— So, Miss Mikaelson.
Ethan's voice cut through the garden, calm and low, with no trace of hurry. He hadn't moved. He remained sitting beneath the tree, his back against the trunk, eyes closed, and one leg stretched out over the leaf-covered ground.
— How much longer are you going to keep snooping around me from over there?
Hope froze behind the pillar.
Her heart gave a jolt, and for a split second, she didn't know what to do. She held her breath, pressing her body flat against the stone, as if there were still a chance he was talking to someone else, or to the wind, or to some random bird. But the silence that followed was far too heavy to leave any doubt.
Ethan opened one eye—just one—and raised an eyebrow toward the column.
— Come out from behind there, Hope.
She closed her eyes for a second, mentally cursing herself with every name she knew, and slowly stepped out from behind the pillar, holding her hands in front of her body to try and give the impression she was just standing there by coincidence. Her face burned. She didn't look directly at him, pretending instead to examine the ground, the trees, the sky.
Ethan watched her for a moment, and the corner of his mouth curved into a slow smile, like someone who had won a match without even needing to play.
— Did you really think I didn't know you were following me?
— I wasn't... — Hope started.
— You were. — He opened his other eye, and now both green eyes found her entirely. — Ever since the office. You're not as discreet as you think.
— How did you...
— I'd recognize your scent from over a kilometer away, if I wanted to.
The silence that followed was one of those where every single word seems to carry weight.
Hope stood motionless, unsure of what to say. That sentence, spoken just like that, with such casualness.
Ethan, for his part, didn't look away. And behind his playful smile lay a truth he didn't speak aloud: it was the absolute truth. He would recognize her anywhere in the world, in any crowd, in the middle of any darkness. And he knew, better than anyone, what that meant.
The flush slowly faded from Hope's face, and in its place, something harder began to take shape.
Her gaze grew cold. Her posture shifted. Her shoulders straightened, her chin lifted, and her hands, previously restless, went still at her sides. The embarrassed girl who had stepped out from behind the pillar vanished, and in her place emerged someone far more dangerous—the daughter of the Original Hybrid, someone who had already faced things capable of making grown men cry.
— Tell me exactly who you are — she said, her voice low and controlled. — Right now. Or I won't be responsible for my actions.
Ethan arched his brows.
— Oh. — A slow smile appeared on his face. — A threat?
He leaned against the trunk and got up from the ground unhurriedly, brushing grass off his pants, and stood before her, much taller, hands in his pockets with the air of someone who saw no reason to rush.
— Exactly — Hope replied, not yielding an inch. — Do you think we're idiots?
She took a step forward, her voice gaining strength, and the anger she had been holding onto since the previous night finally found an outlet.
— You show up at this school out of nowhere, right when a bunch of monsters are after some stupid knife we keep inside here. Monsters that happen to all be from Malivore. And then you show up, with no past, no documents, with a strength nobody can explain. — Her blue eyes flashed. — And yesterday, I heard exactly what you said about that monster smelling like the place you came from.
Ethan didn't answer.
— So tell me right now who you are — she insisted, her hands slowly opening as a golden spark ignited at her fingertips. — Or I won't be responsible for myself.
The silence hung in the air for a moment, interrupted only by the rustle of leaves.
Ethan looked at her.
He looked at her raised chin, her blazing eyes, the rigid posture of someone making a point to look bigger than she was.
And he thought it was adorable that she was trying to intimidate him, looking so short with the top of her head reaching his chest and her small hands tossing sparks like a kitten with its claws out. It took an immense effort not to let out a laugh. He kept that thought to himself, tucked away deep inside with a care almost as great as the one he reserved for his actual secrets.
Instead, he tilted his head, and his smile shifted from playful to something much sharper.
— How about a deal? — he proposed.
Hope scowled.
— A deal?
— You beat me in a fight, and I'll tell you a bit of my story.
A moment of silence.
Hope stared at him, trying to decide if it was a joke, a trap, or both at the same time. He stood before her calmly, hands in his pockets, with no defenses in sight, wearing the exact expression of someone inviting a person out for coffee.
— Well? — Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow. — Do you accept?
— You bet I do.
The response came dry and fast, and Hope didn't give him a chance to regret the offer. She pushed off and lunged at him.
