### Chapter 4: Paper Trails and Puppy Eyes
The morning sun filtered through the stained-glass windows of the Salvatore School's library, casting long, colored shadows across the polished wood floors. It was quiet—the calm before the storm of teenage supernatural chaos descended for breakfast.
Hope Mikaelson sat at a secluded corner table, surrounded by a mountain of old, leather-bound ledgers and dusty supernatural files. She hadn't slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the glowing, semi-translucent boy with the sarcastic smirk and the ancient, heavy eyes.
She had searched the school's digital database first, but found nothing. So, she resorted to the old-fashioned way: Alaric's private archives, specifically the records of strange supernatural phenomena from the early 2010s.
"You know, staring at old paper doesn't do great things for your complexion," a familiar voice chimed.
Hope didn't flinch. She slowly looked up.
Stiles was draped horizontally across the top of her bookshelf, defying gravity as he propped his head up with one hand, kicking his legs lazily in the air. He was wearing the same faded plaid shirt and hoodie he'd had on yesterday.
"How did you get up there?" Hope asked quietly, keeping her voice low.
"I'm a ghost, remember? Gravity is more of a suggestion at this point," he said, sliding off the bookshelf and drifting downward until his feet hovered an inch above the floor. He leaned over her shoulder, squinting at the page she was reading. "Oof. *A Comprehensive History of the Gemini Coven*. Boring. Spells, drama, more spells. If you wanted a bedtime story, you could have just asked me. I know a great one about a man who spun straw into gold."
Hope closed the ledger with a sharp *thud*. "I'm not looking for bedtime stories. I'm looking for you."
Stiles' smirk wavered for a fraction of a second, his amber eyes flicking to the closed book. "I'm right here. No search party required."
"Who is Mieczyslaw Stilinski?" Hope asked flatly.
The silence that followed was heavy. The playful, chaotic energy that constantly buzzed around Stiles seemed to freeze. For a moment, the temperature in the room plummeted. The faint, metallic scent of dark magic filled the air.
"Where did you find that name?" Stiles asked, his voice dropping its light, teasing tone, replaced by something quiet and incredibly sharp.
Hope reached under the heavy ledger and pulled out a thin, yellowed folder. It was a printout of an old police report and a collection of supernatural logs from a town in California.
"My dad had archives on powerful supernatural hotspots," Hope explained, her voice softening. "Beacon Hills was on the list. In 2013, there was a massive surge of dark magic. A dark ritual—a surrogate sacrifice. Three teenagers died and came back. One of them was named Mieczyslaw 'Stiles' Stilinski. A human. A few months later, the records say he vanished. Presumed dead. His pack mourned him."
She looked up at him, her blue eyes searching his spectral face. "But he didn't die, did he? What happened to you, Stiles?"
Stiles stared at the file. A shadow crossed his face, and for a fleeting second, Hope saw a ripple of shimmering, gold-and-green scales pass over his cheekbones. The phantom image of a dagger, dark and ornate, flickered in his hand before vanishing.
He let out a long, slow breath. The coldness in the room retreated.
"Stiles," he said softly, a sad, self-deprecating smile touching his lips. "Just Stiles. No one called me Mieczyslaw except my mother, and half the time, she was too sick to remember it. And as for what happened... let's just say a human body isn't built to hold a thousand years of dark magic. I became something else, Hope. Something greedy. Something that would have destroyed my friends if I stayed."
"The Dark One," Hope murmured, referencing a myth she had briefly seen in the oldest books. "An ancient curse. A parasite of pure darkness."
"A very loud, very annoying parasite," Stiles corrected, trying to bring back his usual smirk, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "With a terrible sense of fashion and a habit of making deals that always, *always* end in tears. So, I ran. I put myself to sleep under this very school so I wouldn't hurt anyone. It was a foolproof plan, until a certain pretty tribrid woke me up by just... existing."
Hope felt her cheeks warm slightly at his words. "I didn't wake you up. Your body is still asleep. I can feel the magic keeping you under."
"Yeah, well, my soul has always been a little restless," Stiles said, hovering closer to her. "But enough about my tragic backstory. Don't we have a brainwashing to attend to? I believe your little human puppy-dog is about to get his memory wiped."
Hope glanced at the clock on the library wall. "Landon." She stood up, packing away the files. "We have to go to Alaric's office. MG is going to compel him."
"Ah, Milton," Stiles joked, floating alongside her as she walked out of the library. "The vampire who is literally too nice to be a vampire. This should be highly entertaining."
***
Inside Alaric's office, Landon Kirby sat nervously in a chair, his hands gripping the armrests. Alaric stood nearby, looking stern, while MG stood in front of Landon, adjusting his glasses and trying to look imposing.
Hope walked in, slipping quietly into the back of the room.
