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Oakhurst is quiet in a way Drift has learned to find comforting. Not empty, not haunted. Just peaceful. Every time she returns, she half-expects the old fear to rise up in her chest, the same fear that once chased her out of the city and into this strange town. But it never does. Coming back feels more like touching a scar than reopening a wound.
Shelby walks ahead on the path, light on her feet, humming under her breath. Scott keeps pace beside Drift, hands tucked in his coat pockets, gaze sharp and thoughtful as he studies their surroundings. He looks like he’s cataloging the angle of every branch and the length of every shadow. He’s also probably admiring the way the wind catches his own hair. With Scott, it’s always both.
Drift lingers a step behind, fingers brushing through the tall grass as she walks. The sensation grounds her. Reminds her she’s not the frightened woman who first arrived here a century ago, jumping at every whisper in the dark. Back then, Avid had ranted endlessly about vampires in Oakhurst, pacing through the little house they shared while she pretended to believe him. She’d mostly just wanted him to feel heard. She never imagined he’d be right.
They reach the top of the hill, and the air shifts, softer somehow. Avid’s grave sits in the shade, the stone clean and the ground tended by Pearl and Cleo’s careful magic. It always looks like someone has just stepped away, as if he might come back and complain about how crooked the flowers are.
Scott steps forward first, quiet as always for this part of the ritual. Shelby joins him, expression a soft smile. Drift kneels last, because Avid used to tease that she was always late to everything except trouble.
She runs her hand over the carved name.
Avid.
She lets out a breath that leaves her chest lighter than she expects. Coming here every year hurts less than it used to. Maybe that’s its own kind of healing. It’s painful in places, yes, but steadying. A way of honoring who they were and who they’ve become.
The walk back toward the castle is slow, almost ceremonial. The sky above Oakhurst always seems a little dimmer than it should be, like the strange fog curling around the treetops steals a fraction of the sunlight before it ever reaches the ground. Drift glances back once at the grave. A hundred years. It feels impossible and also exactly right.
Scott clears his throat, fingers brushing the edge of the worn envelope sticking out of his coat. “Cleo’s handwriting has gotten worse,” he mutters, mostly to himself.
Drift huffs a quiet laugh. “You’re just mad she addressed it to ‘Princess Scott and the other two.’”
“That was a deliberate insult.” Scott straightens. “Royal titles should be accurate.”
Shelby spins around to walk backward in front of them, her braid bouncing as she grins. “At least she mailed it! That’s commitment. You know nothing with a battery works past the sign at the edge of town.” She lifts her phone, which is as dead as it’s been since they arrived. “See? Permanently napping.”
Drift still remembers the first time she’d tried using a radio here, the way the static had thickened until it felt alive. The fog doesn’t just swallow signals; it seems to swallow time. Buildings stay the same. Air stays the same. Even footsteps feel muted, like the town is holding its breath.
But the castle ahead of them is warm and familiar, rising through the fog, the stones lit from within by soft golden light. The same castle all of them once helped build in those frantic early months. Back when Oakhurst was full of shouting and secrets and running for your life.
Pearl opens the great door before they even knock. Her smile is all teeth and mischief. “You’re late,” she says, though her tone drips with welcome.
Behind her, Cleo leans on the banister, arms crossed. “Took you long enough. We were starting to place bets.”
Drift steps into the entry hall, the warmth hitting her all at once as a soft, familiar wave. The place smells faintly of herbs and old wood and something sweet Drift can never quite identify. It feels lived in. Safe in a way the world outside isn’t
Sausage is already sprawled across a couch like he owns the place, one arm flung over the back as he waves at them. Abolish sits rigidly in an armchair beside him, hands around a drink he probably doesn’t like but refuses to abandon. The moment Drift enters, Abolish gives her the briefest nod. It’s an acknowledgment without emotion, which for him is practically a hug.
They settle in—coats shed, drinks passed around. Scott complains about drafts like he's personally offended by architecture itself. Shelby bounces on the arm of a couch, eyes bright with the restless energy that precedes either brilliance or chaos (usually both).
