Bella's Backyard — Later That Evening, Monday, March 14th, 2005
Weather: dark now, but the air still carries a ghost of warmth. Mood: unsettled, pretending otherwise. Or at least trying.
Bella must have dozed off.
She hadn't planned to — she never planned to — but somewhere between Edward-this and Edward-that and Edmund-what's-the-difference, her eyelids betrayed her. The Austen book had slipped from her lap at some point, landing face-down in the grass, pages bent and faintly green-streaked.
When the low growl of tires on gravel woke her, it took a second for her brain to catch up.
The cruiser's headlights swung through the yard, cutting across her face, white-hot and blinding.
Bella jerked upright with a graceless little gasp, shielding her eyes and blinking through the glare. Her pulse was already hammering by the time her vision cleared enough to see the familiar gold lettering on the door: FORKS POLICE DEPT.
Right.
Of course.
Charlie.
She pushed herself out of the chair, brushing grass off her jeans, and scooped the book up by its battered cover. There was a faint stain now, like the yard itself was mocking her. Somehow that felt symbolic. Though she didn't care enough to figure out how.
Charlie was already climbing out of the car when she reached the porch, one hand balancing a thermos and a paper bag from the diner. He stopped mid-step when he noticed her standing there, narrowing his eyes against the dark.
"Well, hell," he muttered, sounding half-surprised, half-amused. "Didn't even see you sittin' there."
Bella forced a faint, crooked smile. "Just… getting some air," she said, voice scratchy with disuse.
Charlie squinted at her for a second longer before letting it go. He shifted the bag to his other hand. "Well… good. Nice night for it, I guess. Don't catch cold or… whatever kids catch out here."
"I'll try," she deadpanned.
That earned her a quiet, dry little laugh as he brushed past her into the kitchen. "I heated up chicken fried steak if you're hungry. Pretty sure it'll survive another round in the microwave."
She nodded vaguely — though he wasn't even looking anymore — and let the screen door clatter shut behind him.
But she stayed there, just outside the kitchen light.
Something prickled at the back of her neck.
Her gaze drifted — unbidden — to the black edge of the woods beyond the yard.
There was nothing there.
Not that she could see, anyway.
And yet…
Her fingers tightened on the spine of her book until it creaked softly.
Because for the briefest, stupidest second, she could have sworn she felt it.
A presence.
The trees standing just a little too still. The shadows leaning in, just a little too close.
It was ridiculous.
Absolutely ridiculous.
She shook her head at herself and exhaled, muttering under her breath: "Get it together, Swan."
With one last glance at the trees — stubbornly dark and empty — she stepped inside and let the door shut behind her.
The Woods — Same Time
Edward's fingers flexed against the rough bark of the fir, his knuckles pale even by his standards.
He shouldn't still be here.
And yet here he was, clinging to a high limb like some shameful, selfish creature.
The moment the cruiser turned into the driveway, he'd frozen — his every nerve screaming for him to retreat. To vanish into the forest, to stop this insanity before it got worse.
But then she stirred.
She sat up and turned her head — toward him.
Not quite looking at him, not really.
But close enough that something in his dead heart clenched painfully.
For a half-second he was certain she could see him — crouched there, still and sharp-edged and wrong.
She couldn't, of course.
But it didn't matter.
Her eyes caught the shadows, and it was enough to make his jaw tighten, his throat burn.
She'd looked for him.
Or maybe she'd only felt him.
Which was worse somehow.
Even now — long after the door swung shut and her slight silhouette moved past the curtained kitchen window — he stayed.
His breath came slow and even, though it was only habit, only mimicry of what he'd once been. His bronze hair caught faint streaks of moonlight through the canopy, his fingers curling tight enough into the wood that he heard it groan softly in protest.
He should leave.
Slip back into the night like the ghost he was pretending to be.
But he didn't.
He stayed.
