Forks General Hospital – 9:02 AM
Emergency Receiving — Also known as the fluorescent-lit purgatory where dignity goes to die
Bella Swan was strapped to the gurney like a very annoyed human burrito with a side of neck brace and existential dread. The second the ambulance doors whooshed open and the crisp hospital air hit her, she had had enough.
"Okay, that's it," she muttered, hands already clawing at the Velcro like it owed her money. "This thing's coming off. I'm not spending another second looking like a traffic-cone-themed cyborg."
"Miss Swan!" a nurse called out in horror, jogging toward her as Bella dramatically tore off the neck brace and hurled it onto a nearby tray. It bounced off with an indignant clatter.
"I'm fine," Bella said, sitting up and giving the nurse a withering look. "See? Neck intact. Spinal column not rebelling. We're good. Ten outta ten mobility."
She twisted her head to the left. Then the right. Then threw in a sarcastic head roll like she was auditioning for America's Next Top Neck Model.
"Please lie back down," the nurse begged, panic creeping into her voice. "You could have whiplash. Or—"
"What I have is a severe case of getting-slammed-by-a-van-while-being-saved-by-Edward-and-gaslit-by-Hadrian-itis," Bella deadpanned. "It's rare. Treatable only by answers and possibly ice cream."
The EMT beside her whistled low under his breath. "Yikes," he muttered. "She's got jokes."
"I've also got bruises and a strong dislike for fluorescent lighting," Bella snapped. "So unless someone's bringing me coffee and a coherent explanation, we can skip the slow clap."
Before the nurse could offer a rebuttal or perhaps sedate her entirely, another stretcher rounded the corner with all the urgency of a soap opera finale.
Tyler Crowley.
Still strapped in, oxygen mask askew like a lopsided party favor, eyes wide as saucers. He looked like someone who'd just seen the ghost of Christmas Future — and the ghost had road rage.
His gaze locked on her, and he practically lunged upright despite the restraints.
"Bella!" he shouted. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry—I swear I didn't see you—I didn't mean to—"
"Tyler," Bella interrupted coolly, raising a brow. "I appreciate the guilt, really. But you nearly flattened me into Forks pavement pizza. I feel like we should focus on that."
"I—I swerved!" he insisted, voice cracking with raw panic. "I swerved as hard as I could! I saw you, and then—then you were gone, like someone just—yoinked—you outta the way."
Bella blinked. "Did you just say yoinked?"
"I panicked, okay!" Tyler huffed, pressing the oxygen mask tighter to his face like it could filter out embarrassment. "One second you were there, the next you weren't. It was like… like someone teleported you."
Bella gave him a flat look. "Right. Because Forks is known for its thriving mutant population and high-speed teleporters. That tracks."
"No, listen—" Tyler leaned forward, fighting the neck brace like it was trying to silence him. "I didn't see anyone, Bella. Not Edward. Not that other dude—uh, Hadrian? They weren't even near you. I saw them both. They were too far. Way too far."
Bella's sarcasm froze in her throat.
"Are you sure?" she asked slowly.
"I'd bet my PlayStation on it," he said seriously.
Bella stared.
"That's… that's a big bet for 2005," she murmured.
Tyler nodded, eyes wide and haunted. "Exactly. I don't know what I saw — maybe a blur? A shape? A sound, like air tearing? But it wasn't human. No one moved like that."
He lowered his voice. "It didn't look real, Bella."
She swallowed hard. "Yeah. That's kind of the theme of the day."
They sat in shared silence for a second. Bella half-expected someone to burst in with an MTV camera crew and tell her this was just a bad prank show.
Instead, the orderly returned with the bright, peppy energy of a man who had seen too much and didn't get paid enough. He clapped his hands.
"All right, Miss Swan, time for X-rays!"
Bella sighed. "Yay. Radiation and tiny gowns. Just what every girl dreams of on a Monday morning."
