I glanced at my watch.
1:34 PM.
I was in my car, heading home. Alice and I had stayed in that clearing until the last possible moment, talking, laughing, and sharing kisses. The early morning's conversation had dissolved the subtle, invisible boundaries between us. Although this shift had visibly affected Alice more than me, her previous watchfulness and lingering worry about my reactions had largely faded by the time I finally had to leave. While it was too early to say with certainty, the openness in her voice afterwards solidified that conclusion in my mind. And I was glad for it, I wanted her to feel as comfortable with me as possible.
It also indicated that my confession had meant a great deal to her.
The confession. Right.
Given the timeframe, some would immediately question how I could claim to love her so quickly. Many would simply assume the imprint had overridden my free will.
The imprint had undeniably affected me; to claim otherwise would have been dishonest. There were times I genuinely wondered if it had subtly altered my perception, if my feelings for Alice were truly my own or merely instincts so powerfully imposed that I mistook them for genuine emotion.
Since the imprint occurred, I had spent enough time alone turning that very question over in my mind to arrive at a proper answer.
I began by acknowledging a fundamental truth: the transmigration was real. I had seen Alice before this world, or a screen version of her, and she had been entirely to my taste even before my arrival. The real Alice, moreover, was no actress or fictional character, but beautiful in ways fiction could never properly capture. That pre-existing attraction was undeniable.
Next, I thought about the nature of human love itself. The common argument against imprinting was that it removed freedom, that one should be able to choose who they fell in love with. But the honest reality was that humans didn't truly choose love either. They could decide who to pursue, who to spend time with, or even maybe who to like, but the act of falling in love was never a decision. It simply happened, driven purely by biochemistry.
However, two significant differences emerged. Human love typically developed from even tiny but genuine affection, but wasn't permanent. Imprinting, like the bond between vampire mates, was.
After weighing these thoughts, I found I couldn't bring myself to believe my feelings for Alice were artificial. The imprint had amplified and intensified the feelings I already felt or would have felt, but it hadn't created them from nothing.
By the time I pulled into the driveway, I had long since made my peace with it.
…
A grey company van was parked near the garage, and two men in their thirties stepped out just as I pulled up beside it. After exchanging greetings, they opened the rear of the van and carefully rolled a bike down a ramp.
It was a KTM 450 EXC in its standard orange-and-black colouring. I wasn't enough of a motorcycle enthusiast to care much about customisation, so I had left it stock, though I had paid extra for all the practical necessities: tools, spare parts, fuel canisters, oil, and a helmet. Over the past several months, I had read a few car mechanics books out of simple curiosity and had done some minor repair work on my cars, which had given me a decent foundation. Combined with my mastery, by the time the two men finished their brief maintenance walkthrough, I was fairly certain I could dismantle and rebuild the entire motorcycle if necessary. Sometimes, even I found my own learning speed unsettling.
After they left, I changed and ate before heading back to the garage. I filled the tank, checked the oil, and started the engine. Then I messaged Peter, who sent me the location, about thirty miles northwest of Forks. I arrived in just under twenty minutes.
The terrain was well-suited for dirt biking: a wide, uneven hillside that riders were already using as a natural ramp, launching themselves into the air off the crest before looping back around. I spotted Peter near the bottom beside a red bike and rode toward him.
He looked up and raised a hand. "Hey, you made it!"
I stopped, killed the engine, pulled off my helmet, and dismounted the bike. "What's up."
"Good timing. We're moving to the next trail in a couple of minutes." Then his eyes drifted past me to my bike, and his expression changed completely.
"No way," he said slowly. "Is that the new EXC? The 450?"
He stepped around me without another word and crouched beside my bike, running his eyes along the frame like examining something sacred. "It's got proper enduro forks on, this setup is ridiculous. The engine has twenty more horsepower than mine. Twenty. Do you even know what that means?" He shook his head. "This is an actual machine, man."
Then he looked back at me. "How much did this beauty cost you?"
"About ten grand plus delivery."
He placed a hand flat over his heart, exhaled slowly, and turned back to the bike. "Don't worry, baby," he said quietly, with complete sincerity, "one day you and I will find our way to each other." He reached out and patted the side of it gently.