"So!" Her voice rings through the vaulted hall. "One-hundred-year anniversary. Everyone's here except Apo. We should celebrate the fact that no one has died with something fun!"
Scott eyes her warily. “Define ‘fun.’ Historically, when you say that, I end up on fire, crying, or both.
Shelby presses a hand to her chest. “I promise no fire. Probably.” Her grin widens. “I’m thinking… party game.”
Pearl perks up immediately. Cleo raises an eyebrow, amused. Sausage sits bolt upright. Abolish’s lack of reaction is, in itself, a reaction.
Drift tilts her head, already smiling. “Shelby. What game?”
“Truth or dare!” Shelby announces triumphantly
Scott lets out a groan, but there is a reluctant smile hiding behind it.
“Oh yeah, I think it’ll be fun!” Sausage adds, already half standing.
Shelby claps and starts shooing everyone into a circle on the floor. Pearl and Cleo sit together, Sausage plopping down at Pearl’s side. Scott settles opposite, resigned to his fate. Drift takes a spot between Scott and Sausage, patting the empty space beside her for Shelby. Abolish is last, taking one deep breath and one long drink before sitting on Scott’s far side.
Cleo gets up, muttering something about “doing it properly,” and returns with a gleam in her eye, getting up to grab something from a cabinet as she does so. “If we’re going to play,” she says, pulling open a cabinet, “we should make it interesting.” She places a silver dagger in the center of the circle. The metal glints under the torchlight.
“It was originally used on prisoners to force the truth out of them,” Cleo says casually, like it’s something you see every day. “If it points at you and you choose truth, be warned that once you start talking, you won’t stop until the full truth is out.”
Shelby snatches the dagger before Cleo even finishes. “Perfect!” She spins it with a flourish. It clicks across the stone before landing tip-first toward Pearl.
Pearl studies the dagger pointing at her. "That's a loaded question if I ever saw one."
"It is," Cleo confirms, waiting.
Pearl sighs. "Truth. And I'm already regretting it."
Shelby grins wickedly. “Which of us do you trust least with a sword?”
Pearl answers instantly. “Sausage.”
“HEY—okay, why is that everyone’s first guess?” Sausage splutters.
Scott rubs his face. “Because you’d definitely trip and stab yourself.”
“Oh, come on! No faith?” Sausage protests.
Even Abolish mutters, “I would not trust you with my life. No offense.”
“That’s actually worse!” Sausage yelps.
Pearl, already giggling, reaches forward and gives the dagger another spin. “Before Sausage decides to prove us wrong and injures someone, let’s keep going.”
The dagger slows… turns… and points at Cleo.
Pearl smirks. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” Cleo replies confidently.
Pearl leans forward. “If you had to choose one person here to lead an army into battle, who would you pick?”
“Me, obviously. I would be—” Cleo stops mid-sentence, her expression twisting as the magic tugs the words from her. She groans. “I would be excellent, BUT—ugh—fine. Abolish. Abolish would be the best leader.” She glares around the circle, deeply offended by her own honesty. “And I would be the second-best. Don’t get smug.”
Abolish simply lifts his glass. “Wasn’t planning on it. But maybe we should allow a drink if someone doesn’t want to answer.”
“That sounds good to me,” Scott agrees, leaning back on his hands.
They continue. The dagger spins again, landing on Sausage.
“Ooh, dare!” Sausage says immediately. “I’m adventurous!”
Cleo's grin grows devilish. “Perfect. Sausage—trade outfits with the person on your right.”
Drift grins, savoring the way Sausage somehow manages to turn a shade paler as he glances at Shelby and her black dress cinched with a red corset. “I’m not so sure that’s…” he trails off with a nervous chuckle.
Shelby cocks her head at him. “I thought you said you were adventurous? I’m not going to back down, are you?” Drift watches as Shelby’s hands start to unlace the corset from behind, as she maintains eye contact with Sausage.
“Fine! But I’m keeping on my underwear!” His voice goes an octave higher, shrill and squeaky.
Shelby scoffs, “Good, I don’t want it.”
