After the Cullens' car disappeared down the road, Amara remained standing in the doorway, fingers still curled loosely around the edge of the frame.
For a few seconds longer than necessary.
She wasn't watching anymore—just listening.
The house settled back into itself with a soft creak here, a sigh of old wood there. No voices. No laughter. No Alice-shaped whirlwind. Just the familiar, lived-in quiet of the Swan household. The kind of quiet that smelled faintly of wood polish, aging furniture, and a complete lack of scented candles. The kind that said people live here, but they don't try too hard about it.
She exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping.
Okay.
Survived shopping.
Survived near-kidnapping.
Survived Alice Cullen.
That alone deserved a medal.
Now came the real danger.
Bella.
Amara rubbed her arms, the evening chill finally catching up to her, and muttered under her breath, "That's a future problem."
A very loud, very persistent future problem.
But not right now.
Right now, she wanted peace. Silence. Hot water. Possibly rebirth into someone whose day hadn't involved being emotionally adopted by vampires with unlimited credit cards.
She turned and headed upstairs, steps light but quick, and slipped into the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind her, and she locked it without shame—just in case Bella decided now was the perfect time for interrogation.
The shower came on with a familiar rush, steam filling the room almost immediately.
Amara stepped under the spray and sighed audibly as hot water poured over her shoulders, down her back, soaking into muscles she hadn't realized were tense until that exact moment. The warmth wrapped around her like a blanket, heavy and comforting, washing away the day in slow layers.
Store lights.
Crowded aisles.
Alice's excited voice echoing in her head.
Rosalie's sharp looks that somehow always softened when Amara met her eyes.
The strange weight of being seen all day.
She tilted her head back and let the water hit her hair, fingers massaging shampoo into her scalp, movements unhurried. There was no rush here. No one pulling her anywhere. No one deciding what she "needed" next.
Just warmth. Steam. The quiet hum of water against tile.
By the time she turned the shower off, the mirror was completely fogged over, the room wrapped in gentle heat. Her skin glowed pink from the warmth, fingers wrinkled slightly as she reached for a towel.
She slipped into soft, oversized pajamas—nothing pretty, nothing impressive. Just comfort. Fabric that felt like home.
Standing in front of the mirror, towel wrapped around her hair, she began drying it slowly, absentmindedly watching her reflection emerge as the steam thinned.
And without trying to, her thoughts drifted.
Alice.
Jasper.
Rosalie.
Her lips curved into a small, almost disbelieving smile.
She really hadn't expected them to be… nice.
Not just polite. Not just tolerant.
Nice.
Welcoming, even. Protective in a quiet, unspoken way. Jasper reminding them to feed her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Alice looping her arm through Amara's like they'd known each other for years.
Rosalie—sharp, guarded Rosalie—standing between Amara and the world without ever saying why.
Especially Rosalie.
The same Rosalie who bristled around Bella.
Who kept secrets locked behind steel walls.
Who didn't trust easily.
And yet with Amara…
It was different.
Amara tilted her head, towel slipping a little as she stared at her reflection.
That must be the effect of the reward Rob gave me… right?
The invisible pull. The quiet nudge that made people soften, open, like her.
It had to be that.
Still, the thought made her chest feel odd. Not heavy. Not tight.
Just… Odd.
She pressed her lips together, smiling faintly at herself.
"Get it together," she murmured. "You're tired. That's all."
Outside, the night settled deeper around the house. Inside, wrapped in warmth and steam and soft cotton, Amara felt—just for a moment—safe.
She was still drifting in that warm, half-drowsy headspace when—
"AMARA! We're back!"
Bella's voice echoed up the stairs like a warning siren.
Amara physically flinched.
Her shoulders jerked, her towel nearly slipped, and she stared at the bathroom door like it had personally betrayed her.
"…Right," she muttered. "Present problem."
She tied her hair into a loose, lazy knot—nothing fancy, just survival-ready—took one deep, steadying breath, and mentally prepared herself for combat.
Downstairs, the sounds confirmed her fears: footsteps, plastic bags rustling, the unmistakable thud of food being dropped onto the table.
She descended the stairs slowly, like someone approaching their own execution.
Charlie was near the kitchen, jacket already off, keys tossed onto the counter with his usual careless accuracy. Bella was at the dining table, unpacking food with… intention.
Each item landed a little harder than necessary.
Burgers.
Fries.
Milkshake.
And then—
The salad.
Amara stopped dead at the bottom of the stairs.
The salad sat there. Bright. Green.
Judgmental.
Bella looked up when she noticed Amara and paused for half a second—just long enough for Amara to feel it.
Charlie smiled first, easy and familiar. "Hey, kiddo. You good today?"
Amara immediately returned the smile. "Yeah, Charlie. I'm good."
