Klaus Mikaelson

Which, honestly, was never a good sign when it came to Klaus Mikaelson—because it usually meant he’d decided the world needed to be aesthetically reorganized at the expense of everyone else’s peace.

She stepped through the doorway like she belonged there, because in practice she did, even if she didn’t always feel like it. The brush of classical notes spilled over her as she paused just inside, taking in the setup: canvases, oils, the controlled chaos of someone trying very hard not to be bored and calling it “art.”

“Hopeless endeavor?” Hayley echoed, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe as her eyes flicked over his work-in-progress. “Wow. And here I thought you were having a relaxing afternoon. Didn’t realize we were spiraling already.”

She pushed off the frame and crossed the room at an easy pace, not bothering to be quiet about it. Klaus would’ve known she was there anyway.

The balcony doors were open to the city below, music drifting out like the compound had developed opinions about ambiance.

Hayley stepped up beside him at the railing, glancing down at the people in the street before looking back at him.

“You’re overthinking it,” she said simply.

A beat.

Then, dry:

“Which, I know, groundbreaking observation. I should write it down.”

"I am not spiraling." He growled lowly and rolled his eyes. "The Courts of Valaria are possessed of an almost ethereal beauty, Hayley. Trying to capture them with even the considerable senses of a hybrid has proven... difficult." He sighed with frustration. He watched the street below them a moment longer before looking in her direction. "What brings you by?"

“I’ll have you know,” he replied dryly, “that any incidents involving unsanctioned scraps or excessive celebrations were entirely circumstantial.” A beat. “And the matter of broken hearts…” his brow lifted faintly, “was, more often than not, a failure of expectations rather than intent.”

The corner of his mouth betrayed him, though—just enough warmth to suggest Klaus wasn’t wrong.

At the mention of Elijah, George’s gaze softened, something steadier threading through the humor.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “That sounds like him. Influence without imposition. It has a way of… lingering.” A small pause. “If you’ve inherited even a fraction of his restraint, the Courts would be wise to pay attention.”

He shifted his weight slightly, posture easing into something less formal—less prince, more man who had chosen to remain standing in a room that no longer required ceremony.

“Curiosity and calculation,” George repeated thoughtfully. “A prudent combination. It suggests they haven’t yet decided whether we are a complication… or an opportunity.”

His gaze drifted toward the doorway again, listening to the distant rhythm of reconstruction—the scrape of tools, the murmur of voices building something new from the bones of what remained.

“The eldest remembering what we have forgotten,” he continued, voice quieter now. “That places us at a disadvantage. History, when held by only one side, tends to become… interpretation rather than fact.”

A faint, wry breath.

“I’ve spent a lifetime trying to keep records from being rewritten by those with the loudest voice. I suspect the Courts have done the same—just… with a longer memory and better tools.”

He looked back to Klaus, something sharper returning beneath the composure.

“If they are cautious, it is not merely because we are unknown,” George said. “It is because they remember what we were capable of when our worlds last intersected.” A pause. “And they are waiting to see whether we have changed—or simply adapted.”

His tone softened again, less strategic, more familiar.

“For what it’s worth, Niklaus… you navigating both diplomacy and defiance may be the most reassuring signal we can offer them. It suggests we’re no longer governed solely by instinct.”

A faint, knowing glance.

“Though I imagine you’ll still allow them just enough uncertainty to remain… respectful.”

The familiarity in George's remark earned a small, brief smile of recognition. "Come now, Duke Edmund, I've always been more than just a creature of instinct. Are you sure you're not confusing me with my younger brother?" Klaus questioned, jokingly. Another sigh huffed free from the hybrid's chest and the man rose to his feet. "This paperwork is all starting to bleed together. I do believe it's time to set it aside."

Not out of hesitation — just taking a second to let his words settle, the way she always did when something mattered more than it was being said out loud.

Then she pushed off the windowsill and fell into step beside him, quiet, unhurried.

