Bella's Room — A Beat Later
6:40 AM
Forks, Washington
The rain had paused, but the gray outside looked permanent, like someone had left the dimmer switch stuck halfway between night and day. A soft, silver light filtered through her half-open curtains, cutting thin lines across her floor and bedsheets like faded scars.
Bella Swan stood by the window in her long-sleeved tee and plaid pajama pants — the old flannel kind that didn't match but somehow made her feel less thin. She was still barefoot, toes curling against the cold floorboards, arms crossed like she was trying to hold herself together.
Her brown hair was a mess — a halo of soft tangles falling around her face. She didn't mind. No one was around to impress. She liked it better this way: quiet, slow, still wrapped in the weight of sleep.
And yet she felt anything but rested.
Her fingers slid into the front pocket of her jeans, brushing the folded scrap of paper again.
It was still there.
Still real.
Still weird.
She didn't open it again.
She didn't need to.
One word.
One command.
Leave.
Whoever wrote it had neat handwriting — careful, tight, almost old-fashioned. Not like a prank. Not like a joke. Like someone meant it.
But it wasn't the note that had her heart stuck somewhere between her ribs.
It was the dream.
The one that had curled around her while she slept — familiar and foreign all at once. She could still feel the echo of it, like a song that had ended too soon.
She closed her eyes.
Darkness.
Deep and alive and humming with something ancient.
She hadn't been afraid of it.
She liked the quiet.
It felt like home — in the way books sometimes did, or a certain kind of music you found by accident in a record store bin.
But this time, she wasn't alone.
He was there.
Edward.
He hadn't spoken. Not once.
He hadn't needed to.
He glowed — not like something supernatural, but like moonlight caught in skin. Like he didn't belong to the same rules as the rest of them.
And she had followed.
Through halls she didn't recognize, forests too wild to be real. Always a few steps behind. Always just missing him — like trying to catch a reflection in water with her hands.
"Wait," she'd whispered into the dream.
Her voice had cracked on the word.
He hadn't turned around.
Not once.
But he'd looked back. Briefly. And when he did, those eyes — those impossible, searching eyes — made her feel like she was made of glass and thunder and too many feelings all at once.
And then he was gone.
Again.
She opened her eyes and found her own reflection staring back at her in the rain-streaked window — pale skin, sleep-crushed lips, a tiredness in her face that felt too old for seventeen.
"Classic," she muttered under her breath, voice thick with the ghost of sleep.
There was a joke in there somewhere — about lonely girls and glowing boys and the psychological implications of romantic projection — but she was too tired to chase it.
Instead, she crossed the room and sat down on the edge of her bed, grabbing her battered spiral notebook off the nightstand. It was already stuffed with half-started poetry, loose doodles of ravens and trees, and a running tally of the number of times she'd said something awkward in public that week.
She flipped to a blank page.
The pen hovered for a moment.
Then she wrote, slow and careful:
I keep dreaming you're leaving before I get the chance to ask you why you came.
She stared at it for a beat too long.
Then closed the notebook and pressed the cover to her chest.
Bella stood again, reached for the cheap cinnamon body spray sitting crooked on her dresser — the one she'd brought from Phoenix because it reminded her of warmth and summer and a life that didn't always feel like a ghost story.
One quick mist.
She didn't believe it would change anything. Not really.
But the scent filled the room, sweet and warm and stubborn.
Like hope.
If Edward Cullen was a dream, she wasn't ready to wake up yet.
Not today.
Not yet.
Because somewhere deep in her gut — the place where instinct and foolishness shared a bunk bed — Bella Swan had the feeling that this wasn't just a dream following her.
It was him.
And maybe — just maybe — he was already awake.
—
Olympic Clearing — Early Morning Mist
6:51 AM
A few miles east of Forks, Washington
It was the kind of morning that could've been a deleted scene from The X-Files — all low fog and pine-scented silence, broken only by the unmistakable boom of supernatural contact.
