"Oh, thank God," Ollie's voice rang out. "I thought I was gonna starve to death."

Klaus' laugh followed, unguarded, absent of its usual deviousness. "If you had, love, it would have been a tragic loss indeed."

The sound of their voices from inside the house served as the necessary reminder. Elijah and Liza couldn't linger in the courtyard—not when reality was waiting beyond the threshold. And yet, Elijah found himself loath to move. He helped Liza to her feet, his hands firm at her waist, keeping her close even after she'd steadied herself. She didn't pull away either. Her hands slid down from his neck to rest lightly against his chest.

She was magnetized. She was not thinking straight.

Elijah exhaled, letting the moment linger before speaking. His hand found her face again, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth—a silent temptation. He swallowed, wrestling with instincts that ran far deeper than human ones. She had no idea. Her body sang to him.

"Liza," he said, his voice still rough, thick with something he didn't dare name just yet. Every part of him was attuned to her—not just the quick cadence of her heartbeat, but the rising of her body temperature, the faint sheen of perspiration that she probably didn't even notice forming on her skin, the scent that her body gave off, hinting at her arousal. "Perhaps we should… rejoin the others, yes?"

Liza's breath was unsteady. "Yeah," she whispered, her fingers briefly catching on the lapels of his suit before she forced herself to let go. "Guess we should… go in."

A smile tugged his lips at her hesitation. He felt it too—the pull, the reluctance to break away.

"I, uh—" Her gaze dropped to the ground where her purse and cigarettes lay. She stooped quickly, stuffing the pack inside before her fingers brushed over something crumpled and stained nearby—his handkerchief, now streaked with black. She had dropped it. She hesitated. "I'm sorry."

Elijah shook his head. "It's quite alright."

A ruined handkerchief was inconsequential. He had lost count of how many he had discarded over the centuries, wiping away far worse than smudged mascara. She had no idea of that either. He wanted to keep it that way. For now.

Still, she tucked it into her purse, making a mental note to wash it anyway. But then Elijah was taking her hand, and her thoughts scattered. Slowly, he brought her hand to his lips, his mouth pressing against her knuckles, his smile brushing her skin. His dark eyes gleamed as they met hers, and her breath caught.

"The food Ollie has promised," he reminded her.

Liza blinked, having forgotten about the Thai entirely.

"Come," he said, gently tugging her toward the house. "Into the warmth."

She hadn't even noticed the cold, not with how he'd just held her in his arms. But she nodded, tethered to him, following him inside. Ramses shoved his way ahead, eager for the food.

Despite the uncertainty ahead, despite the choices they would inevitably face, one truth had settled deep in Elijah's chest. Liza trusted him. And just as undeniable was the fact that she felt the same pull he did. She had kissed him back. Had met him with the same need, the same longing. It was more than enough for now.

Ramses trotted ahead of them, nails tapping against the hardwood.

Ollie had already taken over the dining table, cartons of food spread in front of her, no patience left for propriety.

"Finally!" she said, scooping noodles onto her plate with the urgency of someone who hadn't eaten all day, not really. They hadn't had lunch earlier that day due to the glam squad's primping. And Rebekah hadn't thought to give them a break for food.

"I was about to start gnawing on the furniture."

Across from her, Klaus smirked as he poured himself a glass of bourbon—because of course it was the bourbon. "I can't imagine upholstery is particularly satisfying."

Ramses danced closer, his ears perking at the sight of food just over the edge of the table from his vantage point. Klaus' grin widened. "Ah, I suspect you're famished too, old boy."

"Not too much," Ollie warned around a mouthful of noodles, hand half-covering her lips. "Or he'll be farting all night. Thai makes him fart."

Instead of recoiling, Klaus just laughed. "Perhaps he won't be the only one tonight."

Ollie choked on her bite before bursting into giggles. "Gross! I'm keeping my distance from both of you."

