Chapter: Shifting Currents
The days that followed settled into a rhythm I didn't mind: quiet hours with Bella and Alice, the occasional dinner with Charlie, and nights spent immersed in my personal research. My time was split between tuning the edges of science and expanding my own limits—both mental and physical.
Bella's rusty old truck had become my first canvas. Piece by piece, I reworked it, swapping out outdated parts with components so advanced they could've passed inspection at a tech exhibit. The end result was a vehicle with the quiet grace of a Mercedes and the rugged soul of its original build. Not that it was difficult. With my ability to mimic the knowledge and muscle memory of every mechanic, engineer, and doctor I'd ever encountered, the upgrade had been a breeze. Lena, ever efficient and silently omniscient, sourced the parts I needed without question. Her connections—and her loyalty—ran deep.
When I wasn't fine-tuning engines, I was buried in biological theory, focused on one goal: developing an enhancement serum. The groundwork already existed, thanks to Se-Jin Lee's breakthrough in 1997 with Follistatin gene therapy. Animals had shown drastic muscle growth with the treatment—why not humans? My variation, however, had broader ambitions. Muscle density enhancement was just the start. I was infusing it with nootropics like Modafinil for heightened cognition, Telomerase for cellular longevity, and Senolytics to purge aged cells and improve recovery.
I had synthesized the components. The real challenge was attuning them all into a single, harmonious serum that wouldn't rip the human body apart on injection.
And if that wasn't enough, I'd begun developing a prototype for a cold fusion reactor—an energy core compact enough to rival a nuclear plant but without the heat hazards. My inspiration? Vampire physiology. They moved with supernatural speed and strength, fueled by mere blood. I suspected their biology held untapped secrets. Since my body could emulate other species on a cellular level, I had the freedom to run simulations through my own physiology. As far as I knew, I could replicate any organic pattern my receptors had scanned.
Training helped too. My Telekinesis had evolved beyond lifting weights or levitating objects. I could bend, crush, and reshape stone, metal, or even organic matter with ease. I was beginning to see the molecular threads that bound reality together. Rearranging atoms was the next frontier—and I was nearly there.
Meeting the Shifters
Sunday brought an unexpected shift in the air.
It started subtly—a flicker of warmth along my senses, foreign yet undeniably organic. Not vampire, but not entirely human either. When I heard Dad's voice outside greeting someone, I peered through the window and realized it was the Blacks: Billy and Jacob.
Jacob. Even as a kid, he had always had a thing for Bella—always watching her, even when she didn't notice. My mood soured.
Then came the sensation.
Unlike the chill that came with the Cullens, this was warm. Not searing—calm, radiant, steady. My thoughts scattered. Sounds vanished. I scrambled to erect a telekinetic barrier, sealing the room from external influence, locking myself in with the rising pressure in my skull.
Then came the break.
A gasp tore from my chest as my vision blurred and twisted into shadows. My bones contorted with sickening cracks. The world warped. The space around me breathed. It felt like something ancient was awakening—inside me.
When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in my room.
I stood in the middle of a sun-drenched field, ringed by lush green grass. Ahead was a lake, impossibly still, yet the soft thunder of a distant waterfall could be heard. A tree—titanic in scale—rose in the center, its branches vanishing into the clouds above.
And then I saw myself.
Reflected in a shimmer of the lake's surface was a creature of onyx fur and silent power—a panther, black as void, with burning violet eyes. On its forehead gleamed a jagged emerald horn, alive with pulsing light. My own body, reshaped by something deeper than DNA.
Moments—or maybe hours—passed before I willed myself back. When I opened my eyes again, I was in my room, unchanged… mostly. The barrier was still in place, Bella none the wiser. Downstairs, I could hear Billy and Charlie laughing.
I descended casually. Bella was in the driveway, awkwardly chatting while showing Jacob her "truck"—a term I now used loosely. Jacob stared at her like she was a miracle. When he turned to me, he flinched slightly.