I watched him for a moment before walking over, grabbing the back of his jacket, lifting him and moving him away from the bike. "I tolerate a lot of fetishes," I said, setting him down a meter further away, "but I draw the line somewhere around here."
He spun around, surprised. "What the hell - how are you so strong?"
After a moment of staring at me, he seemed to regain his focus. "And that's not a fetish; that's called having taste. It's a relationship built on respect and admiration-"
I was already back on the bike as he continued. He was still going as I pulled my helmet on, something about culture, about appreciation, and I started the engine. The roar cut him off cleanly. I leaned slightly toward him. "You sure you have time for this?" Then I rode off after the group, who were already moving.
There was a brief silence behind me, followed by the sound of scrambling, his engine turning over, and his voice carrying across the distance: "Hey—WAIT, wait for me!"
…
I understood why people enjoyed dirt biking, but that was about as far as my appreciation went. There was no real adrenaline in it for me - everything moved too slowly. My cruising speed in the air was around 0.6 Mach in human form and considerably faster in my other forms. In comparison, a dirt bike on a hillside felt like a gentle walk. But racing Peter was enjoyable in its own way, and the hours passed easily.
By the time the light began to fade and the group started to disperse, Peter and I pulled off to the side. He dropped onto a fallen trunk and launched into an animated retelling of the ride, laughing and gesturing at things that were no longer visible.
"Did you see how I overtook that guy on the last descent? Did you see his face?"
"No, I didn't have time to look behind."
Peter groaned. "Exactly! That is so unfair! You showed up riding a missile and now act like skill had something to do with it."
"Can't deny the bike is fast," I said, smiling as I shifted off the seat to sit on the log beside him. "Though I'd say it sounds like someone is coping with defeat."
"It wasn't defeat," he replied firmly. Then, after a pause, "Okay, it was. But morally, I won!"
I laughed quietly.
A brief silence settled before Peter glanced sideways at me.
"You look suspiciously in a good mood today."
I said nothing.
He narrowed his eyes.
"Wait." His expression shifted suddenly. "Yesterday was the whole meeting-the-family thing, right? With Alice?" He slapped his forehead. "
I smiled but remained silent.
Peter leaned forward, wearing an unbearable expression.
"Ohhh. I get it now."
I sighed, already anticipating where this was headed.
"Spent some quality time, I see," he said, grinning foolishly.
"Not in the way you're imagining."
His smile faltered.
"...Seriously?"
"Seriously."
He looked genuinely disappointed.
"Then why do you look like you achieved inner peace?"
I glanced at the treeline for a moment. "The right woman can do that," I said. "Even for someone like me." I turned back to him. "You'll understand one day. Give it maybe...twenty years."
He stared at me. "Twenty years." He pressed a hand to his chest. "Your faith in me is genuinely moving."
It made me laugh lightly, and he joined in.
After a moment, the conversation shifted in another direction.
"So," I asked, "has your family always lived in Forks?"
"Yeah," Peter replied. "I mean, who would willingly move to this depressing sh-" He stopped mid-sentence and looked at me. "...Right."
I smirked slightly.
"Actually," he continued, "my dad wasn't from here. He grew up in Raymond, a bit south by the coast."
"Was?" I asked.
His expression dimmed. "Yeah. Car accident. Took them both." He glanced at me. "So now I live with my uncle's family."
Then he grinned. "Guess we have something in common."
I gave a quiet snort. "Guess we do."
Before we could say more, his phone buzzed.
The moment he checked the screen, his entire demeanour changed.
"Yes, ... yes, I'm coming home... no, I didn't forget... yes, I know... yes, I'll do it..."
Listening with my enhanced hearing, I thought that while Peter usually reminded me of Stiles, right now he bore a striking resemblance to Harry.
After hanging up, he sighed, stood, and grabbed his helmet. "I should go before my aunt gets me disowned."
I looked at him. "Is she always like that?"
He paused for a moment. "...Not always," he admitted. "Sometimes she's scarier."
I raised my eyebrows.
He put on his helmet. "Anyway. See you Monday."
"See you," I replied.
He mounted his bike and rode off, the engine fading into the quiet of the trees. I sat on the log for another minute, not focusing on anything in particular.
Then I smiled to myself, stood up, and walked back to the bike.
"Let's not keep my pixie waiting."