Jasper Hale blurred forward in a streak of lean muscle and lethal intent. His strikes were textbook: calculated, clean, and honed by decades of combat. He moved like a knife with a conscience.
Emmett charged in behind him like the boulder-sized linebacker he was, biceps flexed beneath a dark gray hoodie that said Seattle Seahawks in cracked vinyl lettering. His laughter echoed with every step.
And in the middle of it all, holding his own with infuriating ease, was Hadrian.
The mist didn't dare touch him. Every movement he made sent ripples through the air like magic had fused with gravity and decided to make him its favorite experiment. His emerald green eyes tracked them both like a predator watching cubs learn how to pounce.
Jasper came in high. Emmett swept low. Hadrian spun sideways, caught Emmett's ankle mid-lunge, and flipped him end over end without breaking stride. Emmett crashed into the earth with a thud that made a few nearby birds scatter.
"Damn it!" Emmett groaned, face buried in moss.
Jasper didn't hesitate. He pivoted and aimed a punch at Hadrian's ribs, only for Hadrian to twist midair, catching Jasper's wrist and redirecting the force like he was swatting a branch.
"You boys call this teamwork?" Hadrian asked with a grin, voice low and velvety. "I thought I was supposed to feel outnumbered."
"We're warmin' up," Jasper drawled, already circling again. His honey-blond hair was wind-tossed, and his Texan accent got thicker when he was annoyed. "Ain't even cracked my knuckles yet."
Hadrian smirked. "Then get on with it, cowboy."
Emmett launched himself back into the fray, aiming a two-handed strike that could've turned a redwood into splinters. Hadrian sidestepped, ducked under Jasper's roundhouse, and tapped them both on the back in one fluid blur.
"Tag," he said.
Emmett straightened, panting slightly. "One day, man. One day I'm gonna take you down."
"You've been saying that since 1938."
"Yeah, well, I was distracted. Babe Ruth died that year. It was a whole thing."
Hadrian just chuckled.
Then a shift in the wind. A scent. Clean, familiar. Copper and rain and unresolved tension.
Hadrian froze.
"He's here," he murmured.
Seconds later, Edward Cullen emerged from the treeline, coat flaring behind him like he'd been summoned by the fog itself. Bronze hair damp with mist. Eyes darker than usual. Brooding level: ten out of ten.
"Sleeping Beauty graces us with his presence," Emmett called, waving dramatically.
"More like Creeping Beauty," Jasper muttered. "Right outta a Lifetime movie."
Edward ignored them. "How long have you known?"
"Since Alice had a vision about it," Hadrian said, folding his arms. "She saw you pull a full Dracula and watch Bella Swan sleep. Which, I gotta say, is a bold move for a first crush."
"It was the first and last time," Edward said sharply, eyes flashing.
All three looked at him. None of them looked convinced.
Hadrian clapped him on the shoulder. "Right. Just like it was Emmett's last enchanted protein shake yesterday."
"That doesn't count," Emmett said. "That shake betrayed me."
Jasper snorted. "You drank the whole blender, Em."
Edward exhaled through his nose. "You don't understand."
"Oh, we understand," Jasper said. "You've got it bad, son. Like 'burn-a-mix-CD-and-write-poetry-in-the-margins' bad."
Edward turned to Hadrian, tension rising in his voice. "You and Daenerys had no right to talk to her."
"She dropped her books. We were being polite. I said 'hi,' not 'marry my brother,'" Hadrian said evenly.
"You knew I was in Alaska."
"And you knew you left her unprotected."
Edward's jaw clenched. "She is still in danger. From Rosalie. And Jasper."
Jasper shrugged. "Wasn't my best moment. But once Alice said she and Bella were gonna be best friends, I adjusted. Self-preservation, you get me?"
"She scares the hell outta me," Emmett admitted. "And I bench press cars for fun."
"We got Rosalie to back off," Jasper said.
Emmett added, "Sorta. Carlisle helped. And Hadrian did his... mysterious thing."
Edward stared at him. "She won't tell you what's wrong."
