After the dust settled and the police presence disappeared from campus, Harmon College went back to normal. As February turned to March, the snow melted completely, revealing the fresh green grass of spring and making walks to and from class much more comfortable. Flowers poked out through the cracks in the stone pathways, and students studied under trees, read books in the courtyard, and generally began to spend more and more time outside. Gone were the days of hiding inside bundled up with a book.

Except for Elena, who, unfortunately, was stuck in the library with Damon Salvatore for most of the month. The pair continued to argue over their Virgil translation. With the semester already half over, they were by no means halfway through with their work. For the most part, their sessions devolved into arguments, bickering, and eye rolls. While Elena no longer suspected him or anyone else in the group of involvement in the Lithander case—which had since been ruled as an animal attack—they still got under her skin with ease.

She hadn't caught Damon threatening anyone about her in quite some time, but they were still competing. And while a good portion of their grade depended on this project, of which the grade would be shared, there were plenty of other assignments in the meantime. So when they weren't together slogging through the translation of The Aeneid, they were with the twins and Marcus, working silently on assignments.

This wasn't like last semester, where everyone had slacked off and gotten drunk at all hours. For once, everyone seemed to be just as busy as she was. And while she yearned for a day off and some time to relax, she was at least glad that they were in it together. All of them miserable and exhausted at once.

They occupied two tables in the main hall of the library. The twins and Marcus seated at one, with books and papers and pens sprawled out before them, heads down in silent work. At the other, Damon and Elena sat across from one another, two copies of The Aeneid open, hardly looking at one another, with a stack of finished translations piled in the center of the table. They'd created a system, albeit not a very good one.

Elena would write out the initial translation, and Damon would go through with his corrections before passing it back to her. She would cross out anything of his that she didn't like, and they would work silently like that, back and forth until a passage resembled something that both made sense and worked with both of their styles. Unfortunately, that often resulted in spending hours on one page and ending a session with an argument about the system and it's efficiency. They'd tried working together, of course, on more than one occasion, but that was even worse.

"Are you serious?" Elena held up a piece of paper. Almost all of her words had been scratched out and re-written underneath.

"Deadly," he looked up at her with his typical smirk, the one that made her blood boil. The one that made her want to ball up their entire project and throw it at him. Instead, her fists just clenched at her sides.

"That's not—" she started, but pressed her lips into a tight line in order to stop herself from yelling in the library. "You aren't allowed to cross out every single word, that's the rule."

"Unlike you, Gilbert, I'd like to get a passing grade on this project, and if we submit your flowery translations, we're going to fail."

Not this again. "My translations aren't flowery. They're correct."

He chuckled, taking the page from her hands. The disrespect! "I wouldn't call any of this correct."

She stood up from the table and put her hands on it, leaning over, about to let this study session devolve into another argument. Their grades be damned, she'd strangle him, instead.

"Children, please. Some of us are trying to work," John called, twisting in his chair to look at the pair of them. "Is it really so much to ask for the two of you to get along for more than ten minutes?"

"Yes," Elena said, at the same time as Damon's, "No." The overlapping words resulted in them turning their glances on one another, a mild glare from Damon and an outright scowl from Elena.

James stood up, took one large step over, and plopped down in the chair between her and Damon. He picked up the most recent page they'd been arguing about and stared at it for a few moments. Elena and Damon both watched intently as James' eyes scanned the page, as his lips mouthed the words they'd translated.

Then, he let out a dry laugh. "You both are ridiculous. These translations are fine. Passable. Maybe if you worked together, they would be great." He put the page face down on top of the pile they'd been slaving away on for an entire month. A pile that should have been much larger by that point. "We're nearly finished with our project. We're going home to share a celebratory drink."

John popped up from his seat and stood over James, one hand on his shoulder, leaning slightly forward. "And if you kids finish your homework, maybe you can join us. But frankly, we're sick of listening to the two of you bicker." When had John become the voice of reason?

Damon leaned back in his chair with arms over his chest. Elena's cheeks flushed red, finally feeling a bit of shame at just how long it had taken them to complete hardly any serviceable amount of work. A month and a half, and they had a mere few pages. A few pages they were hardly even proud of, at that.

They sat in silence as their friends gathered up their things and filed out of the library. Only a few months ago, Elena had never even had alcohol before, but now she felt herself craving that celebratory drink, craving something to take the edge off. Because at that point, her head was throbbing, a migraine starting deep in her skull. She reached forward and spread the few pages they had out over the table.

"How about a temporary truce?" she said, looking from their scribbled pages up to his cool blue eyes. "Just until we finish this assignment. We try to be nice to each other."

"Not sure what you mean, Gilbert. I've been nice to you this entire time."

She narrowed her eyes at him, her lips pressing together.

"Relax, I'm kidding. I suppose I could lay off. A bit."

