The compound was quiet.
Too quiet.
The kind of silence that pressed against her skin, a heavy, oppressive stillness that made her bones hum with unease. Every corner felt as if it was holding its breath, waiting for something to shatter the calm. Caroline sat at the edge of her bed, brushing her fingers absentmindedly over the swell of her stomach, feeling the gentle rise and fall beneath her touch. The twins were unusually still tonight—there were no sudden jolts of siphoning magic, no waves of nausea crashing over her. Instead, there was just a strange stillness that mirrored the hollow silence of the halls beyond her door.
She hadn't meant to stay up so late; sleep had been elusive, a fickle companion that consistently slipped through her fingers. Her body ached, a dull reminder of the mounting stress she had been under, and her thoughts buzzed like angry bees, chaotic and frantic. And Klaus…
She frowned, her heart tightening at the mere thought of him. Klaus had been gone most of the day—again. Each time he left, she tried her best to remind herself that she wasn't here for him, but for the safety of her unborn children. Still, his absence echoed around her, a soundless void that left her unsettled. It was as if his presence was a light she had come to rely on, and without it, she felt the shadows creeping closer.
She stood to grab a blanket, hoping to wrap herself in its warmth and settle into some semblance of comfort when the quiet finally broke.
A crash echoed through the compound—wood striking stone, the unmistakable sound of the massive doors slamming open.
Instantly alert, Caroline found herself in the hallway a second later, her bare feet silent against the cool floor, her heart already thudding in her chest. It was a blend of instinct and fear that propelled her forward, accompanied by the twins' sudden surge of magic prickling beneath her skin like static electricity. Adrenaline spiked, turning her previously languid state into one of heightened awareness.
And then she saw him.
Klaus.
He charged through the main doors like a tempest, blood smeared across his clothes, his face contorted into a mask of rage mixed with anguish. There was something primal about him, a fury etched deep into his features that left Caroline breathless. She stood frozen on the staircase, her heart dropping to her stomach, dread pooling in her gut.
And in his arms—a woman. Blonde. Limp. Blood everywhere.
"Klaus?" she called, her voice trembling as it escaped her lips, but he didn't look at her, didn't pause for even a heartbeat.
Her stomach twisted with anxiety as he stalked into the entry hall as if in a trance, moving with purpose to the sitting room. He carefully lowered the woman onto the couch, his hands lingering over her body, the way his fingers brushed against her skin filled with a tenderness that struck Caroline like a lightning bolt. He was watching the girl, his eyes locked onto her pale, bloodless face, and in that moment, it was evident—this wasn't just concern.
This was grief.
"Klaus—what happened?" Caroline asked again, her voice softer now, almost a whisper as if she didn't trust the air around her.
He still didn't respond, didn't acknowledge her presence at all. Just stood there, a statue frozen in time, over the girl with an expression that appeared utterly haunted, as if he was trying to will her back to life through sheer force of will.
Footsteps echoed behind him then, and Elijah and Hayley stepped into the room, both looking grim and shaken. Hayley's eyes flicked between Klaus and the girl on the couch, her expression shifting from concern to worry as she caught sight of Caroline hovering back in the shadows of the hall.
"What happened?" Caroline repeated, taking a cautious step toward them, her pulse quickening.
Hayley hesitated for just a moment, that hesitation lingering long enough for Caroline to feel the weight of it pressing down on her. "That girl…" Hayley's voice trembled slightly as she glanced toward the sofa, "she's… she was human. Klaus gave her his blood to heal her. But one of our enemies killed her." As she spoke, she shook her head, a gesture filled with frustration and sadness.
"She's in transition now," Elijah added quietly, his voice clipped but steady, his eyes never leaving Klaus, who appeared lost in sorrow.
Caroline blinked in confusion. "She's—wait—transition? Into a vampire?"
Hayley nodded, her expression grim. "If she feeds, she'll complete it. If she doesn't…" The words hung in the air, heavy and foreboding, the implications settling like lead in Caroline's stomach.