My aura must've leaked through. Alpha energy, dense and commanding. Billy's eyes lingered on me a moment longer than necessary, but he said nothing.
The sky wept with thunder the next day, painting the roads with silver rivers. We took Bella's "car"—now more luxury tank than truck—to school. Rain tapped rhythmically on the roof as we rode in silence. At school, we met Alice, who was visibly hesitant when I invited her to dinner.
She agreed eventually, probably more out of guilt than eagerness.
I had something planned. A reveal, in part. I'd developed a telekinetic method to transmute organic matter without corrupting its innate essence. Using only blood, I could recreate food with perfect sensory mimicry—taste, smell, even texture. Fruits, drinks, vegetables, meat—all synthetic, all sourced from a single medium.
I wanted to see how she'd react.
Of course, I had to shoo Eric away again after he tried to flirt with Bella. A firm glance was enough. He retreated to wherever disappointed men sulk.
Bella's Perspective
The weather was abysmal, all rain and biting cold. Allen's hand in mine was the only source of warmth as we crossed the campus. Alice had been smiling too much. Suspiciously so.
When I reached Biology, I sighed in relief—our usual table was empty. Mr. Banner was busy setting up microscopes and slide trays.
Then he walked in.
His hair was soaked, his clothes disheveled yet impossibly clean, like water had dared not leave a mark. He moved with fluid grace, his smile easy but sharp.
"Hello," he said.
I blinked.
"I'm Edward Cullen. I didn't get a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Bella Swan."
"H-how do you know my name?"
He laughed softly. "Everyone knows you. The whole town's been waiting for you."
I grimaced. Of course.
"No, I meant… why did you call me Bella?"
He paused. "Do you prefer Isabella?"
Confused, I nodded slightly. Charlie never called me Bella behind my back. Only Allen did. Sometimes Mom. But never Charlie. Strange.
Class began. When Mr. Banner asked us to identify the cell division stage, I quickly answered "Prophase." As I reached to change the slide, Edward stopped me. His fingers brushed mine.
Ice. No—worse. It stung like static, as if I'd stuck my hand in a live wire. I yanked it away.
When class ended, Allen greeted me outside, practically glowing.
He told me he'd asked Alice out. My heart soared for him—his first real attempt at romance. Lena didn't count—she was more like a sister. But this? This was different.
Allen's Perspective
After class, I saw Bella grinning like she'd just let go of some long-carried weight.
"Should I be worried? You're glowing, sunshine," I teased as we got into the car.
She glared playfully but didn't respond. The blush on her face told me everything.
The following morning greeted us with an unnatural chill. Snow dusted the windows, and frost coated the porch. I stretched, got up, and padded into the kitchen to find Bella struggling with a sandwich, her hands trembling from the cold.
"Morning, Bells," I said, pulling her into a warm hug.
She melted into me.
"I'll make breakfast," I offered. "You just sit near the fireplace and thaw."
She nodded, and I helped her to a chair before turning to the kitchen.
"Want some tea?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yes, please," she sighed.
I reached for the kettle and filled it with enough water for two cups. The flame hissed to life beneath it.
On the cutting board, I diced a tomato with clean, practiced strokes, followed by an onion, sharp and white. I cracked an egg into a bowl, added the chopped vegetables, a pinch of salt, and a twist of black pepper. I stirred until the mixture was smooth and speckled.
The frying pan sizzled as the mixture met the oil. The smell—warm, savory—spread through the room. I let it cook untouched, letting the bottom crisp and hold.
Back at the stove, the water was boiling. I added tea leaves, a dash of cardamom, and a crushed ginger sliver. The color deepened, the aroma intensified. I added milk, then sugar, stirred until the brew was perfect.
The omelet flipped easily, the underside golden and aromatic.
Two cups of tea. One plate of omelet.
I brought it to the table where Bella waited, her fingers curled around the warmth of the ceramic. She smiled up at me, cheeks flushed—not from cold this time, but comfort.
And for a moment, the snow outside didn't matter.