"Maybe because she knows you know already," Hadrian said quietly. "You and I both do."
A silence fell. Heavy. Knowing.
Then Hadrian stepped back, cracked his neck, and looked at the trees like they owed him something.
"Come on. We're burning daylight."
Emmett grinned. "Last one to catch a mountain lion has to do Rosalie's laundry."
"That's not a punishment, that's a cry for help," Jasper muttered, already gone in a blur.
Edward hesitated. Just for a second.
Hadrian paused beside him.
"You gonna talk to her today? Or just keep acting like she's the final question on your AP Calculus exam?"
Edward said nothing.
Hadrian just smiled.
And disappeared into the mist.
Edward lingered for one breath longer.
Then he ran.
—
The Pacific Northwest sky never bothered with sunlight. Not here. Not today. Mist curled like cigarette smoke around the towering pines, creeping through moss-covered branches like it had a secret to tell. Below, the remains of three very unlucky mountain lions cooled in the earth, respectfully drained, nothing but silence and blood left behind.
High above the clearing, on a rocky outcrop lined with damp moss and generations of lichen, four vampires looked less like hunters and more like fallen gods on a smoke break.
Emmett lay sprawled across a slanted boulder like it owed him rent. His gray hoodie was streaked with claw marks, probably intentional, and the cracked vinyl lettering still screamed Seattle Seahawks, like some weird football battle standard. He let out a pleased groan.
"Mmm. That one tasted like elk-flavored arrogance."
"Yours almost bit you," Jasper said, lounging a few feet away, knuckles raw. His golden-blond hair was wind-tossed, and he looked exactly like the kind of cowboy who'd walk into a saloon and leave with your girl, your horse, and your wallet. "I watched it happen. Twice."
Emmett lifted a hand. "That was foreplay."
Jasper rolled his eyes. "Sure, stud."
Hadrian stood farther off, arms folded over his chest, posture relaxed but with that lethal stillness cats get before they pounce. He looked like the fog parted just to make room for him. The light caught his emerald green eyes, glinting like they held secrets too old for this forest. His crimson T-shirt clung to him in the cold air like it was in denial about how damp it was.
"Mine didn't fight back," he said. "Just sort of looked at me like it knew."
Emmett gave a mock gasp. "Whoa. The deer-whisperer."
Hadrian raised an eyebrow. "It was a lion, Em. Try to keep up."
"Y'all done bragging?" Edward asked, voice sharp and thin as a blade. He leaned against a pine trunk like it was the only thing keeping him upright, arms crossed tight, bronze hair a damp, tousled mess. If teenage brooding were an Olympic sport, he'd have medaled.
"With hunting? Sure," Emmett said, grinning. "With you? Hell no."
Jasper tilted his head, slow and deliberate. "We're just waitin' for you to stop sulking and admit you're in love with the Swan girl."
Edward scowled. "I'm not—"
"You are," the other three said in eerie unison.
Emmett held out a hand to Jasper. "Pay up."
Jasper grumbled and pulled a twenty from his hoodie. "I said he'd crack by Wednesday."
Hadrian studied Edward like he was a complicated equation. "You're brooding like you're Edward freaking Scissorhands after a breakup. It's 2005, man. Girls dig confidence. And mixtapes. Maybe eyeliner."
Edward glared. "You don't understand what it's like."
"Really?" Hadrian said, dryly. "Because I distinctly remember saving Daenerys from a Volturi hit squad while she was throwing books at my head."
"That was love," Emmett sighed.
"That was assault," Jasper corrected. "But romantic."
Edward pushed off the tree, pacing now. "Bella is different. She's not like the others. Her blood—"
"Yeah, we know, Romeo," Emmett said. "We all heard about Alice's vision. You watching her sleep like some off-brand Dracula."
Edward spun. "It was once. And I left."
"So you stopped being creepy. Great. That doesn't make you a hero," Hadrian said. "It makes you a recovering stalker."
Jasper smirked. "I'm just sayin', maybe instead of pretending she doesn't exist, try... speaking to her? Crazy thought."