The first punch came straight at his chest. Ethan deflected it with the palm of his hand, the second came right after, faster, followed by a third, and the kick accompanying the fourth forced him to take a step back. She moved like someone born for it—no hesitation, no wasted motion, packing a strength he felt in his forearms every time he blocked a blow.
She's strong, he thought with a flicker of surprise. Stronger than I imagined.
Hope spun her body and unleashed a flurry of kicks—one low, one high, a third passing mere centimeters from his face. Ethan leaned back, letting the foot sail past, and returned to his axis in a fluid, unhurried movement. He didn't retaliate. He only defended himself, dodging, blocking, letting her burn through her energy.
That only irritated her more.
— Stop dodging! — she growled.
— I'm right here, aren't I? — he replied, ducking a hook with a smile.
Hope stepped back twice, panting, her blue eyes narrowing. She opened her hands, and a wave of energy condensed in her palm—a disk of golden light that she hurled with a sharp sweep of her arm.
Ethan raised his hand, and the magic shattered before him, dissolving into sparks.
She didn't stop. She threw another, and another—arcs of energy cutting through the air, tearing up the grass, ricocheting off the tree trunk and leaving black scorch marks on the bark. He moved among them with the same calm, dodging one, letting another pass within inches, intercepting the next with his palm. With every attempt, her face grew redder and her breathing heavier.
Realizing magic wasn't going to work, Hope dropped her hands and, with an abrupt motion, cast the energy aside.
— Fine — she muttered. — The old-fashioned way, then.
She resumed her attack with punches and kicks, faster now, more precise, fueled by a fire he hadn't seen in anyone's eyes in a long time. Ethan blocked the first, deflected the second, parried the third, and when she pivoted for a low kick, he saw the opening.
A side step. A pivot. And suddenly, he was standing right behind her.
Hope felt his body pressed against hers, his hands hovering without touching, and his warm breath against her ear.
— Did you know — he murmured low and playfully — that you look dangerously gorgeous when you're mad?
The world stopped for a second.
Hope's face caught fire. From her neck to her ears, a searing wave washed over her, and her knees nearly buckled. It was worse than any physical blow. She whipped around with a gasp, eyes wide, and by pure reflex, out of sheer embarrassment, threw a punch straight at his face.
Ethan caught her fist in mid-air.
It was a simple, almost gentle motion. His hand closed around hers, firm but without hurting, stopping it a couple of inches from his own nose. Hope stood frozen, her arm trapped, her chest rising and falling, her eyes locked on his.
He pulled her hand slightly, just enough to bring her closer. His face approached hers slowly, so near she could feel the warmth of his breath, see the dark flecks in his green eyes, the exact contour of his lips.
What is he...?
Ethan tilted his head.
And kissed her.
It was quick, light—a stolen touch. A brief brush that lasted only a single heartbeat, yet sent a jolt like an electric current straight through Hope. It was like the handshake in the office, only a thousand times stronger, a surge that rushed up through her lips, pierced her chest, spread through her arms, and left everything else hollow.
He pulled back slowly, releasing her hand.
Hope didn't move.
She stood right there, eyes wide, mouth parted, her arm still raised in the air, completely paralyzed.
The silence lasted three seconds.
Three seconds where Hope stayed frozen, wide-eyed, breathless, the entire world reduced to the lingering heat still burning on her lips. Then, gradually, the shock began to unravel, and something very different took its place.
Her face shifted from pale to red, and from red to a shade even more dangerous. Her hands trembled, and the air around her began to vibrate, charged with an energy that forced the grass into a flattening circle at her feet.
— You... — Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper, trembling with fury. — You... how dare you?
Ethan opened his mouth to reply, but didn't get the chance.
Hope raised her right hand, and a dense, brilliant sphere of golden energy, the size of a basketball, materialized in her palm in a second. She hurled it with all her might.
Ethan watched the sphere approach.
He could have dodged. He could have dissolved it, just like all the others. He had plenty of time, a clear opening, the necessary speed. But for some reason, he stayed still. He let the sphere hit him square in the chest.
The impact lifted him off the ground like a sledgehammer blow. He flew backward, hurtling across the garden for several yards, and crashed onto his back in the grass with a dull thud, sliding a bit further before coming to a stop a good distance from the tree, his jacket scorched and thin wisps of smoke rising from the fabric.