The room fills with laughs and prods, but Drift isn’t listening. She tries to look away, to look at the ground, to drown everything out. She doesn’t want to look up at the wrong time, see something she shouldn’t, and be plagued with visions of what could have been for the rest of eternity. But, when there is a lull in the conversation, before she can help herself, she glances up.
Drift tries not to look. Tries not to look, tries not to look—
Then the laughter dips, and she glances up.
Shelby stands half-undressed in the center of the circle, focused on Sausage's belt like it's a puzzle worth solving. The red bra with lace edges sitting by her feet catches the firelight. Drift's face burns. She knows what waits if she lets her gaze drift just a fraction higher, her dream playing out in real life, the one she's never allowed herself to finish in daylight.
She forces her gaze to the ground.
Don't abuse the trust. Don't be that person.
A wolf-whistle jolts her. For a moment she feels exposed, like someone's read her mind and knows what she was thinking. She soon realizes it’s directed at Sausage, the rest of the circle teasing his new outfit. The black dress is tight, with the zipper at the back not all the way up. He clearly had tried to lace up the corset, inevitably giving up less than halfway. “Oh my, I didn’t realize we had a model on our hands.” Scott’s sarcastic remarks earn a scowl from Sausage.
Shelby swims in white ruffles and an oversized cloak that sweeps the floor. Cleo and Pearl try to hype their new looks but keep dissolving into laughter before they finish.
Sausage sits back down, grinning despite himself. "Yes, yes, very funny. Historically, men wore dresses, so technically I am very masculine—" He spins the knife. It lands on Scott.
"Dare. I wouldn't want poor Sausage to be all alone, now would I?"
Sausage stutters out a response, crossing his arms. “Well then, I triple-double-dog-dare you to go outside on the balcony and yell ‘I am not dramatic!’ for everyone to hear.”
Scott stands without hesitation. "Fine."
"Are you ready? Cause I’m only doing this once!" Scott calls from above.
"Do it!" several voices chorus back.
"I AM NOT DRAMATIC!" His voice echoes off stone, sharp and sarcastic and dripping with poison. From somewhere beyond the walls, a bird shrieks in protest.
Shelby collapses backwards laughing, while Drift wipes tears from her eyes.
Scott returns, his face blank. “Happy?”
“So happy,” Drift says.
Scott sits down in a huff, spinning the dagger as he glares at everyone around the circle. When it lands on Abolish, he merely glares at him next. Drift could have sworn they were both doing a staring contest if she didn’t know Abolish and his entire demeanor. Finally Scott breaks the silence, asking for Truth or Dare.
Abolish holds his gaze, his voice clear as he says, “Truth.”
With a roll of his eyes, Scott asks, “Are you thinking about all the different ways you could kill me right now?”
Abolish doesn’t respond for a long moment, though the faintest smirk plays on his lips. He then reaches for his drink and takes a sip. Scott exhales, his voice monotone as he says, “So then that’s like a yes.” Abolish merely shrugs, though his smile grows wider.
“I mean, he’s not denying it,” Pearl adds.
“Ugh, whatever. I don’t even care. Just spin it.” Scott gestures with his hand, watching as Abolish flicks it and goes from one person to the next.
Drift’s heart falls out of her chest when it lands on her, and her mouth is too dry. She knows the dares haven’t been bad so far, but she’s still scared. So she swallows, her voice small as she says “truth.”
Abolish looks back down at his drink, spinning it in his hands as he watches the liquid slosh from one side to another, biding his time before he speaks. When he looks up, his face is so solemn that panic flares in Drift’s chest, and she wonders if she should have chosen dare.
“What do you fear now, if anything?”
The shift in the tone is a tangible thing, the room going silent. Drift looks down at her drink and considers if she should take a sip. But she doesn’t just want to tap out. Besides, as she glances around this room and at the people to either side of her, Scott and Shelby, she does have a pretty good idea of the answer.
“I…” She swallows. ”I’m afraid of losing what I have.”
She wants to stop there. But something in Avid’s gaze, or maybe the magic of the dagger, forces her to speak more, as if it’s prying the very words from her mouth.