Edward looked tortured. Which, frankly, was his baseline. "She doesn't understand what she's walking into. I can't put her in danger. Not with what Rosalie said."
"Rosalie says a lot of things," Hadrian muttered.
"She threatened to rip Bella's throat out."
"And I told her if she so much as breathed wrong in Bella's direction, I'd mail her hands to Alaska," Hadrian replied coolly. "We had a moment."
Emmett sat up, looking like a very buff puppy. "Can we please talk about how dramatic this is? I mean, come on. Bella drops a pencil and you react like someone launched a tactical nuke."
"It's not about the pencil."
"It's always about the pencil," Emmett said sagely.
Edward dropped onto a rock, defeated. "What do you want from me?"
Jasper cracked his neck. "We want you to admit it. That you're in love with Bella Swan. That it's eating you alive. That you're gonna snap the second one of those hormonal idiots asks her to the dance."
Edward blinked. "Dance?"
Hadrian grinned. "'Girls Choice Spring Fling.' Soon to be announced. Posters go up in a month."
"Mike Newton's already rehearsing his hair flip," Emmett added. "And Eric Yorkie started wearing Axe Body Spray."
Jasper deadpanned, "We think Tyler Crowley may try poetry."
Edward looked genuinely horrified.
Hadrian leaned in, voice soft. "You're gonna break, brother. When you do... please, for the love of grunge rock, don't quote Shakespeare."
Emmett nodded solemnly. "You do that, and I'm releasing the sonnet you wrote last month."
Edward's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't."
"It rhymed 'immortal' with 'floral,' Ed. We have to."
The clearing fell into laughter, except for Edward, who looked very much like he was considering setting the forest on fire with his mind.
Hadrian stood, brushing pine needles off his jeans. "Come on. Let's go home before Rosalie repaints the Volvo with Emmett's body."
Emmett grinned. "Wanna spar again on the way back?"
"Only if you promise not to cry when I drop you on your head."
Jasper chuckled. "Boys, boys. Let's save it for the dance floor."
Edward trailed behind, bronze hair tousled, fists in his coat pockets.
He was thinking.
Not about blood.
Not about Rosalie.
Bella.
And the way her name already felt like gravity in his chest.
Hadrian glanced back.
"You'll know when it happens, Ed."
"What?"
"When it stops hurting to pretend you don't care."
Edward didn't answer.
But he kept walking.
And for once—just for a moment—the fog parted to let the sunlight through.
—
Forks High – A Month Later
7:52 AM
Overcast with a 100% chance of emotional repression.
The silver Volvo S60R slid into the parking lot like a hearse that had downloaded Dashboard Confessional off LimeWire. It didn't park so much as pose — clean, glinting, a Scandinavian rectangle of existential dread and teenage immortality.
Edward Cullen stepped out first. Bronze hair tousled to perfection. Jaw so sharp it could cut glass. Cheekbones that looked sculpted by angels who listened to The Smiths.
He moved like a poem about regret — fluid, too smooth, like he didn't belong in this world. Which, technically, he didn't. His trench coat swished behind him with brooding authority.
He did not look across the lot. He did not look at Bella Swan.
And Bella Swan — climbing out of her rusted Chevy, cardigan two sizes too large, headphones tangled around her iPod Classic, and notebook hugged to her chest like it might defend her from reality — definitely looked at him.
From the passenger side, Alice Cullen exploded into the chilly morning like a caffeinated forest sprite in black skinny jeans and a skull-print scarf. She threw the car door shut with enough drama to warrant its own mini-series.
"Edward Anthony Masen Cullen," she snapped, stomping beside him like a pixie with rage issues, "if you do not speak to her today, I swear to Carlisle's soul I will replace your entire wardrobe with track suits. Neon ones. From the early 2000s."
Edward didn't flinch. "Not today, Alice."
Alice stopped, blinked, and spun around with her hands on her hips. "Oh my god, you are the human embodiment of a voicemail no one wants to check."
