The morning after Miss Mystic Falls dawned gray, with heavy clouds hanging over the Salvatore School. The festive mood of the night before had given way to a palpable tension. Landon was missing, and word had spread quickly among the students and teachers. Rafael stood at the front of the group, his fists clenched and his eyes red with worry, organizing the others to begin the search. "He's my brother," he repeated, his voice hoarse. "We have to find him, now." Hope nodded beside him, her tiara from last night forgotten somewhere as she changed her dress into jeans and a jacket, ready for action. Alaric coordinated everything from his office, his phone pressed to his ear as he tried to contact allies in Mystic Falls to track down any signs of the Triad.
But Ethan wasn't there to hear the plans. He'd woken early, before the sun had even risen, with his cell phone vibrating on the dresser in the guest room where he'd spent the night. The number was unfamiliar, and when he answered, a deep, unfamiliar voice greeted him—a man with a German accent, drawled and strange, as if the words were too heavy for his tongue. "Ethan Nichols," the man said, without preamble. "I know what happened to your father. If you want answers, meet me tomorrow. Noon, at the old warehouse on Route 17, outside of town. Come alone."
Ethan stood there, his heart pounding as the phone went dead. He didn't know who the man was, or how he'd gotten his number, but the mention of his father—long gone, a hole he'd silently carried—was enough to make his hands shake. He pocketed his phone, his thoughts racing, and decided instantly: he had to go. He couldn't wait, couldn't risk missing this chance, even with the chaos that was brewing at school because of Landon.
He pulled on his leather jacket, grabbed his helmet, and headed down to the parking lot before the rest of the group could get organized. The black motorcycle, a gift from a friend from simpler times, purred beneath him as he adjusted his gloves. That was when Hope appeared, running up to him, her hair still messy from sleep, her eyes full of concern and determination. "Ethan, where are you going?" she asked, stopping beside the bike.
He hesitated, the engine already running, but he didn't lie. "I got a call. Someone who says they know what happened to my dad. I have to go, Hope."
She frowned, crossing her arms. "Now? With everything going on with Landon?"
"I know," he said, his voice low. "But it's about my father. I can't let it go."
Hope was silent for a second, then sighed, taking a step closer. "Okay. But take care of yourself, you hear? Don't take too long or I'll be mad at you, you idiot." She punched him lightly in the chest, her playful tone trying to mask her concern. Ethan laughed, running his hand behind his head in an awkward gesture she knew well.
"I promise," he replied, his eyes softening as he stared at her. Hope smiled back, then leaned in and gave him a kiss—quick, but full of affection that made his chest warm. She pulled away, her lips still curved in a half smile, and he put on his helmet, speeding the bike out onto the road before anyone could call him back.
Inside the school, Alaric hung up the phone with a heavy sigh, looking at Hope as she walked back from the parking lot. "Did he say where he was going?" he asked, rubbing his forehead.
"Yes," she replied, leaning against the office door. "A call about his father. Someone who knows what happened."
Alaric frowned, his gaze distant. "Very strange. After all this time, someone just comes forward with information about Ethan's father? I don't like this. It could be a trap."
Hope nodded, biting her lip. "I know. I told him to take care of himself. But he wasn't going to give up on this, Alaric. You've seen how he gets when it's about family."
"Yeah," Alaric muttered, picking up the map of the region that Rafael had left on the table. "Let's hope he comes back in one piece. In the meantime, we need to focus on Landon. The Triad doesn't just disappear without a trace."
The day passed in a blur of frantic searches. Rafael led a group through the woods around the school, shouting Landon's name until his voice cracked. Hope used locator spells on Josie and Lizzie, but something seemed to block the magic, leaving them frustrated. MG and Kaleb scoured Mystic Falls for clues, while Alaric tried to gather information from old contacts. Ethan's absence hung heavy in the air, but no one had time to chase after him—Landon was the priority, especially for Rafael, who paced back and forth like a caged animal.
Meanwhile, on Route 17, Ethan rode his motorcycle with the wind biting his face, the old warehouse looming in the distance like a shadow against the overcast sky. He parked a few feet from the entrance, the roar of the engine dying in the heavy midday silence. The abandoned warehouse was a rusting structure with broken doors and shattered windows, the kind of place that seemed to swallow the daylight. Ethan took off his helmet, his senses on alert, and walked up to the entrance, the sound of his boots echoing on the cracked concrete floor.
Inside, the darkness was cut by beams of light that entered through holes in the ceiling. In the center of the space, a man with slicked-back black hair sat on an antique wooden chair, as if it had been placed there just for him. He held a glass of red wine in his hand, swirling the liquid slowly before bringing it to his mouth, the calm movement contrasting with the decadent surroundings. He wore an impeccable suit, black as night, and had a presence that seemed to suck the air around him. As Ethan took another step, the hairs on his body stood on end, a primal instinct screaming that something about this man was not... simply human.
The man looked up, a slow smile curving his lips as he stared at Ethan. "You came," he said, his voice deep with that half-German accent, but now tinged with an almost theatrical tone. "Punctuality is a virtue, Ethan Nichols. Have a seat, we have much to discuss." A chair appeared out of nowhere behind Ethan, who didn't even notice it.
Ethan stood still, his heart pounding as he tried to process the scene—the wine, the suit, the smile that seemed to know more than it was saying. "What do you know about my father?" he asked, his voice steady despite the chill that ran down his spine.
The man took another sip of his wine, his eyes shining with something Ethan couldn't quite decipher. "All in good time, boy. All in good time. For now, call me…well, I suppose you should know who you're dealing with." He inclined his head, his smile widening. "My name is Lucifer Morningstar."