WAR OF HEARTS ↠ KOL MIKAELSON [1]

2:16

| THE STAND:
CHAPTER SIXTEEN |

"She's in my apartment?" Rhea asked aloud, her voice a mixture of disbelief and dismay. The locator spell had worked frighteningly fast—too fast. Which meant one thing.

Leto wasn't hiding.

Ares stared at the glowing map that had just flickered and dimmed, confirming the location. "That can't be good," he muttered under his breath, the words soaked in dread.

Rhea waved a hand, and the map and blade vanished into ash and smoke—gone, as if they'd never existed. Her gaze lifted toward the skyline, narrowing toward the direction of her apartment. Her shoulders tensed.

"We have to face her, don't we?" she said quietly, more resignation than question.

Ares turned to look at her. His sister, hardened by war and loss and grief, wasn't trembling. Wasn't retreating. She didn't look scared.

But that, in itself, scared him.

Because when Rhea Monroe stopped reacting—when she started going numb—it meant the weight of everything had started crushing her. Her fire was still burning, but he knew, deep down, it was flickering.

"Come on," he said softly. "Best we get this over with."

They began walking.

The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It was loaded. Thick with unspoken thoughts, memories, and a growing sense of inevitability. Each step echoed in their heads like a ticking clock. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. Their minds were moving faster than their feet—racing through every possibility of how, why, and what Leto could possibly want after all this time.

They reached the front steps too quickly.

Both of them paused, their eyes trailing up toward the door. It was just a door. Just wood and steel and charm-protected runes.

But it had never felt more foreboding.

Rhea exhaled. "Here goes."

She reached under the nearby potted plant and retrieved the key—a habit she'd never bothered changing. She had always figured she didn't need to worry about burglars when she was the real threat.

But tonight... she wasn't so sure.

The moment they stepped inside, it hit them.

That presence.

The air shifted, warped—like static had charged the very walls. Like the memories of pain had soaked into the floorboards and now bled through again. Their mother had always carried an aura that felt like walking through glass. Sharp. Splintering. And suffocating.

And now it was here.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway.

They froze.