From the back, Rosalie Hale exited with enough grace and malice to qualify as a villainess in a Bond film. She wore aviators like the sun was a personal insult, and her platinum hair was tied back like she might knife someone if it got in her face.
"Just let him wallow," she said dryly. "He's clearly decided angst is more nutritious than deer blood."
Jasper emerged next, slow and Southern, boots hitting the ground like a gunslinger walking into a town he planned to conquer or burn.
"She's hurtin', y'know," he said to Edward, eyes distant, voice dipped in molasses and melancholy. "And you feel it every damn second."
Edward's jaw flexed. "I have to feel it, Jasper. Because I already saw what happens if I don't."
A pause. Then:
"God, you're exhausting," Alice muttered.
The roar of a motorcycle cut through the mist like rebellion on wheels.
The red Triumph Speed Triple 1050 pulled into view like something from a rock ballad about forbidden love and dragons. Riding it — tall, broad-shouldered, and so stupidly handsome he made mythology feel underdressed — was Hadrian. Emerald eyes, tousled dark hair, black leather jacket, and a grin that could melt climate change.
Behind him sat Daenerys — silver hair braided down her back, violet eyes lined with kohl, wearing a cropped jacket and ripped jeans like a punk rock queen who owned at least three kingdoms and a Tumblr fanbase.
She hopped off the bike with a swish of dragon energy and swung her leg in a move that made at least three people across the lot trip over their emotions.
"You owe me a cup of blood coffee," she said, flicking her silver hair back as she slid off the helmet. "You promised post-battle breakfast after sparring."
Hadrian dismounted, smirking. "That was training, not battle. You didn't even break a sweat."
"I didn't break a sweat because I'm better than you," she replied, nose wrinkling. "And you know it."
He leaned in, lowering his voice. "You're good, Stormborn. But you still flinch when I shift left."
She rolled her eyes. "Please. That wasn't a flinch. That was dramatic baiting."
"You mean foreplay?"
Daenerys choked on a laugh and elbowed him in the ribs — which he clearly let land. "You wish."
"I do," he said, voice quiet now. Sincere. Warm. "Every day."
Across the lot, Elizabeth and Katherine pulled in like pop-punk royalty in their red Corvette, windows down, blasting Avril Lavigne's My Happy Ending.
Elizabeth had one hand on the wheel and the other flipping through her compact mirror. Her blond hair was tied in a sleek ponytail, and her eyeliner was aggressive in the best way.
Katherine leaned out the window, sipping from a venti Starbucks like it contained the blood of her enemies. She waved lazily. "Oi, silver Barbie! You giving Hadrian those dragon eyes again?"
"Do not objectify my emotional vulnerability," Daenerys called back without missing a beat.
Hadrian raised a brow. "Wait, you have emotional vulnerability?"
"I will smother you with your own leather jacket."
"Hot."
Alice passed by with her arms full of books and enough side-eye to power a small town. "You two are insufferable. Honestly, it's like watching Mr. Darcy flirt with a literal fire hazard."
"I am fire," Dany said with a wink.
"And blood," Hadrian added, walking beside her now.
They were a team — opposites magnetized, drawn close by every brush of fingers, every breath too near. Not quite touching. Not yet. But gods, the gravity.
From behind the Volvo, Emmett clomped into view like a golden retriever in a football player's body. "Why do y'all keep talking like it's a trailer for a CW reboot?"
Rosalie scoffed. "Because they live like they're in one."
"Can confirm," Jasper added, still watching Edward like he was a bomb made of feelings. "And he's the season finale twist that ruins everyone's night."
Edward stood still. Cold. Marble. Quiet. His eyes — golden and aching — flicked once, just once, toward Bella.
She was standing by her truck. Watching him. Notebook clutched tight. Cheeks pink from the wind.
Daenerys, watching Edward now, softened. "She dreams about you, you know."
Edward didn't reply.
"I've seen it," Alice added, not bothering to be subtle. "Twice. Invisible. With Hadrian. She wrote your name in the margin like it was a spell."