“Adjusting is… a generous word for it,” Elli said lightly, though her tone carried more thought than humor. “I think I’m still figuring out what version of everything I’m standing in.”

At the mention of her father, her expression softened in a way she didn’t quite mask. Not fragile — just real.

“It’s strange,” she admitted. “Knowing him the way I do… and then meeting him here, where he’s still becoming that person.” A small breath. “I keep catching myself expecting things he hasn’t lived through yet. Reactions, choices… the way he carries certain losses.”

She glanced ahead down the hallway, then back at Klaus.

“But he’s still him,” Elli added quietly. “That part doesn’t change. The steadiness. The way he listens before he speaks. It’s just… lighter. Less worn.”

A faint, thoughtful smile touched her mouth.

“I don’t know if I’m adjusting to him,” she said. “I think I’m adjusting to the idea that time doesn’t move the way I thought it did. That people can exist before and after becoming who you know them as.”

She tucked her hands into her coat pockets, shoulders easing slightly as they walked.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Elli added. “Just… disorienting.”

A beat passed before she glanced sideways at him, that familiar wry edge returning just enough.

“And for the record,” she said, “if this version of him starts taking notes from you, I reserve the right to intervene.”

"I can relate, though on a not so similar level, of course. You see, I look upon Elijah and see the last moments of the man that stood by my side as we became ashes upon the breeze. Yet, I cannot help but also see the visage of the man I had thirty years getting to know upon our resurrection - yet another of my siblings that embraced mortal existence to pursue a family of their own." Klaus explained.

He allowed a small laughter to roll free from his chest as she joked about intervening in her father's 'tutelage' should the need arise. "Believe me, I have spent a thousand years trying to get your father to take notes from his favorite younger brother and he has resisted me thus far. I believe your concerns are unwarranted." He laughed once more.

“That’s fair,” she said, tone easy. “I’ll keep the explosions… theoretical.”

She shifted her weight, glancing back toward the window where the scaffolding cast long shadows across the courtyard.

“And for the record,” Kennedy added, “if something does go wrong, it won’t be because the idea failed. It’ll be because the environment pushed back. This city doesn’t like being… bypassed.”

A beat. Then, quieter:

“Which is exactly why it’s worth trying.”

Her gaze returned to him, steady, the spark still there but tempered now with something more grounded.

“Triad losing their grip?” she went on. “That’s not just comforting. That’s an opportunity. They built their power on control — information, access, surveillance. If we can rebuild even a fraction of that infrastructure on our terms…” She tipped her head slightly. “Then we stop reacting to this place and start shaping it.”

A faint smirk returned.

“And no,” Kennedy added, “I have no intention of blowing up the compound. That would be inefficient.”

She pushed off the desk fully now, more animated than when she’d walked in — not restless, but engaged.

“I’ll start small,” she said. “Localized relay. Test signal strength against Veil interference. If it holds, I scale.”

A pause.

“But I’ll need access to the ward network,” she added, practical again. “And probably Freya’s cooperation if I’m going to thread magic into something that doesn’t normally behave like it should.”

Her expression softened just slightly at that.

“I’m not trying to break the system,” Kennedy said. “I’m trying to make it… reachable.”

Then, dry again:

“Which, historically, is where things get interesting.”

There was a small pause in his speech. "Although, I can be persuaded to be lenient about the latter - I have rather enjoyed being in a timeline where I wasn't chasing whispers of a lost daughter and unable to be with my family." He remarked.

"I wouldn't fret, though, love. Your mother would undoubtedly do everything in her power to help you in just about anything you set your heart's desire upon. Your father and that brother of yours too, no doubt." The hybrid smiled once more.

“Spring,” he echoed. “That’s a choice.”

Not judgment. Just acknowledgment.

“Day makes sense,” Kolton went on. “Open curiosity. Lower stakes. You get to see how they operate without stepping on anything sharp by accident.”

His attention flicked back to the map, then to Klaus.

