Damon Salvatore was sprawled across the couch, one arm flung over his eyes. He’d been lying there for nearly an hour, listening to Elena move around upstairs. The rhythmic, human sounds were a dull background hum to his thoughts.

The knock, when it came, was soft. Tentative. Two light taps on the front door’s wood.

Damon didn’t move for a fraction of a second. Then he was just… gone. A blur of black leather, and he was at the door, his hand on the knob.

The fading daylight framed the figure on the porch. A stranger, yet not entirely. There was a hint of the Gilbert bone structure, but the expression was different. Older. Calmer. A light breeze tugged at their coat.