WAR OF HEARTS ↠ KOL MIKAELSON [1]

3:11

| THE AFTERMATH:
CHAPTER ELEVEN |

The inside of the old voodoo shop smelled of sage, burnt bone, and candle wax. Shelves were lined with jars of strange powders, twisted roots, and bones etched with symbols no living man had written in centuries. The room was dimly lit, the only real light coming from the flickering row of white candles across Vincent's workspace.

Detective Kinney stood near the far end of the counter, eyeing a strange artifact laid out on a bloodstained cloth with a look of mild horror and complete confusion.

"Hey, Vince," Kinney asked, shifting his weight nervously. "How exactly are you gonna get that thing into the spirit world?"

Before Vincent could answer, the shop door creaked open.

Two figures stepped inside—silent as shadow.

Rhea and Kol.

Kinney tensed immediately, one hand instinctively brushing the inside of his jacket where his badge and gun lived. He didn't recognize them, but the weight of their presence was enough to set off every alarm in his spine.

Then Kol spoke, his voice cutting cleanly through the heavy air.

"Simple," he said coolly, with a hint of mischief curling around the edge of his tone. "He's got to die."

Kinney blinked.

Hard.

He turned to Vincent, incredulous. "Uh—who the hell are they?"

Vincent didn't answer. He gave Kinney a long, unreadable look—one that clearly meant: this is above your pay grade.

Kinney frowned, glanced at Rhea and Kol again, then exhaled sharply. "Right. That's my cue."

He grabbed his coat and made for the door, muttering something about "crazy witches" under his breath as he slipped into the night.

Once they were alone, Vincent turned back to the table, jaw tight, brow furrowed. He didn't acknowledge Kol or Rhea directly, but the tension in his shoulders said enough.

"You're not going to blow up the ancestral well by yourself," Kol said, stepping closer, tone matter-of-fact, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. "Let's not pretend you're noble enough to die without dragging someone into it."

Vincent sighed, annoyed, exhausted. "Kol, whatever help you think you're offering—don't. I don't need it. I don't want it. I'm doing this alone."

Rhea stepped forward then. Her voice was low, but steady—dangerously so.

"I'm coming with you. And this isn't a request."

Her eyes held fire. Unrelenting. Unblinking.

"Davina brought me here," she continued. "She pulled me back when I was gone. She reached for me through the veil."