Out of time.

“Kindness is a practice,” she said gently, not dismissing Hope’s words, not trying to overwrite them either. “Cities don’t offer it freely. People learn how to make space for it.” Her gaze followed Hope’s to the corner stall, the corner of her mouth lifting in quiet encouragement. “Sometimes it starts with something as small as choosing a drink that doesn’t punish you for being thirsty.”

At the mention of a refill, Aelinor glanced down at her cup — nearly empty — and let out a soft, amused breath.

“That’s a generous offer,” she said, shifting her weight as if to fall into step beside her rather than waiting to be led. “And I agree — ordinary things are better shared. They remind you you’re still part of the world.”

She nodded toward the stall, then back at Hope.

“Come on,” Aelinor added lightly. “If it turns out to be terrible, we can both pretend it was an act of bravery instead of poor judgment.”

A pause, warmer now — an opening rather than a question.

“And if you’d like,” she continued, “you can tell me what kindness is supposed to look like to you. I find cities are more cooperative when they’re given specific instructions.”

At the soft encouragement, Hope nodded and fell into step beside her. "Sometimes I need that. The reminder that I'm in the world, I mean. Too many times I haven't been, in one way or another. So let's start with this act of bravery and see where we go from there." The invitation to explain her wish wasn't simple to answer, but Hope did her best all the same.

"I guess if I had to describe it, then kindness would look like peace. I want the time for us all to breathe, for the threat of violence to stop, all of that. It's exhausting beyond measure, waiting to see which faction is going to break this truce and how. I'd like calm, above all."

"Nothing too drastic, I assure you. Some fresh coats of paint in areas that had been left to chip and crack; mending some instabilities in the foundation that presented themselves after the fog relocated us - things of that nature, mostly." He explained, but a gentle roll of laughter slipped out as she listed off 'historical' moments within the compound.

"Firstly, love, your mother did nothing of the sort - I refused to fight her properly." His lips curled in teasing. "And if I recall, Freya was doing young Jackson a favor by keeping him sidelined." Klaus shrugged his shoulders, "Thankfully, that confrontation was short-lived thanks to a certain, beautiful little girl stumbling her way out of her play area." The smile on his features turned fond.

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."

Aelinor had escaped the palace.

Not in any dramatic sense — no guards outwitted, no doors barred — just a quiet slip away before the day could stack another expectation on her shoulders. The Broken City’s markets were already waking into themselves, vendors calling out over one another, steam curling from street carts, the air thick with bread and citrus and something faintly floral that reminded her of home in an ache-soft way.

She’d traded silks for linen, crown for nothing at all. Bare feet on warm stone, a small paper cup of iced fruit-water in hand, she wandered without agenda for once.

It felt… good. Ordinary.

Aelinor paused at a stall selling hand-bound notebooks and charms made from sea-glass and wire, fingers brushing the edge of one thoughtfully. The vendor was mid-argument with a customer about whether the charm was “protective” or just “pretty,” and Aelinor smiled to herself at the distinction.

She glanced up as she sensed someone lingering nearby — not threat, not Court — just presence.

“Do you ever notice,” she said lightly, more to the moment than to any one person, “that the city feels kinder when no one’s asking it to be anything special?”

A beat. A faint, warm smile.

“If you’re looking for recommendations,” she added, lifting her cup in a small, casual gesture, “the iced citrus at the corner stall is worth the risk. Most of the other drinks taste like they’ve argued with the river and lost.”

The voice wasn't one she knew, but she offered a smile. "I don't have a lot of experience with the city being kind. But I'll have to try that and see if it helps, because I'd like to feel that kindness." Her gaze moved toward the corner stall in question, and she gestured at the blonde's cup. "Do you need a refill? I hate drinking alone, but I'd love to try out your recommendation."

"I must say, though, that it is incredibly difficult to find surviving help. Only a relatively small portion of our two cities' peoples made the transition to this 'Broken City' with us. Whatever became of the ones that we left behind - whether they go about their days as if nothing happened; or whether time stands still for them - I cannot say. Our numbers are drastically diminished and I had to ask a few of the neighboring Courts for architects. Perhaps we'll find this place one of the finer establishments in the city by the time they're done. No?" He smirked.

