[Location: The Cross Residence – Kitchen] [Time: 6:00 AM – Two Days Later]
Routine is the only thing that keeps panic at bay.
I stood in the stark, fluorescent light of the kitchen, staring at the small plastic bottle on the counter. The liquid inside was a murky, brownish-green. My homemade vervain extract.
My hand didn't shake as I poured a capful into my orange juice. I watched the orange swirl with the green, turning a sickly color.
Drink it.
I downed the shot. The taste was immediate and revolting—like licking a rusty battery wrapped in bitter herbs. It burned the back of my throat, a chemical fire that made my eyes water.
"Gah," I rasped, gripping the counter.
My stomach churned. Vervain is toxic to vampires, but it's not exactly a health tonic for humans either. It causes mild fatigue, headaches, and in high doses, nausea. I was micro-dosing poison to build an immunity to mind control.
I chased it with black coffee.
"Morning, honey," my mom said, walking into the kitchen in her robe. She looked tired. Moving boxes was taking a toll. "You're up early again."
"Track season is coming up, Mom," I said, forcing a bright, energetic smile. "Gotta stay ahead of the competition."
"You're so dedicated," she said, pouring herself coffee. "Oh, by the way, Mrs. Lockwood—the Mayor's wife—stopped by yesterday while you were out. She invited us to the 'End of Summer' fundraiser at the Town Square today. It sounds like a big deal."
I froze mid-sip.
The Mayor's Fundraiser.
In the show, these parties were never just parties. They were hunting grounds. They were political battlefields where the Founding Families measured each other's influence.
"Sounds fun," I lied. "I'll go. It's a good chance to meet people before school starts."
"That's the spirit," Mom smiled.
I turned away to hide the calculation in my eyes. I wasn't going there to meet people. I was going there to locate the targets.
[Location: Mystic Falls Town Square] [Time: 2:30 PM]
The humidity had broken slightly, leaving the afternoon warm and golden. The Town Square was bustling.
White tents were set up on the grass. A band was playing a soft jazz cover of a pop song. The smell of barbecue and cotton candy hung in the air, masking the underlying scent of damp earth and old secrets.
I walked through the crowd, wearing a fitted polo and khakis—the uniform of the "good kid."
I scanned the faces.
I saw Sheriff Forbes (Liz) directing traffic near the gazebo. She looked stressed, her radio crackling. I saw Mayor Lockwood shaking hands, looking pompous and oblivious.
And then, I saw them.
Sitting at a picnic table near the fountain were two girls.
One had olive skin, deep brown eyes, and straight dark hair. She looked beautiful, but there was a heaviness to her shoulders, a shadow in her eyes that screamed 'grief.' Elena Gilbert.
Next to her was a girl with wild, curly hair and a vibrant, earthy energy. She was talking animatedly, using her hands.Bonnie Bennett.
My heart gave a traitorous thump. Seeing them on a screen was one thing. Seeing them in 3D, breathing and laughing, was another. They were just kids. Bonnie didn't know she could melt brains yet. Elena didn't know she was a doppleganger.
Target acquired.
I took a breath, adjusted my 'Golden Boy' mask, and walked over.
I didn't approach them directly—that's aggressive. I aimed for the trash can near their table to throw away my empty water bottle. I missed the throw on purpose, letting the bottle bounce off the rim and land near Elena's foot.
"Oh, wow," I laughed, stopping to pick it up. "I promise I'm actually an athlete. That was embarrassing."
Elena looked up. For a second, her guard was up—she was the girl whose parents just died; she was used to pity stares. But when she saw my smile—self-deprecating, open, harmless—her expression softened.
"Nice shot," she said, a small, sad smile touching her lips.
"I'm blaming the wind," I joked, standing up. I looked between them. "I don't think I've seen you guys around. I'm Adrian. I just moved into the Miller place."
"The haunted house on Maple?" Bonnie teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Is it haunted?" I widened my eyes. "Great. My dad left that part out of the brochure. I'm gonna have to buy some sage."