"A bit," she repeated, earning her the glare this time. "And I suppose I could favor a more technical style of translation."

"Well, we wouldn't want to lose all the feeling, would we?"

"What a good point. I'd be inclined to agree," Elena said with a wide smile, liking this flexible side of Damon Salvatore.

In the two hours before the library closed, they were able to get more work done than they'd completed thus far the entire semester. Of course, they still bickered back and forth about word choice, but they grit their teeth and accepted some changes, instead of holding their ground and being relentlessly stubborn over minute details. Though, Elena could have argued that none of these details were truly that minute, that even the slightest changes could alter the meaning of the text. But, at least the project was actually getting done. The completed pages also reflected both of their styles, actually showcased them as a blended pair, instead of two students who could barely tolerate each other's existence.

As soon as they stepped into the twins' apartment, a glass was placed in each of their hands. John, seated on the couch next to James, slapped his twin playfully on the shoulder. "Ah, see. I told you they'd make it out alive."

Eagerly, Elena sipped at her drink. Despite everything that had happened and the over six months they'd spent together, she still couldn't help but feel anxious in their company. At that point, the fear of them figuring out her identity had faded. If they knew, they certainly didn't care, and that was all that mattered. But, there was still something about them that she couldn't quite place. She still felt like an outsider. And maybe there was nothing that would truly make her feel included in their group. Maybe she'd always be an outsider when it came to them.

"Whoa, slow down, Gilbert," John commented as she finished off the first of hopefully many servings.

She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. "Sorry. Not that kind of party?"

"Every Mercury party is that kind of party," Marcus said from his usual place in the corner of the room, nose in a book. How he could read and pay attention to the surrounding conversation, Elena would never know. When she read it was like being transported to another place entirely. But somehow, Marcus could read in an entirely different language and process both the story and reality at the same time. And yet, he turned in mediocre work (compared to her and Salvatore). Perhaps he'd just much rather spend his time reading than writing, translating, analyzing. To that, she couldn't relate. Her passion had always been torn between reading and learning, reading and writing.

The bottle passed from hand to hand until it found Salvatore's and he was pouring her another serving with a smirk. "Don't give him such a hard time, John. He already had to put up with me all night, isn't that right, Gilbert?"

"Made more progress on our project tonight than in the whole semester, so at least there's that. Hopefully, we can manage to recapture that magic again another time. Lest we'll never finish."

"Well by golly, I never thought I'd see the day the two of you got along," said John.

She took a seat in one of the armchairs across from the twins, placing her glass on the coffee table. "It was only two hours, let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"I'm certain none of this camaraderie will exist after I win the first clue for Harmon's Great Minds," Damon stated.

"You're right, I definitely will cease engaging with you after I win the clue for Harmon's Great Minds," Elena replied. Despite their few hours of friendship, if you could even call it that, her eyes were still set on the prize. And she'd do whatever it took to ensure that clue ended up in her hands.

Most of her free time had been spent daydreaming about the society. Despite early research into the elite club, she still didn't know exactly what went on behind those locked doors, and she was more determined than ever to figure it out. Even if it was just scholars sitting around drinking expensive scotch and engaging in highly intellectual conversation. Oh, how she yearned to be a part of those debates.

"They know there's only one clue, right," John whispered, intentionally too loud. Both Damon and Elena received his comment with an eye roll.

The rest of the night progressed as nights at the Mercury household often did, with heavy-handed pours of scotch and whiskey, badly performed Shakespeare (this time with Elena reciting lines from Hamlet), and the group falling asleep in an exhausted heap across couches and chairs, despite the available beds only steps away.

The next morning, she walked home just after sunrise, the familiar morning-after headache almost a comfort. A reminder that there was fun to be had amongst all the hard work. That life was more than just studying. That maybe these people did like her, at least with a few drinks in their systems.

The gentleman at the front desk, however, seemed keen on interrupting her desire to get back in bed, as he waved her down immediately after she pushed open the heavy front door of The Mac.

"Mr. Gilbert," he said, standing up from his spot behind his semi-circle desk. Elena stopped in her tracks. Had Caroline called? Her brother? Those were the only reasons she'd ever been stopped by this man before. "There's a detective here who wants to speak with you."

She blinked, processing what was said in slow motion. "I'm sorry, what?"

"From the Harmon police department. He's waiting in the first floor common room."

Why did a detective from the Harmon police department want to speak with her? It had to be about Gregory Lithander. Her heart started racing in response, and she walked toward the common room with sweating palms and irregular breathing, trying to get it under control just as she pushed open the door and stepped into the room.

The common room was a small square room with a large circular table in the center, surrounded by six chairs. One of the walls featured two ornate windows, the other walls mostly bare. It was meant to be a space for students to study, work on projects together, and spend quality time, but it mostly went unused, most students preferring the comfort of the library only a short walk away.