( @darkskiesrpgstarters )

"I'm curious to see what you have in mind, though, Dad. This place has always been perfect to me, but I guess even perfection could always use a tweak or two. Personally I think we need to start adding informative plaques. This spot marks where Marcel picked up the coin and pledged himself to Klaus. This spot is where Finn died, and no one cared. Right here was where Hayley beat the crap out of Klaus while Freya kept Jackson from turning it into a two on one beatdown." Hope grinned. "Just imagine all the things people could learn."

He didn’t answer immediately.

He checked on Piper first — a small, instinctive glance, making sure she was still breathing softly, still curled into that tiny, perfect scrunch of peace.

Only then did he look at Hope.

Not hard. Not sharp. Just fully.

“Hope,” he said, voice low with that rare gravity he didn’t spend often, “if Mikaelsons only showed up when there was a reason, none of us would have ever survived each other.”

His mouth tugged — not a smile, not pity, just a knowing line.

“You don’t need a reason,” he continued. “If you walk into a room, that’s the reason. That’s always been the reason.”

He shifted his stance a little, leaning his forearms against the stroller handle so he was angled toward her without crowding. A brother’s posture. Protective, but not overbearing.

“You thinking people don’t need you unless you bring something?” Beckham shook his head gently. “That’s something someone told you once. Or showed you. Or made you feel. That’s not truth—it’s trauma.”

Piper let out a soft sigh in her sleep, and Beckham’s voice softened right along with it.

“You’re not a weapon to deploy,” he said. “You’re not a cure to use, or a storm to unleash when shit hits the fan. You’re family. My family. My daughter’s family.”

His gaze didn’t waver.

“If you show up just to exist? That’s more than enough for me.”

A pause — just long enough for the words to settle.

“And for the record?” His voice dipped into something softer, almost teasing but anchored with sincerity. “Piper doesn’t stop crying because you rant. She stops because she recognizes you. Because you feel like home.”

He nudged the stroller again, just a small motion, then added:

“So don’t wait for an excuse to come see us.” He nodded toward the sleeping baby. “She already decided you belong here.”

She broke eye contact as he spoke, feeling a shine in her eyes that she wasn't completely comfortable showing off. He wasn't wrong, but the admission that it was her trauma speaking was difficult to come to terms with. So many times she'd been a weapon. Often the only one. Two times she'd died in that role, and there was so much that had been sacrificed along the way.

Her lip wobbled, and she turned her gaze to Piper rather than her brother to keep from breaking. "Well. If she decided, then I guess I can't argue with that."

And then she stopped speaking, and rested her head on her brother's shoulder instead. It spoke volumes, without ever saying a word.

“Beautiful things being dangerous?” she repeated, lifting a brow. “Yeah, well, you come by that philosophy honest. Your parents practically wrote the handbook.”

But her voice gentled after a beat. Hope’s tap, her teasing, the way she made room for Charlie without thinking — it hit something warm inside her chest, something old and stubborn and still fiercely protective.

“Don’t get poetic on me,” she murmured. “Next thing I know you’ll start talking about destiny and fate and I’ll have to confiscate your Vial of Existential Angst.”

Hope’s crack about the shoes earned an actual laugh — richer this time, easier.

“Oh, they’ll chew them,” Charlie assured, eyeing a trio of Day Court sprites darting between flowerbeds. “They’ll chew anything that sits still too long. People included. Ask one of them to babysit your shoes and you’ll wake up missing a toe.”

She leaned back on her hands, letting her head tip toward the sunlit faux-sky. The Court smelled like lemongrass and honey and something too perfect to trust.

“Gummy sharks,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Fine. I’ll amend the record. But you still shouldn’t have hidden them in my hair — I found one three days later and thought I was molting.”

Hope’s words about dreaming tugged at something in her — soft, aching, the grief she never named. She looked over, quieter now.

“You may not sleep,” she said, “but you rest. Your body settles. Your mind wanders.” A shrug. “Dreams sneak in through cracks, kid. Whether you want them to or not.”

