Archive of Our Own ^beta

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IN THE SANCTUM OF HER OWN CONSCIOUSNESS, DEATH LOOMED AS AN UNCHARTED TERRITORY. Death was a complexity, an enigma shrouded as a veil in the obscurity of time. The departure of one's essence into an ethereal realm, which was said to unveil the cryptic truths of life's essence in its entirety.

Ironically, she had never truly contemplated the finality of death. Heaven or hell. Clarabelle Swan, the daring soul who waltzed on a life's precipice and flirted danger with a recklessness, that could accost her life in the blink of an eye.

Every spontaneous leap off the towering bluffs, had been an orchestrated act against mortality as if she'd locked eyes with death itself. A rebellious fire in her soul and her arms outstretched to defy another second of a human's fragility before the plummet.

  This was different.

For the first time, in those fleeting moments of free fall as gravity relinquished hold, the pulse of adrenaline and the cacophony of thought silenced amidst the rush of the night air—a haunted uncertainty pervaded. Hurtling towards the Pacific saltwaters in the dead of winter, a mere puppet in the hands of fate, she braced for the swift undertow her body would be pulled under.

  Give her hell, Bella.

  Her dear younger sister Bella would be vengeful, her bitter fury a retaliating tempest against the fiery wench that dare sink her claws into her own flesh and blood. The sharp reality that this would shatter her siblings porcelain heart Clarabelle had long fought to preserve, stung. Just as prevalent as a familiar haunted face once the object of her disdain, seared like a bitter frostbite.

  A single drop of her blood would undoubtedly unleash an unholy fury upon their backwater town, leaving the smoldering path behind a smoking husk. They would scour the very four corners of the earth as retribution, giving in to the darkest depths of themselves— until the sadistic fiend was unearthed that had long stayed to the shadows.

  Sorry, it had to end this way, Major. It was her final, genuine thought stripped of its usual veneer of sarcasm as she closed her eyes—just as her body hit the icy waters like a slab of concrete.

  Death truly had a sick sense of humor.

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"Y ou said it's important to protect me right?

So either go with me or I'll find another ride to Seattle. What do you say, Major? "

That's why I need you, Hale. I need you to protect me.

You can either help me or get out of my way, but I'm not staying here doing nothing ."

-Elle Swan

"ʙᴇʟʟᴀ, ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ, ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴇᴀʀʟʏ.

ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ, ɪ'ᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ

ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɢɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴍᴀᴊᴏʀ 'ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ-ꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ ꜱᴄʜᴏᴏʟ ɢɪʀʟ' ᴠɪʙᴇꜱ."

"ᴅᴀᴍɴ ᴀᴍ ɪ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏʙᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ?"

"ɪ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, ʙ, ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴏʀʀʏ."

"ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴇʟʟᴇ, ɪ ʙʟᴀᴍᴇ ᴍʏ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴅᴡᴀʀᴅɪᴀɴ ɴᴀᴍᴇ.
ɴᴏ ᴏꜰꜰᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴄᴜʟʟᴇɴ."

"

"ᴀʀᴇɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ Qᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀꜱꜱᴀꜰʀᴀꜱ
ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ.”

"In your eyes, I see the dawn of my existence.

Your touch whispers of the humanity I thought was lost."
-Jasper Hale

"ʙᴇʟʟᴀ, ɪᴛ ʟᴏᴏᴋꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴇᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ.
ʜᴏᴡ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ?"

"Bella soothes with her quiet strength,

but Elle ignites a fire within you; 

challenges you to match her passion and resolve, Jazz."

-Edward Cullen

" Life doesn't wait for you to be ready, Ells.

But that doesn't mean you should carry its weight alone.

Remember to take care of yourself."
-Charlie Swa n

"I've seen the gravitational pull, Jazz.

This bond is rare; a complex tapestry that defies meaning."
-Alice Cullen

"What tames the wildness of Elle ? An untamed spirit  grounded  in fierce  loyalty ."

-Jacob Black

"That is why you are an Eagle. 

You soar, wild and untamed, yet you guard those you love

with a fierce, unwavering vigilance."
-Billy Black

" There she is the legendary spitfire herself!"
-The Quileute Brothers

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"...𝙈𝙖𝙟𝙤𝙧?"

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“His love is a timeless melody, that's made forever worth the journey. 

Don't allow fear to come between the depth of 

connection you two share."
-Esmé Cullen

"ʀᴏꜱᴀ, ʟᴏᴏᴋꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴇᴛɪᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ
ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜰɪʀᴇᴄʀᴀᴄᴋᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ."
-Emmett Cullen

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  "Bella, as your sister I love you, dearly. But if I were a friend, I'd tell you to turn the hell around because you look the part of an obsessed, love-struck schoolgirl."

  Bella's dark, doe-like eyes narrowed with the atypical glare of, I hate it when you're right. Having snatched the last celery stick from the salad bar, she bit the corner off with an audible crunch.

  The cafeteria buzzed with a hive of overlapping conversations, the distinct clatter of utensils resonating in the utilitarian room within its nondescript walls.

  Elle could tell how carefully Bella averted her eyes from a certain table. She couldn't help but snort, Real subtle, sis.