Edward's fingers curled. "I see her dead."
Silence rippled like thunder underwater.
"Maybe she dies of heartbreak," Alice whispered. "Because you keep ghosting her like you're some tragic Victorian poet with abs."
Edward turned away. Mist swallowed his coat.
Daenerys exhaled. "Honestly? Even my dragons were less dramatic about falling in love."
—
Bella's Room — 2:03 AM
Somewhere between a heartbeat and a heartbreak.
The rain had quieted to a soft patter on the windowpane, like the sky had grown tired of weeping. The room smelled like cinnamon shampoo, old books, and the ghost of sleep. Her lamp was off, but the glow of the moon filtered in through the half-open blinds, tracing silver lines across the hardwood floor.
Bella lay curled on her side, tangled in a sea of flannel sheets and self-defense mechanisms. Her plaid pajamas hung loose on her small frame, her dark auburn hair a mess of half-dried waves splayed over her pillow. One bare foot poked out from the blanket like she'd grown too warm in her dreams, or maybe too restless.
Across the room, Edward Cullen stood in the shadows by the window. Bronze hair tousled. Pale hands in his coat pockets. Cheekbones cast in grayscale by the moonlight, like an oil painting haunted by its own subject.
He didn't move. Not even to blink.
He watched her like he'd been sentenced to it — not with lust, or even longing, but with something quieter. More terrible. Devotion sharpened by dread.
Bella stirred. Her brow furrowed, lashes fluttering against her cheeks like she was dreaming too hard. Her lips moved, silent at first, and then—
"Don't go," she whispered, voice raw even in sleep. "Please don't go…"
Edward flinched.
He closed his eyes, jaw tight, every line of his body tense with a pain that had no release. He'd sworn to stay away. For her safety. For her soul. But here he was — unraveling silently in the corner of her room, watching her dream about him like he was still allowed to be real.
He took a breath he didn't need. Shoved his hands deeper into his coat like that could contain him.
Across the room, Bella turned again, reaching toward nothing — her fingers brushing against empty air like they remembered his skin.
She didn't wake.
And he didn't speak.
Because what would he even say?
"I'm here but I'm not. I love you but I won't. You're everything but I can't be anything."
Outside, the moon drifted west. The hours dissolved, minute by silent minute. Bella slept. And Edward watched. Like a statue carved out of sorrow, anchored in a moment he would never deserve.
He didn't move until the first blush of dawn lit the edge of her window, gold bleeding into grey.
Only then did he whisper, under his breath, the words he'd never say out loud:
"I miss you, too."
And he was gone.
Just in time for the sun.
—
Cullens' House – The Next Day
Interior – Living Room — War Room Vibes and Venti Lattes
The Cullens' living room looked less like a living space and more like the unholy child of a West Elm showroom and an Anne Rice fever dream. Cream leather couches. A fireplace that had never known actual fire. And mood lighting that screamed "contemplating immortality since 1912."
Alice stood in the center of it all like a general mid-battle strategy. Her clipboard — glitter-covered, sticker-bombed, and aggressively pink — bore the words Operation: Save the Brooding Idiots in sequined gel pen. Her pixie-cut hair was perfectly tousled, as if styled by a caffeine-addicted forest sprite.
Daenerys, curled up on the couch with one leg draped over the armrest, looked every inch the post-apocalyptic princess. Her silver hair was in a loose braid, a few strands falling artfully around her face, and she wore black dragon-print leggings with a vintage Slayer hoodie that might've once belonged to a roadie. Her nails were painted iridescent purple, and she sipped from a steaming Starbucks venti like it contained the souls of her enemies.
"I'm serious," Alice said, flipping a page on her clipboard and jabbing it with her pen like she was hexing someone. "We are officially wasting perfectly good best friend energy. Bella Swan is spiraling. Her playlist is ninety percent Evanescence and the other ten is tragic piano covers. I caught her writing poetry on looseleaf."
Daenerys blinked. "Looseleaf?"
"With a gel pen."