She plucked a blade of shimmering Day Court grass, twirling it between her fingers.

“Take the vial,” she said finally. “Worst case, nothing happens. Best case, you get a few hours of color you haven’t seen before.”

A beat. Then, with dry affection:

“And if it backfires and you end up levitating or glowing or speaking in reverse? I’ll blame your dad and drag him into whatever mess you’ve created.”

Charlie bumped Hope’s shoulder lightly this time, matching her earlier gesture.

“Get the damn dreams, Hope. You deserve a little wonder. Even if you have to steal it from a court full of glitter-happy fae.”

Her eyeroll was subtle but pronounced enough that she knew her aunt would see it all the same. "Do we have conversations that don't revolve around destiny and fate? Like, since I was nine? But I'm not letting you take my existential angst. That's, like, my whole thing."

Hope grinned. "I see you've spent more time with them than me, and I appreciate the warning - I'd really rather not go missing toes. Or shoes, because I have a great shoe collection." She didn't watch the sky, but she did watch Charlie watch the sky instead. There was comfort in it, a different kind than she could find on her own.

"Ah - yeah, okay, that I probably owe you an apology for then. But still, little Hope would have considered it the highest honor to hold my gummy sharks. It was definitely a gesture of affection."

Mouth closed, her tongue traced gently across her teeth as she considered that. "What does it mean if I don't want them? Because I don't know if I do. Dreams aren't," she considered her words. "They aren't controllable. And I'm getting so fucking tired of not being in control." The nudge at least brought a sparkle to her eyes, though.

"All right. Just remember this was your idea."

The globe of light disappearing didn’t go unnoticed either; it made her straighten just a little more, like she’d accidentally stepped into someone’s personal magic bubble.

“Right. Good,” she said, exhaling a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Because I’ve been standing here long enough for the stray cat population of this city to start judging me.”

She glanced around again, as if the buildings might suddenly rearrange into something sensible. They didn’t. Of course they didn’t.

“I’m trying to get to…” She flipped the small, wrinkled notepad she kept tucked in her bag — the one with her sister’s handwriting scrawled across the top. “Mystic Falls Elementary. It's marked like it was supposed to be three blocks from where I parked, but I’m starting to think the streets here…”

Her mouth pulled into a sheepish, lopsided smile.

“I promise I’m usually very good at directions. Savannah is a grid. This place is—” she gestured vaguely at the fractured skyline, “—whatever this is.”

Hope’s steady, composed presence made something inside her unknot just a little, enough that her voice softened.

“Honestly? I’ll take anywhere that isn’t in a circle. If you can point me toward a road that stays put for more than ten seconds, I’ll owe you a whole bouquet.” She paused. “I’m… Tessa, by the way. Tessa Calloway.” She lifted a small hand.

There was a beat, brief but brave.

“And… thank you for stopping. I know you probably didn’t have to.”

"Honestly, you probably did better than you think. This place is complicated in ways that you have to experience for yourself to make any sense of. It used to be a grid...actually a couple of grids, but that's an even longer story. Now it's something a bit more difficult to figure out, but we'll get you where you need to go. Promise."

The offer made her grin. "A whole bouquet, huh? Well, I can hardly turn that down. It's good to meet you, Tessa Calloway. My name's Hope Mikaelson, and I suppose I'm your unofficial welcome committee. I'd offer you a map and a welcome basket but I'm afraid maps aren't any good and I didn't bring a basket with me. And you don't need to thank me, I'm happy to help."

She gestured in the opposite direction that Tessa was facing. "We're going to need to circle around Lantern Square and skirt a couple of the Courts, but that's not too difficult once you've seen the path. What brings you to town, if you're looking for the Elementary - parent, or teacher?"

“The first time I was in Mystic Falls… wasn’t noble. Or romantic. Or even particularly smart.”

A quiet huff of breath — not quite a laugh.

“I went there for Tyler.”

Not like that — and her tone made it clear.