  Bella, ever the meek and awkward type, had habitual tics correlated to bouts of anxiety and self-doubt. Born a year and nine minutes apart, the fraternal twins were complete opposites in personality and appearance. Bella, with her rich mahogany hair and skin pale as moonstone, had a natural yet understated beauty that fit her simplistic style. Often it had drawn the atypical jockey types like the lead quarterback from their last school, Dylan Crawson, and the newest edition: Mike Newton. Elle had been left to deal with the jealousy garnered from posh girls destined for sororities, now embodied by Jessica Stanley and Lauren Mallory.

  The fiery redhead was considered the lesser attractive of the two. Often she was dressed in worn band tees, a studded belt looped through her skinnies with thin, winged eyeliner that emphasized hazel-green eyes. Her hair was closer to the hue of burnt sienna with a hereditary rosacea that left a flush to her freckled skin—thank you Great Gran Ethel Higginbotham.

Unlike Bella, Elle was known for her cheekiness. Her sister, the mediator, had saved her skin a time too many upon such occasions. Outspoken and quite bold, she'd given their mother a few stray grays for her rebellious nature over the years.

Even hundreds of miles apart, her father had often been on the receiving end of various phone calls involving her escapades, punctuated by her mother's usual, "Do you know what your eldest daughter did today?"

  Elle believed a portion of it stemmed from their rocky upbringing. Forced to be adults before they even hit puberty, they'd become less like daughters and more as confidantes to their mother's personal turmoil. Renee would, inevitably, hit the same mutinous block she had left their father Charlie for—she a free spirit with a Peter Pan syndrome. Bella would encourage her to date again after the countless Friday movie nights of campy chick flicks—as an attempt to fill the void in her life—that left their mother puffy-eyed, surrounded by balled-up tissues. Shortly after, she met young minor league baseball player Phil Dwyer on a blind date and fell head over heels.

  Yet again, their father was left to deal with the fallout between Elle and their mother, Renee Dwyer. Years of serving as Chief of Police had thickened their father's skin while he dealt with criminals far more severe than a screaming match left between his eldest daughter and ex-wife.

Chief Swan had handled it all in stride. And he had been there when she and Bella's lives were uprooted once more.

Forced to choose between a life on the road with their mother and her fresh-faced beau, or finishing their last years of high school with their father, Elle had chosen the latter. Where the sun couldn't scorch their skin to leather in the upper Olympic Peninsula of Washington.

  Under the cover of verdant foliage, beneath congested skies in a constant downpour—lay the backwater town of Forks.

"And that, Bells," Elle gestured with a plastic spork, "is what Angela was referring to regarding the article on eating disorders. Who bites the corner of a celery stick like that? Only you."

"Not that we'd mind that picture in the yearbook," Jessica muttered under her breath, twisting a curly brunette lock with an arched brow. The new heart-shaped Tiffany necklace she'd received from daddy dearest, glimmered in the pale, shallow light streaming from the large bay windows.

Bella ignored her, taking a delicate sip from a carton of milk in answer.

Elle felt the tips of her ears heat. From out of the corner of her eye she noticed Mike Newton's expression instantly flatten, dark blue eyes leaden with caution.

"Hey, Jessica," She speared a green bean a little more aggressively off her speckled tray, head tilted back with a look of feigned confusion, "who was nominated as the class shrew last year? I'm curious."

"Ooof Elllle," Tyler laughed softly, his bright smile illuminating his dark complexion, showcasing his easy going nature. He nudged Mike with his elbow in response

Underneath the table Bella gripped Elle's arm, knowing how close Elle had come to saying a less than classy term. Given their father was the town's Chief, Elle wanted to avoid encounters with their new principal her last year. Her sister had always been the soothing balm for the itch that festered whenever her temper flared. Only Elle was allowed to give her sister flack, because they were siblings.

Lauren Mallory a malicious carbon copy of mean girl, was still nursing singed strands after messing with Bella's test tube in Chemistry. In a small school such as Forks High, it was the one class where both juniors and seniors were combined.

Unfortunately the incident was still a hot topic. Lauren had taken a leave of absence leaving Chief Swan to talk down the Mallory's from suing.

Eric choked on his salad, Angela reaching over to pat his back with a frown.

Jessica's skin flushed a vivid hue similar to her crushed velvet tracksuit, taken aback. After two weeks of sitting with this particular group, Jessica was already on Elle's shit list, with Lauren a close second.

Rich, booming laughter suddenly erupted from the adjacent table. Elle recognized the burly man with curly hair, a boyish grin softening his rugged features. With skin pale as bone and a muscular frame that gave off a statuesque appearance, was Emmett Cullen. He was known as the strongest and most athletic in her gym class. Envied for his skillset as well as his girlfriend that sat next to him, Rosalie Hale—whose beauty was otherworldly. With icy-blonde tresses that framed sculpted features and piercing eyes, she looked fresh off the pages of a fashion magazine.

Each of the Cullens were ridiculously striking, cut from a different cloth while adopted by the town's wealthiest doctor. The moment their existence had been brought to her attention, their mannerisms and presence had been quite surreal.