Caroline briefly refocused on the girl. She looked almost peaceful, her features soft and fragile. It felt surreal, like she could be merely sleeping if not for the blood staining her throat and the stark, unnatural stillness of her body. There was something almost ethereal about her, as if she was caught between two worlds, neither of which truly acknowledged her.
But Klaus—Klaus looked absolutely wrecked.
"Who is she?" Caroline asked, almost to herself, but the question hung between them, heavy with unspoken fears and implications.
Hayley's eyes darted toward Elijah, searching for the right words before focusing back on Caroline. "She's… someone important to him," she revealed cautiously.
Caroline's lips parted in response, words faltering as a torrent of emotions washed over her. Suddenly, all of Klaus's behaviour made sense—the coldness he had shown her, the way he had walked past her like she didn't exist, the pain etched onto his face as he gazed at the other woman. There was something about that look, so filled with a mix of love and despair, that made her chest ache in a way she didn't want to admit.
Still, she straightened, determined to help in any way she could. "Do you need me to help? I could—"
"I think it's best if you go back to your room," Hayley said gently, stepping forward, her tone apologetic yet firm. "Just for now."
Caroline frowned, a sense of indignation bubbling to the surface. "I don't mind staying. If there's something I can do—"
"She needs rest," Elijah interjected, his tone sharp and curt. "And we need space to… deal with this."
Caroline turned to him, startled. Though his voice wasn't angry, the unyielding tone made it clear that he expected compliance, and she had come to learn that it was wiser to listen when Elijah spoke with such authority.
Her fingers curled slightly around the edge of her sleeve, a nervous habit that betrayed her resolve. "Right," she replied, the word falling flat, hollow against the urgency of the situation.
With a heavy heart, she turned slowly, glancing one last time at Klaus—still silent, still unmoving, his eyes locked on the girl—as she walked back up the stairs, each step laden with reluctance and unspoken emotions. She didn't slam the door to her room; she wasn't angry—not really. At least, she didn't want to feel that way. But there was a hollowness growing in her chest that hadn't been there just an hour ago, and it grew heavier with each breath she took.
Taking her seat back at the edge of the bed, she allowed her fingers to trace soft circles over her stomach, desperately seeking comfort from the fluttering signs of life nestled within her. Yet the quiet of the compound and the haunting image of the girl on the couch refused to fade from her mind.
The girl's face, tranquil yet marred with blood.
The look on Klaus's face, a mixture of despair and fierce protectiveness.
The way he hadn't even looked at her—hadn't acknowledged her as if she were invisible.
Why did that bother her so much?
He's allowed to care about someone else, she told herself fiercely. You're here for the twins. That's all that matters.
But despite her internal reassurances, the ache within her remained stubbornly present, a reminder of feelings she wasn't ready to confront.
Eventually, exhaustion won out, dragging her into a heavy, restless slumber. She lay down, instinctively curling onto her side, her gaze drifting to the window as the moonlight filtered through, painting the room in a silvery glow.
She didn't know who the girl was, but whoever she had been… she mattered.
And that, more than anything else, was what kept Caroline awake long after her eyelids fluttered room felt like a tomb.
Not merely because of the body laid out before him, cold and lifeless, though that would have been reason enough, but because of the echoing silence that encompassed him. The stillness was profound, heavy with the weight of grief and regret. It pressed against him, wrapping him in its suffocating embrace. The absence of a heartbeat that should have been there reverberated through the air like a haunting melody—a constant reminder of loss.
Camille.
Her blood still stained his hands, the remnants of her life lingering in the air around him like a phantom he couldn't shake off. It clung to him, a reminder of how he had failed yet another person he cared for. He couldn't look away from her face—so still, so quiet, as if she were merely sleeping. But he knew that kind of stillness all too well. It was not a peaceful rest; it was a cruel limbo between life and what came after, a transition that he had witnessed far too many times before.