Klaus dangled a piece of steaming beef just out of reach, his smirk widening as Ramses immediately sat. The dog's dark eyes were locked on the prize and his curled tail thumped expectantly against the floor. Klaus flicked the beef. It made a small arc in the air. And… With ease, Ramses snapped up the meat without even chewing it.

Klaus leaned back, proud. "Good boy."

As Liza and Elijah stepped into the room, Ollie's chewing slowed, her gaze flicking to Liza's face. Though she'd wiped away the tear tracks, faint smudges of mascara lingered, betraying what had happened outside. But it wasn't just that. Ollie's attention darted between her and Elijah, noting the way their steps were unconsciously in sync—the way Liza's fingers were intertwined with his. He wasn't leading her. She was holding his hand just as much as he was holding hers.

That was new.

"You okay?" Ollie asked, her voice quieter now, more focused on Liza than the meal in front of her. "Were you… crying?" Her eyes snapped to Elijah, narrowing slightly. Surely, he hadn't been the cause.

Liza hesitated, acutely aware of Elijah's presence beside her. The warmth of his dark eyes trailed on her as she let go of his hand, a hint of a smile on his mouth. Her heart stammered as she managed a small nod, sinking into the chair beside Ollie.

"Yeah," she murmured. "I'm okay now. It's fine."

For once, Klaus' expression sobered. A beat passed. Then his usual lack of tact ruined the moment.

"Elijah, what on earth did you do?" Klaus leaned forward over his food, giving an exaggerated groan. "We leave you alone for, what, half an hour, and you've already distressed the poor girl."

Elijah exhaled through his nose, long-suffering. He pulled out a chair on Liza's other side and sat. "Niklaus, eat your food."

Ollie didn't push further, but the look she shot Liza was loaded. We'll talk later, she mouthed. Liza gave her a small, tired smile and nodded.

Klaus, however, was far from done. His smirk sharpened as he stared at his older brother, winding his fork idly in his Pad Thai. "I must say, brother, you do seem rather… refreshed." His tone was prickling with amusement. "Should we credit the crisp evening air, or was there something—or someone—that provided such an effect?"

Liza had opened her container of Pad See Ew, and she coughed on her first bite. Had to quickly reach for the Thai Iced Tea Ollie had gotten her.

Elijah, wholly unbothered, reached for a container labeled Coconut Curry in black marker, serving himself a portion alongside some rice. He didn't look up as he unwrapped his chopsticks, snapping them apart like twigs.

"The air, Niklaus," he said smoothly, "is indeed quite invigorating this evening."

Ollie, smirking, nudged Liza under the table with her foot before turning back to her meal. "Honestly, if all it takes is fresh air, maybe I should step outside too."

Liza shook her head, bemused, poking at her food, though her appetite had yet to return. Elijah's touch still lingered beneath her skin, the ghost of his lips on hers. Her emotions were still raw, her eyes tender from crying, but part of her ached for him to hold her again, to drown out everything else.

She glanced at him, saw that tiny smile still there on his face, despite how nonchalant he was being—it mirrored something inside her, something still humming with electricity.

"The evening air has many benefits, Olympia," he remarked, his voice light, conversational. "Not least of which is clearing one's mind. Perhaps you should indeed consider it."

His gaze went to Liza, brief, but charged with meaning. A reminder. A promise. Liza couldn't stop her own timid smile from forming on her face.

Ollie wasn't blind to the glances passing between her friend and Elijah. Something had happened. Something beyond Liza's earlier distress. Her best friend's red lipstick had been wiped away, but a faint stain of color still clung to her lips—an absence that spoke volumes.

Ollie decided to momentarily let it go, shifting her focus to Ramses. She plucked a piece of chicken satay from her skewer and handed it to the Akita, who eagerly chomped it down, licking his maw in satisfaction.

Across the table, Klaus paused his eating, his eyes darkening despite the nonchalance in his posture. "Speaking of invigorating evenings," he drawled, shifting the conversation, "let's not forget that our dear sister is currently off having a rather important rendezvous with Marcel."