The slender one had enamored her sister from day one—Edward, Edward Cullen. He had a refinement to him with his tousled bronze hair and ochre eyes that appeared perpetually lost in thought most days. She'd pegged him as the brooding, philosophical thinker of the group, his eyes seeming to constantly shift with an analytical front. Then there was his sister, small and pixie-like, Alice Cullen. Petite with spiky black hair, she had an animated spark both in her mannerisms and speech. She always appeared to be chatting with the golden-blonde male situated on the end Elle considered the true enigma of the group.

  Jasper Hale.

  His sharp, angular features and air of quiet intensity set him apart from half the student body in the cafeteria. There was a way in which he kept his posture, never truly seated securely in his seat. One leg was subtly turned inwards as if he were prepared to bolt, pale fingers clamped onto the back of the plastic chair in a death grip. Occasionally his eyes would waver to Elle with a pained crinkle to his brow, as if her mere glance irritated him.

"Well, Bella, looks like you've become the center of Edward's attention." Jessica snorted softly with a crooked smile, the jealousy prominent in her voice. She cleared her throat as if that would temper her blatant display, adjusting her necklace.

Elle cocked a brow giving a dead panned stare.

Bella, ever inquisitive, attempted to shift the conversation to more neutral territory, blinking fast. "Maybe he just doesn't like new people. It's a small school. Some people don't like change."

"Or maybe he's just socially awkward," Elle sarcastically quipped with a roll of her eyes. "You don't give a guy like that the time of day, B. Especially one who clearly has a stick up his—"

"Damn, am I that obvious?" Bella interjected, embarrassed. She ducked down, her long, thick hair pulled back in a headband partially obscuring her flushed face. It was an instinctual reaction ingrained since they were kids.

Elle's demeanor softened, placing a hand comfortingly on her back. "I still love you, B, don't worry."

"Okay spunky loved the chit chat, but now I'm in need of the library to finish this paper on Anthropology." Eric flipped back his feathery jet-black hair, his almond-shaped eyes flashing her a wink as he picked up the plastic tray.

  Angela offered a gentle smile as she retrieved her glasses from the table that added to her studious appearance. "Eric, Elle just has a way of making an impression." She shot Elle a reassuring smile before volunteering to accompany Eric, just as Mike and Tyler Crowley excused themselves to go up for seconds.

"Yeah, a permanent one," Jessica muttered, examining her cuticles.

Elle shot her a glare. "Since you know all about the Cullens down to their basic genes, what's his story?" Being discreet she gestured with a thumb towards the pale blonde who'd shifted in his seat, Alice having placed a manicured hand on his arm. "The quiet, brooding type always has a story. Isn't that your forté, Jessica?"

Jessica scoffed, "Aren't you ever curious." Her pert nose crinkled in distaste. "Not much, for your fyi. Just that miss model over there, is his sister and they're weirdly coupled up—aside him and the small girl. As you can clearly see for yourself, they're all quite... different."

"That's an understatement," Elle muttered, finishing the last bite of her chicken salad. She made sure to give herself a few seconds before casually glancing up—immediately locking eyes with the petite one.

Alice smiled, small, the subtle gesture carving out soft elven features beneath the fluorescents.

"Elle," Bella said with an exasperated sigh, "tell me you didn't start something in English Lit with Edward's brother."

"Nope," Elle said with an emphasized 'puh'. "Didn't you know, B? I'm just his favorite classmate."

Bella shook her head. "Remember what mom said about catching more flies with honey than vinegar."

Elle leveled Bella with a disgusted look, the corner of her lip arched. "And whoever came up with that term clearly had far too much time on their hands."

Nevertheless, Elle vowed to keep her wits about her for the remainder of the school day and her sarcasm, sharp.

•──✦──•

A deep ache lingered in the marrow of her bones as she navigated the bustling hallways toward English Lit. Emmett Cullen had annihilated her team she'd been divided into by Coach Clapp. His powerful frame had moved with a grace that belied his gargantuan size, barely accommodated by the bright yellow jersey he'd donned for dodgeball. By the games end, his precise throws left their team with a barren gymnasium.

Her frustration wavered as she stepped into her last class of the day, English Literature. It was a stark contrast to the chaotic atmosphere of the gym. The air was faintly scented from a lavender diffuser that Mr. Berty insisted created a tranquil environment, with an undertone of aged leather from the spines of shelved books. Posters of famous literary quotes adorned the walls, the tables arranged in a square formation, with Mr. Berty's desk centered in the room to foster intimacy and intellectual conversation.

He stood at the helm, a tall gangly man with thinning hair and spectacles that slipped often down his bulbous nose. He embodied the look of an elder scholar with a tweed jacket and stitched patches on his elbows. A piece of chalk was threaded between his fingers as he lectured.

The monotonous nasally drone faded into the recesses of her mind as she doodled on the corner of her notebook. The gelled ink of her pen left the pad of her black chipped nails already stained.

Scrawled across the black chalkboard in their teacher's chicken scratch, was the topic of discussion: Wuthering Heights.

Elle despised the so-called timeless novel.

Once, she'd attempted to read the book upon the insistence of her sisters fanaticism for the classics, particularly her collection of Emily Brontës' infamous works. However, Elle had found Catherine and Heathcliff's relationship quite the droll and toxic, preferring the nuanced and complex dynamics of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice. Jane Austen had a way of unraveling layers that Elle found as a profound complexity—their initial misunderstandings, the gradual development of respect and affection, along with societal constructs that only made their relationship evolve through the trials of personal growth.

