By the time Amara was nearly collapsing, her legs threatening mutiny and her arms officially filing complaints, she was already deep inside her third store.
Not walking through it.
Surviving it.
Shopping bags dangled from both arms, the straps biting into her skin like they had personal grudges. One bag slid dangerously close to the floor before she caught it with a tired gasp, hugging the pile to her chest like precious cargo—or emotional support luggage.
Beside her, Alice hovered cheerfully, practically vibrating with excitement, looking like a very enthusiastic fairy blessed with unlimited stamina and absolutely no concept of human fatigue.
"Okay," Alice announced suddenly, popping into Amara's field of vision and holding up a tiny charm shaped like a crescent moon, "this one is non-negotiable."
Amara squinted at it, eyes unfocused, brain running on low battery mode.
"…It's a charm."
"Yes," Alice nodded solemnly, as if explaining an undeniable truth of the universe. "Which makes it essential."
Rosalie, browsing nearby with effortless elegance and zero signs of exhaustion, added without even looking up, "It'll suit you."
Amara opened her mouth to argue.
She had a speech ready.
A reasonable one.
A logical one.
Then she closed her mouth again.
Because Alice was already walking toward the counter.
And Rosalie—traitorously—was right behind her.
"This is happening again," Amara muttered weakly, watching the charm disappear into a shopping bag.
It happened again.
And again.
And again.
Clothes appeared in her arms like they were being summoned. Shoes she didn't remember agreeing to somehow became hers. Scarves were draped over her shoulders "just to test the vibe," only to be purchased thirty seconds later. Accessories she didn't even know existed were suddenly declared necessary for balance.
Somehow—somehow—everything was something she "needed."
"There are no breaks," Amara whispered hoarsely at one point, glancing around in disbelief. "Is this… is this what shopping with immortals feels like?"
If Alice wasn't dragging her toward another rack with prophetic urgency, Rosalie was handing her something new to try on, her look clearly saying trust me.
And the worst part?
Rosalie was always right.
Amara barely had time to register one outfit before another was pressed into her hands. Her reflection blurred past mirrors—different clothes, same exhausted face.
The only reason she didn't fully melt into the floor halfway through the spree was Jasper.
Jasper, who appeared beside them at irregular intervals like a calm, responsible guardian spirit assigned specifically to keep Amara alive.
"She needs to eat," he reminded them gently at one point, glancing at Amara, who was leaning suspiciously hard against a clothing rack.
Alice blinked. "Oh!"
Rosalie frowned slightly. "Right. Human."
Amara clutched her stomach dramatically, sagging even more for emphasis.
"I appreciate you remembering I am, in fact, mortal."
So they fed her.
Frequently.
A snack appeared. Then another. Lunch was declared mandatory. Dessert followed immediately after—"just in case," according to Alice, who handed it over with the seriousness of someone delivering life-saving medicine.
"You're doing great," Alice encouraged brightly.
"I can see colors again," Amara replied solemnly, accepting a drink with both hands.
She had never been so aggressively cared for in her entire life.
There was, however, one problem.
She couldn't pay for anything.
Every single time—every single time—she reached for her card, Rosalie was already there.
"No."
"But—"
"No."
"I have money," Amara protested weakly, fingers still hovering near her wallet. "Like… a lot of money."
Rosalie didn't even blink. "I know."
"I want to spend it."
Rosalie smiled faintly. "No."
Amara deflated on the spot.
Her dream—her lifelong fantasy of dramatically swiping her card like an actress in a Korean drama, looking cool and detached while saying I'll take it—was being mercilessly denied.
"Someday," she muttered darkly, staring into the middle distance. "Someday I'll pay for something."
Alice patted her shoulder with suspicious fondness. "We'll see."
By the time they finally reached the Swan house, evening had settled quietly over Forks, the sky dim and calm like the town itself was winding down.
Amara had already texted Charlie and Bella hours earlier.
I'll be late. If you guys go out to eat, bring me something pls.
Charlie had replied not long after.
Okay. Be safe.
She read the message again, smiling tiredly, arms still full of shopping bags.
If nothing else—
She had survived.
Barely.
When they finally pulled up outside the Swan house, Amara noticed it immediately.
Only two cars sat in the driveway.
Her Audi—parked neatly, miraculously unharmed after Emmett's custody of it—and Bella's red truck, looking exactly as grumpy and stubborn as its owner.
No sheriff's car.
Amara leaned forward slightly, peering through the windshield like it might magically appear if she stared hard enough.
"Huh," she said. "Charlie and Bella must've gone out."