Hope breathed heavily, panting, her hands still raised as she stared at him. Her heart hammered so hard it hurt.
I actually hit him.
For a fraction of a second, a twinge of guilt hit her, and she regretted it. It had been way too big of a sphere. What if...?
Then Ethan moved.
Slowly, with a low groan, he rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbows, lifting his torso just enough to look at her. Grass was stuck in his hair and his jacket was smoking, but on his face was a smile—wide, satisfied, goofy.
— That one kind of hurt — he said, coughing out a laugh.
Hope scowled.
He held her gaze, his green eyes sparkling mischievously.
— But it was worth it. — And he gave her a wink.
— You... — Hope was trembling all over, torn between rage and a humiliation she refused to admit. She pointed a finger at him, a golden spark leaping from the tip. — Tell me right now who you are. Or I swear, Ethan, I'll send you flying across this entire school.
Ethan didn't rush.
He got up slowly, first sitting, then planting a hand on the ground, and finally standing, brushing grass off his pants and flicking the smoke off his jacket with the casualness of someone who had just woken up from a nap. He cracked his neck. He glanced at the scorched hole in the front of his fabric, shrugged, and looked back at her.
— Calm down — he said, raising his hands in a placating gesture, wearing the most irritating smile she had ever seen. — What's with all the rush?
— Rush?
— Every good romance starts with a few secrets, right?
Hope's world clicked.
Her eyes widened, her mouth dropped open, and for a second not a single word came out. She seemed to have forgotten every word she ever knew. Her face, already red with anger, shifted to a shade she didn't even know existed.
— R... romance? — she finally managed to squeak out in a high-pitched voice she didn't recognize as her own. — What romance? Have you lost your mind?
— I'm just saying...
— I ALREADY HAVE A BOYFRIEND!
The shout echoed across the garden, sending a few birds scattering from the nearest trees.
Hope took a deep breath, her chest heaving, hands balled into fists at her sides, glaring at Ethan with blazing eyes as if she had just played her strongest card in the deck.
Ethan watched her.
His smile didn't fade, but it shifted—smaller, subtler, carrying a thread of something that wasn't quite amusement. He tilted his head, and his werewolf hearing, honed by years of survival, caught what the rest of the world wouldn't: the sound of her heart beating wildly, stumbling over its own rhythm.
Racing from anger? Or something else?
He couldn't tell.
— A boyfriend — he repeated in a quiet voice. — Oh, really?
Ethan started to laugh.
It wasn't a mocking chuckle, nor a loud guffaw. It was a low, almost inward laugh that bubbled up from his chest and grew slowly, shaking his shoulders until he had to bring a hand to his mouth to muffle it. His green eyes shone with an emotion Hope couldn't quite identify.
— What are you laughing at? — she demanded, crossing her arms, suspicious and offended all at once.
Ethan took a deep breath, reigning in his laughter, and shook his head.
— Nothing. — He pointed his chin in her direction. — Just one thing. I'm curious.
— Curious about what?
— Why do you hold onto that necklace with so much attachment, all the time?
Hope blinked.
— What?
— That one right there. — He made a vague gesture toward her chest. — I saw you holding it yesterday at the meeting. Then at the office when I walked in. This morning when you followed me. And now again.
Hope lowered her gaze.
Her right hand was clenched around the wolf pendant, pressing it against her chest so hard her knuckles were white. She hadn't even realized she was doing it. She dropped it quickly, like touching a hot coal, and hid her hand behind her back, feeling her cheeks burn all over again.
A strange wave washed over her—a cold, deep sensation in her stomach.
Ethan was right. She did that all the time. She did it without thinking, without noticing, ever since she had shown up with that necklace around her neck, unable to remember how she'd gotten it. She touched it when she was nervous, when she was sad, when she was scared. When she was alone at night, lying in the dark. It gave her a strange sense of comfort, of safety, of belonging.
She had asked herself that many times in silence, in her empty room, staring at the ceiling: Why do I do this? Why can't I take it off? Why do I miss something so much when I don't even know what it is?
She had never found an answer.
Now, hearing the question spoken aloud by someone else, it was suddenly as if she were hearing it for the first time. Her throat tightened, and for a long second, not a sound escaped her.
Ethan stopped smiling.