Watching her shadow move through the kitchen. Listening to her muffled voice when she answered Charlie's low question. Imagining the warmth of her skin even from here, where the air was sharp and cool and full of pine.
Because some twisted, broken part of him — a part he hated and needed all at once — wasn't ready to leave her alone in the dark just yet.
And when her dark eyes flicked toward the woods one last time before she disappeared into the hall…
He felt it.
Felt it like a blow to the chest.
And even though he couldn't hear her thoughts, even though her silence drove him to the brink of madness…
He allowed himself the smallest, bitterest smile.
Because she'd felt him too.
—
Dinner was quiet.
Not bad quiet — just… Charlie quiet.
He'd gotten home around seven, still in uniform, takeout bag in one hand, coffee thermos in the other. She'd heard the screen door creak before the keys even rattled. They'd exchanged a few clipped words — chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes, again; "how was your day?" / "fine" — and then settled into their usual routine.
She'd cleared the plates and rinsed them while he drifted into the living room, where the glow of the old TV and the faint chatter of sports commentators waited like an old friend.
When she finally flopped onto the other end of the couch, he didn't say anything at first.
Just shot her a quick, slightly startled glance, then looked back at the screen like she might vanish if he paid her too much attention.
She tucked her legs under her and let her gaze wander vaguely toward the Mariners highlights. She couldn't have told you what inning they were showing or who they were playing if her life depended on it.
Still. The low hum of the game, the wood stove crackling faintly, the faint smell of pine from the chopped logs outside — it was… almost nice.
For a Monday.
The commercial break was loud and stupid and full of shiny trucks driving through improbable mud. It was as good a time as any to speak.
"Hey, Dad?" she said.
Charlie grunted, his eyes staying on the screen.
She waited half a second, then said, "Jessica asked me to go with her and Angela to Port Angeles tomorrow. Dress shopping."
That got him.
He actually turned his head, one eyebrow twitching up under the brim of his cap.
"I thought you weren't going to the dance," he said.
"I'm not." She shifted slightly, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Apparently it's… a thing. You know. To help your friends shop for dresses you're not even wearing."
He just stared at her, like she'd started speaking Greek.
"I don't make the rules," she added, with a little shrug. "I just… get roped into them."
Charlie blinked, then let out a faint snort and leaned back against the couch.
"Huh," he muttered. "Weird."
"That's high school," Bella deadpanned.
That earned her a faint smile — barely there, but enough that it warmed the edges of his otherwise tired face.
"So… you're okay with it?" she pressed.
Charlie grunted again, more like a yes this time, and nodded toward the TV.
"Yeah, sure. Be careful driving back. Don't stay out too late. Watch the roads past the bridge — they've been icy after dark."
"Yes, sir," she said dryly, managing just enough sarcasm to make it sound like a joke but not enough to get a lecture.
A few innings later — another round of commercials blaring about low APR and free snow tires — she glanced at him again.
"I'll leave sandwich stuff in the fridge before I go," she said casually.
Charlie cut her a look out of the corner of his eye.
"You don't have to do that, kid," he said. "I can make a sandwich."
"I know," Bella replied evenly. "But… it's easier if you don't have to think about it."
For a second, he didn't say anything — just stared at the TV, his jaw flexing faintly under the weight of whatever thought he was keeping to himself.
Then, softer, he said, "…Thanks."
"You're welcome," she murmured.
The game continued. The crowd noise rose and fell in the background, tinny through the ancient speakers.
Charlie shifted to get more comfortable, the couch groaning faintly under his weight, and she let herself sink into the cushions a little more.
Her eyes drifted to the window.
Outside, the yard was dark now — the grass silvered in patches by moonlight, the tree line looming black and jagged against the sky.
And just for a second — a single, fleeting second — she thought she saw something move.
A shadow in the dark. A shape too tall and too still to be a tree.
But when she blinked, it was gone.
Her fingers dug into the edge of the couch cushion.
Just the trees.