“Spring feels… different,” he added. “Not closed like Autumn. Not structured like Night. More…” he searched for it, then gave a faint, crooked half-smile, “…temperamental. Which usually means you don’t realize you’ve crossed a line until you’re already on the wrong side of it.”

A beat.

“But if you’re going in measured,” Kolton said, “I trust your read. You’ve survived worse introductions.”

He straightened slightly, resting both hands against the edge of the desk now, grounding himself in the physical.

“Restraint suits you,” he added lightly. “It’s unsettling. I might have to reevaluate a few long-held assumptions.”

The smirk softened, just a fraction.

“Letting the Courts handle their own internal fractures is smart,” Kolton said. “Less attention on us. More time to understand the terrain before we become part of it.”

His gaze held Klaus’s for a second — steady, thoughtful.

“If you do go to Spring,” he added, “I’d be interested in what you don’t say when you come back. That usually tells me more than what you do.”

A pause, then a faint tilt of his head.

“And if Kaidan pulls you into something first,” Kolton finished, “I assume that falls under ‘not an optional invitation.’”

He took a few more lingering looks upon the map sprawled before them before setting his glass aside with a small sighing. "Enough about the Courts. Tell me, what have the youth of our family been busying themselves with these days?"

“I figured that part wasn’t going anywhere,” she said lightly. “And it shouldn’t. People don’t trust places that pretend they don’t belong to anyone.”

She shifted her weight, considering his question instead of the boundary.

“The presence doesn’t have to be powerful,” Billie said after a second. “Actually, it’s probably better if they’re not.”

Her gaze drifted briefly toward the door, like she could already see the space in motion.

“It should be someone who knows how to listen without making it feel like an interview,” she continued. “Someone steady. Familiar enough that people start recognizing them, but not intimidating enough that they stop approaching.”

A small pause.

“Someone who understands both sides,” Billie added. “Supernatural and human. Or at least respects the difference.”

Her thumb rolled once over her bracelet before she looked back at him.

“It can’t be someone who’s there to enforce anything,” she said. “If people think they’re being watched or judged, they won’t come. It has to feel like a place you can sit down and not owe anything just for being there.”

A faint, almost self-aware smile touched her mouth.

“Honestly, it’s less about who they are and more about how they make the space feel,” Billie said. “Calm. Predictable. Safe enough to try.”

Then, softer—

“If you get that part right, the rest of it will follow.”

"Normally, I would be quick to put forth the likes of Vincent Griffith. As much as he is hesitant to work with any Mikaelson that is not his children or my sister, he is has been a glue for the factions for years." Klaus explained.

"In his absence, however, I find myself at a loss for whom would best serve a role such as you describe, love." The hybrid sighed. A few moments of silent thought passed and he looked over at the woman. "What about yourself?"

She nodded, the plans making perfect sense to her if they were going to keep the compound in proper shape going forward. "If you'd like, maybe have them make some space on one of the walls and I could paint a mural? Family portrait, maybe?" His laugh was such a good sound, especially the genuine one that not many people were lucky enough to hear.

"You know, it's funny, that's not the way Mom tells that story," Hope winked. "Or Jackson, actually. I should ask Freya at some point." She'd been too young to remember any of it, of course, but the idea that she'd come out and stopped the fight with her presence made her smile. "Look at me - Hope Mikaelson, peacemaker."

"That sounds like a perfect idea, Hope. I will have them square away only the best space for your exquisite talents." He added and rose to his feet. Soft laughter found him once more as they joked about that night. "Your mother likes to exaggerate." Klaus stated simply, but with no venom in his words.

she came to a stop opposite the mahogany desk, folding her arms—not defensively, but expectantly. “tell me, brother,” rebekah continued, voice honeyed and deceptively calm, “at what point during this grand undertaking did it occur to you that perhaps the sister who has redecorated half of europe, survived a thousand years of aesthetic disasters, and actually possesses taste might enjoy being in charge?” a faint smile tugged at her lips, though her gaze was sharp.

