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WASHINGTON, D.C.
The night had fallen, wrapping the house in an almost supernatural stillness. Alice paced back and forth across the living room with short, anxious steps, unable to hide the restlessness that consumed her.
Nate came down the stairs, slipping an old jacket over a faded t-shirt. His jeans were slightly torn at the knees, and his boots were dusty.
Alice glanced at him sideways, then stopped and crossed her arms.
"It's almost criminal to let my partner go out dressed like that."
Nate chuckled softly, shaking out his still-damp hair.
"The bars listed in the log have a bad reputation. If I want to talk to the people there, I need to blend in. They won't trust someone who looks out of place."
Alice frowned slightly. There was something about all of it that unsettled her. She sat on the armrest of the couch, eyes fixed on some invisible point.
"I can't see beyond the next few days…" she murmured. "And even though my visions keep shifting because of your presence, in most of them, it's the same: you and I here, in this house, doing nothing significant. After that, it's just the black void…"
Nate looked up at her and nodded calmly, as if that information, rather than worrying him, confirmed something he needed to hear.
"That's reassuring," he said. "It means nothing has changed yet. That we're still on the path that leads to meeting him in a few days."
Alice stared at him in silence, understanding what his words implied. If her visions remained blocked after a few days, then Nate's actions were indeed steering them toward the wolf.
"That's why I want to go out now," he continued, adjusting the jacket. "Not to look for him directly, but to start mapping the terrain. There are several bars mentioned, and we can't know for sure which one he'll show up at soon. If any of the regulars recognize my father's name or saw him talking to someone, it could be the lead that gets us closer to the wolf."
Alice sighed. It made sense. Still, something inside her twisted with quiet anxiety.
"I'll be nearby," she said, as if that could ease her discomfort. "And don't drink. Or if you must, only a little. Remember how important it is to keep your mind clear. And be careful around humans, too. Not just vampires or wolves can hurt you, Nate…"
Nate smiled softly, a gentle expression that clashed with his rough appearance.
"Relax, I know how to get along with anyone. I'll just scout around, chat with a few people, and head out. Besides, if it helps, focus on the days you can still see. Even if they keep shifting, if I'm in them, then everything's fine. If the vision suddenly cuts out or I disappear, it means something's going to happen, and you'll need to come find me immediately. It's almost like cheating."
Alice considered it for a moment, then slowly nodded. She didn't like it, but it was the most logical thing they could do.
Nate stood, grabbed his phone, and kissed her lightly on the forehead before heading for the door. He stepped outside confidently, hands in his pockets, just as the rain began to intensify. A taxi was waiting for him under flashing hazard lights.
Alice watched him leave through the window, arms crossed, her eyes fixed on the darkness.
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The taxi pulled away with a muffled roar, leaving Nate in front of the building.
The bar looked more like an old, worn-out dive, the kind that didn't need décor to make it obvious what kind of crowd it attracted. The sign was off, but reddish light glowed from the dirty windows. Outside, several large, well-kept motorcycles were lined up like part of the furniture. The air reeked of gasoline and cigarettes.
A burly man stood near the entrance, apparently distracted by something on his phone. He wore a sleeveless gray shirt that showed off his thick, tattooed arms, and his solid presence made it clear he wasn't there by chance. Nate approached at an easy pace, letting his hair fall slightly over his face. He hadn't tried to tidy up or mask his tired expression, which only made him look more disheveled.
As he reached the door, the man stopped him with a hand on his chest and a firm stare.
"ID."
Nate blinked, mildly surprised—not by the stop itself, but by the formality in a place like this. Still, he didn't let it throw him. Without a word, he slipped a hundred-dollar bill from the inner pocket of his jacket and offered it with a quick motion, like a handshake.
The bouncer glanced down, felt the bill between his fingers, and said nothing. But he didn't move either. He stood in place, blocking the entrance.
Nate raised an eyebrow slightly, remaining composed.
The man smirked, like he was testing him.
"This isn't a place for kids," he said, clearly enunciating each word.
Nate studied him in silence for a second longer than necessary. He assessed him carefully, noting that the man was sizing him up, too. Nate had a slight height advantage, but the man's bulky frame evened it out. A textbook bouncer, hardened by years of intimidating people with nothing but his presence.
With a half-smile, Nate stepped in just a bit closer and spoke in a low voice.
"You want the kid to knock your teeth out before you let him in?"
The bouncer frowned, caught off guard for a moment. He looked Nate up and down again, and this time, Nate felt the shift in his gaze. Now he wasn't just looking—he was seeing him.
