Thanksgiving was coming up, and with it came the kind of emotional chaos New Orleans didn't need any more of.

Haley was restless; Caroline could feel it in the way she paced the courtyard every morning, staring out toward the bayou as if the trees might start whispering her name back. The closer the holiday crept, the more that quiet yearning grew. A longing for family, for history, for something real to anchor herself to.

And Rebekah wasn't faring much better. She tried to hide it behind sharp remarks and grand plans for dinner, but it was obvious she was waiting for Elijah. Every sigh, every glance toward the gate or up the staircase gave her away.

New Orleans, however, didn't stop for the holidays, and kept them on their toes. After their little trip amongst the crawly, buzzy creatures, Rebekah stood on naked feet, pouring drinks smoothly even on bouncing toes.

"I don't care if we have to get you a leash, that was your last trip to the Bayou. What is it with you and those wolves, anyway?"

Haley gave a half-smile, her tone softer than her words. "I feel like we're connected somehow. I don't know. Maybe it's just some pipe dream of finding any real family out there. But sometimes, when it feels like it's me against the world... it keeps me going."

Rebekah's expression flickered, sympathy hidden behind her usual dry wit. She handed over the drink, then froze halfway through when Hayley raised an amused brow. "Oh, right," she muttered, pulling it back and tossing it down in one gulp before pouring herself another. "Well, if you ask me, family is a pain in the behind."

Haley rolled her eyes.

"And as for being in it alone," Rebekah continued, "how dare you? I don't ruin a perfectly fabulous pair of boots traipsing through the Bayou for just anyone."

"Finally!" Rebekah exclaimed, setting her glass down. "Nik, what—"

But she didn't finish, because Elijah followed behind him, whole and alive, with that familiar calm smile that softened even her sharp edges. Rebekah practically ran into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"Elijah! You're safe!" she said, pulling back only to smirk. Through Rebekah's embrace, Elijah caught sight of Haley. They exchanged a brief smile, though Haley slipped out of the room almost immediately afterward. "Now that you're home, is your first plan to kill Niklaus?"

Elijah grinned faintly. "Excuse me just a moment," he said, walking through the living room toward the backyard.

Rebekah tilted her head, confused. "Where's he going?"

Outside on the patio, Elijah found Haley standing quietly.

"You're back," she said, smiling awkwardly.

"I'm back," he replied, grinning.

For a moment, they simply regarded one another, the tension between them palpable. Then Haley's hand shot out, slapping him across the face.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," she said before turning to go. "Welcome home."

Elijah touched his cheek where she had struck him, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips as Haley headed back inside.

Later, the Mikaelson siblings and Haley gathered in the study. Elijah stood behind the desk, detailing what he had learned from Davina earlier that day.

"Everything that brought us here to New Orleans was a lie," Elijah began. "This war between vampires and witches—it was never about territory. It's about Davina."

Rebekah frowned. "The little witch?"

"Eight months ago, Sophie and Jane-Anne Deveraux lost everything," Elijah continued. "Four months later, a young pregnant girl wanders into their restaurant. Suddenly, hope returns. Jane-Anne sacrificed her life so Sophie could use that girl to find Davina. If Sophie succeeds, she believes she can bring her niece back to life."

"We thought we'd come here to wage a war for power. This is about family," Elijah rounded the table to join his. "In order to return her niece to life, Sophie Deveraux will fight to the death. That makes her more dangerous than anyone."

Haley was the first to step forward, spotting the hidden elephant. "Where's Caroline?"

The question hung in the air—unexpected, cutting through the web of schemes and revelations. The room went still, the weight of the inquiry pressing against every silent heartbeat.

Klaus froze mid-step, his usual swagger replaced by something darker, more dangerous. A slow, predatory tension coiled in his posture, and for a moment, the room felt smaller, heavier, as if the walls themselves were bracing for whatever was about to come. Even Elijah faltered, sensing the storm brewing in his brother.

The room went even quieter, the only sound the barely contained fury radiating from Klaus as his gaze darkened.