“We’d been working together before I ever set foot in that town. He trusted me. I was helping him break Klaus’ sire bond on all the hybrids. That was my angle — freedom. Or at least that’s what I said.”

Her jaw tightened, a flicker of regret crossing her face.

“But what I really wanted was information about my parents. And someone showed up promising answers if I delivered something in return.”

She didn’t say the name Professor Shane, but the bitterness in her voice carried it.

“So I walked into Mystic Falls with a mission. I didn’t come for the Salvatores, or Elena, or Tyler’s friends. I came because I thought I was close — finally — to learning who the hell I was and where I came from.”

Her grip on the railing loosened, shoulders softening.

“I remember the first time I saw the town. Tiny. Too normal. Too quiet. Like it didn’t know it was sitting on centuries of supernatural land mines. I met Caroline. Met the Salvatores briefly. And I saw how much Tyler cared about that place… about those people.”

A pause — heavy with truth.

“And then I betrayed him.”

Hayley didn’t flinch saying it.

“I helped lure the unsired hybrids into a trap because I thought it would get me answers about the Crescents, about my parents. And Klaus killed every last one of them.”

Her eyes were darker now, the green deepened by memory.

“That was my first time in Mystic Falls. Not glamorous. Not heroic. Just me — lost, desperate, and trusting the wrong people.”

A breath, quieter.

“Funny thing? That disaster is what put me on the path that led to you.”

Hayley turned her head toward Hope then, something warm threading through the rough honesty.

“Mystic Falls was the place where everything went wrong. And everything started to go right.”

Her gaze flicked toward the cigarettes Hope had laid out.

“And if you’re asking me that question,” she added softly, “you’re not looking for a history lesson. So what’s really keeping you up tonight, baby?”

It was such a different look at her mother, too. A period of time where she had done things that she might not have done in another time and place. Things others might judge her for, where Hope felt nothing like that. "Lost. Desperate. Trusting the wrong people." Her expression wasn't quite a smile, but it wasn't a frown either. There was something thoughtful and contemplative in it, but not without humor. "Seems to run in the family, doesn't it?"

Without hesitating, she reached for the cigarettes and flared one to life before taking a deep drag and exhaling into the sky. "I don't know. Not exactly, anyway. I think I needed to hear you. Not that story exactly, although that helped too, I just...there hasn't been enough time. And that's so stupid," she used a free hand to rub at her eyes. "Because there's been lots of time. But there also hasn't. And the not sleeping, it's like...the days are just running together. They never end. And I don't get to stop."

“Occupational hazard,” he murmured. “I live with you. I pay attention.”

He let the quiet stretch for a few more breaths, the tide lapping over her toes and stopping just shy of his polished shoes. It took him a second, but then he exhaled, stepped back once, and bent to untie them. The loafers came off with the kind of put-upon care of a man who very much did not grow up doing this, then the socks followed, rolled and tucked neatly inside like he couldn’t quite bring himself to abandon all structure just because there was sand involved.

When he stepped forward again and the water hit his ankles, he hissed softly through his teeth, more at the temperature than anything else. Then he settled, shoulders easing, hands slipping into his pockets.

“It is nice,” he agreed, gaze tracking the shimmer of distance instead of her face for a moment. “Different kind of noise. Less… screaming buildings, more…” he gestured vaguely at the horizon with one hand, “existential beach brochure.”

His eyes slid back to her then, studying her profile in that unhurried, precise way he reserved for stock markets and her moods.

“You know you’re allowed to need somewhere that isn’t familiar, right?” Xavier said quietly. “Every version of home we’ve had lately comes with… blood, politics, someone knocking on the door needing you to fix the unfixable.” A softer breath. “You wanting somewhere that doesn’t know your name yet—that makes sense.”

He watched a wave crawl up and then break over their feet, the foam dissolving around his toes like it was trying its best not to offend the vampire in the very nice pants.

“I don’t need you to explain it,” he added, voice lowering. “You don’t owe me your every thought just because I know how to find you. If this is just… your place to stand and think, I can shut up and do that with you.”

A beat, and the corner of his mouth tugged again.