They began to wheel her away. She turned her head as far as she could, catching one last glimpse of Tyler on the gurney, still staring at her like she held the answers to the universe.
"They weren't close enough," he said again, quieter now. "They couldn't have saved you."
Bella didn't respond.
Because she knew he was right.
And that scared her more than the van, more than the blood, more than her own racing thoughts.
She didn't know how she was saved.
But she knew this:
It wasn't just Edward.
And Hadrian?
He hadn't been surprised.
Not one bit.
—
Forks General Hospital – 9:08 AM
Dr. Carlisle Cullen's Office – aka Emergency HQ for Supernatural Damage Control
The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead — too bright, too sterile, like they were trying to sterilize the tension out of the air and failing miserably.
Edward paced the room like a malfunctioning Roomba, all long limbs and raw nerves, his bronze hair sticking up in about five different directions like it was trying to escape his scalp. His boots whispered over the linoleum floor with every sharp turn.
"She almost died," he muttered again, voice ragged.
"Yes," Hadrian drawled from where he sat on the edge of the exam table, flipping a pen between his fingers like it was a dagger. "You've said that. Repeatedly. Loudly. Dramatically."
Edward whipped around. "Don't start with me."
"Too late," Hadrian said, flashing the sort of smirk that usually came with its own theme music. "It's been ten minutes and you've done more pacing than the entire cast of The West Wing."
"I couldn't let her die, Hadrian."
"No one said you should've," Hadrian said calmly, tossing the pen into the air and catching it. His emerald eyes glowed faintly under the hospital lighting, a quiet, unsettling thing. "But you were about five seconds away from snapping your hand through a van in broad daylight. Forgive me for worrying about the whole 'immortal secret' part of our very fragile existence."
Edward ran a hand through his hair again, half groan, half sigh. "She was just standing there. I heard her heartbeat spike. The brakes. The impact. I reacted."
"And you nearly turned Forks into Salem 2.0."
"Hadrian," Carlisle said gently, voice like velvet laid over steel. He stood near the file cabinet, crisp in his white coat, every inch the serene immortal doctor — except for the slight crease between his brows that meant Dad mode was engaged.
Hadrian held up his hands, surrendering with only a touch of sarcasm. "I'm just saying. If I hadn't stepped in when I did, there'd be a viral blog post on LiveJournal right now titled 'Edward Cullen is a Freaking Superman.'"
Edward gave him a look like he wanted to strangle him and then quote Shakespeare over the corpse.
Carlisle stepped forward, folding his hands. "Edward. You saved a life. That matters more than secrecy, always. You trusted your instincts."
Edward's voice cracked a little. "And now Bella's suspicious. Tyler's memory's jumbled. Alice said this wasn't supposed to happen yet."
"'Yet'?" Hadrian muttered. "God, she really does think we're living in a YA novel."
Carlisle ignored him. "What happened today was dangerous, yes. But it revealed character. You didn't hesitate, Edward. And Hadrian? You protected your brother in the aftermath. That matters too."
Hadrian shrugged. "Someone had to clean up the magical glitter bomb. I hit Crowley with a Confundus the second the EMTs started shouting."
Edward blinked. "You used magic."
"Yes. Discreetly. You're welcome, by the way."
"I thought we agreed—"
"We agreed you needed to trust yourself more. I never said I wouldn't cheat when things got messy." Hadrian's voice was casual, but his jaw ticked. "Besides, I wasn't about to let you be the poster child for the Forks conspiracy club."
Edward exhaled hard. "Great. So Tyler's confused."
"Delightfully so. Right now, he's trying to decide whether I'm a ninja, a figment of his concussion, or a hallucination brought on by too much Mountain Dew."
Carlisle smiled faintly — that proud but weary father smile he wore when his sons were half-responsible, half-feral. "You two remind me of Aro and Marcus when they were younger. Except with less homicide. So far."
Hadrian mock-bowed. "High praise."