“you’re restless. fine. renovate. rebuild. summon half the courts if it makes you feel industrious.” she tilted her head slightly. “but you truly believed i would be content to simply watch you choose drapery and stonework without supervision?”

she moved around the desk then, slow and deliberate, picking up one of the folders to glance at the sketches inside. “if we are to make this one of the finer establishments in the broken city, as you so confidently predict,” rebekah added smoothly, “it will require someone with vision. refinement. restraint.” her eyes flicked back to him, teasing but pointed. “all qualities you possess in… selective bursts.” she set the folder down, leaning her hands against the desk. “so no, niklaus. i haven’t come to nag. i’ve come to understand why i was not consulted. and whether you intend to correct that oversight.”

Gentle laughter slipped from him, however, at his sister's severity and expectant expression. "Very well. I would welcome your input on the finer details, Rebekah. There is a fair amount of clean up required before any tapestries and finery can be argued upon, however." He expressed.

His expression softened just a hair as he rose from his seat and circled his desk to stand before the woman. "Forgive me for that oversight." His tone was both teasing and sincere at the same time.

When he finished, she shifted slightly, leaning back against the desk instead of standing rigidly beside it.

“Malivore erased memory,” she said evenly. “But he didn’t erase physics. Or signal.”

Her brown eyes lifted to his, steady.

“If the world outside this city still exists — and I’m operating under the assumption that it does — then it’s still generating data. Radio waves. Satellite drift. Atmospheric noise. The question isn’t whether there’s something to hear. It’s whether we can cut through the interference.”

She stepped away from the desk, pacing once toward the window, watching the scaffolding creak under careful labor.

“The witches’ message spell?” Kennedy continued. “That’s point-to-point transmission. Powerful, yes. But it’s localized. It requires intent and a known recipient.”

She turned back to him.

“I’m talking about infrastructure.”

A faint spark lit behind her eyes — not reckless ambition. Focus.

“Hybridized systems,” she said. “Spell-assisted amplification layered over mechanical relays. If I can stabilize a ward grid against Veil fluctuation, I can attempt to build a low-frequency broadcast system that piggybacks on the city’s ambient magical field.”

A beat.

“It wouldn’t be perfect,” she admitted. “It might not even be reciprocal at first. But even sending a signal — a pulse — beyond this barrier would tell us something.”

She tipped her head slightly.

“And if we can send,” she added quietly, “we can eventually receive.”

Her expression softened, just a fraction.

“You’re right,” Kennedy said. “You don’t need to know how signal relays work. You just need to decide if you’re willing to let me try.”

A small, familiar smirk returned.

“And if it explodes, we’ll blame the fae architects.”

A curl of amusement found his lips. "I must admit, the thought of Triad's external operations panicking at the loss of their headquarters is a rather comforting thought to entertain." He mused. "Though, may we refrain from unwanted explosions within the vicinity of the compound, at the least?" He added teasingly.

He came to stand beside Klaus rather than across from him. Not adversarial. Not subordinate. Just… aligned.

“Valaria,” he murmured, eyes scanning the parchment. “That’s either the most beautiful invitation we’ve ever received or the most elegant warning.”

His fingers hovered just above the map — not touching, not yet — tracing the implied borders without crossing them.

“Autumn being reserved makes sense,” Kolton said thoughtfully. “They’re not wrong to be wary. We tend to arrive with history attached.”

A faint smirk tugged at his mouth.

“And if Night’s High Lord has taken a liking to you,” he added lightly, “that probably buys us proximity. It doesn’t buy us immunity.”

He shifted his weight slightly, gaze narrowing as he studied the map.

“Kaidan monitoring his territory precisely doesn’t bother me,” Kolton went on. “Precision I respect. It’s the Courts that feel loose around the edges I’d worry about.”

His eyes flicked toward the area Klaus had indicated for Day.