“But if you are hiding,” he said, letting the teasing thread back into his tone, “I should warn you that your stealth game needs work. Shoes by the door. Favorite sweater missing. No coffee cup left in the sink. It’s basically a trail of breadcrumbs, Hope.”

He angled his shoulder just slightly toward hers, enough that she could lean if she wanted.

“I’ll take ‘not hiding’ as a win, though,” he finished, softer. “Just… tell me if you ever need ‘away from all of us’ to include me too. I’ll still come find you afterward.”

She giggled as he hesitated and considered and thought over whether he would join her or not. Hope Mikaelson wasn't the sort of child who'd been afraid of messes or outdoor exploration - she was the type who'd played hide and seek along a moving stream with her mother, and spent time with Mary in the bayou getting dirty like any other Crescent child. But her giggles subsided as he got used to the sensation and settled beside her.

"I know," she promised, voice soft enough that the waves had to carry it back to him. Hope didn't look just yet, eyes still on the unfamiliar horizon. "I just...don't like needing that. I should be able to draw my energy from home, from family, from you." Her expression turned rueful. "Then again, what do I know? Last time I tried to get away from home after everyone forgot me I didn't even make it onto the bus before I had to go back again."

She let her quiet mingle with his, the soundlessness of it drowned out by wind and wave for at least a little while. "I'll have to work on my stealth skills - fortunately, I don't mind being found if it's by the right person. And I can't imagine a scenario where getting away from it all would include you. But right now? Right now some quiet time beside you would be all I need."

she wrapped both hands around the cup, letting the heat bleed into her fingers, grounding her. her posture eased—shoulders lowering a fraction, breath catching in a way that sounded almost like relief. “and don’t apologize,” she said, tipping her chin up just slightly. “you’re hope mikaelson, which from what i've heard that means you're a busy girl. i’m lucky you even remember where the hospital entrance is these days.”

there was a faint glimmer of mischief in her eyes as she leaned forward just enough to mirror hope’s posture. “besides, rooftop therapy sessions don’t have a timestamp. you show up when you show up.” she lifted the cup in a small salute. “but i won’t lie, it’s good to see a familiar face that isn’t asking me to sign a death certificate.” her gaze softened further, concern slipping in. “you holding up? or is this”—she gestured with the espresso—“a distraction and a bribe so i don’t ask?”

With one hand freed, she used the other to sip from that caramel drink with a contented sigh. It was good to see Jo be able to relax just a little, and it felt right to be the one who'd done that for Alaric's wife. "Nah, I mostly just hang around the compound and have compelled humans do all my bidding while I feed on them occasionally." Her expression was neutral but for the tiniest quirk of her lip, despite knowing that Jo would never believe it. "I'd never forget where this place is, though."

Hope chuckled softly. "You're supposed to be a doctor, not a psychologist - it's unfair how good you are at asking questions. It's a bribe, a hundred percent. But in return I promise that I won't ask you to sign a death certificate."

location: the upper balcony of the old French Market, half-collapsed, overlooking a ley-line flare zone Hope has come to assess; late dusk

Blade wasn’t looking for her.

He told himself that twice on the way up the warped metal stairs, once when his boots hit the balcony, and again when he saw her silhouette framed against the bruised-purple sky.

Hope Mikaelson. Exactly where she shouldn’t be. Exactly where he somehow knew she would be.

She didn’t turn when he approached — she didn’t need to. Power recognized power long before footsteps did.

Blade stopped beside one of the leaning support beams, giving her enough distance to be respectful, but not enough to pretend he hadn’t come here on purpose.

“Funny thing,” he said, voice low, steady, carrying just enough dry bite to mean he wasn’t surprised, “I was told this sector was empty.”

His eyes flicked to the fractured ley-line below — pulsing light, unstable currents, the kind of place that made operatives nervous and made Hope… thoughtful.

“I should’ve known better.”

The breeze shifted. Dust rose. Magic tugged faintly at the air.

Blade rolled his sleeves higher, watching her profile for a moment — not with awe, not with fear, but with the kind of measured interest reserved for weapons he didn’t intend to use but refused to ignore.

