[Location: The New House – 2104 Maple Street, Mystic Falls] [Time: 8:42 PM – Arrival Night]
The engine of our SUV ticked as it cooled in the driveway.
I stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the house that was supposed to be our new beginning. It was a classic colonial revival, painted a pale, peeling yellow with dark shutters. A wraparound porch hugged the front, and an ancient oak tree loomed in the front yard, its branches skeletal and reaching against the moonlight.
It was beautiful. It was historic.
It was a vampire buffet waiting to happen.
"It's charming, isn't it?" my mom, Sarah, said, stepping out of the car and stretching her back. "Look at that porch. I can already see myself drinking tea out there."
"It's great, Mom," I said, my voice flat.
I walked up the steps, the wood creaking under my sneakers. My eyes scanned the doorframe. The threshold.
In The Vampire Diaries lore, the threshold was the most powerful magical barrier a human possessed. A vampire could not enter a home unless invited by the owner. It was an absolute law of magic.
My dad unlocked the front door and pushed it open. "After you, Adrian."
I stepped inside. The air was stale, smelling of lemon polish and old dust. The hallway was long, leading into a spacious kitchen.
"Dad," I said, turning around immediately. I needed to establish ground rules tonight. "Mom."
They looked at me, boxes in their hands. "What is it, honey?"
"I know this sounds weird," I started, channeling my best 'anxious teenager' acting. "But this town... it feels old. Superstitious."
My dad chuckled. "That's the charm, son."
"I'm serious," I pressed, keeping my face deadpan. "I read online that there are a lot of... break-ins in the area. Drifters passing through on the interstate."
That wasn't entirely a lie. Damon Salvatore was technically a drifter who broke into houses.
"I want us to have a rule," I said firmly. "We don't invite anyone inside unless we know them. No door-to-door salesmen. No 'neighbors' popping by at night. If we don't know their name, they stay on the porch. Okay?"
My mom frowned, concerned by my intensity. "Adrian, you're scaring me. Is it that dangerous?"
"No," I lied smoothly. "I just want us to be safe. Please? Just humor me."
My dad sighed, patting my shoulder. "Okay, Safety Officer. No strangers in the house. We promise."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Step one complete. The barrier was up. Now, unless my parents were compelled—which was a huge possibility—we were safe inside these walls.
But I couldn't stay inside forever.
[Location: Mystic Grill – Town Square] [Time: 11:00 AM – The Next Morning]
Mystic Falls in the daylight was deceptively normal.
The heat was the first thing that hit me. Unlike Seattle's crisp air, Virginia's August air was heavy, wet, and suffocating. It stuck to your skin.
I walked toward the town square, taking mental notes of the geography. The Clock Tower stood tall in the center, looking exactly like it did on TV. I saw the Founder's Hall. I saw the law offices where I knew the Council held their secret meetings.
I adjusted my backpack. It contained my notebook, a bottle of water, and the whittling knife.
I pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the Mystic Grill.
The smell hit me instantly—bourbon, fryer grease, and old wood. It was dimly lit, even in the daytime, giving it a cozy, tavern-like vibe.
It was fairly empty. A few old men at the bar. A couple of tourists.
And behind the bar, wiping down the counter with a rag, was a blonde-haired kid with blue eyes and a tired expression.
Matt Donovan.
He looked young. He was young. In the show, Matt is the tragic punching bag. The human who survives solely because he is too stubborn to die. Right now, he was just a kid whose sister was a junkie and whose mom was a flake.
I walked up to the bar. This was my first social test.
"Hey," I said, leaning my elbows on the polished wood. "You serving food, or just looking busy?"
Matt looked up, startled. He sized me up—new face, decent clothes, confident posture. He cracked a small, polite smile. "Kitchen's open. What can I get you?"
"Burger. Fries. Coke," I said. I pulled a twenty-dollar bill from my pocket and slid it across the counter. "And some info."
Matt raised an eyebrow, taking the cash. "Info costs extra."
"I'm Adrian," I said, offering a hand. "Just moved into the old Miller place on Maple Street. I start at the high school in two weeks."
Matt shook my hand. His grip was firm. "Matt Donovan. You're a Junior?"
"Yeah. You?"
"Same." Matt punched the order into the register. "So, you moved here from where?"
"Seattle," I said. "My dad got a job renovating the old historical sites."
Matt scoffed. "Good luck with that. This town is obsessed with its history. The Council gets touchy if you try to change a doorknob on a building from 1860."
"The Council?" I asked innocently.
"Just the town elders. The Mayor, Mrs. Lockwood... they run everything."
I nodded, filing that away. Matt was already giving me the lay of the land.
"So, Matt," I lowered my voice slightly, leaning in. "Be real with me. I heard rumors before we moved."
Matt stiffened. "Rumors?"
"About the... wildlife," I said carefully. "Bears? Cougars? My mom is freaking out about 'animal attacks.'"
Matt's expression darkened. The polite customer-service mask slipped, revealing genuine exhaustion.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "We get animal attacks. Just... stay out of the woods at night. And don't go near the cemetery after dark. It's just safer that way."
"Noted," I said.
He brought me my Coke. I took a sip, watching him move to serve another customer.