Finally, the man let out a low chuckle and stepped aside with a mutter under his breath.
"Hope you know your place in there."
Nate walked in without a flinch, a relaxed grin on his lips.
The thick smell of cheap beer, old sweat, and poorly used disinfectant greeted him like a warm slap to the face.
The lighting was dim, more out of habit than intent, and a barely audible tune trickled from an old jukebox in the corner.
He walked in slowly, as if just curious, his expression casual and unassuming—but his eyes scanned everything. Half-empty glasses on the tables, indifferent glances, a couple of guys nodding off at the bar, a girl dressed like she didn't plan on going home talking to the bartender… and, most notably, the group at the back.
By the pool table, five or six men laughed loudly, taking turns between pool shots and dart throws. They wore leather jackets, sleeveless shirts, and one even had sunglasses on indoors. That familiar mix of rowdy and playful reminded Nate—uncomfortably—of the men from Port Angeles who had tried to take advantage of Bella. The memory bothered him… though it didn't show on his face.
He made his way to the bar and sat like he'd been doing it for years. Leaning on his elbows, he waited until the bartender, who was still chatting with the girl, noticed him. After a few seconds, the man approached with a tired expression.
"What'll it be?" he asked in a dry tone.
Nate smiled, tilting his head slightly.
"Your finest." It sounded like a private joke.
The bartender didn't reply. He raised an eyebrow and poured him a glass of something dark from an unmarked bottle. Nate glanced at it subtly—cheap brandy. He wasn't an expert, but he could tell when someone was trying to screw him over.
Still, he sniffed the drink with exaggerated curiosity, like an amateur connoisseur, then downed it in one gulp.
"Strong."
The bartender gave a dismissive chuckle and walked off. Nate stayed, ordered another, then a third. He held the third in his hand, swirling it without drinking, his gaze still calmly scanning the room.
Eventually, he stood and made his way toward the back, where the laughter was loudest. He staggered just a bit, like the drinks were starting to hit, a wide, almost foolish smile on his lips. At the pool table, he stopped and raised his glass.
"So, do you play for fun, or are there actual bets?"
The laughter paused. A few men looked at him with curiosity, others with amusement. One bald man with a deep voice leaned his cue on the table.
"You know how to play, kid?"
Nate shrugged, keeping the grin.
"Just enough to try and win some money."
The bald man grinned crookedly and pointed his cue.
"But if you lose, you won't leave without paying up."
Nate laughed dumbly, tilting his head.
"Then I guess none of you gets to leave if you lose either."
A brief silence—and then roaring laughter. The tone shifted. He was no longer an annoyance, but an unexpected joke that had caught their favor.
The game began with lighthearted energy. Nate played only against the bald man, while the others watched with beer in hand, cracking jokes. Nate wasn't showing off; he missed shots on purpose, keeping the game close—just a lucky kid, playing by chance.
In the end, with a clean shot, he sank the eight ball and won. The bald man frowned, visibly annoyed. Nate pretended not to notice. Before the tension could build, he threw an arm around one of the other guys and laughed loudly.
"Richard was right! This place is great."
His tone was relaxed and joyful, but his eyes studied the faces around him, one by one, waiting for a flicker of recognition. But nothing. Just more drunken laughter. No one reacted to the name.
He hid his frustration well, though he felt his interest waning. The bald man turned toward him, still annoyed.
"Who the hell is Richard?"
Nate raised both hands like he had no idea why it mattered.
"Just a guy. Said I should check this place out."
He said it casually, glancing back toward the bar, hoping the bartender—or the woman with him—would react. But nothing there either. Just idle talk and laughter.
Nate sighed inwardly, though his face remained animated. He no longer expected much from the night but couldn't leave too soon. When the bald man stepped forward, perhaps looking to pick a fight, Nate raised his voice just in time with a laugh.
"That was too easy! How about double or nothing?"
The bald man paused, tilted his head, and smirked.
"Alright. But with darts."
"Perfect," Nate said without hesitation, as if he didn't even know what was at stake.
They began. Darts whistled through the air. Nate was precise at first, just enough to keep the tension alive. The bald man clenched his jaw, annoyed at his own poor aim. Nate let the tension build, then deliberately missed the final shot.
The dart hit the edge—outside the zone. He lost.
The group burst into laughter. The bald man grinned victoriously.
"Told you. A punk like you can't beat me."
Nate shrugged, feigning disappointment as he pulled cash from his pocket.
"Guess I got cocky," he said, handing over the money with a smile.
