The sky above Salvatore School was heavy, heavy gray clouds rolling in slowly, as if holding back a storm that had yet to decide to break loose. It was early November, the air heavy with a damp chill that seeped through the school's stone corridors and clung to the clothes of anyone who dared to stay outdoors for too long. Ethan sat on an old wooden chair in the courtyard, his legs stretched out in front of him, his boots scuffing lines in the damp earth as he stared into space, his messy hair falling over his forehead, and his hands resting in his pockets, his fingers restlessly drumming against the fabric.
He was alone—the distant sound of other students' voices echoed across the campus, but here, in this secluded corner, the silence was almost palpable, broken only by the rustling of dry leaves as the wind dragged across the ground. Ethan took a deep breath, the cold air burning his lungs, and let his head fall back, his eyes fixed on the clouds that seemed to swallow the sky.
"Why am I here?" he muttered to himself, his hoarse voice mixing with the wind.
It was a question he'd been carrying since he'd arrived at the Salvatore School, but now, as he sat there, it felt heavier, more insistent. He'd come for his father—the man he'd never met, the void that had marked his life since he'd understood what it meant to have an incomplete family. Ethan closed his eyes, and the image of his mother flashed through his mind, clear as if she were there. Her eyes, always kind but filled with a sadness she'd tried to hide, her shoulders hunched under the weight of years of raising him alone, the nights he'd heard her cry softly when she thought he was asleep. It was for her that he'd come—for her pain, for the silent promise he'd made to himself to find his father, to bring him some answer that might erase the emptiness in her eyes.
He'd come to Mystic Falls with a simple plan: arrive, dig deep, find clues, move on. The Salvatore School was the starting point—a place full of secrets, where someone like Alaric Saltzman, with his connections and knowledge, might have the answers he needed. But that plan had gone off the rails, and Ethan knew exactly why.
Hope.
Her name cut through his thoughts like a blade, and he opened his eyes, his chest tightening as the familiar feeling returned—the mix of warmth and confusion she always brought. Ever since that first day, when her eyes—blue, sharp, impossible to ignore—had met his in the courtyard, something had changed. The Imprint had hit him like a punch, a bond he hadn't asked for but couldn't deny. She'd pulled him off the path he'd set out on, diverted his focus from finding his father to something he'd never expected to feel.
He didn't complain—he couldn't. What he felt for Hope was intense, a strength that burned inside him like nothing he'd ever known. It was more than the Imprint, more than the wolf inside him demanded—it was real, deep, a fire that warmed and consumed him in equal measure. But being so far away from her, even though they were in the same school, was strange. The "time" she'd asked for had left a void he didn't know how to fill, a silence that made him question everything.
Ethan ran his hand over his face, his fingers cool against his warm skin, and took another deep breath. He needed to focus. Hope was… everything, but his father—the reason he'd come here—was still a shadow he couldn't ignore. His mother deserved answers, and so did he. As much as Hope had affected him, he couldn't let it erase what had brought him to Mystic Falls in the first place.
"I came for him," he said aloud, the words a reminder to himself. "And I will find him."
With a determined movement, he rose from his chair, the sound of creaking wood echoing across the empty courtyard. Alaric was next—the headmaster knew more than he was letting on, and Ethan needed any clues he could get. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and began walking, his boots clicking hard as he crossed the campus toward Alaric's office.
The main hallway was quieter than usual, the school's heavy mood reflecting the chaos that always seemed to loom over it. It was Alaric's wedding day—or at least it should have been, before everything had been turned upside down. Ethan didn't know the details, but he'd heard whispers from the other students about something strange going on, something involving Alaric and a mess that no one could quite explain.
When he reached the office door, he paused, his hand already raised to knock. A muffled sound came from inside—strained voices, a low shout, the click of something metallic. He frowned, wolf instinct putting his senses on alert.
"Alaric?" he called, his voice firm but hesitant, as he pushed the door open slowly.
The scene that greeted him made him freeze in the doorway. There was Alaric, standing in the middle of the room, his shirt wrinkled and his face pale, holding a crossbow pointed directly at a woman in a wedding dress. Her dress—once supposed to be white—was torn and soaked in blood, her veil hung askew over her pale, blotchy face, her eyes wide with a mixture of fury and emptiness. Beside Alaric, a black man—one of his aides—stood tensely, holding a wooden stake, his eyes fixed on the bloodied figure as if expecting an attack at any moment. The room smelled of iron and dust, the air thick with an energy that made the wolf inside Ethan growl low.