Still. Silent.
Pretending not to watch her back.
—
Tuesday, March 15th, 2005 — Forks High School
Weather: still sunny. (Which feels personal at this point.) Mood: unraveling by the period. Again.
By third period, Bella was already deeply, profoundly done with the day.
The sun was out — again — and Forks High buzzed with the kind of weirdly good moods that only happen here when the weather forgets it's supposed to be miserable.
But Bella? Bella was not in a good mood.
Because the Cullens weren't here. Again.
She'd told herself — very firmly, while brushing her teeth this morning — not to hope. Not to glance at the parking lot like a desperate idiot. Not to search the sea of Hondas and Subarus for a silver Volvo.
But of course she'd done it anyway.
And of course it hadn't been there.
No Edward. No Alice. No Jasper. Not even Emmett, who could barely keep his voice down when he was on school property.
By lunch, she was so tightly wound it was a miracle her salad didn't explode from sheer proximity to her.
Jessica plopped down next to her at the lunch table like a tornado in Ugg boots, her tray already half–loaded with fries and something vaguely chicken–shaped.
"So," Jessica said, voice too loud for the room. "Mike called me again last night."
Bella blinked at her, fork halfway to her mouth.
"That's… great," she managed, though it came out flatter than she meant.
Jessica either didn't notice or didn't care.
"He wants to go see The Ring Two on Friday," Jessica went on, flipping her hair like she was auditioning for a Pantene commercial. "I mean, I'm not really into horror, but if he's going to be all… protective or whatever…" She smirked knowingly.
Angela, seated across the table with her neatly–packed turkey sandwich, glanced up and smiled softly.
"I liked the first one," Angela said, voice as mild and soothing as chamomile tea.
Jessica wrinkled her nose. "You would, Angela. You've got that whole dark–horse–goth vibe secretly going on."
Angela just ducked her head and shrugged, her cheeks pinking slightly.
Bella stabbed at her lettuce.
"Sounds like you're already planning the wedding," Bella muttered dryly, before she could stop herself.
Jessica's eyes went wide, then she grinned and nudged Bella's shoulder with hers.
"Wow," she said, feigning offense. "Jealous much?"
Bella choked out a laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah, that's it. Jealous of Mike Newton. You caught me."
Jessica either missed the edge in her tone or chose to ignore it.
"Well, you could come to the dance," she pointed out in a singsong. "But nooo, Bella Swan is way too good for high school dances. Tragic."
Bella rolled her eyes and went back to her salad.
Angela shot her a sympathetic look across the table but didn't say anything.
And every few seconds, Bella's eyes kept darting — against her will — to that corner table.
Still empty.
By sixth period she was practically vibrating out of her seat.
Every time a door creaked open, her shoulders stiffened. Every burst of laughter in the hallway made her stomach clench. Every second she spent here felt like it stretched into eternity.
She just needed to leave.
Somewhere — anywhere — that wasn't Forks High, wasn't full of people asking if she was okay, wasn't a minefield of memories of him.
By the final bell she was halfway out the door before the teacher even finished dismissing them.
Her truck groaned in protest as she slammed the door shut behind her, the engine coughing to life with its usual dramatic flair.
She was so focused on not thinking about the empty parking space where the Volvo should've been, she almost didn't hear Jessica shouting behind her.
"Bella! Hey! Bella!"
She froze, exhaled through gritted teeth, and rolled the window down just far enough to be polite.
Jessica and Angela were making their way across the lot, both carrying overloaded tote bags and laughing about something.
Jessica leaned in, her breath clouding the cold air.
"My place after dinner," she reminded her. "We're carpooling, remember? Unless you wanna drive that—" she gestured vaguely at the truck "—all the way to Port Angeles yourself."
Bella gave her a thin smile.
"No," she said. "I'll be there."
Jessica grinned, triumphant, then straightened up and gave her a little wave.