Bonnie laughed. It was a genuine sound. "I'm Bonnie. This is Elena."
"Nice to meet you both," I said. I looked at Elena. I needed to acknowledge the elephant in the room without being weird. In a small town, everyone knew who she was. If I pretended not to know, it would seem fake.
"Wait," I said, softening my voice. "Elena Gilbert? My dad mentioned your aunt... Jenna? He said he bumped into her at the registrar's office. I heard about your parents. I'm really sorry."
It was a calculated move. Acknowledging her tragedy head-on, but respectfully, usually disarmed people who were sick of tiptoeing around it.
Elena nodded, looking down at her hands. "Thank you. That's... nice of you to say."
"I won't linger," I said, sensing the energy shift. "But if you guys tell me where to get a decent coffee in this town, I'll be in your debt forever."
" The Grill," Bonnie and Elena said in unison, then smiled at each other.
"The Grill. Got it. See you around."
I walked away.
Step 1: Contact made. Assessment: Elena is fragile. Bonnie is protective.
I didn't look back. If I looked back, I looked interested. I needed to be the cool, detached new guy.
[Location: The Alley behind the Town Square] [Time: 3:15 PM]
I wasn't done. The girls were the social entry point, but they weren't the tactical objective.
I needed the Gilbert Watch.
The watch was a compass that pointed to vampires. Jeremy Gilbert usually had it, or it was in a box of Jonathan Gilbert's stuff.
I circled around the back of the square, away from the music and the families. I found what I was looking for near the loading dock of the Mystic Grill.
A lanky, dark-haired kid was sitting on a crate, scuffing his Vans against the pavement. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. He was smoking a cigarette, his hand shaking slightly.
Jeremy Gilbert.
This was a delicate operation. Jeremy in Season 1 was volatile. He was high, angry, and grieving. If I came at him like a prep school jock, he'd shut down.
I loosened my posture. I took the "Student Body President" shine off my face and replaced it with a look of boredom.
I leaned against the brick wall a few feet away.
"You know," I said, staring at the sky. "If Sheriff Forbes catches you back here, she gives you a lecture that lasts longer than the detention."
Jeremy flinched, hiding the cigarette behind his back. He glared at me. "Do I know you?"
"Nah. I'm new. Adrian." I looked at him, unbothered. "I don't care about the smoke, man. Actually..." I patted my pockets, looking disappointed. "I was hoping you had a light."
Jeremy hesitated. He studied me—checking if I was a narc or a jerk. He saw neither. He saw a guy who just wanted to escape the family party.
He reached into his pocket and tossed me a Bic lighter.
"Thanks." I pretended to light an imaginary cigarette, just flicking the flame on and staring at it. "My parents dragged me to this thing. I think if I have to shake one more hand, I'm gonna jump off Wickery Bridge."
Jeremy let out a sharp, cynical laugh. "Tell me about it. Everyone looks at you like you're a zoo animal."
"Small towns," I agreed, tossing the lighter back. "Everyone knows your business before you do."
"You have no idea," Jeremy muttered, taking a drag.
I moved closer, but kept my distance respectful. "I saw you sketching earlier. Over by the bandstand. You're good."
Jeremy looked surprised. "You saw that?"
"Hard to miss talent. Most people here just stare at their phones." I paused, then dropped the bait. "My dad's an engineer, but he's obsessed with local history. He's got all these old journals and blueprints. I grew up looking at old architectural sketches. Yours have that same... dark vibe."
Jeremy's interest piqued. "Yeah? I like the old stuff. It's... creepy. But cool."
"You should swing by my place sometime," I offered casually. "My dad brought this box of Civil War era junk he found in the attic. Might be some cool stuff to sketch. Bayonets, old canteens."
"Civil War junk?" Jeremy asked. "My ancestors were big in that war. The Gilberts."
"No way," I lied. "Well, if you ever want to dig through it, let me know. Better than listening to the jazz band."
"Yeah," Jeremy said. He stood up, stomping out his cigarette. "Maybe I will."
"I'm Adrian, by the way."
"Jeremy."
"Catch you later, Jeremy."