The amusement faded from his face slowly, replaced by a quiet, attentive, almost delicate seriousness. He took a step toward her, unhurried, his voice dropping low without a trace of taunting.
— Who gave you that necklace, Hope?
— I... — Hope's voice came out weak, broken, so different from her firm tone of a few moments ago. — I don't know.
The words hung suspended between them.
It was a small answer, and the most honest one she had ever given anyone. Hope lowered her eyes, her hand instinctively reaching back toward the pendant for a split second before she forced her fingers to curl into her palm, as if that were the ultimate proof of everything he had just said.
Ethan watched her in silence.
Something shifted in his expression. It wasn't quite a smile, but the shadow of one—a tired half-smile, sadder than it was happy, filled with a tenderness he didn't try to hide. In a way, he had expected to hear that, and yet, hearing it hurt in a way he couldn't quite explain.
He took a deep breath, shoved his hands into his pockets, and tilted his head.
— Well — he said. — You didn't beat me in the fight, so technically we didn't have a deal. — The corner of his mouth twitched upward. — But for the stolen kiss I gave you, I suppose I owe you something.
Hope looked up, her face flushing crimson once more.
— I'll answer one question for you — Ethan continued, his voice softer, deeper. — Just one. The one you asked me earlier.
She didn't speak. She didn't have to. It was written in every line of her tense, focused posture as she waited.
Ethan held her gaze, and when he spoke, every word was delivered with quiet clarity.
— I really was trapped in Malivore.
Hope's world stopped.
The wind died down. The leaves, rustling a second ago, went completely still. The distant noise of students in the courtyard seemed to fade away, as if someone had turned down the volume on everything. She stood there staring at him, unblinking, breathless, hearing the echo of those words bouncing inside her head.
They confirmed everything. Every suspicion, every chill, every puzzle piece that had snapped together by itself during the night in the dark of her room. And yet, hearing it spoken out loud was different. It was like watching a door she had imagined bolted shut swing open on its own.
Malivore. That place. The prison, the abyss, the pit that spawned all the monsters the school fought against. Nobody went in and came back out. Nobody returned. This boy with the leather jacket and the crooked smile who had just kissed her in the middle of the garden had actually been inside there.
— But — Ethan added, his voice growing softer, his green eyes never leaving hers for a second —, I am not your enemy, Hope.
Silence fell between them, heavy and vast.
— That's all you need to know for now — Ethan said, his tone lightening as if trying to brush away the weight of his previous words. He took a step back and offered a crooked smile. — Well, I'm heading out. Before you decide to pick another fight.
Hope opened her mouth to say something—anything—and found nothing.
Ethan tilted his head in a brief farewell, almost a nod, turned his back, and walked away with his hands in his pockets, in no rush. His scorched jacket swayed with every step, and the sunlight, filtered through the leaves, painted golden patches across his back. He didn't look back. He crossed the garden, passed beneath the courtyard columns, and disappeared into the building's entrance, leaving behind the quiet sound of his footsteps and an empty silence.
Hope stayed right where she was.
She didn't move for a long time. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her hand still clutching the rough bark of the tree, her legs kept steady only by sheer stubbornness. The wind picked up again, the leaves began to rustle, and the world slowly resumed its usual rhythm. Except for her.
I really was trapped in Malivore.
The sentence spun in her head on an endless loop, like a song that wouldn't stop playing. Malivore. He had been there. He was one of the ones nobody had ever seen come back. And yet here he was, alive, walking among them with a leather jacket and a smile she couldn't decode.
But I am not your enemy.
Why did he say that? Why her—of all people? And why, deep down in some place she preferred not to look, did she believe him?
Her thoughts collided, tumbling over one another in a chaotic scramble. One of them, more stubborn than the rest, returned, stayed, and refused to leave.
Slowly, without realizing she was doing it, Hope raised her hand and touched her own lips with her fingertips.
They were still warm.
The fleeting touch, the taste, the heat of a breath so close—it all rushed back, vivid and sudden. She closed her eyes, her heart racing as if it had forgotten how to beat for a moment and was now rushing to catch up. A chill ran down her spine, and straight through her chest.
The stolen kiss. A kiss that, in some strange way, felt like it had already happened before.
That was...
— Now that I think about it, he didn't block or dodge a single one of my punches or kicks... — she muttered quietly.