Aurora had compelled her.
Aurora—twisted and cruel—had reached into Camille's mind and planted a gun in her hand like it was a flower, like it was a gift meant to bloom. The thought of it made Klaus's stomach turn.
"Klaus, you made her vulnerable. You made her your weakness."
The internal voice reverberated in his head, a chilling reminder of his failures. He had dragged Camille into his war, thrust her into the heart of his enemies' crosshairs, knowing full well that she had no claws, no magic, no armor—only her questions, her kindness, and an insatiable need to understand him. She had sought to uncover the man buried beneath layers of darkness, and what had he done?
He had let her in. Because she had made him feel human, reminded him that there was light still flickering within him, a spark worth salvaging. Because she believed in something buried deep inside him that he wasn't even sure existed anymore.
And now, she was dead—or worse, turning.
And he had no idea which fate was crueler.
His throat burned, a dry ache that begged to be released in a scream or a howl, but he didn't allow it. He just stood there, staring down at the mess he had made of another innocent life—her warmth replaced by the chill of death.
She had deserved better. So much better.
A sudden presence anchored him back to reality—firm yet gentle. A hand settled on his shoulder, grounding him.
"Niklaus," Elijah said softly.
Klaus didn't move or speak. What could he say? Nothing could change the weight of what had just happened. But Elijah didn't wait for his response.
"I just wanted to let you know that Miss Forbes was here," his brother continued, the perfectly controlled cadence of his voice a stark contrast to the chaos swirling inside Klaus. "She saw you arrive, but I sent her back to her room before she could ask too many questions."
The revelation struck him like a dagger sliding slowly between his ribs. "She what?" he said hoarsely, finally pulling his gaze away from Camille's cold face and turning to Elijah, heart racing anew.
"She was trying to reach you, I think. But you didn't hear her."
Klaus blinked, the reality of the situation crashing down around him. It didn't make sense. He hadn't even noticed her presence. Hadn't seen her slip through the shadows. Hadn't felt her unmistakable energy, warm and vibrant, brushing against him. How could he have missed her?
Caroline.
Pregnant. Exhausted. Grieving. And yet still trying to reach him, to connect in the midst of all the turmoil.
And he had failed her, too.
"I'll be back," Klaus said quickly, already moving. He didn't wait for Elijah's answer, didn't want to linger in the darkness that threatened to envelop him whole. He knew his brother would stay, as always—Elijah was the one who did what was right, who stayed and bore the weight of the world on his shoulders while Klaus floundered in the chaos of his emotions. Klaus only ever tried.
He stormed through the compound, his pace swift and urgent, his heart pounding for entirely different reasons now. Each echo of his steps reverberated within him, an assault of guilt that knotted his insides. He hadn't meant to make her feel forgotten; he had been so consumed by the turmoil of his life that he hadn't taken the time to check on her. He knew her well enough to understand that she likely tried to downplay her hurt in front of his brother, but he also recognized her resilience. Their relationship at the moment was tenuous at best, a thread barely holding them together, and he didn't want Caroline to feel as if she was a mere second choice. He knew how much that idea would cut her—how much she hated it.
He reached her door, pausing for just a moment, uncertainty washing over him.
He knocked, his hand moving with a surprising gentleness. "Caroline?" His voice was low, cautious—an echo of uncertainty shared with the shadows surrounding him.
No answer.
He knocked again, softer this time. Silence met his ears, and panic whispered somewhere deep behind his ribs. He hesitated only for a second before he pushed the door open quietly, stepping into the room.
And there she was.
Curled on her side, her blonde hair cascading across the pillow like threads of starlight, ethereal in the soft glow of the moonlight. Her breathing was slow and steady, providing a calm rhythm that contrasted sharply with the chaos that had unfolded just moments before. The moonlight streamed in through the window, delicately kissing her bare shoulder and casting silvery shadows that danced over her skin, accentuating the soft swell of her belly beneath the blankets.
