The veil of sorrow

The door to The Fallen Leaf swings open with a soft chime, and the warm, smoky air wraps around me like a blanket as I step inside. Mastic Falls feels different here—quieter, but with an undercurrent of something sharp and alive, just like the man I’ve come for. I run my fingers along the worn wooden frame of the door, letting the sound fade behind me, and make my way through the small crowd.

My eyes scan the room automatically, even though I know exactly where he’ll be. And there he is, sitting alone at the far end of the bar, one elbow propped on the surface, a glass of dark liquid in his hand. Klaus Mikaelson. Tall, sharp features, that signature mix of charm and danger hanging around him like a second skin. Even from across the room, I can feel the weight of his presence—how everyone in here seems to know better than to get too close.

I take a deep breath, letting my plan settle into place. I’m Patricia. I came here with one purpose only: to end him. The job was clear, the payment was enough to change everything, and I’ve spent weeks planning every detail. No room for mistakes, no room for doubt.

I keep walking, my steps steady, my face blank. I don’t look at him. I don’t let my gaze drift in his direction even for a second. If he notices me, he won’t know what I am—just another person here for a drink, another face in the crowd. That’s how I need it to be.

I slide onto a stool a few seats down from where he sits, close enough that I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to, but far enough that I still feel safe. The bartender nods at me, and I give him a small smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Whiskey,” I say, my voice calm and steady, like I order it every day.

As I wait, I let my mind work. I know how he moves, how he thinks. I’ve studied everything there is to know about the Original Hybrid. But right now, I’m just Patricia—someone passing through, someone who needs a drink. I stare straight ahead at the bottles lined up behind the bar, listening to the hum of conversation and the clink of glasses, while all the while, my target sits only feet away, unaware that death has just walked into his world.