Angela offered her a smaller, gentler smile. "See you later, Bella," she said quietly.
Bella nodded once, then put the truck in gear and let the roar of the engine drown them out as she pulled away.
Port Angeles.
Just a few more hours.
Then she could get out.
Stop looking.
Stop hoping.
Even if it was just for one night.
—
Bella didn't even pause at home. The moment the last bell rang, she tossed her books into the truck bed, slammed the door, and peeled out of the parking lot like the brakes were optional.
Forks was great and all — if your idea of fun was staring at the same gray clouds, counting how many times you could hear footsteps echoing in empty hallways, and trying not to lose your mind over someone who wasn't even here today.
Jessica's house was a tiny beacon of noisy life in the otherwise eerily quiet neighborhood. Bella pulled up just as Jessica practically launched herself off the porch steps, her white puffy vest practically glowing in the afternoon sun, hair flipped to one side with practiced ease.
"Oh my god, you have no idea how much I hate driving Mike around in my mom's Civic," Jessica said the second Bella rolled down the window. "I swear, one more trip and I'm gonna start charging him a dollar a mile. Or at least demand a Starbucks card. You're basically living the dream with that truck."
Bella raised one skeptical eyebrow. "Happy to live rent-free in your gratitude."
Jessica grinned like that was the best payment she'd ever gotten and immediately yanked open the passenger door like it was a limo.
Bella climbed out, ignoring the quiet nagging sensation in her chest and instead watching Jessica pop the trunk and throw in a garment bag, a pair of flats, and some water bottle plastered with a Starbucks sticker.
"You do know this is dress shopping, right?" Bella called, folding her arms like she was ready to referee some kind of war zone.
Jessica shot her a look. "Excuse me, Bella. Dress shopping is an art form. This is serious business. You wouldn't get it."
Bella smirked but didn't say anything else as Jessica slid behind the wheel. She sank into the back seat, pulling her jacket a little tighter around herself even though the day wasn't exactly cold.
A few beats later, Angela showed up, punctual and quiet, her scarf wrapped just so, her eyes kind but shy as she eased into the back seat next to Bella.
"Hey," Angela said softly, offering the kind of smile that made Bella almost want to return it with something real. Almost.
Bella gave a half-smile back. "Ready to find the perfect dress that none of us will ever wear?"
Angela chuckled quietly. "I think Jessica's more hyped about this than I am."
Jessica rolled her eyes from the driver's seat. "Angela, this is the event of the spring semester. You don't want to be the girl stuck wearing the same thing from the clearance rack, do you? I'm here to prevent tragedy."
Bella let her forehead rest against the cold window, the hum of Jessica's chatter washing over her like a wave she couldn't quite ride.
The farther they put between themselves and Forks, the lighter Bella felt — not by much, but enough to notice.
Every mile on Highway 101 felt like peeling away another layer of all the tight, anxious knots she carried with her like invisible weights.
Forks shrank in the rearview mirror, damp and gray and filled with all the silent empty spaces where she kept looking for Edward.
She told herself she wasn't excited to get to Port Angeles. She told herself the whole dress thing didn't matter.
But her chest loosened just a little bit knowing she wouldn't have to scan any hallways or lunch tables or classrooms tonight.
Not here.
Not now.
Jessica reached over, cranked up the volume, and Avril Lavigne's voice spilled into the car, loud and unapologetic.
Bella closed her eyes against the low sun slicing through the trees and repeated the mantra she'd been clinging to all day.
I'm fine.
Totally fine.
Even if she didn't believe it for a second.
—
Tuesday, March 15th, 2005 — The Cullen House
Weather: dusky sun breaking on glass.
Mood: strained… but some of them are enjoying it.
The nocturne came apart under Edward's fingers.
He was still technically playing — the keys yielding softly, lazily — but every measure sounded like it had been chewed on, half-forgotten and sour. His bronze hair fell forward into his eyes as he hunched slightly, staring at the ivory keys like they might offer him absolution if he struck the right chord.