Edward frowned. "Rosalie's going to lose her mind. Emmett's going to want to fight something. Jasper's probably hiding in the supply closet practicing breathing exercises."
"And Alice?" Carlisle asked.
"She said it's all 'unfolding perfectly,'" Edward said flatly. "Then she quoted The O.C. and vanished."
Carlisle chuckled under his breath. "At least someone's enjoying the chaos."
The clock ticked loudly. Outside, the muted hum of hospital life carried on — codes announced over the PA, the squeak of rubber soles, a baby crying two floors down.
Then Carlisle looked at them both, expression softening. "You were brave today. Both of you."
Edward looked down, guilt still curling in his chest like smoke.
Hadrian simply nodded, the compliment sliding off him like water off wax. "Just doing clean-up."
"Still," Carlisle said, voice lowering. "There'll be fallout. From the family. From Bella. She's sharp. That's going to get dangerous. Fast."
Edward tensed.
"I don't want you two caught in a war over the truth," Carlisle continued. "But if it comes to it… be honest. Be smart. And above all — protect her. She didn't ask for any of this."
"Understood," Edward murmured.
Hadrian rose, shrugging on his jacket with a practiced roll of his shoulders. "She's getting X-rayed, yeah?"
Carlisle nodded. "Radiology just called in. She's fine. No fractures, no trauma. They'll be releasing her shortly."
Edward moved toward the door like a shadow trying to reattach itself. "I want to see her."
Hadrian followed, pausing only to glance at Carlisle. "If she asks questions…"
"Answer what you can," Carlisle said. "Trust her with what you must."
Edward turned the handle.
Hadrian adjusted his collar, voice casual. "Let's go see the X-ray of the girl you nearly outed yourself for…"
He flashed his brother a grin, faint and edged.
"…and who we may now have to gaslight."
And with that, they stepped into the hall.
—
Forks General Hospital – 9:17 AM
Radiology Viewing Room
The room was cold — not just the usual clinical chill of hospitals, but the kind of sterile hush that absorbed voices, stole warmth. Overhead, the lights hummed faintly, while the lightboard bathed Bella Swan's skeletal X-rays in an ethereal glow that gave her bones the ghostly clarity of a confession.
Carlisle Cullen stood in front of them, tall and composed in his white coat, arms folded neatly as he studied the images with a gaze so still it could cut marble. His jaw was carved in silence, eyes flitting from clavicle to femur to wrist, absorbing details like a predator watching brush for the subtle twitch of prey. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft — the kind of soft that made people listen harder.
"Humerus — fracture, well-healed. Probably a couple of years old." He tilted his head, pale fingers lifting to trace the faint white line etched across the ghost of Bella's upper arm. "Left wrist, same. Some mild bone remodeling along the distal radius... could've been a hairline."
Edward hovered at his side like a shadow barely stitched to the ground, arms crossed, shoulders tight. His bronze hair was tousled, as if he'd been running his hands through it for hours — which, knowing Edward, he probably had. His jaw clenched visibly as his eyes locked on the ribcage.
Carlisle tapped a faint irregularity along the sixth rib. "And here — subtle ridging. Rib contusion, likely from blunt impact. Not fresh. Maybe a year out, possibly more."
Edward's voice was quiet and tight. "Car crash?"
Carlisle shook his head slowly. "Too scattered. The injuries are from different times, different directions. They don't match a seatbelt pattern, or a fall from one direction. These aren't systemic — they're cumulative."
Hadrian, leaning against the counter in the back of the room, unfolded his arms with a soft breath. He was built like someone who never needed to prove himself — broad-shouldered, tall, and calm in a way that wasn't lazy but deliberate. His emerald green eyes were narrowed, not at the bones, but at the pattern behind them.
"If you didn't know her father," he said flatly, "you'd think someone was hitting her."
Carlisle didn't respond immediately. Then, quietly, "Yes. I would."
Edward looked away sharply, hands twitching as if they didn't know whether to punch something or pull Bella into a blanket cocoon and never let go.