As she just sketched out a caricature of Mr. Berty with a Shakespearean quote, she heard the unmistakable use of her full name echo from across the room.

"Clarabelle Swan."

  She winced. No one used her full name. It felt just as alien when someone called her sister Bella, Isabella. She preferred just Elle for a reason.

"... You'll be paired with... Jasper Hale."

  Peachy.

Internally, Elle groaned. There was one downside to having this teacher. He was reputable for creating uncomfortable pairings as a way of "expanding one's mind in the art of literature", as he often quoted. Chewing the inside of her gum, she slowly raised her head—only to be met with said opponent. Piercing, dark eyes bore into hers for a split second from clear across the room with unmistakable disdain.

"This should be interesting," she grumbled.  The pin back buttons made a distinct clink as she reluctantly slung the corduroy book bag over her shoulder, her notebook tightly pressed against her chest as she crossed the room.

  She dropped into the plastic chair adjacent.

His chin was tilted away from her, his eyes fixated on the worn surface of his desk. She noticed his chair had been angled a fraction, creating a physical barrier that spoke volumes.

It was a subtle move, a rapt action he'd done in the allotted time.

Mr. Berty continued listing off names, oblivious to the tension evident in the expressions of his various students. Elle grit her teeth before clearing her throat, flipping open the composition notebook to a fresh page. She dug the toe of her black beat up Chucks against the linoleum flooring with a subtle rap of her pen against the desk.

"So," she began slowly gnawing the inside of her gum to keep her grounded, "we're to compare and contrast the first few chapters. Thoughts?"

His sharp, angular features were set in a stern expression, his jaw clenched tightly. The pencil clenched in his hand looked about to snap any moment, a reflection of his inner turmoil emphasized by the gravity of his demeanor which was evident by his clipped tone. "It's straightforward. Catherine and Heathcliff's relationship: toxic. 'Both selfish... destructive."

  The tenor in which he used was rather deep and smoother than she'd imagined. A note of command in his voice without being too audible, was measured by that same, quiet intensity.

  Pale light filtered through the steel blinds, highlighting the natural golden hue in the haphazard style of his hair. She'd seen him often running a hand through the locks like an agitated tic.

Elle couldn't help but tuck a few loose strands undone from her thick braid. The wool green flannel she'd often snagged from Charlie's closet left an abrupt itch beneath her skin. An irritation she attempted to curb by adjusting her collar, a subtle bit of snark slipping into her voice, "Their relationship is incredibly dull. There's no real growth just obsession and revenge. Every cliché known to man. Least Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice had layers."

Those eyes, heavily veiled beneath thick amber lashes, snapped up to lock with hers, his brow furrowed even as he turned his head away a fraction. "Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy?" There was a rigidness to his words; an underlying hint of strain. "Their... relationship fairs more in interest?"

Elle found herself subconsciously leaning forward, a hand cupped around her elbow, "Of course, there's progress as the story unfolds, highlighting his true character. Elizabeth was merely prejudiced because of initial impressions. A veiled bias they eventually see through." She scoffed angling her chin. "It's far more compelling than the monotonous Heathcliff and Catherine."

"That's quite..." He paused. A visible vein pulsated in his temple while mulling over her words with a hinged jaw. "A perspective... most find Darcy too arrogant... pompous."

"Arrogant yes," she nodded, "and pompous, sure, but he evolves. That's the beauty whereas Heathcliff never grows he's just... stagnant."

His eyes sparked like flint and narrowed, considering. "A certain appeal to a character's growth. More... human."

They continued their discussion however short and precise Jasper's answers were, Elle finding they were at least engaging. To be able to intellectually spar with someone was a refreshing change. The voices of other students gradually faded into the background as she became locked in a precarious battle with the enigma of the man before her.

"Heathcliff and Catherine?" His brow slowly rose in challenge, his lips pursed tightly. "What does their relationship represent?"

Elle frowned, chewing on her lip in contemplation. "Well definitely obsession, possession, and destruction. A dependency that brings out a cycle of misery and revenge.  Tragic, but unappealing in its entirety."

"Your passion for this topic is quite evident," he replied tersely, his bone-white knuckles intertwined a visible clenched fist whilst maintaining a veneer of civility.

She suspected for the sake of class.

Nevertheless Elle chose to shrug it off, her focus shifting to the notes she'd written. It was best to maintain a nonchalant facade given the arctic shift in his demeanor. Especially when her eyes sought his once more.

There was a distinct steeliness to his gaze then that made her briefly second guess herself. Yet she refused to be deterred and took a shallow breath. "Literature should reflect the complexity of human relationships." She swallowed hard, thick saliva coating the back of her throat she cleared swiftly. "Jane Austen does this quite intricately with Darcy and Elizabeth."

Jasper remained silent on the subject, his eyes falling upon her stained fingers and chipped nail polish, before his gaze assessed the thick leather bracelet on her wrist.

  It made her want to curl in her fingers, being examined under a microscope.