They didn't.
Across the room, Alice sat perched on the arm of the couch, her pixie-cut hair gleaming under the chandelier. She twirled one ballet-flat clad foot absently, her glassy gold eyes trained on nothing anyone else could see.
"She's fine," Alice murmured at last, her faint smile curling like smoke. "A little awkward, a little flushed, but… fine. So far."
Edward didn't answer.
He just kept playing, though his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Hadrian — who'd been sitting on the other end of the bench like he owned it — smirked faintly, leaning back on his hands, his emerald eyes catching what little light filtered through the high windows.
"So far," he repeated dryly, his deep voice carrying even though he hadn't raised it.
Edward's fingers froze briefly on the keys. Just long enough for Hadrian to catch it.
"Touché," Hadrian said under his breath, his wolfish grin spreading.
"Don't needle him, love," Daenerys purred from her chaise. She was stretched out on her side, one long leg draped over the other, her silver hair spilling over her shoulder like liquid moonlight, her violet eyes half-lidded with lazy amusement.
Her voice was soft but teasing, laced with that velvety Valyrian lilt that made even the sharpest words sound like silk.
She tilted her head just so, letting her bare toes graze Hadrian's knee as she added, "You can practically smell the self-loathing from here. He's already punishing himself enough without your commentary."
Edward shot her a look — dark, glowering — and her smirk only deepened.
Across the room, Rosalie leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms folded over her pristine white sweater, her long strawberry-blonde hair catching what little sun still managed to glint through the windows.
"For God's sake, Edward," she snapped, her Northern accent cool and unimpressed, "either get off your broody little backside and do something, or stop stinking up the room about it. You're making me nauseous."
"Don't mind her," Emmett muttered from the couch next to Katherine and Elizabeth, trying not to laugh and failing miserably. His massive frame shook with silent chuckles, his dark curls falling into his eyes. "She's just mad she can't scare any sense into you herself."
Katherine — perched cross-legged next to him — didn't look up from where she was absently sketching something into the margin of a notebook. But her Scottish brogue cut sharp and dry through the air anyway.
"Aye, well, he does look like a man who's lost his mind. Starin' at them keys like they've insulted his ancestors."
"Poor laddie," Elizabeth added sweetly, her own brogue more lilting, though her honey-blonde hair and sunny demeanor did little to soften the glint of mockery in her eyes. "Ye'd think drinkin' rabbit blood this long's finally made 'im daft."
That comment earned a soft, low laugh from near the window.
Jasper — all lean shoulders and Southern drawl, his golden hair falling into his eyes — leaned lazily on the sill where Peter and Charlotte stood. He was gentleman enough not to throw Edward's business into the open, but his lips twitched faintly at their speculative looks.
Peter, tall and rangy in his button-down, scratched at his jaw with a slow shake of his head. His Texas accent cut through the air with incredulous drawl.
"Y'know, I hate to say it, but y'all sure he ain't cracked? Seems to me like all that animal blood's finally got him loopier'n a peach orchard boar."
Charlotte, statuesque in a fitted leather jacket, one brow elegantly arched, tilted her head toward Edward as though examining some odd new species. Her husky voice purred with barely contained amusement.
"He don't even look at nobody, bless his heart. Just sits there an' broods. Y'all sure he ain't gone human-mad?"
Jasper only offered them a smooth, knowing smile. "Now, now. Some things a gentleman keeps to himself."
Esme — sweet, calm Esme — just smiled gently from her corner, turning a page in her magazine as though none of it phased her.
And Carlisle, tall and perfect by the fireplace, simply clasped his hands behind his back and watched Edward with that faint, thoughtful detachment of his.
Edward let his hands still on the keys, the last note ringing faint and hollow.
Hadrian leaned toward him slightly, his voice low but still very much amused.