"She's not being hurt at home," he said firmly. "I've seen her. In gym, in the hallways. She's… I don't even know how to explain it. She can trip standing still. I once watched her fall sideways while tying her shoe."
Hadrian blinked. "That's almost impressive."
"No," Edward muttered. "It's terrifying. She dislocated her shoulder during volleyball. The ball wasn't even moving. She just… fell."
Hadrian raised an eyebrow. "Did gravity personally insult her?"
Carlisle allowed himself a faint, weary smile. "It could explain why neither of you can get a read on her."
Edward shot him a sharp look. "You think it's connected?"
"Repeated concussions," Carlisle said lightly. "It's speculative, but they can cause subtle neuroelectric shifts. If her brain is… different, it might be scrambling your reception. Like static on a signal."
"She's a psychic Faraday cage," Hadrian muttered. "Brilliant."
Edward frowned. "But that still doesn't explain the frequency of the injuries. Even with her coordination issues, this many?"
"No," Carlisle said, gaze returning to the X-rays. "Not unless there's something else going on."
Hadrian straightened slowly. "You're thinking what I'm thinking."
Carlisle nodded, just once. "Early onset MS."
Edward's voice cracked. "You think she has multiple sclerosis?"
"I think it's possible," Carlisle replied. "There's enough to warrant concern. The balance issues, the fine motor control, the unexplained bruises. If I were a neurologist —"
"You are a neurologist," Hadrian pointed out.
Carlisle inclined his head. "Fair."
Edward looked like he'd stopped breathing. "She doesn't know."
"No," Hadrian said. "She doesn't."
Carlisle gave him a sidelong look. "You noticed something."
Hadrian's eyes didn't leave the screen. "She tapped her thigh three times yesterday. Cafeteria. Right hand. Middle, index, ring. Not rhythmic. Not a tic. Like she was checking for sensation."
Edward stared. "You noticed that?"
Hadrian looked at him. "I notice everything, Edward. You pace, Carlisle breathes too evenly when he's worried, and Bella Swan's nervous tells are about as subtle as a MySpace status update."
Carlisle let out a faint breath. "I've seen early MS present just like this. She could've been falling for years. She may have thought it was just… who she is."
"People told her she was clumsy," Hadrian murmured. "So she believed it."
Edward swallowed hard. "So what do we do?"
Carlisle's tone was calm but final. "Nothing — yet. Not until we know more. We'd need an MRI, maybe a spinal tap. Right now, it's observation."
"She's not just fragile," Hadrian said quietly. "She's resilient. A normal girl with this condition, this frequency of injury, would be broken. She's not. She's still trying to walk straight. Still trying to blend in."
Edward's expression tightened, like he was about to combust from guilt. "She didn't ask for this."
Carlisle turned to him, placing a hand gently on Edward's shoulder. "No. Which is why you don't make it worse. No pity. No lies. And when the time comes — tell her the truth."
A knock came at the door, polite and brief.
A nurse peeked in. "Dr. Cullen? Chief Swan's asking for you."
Carlisle straightened instantly, jaw set. "Thank you."
The door clicked shut.
Carlisle looked at both boys, his gaze steady, voice low. "You need to be careful with her. Bella may bruise easily… but she sees everything. She remembers. And if she ever finds out you knew something — anything — and didn't tell her?"
"She'll never trust us again," Hadrian finished. "Yeah. I figured."
Carlisle turned back to the X-rays, a silhouette of calm thought. "Treat her like a partner, not a patient. When the time comes… trust her."
Edward was already heading for the door.
Hadrian lingered a moment longer, fingers brushing the countertop absently, then looked to Carlisle.
"If it is MS," he said softly, "she's going to need more than us."
Carlisle gave a small nod. "We'll cross that bridge."
Hadrian pushed off the counter, rolling his shoulders as he slipped on his jacket.
Edward stood at the threshold, waiting — a bronze-haired shadow trying to hold the world together.