It was the same detective she'd spoken to the morning after seeing Lithander's body. He had the same long tan trench coat, the same smell of stale cigars on his breath, the same messy beard, and beady eyes.

"Morning, sir," Elena said, trying her best to be as calm as possible. But the sun was barely up and the police wanted to speak with her, so keeping herself from panicking proved to be a difficult challenge. "Is something the matter?"

"I just have a few questions I'd like to ask you. That's all. Have a seat," he said, words monotone, bland, all together uninterested. It only pushed her closer to the edge.

She folded her hands together in her lap, trying to keep fingers from balling into fists, fingernails from digging half-moons into her palms. Even breaths, she reminded herself over and over again, you're innocent.

"I'm unsure if you recall, Mr. Gilbert, but we spoke a few months ago. You seemed interested in what had happened to your classmate, Mr. Lithander. Is that correct?"

"I guess."

"You guess?"

"Well, I mean, I had been a part of the group that saw his body the previous night. I had never seen something so grotesque. I only wished for answers, like I'm sure many others did," she clarified.

He only nodded. "I see."

"I thought this had been ruled an animal attack?" she asked, looking at him with brows scrunched together. She'd seen it in the school's newspaper. The lack of police presence moving forward, the statement from Harmon's president. Why was this all being dredged up now? A month later, when she had more important things to worry about? i.e. besting Salvatore.

"It had. It was." He dropped his glance from hers to click open a briefcase that sat on the table before him. He pulled out a thick file and spread a few photos across the table. "We have reason to believe that something else is at play here."

He tapped the first photo, sliding it across the table. No warning, just the same crooked angle of Lithander's face. He slid across another photo, this one a close-up of the neck. "Do you believe in the supernatural, Mr. Gilbert?"

"I'm sorry?"

"These bite marks," he nudged the photo an inch closer and Elena wished to escape her seat and run in the opposite direction. "They don't match any animal we've seen before. And Mr. Lithander, well. He'd lost a lot of blood."

Her eyebrows couldn't have pulled together more if she'd tried. Her pupils moved fast across the photos before her, tugging at something she recognized. But eventually, after a moment of silence that felt more than intrusive, she just shook her head.

"I'm not sure I follow."

He collected the photos placed before her and withdrew two glasses from a satchel at his side, pouring water into each out of a large canister that sat on the seat next to him. He slid one across the table, motioning for her to drink. "Please."

Needing to calm down, she took a large gulp of the water, hoping it would steel her nerves. The water, while cool, did nothing to help her. Her brain still felt fuzzy, words like supernatural and blood popping up again and again no matter how much she tried to ignore them. She'd read Bram Stoker's Dracula, a recent success and one of the first pieces she'd gotten to read during its height of popularity. She'd even gotten to discuss it with her fellow literature classmates. But, was that what this detective was implying? That some vampiric creature was tearing its way through Harmon? The idea of it alone made her want to laugh in his face. But there was a modicum of truth behind the thought, a sliver of something that made sense, felt familiar. Although that only made her feel all the more ridiculous.

"It hasn't just been Mr. Lithander, you see." He pulled out a few more photos and slid them across the table for her perusal. None of them were familiar, but she had to admit that the wounds looked similar. The same mangled, twisted position, the same gruesome expression, and bloodied neck and torso. The same pinprick holes in the side of the neck.

But no. She knew in her bones that Gregory Lithander had been killed in an animal attack. She was confident of such. The idea that something else, some human animal, some supernatural creature out of a storybook had drained him of his blood and left him to die in the courtyard, it was impossible. Laughable.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what it is you're asking me," Elena said, taking another sip of the water if only to busy her hands.

"This information can be quite a shock to hear," he said, looking at her over the rim of his own glass, before taking a sip. "It's a lot to digest. But I do believe you should think about it."

He gathered the photos and slid them back into the file, which he placed in the briefcase before clicking it shut. He stood up and handed her a slip of paper. "My information. Don't hesitate to contact me if you remember anything. I'll keep in touch. Stay safe, Mr. Gilbert, and stay inside at night."

"Okay," was the only word she could muster while looking down at the business card in her hand. And after he left, she lingered at the table for a few moments longer, looking at the photographs cycle through her mind. There had to be something the police department was missing. For there was no way this wasn't an animal attack, right? The idea of something other, something eldritch and dark lurking in the shadows of Harmon, Vermont felt unreasonable, a children's tale. But still, that sliver of something pricked at her consciousness, said don't look away. But she ignored it anyways, slung her bag over her shoulder, and walked up the stairs, pushing all thoughts of the conversation as far away as possible before collapsing in bed the hangover haze mixing with whatever had just happened to create a, thankfully, thoughtless slumber.