Nobody noticed Stiles, who immediately floated up to Alaric's desk, sitting cross-legged on top of a stack of files, completely invading the headmaster's personal space.
"Honestly, Alaric's hairline is holding on for dear life," Stiles remarked, leaning over to inspect Alaric's forehead. "The stress of running a school for teenage monsters must be doing a number on him."
Hope bit her inner cheek to keep from laughing, focusing her gaze on Landon.
"Alright, MG," Alaric said, nodding. "Keep it simple. Just tell him he had a nice visit, he fell asleep on the bus, and he doesn't remember anything about the school or the people in it."
"You got it, Dr. S," MG said, taking a deep breath. He stepped closer to Landon, his eyes flashing a brief, predatory red as the veins under his eyes darkend. "Landon. Look into my eyes."
Landon, looking terrified, looked up.
"You had a great time visiting your friend Rafael," MG said, his voice dropping into a smooth, hypnotic cadence. "You fell asleep on the bus ride here. You don't remember anything about this school, or the things you saw. You're going to go home, and you're going to live a normal, happy life."
Landon's eyes went slightly vacant, his head nodding slowly. "I had a great time... I fell asleep on the bus... I don't remember."
"Beautiful execution," Stiles cheered, clapping his hands together, though they made no sound. "Ten out of ten for the vampire sparkle. Though, honestly, back in my day, vampires were a lot more... bitey. Damon Salvatore would have probably just threatened to eat him. I like this kinder, gentler version. It's very Disney."
Hope watched Landon closely. She felt a strange pang of guilt. Landon was a link to her past, a boy who had seen her when she was just a lonely girl in Mystic Falls. And now, she was erasing herself from his mind.
"He's cooked," MG said, turning to Alaric with a proud smile. "He's good to go."
"Thank you, MG," Alaric said, patting him on the shoulder. "Hope, can you escort him to the bus station?"
"Yeah," Hope said quietly.
As they walked out of the office, Landon followed her like a dazed zombie. Stiles floated backward in front of them, staring intently into Landon's face.
"Hold on a second," Stiles said, his playful tone suddenly vanishing. He stopped floating and stood solid on the floor, letting Landon walk right through him.
Stiles shivered, a dark, golden spark flying from his spectral fingers.
"What is it?" Hope whispered, lagging slightly behind Landon so she could speak to him.
"His mind," Stiles said, his brow furrowed as he stared at the back of Landon's head. "When MG compelled him... the magic didn't stick. I mean, it looked like it did, but the compulsion... it just slid right off him. Like water off a duck's back."
Hope's eyes widened. "What? Are you sure?"
"Hope, I have a thousand years of dark, manipulative magic sitting in my soul," Stiles said, his expression completely serious. "I know what a mind looks like when it's being bent. Landon's mind didn't bend. He's faking it."
Hope felt a cold dread pool in her stomach. If Landon wasn't compelled, that meant he knew everything. He was a human who knew the secrets of the supernatural world, and he was leaving.
But before she could act on Stiles' warning, they reached the front gates of the school. The bus was waiting.
Landon turned to Hope, his eyes clear and full of a quiet, sad longing. "Thank you, Hope. For... everything."
Hope stared at him, torn. She wanted to believe Stiles, but she also wanted Landon to be safe. To be normal.
"Goodbye, Landon," she said softly.
Landon climbed onto the bus. The doors hissed shut, and the vehicle rumbled down the driveway, disappearing past the iron gates.
Stiles stood beside Hope, hands in his pockets, watching the dust settle on the road. "You should have stopped him."
"If I stopped him, Alaric would have locked him in a cell," Hope said, her voice tight. "He deserves a normal life, Stiles. If he's faking it... maybe he just wanted to leave."
"Normal lives are highly overrated," Stiles muttered, though there was a hint of sympathy in his voice. "But hey, what do I know? I'm just a dead kid in a basement."
***
An hour later, the peace of the Salvatore School was shattered.
Hope was in the main hall when Alaric came rushing down the stairs, his face pale and his eyes wide with panic.
"Hope!" Alaric called out. "Where is the knife?"
Hope frowned. "What knife? The one from the artifact room?"
"The French knife. The one we brought back from the church," Alaric said, his hands shaking slightly. "It's gone. And so is Landon."
Hope's heart stopped. She slowly turned her head to look at Stiles, who was leaning against a nearby pillar.
Stiles didn't look smug. He looked deeply concerned.
"The knife," Stiles whispered, his spectral eyes widening as a sudden rush of ancient memories flooded his mind. "Hope... that knife isn't just an artifact. It's a key. And Landon... he didn't just fake the compulsion. He stole it."
"We have to find him," Hope said, her voice dropping into a deadly, determined register.
"Oh, we're definitely finding him," Stiles said, a dangerous, familiar spark of dark magic flashing in his amber eyes. "No one steals a magical knife on my watch. Especially not a guy with a terrible haircut."