Daenerys recoiled like she'd been slapped. "That's a cry for help. Has anyone checked her MySpace mood?"
"Probably: 'Bleeding inside, don't ask.'" Alice made air quotes with one hand. "She's officially one sad song away from shaving her head in the school bathroom."
"And meanwhile," Daenerys said, shifting to sit upright, "Edward's wandering around like a rejected Jane Austen side character. He literally stood in front of the biology classroom today, turned around, and walked away. For no reason."
Alice nodded solemnly. "He's become a Victorian ghost. But with really good hair."
"And perfect bone structure," Dany muttered, sipping her coffee.
They looked at each other. Then back at the clipboard. Then at each other again.
"I'm calling it," Alice said. She lifted one hand like a prophet about to invoke divine mischief. "I propose we break protocol."
Daenerys arched a silver eyebrow. "Define 'break protocol.'"
"Talk to Bella. Befriend Bella. Get her to eat lunch with us. Distract her from the fact that her undead soulmate is emotionally constipated and allergic to direct eye contact."
Dany grinned slowly, like a dragon stretching its wings. "You had me at emotionally constipated."
"She needs allies. Sanity. Girl talk. Mascara recommendations."
"Spotify didn't exist yet, and she's still finding a way to make a breakup playlist," Daenerys added. "The girl needs help."
Alice checked something off on her clipboard with dramatic flair.
"Hadrian won't like it," Daenerys said, brushing a strand of silver hair behind her ear.
Alice rolled her eyes. "Hadrian doesn't like anything. Except maybe you. And brooding in leather jackets."
"He's consistent," Daenerys said fondly, her smile briefly softening before she sipped her coffee again. "But yeah, he'll probably growl and say something cryptic like 'Meddling in fate leads to blood.'"
Alice mimicked Hadrian's deep voice. "Destiny is not a buffet, Alice."
Daenerys giggled. "And yet I'm still hungry for chaos," she murmured, raising her cup in a mock-toast.
"Perfect," Alice said. "Let's ruin the future."
"One coffee date at a time," Daenerys echoed.
They clinked latte and clipboard together like witches clashing wands.
The war had begun.
And Bella Swan had no idea she was about to get recruited.
—
Bella's Dream – That Night
Location: Somewhere between memory and mourning
It was the forest again. But this time, it was winter.
Snow drifted down like ash from a silent sky, blanketing the trees in white, muffling every sound until even her heartbeat seemed too loud. The branches were bare and skeletal, like fingers reaching up in mourning. Mist curled low to the ground, wrapping around her legs as she walked, slow and aimless.
She wasn't cold.
That struck her as odd — even in the dream. She looked down. Bare feet. No coat. Her flannel pajama pants were damp from the snow, but she felt nothing. Just that familiar heaviness in her chest, the one that followed her from waking to sleep. Like grief had become her second skin.
She kept moving.
The woods opened up to a small clearing, frozen over with frost-glazed grass. The light was strange here — dim, silver, dreamlike. Like twilight trapped in glass.
And he was there.
Edward.
Not moving. Not running.
Just... standing.
Waiting.
He wore the same dark jacket, the one she used to tug gently at when they walked side by side. His bronze hair shimmered faintly under the moonlight, tousled like he'd been caught in a storm. His hands were at his sides. His expression — unreadable. Sculpted in porcelain and sorrow.
Bella stopped breathing.
A part of her expected him to vanish, to blur into smoke the second she acknowledged him. Like every other dream before this. Like every waking day after he left.
But this time — he didn't.
He didn't fade.
He didn't run.
He looked at her. And stayed.
Tentatively, she stepped forward. One step. Then another. Her breath fogged in the air between them, curling toward him like fingers reaching out.
"Edward," she whispered. The name tasted like hope. Like salt.
He didn't speak. But his eyes softened — golden and glassy, like they'd been carved from sunlight and loss.
She smiled. It was small. Hesitant. The kind of smile that knew it could shatter.
He lifted one hand.
So did she.