“Peaceful,” he echoed. “Curious. That’s a better starting point.”

A pause.

“If I were going to step into one deliberately,” Kolton said, voice even, “I’d start with Day. Not to test anything. Just to observe. See how they structure themselves. How they treat outsiders when they’re not posturing.”

He glanced sideways at Klaus, expression sharp but calm.

“I’m not looking to prove anything,” he added. “I just don’t like being surprised by systems I didn’t bother to study.”

A beat. Then the faintest grin.

“And if Autumn is tense about our name,” Kolton finished, “that’s all the more reason for me to tread carefully. I’d prefer not to confirm anyone’s worst expectations about Mikaelsons.”

He rested his hand lightly on the edge of the desk now.

“You planning to make any… very pointed entrances soon?” he asked mildly. “Or is this a season of restraint?”

"I was considering my next foray to be into Spring. That is, of course, should Kaidan not have need of me elsewhere before then." The hybrid stated. Shifting his stance, Klaus turned his gaze upon his nephew. "I am exercising caution and restraint, as surprising as it may be to hear." He smirked lightly. "No need to cause undue panic and strike where the Courts are more than capable of doing so among each other just fine." He explained.

“To rebuilding without apology,” he said evenly. “And to sending messages that are heard clearly… without inviting unnecessary reply.”

He took a measured sip, far less dramatic than Klaus’s, though the liquor burned all the same. He set the glass down with careful precision, fingers resting briefly against the crystal before withdrawing.

At the question, a faint curve touched his mouth.

“I make it a point not to get lost in places where I don’t yet understand the rules,” George replied lightly. “The Courts are… impressive. But I have learned that one does not wander into ancient ecosystems without first observing how the predators breathe.”

He folded his hands loosely behind his back, posture returning to that effortless, princely composure.

“As for what brings me here—your initiative, in part. When a family like yours begins reconstruction, the city takes notice. I prefer to be present when narratives begin forming.” A pause, honest but not intrusive. “And I have always believed that strong foundations are better built with counsel than in isolation.”

His gaze drifted briefly toward the open doorway, toward the sounds of workers and shifting stone somewhere deeper in the compound.

“Truthfully,” he added, tone quieter, “I find myself drawn to places where history is actively being rewritten. It reassures me that we are not merely relics of what was.”

A small, wry glance toward Klaus.

“And I trust you not to mistake that for meddling.”

He lifted one brow slightly.

“You, however, seem remarkably at ease balancing diplomacy with defiance. Tell me—are the Courts watching with curiosity… or calculation?”

"Well, as someone who is indeed as much a relic of what once was as well as an architect of the passage of time, I admit the ease you claim I possess is a recent acquisition. Elijah was always the mediator of the family, but I suppose it was only natural that eventually some of his ability would rub off on the rest of us." Klaus chuckled softly.

"Honestly, the Courts probably watch us with both curiosity and calculation, cautious in both. We are as foreign to most of their own as they are to us. The eldest among them have the luxury of remembering a history between our peoples that we have unfortunately reduced to myth and legend."

At the mention of the courtyard, her eyes flicked toward the window instinctively, as if she could see it from here.

“The courtyard could work,” she said slowly. “It’s central. It already feels… visible.”

She stepped a little further into the room now, not hesitant anymore.

“But if it’s going to be neutral ground,” Billie added carefully, “it has to feel neutral. Not like someone’s being invited into the living room of a dynasty and asked to behave.”

Her tone stayed gentle, not challenging — just precise.

“The fountain’s good,” she continued. “Water makes people breathe slower. It gives them something to look at when they don’t want to look at each other.”

A small, thoughtful pause.

“Clear sightlines,” she said. “No hidden corners. A table big enough for strangers to sit without feeling trapped. And maybe something simple at the entrance — a sign that says what the space is for. Not who owns it.”

Her thumb brushed absently against her bracelet.