I walked back toward the square.
Step 2: The Hook set. I appealed to his isolation and his artistic side. I opened the door for a "history/artifact" exchange. Once I was in the Gilbert house, finding the watch would be a matter of time.
[Location: The Mystic Grill – Evening] [Time: 7:00 PM]
The sun had set. The town square was clearing out, and the crowd had migrated into the Grill.
I sat at a booth in the corner, nursing a burger. I was exhausted. Being "Adrian Cross" was a full-time performance.
I watched the door.
And then, the atmosphere shifted.
It wasn't something a normal human would notice. But I was hyper-aware. The air grew colder. The chatter in the bar seemed to dip in volume for a fraction of a second.
The door opened.
A man walked in. He wore a leather jacket, a dark t-shirt, and boots. He moved with a predatory grace, like a panther walking through a petting zoo. His eyes were icy blue, scanning the room with a mix of boredom and hunger.
Damon Salvatore.
He walked straight to the bar.
I stopped chewing. My heart hammered against my ribs, hard and fast.
Don't look at him, I told myself. If you stare, he'll notice.
I forced myself to look down at my fries. I picked one up. My hand was steady, but my insides were vibrating.
Damon sat down. "Bourbon. Neat."
His voice carried. It was the voice of a man who owned the room.
Then, the door opened again.
Stefan Salvatore walked in. He looked different—softer, burdened. His hair was perfectly coiffed, his brow furrowed in eternal worry.
He spotted Damon. He froze.
I was witnessing the first canon interaction. The "Hello, Brother" moment was coming.
I needed to leave. Being near them was dangerous. If they fought, glass would fly. If Damon got bored, he might grab a snack.
I signaled Matt for the check.
As I waited, I saw Bonnie and Elena sitting a few booths away. Bonnie was staring at a candle on the table.
I watched, out of the corner of my eye.
Bonnie was staring intensely at the flame. She looked confused, scared. The flame flared up. It grew two inches, then three.
Bonnie gasped and pulled back. The flame died down.
The magic is waking up, I thought.
Elena laughed, thinking it was a draft. "Bon, you okay?"
"I... yeah," Bonnie stammered. "Just... weird."
Matt dropped the check on my table.
"Thanks, Matt," I said, putting cash down.
I stood up to leave.
As I walked toward the exit, I had to pass the bar. I had to pass Damon.
I kept my eyes forward, my breath shallow.
Just a human. Just a boring, non-tasty human.
As I passed him, Damon turned on his stool. He looked right at me.
I felt it—the weight of a vampire's gaze. It was heavy, invasive. He was smelling my blood. He was listening to my heartbeat.
"Hey," Damon said.
I stopped. My blood turned to ice.
I turned slowly, looking confused. "Me?"
Damon smirked. It was the signature smirk—charming and terrifying. " distinctive cologne. Vervain?"
Panic.
He smelled it? No, he couldn't smell it in my blood yet. It was too diluted. He was fishing. Or maybe he smelled the residue on my hands from this morning?
"Vervain?" I asked, scrunching my forehead. "Is that a brand? It's... Old Spice, I think."
I looked at him like he was a weird drunk guy hitting on a high schooler.
Damon stared at me for a long second. His pupils didn't dilate (no compulsion yet). He was assessing.
Then, he laughed. A short, dismissive bark of a laugh.
"Old Spice," he mocked. "Classic. Run along, kid."
He turned back to his bourbon.
I didn't run. Running is what prey does.
I nodded awkwardly. "Right. Have a good one."
I walked out of the Grill. I walked down the street.
I turned the corner.
And then I leaned against the brick wall and exhaled, my legs turning to jelly.
He knew something. Or he was just toying with me. "Distinctive cologne." He smelled the plants on me.
I needed to shower. I needed to scrub my skin raw.
And I needed that watch.
If Damon was already this bold, people were going to start dying by the weekend.
I pushed off the wall and started walking home. The shadows stretched long and thin across the pavement, looking like grasping fingers.
Welcome to Mystic Falls, Adrian.