Ollie, mid-bite, raised a brow. "You guys really that worried?"

Klaus sighed, picking up his bourbon and taking a slow sip. "Worried? Not quite." His smirk faltered just enough to give away his irritation. "Not that I'm particularly thrilled about them having another private heart-to-heart."

Liza, who had been absentmindedly pushing her food around her plate, glanced up. "She trusts him, I thought."

Klaus scoffed. "And I trust him about as much as I trust a starving vampire in a blood bank." He gestured with a hand. "Which is to say—not at all."

Under the table, Ramses, ever the opportunist, edged closer to Liza's chair, his eyes locked onto her plate with unwavering determination. His tail gave more smacks against the floor, a silent but persistent plea.

Ollie nudged Liza's foot again. "Pretty sure it's your turn to share now."

Liza bit back a small smile, picking up a piece of Pad See Ew noodle and casually dropping it under the table. Ramses mopped it up in an instant with his tongue.

Meanwhile, Elijah, ever composed, ate with practiced ease, wielding chopsticks with the kind of precision one might expect from a centuries-old vampire. Every bite of his coconut curry-soaked rice was taken with methodical care.

After finishing a bite, he dabbed his mouth with one of the paper napkins that had come with the takeout. "I would not say her trust in him is entirely misplaced. Premature, perhaps. But not without basis."

Klaus wiped his own mouth before crumpling his napkin. "Oh, I cannot wait to hear how it all plays out. Preferably with fewer wistful sighs and love-struck nonsense than last time."

Ollie chuckled as she gestured with her fork. "You're really worked up over this, huh?"

Klaus shot her a look, aghast. "If you'd spent 200 years watching your sister pine over the same insufferable man, you'd have opinions too." He bit rather viciously into a spring roll.

Liza absently handed Ramses another bite of food before finally taking a few small bites of her own. "Maybe he actually has information. You know, on Benny."

"We will find out, won't we?" Klaus finished the spring roll in one more bite.

"Indeed," Elijah murmured.

Without drawing attention to himself, his hand moved to Liza's knee beneath the table—a silent offering of comfort and reassurance. He knew that she still, on some level, felt responsible for Benny's death. Seeing it happen in her dream. Even if there was nothing she could've done.

Liza froze for a fraction of a second, caught off guard by the unexpected contact. But she didn't pull away. She masked her reaction with a subtle shift in her chair, pretending to adjust her posture. His touch was exactly what she wanted—she just hadn't expected him to be so bold.

Her grip on her fork remained loose, her food barely touched, but the only tell was the way she ever so slightly leaned into his presence, like she was drawing something from it.

Ollie took a sip of her Thai Tea. Setting it down, she looked back at Klaus. "Why don't you, I don't know, let Rebekah breathe? Overprotective brother much?"

Klaus clenched his jaw as he chewed, but to Ollie's mild surprise, his reaction wasn't as bristled as she expected. Maybe because their blooming friendship gave her some leeway. He forced himself to answer with something resembling patience.

"I sired Marcel. But just because he is my progeny does not mean he is good enough for our sister."

Ollie rolled her eyes. "God, you're so dramatic."

Klaus smiled darkly. "If you had a brother, I reckon he would be the same with you."

Ollie scoffed. "No one could tell me who I could or couldn't date."

Klaus tilted his head, lips pursing in amusement. "That is adorable, love. But let's be honest—if your sister ever showed up with some unworthy imbecile, you'd be the first to intervene."

Ollie opened her mouth to argue—then promptly shut it, scowling. Damn it. He wasn't wrong. Sophie might only be twelve, but Ollie could already picture herself interrogating the first boy who so much as looked at her the wrong way.

"Let's just be patient, shall we?" Elijah interjected, his voice carrying a quiet warning.

Klaus shot him a glare but shoveled another forkful of food into his mouth, which kept him from firing off the retort he wanted to give.

Ollie took another chicken satay skewer and gestured with it. "Well, whatever happens, I vote we don't sit around brooding over it all night. We survived the fancy vampire party, we've got good food, and honestly?" She exhaled. "We should enjoy the peace while we have it."