Hadrian stepped up beside him, adjusting his collar.
"Well," he said, voice dry as sawdust, "let's go see the girl you nearly outed yourself for…"
He glanced at his brother, mouth tugging into a faint smirk.
"…and who we now might have to gaslight, lie to, or hand a brochure about demyelinating disorders."
Edward made a strangled noise that might've been a laugh — or a groan.
They stepped out into the hallway.
Behind them, the lightboard flickered faintly.
Bella Swan's bones remained on display — silent, pale, and telling far more of a story than anyone had dared to ask.
—
Forks General Hospital – 9:43 AM
Room 204 – Post-Radiology
The hospital room had all the warmth of a DMV lobby and smelled like bleach, plastic, and industrial disappointment. Bella Swan eased herself onto the paper-covered bed, biting back a hiss as her bruised ribs protested. She'd been through worse—okay, maybe not a van to the spine worse—but she wasn't about to give anyone in the room the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.
Especially not Tyler.
Tyler Crowley, currently slouched in a corner chair that looked one sigh away from collapsing, wrung his hands like he was prepping for a public apology tour. His usually charming smile had evaporated, replaced by the haunted eyes of a man who'd just seen his high school popularity flash before his eyes. Or maybe that was just Chief Swan glaring at him.
"Sir, I—I swear, I didn't see her. I was pulling in, and the ice just—I hit the brakes, but the van, it just kept going—"
"Fast enough to try and fold my daughter like a lawn chair," Charlie said coolly. The tan line from his ring finger was the only warmth on him right now. The rest was the Forks Police Department uniform, the service weapon holstered at his hip, and the trademark Dad Glare that had probably made drug dealers weep. "You're lucky someone caught it."
Tyler looked like he might throw up. "I didn't mean to—"
"Tyler," Charlie said, voice calm and lethal, "You ever read the Washington State driving manual?"
Tyler blinked like he wasn't sure if this was rhetorical or a trap. "Uh... yeah?"
"Then you know about section 46.61.400, right? The one about maintaining safe control of your vehicle. You're gonna get real familiar with it when I file the paperwork to suspend your license."
Tyler choked. "You can do that?!"
Charlie raised an eyebrow. "I'm the Chief of Police. What do you think I do when I'm not fishing or threatening teenage boys who try to run over my kid?"
Bella closed her eyes. It was that or start laughing, and that would hurt. A lot.
She let her head rest against the pillow and pretended to sleep. She didn't want to deal with Tyler's muttered apologies, Charlie's overprotectiveness, or the icy fluorescent lights that made her feel like a lab experiment.
Mostly, though, she didn't want to see him.
Not yet.
But then—the door creaked. Softly.
Her stomach clenched.
The temperature in the room shifted a fraction. Like the air itself was holding its breath.
She felt him. Before she heard him.
"You can stop pretending now," Edward Cullen said.
His voice was low and smooth, with that annoying undertone that always made her feel like he was three seconds from quoting Shakespeare or gaslighting her.
Bella cracked one eye open and nailed him with a glare that could shatter glass.
Edward, dressed in that perfectly disheveled Pacific Northwest prep look—dark button-down, tousled bronze hair, skin that made printer paper look tan—stood at the foot of the bed like he was doing her a favor.
"I brought your doctor."
He said it like she should be grateful. Like he wasn't the reason she was here in the first place.
Bella opened her mouth, probably to say something that would get her grounded for tone, but the door opened again.
Carlisle Cullen walked in like he was descending from Mount Olympus with a clipboard instead of a lightning bolt. Six feet of medical charisma in a tailored coat, golden-blond hair slicked back like a Calvin Klein ad, and eyes that radiated a kind of gentle authority. He didn't just look like a doctor—he looked like the kind of doctor you only saw in magazine spreads and soap operas.
"Good morning, Bella," he said, in a voice made for easing fears and probably seducing pharmaceutical reps. "I'm Dr. Cullen. I reviewed your scans, and I'd like to go over them with you."