He nodded approvingly. "Long day?"
Amara let out a short laugh. "You have no idea."
Bella said nothing.
She simply slid the salad closer to Amara's seat.
Very deliberately.
Amara stared at it.
Then at Bella.
Then at Charlie.
Then back at the salad.
Her face twisted like she'd just been personally insulted.
"…Why does it look like it's judging me?"
Charlie snorted before he could stop himself. "Bella bought that for you."
Bella crossed her arms. "She needs healthy food."
Charlie raised an eyebrow, slow and unimpressed. "So do you."
"So do you," Bella shot back instantly.
Amara and Charlie locked eyes.
A long look.
A shared understanding passed between them.
Absolutely not.
Charlie cleared his throat and gestured at the food. "Anyway. Eat up. I'm heading to bed.
Early shift tomorrow."
"Goodnight, Charlie," Amara said sweetly.
"Night," Bella echoed, still glaring at the salad like it was a personal victory.
Charlie disappeared upstairs, footsteps fading, leaving the two of them alone.
The air shifted.
Immediately.
Amara felt it like pressure change before a storm.
She sat down calmly and picked up her burger.
Very calmly.
Very deliberately.
She took a bite.
It was glorious.
Juicy. Warm. Comforting.
She took another bite. Then a sip of milkshake. Then a fry.
Bella didn't sit.
Bella stood there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Amara did not look up.
Please, she thought, chewing slowly. Just let me eat in peace. Just once. I survived shopping. I deserve this.
Bella shifted her weight.
Cleared her throat.
Amara took an extra-long sip of her milkshake.
Bella folded her arms tighter.
Amara focused intensely on chewing, as if the burger required her full spiritual attention.
Time stretched.
Minutes passed. Or seconds. It felt like the universe itself was holding its breath.
Finally, Amara finished. She wiped her hands carefully, placed them on the table, and raised both palms in surrender.
"Okay," she said quickly. "Before you start—it's not me."
Bella blinked. "What?"
"Rosalie and Alice dragged me," Amara said, words tumbling out now. "Physically.
Emotionally. Spiritually. I did not consent. I was a victim."
Bella narrowed her eyes. "You still left."
"I told you not to talk to Edward about—" Amara stopped herself mid-sentence and waved her hand vaguely. "You know. Stuff. You didn't listen."
Bella opened her mouth. Closed it. "We were just talking."
Amara squinted hard. "Yeah. Sure. Talking. Fooling who, exactly?"
Bella flushed. "Nothing happened."
"Mmhmm," Amara hummed skeptically.
Bella's frustration finally bubbled over. "This morning you were acting like you'd protect me from everything. And then you just—left."
Amara's shoulders slumped. "I didn't leave you. I was kidnapped."
"That's not helping," Bella muttered.
"And what were you doing taking so long anyway?" Amara added. "It's not like you were discussing homework. Eww."
Bella stared at her. "…Eww?"
"Yes. Eww."
Bella glared—then stopped.
Her glare cracked.
"…You're annoying," she said, but the edge was gone.
"And you're dramatic," Amara replied easily. "We all have flaws."
Bella hesitated. Her voice dropped. "I just… don't like being left behind."
There it was.
Not anger.
Not jealousy.
Just fear.
Amara's expression softened instantly. She stood, walked over, and bumped her shoulder gently into Bella's.
"You won't lose me, dumb dumb."
Bella looked up. "Promise?"
Amara smiled, warm and sure. "Promise."
They sat down on the couch together, shoulder to shoulder.
The house settled again—quiet, familiar, safe.
For once, Bella relaxed.
"I like this," Bella murmured. "When it's calm."
"Yeah," Amara agreed. "Me too."
She leaned back into the cushions, content, full, and just a little tired. Her eyes drifted half-closed as the day finally began to fade from her bones.
Somewhere deep inside, she thought—
Please don't let tomorrow be chaos.
Then she remembered her life.
And sighed.
"…Yeah," she muttered. "That's definitely not happening."
There was a brief, peaceful silence.
Then—
Bella turned her head slowly.
"You still have to eat the salad."
Amara stiffened.
She turned to Bella in horror. "…No."
Bella smiled.
Not sweetly.
Not kindly.
"It's your punishment."
Amara stared at her like she'd just been betrayed on a spiritual level. "For what?"
"For abandoning me," Bella said calmly. "And for making fun of me. And for existing."
Amara groaned and slumped sideways on the couch. "This is cruelty. This is abuse. I'm calling the authorities."
Bella stood up, picked up the salad bowl, and held it out.
"Eat."
Amara peeked at it with one eye. "…Can I at least pretend it's decorative?"
"No."
"…I hate it here."
Bella laughed.
And despite herself, so did Amara.
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