“You always show up right before things start rattling,” he said. Not accusation. Observation. The kind he didn’t bother writing in reports.

A beat passed — familiar, edged, almost comfortable in its tension.

“You here to fix it?” he asked, chin lifting slightly toward the flare below. “Or should I get ready to call in containment?”

He didn’t sound worried. He didn’t sound impressed.

He sounded like a man who had already met her once, learned exactly how much trouble she could cause, and walked into the room anyway.

"I was told this sector was empty. Zero dark thirty, going dark," Hope muttered in a gruff mockery of his voice. She didn't look at him, didn't give him the effort or the courtesy that she would for virtually anyone else. Her gaze stayed on the ley-line, watching the flare and feeling her own magic reaching out in response each time it brightened. "Call it a gift. Or foresight. Whatever you prefer."

Another look down at the flare as silence hung between them. "I'm here to see whether it needs fixing. The existence of something supernatural doesn't mean it requires that. Despite what you and your people - if you can call them that - might think."

rebekah shifted just enough that their shoulders brushed, a quiet offering of closeness without crowding. her gaze returned to the broken skyline, the way the lights bent in places they never used to. “the ship of theseus,” she repeated, considering. “once, i’d have said a thing stops being itself the moment it starts changing. but time has a way of beating that arrogance out of you.”

her voice lowered, gentler. “mystic falls. new orleans. this fractured… whatever it is—we loved them because we lived in them. because they held our memories. and now they’re different.” she exhaled slowly, not quite a sigh. “so are we. and maybe that’s the point. maybe we’re not meant to fit perfectly into what was. maybe we’re meant to decide what survives the change.”

rebekah turned fully then, eyes softening at the sight of hope—grown, tired, brilliant, carrying too many worlds in her shoulders. “you don’t have to like any of this yet,” she said. “you don’t have to settle into it or make peace with it or pretend it feels like home.” her hand brushed lightly, reassuringly against hope’s arm. “just don’t do it alone. you’re allowed to be changed. you’re allowed to not know what that makes you now.” her smirk returned, quieter this time. “and as for your cigarette habit? well—your secret’s safe. i’ve hidden far worse from your father.”

The soft touch was enough of a reminder that her aunt was there for her, and Hope's lips quirked into a small smile without her turning to look. "I don't think I'd ever have said that, to be honest; I've never known anything but change, and I've tried to stay myself through all of it. With limited success."

Hope felt Rebekah turn, and mirrored it with a slight movement of her own - pulling the lit cigarette a little to one side so it wasn't going to curl smoke into her aunt's face. "But if we can't - accept it, like it, feel at home with it - then what do we do with that?" She smiled once more. "Much appreciated."

Location: Mikaelson Compound Rooftop · Late Night

Hayley had been pacing the rooftop for twenty minutes.

Not out of anger — though god knew she could’ve earned the right — but because the rooftop was the only place in the compound where she could breathe without someone asking her for something, watching her, needing her.

The city below glowed in broken, uneven patches. Magic hummed along the ley lines, faint as a distant heartbeat. Hayley leaned both hands on the railing and let the breeze tangle her hair, letting herself pretend, just for a second, that things were simple.

They never were.

Not with this city. Not with the Crescents. Not with the Mikaelsons. And definitely not with the daughter who carried all three in her blood.

She heard Hope long before she saw her — soft footsteps on old stone, the kind of muted presence only a tribrid could manage. Hayley didn’t turn, didn’t speak right away. Just let the moment stretch, letting Hope come to her on her own terms.

When she finally did glance over her shoulder, her voice was quiet, threaded with something tired but warm.

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

She straightened a little but didn’t step away from the railing. The moonlight caught the worry etched at the corner of her eyes — the kind she only ever let Hope see.

“This city… this magic… everything’s shifting again.” Hayley exhaled slowly, watching her breath vanish into the night. “Feels like for every answer we get, two more show up.”

She looked at Hope fully now — not the Tribrid, not the savior everyone whispered about. Just her kid. Her miracle. Her heartbreak. Her home.