Then came Hadrian.
He lingered by the doorway, tall and quiet, like the only person in the room who didn't need to try to take up space. Dressed in dark jeans and a fitted Henley that clung to a chest forged by gods and gym memberships His emerald eyes scanned her, cool and clinical, and yet somehow... kind.
He didn't smile. But he nodded. Just once.
"We're just here to get you home," he said, voice deep, relaxed, with just enough edge to make her sit up a little straighter.
Charlie shifted, his posture softening only a notch when Carlisle gave him a respectful nod.
Bella looked between them—Edward with his unreadable stare, Carlisle with his expensive bedside manner, and Hadrian with his hawk-eyed silence.
Something about the moment made her spine straighten.
Because they weren't just looking at her like a patient.
They were looking at her like a puzzle.
Outside, the clouds pressed against the window, thick and dark. The kind that didn't bring rain—just storms.
And the storm hadn't broken yet.
But it was coming.
—
Tyler Crowley sat perched at the edge of his chair like it might eject him at any second. His knee bounced with nervous energy, Vans tapping against linoleum in staccato guilt. He looked like he might either confess to vehicular manslaughter or start quoting Drake & Josh in a panic spiral.
Bella swore she could hear him breathing.
Across the room, Edward leaned against the wall like he belonged in a music video—sharp angles, tousled bronze hair, and stormy restraint bundled in a charcoal peacoat. Beside him, Hadrian stood like a pillar: broader, quieter, dressed in a forest green Henley rolled at the forearms and jeans faded from honest wear. His emerald eyes weren't just watching—they were cataloguing.
Carlisle Cullen, clad in hospital whites that somehow looked tailored, closed Bella's chart with the kind of grace usually reserved for ballet or executions. The click of the clipboard echoed just loud enough to quiet the room.
Tyler cleared his throat. Loudly.
"I just—look, Bella, I wanted to say again… I'm really, really sorry. I didn't see you. I was turning and then—next thing I know, there's a crunch and—" he flailed his hands helplessly, "—you're on the ground, and Edward's holding you, and Hadrian's just—there."
He blinked rapidly, eyes flitting to the two boys across the room like they might either nod or tackle him.
"And you guys," Tyler added, voice cracking like a CD skipping, "I mean… seriously, I owe you both my life. Hers too."
Edward didn't answer. His jaw flexed, lips pressed so tightly together they were almost white.
Hadrian tilted his head, arms folded, casual in that way that made it very clear he wasn't.
"We're good," he said evenly, voice smooth with just the right edge. "Just… maybe try not to weaponize your car next time."
Tyler flinched like the words were shrapnel. "Yeah. Totally. I mean—obviously. That wasn't—uh. Planned."
Charlie, standing by the bed like a poorly concealed bouncer, shifted with the weary patience of someone who'd spent the last two decades choosing violence not to do.
"Tyler," he said flatly.
"Sir?"
"You might wanna stop talkin'. Right now, all you're doin' is makin' it easier for me to justify puttin' your license through a paper shredder."
Tyler opened his mouth. Thought better. Sat down with the defeated air of a crashed computer.
Carlisle gave a soft, cultured ahem, the sound somehow both gentle and commanding. He turned to Charlie with the easy authority of a man who knew how to talk cops and congressmen down.
"Charlie," he said warmly. "If you wouldn't mind stepping out for a few moments, I'd like to finish the examinations."
Charlie arched an eyebrow. "You sure you don't want backup? He's already hit one kid today."
Carlisle's smile didn't waver. "I assure you, Mr. Crowley will remain seated."
Charlie looked like he wanted to argue, but Carlisle's tone wasn't really asking.
"Fine," he said, casting a final warning glance at Tyler. "I'll be out front. If he so much as leans the wrong way, I'm comin' back in with cuffs."
"Understood."
The door clicked shut behind him.
The air changed.
Not colder—just… sharper.
Carlisle turned back to Bella, smile softening.
