𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 ⚜️ ELIJAH MIKAELSON

[ The Reckoning ]

CHAPTER 24
[ New Orleans, 2013 ]

Klaus paced the study like a caged animal, his movements sharp and erratic, each step a manifestation of the tension clawing at his mind. The days since the sireline had been severed had been a relentless whirlwind of paranoia, his mistrust and anger growing like an unrelenting storm.

Georgia sat perched on the edge of the desk, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Though her gaze was fixed on the floor, her thoughts were miles away. She hadn't spoken to Davina since the night of the unlinking. She had tried to convince herself that she'd made the right decision, but the guilt still lingered like a shadow, following her even through the peaceful reprieve Elijah had given her the night before. For a brief moment, under the stars, she had felt like herself again—calm, loved, whole. But the weight of her choices was never far behind, creeping back into her mind as soon as the world demanded her attention.

Her fingers absentmindedly twisted the ring Elijah had given her, her thoughts drifting once more to his voice, his steady reassurances. She wanted to hold on to that feeling of peace, but it was slipping through her grasp.

"It was him," Klaus's voice sliced through her thoughts, sharp and sudden.

Georgia flinched slightly, the harsh sound pulling her back to the present like a jolt of cold water. She looked up quickly, her gaze snapping to Klaus as he stopped pacing and glared at them, his fury radiating through the room.

"It was Gaspar Cortez," he declared, his tone venomous, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade.

Georgia blinked, disoriented for a moment as her mind adjusted to the abrupt shift. Her hand fell from her ring as she straightened slightly, pulling herself back to the moment. Klaus's anger was a force of nature, a storm that demanded to be reckoned with, and there was no room for her guilt or her lingering thoughts of Davina here.

At the fireplace mantle, Elijah stood composed, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to his brother's storm. His gaze, however, was fixed not on Klaus but on Georgia. She had been quiet, her expression distant as though lost in thought, and Elijah had been watching her closely, his concern veiled beneath his composed exterior.

Sensing his eyes on her, Georgia glanced at him briefly, catching the flicker of quiet worry in his expression. It grounded her, if only for a moment, before she forced her focus back to Klaus and his growing fury.

"Gaspar Cortez?" she echoed finally, her voice quieter than she intended, though it carried enough incredulity to mask her lingering unease. "I assume this is someone from your infamous box of letters?"

Klaus's jaw tightened, his expression darkening as his eyes flicked to her. "The youngest son of a particularly vile family of warlords I dealt with in the 17th century," he spat, his tone dripping with venom.

Elijah arched an eyebrow, his tone dry as he broke his silence. "Didn't they burn that philistine pigsty into the ground?"

Klaus scoffed, a flicker of indignation crossing his features. "Pigsty? Belaga was my favorite artist retreat!" His voice rose, his frustration spilling over. "Someone had to pay for that, so I murdered Gaspar's brute of a father."

Georgia, her mind now fully anchored in the present, raised an unimpressed brow. "And?"

"And one or two—" Klaus began, but Elijah cut him off smoothly.

"Five," Elijah interjected flatly, his voice laced with annoyance.

Klaus turned on his brother, his irritation flaring. "Five of his bloodthirsty brothers."