Force of Gravity • NM

•54•

The Salvatore Boarding House was silent, but Naira couldn't sleep.

Not after that fight. Not after the way he had looked at her. So she got up, threw on a coat, and slipped out into the cold night.

She knew where he would be. Always.

Klaus sat in his study, a glass of bourbon swirling between his fingers, but he wasn't drinking. His jaw was tight, eyes staring into the flickering fire. His mind was raging, his chest tight with unspoken fury.

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

Then—

A soft creak.

A presence.

He heard her before she even stepped inside, but he didn't move.

He could smell the traces of salt on her skin—like she had already been crying but had wiped it away before coming here.

A part of him wanted to get up, wanted to turn around and say her name like he always did—little one, troublemaker, my love...Naira

Instead, when she finally spoke, her voice soft yet firm, he clenched his jaw and stayed where he was.

"You're still awake."

He didn't answer.

"Nik, don't ignore me."

He leaned forward, finally taking a slow sip of his drink.

"I've nothing to say to you."

A beat of silence.

Then—footsteps. Her footsteps.

She moved closer, standing by the fireplace now, the flickering light dancing against her skin. He could see her in his peripheral vision, arms crossed, her expression set in quiet determination.

"I didn't want to go to bed after a fight." Her voice was steady. "And neither did you."

"You presume to know me so well," he muttered, finally setting his glass down.

"I do."

That made him snap his gaze to hers.

She was looking at him the same way she always did—like she believed in him. Like she knew him.

And it infuriated him.

"You think this is easy for me?" His voice was sharp, a warning. "You think I will just take my nephew and run like a coward?"

"This isn't about you, Nik!" she snapped, stepping closer. "It's about Henry! About keeping him safe!"

His eyes darkened.

"You stand here, dictating to me what I must do, yet you fail to see the truth—I have spent my entire existence fighting for my family! Fighting for their protection! And now you—" he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Now you tell me I must abandon my own home, my own pride, to run from some ancient witch who dares to claim what is mine?"

"If it keeps him alive, yes!"

The silence that followed was thick.

Then—he broke it.

"You should leave, witch."

Naira froze.

Not little one...not love...

Not even Naira.

Just "witch."

Her chest tightened, but she refused to let it show.

She wouldn't let him see her hurt.

Stefan had raised her to never let anyone break her.

And Damon had taught her how to stand her ground.

So she did.

She lifted her chin, eyes hard.

"The plan is on. You will comply. Whether you like it or not."

And then, she turned and walked away.

Not running. Not breaking.

But once she stepped past the threshold of the mansion, away from his eyes

She wiped at the tears that had finally escaped.

The night air was sharp against her skin as she walked. The weight of their fight pressed heavily against her chest.

Why did it hurt so much?

She had known he would fight her on this. That he would lash out.

But hearing him call her witch, hearing the coldness in his voice

It shattered something inside her.

She wrapped her arms around herself, blinking quickly to stop any more tears.

"Naira."

She turned sharply.

Elijah.

He was walking toward her, hands in his coat pockets, his expression unreadable.

"You shouldn't be walking alone at this hour," he said mildly, falling into step beside her.

"I'm not in the mood for a pep talk, Elijah."

"Good," he mused. "I didn't intend to give one."

They walked in silence for a moment, the gravel crunching beneath their feet.

Then, Elijah spoke again.

"I heard your conversation with Niklaus."

Naira exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Of course you did."

"He didn't mean it."

She laughed bitterly. "He sounded like he meant it."

Elijah sighed, glancing at her. "My brother... he does not handle fear well. He does not understand how to process vulnerability without it turning into rage."

Elijah stopped too, turning to face her.

"Naira, you are important to him. That is precisely why he pushed you away."

She swallowed hard, looking down.

"He called me witch," she murmured, almost to herself. "Not little one. Not anything else. Just... witch."

Elijah studied her for a moment, then spoke carefully.

"Because if he called you anything else, he would have broken."

She lifted her gaze to his.

"Niklaus is terrified," Elijah continued gently. "Not just of losing Henry... but of losing you too."

Her throat tightened.

"I don't need him to protect me."

"No," Elijah agreed. "But he needs to. It is the only way he knows how to love."

Silence stretched between them.

Then, Naira sighed, rubbing her hands over her face. "I hate him sometimes."

Elijah chuckled lightly. "We all do."

She managed a small smile, and Elijah gave her a knowing look.

"Go to bed, Naira," he said. "He will come around."

She didn't answer.

But a small part of her hoped he was right.

And so, she walked back inside.

Alone.