“And someone consistent there,” Billie went on. “Not a rotating guard. Not someone who looks like they’re evaluating threats. Just… a presence. A person people can talk to without worrying it’ll turn into a negotiation.”

She met his gaze again, steady.

“If the heart of your home becomes a place where people can ask for help without feeling small, that says more about survival than marble floors ever could.”

"I believe all else can be adjusted to accommodate, however. The calming fountain waters; a centralized seating arrangement. Although, I am not certain whom best would serve as this consistent presence you suggest." He admitted.

She watched him cross the room — watched the way he carried the weight of the compound like it was both a crown and a burden. When he admitted distraction, something in her expression softened, not with pity, but with understanding.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “That sounds like you.”

There was no edge to it. Just truth.

When he suggested leaving the sleeping quarters untouched, she considered it carefully instead of responding on instinct. Her fingers traced the edge of the windowsill as she thought.

“I don’t need it preserved like a relic,” Elli said after a moment. “I don’t want it frozen in the moment before everything shifted.” She glanced up at him. “But I like the idea of there being spaces that aren’t curated. Rooms that don’t have to impress anyone.”

She stepped away from the window and closer to him, not shrinking, not challenging — just meeting him in the middle.

“Keep the foundations strong. Reinforce what needs reinforcing. I’m not arguing with safety.” A faint, wry tilt of her mouth. “I enjoy not falling through floors.”

Then, softer:

“But maybe instead of leaving rooms untouched… we leave them honest. No polishing away the marks. No hiding the places that cracked. Let the walls keep their memory. Let people add to it instead of erasing it.”

Her gaze held his steadily.

“You don’t have to stop restoring it,” she added. “Just… don’t restore us out of it.”

A pause. Then, gentler still:

“And if this is distraction,” Elli said, “that’s okay too. You’re allowed that. Just don’t build something so perfect that none of us feel real inside it.”

Her mouth curved slightly, warm but grounded.

“I don’t need marble to feel safe here. I just need to know we’re not pretending we’re invincible again. I don't want to lose you guys like Hope did.”

"Let us table this distraction for now. There are still many more weeks of planning and restoration before any true renovations can begin anyhow." He offered. "Come, walk with me." The hybrid stepped around her and towards an adjoining hallway with a soft smile. "How are you adjusting with everything?" He questioned lightly. "Have you been able to adjust to the version of your father Fate ordained we be reunited with?" He added gently.

“Yeah, I figured you and ‘respecting politics and boundaries’ have always had more of a… casual acquaintance relationship,” he said dryly. “Very ‘we acknowledge each other in public but don’t make eye contact.’”

He tipped his head, considering Klaus’s warning with a seriousness he didn’t bother hiding.

“I hear you,” Kolton said. “Delicate politics. Butterfly-effect consequences. One poorly timed joke and suddenly we’ve offended a Court that controls the weather or something equally inconvenient.”

A beat. The edge crept back in, familiar and faintly amused.

“That said,” he added, “I’m not planning to stress-test their patience. I’m allergic to becoming an international incident. Learned that lesson early.”

He rolled the whiskey once between his palms, then took another measured sip.

“I just like knowing the terrain before the ground shifts under us,” Kolton went on. “You’ve always had a talent for walking into volatile rooms and deciding the rules apply later. I operate better when I know which lines exist so I can… thoughtfully avoid them.”

His gaze met Klaus’s, steady, familial, complicated.

“So,” Kolton finished lightly, “if you do decide to ignore a boundary and make a very pointed entrance somewhere you technically weren’t invited… I’d appreciate the courtesy of a warning. I like my catastrophes scheduled.”

"A map of Valaria, courtesy of some particular helpful individuals I wandered into within the Dawn Court on one of my wanderings." Klaus explained. "You desire knowledge of lines you can avoid..." The hybrid hummed and tapped on a few different locations in turn as he spoke.