"What the fuck is going on here?" Ethan asked, his voice cutting through the silence, his eyes wide as he took a step inside.
Alaric turned his head quickly, the crossbow still firmly in his hands, his face reflecting the same surprise.
"Ethan? I… I don't really know either," he said, his voice hoarse, his eyes returning to the woman in front of him. "She just showed up."
The bride—Jo—turned her head toward Ethan for a moment, her dead eyes passing over him without interest before settling on Alaric again. She stepped forward, her dress dragging on the floor, and spoke, her voice oddly calm despite her appearance.
"Alaric, I don't know how I got here," she said, her hands shaking as she lifted the bloody veil. "But I feel you. I feel everything."
Ethan frowned, his brain trying to process what he saw, but before he could ask more, he shook his head and got straight to the point.
"Alaric, I need to talk to you," he said, his voice steady despite the chaos. "I want to get out of school for a while."
Alaric blinked, clearly caught off guard, the crossbow lowering a little as he turned to face Ethan.
"Leave? Now?" he snapped, his voice thick with disbelief. "Ethan, look at this situation—this is not a good time for this."
Ethan crossed his arms, his eyes fixed on Alaric, ignoring his fiancée for a moment.
"I'll be fine," he said, his voice quieter now, but resolute. "I just need some time. It's all very… confusing here. I'll be back soon."
Alaric frowned, his eyes narrowing as he ran a hand over his face, rubbing his forehead with a heavy sigh. He looked at Jo, then at the aide, and finally back at Ethan, the tension visible in his shoulders.
"Okay," he said finally, his voice tired. "Take care of yourself, Ethan. And don't be too far behind—this school isn't in the best place to be losing students."
Ethan nodded, a short nod, and took a step back.
"Thanks," he muttered, before turning on his heel and leaving the room, leaving the chaos behind.
He went straight to his room, his mind spinning as he tossed his backpack onto the bed. He didn't need much—a few T-shirts, his spare jacket, the wrench he always carried. Each item he packed was a step away from that place, a temporary relief from the weight he'd been carrying. When he was done, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed down to the main hall, the sound of his boots echoing on the stone stairs.
Ethan was no longer the scrawny boy who had arrived here weeks ago—at six feet two inches, his height was beginning to look imposing, his broad shoulders and firm posture drawing attention as they always did. As he descended the stairs, heads turned, curious gazes as always following him as he walked through the lobby.
Near the entrance, he saw Hope talking to Rafael. They were standing to the side, their voices low, but they stopped when Ethan appeared. Hope felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of him—his eyes, one green and one blue, cutting through the air like they always did. Then she noticed the backpack slung over his shoulder, and the skip turned into a tightness she couldn't explain.
Ethan walked towards them, his steps firm, and stopped a few feet away. He looked straight at Hope for a moment, her eyes meeting his, but then he looked away to Rafael.
"I'm going out for a few days," he said, his voice calm but filled with something Rafael couldn't decipher. "Just hold your own here, okay?"
Rafael raised an eyebrow in surprise, his eyes darting from Ethan to Hope and back again. He knew they were always so close—what was going on here? But he just nodded, a curt nod.
"Okay, man. Take care," he said, his voice hesitant.
Ethan nodded back, his eyes returning to Hope for a second—that intense gaze that always seemed to say more than words could. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, anything, but her voice caught in her throat, the words dying before they could come out. Before she could recover, Ethan turned on his heel and walked toward the exit, his backpack swinging over his shoulder, his figure disappearing through the door as silence fell heavy in the lobby.
Hope stood still, her heart still racing, her eyes fixed on the spot where he had been. For a moment, she froze—her body stuck, her mind spinning in circles as the emptiness of his departure swallowed her. Is he going to leave? No… he can't leave like this, she thought, panic rising fast, the words echoing in her head like a scream she couldn't let out.
Then something snapped inside her. She turned to Rafael, her hands shaking as she forced her voice out.
"I… I'll be right back," she said, the words coming out in a rush, almost tripping over each other.
Rafael blinked in confusion, but before he could respond, Hope turned and ran. Her boots thudded against the stone floor of the foyer, the sound echoing as she bolted for the exit, her heart hammering in her chest. She pushed open the door, the cold air stinging her face as she stepped out into the courtyard, her eyes searching desperately for him.