  The shadows dusted under his eyes looked more bruised. She briefly wondered if he struggled with insomnia before her eyes fell to the straining of muscle under the cobalt long sleeve shirt. It had become taut as a steel coiled spring. A fleeting flash of pain crossed those smoldering eyes then, adding to the palpable tension between them.

  What is his deal?

  Yet just when her lips parted to ask if he was alright—

The bell rang.

With a curt nod he nearly startled her when he abruptly shot out of his seat, turning sharply on his heel and walking straight out of the room. Elle watched him go, a sharp ache radiating from the battering muscle in her chest. Her breath suddenly came out in a rush as if she'd been holding unto her last pocket of oxygen those final minutes of class. She rubbed at the tender spot nestled beneath her sternum with a frustrated huff.

   He'd never even opened his notebook.

"You, sir, are an enigma," she muttered while gathering herself. Indeed, Jasper Hale appeared to be quite the mystery, far more complex and intriguing than Elle Swan had imagined. The magnetism he exuded frustratingly gripped her in a way she couldn't shake.

  Little did she know, one day soon, the very fabric of her reality would be irrevocably altered.

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The moment Elle Swan stepped out of English Lit, she swore she could still taste the metallic tang of tension on her tongue, her insides feeling scraped raw with a rusted spoon. She could feel the tips of her ears still heated from the literary hellscape. Jasper Hale's expression was still burned into her mind, flinty and brittle.

If scowl had a posture, it would be him.

The fluorescent hallway lights buzzed dimly overhead with a distinct crackle from a dying bulb. Her breath fogged against the glass as she shoved out the front doors of Forks High. A crisp wind instantly barreled through, tangling into the loose red tresses from her braid. The air had thickened with the fresh scent of petrichor as the first cold drops of rain fell.

She exhaled a long, slow breath, gnawing on the flesh of her bottom lip, her corduroy bookbag pressed close to her chest. The parking lot was slickened with wet asphalt the scattered puddles reflecting the bruised skies, instantly soaking her socks through.

Forks was very unlike the weather in Phoenix.

A raucous crack of thunder rumbled in the distance. Rivulets of water trailed down her face, weighing down her dads flannel as she stalked across the lot towards a battered red Chevy under the sodium lamps. Bella waited beneath the raised tailgate, chin tucked into the collar of her rain-slicked jacket, the long mahogany curls frizzed amidst the downpour. Her bowed posture foretold exasperation, the little furrow between her brows creased in worry.

"Finally," Bella took one look at her—face flushed with an air of irritation. She exhaled, breath floating before her like a spectral apparition. "I knew it," she deadpanned, arms tucked just around her ribcage. "You've either threatened to key someone's car or Mr. Berty just nominated you, for Shakespeare's haunted support group."

"Oh ye of little faith," Elle huffed with a laugh edged in sarcasm, slinging her corduroy book bag into the truck bed with a thunk. "Worse. I got partnered with Cullen's resident brooding golden boy, Jasper Hale. You know, the blond one who looks like he hasn't slept since the Emancipation Proclamation?"

Bella winced with a groan. "Mr. Berty's still on his expand your worldview through mutual suffering kick, isn't he?"

"He used my full name, Bells. I'm trying not to end up in the principal's office for the sake of our father's sanity."

"Forks help us when that day comes. You, okay?"

Elle raised both arms in mock despair as a droplet trickled off her nose. "Nope. Suffering post literary trauma. Starting to see a disturbing pattern between these brothers."

A low rumble echoed across the lot as Jacob Black roared into the parking lot, the engine of his black bike cutting through the downpour. Rain slicked his hair, a wild, dark mane that hung past his jaw and glistened. He killed the engine almost as soon as he rolled to a stop, swinging one booted leg to the ground, water beading off his leather jacket. He looked every inch the troublemaker from their past, his jaw set with a crooked smirk, eyes obsidian beneath rain-soaked lashes.

A grin cracked through her sarcasm. "Jake, right on cue!"

Jacob and Elle had a history built on long, winding summers—years of seeing each other when school let out, while Bella stayed behind with their mom in Arizona. Every June, Elle showed up in Forks with sunburnt freckled shoulders and stories of their flighty mother's antics. Jake was always there, waiting like clockwork, bonded by summer birthdays and years of muddy, rain-soaked adventures in Forks.

But no matter how wild her adventures or how much she relished her freedom, Elle always made sure to return to Bella before the summer's end. It was an unspoken promise between them. Even if they spent months apart, they'd have those last humid days—picnics by the river, shared playlists, whispered secrets under the deserts stars. Just the two of them, before school and the real world beckoned. For Bella, it was how she knew her sister would never truly leave her behind, no matter how many storms Elle chased.

For Jake and Elle, summer meant belonging.

For Bella, it meant someone always came back for her.

Bella blinked through the rain, re-tucking a strand of soaked hair behind her ear. Her lips curled in a half-smile with a touch of exasperation and part relief. "Of course, he shows up looking like the poster child for bad decisions," Yet those chestnut eyes warmed, elbowing Elle lightly. "He's gonna make half the parking lot gawk if he keeps making an entrance like that."

Elle laughed, noting the slight quivering in her sisters limbs. Bella had never done well in the cold. She particularly hated being wet, which spoke volumes of her love for remaining yet in the deluge.