Elijah withdrew his hand from Liza's leg—not because he wanted to, but because he couldn't very well leave it there throughout dinner.

"Indeed," he agreed. "This curry is quite good. Of course, the best is always where it originated."

Liza perked up, watching as he maneuvered the chopsticks gracefully. His fingers were long, deft—capable. What else could he maneuver so well? She swallowed slightly. "You… have been to Thailand?"

Elijah immediately looked up at her, a slow smile tugging his lips. "Yes, I have. I've been to every country in the world, even the ones most don't know exist."

Klaus leaned on his elbow, regarding her lazily. "We all have. Some countries a mere few times, others a thousand times over. After a while, a place does get dull. But Thailand does have its charms." He smirked. "However, I much prefer Singapore."

"No way," Ollie cut in, her eyes widening. "I've always wanted to go there. And Japan. And Korea."

Klaus' smirk widened, his gaze flicking with an impish glint. "Well then, love, perhaps when all this salvation business is done, we ought to go."

Liza snorted. He had to just be saying that—flirting as usual. Ollie, however, only raised a brow, twirling her fork. "Oh yeah? First class, obviously." She was mostly joking, then—

"Naturally," Klaus purred. "Only the finest for you."

Ollie ducked her head, her expression almost becoming demure with a faint blush tinging her cheeks.

Liza tilted her head, amused, before looking back to Elijah, leaning in slightly again. "You never told us where you're from," she said. "What country. Where you were born. England?"

Elijah hadn't expected the assumption, but as he glanced at Klaus, he understood why she thought it.

"No," he said, his smile soft but knowing. "We weren't born there. Niklaus simply adopted his accent, assuming it would make him sound posh."

Klaus laughed, tossing his head back. "Coming from the man who wears nothing but suits and changed his accent to Transatlantic in the early 20th century." He glanced at Liza. "Do not be fooled, little witch. It's all a facade with him."

Ollie shifted forward, intrigued. "So what did you sound like before?"

Elijah opened his mouth. "Not too diff—"

Klaus cut right over Elijah before he could continue. "Oh, you should have heard him," he declared, clearing his throat with theatrical flair. Then, in an absurdly high-pitched, exaggerated accent, he mimicked, "Oh, good gracious me, let me sip my tea with my pinky raised, lest I be mistaken for a commoner!"

Ollie lost it. She cackled, slapping the table with an open palm. "Holy shit!"

Liza, despite herself, giggled too. Even if Klaus was being dramatic, she could absolutely picture Elijah speaking like that—only with less of the ridiculous pitch and more of the refinement of a member of the Royal family.

Elijah groaned, shutting his eyes briefly before leveling his brother with a look so flat it could have pressed Klaus into the floor. "Your wit is as tiresome as ever, Niklaus."

Klaus only grinned with smug satisfaction. "Admit it. You were unbearable."

Elijah didn't dignify him with a response, and instead he moved his attention back to Liza and Ollie. His voice, ever composed, returned to its usual measured cadence. "Our family originated from what was once the Kingdom of Norway."

Liza blinked, caught off guard. "Wait—Norway?"

Elijah nodded. "Our father was a Viking warrior. He traveled often. Our family came from the southern coast of what is now Norway. He, our mother, and several ships' worth of people from our village crossed the Atlantic. Niklaus, Rebekah, and I were born in what is now Virginia."

Ollie's jaw practically unhinged. "Hold on—so Vikings really made it to North America?"

"They did," Elijah confirmed. "Leif Erikson and his crew weren't the only ones. Norse explorers reached these lands centuries before Columbus ever sailed."

Liza and Ollie exchanged wide-eyed glances, the shock of that revelation settling between them.

"Holy shit," Ollie muttered again.

Liza let out a breath, still trying to process everything. "So… basically, you guys are Viking royalty?"

Klaus chortled and leaned back in his chair. "I do rather like the sound of that."