It landed well. The mood relaxed again, and soon Nate was back among them, laughing, joking, and buying drinks. Bottles piled up on the table, voices rose in a warm, drunken buzz.
He stayed for a while longer, playing his part. He was about to find an excuse to leave when his phone buzzed softly in his pocket. He checked it calmly.
A short message. Alice was coming for him.
The perfect excuse—right on time.
He made a disappointed face as he tucked the phone away.
"Bad news, gentlemen. I gotta go."
"Nah, stay a little longer!" someone yelled, slurring.
"Yeah, you were just warming up," another added.
Nate raised his hands in mock surrender.
"You've already cleaned me out. But I promise I'll come back another night."
As he gathered his things, the bald man, now friendlier, patted him on the back.
"This weekend we're hitting another bar. A real one—big bets, serious players. You gotta come, kid."
Nate raised an eyebrow in fake curiosity, but something sparked in his eyes. The name matched one of the other bars in the log. And the timing… lined up with the window when Alice's visions went dark.
He smiled—this time, with real satisfaction.
"I'll definitely be there."
More laughter followed as the men clapped him on the back and saw him off. Nate walked out calmly, a genuine smile on his lips.
He stepped out into the night, leaving behind the hum of laughter, clinking glasses, and alcohol-slurred talk.
The night air hit his face like a soft jolt. He crossed the street without looking back. A black car waited on the corner, discreet but unmistakably there.
He got in the passenger seat and closed the door gently. In the driver's seat, Alice turned slightly to look at him. Her expression held concern, a slight crease between her brows, tension in her fingers still resting on the wheel.
"How did it go?" she asked softly, not trying to hide the unease.
Nate exhaled through his nose, resting his arm against the door.
"There's going to be a meeting at one of the bars listed in the log. Right during the time when your visions go dark," he replied in a neutral tone, like he was just stating a fact.
Alice was quiet for a moment. His words hung in the car like heavy air before a storm.
"Do you think we'll find him there?" she finally asked, her voice low, like she already knew the answer but needed him to say it.
"Everything points to it," Nate said, still not looking at her.
She said nothing, just turned her gaze forward, her brow faintly furrowed. She started the engine, and the car slipped into the amber glow of the city.
...........................................................
When they arrived at Nate's parents' house, the atmosphere was calm, untouched by the chaos they had left behind.
The façade was the same—quiet, as if nothing outside could disturb it.
Nate got out silently and headed straight for the bathroom. He let the hot water pour down his back, washing away fatigue and noise. After several minutes, he stepped out and dried his hair with a towel as he walked back to the bedroom.
Alice was already under the covers, unmoving and awake. She lay on her side of the bed, eyes open, staring at the wall. She didn't need to close them to rest. She said nothing when he slipped under the sheets—only shifted slightly to curl against his back, wrapping him in that silent gesture that, in her cold and quiet way, meant she cared. The chill of her skin contrasted with the lingering warmth of the shower, but Nate didn't move. He closed his eyes, and within a minute, he was asleep.
...............................................
The following days passed with almost unreal calm.
With the plan in motion, the tension that had followed them since the beginning slowly dissipated. There wasn't much left to debate or decide. Only to wait.
They used the time with a borrowed sense of normalcy. They wandered aimlessly through D.C.'s streets, shared comfortable silences in small cafés, and allowed themselves wordless moments of closeness. There was a lightness between them—as if they both understood, without saying it, that these were their last days in the city.
And somehow, that brought peace.
The weekend arrived without surprises.
It was early morning, and soft sunlight filtered through the dining room windows. Nate ate breakfast slowly, stirring his food with absent motions, while Alice watched him from across the table.
"Sometimes I think the Romanians aren't even going to show," she said quietly, emotionless, like mentioning the weather.
Nate raised an eyebrow with a lopsided smile.
"If they don't, we'll handle it ourselves. Just like we originally planned," he answered without drama or pride as if it was the obvious choice.
Alice studied him for a few seconds, as if measuring his conviction, then nodded slowly—almost convincing herself.
Just then, Alice's phone rang from another room. She stood without a rush.
"That's odd. I'll see who it is," she said, disappearing down the hall.
Nate kept eating quietly, finishing his breakfast with almost meditative slowness. Minutes passed. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, but Alice didn't return.
When she finally came back, her expression had changed. Her face was serious, her gaze distant. Nate looked up at once, sensing the shift.
"What is it?" he asked, setting down his spoon.
Alice met his gaze. It took her a moment to speak.
"Carlisle called," she said at last, as if those two words weighed more than anything else.