Jacob wrangling his bike into the truck bed, shot Elle with an approving look. "Planning to storm chase, Swan?"

Elle shrugged with a shiver, "You know me. Who wants to live forever if you can't raise a little hell?"

"Elle, you're going to be the death of me," Bella sighed, adjusting her hood anxiously. Yet there was a smothered laugh in her words. She'd spent years covering for her older sister's wild nature and never—entirely—minding the trouble. "Let's just not get arrested today. Or electrocuted. I've had enough near-death drama with you for one week."

Elle's lips curled. "Bells, I'm performance art."

Jacob arched a brow with a small laugh, water tricking down the curve of his strong jaw. "Charlie is so going to catch you."

"I'll tell him you were emotionally blackmailed."

"He won't believe that."

"He knows you're soft for my chaos, B."

Dammit if that wasn't true. Bella had lived under the shadow of Elle's rebellious streak their whole lives. Bella should be exasperated. She was exasperated. And yet she failed to mask her fondness. "You move through the five stages of grief faster than anyone I know. And for the record, if you get electrocuted, I am not explaining this to Dad."

"Not planning to die," Elle quipped, tossing a sodden lock of hair out of her face, "just trying to feel something that isn't academic shame."

"She's in one of her moods," Bella shook her head at Jacob, unlocking the cab and sending a look skyward like she was making peace with the universe. "And you're definitely not helping, Jake."

  Jacob pressed a hand to his chest, feigning innocence, even as his dimples deepened. "Like I live to enable, Swan." He set about strapping the bungees on his motorcycle he'd gotten just a few days before. "At least let me tie it down before Elle reenacts the world's dumbest Evel Knievel impression."

  "This is the closest thing I get to therapy," she declared, sweeping back her braid over her shoulder, tugging her earbuds from her pocket with a flourish. "You're not to judge my coping mechanisms."

  The world always felt bigger around Jake—like there was room to be ridiculous. With practiced ease, she vaulted into the truck bed, shoes sliding against the slickened steel bed. Rain pooled under her thighs as she settled on the leather seat, instantly soaked through the threads of her jeans.

  Jacob's eyes glimmered, the corners lightly crinkled as he grinned up at her, tightening the last bungee cord with sure hands. For a slim build he harbored quite the strength. "I wouldn't dream of it. Just don't turn the whole show into a PSA for reckless endangerment."

  Elle gave him a thumbs up, the oversized flannel making her look half-drowned, half-invincible. "I like to think Dad's old shirts come with a built-in lightning repellent."

  Jake let out a low, amused whistle, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "You're already soaked and absolutely insane, Swan."

  Elle flashed him a grin of pure recklessness, her whole body alive with the electric thrill of the storm. "I contain multitudes."

  Bella, already settled behind the wheel, rolled down her window just a crack, "If you break your leg, I'm not signing the cast."

  "It'll be you first, B!" Elle flashed a conspiratorial grin and popped in her earbuds as lightning forked across the skies. She scrolled through the cracked orange iPod within the dampened palm of her hand. Her thumb whirled the greasy dial. Students were still scurrying to cars, jackets up, heads down. Elle caught the stare of Jessica Stanley, her expression sour as the weather.

  Elle grinned punctuated by a cheeky two-fingered salute.

  Jacob barked a laugh and finished strapping down the bike, muscles flexing beneath the bunched leather shoved up his forearms as he double-checked the cords. No half-measures when Elle was involved. "You're locked in, Red. Don't die."

  "Love you too," she called.

  Elle watched him jog to the passenger side before sifting through the rest of her playlist to one labeled: "Thunderstruck and Poorly Supervised". One hand grasped the bikes throttle as a slow grin spread across her lips. "Let's go, Bells!" she shouted, rain flattening her words. "Before the principal comes out and bans me from graduation for public lunacy!"

   In the cab, Bella's tense laughter carried while she started the engine. The Chevy coughed to life with a shudder, Jacob tracking Elle in the side mirror. She caught his gaze, stuck out her tongue, and then focused on the iPod's wheel, skimming through songs.

  "Hey, B!" she called, raising her voice over the wind and rain as Bella shifted the truck into reverse. "If you crash my funeral, make sure to tell Dad it was all for the science project, okay?"

  Bella rolled her eyes with an affection only siblings could muster. "Don't let Dad catch us, Elle. He'll ground you until college."

  "Worth it!" Elle shot back, pressing a palm to the wet roof, laughter threaded through her words.

  Lightning flashed overhead, painting the sky in a brief, spectral white just as the familiar thrum of the song she'd worn thin with summer drives and late-night escapes, kicked in. 38 Special—"Hold On Loosely"—crackled through her earbuds with the opening riff.

  "Oh, here we go, baby!" she whooped, twisting her wrist in the air and shimmying her hips, her head bobbing side to side to the beat—unapologetically in the bed of a rain-soaked truck. "You see it all around you, good loving gone bad..."

  Under the open skies was where Elle felt most alive, always on the precipice between risk and danger. Every sense became heightened. She could taste the metallic tang of ozone on her tongue, the sharp pellets of rain fueling the rush pounding in her veins. With every resounding crackle she felt down to the soles of her feet, the thunder was like an echo beneath her pulse

  Jacob twisted around in his seat, half out the window, a look of pure, unfiltered amusement on his face. "Hang on, Elle! I'm not explaining to the Chief how you became a hood ornament!"