Alice hummed thoughtfully.
"Dinner?"
"Definitely," Amara nodded. "Which is honestly a smart survival choice. Cooking is… not exactly their strong point."
Rosalie smirked. "Wise."
Amara grabbed her keys and stepped out, muscles protesting after hours of shopping-induced trauma. She unlocked the front door and walked inside—
—and immediately understood something had gone terribly, irreversibly wrong.
She no longer had authority in her own home.
Rosalie swept in ahead of her with several shopping bags in hand, moving with the confidence of someone who had already decided this was her space now.
"Your room's in the attic, right?" Rosalie asked casually, already halfway across the living room.
Amara froze mid-step.
"…Yes?"
How did she know that?
Before Amara could form the follow-up question—or demand answers—Rosalie was already heading up the stairs like she'd lived there for years. Alice skipped after her happily, arms full of bags, while Jasper followed at a calmer pace, carrying the rest with quiet efficiency.
Amara stood alone in the hallway, staring up at the staircase.
Is this my house… or did I accidentally invite a very fashionable home invasion?
"Are you coming or not?" Rosalie called down, her voice echoing.
"Y—yeah," Amara muttered, scrambling after them, still mildly offended on behalf of her own property rights.
By the time she reached the attic, she was already tired again.
Her bedroom door opened—
—and the Cullens immediately moved in like they were inspecting real estate.
Shopping bags were set down neatly.
And then, without hesitation—
They claimed the bed.
Rosalie sat first, lowering herself onto the mattress with the air of someone conducting a very serious test. Alice followed, bouncing lightly beside her like a delighted child.
"Oh wow," Alice said, pressing her hands into the duvet. "This is fluffy."
Rosalie nodded, approving. "Very comfortable."
Jasper, after carefully placing the bags off to the side like a responsible adult, wandered over and sat as well, giving the mattress a small, thoughtful bounce.
"It's nice," he concluded.
Amara stared at the three of them.
On her bed.
In her room.
"…Are you serious right now?"
Rosalie glanced up at her, unfazed. "Where did you buy this?"
"A friend gifted it," Amara replied honestly. "I don't know where it's from."
Which was true. Very true. She was not about to explain transmigration furniture logistics.
Alice patted the mattress lovingly. "You're lucky."
Then, with zero hesitation, she grabbed Jasper's hand.
"Babe, lay down properly."
Jasper, entirely unbothered by the absurdity of the situation, complied and leaned back.
Amara rubbed her face slowly, dragging her fingers down like she was trying to reset her soul.
"You've all been alive for—what—forever," she said. "And you've never encountered a bed like this?"
All three answered at once.
"No."
There was a beat of silence.
Then they laughed.
Rosalie's soft and amused.
Alice's bright and musical.
Jasper's quiet but genuine.
And somehow—despite everything—Amara laughed too, shaking her head as she leaned against the doorframe.
They stayed like that for a while.
Talking.
Joking.
Alice animatedly recounting shopping victories like battle achievements.
Rosalie making dry, sharp comments that somehow made everything funnier.
Jasper occasionally adding something understated but perfectly timed, earning laughs every time.
At some point, Alice checked the time and gasped.
"Oh! We should go. Charlie and Bella might be back soon."
They all groaned lightly but agreed.
They gathered their things, chatting all the way downstairs, laughter filling the house in a way it hadn't in a long time.
Outside, as they reached the car, Emmett's absence was noted—
"Oh yeah," Alice said. "We forgot to call Emmett."
"He must be back home," Rosalie added dryly.
They laughed and dismissed it immediately.
Before getting into the car, Alice turned and wrapped Amara in a tight hug.
"You survived shopping with us," she said proudly.
Rosalie gave Amara a rare, genuine smile. "We'll do it again."
Alice nodded warmly. "Soon."
The car pulled away, headlights disappearing down the road.
Amara stood there for a moment, hands full, watching the taillights fade.
Then she went back inside.
The house was quiet again.
But not lonely.
Just… peaceful.
She smiled softly.
Then paused.
And frowned.
Bella won't be angry… right?
…Right?
Amara stood there for another second, staring at the front door like she expected Bella to burst in at any moment, eyes blazing, ready to unleash cousinly wrath.
She sighed.
"I don't even know what I'm waiting for," she muttered. "An angry monster Bella, I guess."
Nothing happened.
The house remained calm.
Almost suspiciously so.
Amara shook her head, smiling despite herself, and went upstairs—still half-expecting trouble to arrive any second.
Because if there was one thing she'd learned—
Peace never lasted long in Forks.
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