Aiden's other hand slammed against the wall behind her head, not out of anger — but to brace himself.
"That was a different life," he growled, voice thick. "We were dangerous together."
Her lips curled. "Exactly."
For one aching second, they hovered — breath mingling, memories clawing their way to the surface. His chest rose and fell sharply. Hers did the same. They were still standing in the wreckage of everything they used to be.
And then—
She leaned in, and her lips almost brushed his.
That's when he stepped back.
Just a single step, but it was enough to shatter the moment.
Her eyes flared with frustration, hunger… and hurt.
"Still fighting it?" she asked, breathless. "Still pretending you don't want to touch me?"
He didn't answer.
Because wanting wasn't the problem.
The problem was that Connie was still a wildfire. And Aiden had learned what it meant to get burned.
She smiled — slow, sensual, unbothered.
"I'll give you time," she said, walking toward the door. Her fingers brushed his as she passed. "But I'm not going anywhere. This town's too cute. Too… flammable."
She stopped in the doorway, looking back over her shoulder.
But Aiden slammed the door shut behind her, hard enough to rattle the windows. "Why are you here, Connie?"
She turned slowly, that same sly smile already creeping across her lips. "Is that how you say hello now?"
"Cut the crap," he snapped. "You knew damn well who I was the moment Angela introduced you. What are you doing here?"
She raised her hands in mock innocence, sauntering closer. "I was curious. Curious if you were really dead. Curious if you'd changed." Her voice lowered, softer now. "Looks like you have. Almost."
His hands curled into fists at his sides. "Stay away from me. Stay away from my friends."
"Aww," she pouted. "You're making friends now? Playing house in the woods with these kids and little blonde dolls?"
He took a step toward her, the distance closing in an instant. His voice dropped to a dangerous growl. "Don't. Push me."
But Connie didn't flinch. In fact, her pupils dilated a little. Excitement danced behind her eyes.
"There he is," she whispered. "There's the boy I remember. The one who threw a grown man down the stairs when he grabbed me. The one who made people bleed if they so much as looked at him wrong."
Aiden's breath hissed between his teeth. "That version of me got people killed."
"And yet..." Her voice was almost reverent now. "He was real. Raw. Beautiful."
He slammed a hand against the wall beside her head—close, but not touching. She didn't move. Didn't blink.
"You're insane," he growled.
She smiled. "You used to like that about me."
He pulled back, disgusted with both of them. "This isn't some twisted reunion, Connie. You don't get to pop back into my life and pretend everything's fine."
"You think I care about fine?" she said, suddenly serious. "I came because I needed to. Because you're the only thing that ever felt real to me. And because this place is lying to you. These people? They're not safe, Aiden. They're not like us. They're different."
He froze. The room felt too small, the air too thick.
She stepped around him, brushing her fingers lightly along his arm as she passed. "I'll be seeing you," she said sweetly. "And when you finally drop the act, I'll be right here, dragging you back."
And with that, she was gone, leaving only the echo of her perfume and the sound of Aiden's breath coming sharp and fast.
Aiden's thoughts were still tangled when Edward spoke again, his voice lower now, edged with something colder.
"I did catch something… when she brushed past me in the hall earlier."
Aiden looked up sharply. "You read her?"
Edward nodded slowly, his golden eyes shadowed. "Not clearly. Her mind is... chaotic. Like a radio flipping through stations too fast. But there was one clear image."
Aiden's heart began to hammer.
Edward looked him dead in the eye. "It was you. Bleeding. Burned. Barely alive. And she was smiling."
Aiden's throat went dry. "So she remembers the fire."
"She remembers everything. She replays it like a fantasy," Edward said, jaw tightening. "She's obsessed with you. Possessive. But it's twisted — like she wants to own your pain."
Aiden turned away, running both hands through his hair, trying to steady the roiling mess in his chest.
Edward continued, softer now. "She doesn't know I can hear her. I don't think she even considers that anyone could see past her act. But she's dangerous, Aiden. Not just to you. To anyone near you."
Aiden swallowed hard, something ugly rising in the back of his throat. "She said... she said Sticks was okay. For now."
Edward didn't reply right away. Then: "She's unpredictable. And cruel. If she thinks hurting him gets to you…"
"She'll do it."
Edward nodded.
Aiden closed his eyes for a second, breathing slow. He wasn't the same kid who let Connie get in his head — not anymore. But damn if she didn't still know how to twist the knife.
"Thanks," he said finally. "For telling me."
Edward gave a brief nod, then turned to go. "If you need backup," he said over his shoulder, "you've got it."
Aiden looked up, surprised. "You barely know me."
Edward paused in the doorway. "I don't need to. I know what it feels like to have something broken follow you into the life you're trying to build."
"And Rosalie trusts you so I will too." And with that, he left.