  "Oh, bite me, Black!" She grinned, eyes shining wild, skin flushed with strands of hair plastered to her face while they sped down the backroads. She caught Bella's eye in the mirror, saw the nervous smile, her hands tight on the steering while the storm raged.

  Bella huffed, fighting back a smirk. "I'm living with a death wish in my truck bed."

  The wind caught Elle's laugh, throwing it into the woods. The storm was all around them now, pounding the roof and making the old truck rattle with the gusts. The wild scent of wet cedar and gasoline was pungent.

  Rainwater streamed down the back windshield. Elle was thoroughly soaked the cold seeping into her wrists and fingers. But it only sharpened her world with intensity. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes as she shouted,

  "So hold on loosely—"

  A crack of thunder split the air.

  "But don't let go—"

  The sky lit up—a flash of white-blue lightning seared across the tree line in the distance. For a moment, it carved the road in silver and shadow, outlining Elle's silhouette. A storm-soaked figure on a motorcycle, in the bed of a moving truck like some punk deity of rebellion.

  "If you cling too tightly—"

  She belted the final line like it was being torn from her lungs, her soaked flannel plastered to her like wet cardboard—

  "You're gonna lose control!"

  And just then, someone in a passing minivan laid on their horn.

  Blaaaarp.

  Elle didn't miss a beat.

  She threw both arms out and gave a two-handed wave like a pageant queen in a parade with a shit eating grin. "DON'T TELL CHIEF SWAN!" she shouted, voice crackling through the storm.

  Inside the cab, Bella dragged her hand down her face, water dribbling unto the seats. "Oh my God."

  Jacob burst out laughing from the passenger seat, shoulders shaking while one hand slapped the dash. "I swear she's gonna give me a heart attack before I turn twenty."

  "She's gonna give Dad one first," Bella muttered, flicking the windshield wipers to high as they groaned against the glass. "She already set Lauren's hair on fire."

  Jake blinked. "Wait, what?"

  Bella shot him a look like you don't even know the half of it.

  "She rigged a Bunsen burner," Bella said, voice tight with sisterly resignation. "Lauren messed with my beaker during chem. She swapped in vinegar during our acid test. Elle saw her do it. So next lab day, Elle adjusted the flame under Lauren's station."

  Jacob choked on a laugh in disbelief. "You're kidding."

  "She claims it was an accident," Bella deadpanned. "Said the airflow in the room must've blown the flame too far."

  "She set her hair on fire!"

  "It was only the ends," Bella muttered, trying not to smile. "But it was enough. Lauren hasn't been within ten feet of a test tube since. I had to convince Dad not to ground Elle for the rest of the decade."

  Jake whistled, leaning forward slightly to get a better view of the soaked redhead dancing with reckless abandon.

  "She's always been something," he said.

  "She's Elle," Bella sighed, a mix of fond annoyance and affection in her tone. Her gaze lingered on the rain speckled glass, deep eyes softening at the edges. It was clear she'd never trade her sister's chaos for anything less.

  A sudden gust of wind slammed into the truck, rattling the cab and making the whole frame shudder. Elle ducked low, gripping the bike's frame tighter, her soaked sleeves hanging off her arms.

  She looked like a proud drowned rat still breathless and laughing.

  With the song slowly fading out, Elle leaned back, mouth unfurling with a grin that bordered on feral. It was untamed and entirely, stubbornly, hers. Her laugh, raw and triumphant, cut through the roar of wet tires and thunder. "THIS IS WHAT FREEDOM TASTES LIKE!" she shouted, letting the wind carry her words into the woodlands.

  From the driver's seat, Bella just shook her head. In the mirror, she watched Elle—uncontainable, untamed. "Yeah, until she catches pneumonia and I have to explain to Dad why."

  Jake leaned over, voice sly. "You're not gonna narc, are you?"

  Bella let out a breath through her nose, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips. "Nah. She's having the time of her life."

  Jake's gaze lingered on Elle, the chaos of her spirit with a quiet admiration in his tone. "Hell of a way to blow off steam. Kinda makes you want to join her."

  Bella laughed, soft and honest. "Yeah... it does."

  Neither of them saw the figure in the dark vehicle, pale hands locked in a white-knuckle grip on the wheel.

  The final chord of "Hold On Loosely" faded from Elle's ears, dissolving. She kept her thumb pressed against the slick metal with numb fingers that had pruned. The iconic piano intro of Train's Drops of Jupiter bloomed in her ears beneath the percussion of thunder with a soft swell. A thin misted fog settled over the ground, threading through the thicket of pines.

  The truck turned off the main road onto their battered gravel drive, tires sloshing through ankle-deep puddles and ruts gouged out by decades of relentless Washington rain. Sitka spruce, western hemlock, and Douglas fir slick with blanketed tuffs of moss bordered the property with wild overgrown ferns. The small weathered house loomed ahead; a single porchlight visible through the torrent.

  Bella threw the truck in park, a gust of wind rattling the cab. "Don't you dare," she warned, though she already knew she was too late.