“Come here,” she murmured, nodding gently to the space beside her. “Talk to me.”

A beat. Softer still:

“Or don’t. You can just stand with me.”

"I don't remember sleep," she confessed, stepping onto the roof and keeping to the outside edge. "Ever since I became this," she gestured at herself, "I don't know if my body remembers how." Her glance at Hayley's face told her that they were in a similar place, filled with worry and concerned about the future of the home they loved. "Do we get any answers?" it wasn't sarcasm, but honesty. "It's just more questions."

At the prompt she moved closer, taking a spot next to her mother. And for a time she took the offer and didn't speak, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighter and laying them on the railing. "Tell me about the first time you were in Mystic Falls?"

Location: The Lantern Square · Early Morning

Tessa wasn’t sure when she’d stopped walking.

The Lantern Square was quiet at this hour — the kind of quiet that only existed in the thin breath between night and dawn. A few paper lanterns still floated lazily overhead from the vigil the night before, their dim glow swinging gently in the breeze. The streets were empty. The air smelled faintly of smoke and something sweet she couldn’t name.

She stood at the edge of the square hugging her elbows, trying to look like she knew what she was doing, trying not to look like someone who had arrived in a city that felt half-myth and half-nightmare.

Her phone had no service. Her map didn’t match the streets. And every passerby she’d asked had pointed in a different direction.

“I’m going to die out here,” she muttered under her breath, though the tired laugh that followed said she didn’t totally mean it. “Or at least starve doing circles.”

A soft ripple of magic—something she couldn’t identify but instinctively felt—shifted through the air behind her. She turned just enough to see a young woman approaching, steps steady, presence calm but unmistakably strong. Dark curls, sharp blue eyes, posture like someone who carried both weight and authority without trying.

Tessa straightened, pushing down the urge to apologize for simply existing.

“Uh—hi,” she said, voice wavering before she steadied it. “Sorry if I’m… in the way.”

Her gaze darted around the empty square.

“I’m, um… new. Very new. And very lost.”

A breath. Then, with a sincerity she couldn’t mask:

“Do you—by any chance—know how to get anywhere from here?”

A soft voice, almost inaudble, halted her steps and Hope snuffed the magic before turning her attention to the unfamiliar face. "You're not in the way," the assurance came with a soft chuckle. "I don't blame you, this is an easy place to get lost. Where are you trying to go?"

Xavier found her by accident.

Or—if he was honest with himself—in the way he always found her when she slipped away. His feet took him where his worry didn’t want to admit he was heading. First the Summer Court gardens; then the outer paths; then finally, the faint stretch of sand he’d only seen once before.

And there she was.

Hope Mikaelson. Shoes kicked off. Jeans rolled past her ankles. Standing just at the edge where the tide reached her toes.

He stopped a few feet behind her at first, eyes settling on the steady rise and fall of her shoulders. The Court’s warm glow washed over her like she belonged here—like the world wasn’t carrying so much weight on her spine.

He didn’t call her name. He didn’t need to.

Xavier walked the last bit of distance, coming to stand beside her—close enough for comfort, far enough not to crowd.

“I checked the compound,” he said quietly, breaking the silence in that low, even tone only she could crack open. “Then the market. Then the gardens.”

He looked out at the ocean with her, letting the soft waves do most of the talking.

“…Should’ve guessed you’d end up here.”

A beat. Not pressure. Just presence.

“You’re not hiding,” Xavier said gently—more question than statement, though he said it like he’d accept either answer. “Right?”

Another soft breath, his voice lower:

“Or did you need a minute away from all of us?”

She didn't know how long she'd been there before soft steps brought the love of her life up beside her. "No - not hiding." It was a complete thought, and Hope didn't rush to follow it up. "I didn't know I'd end up here, though, so you must know me better than me." There was a bit of humor in her voice. "I wasn't trying to get away; I just needed a place to stand and think that wasn't all the places I've already tried."

Her gaze turned to him, subtly. "It's nice here."