Elijah sighed, before his gaze softened as it settled on Liza. His patience with Klaus was limited, but with her, it was boundless. "We were not royalty," he corrected gently. "Our family was of ordinary class."

"Damn," Ollie said, propping her chin in her hand. "History books really do suck."

Liza, still absorbing the truth of it all, turned back to Elijah. "And your mother?"

Elijah's expression remained composed, but a flicker of something deeper and somber passed through his eyes. "She was… complicated."

Klaus let out a dry laugh, refilling the bourbon in his glass. "That's one way to put it." He set the decanter down a bit too roughly.

Elijah ignored him, his focus solely on Liza. "She was a powerful witch," he continued, his voice steady but quieter now, as if the truth itself carried a heaviness only he could bear. "Which, of course, made her relationship with our father complicated."

Liza studied him, her curiosity growing. She had always assumed the Mikaelsons' origins were tied to England or France, but now that she really looked at Elijah—the sharp, aristocratic features, the way he carried himself with an air of something ancient, something timeless—Norway made sense.

"So technically," she mused, tilting her head, "you are still a Viking."

A small chuckle escaped Elijah, low and rich, like the warmth of the crackling fire. "Technically, yes."

Ollie grinned, shaking her head in disbelief. "This is insane. We're literally having dinner with Viking vampires."

Klaus leaned toward her, his blue eyes glinting with mischief. "You say that like it's a bad thing, love."

Ollie rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it.

Liza's gaze drifted back to Elijah—and found his already on her. He wasn't just watching her. He was studying her. And it sent a quiet shiver down her spine, because it never felt passive. It was intent, unwavering. Enamored.

Something had changed between them after the courtyard. As if something had unleashed within him. And Liza wasn't sure whether that made her nervous… or if it thrilled her.

00000000

Rebekah stepped out of the elevator, the soft click of her heels against polished hardwood echoing through the dimly lit foyer. She took a breath, straightening her shoulders, smoothing a hand over the blue fabric of her dress. A glance in the mirror on the wall—flawless, as always. But still, she lingered, pressing her lips together, tilting her chin just so. A waste of time, perhaps, but habits were hard to break.

The air carried the faint mix of whiskey and cologne, mingling with the crisp night breeze drifting in from a cracked window. The scent of him—unmistakable.

Marcel's condo was exactly what she expected. Modern, sleek, a curated balance between luxury and restraint. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the glittering Chicago skyline, a reminder of the city pulsing beneath them. Dark leather couches, deep oak and steel furnishings—masculine, expensive, but lived-in. Every piece chosen with intention. Nothing excessive. Everything in its place.

Including him.

Marcel leaned against the kitchen counter, a half-empty glass in his hand. His suit jacket had been abandoned, his black dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, tie missing. Sleeves rolled up, the dim light catching the cut of muscle along his forearms. Relaxed. Composed. And yet—the slight furrow between his brows betrayed him.

"Drink?" he asked, lifting the bottle of whiskey toward an empty glass beside him.

Rebekah slowed, arching a brow, masking the way her pulse quickened at the sight of him. He was always the most irritatingly handsome when he looked like this—half out of a suit, undone just enough to be dangerous.

"You didn't call me here to play bartender," she said, but she took the glass anyway after he poured. The amber liquid swirled as she tilted it idly in her hand. "So? What did you find?"

Marcel took a slow sip of his. "Benny's manager knew about Liza's grandmother reaching out to him. That the name Mikaelson came up. But it wasn't the manager who killed him."

Rebekah frowned, fingers tightening subtly around her own glass. "Then who did?"

"That's the problem." Marcel's gaze darted toward the windows, his jaw tightening. "Whoever it was, they were careful. No prints, no obvious struggle—just a clean, efficient kill. And the security footage?" He let out a humorless laugh. "Nothing. Cameras didn't catch their face, like they knew exactly how to move. But everything else?" He turned back to her, his voice dropping slightly. "Points to a vampire."

