### Chapter 6: The Breaking Point
The air in the French Quarter hung heavy with the scent of magnolias and spilled liquor, a deceptive calm that cloaked the danger simmering beneath. Xander stood in the shadowed courtyard, his emerald eyes glinting like polished jade as he surveyed the scene: Katherine Pierce, bound with vervain-laced rope, her wrists sizzling faintly against the coarse fibers; Lyra Voss, dagger in hand, her scarred face a mask of cold resolve; Damon, lounging against a lamppost with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes; and Stefan, hovering near the wall, his youthful features twisted with worry. The gas lamps flickered, casting jagged shadows that danced across the cobblestones, and the distant wail of a trumpet seemed to mock the tension coiled in Xander's chest.
He'd just fed, the drunk's blood still warm in his veins, steadying the hunger that had threatened to unravel him moments ago. But even with the beast sated, a deeper unease gnawed at him—a prickle at the nape of his neck, a whisper of instinct honed from his past life as Xavier Langston, the billionaire who'd outsmarted rivals and sniffed out traps before they sprang. Something was coming. Something bigger than Katherine's games, bigger than the blood gift pulsing under his skin. And then it hit him, a realization as sharp and cold as a blade: the Originals. Klaus, Elijah, Rebekah—the Mikaelson family, the ancient vampires who'd been hunting doppelgängers like Katherine and her successors for centuries. If they were in New Orleans—and they *had* to be, given Katherine's presence—then the Salvatore brothers were walking targets, tangled in a mess Xander had no intention of dying for. Again.
He turned to the group, his voice cutting through the night like a whip. "We're splitting up. Now."
Damon straightened, his smirk fading. "What? Why the hell would we do that? We've got her"—he jerked his chin at Katherine—"right where we want her."
Stefan stepped forward, brow furrowing. "Xander, we just found her. We can't—"
"We *have* to," Xander snapped, his tone brooking no argument. He flexed his hand, the faint shimmer of blood magic flickering at his fingertips before he clenched it into a fist. "This isn't just about Katherine anymore. The Originals are out there—Klaus and his psychotic family. They're after doppelgängers, and she's one of their loose ends." He glared at Katherine, who met his gaze with a raised brow and a maddening little smile. "We're caught in their crosshairs now, and I'm not sticking around to be collateral damage in their damn war."
Lyra tilted her head, her gray eyes narrowing. "You're sure they're here?"
"I'd bet my eternity on it," Xander said. "This city's their playground. Katherine's too smart to hide somewhere they wouldn't look, which means she's got a plan—or she's desperate. Either way, it's a powder keg, and I'm not waiting for the spark."
Katherine laughed, a low, sultry sound that grated on his nerves. "Oh, Xander, you're adorable when you're paranoid. The Originals? They've got bigger fish to fry than little old me—or you, for that matter."
"Shut up," he growled, his fangs flashing briefly as the hunger stirred again, a reminder of the thin leash he held it on. He turned back to his brothers and Lyra, his mind racing. "We split up, cover more ground, and stay off their radar. Damon, Stefan, take Katherine somewhere safe—lock her up, gag her if you have to. Lyra, you're with me. We'll scout the city, figure out what we're dealing with."
Damon tossed his dagger into the air, catching it with a flourish. "Fine by me. I'll babysit the she-devil. Might even have some fun with it."
Stefan shook his head, his voice soft but firm. "Xander, we're stronger together. If the Originals are coming—"
"Then together makes us a bigger target," Xander cut in, his patience fraying. "I'm not asking, Stefan. I'm telling. Move."
He didn't wait for their agreement. He grabbed Lyra's arm—gently, but with enough force to signal urgency—and pulled her toward the alley, leaving Damon and Stefan staring after him. Katherine's mocking laugh followed, a taunt he ignored as he and Lyra vanished into the shadows. He didn't bother explaining the full truth to his brothers, didn't tell them the real reason he was bolting. They wouldn't understand—not yet. This wasn't just about the Originals or Katherine or even the blood gift. It was about him, Alexander Salvatore, and the life he'd been forced into—a life he hadn't chosen.
