The Arizona sun bled through the blinds in golden streaks. The room was quiet now, the air still and tense after hours of silent waiting. Bella sat curled on the edge of the bed, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her shirt.
The hotel room faded.
The sound of voices—Elise's soft conversation with Bella, Jasper's low hum of calm—dissolved into white noise as Alice's eyes turned vacant white, her body going still.
Then the forest rose around her.
She wasn't in it, not truly—but she saw it all. Felt the air like static on her skin. Her consciousness floated somewhere between now and then, above and just behind Rosalie's right shoulder.
It was raining.
Hard. The droplets hit the canopy above and bled down the trees like veins of silver. Thunder rolled across the mountains like something ancient had awakened.
In the clearing, Rosalie skidded to a halt. Her shoulder was torn—clothing ripped, skin marred but already healing. Her golden eyes were fierce, narrowed, glowing in the dim light.
She was magnificent.
And James… James was closing in.
Alice saw him through Rosalie's eyes—a blur of red-tinged movement, teeth bared, his grin stretched too wide. The thrill radiated off him like heat waves. He wasn't just hunting—he was playing.
She's baiting him, Alice thought, powerless but watching.
Rosalie moved first.
She dipped low, spinning into a counter-blow that smashed into James's ribs. The sound cracked through the trees, a sharp, wet echo. James recoiled, snarled, then came back grinning like it excited him.
"You're just… practice," he spat.
Rosalie didn't answer. She struck again, her movements vicious and refined. They clashed—he slammed her back, she raked claws down his face. Blood—not hers—spattered the moss below.
The vision twisted—Alice swirled above them, unable to intervene.
Rain streaked down Rosalie's arms as she blocked another hit, then leapt forward, grabbing James by the throat and slamming him against a tree. The trunk split with the impact.
You've got him—
But it slipped.
James vanished from her grip like smoke. He reappeared behind her, raking sharp fingers down her side, leaving torn fabric and glistening red.
Rosalie stumbled, breathing heavy, golden eyes blazing.
"You're not her," James sneered. "But you're fun."
Alice couldn't breathe—if she could breathe in this suspended place. Her fingers twitched in the real world. Her body was still seated in the hotel room—but her mind was locked in the clearing, forced to watch.
This is going to get worse.
Rosalie surged again, fury giving her strength, and the vision blurred at the edges—like blood leaking into water.
Back in the hotel room, Alice gasped softly as her vision snapped back. Her eyes focused. Her jaw clenched.
"They've made contact," she said hoarsely.
Bella turned to her, pale. "What happened?"
Alice's voice was steel. "James found Rosalie. She held him off… but this isn't over."
Then it changed.
Her hands twitched. Her head tilted
This one was shorter, as she made it.
Suddenly, Alice blinked and whispered, "He's moving… but the future is shifting again."
Bella glanced up. "Where?"
"A studio," Alice said. "A ballet studio. Old, filled with mirrors. I think… it's familiar to you."
Bella's stomach dropped. "That's my old ballet studio. From when I was a kid."
Jasper turned sharply. "Are you sure?"
She nodded slowly, the blood draining from her face. "I haven't thought about that place in years."
Alice frowned. "The future isn't certain. He's choosing his path based on yours… it's still unfolding."
Jasper added quietly, "Every choice changes the outcome. It's like tracking footsteps in a shifting desert."
Elise stepped back from the window, her eyes narrowing. "Why there?"
Jasper didn't hesitate. "Because it's personal. A message."
The room was dim, but the flicker of Alice's vision played out in her mind with vivid color and sound—rain hitting leaves, Rosalie's snarl, James' laughter cutting through the storm like a blade.
"He's moving. And fast. He's not finished with us yet."