It was Thanksgiving week, and the groceries had to be gathered. Caroline had agreed to let Sophie tag along mostly because she knew the city better, none the wiser to the larger schemes unfolding. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and the streets of New Orleans were quiet, the air thick with the scent of rain and the distant bayou.  Thanksgiving was only a few days away, and despite the tension hanging thick around the Quarter, Caroline refused to let the baby growing inside her be surrounded by doom and gloom. A proper meal, she'd said. Some sense of normalcy.

Run.

They stepped out of the market into the humid night, bags swinging and the Quarter's lamplight painting the cobbles gold. Caroline tucked the grocery list into her bag and laughed at something Sophie said about the local herbs, how New Orleans' soil made even the simplest vegetation stronger, richer, more temperamental.

Run.

For a few small hours, it had felt normal again: shopping, planning a Thanksgiving that would at least try to pretend things were ordinary.

Then the street changed.

There were too many shadows gathered in the alcoves between ironwork fences; figures that hadn't been there as they'd passed earlier. The air smelled different: not just humidity and fried food but something metallic and old, like iron and incense. Caroline slowed, every instinct prickling. Her hand went protectively to her belly before she even realized it.

"Sophie," she said softly. "Do you see—"

Sophie was already a beat ahead, turning toward a woman stepping out from under a stoop, an umbrella folded in one hand, smile polite and practiced. "Oh! You two again. The market closes soon if you need anything else—"

More people slipped from the shadows then, surrounding them with the fluid confidence of people who'd rehearsed this moment. They wore no masks, but their eyes were a checklist of calm cruelty. One of them held a charm tied with black thread; another had a small satchel that rattled when she moved. Their ash-haired leader tilted her head like a curious predator.

Sophie frowned. "Agnes. We don't want trouble—"

Caroline's instincts rang alarm bells. The space around her felt heavier, tighter. A subtle hum rose in her ears, a vibration she couldn't place, and suddenly her vision blurred at the edges. The cobblestones beneath her feet seemed to ripple and stretch downward, the pavement opening like a yawning mouth. She stumbled, clutching her stomach instinctively as the baby fluttered against her ribs.

"Stay back," Caroline warned them, voice trembling. "Don't... don't get close."

Sophie hesitated, confused and alarmed as she stood by unable to move. "I don't understand. What are you doing to her?!"

"You will not interfere," Agnes said, the edge of menace in her calm tone unmistakable. "Resistance is... futile."

The chanting intensified, voices layering over each other, filling the alley with a pressure that pressed against Caroline's temples. Her vision darkened at the edges, and the sensation of being swallowed deepened, crushing her against the pavement. Every instinct screamed to move, to fight, to scream, but she was pinned by something she couldn't see, couldn't touch, and didn't understand.

Caroline's stomach tensed, the baby kicking against her ribs. She struggled, but the unseen grip was unyielding, the cobblestones pressing against her chest, dragging her closer to the street as if the world itself wanted her gone. Her last thought before darkness claimed her was the overwhelming pressure of the ground pressing over her, the creeping, inescapable sensation of being buried alive, and the helpless horror of how the world would be at his mercy when Klaus'd find out she'd been taken.

The French Quarter was on fire, literally. Klaus stalked through the inferno, smoke curling around him like a crown. His eyes glowed molten gold, veins blackening under his skin as rage tore through him. The witch shop was reduced to rubble.

"Where is she?!" he roared, his voice shaking the ground.

The witches had already spilled into the street, forming a tight circle, their eyes flashing with determination and fear. Chanting rose from their lips, old spells twisting through the air, sigils flaring across the cobblestones as they tried to form a barrier.

One by one, he tore through them. Teeth, claws, sheer force. Any witch foolish enough to stay in his path met the full weight of his fury. Screams tore through the night, echoing off the buildings, while the orange glow of nearby fires painted shadows that danced across his veined gold eyes.

Each chant that attempted to restrain him shattered beneath his relentless advance. One witch tried to lunge with a binding spell, but Klaus met her head-on, ripping her spell from her hands before sinking his teeth into her neck. Another hurled a dagger tipped with silver magic, and he tore it from her grip mid-throw, snapping her spine with a single twist.

