I would have to look her in the eye. I would have to lie to her. I would have to use her.
Thwack.
The stake was finished. It was crude, about eight inches long, with a point that could pierce a rib cage if driven with enough force.
I held it up to the light.
"Weapon one," I whispered.
I hid the stakes in the false bottom of my duffel bag, wrapped in gym socks.
[Setting: The Empty Room] [Time: 6:00 AM – Departure Day]
The house was hollow. The furniture was gone, loaded into the moving truck that was already idling in the driveway.
I stood in the center of my bedroom. The walls were bare. The carpet showed indentations where my bed and desk used to be.
My reflection in the window ghosted over the empty yard.
I looked different than I did two weeks ago. I had lost five pounds. My eyes were harder, rimmed with dark circles from sleepless nights spent memorizing grimoires and timelines. The easy, carefree smile of the popular kid was gone.
In its place was a predator's alertness.
"Adrian!" my dad called from downstairs. "Let's go, son! Long drive ahead."
I took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of dust and floor cleaner.
This was the death of Adrian Cross, the high school star.
I picked up my backpack—heavy with my laptop, my "notes," and the hidden wood—and swung it over my shoulder.
I walked out of the room and closed the door. I didn't look back.
[Setting: The Interstate – Crossing the Virginia Border] [Time: Twilight – Three Days Later]
The transition was subtle.
The highway stretched out like a grey ribbon cutting through the darkening woods. As we crossed into Virginia, the trees seemed to grow taller, crowding the road. The sky turned a bruised shade of violet, bleeding into black.
A thick fog began to curl around the tires of our SUV.
My skin prickled. This wasn't natural fog. It was heavy. Clinging.
"Getting spooky out there," my mom commented, adjusting the radio. Static hissed through the speakers, cutting through the pop song.
I stared out the window into the deep woods.
I saw a bird—a crow—perched on a mile marker. It watched the car pass with intelligent, black eyes.
My heart slammed against my ribs. Damon.
He was already here. Or his eyes were.
My dad slowed the car down as we approached the exit ramp. The headlights swept over a wooden sign, weathered and ominous in the twilight.
MYSTIC FALLS Welcome
The air in the car seemed to drop ten degrees.
I touched the pocket of my jacket, feeling the hard outline of the whittling knife I had kept on me.
"We're here," Dad said, sounding cheerful.
I looked at the town lights flickering in the distance, nestled in the valley like a trap waiting to be sprung.
"Yeah," I whispered, my eyes locking onto the shadows between the trees. "We're here."
Dear Diary, I thought, the words forming instinctively. I made it to the battlefield. Now the real game begins.