There was Ethan, already mounted on the black motorcycle he had parked near the gate. The engine was humming low, the backpack still firmly on his shoulder, his hands adjusting his helmet. Hope ran faster, the wind whipping her hair against her face as she screamed.
"Ethan!"
He lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers, and stopped in his tracks, one eyebrow raised in surprise as she stepped closer, panting.
"You can't just leave like that," she said, her voice cracking, her blue eyes flashing with a mixture of fear and determination. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."
Ethan slowly took off his helmet, resting it on the handlebars, and turned his body towards her, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her.
"You're the one who asked for time, Hope, not me," he said, his voice calm but sharp, an implicit question laden with the words, a faint hint of hurt seeping beneath.
Hope lowered her head for a moment, the weight of it crashing over her like a wave. She took a deep breath, her fingers tightening on the sleeves of her jacket as she looked up at him again, her voice lower now, almost vulnerable.
"I asked because… I was scared," she admitted, the words coming out slowly, as if it hurt to say them. "What I feel for you, Ethan… it's so intense. I've never felt anything like this before, and it scared me. It scared the hell out of me. I thought if I just had time, I'd figure it out, I'd get a grip on myself. But I couldn't—I can't."
Ethan was silent, his eyes fixed on hers, his face softening as her words echoed in the cool air between them. Inside, his chest tightened—a mix of relief and confusion he hadn't expected to feel. Was she afraid? Afraid of what she felt for him? He knew what the Imprint was, the bond that bound them together, but hearing that she felt something so strong, something that made her retreat, shook him in a way he couldn't explain. A part of him wanted to reach out to her right then and there, pull her close and tell her that he understood, that he felt that fire too that couldn't be extinguished. But the other part—the part that had led him to the bike—held tightly to the reason that was pulling him away.
He swallowed, his fingers tightening on the handlebars as he tried to find the words. Hope took a step closer, her eyes shining with something between hurt and hope, the wind blowing a strand of brown hair across her face. She didn't push it away—let it lie there, as if she hadn't even noticed.
"Take me with you," she said, her voice firm now, almost a plea, her fingers trembling as she reached out toward him, hesitating in midair.
Ethan shook his head, his jaw clenching as he looked down at the floor for a moment, the weight of his decision settling on his broad shoulders. He looked up at her again, determination returning.
"No, Hope. I need to do this alone. I need to be alone right now."
She frowned, her chest tightening as she stared at him, her hand slowly falling to her side.
"So you're rejecting me?" she asked, her voice shaking, a mixture of defiance and pain dripping from her words, her blue eyes searching his as if searching for a chink in his armor.
Ethan sighed, stepping off his bike in one fluid motion, his feet planted firmly on the ground as he took a step toward her. He looked even more imposing there, his shadow falling over her in the darkened courtyard. He reached out, his fingers brushing her arm for a moment—a light but warm touch that made her breath catch—before he pulled his hand back, as if he'd been burned.
"It's not rejection," he said, his voice husky but firm, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that almost hurt. "You know how I feel about you—that hasn't changed. It never will. But I came here for one thing, Hope. My father, my mother… I'm losing myself in all of this, in you, in school. I need to find myself again."
Hope bit her lip, her eyes still locked on his, her heart pounding as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. His touch still burned on her arm, even though it was so brief, and his words—so honest, so raw—made sense, but they didn't erase the pain of seeing him there, ready to go. She wanted to argue, wanted to hold him there, but the truth in his voice made her hesitate.
"Are you coming back?" she asked, her voice softer, almost a whisper, her eyes shining with a vulnerability she rarely let slip.
Ethan nodded, the movement slow but sure, and this time he didn't resist—he lifted his hand again, his fingers sliding to brush the strand of hair away from her face, his touch lingering a moment longer before he pulled back.
"I go.
Hope took a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing a little, but her eyes still filled with emotion. She took a step back, crossing her arms as if trying to protect herself from the cold—or what she felt.
"Okay," she finally said, her voice steady despite the uncertainty within her. "But that doesn't give me much to hope for, Ethan."
He gave a small, almost imperceptible smile, his eyes softening as he stared at her for a second longer. Then he climbed back onto the bike, putting on his helmet.
"I won't," he said, his voice drowned out by the roar of the engine he started next, speeding down the road that cut through the campus, his figure disappearing into the shadows as Hope stood there, alone in the courtyard, the cold wind blowing around her, the echo of his touch still on her skin.