At that moment, something deep inside him just… unraveled.
She was safe. For now. And he felt an overwhelming tide of emotions crash over him—guilt, relief, love. He had almost forgotten that she needed him, too. In his spiral of despair and guilt, he had allowed the darkness to obscure his judgment. He had been so preoccupied with his own problems that he had neglected the fact that she was a scared girl who had come to him seeking safety and guidance. He had specified to all the occupants of the compound that they should, under no circumstances, reveal too much information about the dangers lurking outside; he didn't want to involve her in his twisted world. But he should have known it wouldn't last long—tonight had been the proof of that. She had stumbled upon a scene that she should never have had to witness, and now it weighed heavily on his conscience.
He approached slowly, each step deliberate, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed with careful precision, mindful of the delicate peace surrounding her. For a long moment, he said nothing—only watched her, memorizing the ethereal shape of her face in sleep, the way her brow still furrowed faintly even in her temoporary rest—a reflection of the turmoil she felt in waking hours.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek, his voice a mere breath against the stillness of the night. "You shouldn't have been involved in this. You shouldn't have had to see me like that, love."
The moonlight made her glow. Or perhaps that was simply who she was—she always had an innate radiance about her, even in pain, even when she pretended her worries didn't exist.
His eyes drifted down to her stomach—the gentle curve that hadn't been there just weeks ago, a reminder that life was still blooming in the middle of all this death and despair. Not his children—not by blood. But they were hers. And that was enough.
Gathering his resolve, he reached out, hesitating at first. With a gentle touch, he placed his palm lightly against the swell of her belly, feeling the warmth radiate from beneath the cloth—a comforting presence in a world that felt utterly unforgiving. For a moment, everything else faded away. It was just him, her, and the tiny flicker of life nestled within her.
Then, a kick.
Klaus gasped, eyes widening as the sensation jolted through him, sudden and vivid. It was real, not imagined, not poetic. Just life—small but potent—pushing back against his touch, asserting its presence in defiance of the chaos outside. The movement came again—soft, fluttering, like the promise of a tomorrow waiting to unfold.
He held his breath for what felt like an eternity, suspended in that moment.
He wasn't their father. He never would be, and yet, at this moment, it didn't matter. He felt something surge within his chest—a fierce, desperate, ancient need to protect. To guard.
Because they were hers. Because she had taken them in, kept them safe, and loved them with a fierce determination, even though they had been forced upon her. She had fought for them before they even had names, and now, somehow, they kicked in response to him as if they knew he was there.
Lowering his head, he let himself get lost in the moment, allowing his lips to hover just above her belly, speaking softly, his voice ragged and low. "I know I don't have any right," he admitted, the words tumbling from him in a rush of vulnerability. "I'm not your father. I never will be. But you're part of her. And that means… you matter to me."
Another kick—this one stronger, more deliberate.
He managed a faint smile, but it slipped away just as quickly. "I've failed everyone I've ever loved," he confessed. "Camille… she believed in me, and I let her die. I put her in danger, and your mother… I've done nothing but give her reasons not to trust me. Not to need me."
He closed his eyes, allowing the weight of his failures to wash over him like a torrential wave, drowning out the remnants of hope that had flared within him a moment ago.
"But I swear to you, little ones—I won't fail her again. I won't fail you." The conviction behind his promise rang true, each word heavy with determination. His voice cracked, just slightly, a testament to the emotion surging within him.
"I will protect her. And I will protect you. No matter what."
He stayed like that—bent low over her, one hand cradling the gentle curve of her belly, listening to the quiet rhythm of unborn life answering him with tiny, certain kicks.
The promise hung in the air between them—not a vow of blood or lineage, but a choice. A solemn pledge that resonated deep in his heart, intertwined with the fabric of everything that made him who he was.
And in that moment, as the world outside continued to whirl in chaos, Klaus found a glimpse of peace amidst the storm.