"May I?" he asked, already stepping forward.
Bella nodded, trying not to flinch. The moment his gloved fingers touched her temple, she did flinch.
His skin was ice.
Like touching frozen marble that somehow moved.
Still, Carlisle's fingers were impossibly gentle, tracing her scalp and cheek with the kind of precision that felt more like ritual than routine. Bella sat stiffly, pulse hammering in her throat. She wasn't sure if it was fear or something stranger—something she didn't want to name yet.
"No swelling," Carlisle murmured, eyes scanning hers. "Pupils are equal, reactive. No signs of trauma to the occipital ridge. Blurry vision?"
"Little bit earlier," Bella muttered. "Cleared up now."
"Any nausea? Dizziness?"
"No. Just a killer headache and some lingering embarrassment."
Carlisle smiled, eyes warm and unreadable. "You've no concussion. Bruised shoulder, some superficial contusions. You can go meet your father in the waiting area."
Bella made a face. "Do I have to?"
"Unless you'd like to stay here and listen to Tyler apologize another six times."
"God, no."
Hadrian snorted. "I'm starting to think the real damage today was emotional."
Carlisle chuckled politely.
"Unfortunately," he said, "it seems the student body is currently occupying the front lobby."
"Of course they are," Bella groaned. "Anything to get out of Pre-Calc."
"Forks High," Hadrian said dryly. "Where rumors travel faster than dial-up and drama counts for extra credit."
She sat up too quickly. The room wobbled. Her bare feet touched the cold floor and her knees nearly gave out.
Hadrian shifted toward her, but didn't touch. His hands hovered, ready.
Edward straightened, a flicker of alarm passing through his features like lightning behind glass.
Carlisle steadied her by the elbow with barely-there pressure. "Careful."
Bella exhaled slowly. "I'm fine. Just stood up too fast."
"You were lucky," Carlisle said gently.
"No," Bella said quietly, eyes locking with Edward's… then Hadrian's. "I wasn't."
The room paused.
"I was standing next to two guys who should not have been able to move that fast. I saw the van. I felt it coming. But it didn't hit me. Because you two—"
She stopped. Her voice caught. There wasn't a rational way to finish that sentence.
Carlisle's expression didn't change. But the air around him shifted again.
Not colder.
More dangerous.
Like a mask settling into place.
"I see," he said softly.
Bella blinked. "See what?"
Carlisle turned from her without answering, his movements smooth and deliberate.
"Mr. Crowley," he said, his tone now clinical, sharp as a scalpel. "Let's take a look at you."
Hadrian's jaw clenched. Edward looked away.
Bella sat very still, heart thudding like a warning drum.
Something here wasn't adding up.
And she was pretty sure she'd just asked the wrong question.
—
Forks General Hospital – Main Lobby
9:54 AM – Five Minutes Later
The double glass doors of Forks General slid open with a subdued shhkt, the kind of automatic politeness reserved for emergency rooms and very quiet doomsdays.
Rosalie Hale entered first—storm in stilettos, glacier in a leather jacket. Her honey-blonde hair was twisted into an elegant knot, like it hadn't moved since the Eisenhower administration, and her eyes scanned the lobby with the calculated precision of a predator. Her boots clicked against the linoleum like war drums announcing the impending reckoning.
Behind her, with considerably more grace and considerably less chill, walked Daenerys.
The silver-blonde braid over her shoulder was effortlessly regal, her lavender cashmere sweater wrapped delicately over her curves. She carried herself with the kind of impossible poise that made people notice, even when they didn't want to. Forks wasn't ready for her. America barely was.
A bored nurse glanced up from the reception desk, blinked twice, and promptly forgot what she was doing.
"Waiting room's full," she said, dazed.
"We noticed," Rosalie said crisply, heels snapping with every step. "Unless one of these hormonal teenagers is dying, I suggest someone starts moving bodies."
Daenerys' hand brushed Rosalie's arm. "Peace, sister. We're not here to start a war."