Rebekah shifted in her heels ever so slightly, though her expression remained neutral. "Not exactly a short list of suspects," she murmured before taking a sip.

Marcel studied her, stepping closer, his tone quieter now. "Why is she so important, Rebekah?"

Her blue eyes snapped to his, the gravity of the question tangible between them.

"Benny knew something," Marcel continued, watching her closely. "And someone didn't want that knowledge getting out." He took another step, closing the space between them, his voice underlined with something knowing. "And now Elijah's got his sights locked on Liza like she's the last piece of some puzzle only he can see." He tilted his head, his gaze unrelenting. "So tell me—what's so special about her?"

Rebekah's lips curled, her defensive nonchalance sliding into place like a wall. "She's a witch," she said coolly. "You've seen how Elijah gets around witches."

Marcel scoffed, not believing her. He stepped even closer, the heat radiating from him. "Come on, Rebekah. I've seen Elijah work with witches before." His voice hardened. "This is different. He's different around her."

Rebekah shrugged again, playing at indifference. Even as her eyes darted for a millisecond to his mouth, which was so close. "Perhaps he finds her interesting."

Marcel exhaled sharply and shook his head. "Oh, it's more than that. He's protective. Too protective." He tilted his chin, his stare turning razor sharp. "You're hiding something."

If his glare was meant to intimidate her, it failed spectacularly. She simply placed her glass down on the counter. "And you are prying too much into things that don't concern you."

Marcel clenched his jaw, dragging a hand over his face before pacing a step away. "Dammit, Rebekah."

She didn't move, simply watched him.

He turned back to her, frustration bleeding into his voice. "I need to know what I'm dealing with here. If someone killed Benny over this, it's not just your problem anymore—it's mine too. Now that I had my guys look into him."

Rebekah sighed, her gaze drifting to the skyline as if the answers she refused to give might be hidden among the distant city lights. Marcel wasn't wrong—this wasn't just a Mikaelson problem anymore. But that didn't mean she could give him everything.

"Fine," she relented at last. "Benny's death wasn't random. That much is clear." She turned back to Marcel, her expression sharpening. "But as for Liza?" She straightened, holding his gaze with a look that brokered no argument. "She's caught in the middle of something far bigger than she understands. That's all I can say."

Marcel studied her, waiting—expecting—more. "And Elijah?"

Rebekah hesitated, just a beat too long. Then, she smirked, slipping easily back into practiced deflection. "You've known him long enough. When he sets his mind to something—or someone—there's no shaking him."

Marcel let out a slow, annoyed breath. This was like pulling teeth. "This isn't just about her being a witch, is it?"

Rebekah held his gaze, unwavering. Then, at last, a simple—"No."

Silence settled thick between them.

Marcel exhaled through his nose, then downed the rest of his glass in one smooth motion. He set it down with a clank, the sound carrying a finality. He wouldn't get more out of her tonight. "So what now?" he asked, resigned.

Rebekah let her gaze sweep over the condo—sleek, modern, curated. It wasn't like the place he'd kept in New Orleans, filled with history, with things that mattered. It was... surface.

Then, with a final glance toward the door, she said, "Now? You keep looking into Benny. Find out who else knew." She took a step past him, but before she disappeared completely, she paused, glancing over her shoulder. Her smirk softened—just slightly. "And as for Liza?" A flicker of something crossed her face—something knowing. "You let Elijah handle it."

She hadn't missed it. The way her brother watched the witch. The way his hand had lingered at her back. How his eyes always found her, no matter how crowded the room.

Marcel observed her, considering, before giving a small nod. "Alright. But Rebekah?"

She just tilted her head slightly in acknowledgment.

"Whatever this is… it's bigger than just you and your brothers," he said. "And that means it's only a matter of time before more people start asking questions. You better have your answers ready."

Rebekah's expression betrayed nothing. No deflection. No smirk. Then, without a word, she turned on her heel and walked out. She didn't have the answers. But one thing was certain—whatever was coming, it was already too late to stop it.