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, dry in that classic Beckham way. “Well, if you’d started something with me, Hope Mikaelson, the walls would’ve cracked, Uncle Elijah would’ve materialized out of thin air, and Dad would have monologued us both into early graves. So I’m glad we’re sticking to hellos.”

He nudged the stroller gently, the tiniest motion to soothe the baby inside — not that Piper needed it. She was asleep, fist curled against her cheek, lashes soft against her skin. Peaceful in a way this world hardly allowed.

Hope’s comment about the baby’s beauty earned him an exhale that almost counted as a laugh.

“Careful,” he murmured, glancing sideways at her at last. “Say that where Kiera can hear, and she’ll start a blood feud over who she inherited it from.”

He shifted slightly so she could see the baby better — not possessive, not guarded, just… sharing. In Beckham terms, that was huge.

Piper’s tiny face scrunched in her sleep, lips puckering, and Beckham’s expression softened with an instinctive, protective warmth he didn’t bother hiding.

“She’s six months old, Hope,” he reminded her dryly. “If she’s already prettier than you were at her age, that just means she’s winning. Which… fair. We do have impeccable genes.”

He let the tease sit for a beat before adding, quieter, truer:

“She likes your voice, you know.” A faint smile. “She stops fussing when she hears you. Even when you’re ranting. Especially then.”

He looked forward again, thoughtful in that contained, steady way he had.

“You don’t have to wait for the right moment to find us,” he said, not looking at her this time — like saying it directly would make it too raw. “Just show up. If you’re here, that’s… enough.”

"Pfft," she waved a hand. "I could take Kiera. Although that would probably also end in dad killing us slowly with speeches, so I guess I shouldn't do that either. We'll just have to keep it between you and me."

The idea that Piper actually liked hearing her was baffling, but flattering - most people didn't list hearing a Hope Mikaelson rant as something enjoyable. "I know," she murmured. "I just...always feel like I should be showing up for a reason, if I show up. Like otherwise people don't need me there."

“Please,” she said dryly, lowering herself beside Hope with the practiced grace of someone who’d spent her life dodging werewolf pups and Crescent chaos. “Jackson had plenty of Crescent wisdom, and most of it involved communal chores, pack duty, or not leaving your shoes by the door unless you wanted them chewed. I doubt any of that applies to a Court full of sparkly sun-kissing fae.”

She set her elbows on her knees, looking out at the golden hum of the Day Court — the gentle music, the soft wind that felt too warm to belong to fall.

“Pretty,” Charlie echoed, voice softer now. “Yeah. That’s one word for it. Peaceful, too. Dangerous, but peaceful.” Then she shot Hope a sideways, knowing look. “And for the record? A vial of sunlight would be a bad idea. I already have to stop your uncles from killing themselves on a weekly basis. I don’t need to add fire hazards to the list.”

She leaned back on one palm, letting the warmth seep through her shoulders. Something in her eased — not fully, but enough for the tension to unknot.

“And bless you?” she snorted, but there was warmth tucked in the sound. “Kid, I’ve been blessing you with my company since the day you were four years old and decided my hair was the perfect place to hide gummy bears. You’re lucky I still show up.”

Charlie nudged Hope’s arm lightly with her shoulder — a gesture that was casual but grounded with quiet affection.

“Move over, then,” she murmured, settling in beside her. “Give your old aunt a minute to pretend the world isn’t on fire.”

A beat.

“So,” she added, gaze drifting to the vial stalls again. “Which one were you thinking of smuggling home? The sunlight? The singing sand? The little bottle labeled ‘Do not ingest unless you want to dream in colors that don’t exist yet’?”

She snapped her fingers in faux-disappointment. "I guess I can pass on the sunlight vial. I'd hate to give you more work, after all. But yeah..." her voice trailed off as she looked around them. "Dangerous under the surface. I think anything beautiful is. You're no exception," Hope gently tapped Charlie's side.

"Those were gummy sharks, I'll have you know. It was an honor for you to hold onto them for me, you just didn't appreciate it." At her aunt's words she shuffled over, making room for her to join in the quiet moment. "I kind of want the dreams one. But I don't sleep anymore, so I don't know if I'd get the full effect..."