Their fingers stretched toward each other, the space between them thinning with aching slowness. It felt like touching fate. Like falling.
Just as their fingertips almost brushed—
He opened his mouth.
And the world cracked.
Like a mirror spiderwebbing from the inside. Light exploded. Wind screamed.
"No!" she gasped, reaching for him as everything began to unravel. "Please—!"
But it was too late.
She woke up.
Alone.
Her room was dark, save for the pale blue glow of her alarm clock: 2:47 AM. Her sheets were twisted around her legs like vines. Her hands were clenched in the space where he'd been.
Bella pressed a fist to her chest, like she could push the ache back inside.
Same dream.
Same forest.
Same boy made of silence and stars.
She closed her eyes.
And didn't sleep again.
—
Outside Bella's Window – 2:49 AM
Location: The Tree That Knows Too Much
The night was still.
So still, it was as if the world was holding its breath for her.
Edward sat crouched on a thick branch of the massive pine tree across the street, motionless, his body carved in shadow and sorrow. His bronze hair, tousled and damp from the mist, gleamed faintly under the half-hearted moonlight. His hands were clenched in his lap. Not from cold—he didn't feel it—but from something deeper. Sharper.
She had stirred.
He'd heard the hitch in her breath—the tiny gasp as the dream broke. He'd felt her heart spike, then steady into that low, aching rhythm he now knew better than any melody. Two seconds before her eyes opened, he'd been by her bedside. Watching her mouth form his name in sleep. Watching her reach for him in a world that wasn't real.
He hadn't meant to stay that long.
But she'd smiled.
In the dream. At him. Like she used to. Like she hadn't in weeks.
So he'd stayed.
Until her breathing shifted. Until the storm behind her eyelids began to calm, and her body curled instinctively toward the place he had occupied seconds before. That's when he blurred backward—window open in silence, a wisp of cold air the only trace of his exit—and perched in the tree where he could still see her silhouette through the glass.
He watched her now, through the slats of her blinds.
Bella lay on her side, one arm thrown toward the empty half of the bed. Her hand was open, fingers twitching slightly, as if still dreaming. Or hoping. Or both.
He exhaled slowly, not because he needed to, but because it helped. A phantom habit. A poor imitation of being human.
His voice, when it came, was a whisper that died in the frost before it left his lips.
"Forgive me."
He said it every night. Sometimes in English. Sometimes in Latin. Once, last week, in the dialect of an extinct Siberian tribe he had studied during the Depression—because the human tongue felt too small to contain the magnitude of what he carried.
He hadn't meant to go back. But the silence without her had become unbearable.
She was supposed to forget.
She was supposed to heal.
He was supposed to let her.
Instead, here he was. Like the ghost of a song she couldn't stop humming. A shadow with a heartbeat only for her.
The wind stirred the needles of the pine. He didn't move.
Behind the glass, she shifted again. Brow furrowed. Lips parted.
He closed his eyes.
And saw her dream. Every frame of it. The snow. The clearing. His hands, her breath, the almost-touch. The shatter.
He could feel it. As if it had been real.
As if she had reached him.
Edward's jaw tightened. He was crumbling from the inside out. Made of restraint, and regret, and a love that tasted like ruin.
He shouldn't be here.
But the truth was: he couldn't not be.
Because she was the only thing in a hundred years that had ever made him feel alive. And he… he was what made her suffer.
His eyes opened again, glowing faintly gold in the dark.
He stayed in the tree until the stars began to fade.
Until the mist turned into morning.
Until she sat up in bed with haunted eyes and he disappeared into the trees like a promise he never should've made.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Click the link below to join the conversation:
https://discord.com/invite/HHHwRsB6wd
Can't wait to see you there!
If you appreciate my work and want to support me, consider buying me a cup of coffee. Your support helps me keep writing and bringing more stories to you. You can do so via PayPal here:
https://www.paypal.me/VikrantUtekar007
Or through my Buy Me a Coffee page:
https://www.buymeacoffee.com/vikired001s
Thank you for your support!