Rosalie gave her a sidelong look. "I am."
They stopped just before the double doors leading into the patient corridor. Behind them, the waiting room was packed with a chaotic, whispering tangle of Forks High students pretending not to be snooping. Several phones were clearly pointed in subtle directions—because 2005 or not, someone had a camera flip phone and zero shame.
Daenerys glanced toward the crowd and sighed. "Mortals and their obsession with spectacle."
One of the kids—Eric Yorkie—snapped a photo and immediately winced as his phone short-circuited and died in his hand.
He blinked. "What the—?"
Daenerys raised a single, perfectly arched eyebrow. "Oops."
Rosalie smirked. "Remind me to keep you around during school assemblies."
Across the room, Jessica Stanley whispered something to Angela and pointed at the pair. Something about "the Cullens", and "trophy wives", and "what even is her hair routine?"
Rosalie didn't even flinch.
"I swear," she muttered, eyes narrowed. "If either Edward or Hadrian said anything to that Swan girl—"
"—then maybe it's because she deserved the truth," Dani said simply. "If she's to be one of us."
Rosalie's head snapped around. "She's not. She's human. Soft. Fragile. And a walking liability."
Dani gave a small, enigmatic smile. "So was I. Once."
That shut Rosalie up for a whole two seconds.
"They're compromised, Daenerys. Exposed." She gestured sharply toward the corridor. "Edward saved her, Hadrian pulled the damn van back like it was a toy, and now half the school is here playing Nancy Drew. You know what the Volturi would do if they caught wind—"
Daenerys' tone didn't rise, but it cut cleaner than Rosalie's stilettos. "Let them come. I would love to watch Aro try to play politics with me."
Rosalie's eyes narrowed. "You're not untouchable."
"Neither is Hadrian," Daenerys replied, more quietly now. "Which is why I'm here."
She didn't say: to protect him if it comes to that.
She didn't have to.
Rosalie folded her arms, lips pressed tight. She hated when someone else had a point. Especially a dragon queen masquerading as a high school student.
The corridor doors buzzed faintly. Inside, a nurse passed by—Carlisle's silhouette could be seen just beyond, tall and immaculate. Then came Tyler's anxious voice, Bella's quieter protest, and—
Rosalie's eyes flicked up as Edward appeared.
And behind him, Hadrian.
Daenerys straightened instantly.
Hadrian's forest green Henley was wrinkled, his jeans scuffed with what looked like asphalt and stress. He had one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other briefly running through his already-messy dark hair. When his eyes landed on Daenerys, the lines around his mouth eased just a little.
She smiled. Soft, radiant, private.
Rosalie didn't wait for pleasantries.
"You idiots," she snapped.
Edward visibly winced. Hadrian just raised a brow.
"Oh no," Hadrian muttered, glancing at Daenerys. "She's doing the thing."
"What thing?" Daenerys asked sweetly.
"The one where she looks like she's about to sue us, lecture us, and ground us all at once."
"I should ground you," Rosalie said, stalking closer. "You don't get to play neighborhood hero when you sparkle in the sunlight and rip steel like cardboard. We have rules, Hadrian. Carlisle made them. And you two—" She jabbed a finger between the boys. "—just dragged us halfway to exile over one clumsy girl—"
"She's not just a girl," Hadrian said sharply.
Rosalie's eyes flared. "Exactly. She's the girl. The problem. And now she's going to ask questions we can't answer and draw attention we don't need!"
"She deserves the truth," Daenerys said again, stepping between them. Her hand rested lightly on Hadrian's forearm. "Whatever happens next, we stand together."
Edward said nothing. But he didn't walk away, either.
Behind them, Bella emerged from the hallway… and stopped cold when she saw the scene unfolding.
She caught Hadrian's eyes first.
Then Daenerys'.
And for one wild heartbeat, she felt like she was very late to a party no one had invited her to—and everyone already knew the ending.
---
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