Matt Donovan was the canary in the coal mine. If he was already tense, it meant the "animal attacks" (Damon feeding on locals) had already started. The timeline was advancing.
I ate my burger quickly. I had energy to burn.
[Location: The Woods – Near the Old Fell's Church Ruins] [Time: 1:30 PM]
The map on my phone was useless here. The GPS signal had died twenty minutes ago.
I was deep in the woods, far past the manicured trails of the town square. The trees here were ancient, their roots twisting out of the ground like arthritic fingers. The canopy was so thick that the afternoon sun barely touched the forest floor, leaving everything in a perpetual, green-tinted twilight.
I wasn't hiking for exercise. I was hunting.
Vervain.
In 1864, the vampires were burned in Fell's Church. The Founders Council then burned all the vervain in town to ensure the vampires (if any survived) couldn't protect themselves, and to control the supply.
But nature finds a way.
I knew from the lore that vervain still grew wild near the ruins of the old church. It was the only place in town where the soil still held the memory of the massacre.
I wiped sweat from my forehead. The humidity was brutal. My shirt was sticking to my back.
"Come on," I muttered, scanning the undergrowth. "Purple flowers. Serrated leaves."
I pushed through a thicket of thorns that tore at my jeans. I crested a small ridge and looked down into a clearing.
There, crumbling and overtaken by ivy, were the stone foundations of Fell's Church. It looked like a scar on the earth.
And there, growing in small, stubborn patches around the blackened stones, were the purple flowers.
Jackpot.
My heart hammered against my ribs. This was it. My armor.
I slid down the ridge, my sneakers skidding on the loose dirt. I dropped to my knees in front of the patch. It wasn't much—maybe three or four plants. But it was enough to start a garden. Enough to make an extract.
I pulled a plastic bag from my pocket.
Caw.
The sound was sharp and sudden.
I froze. My hand hovered over the purple flower.
Slowly, very slowly, I looked up.
Perched on the remaining stone arch of the church ruins, about twenty feet above me, was a crow.
It wasn't a normal crow. It was huge, its feathers sleek and oily. It stared at me with an intelligence that no bird should have. It didn't twitch. It didn't look for food. It just watched.
Damon.
Or at least, Damon's eyes. In the early episodes (and the books), Damon could control crows and fog. It was a power the writers dropped later, but right now, "weeks before the pilot," he was definitely using it.
I felt a cold drop of sweat slide down my spine.
If I acted suspicious—if I looked like I knew what the vervain was—he might come down here. And if Damon came down here, I was dead. He would kill me just for being in his secret spot.
I had to play the role. The ignorant human.
I forced myself to relax my shoulders. I reached out and grabbed... a dandelion growing next to the vervain.
"Ugh, weeds," I said aloud, my voice sounding thin in the quiet woods.
I tossed the dandelion aside. Then, looking bored, I grabbed a handful of dirt—including the vervain plant by the roots—and shoved it into my bag, as if I were just collecting soil samples.
"Mom and her stupid garden soil," I grumbled for the benefit of the bird. "If this pH balance isn't right, I'm quitting."
I stood up, dusting off my knees. I didn't look at the crow. I looked at my phone, holding it up like I was searching for a signal.
"Zero bars. Awesome. I hate this town."
I turned around and walked away. I forced myself to walk at a normal, annoyed pace. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to run, but running triggers a predator's chase instinct.
I walked until I was over the ridge.
I walked until the ruins were out of sight.
Then, I ran.
[Location: The Cross Residence – Bathroom] [Time: 11:45 PM]
The house was silent. My parents were asleep.
I had locked the bathroom door and stuffed a towel under the crack so the light wouldn't show.
On the marble countertop sat my prize: three vervain plants, roots and all.
I had washed them in the sink, careful not to lose a single leaf. Now came the processing.
I didn't have a lab. I didn't have fancy equipment. I had a kettle and a mortar and pestle I found in the kitchen.
I boiled water. I tore the leaves and stems, crushing them into a green paste. The smell was acrid, sharp and earthy.
I poured the boiling water over the paste in a mug, letting it steep.
This was liquid gold. If the Council knew I had this, they'd interrogate me. If Damon knew I had this, he'd kill me.
I watched the liquid turn a murky green-brown.
I let it cool. Then, I strained it into a small plastic water bottle.
I held it up to the light. It looked like swamp water.
To the future, I thought grimly.
I took a sip.
It was vile. Bitter, metallic, and burning. It tasted like poison. I gagged, clapping a hand over my mouth to keep from coughing loud enough to wake my parents.
My eyes watered. "Disgusting."
I forced myself to swallow another sip. Then another.
I needed to build a tolerance. I needed it in my bloodstream constantly. If a vampire tried to compel me, this bitter taste would be the only thing keeping my mind my own. If they bit me, I wanted to burn their mouth.
I capped the bottle and hid it in the back of the medicine cabinet, inside an old bottle of cough syrup.
I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was pale, my eyes wide.
I had survived Day One. I had the weapon.
But as I turned off the light, I couldn't shake the image of that crow staring at me. It knew I was there.
The game had started, and I had just made my first move on the board.