As he and Lyra moved through the narrow streets, the city's pulse pounding around them—carriages rattling, drunken laughter spilling from taverns—Xander's thoughts turned inward, a storm of frustration and defiance raging in his skull. *I didn't want this damn universe,* he snarled to himself, the words echoing in the private chamber of his mind. *The Vampire Diaries? Are you kidding me? If I'd had a real say, I'd have spun that damn wheel again and landed somewhere else—anywhere else. A different Earth, a sane one, where I'm not stuck with two blockheads obsessing over doppelgängers and a cosmic puppet master pulling my strings.*
He could still see the Weaver's glowing eyes, the spinning wheel that had dumped him here as Alexander Salvatore, eldest brother to Damon and Stefan. In his past life as Xavier Langston, he'd ruled boardrooms, flown private jets, lived a life of power and precision. Reincarnation was supposed to be a second chance, not a sentence to babysit a pair of lovesick vampires and dodge ancient psychopaths. *If I'd known this was the deal,* he thought bitterly, *I'd have told the Weaver to shove it and taken oblivion instead. No Originals, no doppelgänger drama, no Katherine turning me into a bloodsucking freak with a side of magic I didn't sign up for.*
Lyra's voice broke through his mental tirade, sharp and grounded. "You're muttering to yourself. Care to share, or is this a private meltdown?"
He glanced at her, her scarred face lit by a passing lantern, her gray eyes steady and piercing. She moved like a panther, all quiet strength and coiled danger, and for a moment, he envied her clarity—her single-minded hunt for vengeance. "Just thinking," he said, forcing his tone to lighten. "About how much I hate this city already."
"Liar," she said, but didn't press. She adjusted her grip on her dagger, scanning the rooftops. "If the Originals are here, we'll need more than your blood tricks to survive them."
"I've got more than tricks," he said, a edge of steel in his voice. He flexed his hand again, letting a thin ribbon of blood rise from a shallow cut he'd made earlier, shaping it into a needle-sharp dart before letting it dissolve. "But you're right. We need a plan."
They ducked into a side street, the noise of the Quarter fading to a dull roar. Xander leaned against a brick wall, the dampness seeping through his coat, and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Klaus wants doppelgänger blood—Katherine's, or the next one in line. If he finds her with Damon and Stefan, they're dead. Or worse."
Lyra nodded, her braid swaying as she crouched, tracing a finger through the dirt. "And you? Why run instead of fight?"
He hesitated, the truth too raw to voice aloud. *Because I'm done being fate's pawn. Because I didn't reincarnate to die for someone else's mess.* Instead, he said, "Because I don't trust Katherine to stay caught. She'll slip away, and the Originals will come for us anyway. Splitting up buys us time—lets me figure out what I'm dealing with."
She studied him, her gaze cutting through his half-truths, but she didn't call him out. "Fine. What's the move?"
"We scout," he said. "Find out where Klaus is, what he knows. If he's close, we warn the others. If not, we use the head start to get ahead of this."
Lyra stood, dusting off her hands. "Lead on, Salvatore. But if you're wrong about this, I'm not dying for your hunch."
"Fair enough," he said, pushing off the wall. They moved deeper into the city, shadows swallowing them whole, and Xander's mind churned. *I didn't ask for this,* he thought again, the words a mantra. *Not the brothers, not the vampires, not the damn wheel. If I get out of this, I'm finding a way to spin it again—somewhere far from Mystic Falls and its cursed bloodlines.*
But even as he thought it, the Weaver's laugh echoed faintly in his skull, a reminder that escape might not be an option. Not yet. The night stretched ahead, dark and endless, and Xander steeled himself for what was coming—Originals, doppelgängers, or something worse. He'd survive it all, or burn this universe down trying.