Elena grips the crumpled paper with determination, her heart racing with the thrill of curiosity after Stefan vanishes down the hall.
The words resonate powerfully within her: *I saw what followed you. I can keep you safe. Meet me tonight.*
She contemplates discarding it or sharing it with Caroline or Tyler but realizes that ordinary girls don't typically receive mysterious notes from intriguing boys during lunch.
Elena embraces her uniqueness.
Throughout the day, her gaze drifts toward the hallways, searching for him—Stefan Salvatore—his dark hair slightly tousled, those intense green eyes reflecting an unfathomable depth. It feels as if no one else notices him... except her.
During Chemistry, where fate has united them, he appears beside her desk silently, wearing gloves despite the warmth, sleeves concealing secrets.
"You don't have to go," he whispers during cleanup, his voice steady and sincere. "You could stay inside tonight."
A thrilling shiver courses through her as she turns to him, noticing something exceptional:
His pupils, slightly elongated into vertical slits in the light, hint at mysteries waiting to be uncovered.
"What are you?" she breathes, sensing the weight of this pivotal moment.
Stefan's expression transforms—caught between sorrow and relief, as if her gaze has unlocked something crucial within him.
"I'm not your enemy," he asserts before turning away, leaving a beaker dripping water—a trail leading her toward newfound possibilities.
—
After school, Elena strolls home slowly, the golden light streaming through the trees filling her with warmth and hope.
Her house comes into view, a colonial-style two-story filled with memories of resilience taught by her parents. Sheriff Forbes checks on her, while others assume she thrives in independence, wearing her sadness gracefully—except for Bonnie, who sees her deeper struggles.
Inside, sunlight dances across the living room floor as Elena unfolds the note again, absorbing its powerful message:
*I saw what followed you.*
Not "something."
*You.*
He knows her—whatever shadows the forest conceals hold deeper truths beyond wild animals.
The doorbell rings.
A thrill surges through her as she answers, her heartbeat quickening with anticipation.
She opens the door to find no one there—only a small wooden box, expertly bound with twine and adorned with intricate carvings resembling a crescent moon.
Inside, a single message written in elegant cursive captures her attention:
*"They'll come for you under full moon because blood remembers—even if the mind refuses."*
The wind stirs fiercely around her, extinguishing the nearby lantern's flame without a touch.
Elena picks up the box, feeling warmth radiate from within, a blend of science and magic awaiting exploration.
Before closing the door, she glances at the tree line in her backyard, where a fleeting movement sparks her senses, hinting at an unseen presence.
---
**The Note in the Attic**
Elena's fingers trembled as she unfolded the brittle parchment, yellowed with age and tucked beneath a loose floorboard, a hidden treasure for those seeking the extraordinary. The ink had faded, but the words flowed through her like winter moonlight—inescapable.
***"My Elena,***
*If you are reading this, you have already felt it—the call in your blood that does not belong to this world alone. You will walk paths no one else can see, and they will tell you it is madness.*
*It is not.*
*We are Lunas: keepers of thresholds. Our lineage does not end with death; it lingers in whispers between trees and waits beneath stones that remember older names than men dare speak aloud.*
*Three things I leave for you:*
1️⃣ *A key buried where twilight lingers longest (it opens more than locks)*
2️⃣ *A truth: Hollowborn fear silver melted under waning moon (forge wisely)*
3️⃣ *A warning: DO NOT trust weeping women at crossroads—they are never what they seem*
*You were born for shadows,*
but remember—"
Ink splattered abruptly as if the quill had been jerked from the writer's hand mid-sentence… Below sprawled a single word added later in different handwriting (her grandmother's?):
**RUN.**
---
**The Note in the Attic (Continued)**
Elena traced the jagged edge of the parchment where it had been torn, her pulse pounding with exhilaration. The final word—***RUN***—was not written in ink, but something deeper. Something that flaked rust-red beneath her touch and smelled faintly of iron.
A floorboard creaked behind her. Not from the house settling.
From *movement*.
She spun around, parchment crumpling in her tight grip—
But nothing stood there except dust motes swirling in the lazy afternoon light filtering through the attic's lone window…
Yet the air thickened with warning like a storm about to break before clouds even gathered visibly overhead–
Then came a sound no living throat could reproduce: something between a child's sob and a fox's dying shriek vibrating through the rafters directly above the spot where she knelt, frozen mid-breath–
It wasn't alone up there anymore, either watching or waiting, perhaps both simultaneously while she held proof her mother had known all along.