"Your problem," he drawled, emerald eyes glinting, "is that you've forgotten how to enjoy a chase."
Edward's bronze eyes cut to him.
"Your problem," Edward shot back quietly, "is that you think everything is a game."
Hadrian only grinned at that — full, bright, unbothered. And Daenerys's soft laugh followed, warm and wicked.
"That's because," she said, stretching out like a cat, her violet eyes locked on Edward's, "with the right opponent… it is."
For a moment, the room was quiet but for the faint sound of Charlotte's low chuckle and Peter's slow drawl of:
"Mad as a hatter, that boy."
And yet, even as Edward sat still, his hands resting on the keys, his mind was already halfway down the highway, racing ahead of him.
He knew what he'd do the second the sun dipped behind the horizon.
He'd never really stayed behind at all.
—
Peter and Charlotte were just finishing their syrupy farewells in the foyer when Edward's composure snapped like a bowstring.
Peter — tall, lean, and all effortless Southern charm in a worn leather jacket — had just said, "We sure do 'preciate y'all's hospitality. Always good to see civilized folks keepin' the old ways alive," and Charlotte — all dusky beauty and sharpness in her half-smile — had been adjusting her sunglasses despite the fading light.
Edward rose from the piano with such force the bench scraped loudly across the polished hardwood, making everyone in the room look up.
Katherine muttered, "Here we bloody go…" under her breath in her low Scottish lilt, earning a little smirk from Elizabeth beside her, who quipped softly, "Lad's wound tighter than Carlisle's watch."
Esme's gentle voice floated toward him. "Edward?" she asked with quiet concern, Bitsie Tulloch's warmth written all over her face.
But Edward didn't so much as flick his bronze eyes her way.
"Excuse me," he said, clipped and formal. Then, over his shoulder in a brittle baritone as he passed Peter & Charlotte: "Safe travels."
Peter blinked at him like he'd just seen a possum tap-dance. "Well… huh," he drawled, exchanging a look with Charlotte.
Charlotte arched a sharp brow and muttered to her mate just loudly enough for the room to hear, "Told you. Drinkin' animal blood's rotted his brain."
Edward was gone before Emmett's low chuckle could finish rumbling out of his chest.
Jasper — leaning casually near the window, all cool in his worn boots and drawl — just shook his head faintly and offered Peter and Charlotte a mild, polite smile. "Best not to ask," he said softly.
Rosalie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms in the doorway, her sculpted face set in exasperation.
Alice's pixie-cut head tilted toward the door, her Emma Myers grin half knowing, half gleeful.
But nobody stopped him.
Because what would be the point?
—
Outside, dusk wrapped the glass-and-steel house in deep blues and indigos as Edward stormed into the garage, his steps sharp, purposeful. The metallic scent of wax and gas and steel bit at the back of his throat as he yanked the keys from his pocket, striding toward his gleaming silver S60R.
He had the door half-open when the low, smooth growl of a motorcycle engine rolled through the quiet.
His jaw clenched.
He turned on his heel, and there they were.
Hadrian.
Daenerys.
She was already perched behind him, her long silver hair falling in soft waves over her violet eyes as she wrapped her arms lazily around his waist, her smile half amusement, half challenge.
Hadrian sat astride the cherry-red 2005 Triumph Speed Triple 1050, his emerald green eyes glinting with wolfish mischief as he met Edward's searing bronze glare.
The smile on his face — broad, infuriating, and utterly unbothered.
Edward's voice was low, dangerous. "What," he said, each syllable an accusation, "are you two doing?"
Hadrian tilted his head like he didn't understand the question.
"Joining you, obviously," he said smoothly, revving the Triumph just enough to make the sound echo off the garage walls.
Edward's hands tightened into fists at his sides. "No."
"Yes," Daenerys purred, her voice soft and sweet, every syllable carrying a blade beneath velvet. "We thought a night in town sounded… nice. Romantic even."