“Losing the people I—”
She tries to cut herself off, but the last word comes out strangled, “Love.”
Drift bites her lip hard, thankful that she doesn’t feel compelled to say any more. She takes in a shuddering breath, trying not to shed tears. She doesn’t want to sour the mood like this or to show weakness.
Shelby’s hand reaches over and finds her under the folds of Sausage’s borrowed cloak. It’s intended as a comforting act, but it still steals away all the breath from Drift’s lungs.
Drift clears her throat awkwardly, trying to move on as she spins the knife once again. It lands on Scott, who immediately says, “Dare.” She finds it a little odd, but perhaps he just wants to avoid the truth. He has lived a long time.
She thinks hard about what would make a fun dare, and as Shelby gives her hand a squeeze, the perfect idea comes to her. “Read one sentence from Shelby’s Vampire Diaries book aloud!”
Shelby gasps, her mouth open in mock scandal. “Drift!”
But Scott already has the leather-bound book Shelby left peeking out of her bag. He opens to a random page, squints, and reads:
“Dear Diary, a chipmunk asked me my name today. I told him it was Joe. That lie will haunt me forever.” *
The room goes silent.
Then Pearl screams, laughing.
Scott closes the journal gently, his face blank. “Shelby. What in God’s name have you spent the past century writing?”
Shelby lunges to grab it back. “Hey, I’ll have you know I sent it to my publisher last weekend! It’s going to be a big hit, mark my words! You just don’t have my sense of humor!”
Drift is wheezing, her head tipped back, though she can’t help admiring the slight smile on Shelby’s face despite everyone’s reaction.
Scott spins again, determined to redirect attention. It lands on Cleo.
“Truth or dare?” he asks, smug.
“Truth,” she decides.
Scott leans forward as if he has a secret. “Whisper something you like about Pearl, only loud enough for her to hear.”
Pearl freezes. Her eyes go wide. “Cleo, don’t you dare—”
But Cleo is already leaning in, fingers brushing Pearl’s jaw. She whispers something Drift can’t hear, but she sees Pearl shiver, sees her grip the rug so tightly it bunches.
Then Cleo runs her fangs lightly over Pearl’s pulse point.
“Oh my God,” Scott says, recoiling. “I didn’t say you had to put on a show!”
Cleo sits back up, her face as smug as ever. Pearl is red from her throat to her forehead, breathing deeply as she tries to recollect herself.
Cleo spins next, and the dagger lands on its next target. Shelby straightens, trying to regain some dignity in Sausage’s huge shirt.
“Shelby,” Cleo says sweetly, “who do you think changed the most over the last century?”
Shelby hesitates.
Drift watches the shift in her expression as she considers her response. Hesitation. Thought. Sincerity.
“...Me,” Shelby says finally. “I used to think I had to be perfect. That if I messed up, everything would fall apart. Now… I guess I know I can survive my own flaws.”
Her voice is quiet but steady.
Drift's throat tightens. She reaches for Shelby's hand and holds it, letting the squeeze say what her voice can't.
Shelby smiles back at Drift, her other hand reaching over to spin the knife, and of course it points right to Drift. Her stomach flips. But she tries to keep her voice steady as she says, “Truth.”
“What’s something you’ve always wanted to tell someone in this room?” Shelby asks.
Drift’s mouth goes dry instantly.
Everyone watches, but Drift only sees Shelby. The candlelight catches on her lashes. Her white hair glows in the dim room. Her smile, comforting as always. Drift forgets how to breathe.
She almost reaches for her drink, perhaps out of habit or nerves, but her hand freezes.
“I…” She takes a deep breath, her voice barely a whisper. “I admire you, Shelby.”
Shelby’s eyes widen.
Drift keeps talking, as if her mouth is no longer connected to her brain. “You’re brave and kind and loud in all the ways I’m not and I—”
A memory flashes, one of her dreams, with Shelby laughing in sunlight that was only a figment of her imagination.
She clamps her mouth shut, face blazing. “--and I had this stupid dream the other night and you were so beautiful and I…” She trails off, her nails digging into her hand as she tries to think of anything else.