By the time Marcel arrived, the street was chaos incarnate. Witches staggered, some fleeing, some already crumpled into the cobblestones, their powers failing against the raw, focused rage of the Original.

"Enough!" Marcel shouted, choking on the heat. "You can't be killing witches, man! We've got a truce!"

Klaus turned, eyes still glowing gold, chest heaving. "I only need one," he growled, his voice thick with menace.

And Marcel, for all his bravado, went still. Because looking at him then—veins dark, flames flickering in his reflection—he realized that whatever humanity Klaus had found in the years away from New Orleans... was slipping away fast.

This was the monster they'd all tried to forget.

After he left the attic, Elijah moved through the streets with a purpose that made the night itself seem to bend around him. Every shadow, every flicker of light, every faint trace of magic carried Sophie's scent to him. By the time she was stirring, just waking from the haze that had clouded her mind, he was already there.

Sophie stumbled to her feet, blinking, trying to orient herself. Fast as thought, he had her pinned against the wall, his hand tight around her neck, his eyes flashing with controlled fury.

"Where's Caroline?" His voice was low, gruff, edged with the kind of anger that left no room for argument.

Sophie clawed at his wrist, choking on the breath she couldn't pull. "It... it was Agnes," she rasped, fighting for sound. "She took her."

Elijah's eyes narrowed, red veined, unrelenting. "And where does one find this Agnes?"

Sophie's gaze darted away, calculating, fear and defiance mingling. "If I tell you where she is, you'll just kill her."

A shadow of a smile brushed Elijah's lips, cruel and knowing. "Isn't that obvious?"

Sophie's shoulders tensed. "Look... I know she's a little... coo-coo, but she's our last living Elder. That might not mean much to you, but it means plenty to us. The Elders are the only ones who can perform important spells."

Elijah's head tilted slightly, the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Like completing the Harvest ritual?"

Sophie froze, caught between surprise and disbelief. "You... you know about that?"

"Ah," Elijah said lightly, almost indulgently. "You'd be astounded by the things I know."

He released her abruptly, and she dropped to her knees, coughing hard as air rushed painfully back into her lungs. She didn't get up. Instead she braced a hand against the dirt, shoulders trembling, trying to steady herself.

Elijah watched her, head tilting—not in sympathy, but in sharp, assessing curiosity. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Heat was rolling off her in waves, her skin flushing darker by the second.

His eyes narrowed. "What is happening to you?"

Sophie grit her teeth, pressing a hand to her neck where the heat pulsed like a fevered heartbeat. "Agnes... she stuck me with something. A cursed needle."

Elijah's tone dropped into an icy register. "What does the needle do?"

Sophie swallowed hard. "It's the Needle of Sorrows. It has only one purpose," she added, voice thickening with guilt. "To kill a child in utero by raising the mother's blood temperature."

For a heartbeat, shock cracked through Elijah's composure; sharp, and visceral. Then fury slid in to replace it, cold and absolute. His jaw tightened, expression hardening into something lethal.

"It's meant to cause a miscarriage," he said, voice low, dangerous.

Sophie nodded once, eyes flicking away.

Elijah stepped closer, shadow falling over her. "How much time do we have to fix this?"

Sophie swallowed, her skin growing hotter beneath his gaze. "It'll finish what it's meant to by tonight's high tide. And believe me, it'll work. I've seen Agnes use a similar spell before." She shuddered as another pulse of heat slammed through her. "On a kid who went mad and killed a bunch of priests."

"That is precisely why we need to unlink you from Hayley," Elijah said.

Her head snapped up. "No, what? No! If I'm not linked to her, I lose my leverage on you." Panic crept into her voice, her hands flying up in protest. "You can't do that. We had a deal!"

Elijah stepped forward again, not with the explosive violence of before, but with a slow, deliberate finality that was somehow worse. The night seemed to still around him.

"We are not on the same side, Sophie Deveraux," he said quietly. "Our deal no longer stands."