Her violet gaze slid sideways to Hadrian, and he grinned back at her, their unspoken language crackling between them.
"We won't interfere," Hadrian added lazily, his hand still resting on the throttle. "You can skulk in alleys and breathe all broody in the shadows. We'll stay out of your way."
Edward's eyes narrowed, his teeth gritted. "Don't—"
"—stalk your little human?" Hadrian finished anyway, all false innocence and flashing emerald eyes. "No promises, but we'll try to keep our commentary quiet."
Daenerys smirked and added, "Oh Edward, come now. You can't possibly expect us to miss the tragic little spectacle you're making of yourself. The whole house already knows."
Edward's eyes glinted like molten bronze as he glared at the pair of them, his temper radiating off him in waves, but Daenerys just laughed softly and tucked her chin on Hadrian's shoulder.
He finally wrenched the Volvo door open with more force than was necessary and dropped into the seat.
Behind him, Hadrian revved the Triumph, the engine purring like a predator at rest.
"Try to keep up," Hadrian called over his shoulder, his grin sharp enough to cut as the bike peeled forward in a streak of crimson and black.
Daenerys's silver hair streamed behind them like moonlight, her laugh echoing back over the roar of the engine as Edward sat there, white-knuckled on his steering wheel.
For half a second longer, he just sat, chest tight.
Then he turned the key.
The Volvo growled to life.
And he followed.
—
The highway was mostly empty at this hour, save for the occasional pair of headlights cutting past in the opposite direction, but Edward hardly noticed.
He kept his eyes fixed on the streak of red brake lights ahead of him — the Triumph, with Hadrian and Daenerys wrapped around each other like they belonged to the bike as much as it belonged to them.
For the first ten miles out of Forks, his jaw had been locked so tight it hurt. Every thrum of the Volvo's engine beneath him had matched the frantic rhythm of his own thoughts.
What was she thinking?
Was she alright?
Did she even know what kind of danger she put herself in just by being herself?
Every shadow in the treeline outside his window looked like something waiting to hurt her.
But the closer they got to Port Angeles — and the closer he got to her — the tighter the coil in his chest started to ease.
Not all at once.
Just a little at a time, like thawing ice.
Even through the steel and glass of his Volvo, he could almost taste her scent on the night air already — warm, faintly sweet, maddeningly human.
He took a slow breath and let it out, loosening his death grip on the wheel by a fraction.
Ahead of him, Hadrian leaned into a long curve in the road, the red Triumph banking gracefully, Daenerys's silver hair catching in the slipstream like a flash of moonlight.
Edward felt his lips twitch, almost against his will.
They were impossible. Infuriating.
But he couldn't deny that their irreverent presence — their bickering, their impossible calm — had kept him from spiraling completely.
Even now, Daenerys glanced back over her shoulder once, catching his headlights in her violet eyes. She gave him the faintest, knowing smile before turning back into Hadrian's shoulder, her arms tightening around his waist.
Edward's fingers drummed once on the steering wheel.
He didn't care about them. Not right now.
The only thing that mattered was that she was here, just ahead, in that small coastal town.
She was fine. He could tell already, even without Alice's reassurances earlier — no sudden flash of fear in her scent yet, no screaming alarm in his mind.
And the closer he got, the more he could convince himself that he wasn't too late. That maybe, just maybe, he was exactly where he needed to be.
The Triumph's brake light flared faintly as Hadrian slowed, and Edward followed suit, letting the Volvo glide into the outskirts of Port Angeles.
Streetlights flickered to life on the damp pavement. Neon signs buzzed faintly as they passed into the heart of the little town.
Hadrian turned his head just enough to throw him a sharp grin over his shoulder — as if to say: Told you you'd feel better once you stopped brooding and started driving.
Edward ignored him.
But his hands had loosened their grip on the wheel.
And for the first time in hours, he let himself believe — even just a little — that tonight, she'd still be alright.
---
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