Willing her mind to be blank, she closes her eyes and tries to not reveal anything more. A hand falls on her shoulder, and she nearly startles out of her skin.
She opens her eyes to find Shelby looking at her as she says, “Hey, Drift, it’s okay. Look at me. You don’t have to say any more if you don’t want to.”
Drift can’t bear to see the pity reflecting back, so she looks at the ground, hoping that the floor decides to open up and swallow her whole.
Desperate to redirect everyone’s attention, Drift spins the knife. It lands on Sausage, who blurts out “Dare.”
Drift just wants the topic to change, so she says the first thing that comes to mind. “Reenact the most chaotic moment from early Oakhurst.”
Sausage perks up instantly. “Oh! Okay! I know exactly what to do.”
He grabs a throw pillow, holds it over his face like a skull mask, and starts stumbling around the circle. “LOOK AT ME, I’M SCOTT, MY EYES ARE RED, NO ONE CAN KNOW. OOH SO SPOOOKY, DON’T LOOK AT ME—”
Scott throws a cushion at him. “Stop reenacting slander!”
Everyone is laughing again. Drift is grateful for it.
Still wearing the dress, Sausage spins the knife, which lands on Shelby.
She considers for a moment, looking around the circle before deciding, “Dare.”
Sausage grins, his eyes dancing with mischief as he says, “Braid Drift’s hair while we keep playing.” Great. So he clearly isn’t willing to let Drift’s embarrassment be forgotten as easily as she’s hoped.
Shelby lets out a soft sound of acceptance. Drift freezes, but she pretends to be totally normal about this as Shelby scoots behind her.
Warm fingers thread into Drift’s hair. Drift shivers before she can stop herself. Shelby pauses, then continues slowly, carefully, fingers brushing Drift’s neck a moment longer than they need to.
Drift’s breathing is loud enough to drown out any thoughts.
She can feel Shelby’s breath against her neck as she asks, “I can’t reach it while I’m braiding. Could you do my turn for me?”
Drift, barely thinking, spins the knife again. It hits Cleo.
“Truth,” Cleo says lazily, half-dozing against Pearl.
With Shelby’s hands in her hair and a desperate attempt at trying to ignore all the feelings stirring up inside, one question feels natural to ask. “Who fell first?”
Cleo laughs, “Oh, me. Absolutely me. Pearl was so oblivious she didn’t realize we were basically dating until we were kissing behind the tavern. She also didn’t realize vampires were real until one of us literally turned into a bat in front of her, so I don’t know what I expected.” She pats Pearl’s knee. “And even after that kiss, she was still like, ‘Oh, huh. Do you like me?”
Pearl hides her face in her hands, her mumbled voice saying, “I didn’t know if you were gay.”
Cleo laughs. “Of course I’m fucking gay. Have you seen me?”
Drift smiles, but a pang of sympathy rushes through her, making her chest feel hollow.
Cleo spins the dagger. It lands on Abolish.
Abolish's jaw tightens. Before Cleo can even ask, he says, "Truth. I don't want to do anything I don’t have to right now."
“What’s a secret you kept for someone who isn’t here anymore?” Cleo says, leaning back on one hand.
Abolish’s shoulders tense. He reaches for his drink.
“ABOLISH!” Cleo admonishes.
He freezes, sighs, and sets it down.
Quietly, almost mechanically, he says, “My parents. They were killed when I was young by some kind of monster. I pretended for years that they might be alive. I don’t know why I lied to myself. Habit, maybe. Eventually I made them a grave here in Oakhurst and chose to accept it.”
The circle goes still.
Pearl whispers, “Thank you for telling us.”
Abolish spins the knife, evidently wanting to move on and uncomfortable showing vulnerability.
Scott stiffens. His fingers drum against the stone floor once, twice.
"...Truth."
Abolish’s voice is soft, but he doesn’t hold back. “What is a memory you wish you could go back and redo?”
Scott reaches immediately for his drink, but his hand shakes. He lets it fall back to his lap.
His voice cracks. “Avid.”