"Autumn Court is reserved. They are not fond of our city's presence to begin with, yet they apparently have some storied history with the Night Court - of which, whose High Lord you'll recall has taken a liking to myself. There could possibly be residual tensions for bearing our family's name." Klaus explained.

"Night Court, although our politically strongest allies among the Courts, is not somewhere you should just wander into. Kaidan keeps his territories monitored and precise." Klaus hummed as he mulled over the rest of the map.

"Day is particularly peaceful. Its inhabitants are curious, but I have been able to come and go peacefully and wander the lands surrounding its capital without incident." The hybrid finished after a couple of moments.

“Subtlety has never been your particular vice,” George replied dryly, a hint of fondness threading through the remark. “It’s part of your… charm. And yes—initiative begets imitation. Cities take their cues from those bold enough to act first.”

He took a measured sip, then let the glass rest loosely at his side as Klaus spoke of messages and rebuilding. The declaration didn’t surprise him; Klaus had always understood the language of symbols, of gestures made large enough to be heard across borders.

“A home that moves forward is not a mausoleum,” George said quietly. “It’s a statement of continuity. You’re telling the city—and the Courts—that your family intends to live here, not merely endure.” A pause. “That distinction matters more than most realize.”

At Klaus’s mention of normalcy, George’s gaze softened. He set his glass down on the nearest table, as if to keep his hands free for the truth.

“Normalcy is a habit of comfort,” he said. “Once broken, it rarely reforms in the same shape. But footing,” a small nod, “footing can be found again. New routines. New rooms that remember laughter rather than loss.”

He met Klaus’s eyes, steady and sincere.

“I’ll send word to a handful of architects who understand how to restore without embalming,” George continued. “People who preserve a building’s bones while allowing it to breathe. They’re discreet. And they won’t ask questions better left unanswered.”

A faint, wry smile returned.

“And for what it’s worth, Niklaus—your message will be heard. Rebuilding is louder than any threat. It tells the world you’re not waiting for permission to exist in it.”

"Now," Klaus sat his glass back down after a moment, "What brings the Duke to this part of the city? I am, of course, relieved to see you have not gotten yourself lost among the Courts." He chuckled lightly.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “The first loss was distance. The second is silence.”

She shifted her weight, folding her arms loosely — not defensive, just anchoring herself as she looked past him to the courtyard again, where scaffolding climbed the old stone like ribs rebuilding a chest.

“Connectivity is a system,” Kennedy went on, practical even when the subject cut close. “We didn’t just lose people. We lost networks. Emergency contacts. Redundancies. The small, boring infrastructure that tells you you’re not alone in the world.”

A beat. Then, more personal:

“And not knowing is worse than knowing,” she added. “At least grief has edges. Uncertainty just… leaks.”

Her gaze returned to him, brown eyes steady, the Mikaelson resolve in them unmistakable.

“If we’re going to make this compound a hub again,” Kennedy said, “it can’t just be walls and wards. It needs comms. Signal relays. A way for people to reach beyond what this city’s become. Even if all we can offer right now is a place to send messages into the dark and know someone tried.”

A faint smirk ghosted back, dry but sincere.

“And yes,” she added, nodding toward his desk, “please do get the fae to reinforce the foyer. If you’re going to throw things, I’d prefer it not become a structural event.”

She let the humor land, then softened it with something steadier beneath.

“We can’t fix the silence,” Kennedy said. “But we can build places that make it easier to sit with it. Together.”

"I admit, I do not know anything about 'signal relays' and ways to reach beyond this city and back to the world we were dragged away from. Whether that world exists and moves on with our absence, or if it even remembers us. It would not be the first time an existence was erased from the collective memories of the populace, no? It is how that Malivore creature Hope spoke of erased entire supernatural species from our memories, after all." He explained.

"What I am familiar with is witches and a particularly useful spell they - including one half of your motherly duo - have in their possession capable of sending messages to and from themselves to other people. Unfortunately, I know not of a way to utilize such magic in a wider capacity; not as someone incapable of practicing the arts to begin with."