No one speaks.
Scott keeps going, words spilling fast, like he’s been holding them for a century.
“He kissed me. By the lake beacon. And I just…stood there. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t kiss him back. I thought we had time. I thought—” He inhales sharply. “I should have stayed with him. I should have been careful. I shouldn’t have let him go. Owen and Pyro shouldn’t have—”
His breath shudders. “It’s my fault—” His voice cracks on the last word, and he looks down at his hands. Tears gather, clinging to his lashes.
He spins the dagger violently, refusing to break in front of them.
It lands on Pearl. Scott doesn’t even look up. “Describe someone you lost without saying their name.”
Pearl's breath catches. "She loved lavender. Sang off-key. Held my hand through nightmares. He'd pick me up—swing me around like I was flying. He called me princess." Her voice fractures. "They promised we'd survive everything together."
Her voice breaks. Drift feels it like a physical thing.
Scott stands.
Just stands. No explanation, no apology, only the stiff, unsteady rise of someone who’s been punched from the inside. Drift catches the tremor in his breath right before he turns away. His silhouette is sharp against the dim hallway light; for a moment it looks like he’ll say something.
He doesn’t.
He walks off, shoulders hunched, each step echoing down stone corridors that have held more grief than laughter.
No one stops him. They all know better.
The circle collapses into uneasy quiet. Even Sausage, still wearing Shelby’s dress, sits very still, hands balled in the fabric.
Cleo rests her forehead against Pearl’s temple, whispering something too soft for Drift to hear. Pearl nods, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand. Abolish stares into his drink, jaw tight, as if he’s replaying every word Scott said.
Shelby exhales a shaky breath. Her fingers retreat from Drift’s hair, the half-braid slipping loose like spilled threads.
"I… I shouldn't have suggested the game," Shelby whispers. "I didn't think it would drag all that up. I thought, since it's the anniversary, we should just… be together. I thought it'd help."
Her hands curl into fists. She won't meet Drift's gaze, staring at her own lap instead, as if the answer to her self-recrimination might be written there in the folds of borrowed fabric. She looks so small suddenly. So human, even in immortality.
Drift turns toward her, slow and deliberate.
Drift lifts one hand and touches her cheek gently, brushing a thumb beneath her eye in a gesture she hopes is steadier than she feels.
“Shelby,” Drift says softly, “you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Shelby tries to smile, but it flickers. “It didn’t feel like a mistake until right now.”
Drift leans closer, heart pounding in a rhythm she can’t disguise. Something brave rises up in her. Fragile, trembling, but real.
She kisses Shelby.
Not on the mouth. Just a soft, lingering press of lips to the corner of Shelby’s, warm and grounding. A quiet promise, a thank you, an apology for everything they can’t fix. Shelby freezes, breath catching, and then melts forward, forehead touching Drift’s.
They stay like that, eyes closed, sharing breath.
Shelby whispers, “Drift…”
And Drift thinks she could stay suspended in this moment forever, the weight of a century lifted just enough to breathe.
When they finally part, their foreheads linger together, noses brushing. Shelby’s hands slide to Drift’s waist like she’s afraid Drift might vanish if she lets go.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Drift says. It comes out soft. “I’m glad we’re all here. Even if it hurts.”
Shelby nods, throat bobbing. “Me too.”
The sound of Sausage clearing his throat breaks the moment.
“We should… maybe start cleaning up?” he suggests, voice soft. “Let Scott have space.”
Pearl sniffles. Cleo squeezes her hand. Abolish sets down his glass with care.
They all move slowly, like they’re afraid the castle walls might collapse if they make sudden noise.
Drift stands last. Shelby’s hand stays in hers until the last possible second, thumb brushing her knuckles before slipping away. It leaves a warmth behind that Drift feels all the way up her arm.
As Drift helps Cleo gather blankets and Pearl snuff candles, she looks toward the dark hallway Scott disappeared into. The castle is quiet. Warm light pools on the stone. Shelby's touch lingers on her skin like a promise.
Drift stands in both the ache of loss and the hopeful warmth and she doesn’t look away.