  Elle was already gone.

  She vaulted from the truck bed with her bookbag, all the subtlety of a startled jack rabbit, shoes sinking into a deep puddle with a smack! the grounds saturated with loam that cleaved to the hem of her jeans. She tipped her head back and sang the opening line, "Now that she's back in the atmosphere..."

  Rain streaked her face, washed the last remnants of mascara down her cheeks. Her flannel hung off one shoulder, tank top molded to her skin. She spun in the gravel, sending up a spray of water with arms thrown wide.

  Bella watched from the safety of the cab, jaw slack, eyes wide like she'd just witnessed Bigfoot flossing behind the mailbox. "She's definitely getting hypothermia," she deadpanned, torn between embarrassment and a hint of pride.

  Jake, leaning through the open window, shook his head with a lopsided grin, rain dripping from the ends of his long hair. His russet skin glowed warm against the slate-gray light, a faint dimple appearing as his smile widened. Like every wild thing Elle did was both an inside joke and a near-death experience he'd somehow survived. "Still a menace to public safety, huh?" he drawled, voice threaded with nostalgia and the secret pride of someone who had watched her chaos unfold growing up.

  Bella just sighed, "Your the one who sees her every summer."

  "You have a point."

  That eternal weary amusement etched across her porcelain pale face. She finally stepped out, the hood instantly sagging under the weight of the downpour. She ducked her head, boots crossing the driveway.

  Elle caught sight of her and beamed. "Come on, B! You're already wet!"

  Bella held up both hands, palms out shivering. "Nope. Not happening. You're insane."

  Elle's laugh echoed across the driveway; hands thrown high like she was conducting. "She listens like spring, and she talks like June..." Elle crooned, sashaying toward Bella with Broadway-level flair, bright hazel-green eyes wide. Every step was an exaggerated parody of grace, yet she never faltered.

  Bella tried to step back, but Elle was faster. "Bells," she coaxed, voice dipping with an unspoken dare, "Just... dance."

  For a second, Bella froze, caught in that aching space where childhood memories bled into the present. It was a flash of barefoot summers in cramped apartments, dancing on scuffed floors. Elle, always the storm; Bella, the anchor, the observer.

  But sometimes... the music was enough.

  Elle tugged gently at her wrist, mascara-smudged eyes shining. "Just this once."

  Bella finally relented, ducking her head with a helpless laugh, even though she'd always felt knobbed with two left feet. She stepped forward, letting the rain claim her, allowing Elle to spin her in a circle so sloppy it bordered on slapstick. Mud spattered up their jeans, shoes carving into the gravel as the storm roared on.

  "Tell me... did you sail across the sun? Did you make it through the milkway," Elle belted, singing to her sister with all the sincerity of a karaoke star at closing time. She pulled Bella close, grinning. "Remember the first time we heard this, Bells?"

  Bella blinked, rain mixing with a crooked smile. "Yeah. You played it on Mom's stereo for weeks when we were alone that spring break."

  Elle laughed. "I tried making mac and cheese, nearly torched the kitchen. I made you sing backup with a wooden spoon."

  Bella rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. "We were a mess."

  Elle squeezed her hand. "We still are. Wouldn't change a thing."

  Bella tried to glare, but it broke into a grin. She loathed dancing. She'd always said so. But right then, soaked to the bone, she let herself have it.

  Jake leaned against the side of the truck, arms crossed tight over his jacket. His soft smile, wide, and far too genuine for his usual bravado, curved across his lips. He watched the Swan sisters spin through the downpour.

  "Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken..." he sang with a low croon, shaking his head in mock disbelief as Elle twirled, promptly lost her footing, and crashed into Bella. Both girls doubled over, laughter peeling out across the yard, infectious enough to make Jake's smile linger just a little longer.

  "Jake actually knows the lyrics, Bella, I did my part in converting him. I can die happy now."

  Bella rolled her eyes with all the drama of a true Swan. "You're still nuts."

  "I know," Elle grinned breathless and soaked to the bone. "But I'm your nuts."

  As the last notes of the song faded, Elle clicked off her iPod, the old device nearly slipping from the pads of fingers. The line echoed in her mind: "Your best friend always sticking up for you..."

  She swallowed around a tightness in her throat, glancing at her little sister. Both of them were thoroughly drenched, saturated in loam.

  But just for a heartbeat.

Still here.
  Still them.

The screen door slammed behind them in a rush of wind and tangled laughter.

Bella slipped first.

Her socked foot slid traitorously across the slick linoleum, arms windmilling as she reached for Jakes arm. "Oh my God!" she hissed, half-laughing, half-terrified, hair stuck to her cheeks. "I'm gonna die, and it's going to be in a puddle of your rainwater."

Jake caught her arm, steadying her with an easy laugh. "Careful, Bells. I'm not explaining to your dad how you drowned in Elle's personal weather system."

"You're welcome," Elle chirped, absolutely unrepentant as she nudged off her muddy Converse with a loud, wet squelch. "It's the full Forks experience. Consider it a token of my love."

"More like a biohazard," Bella muttered, bracing herself against the doorframe as she peeled off her sopping yellow rain jacket. "Ugh. I think my very spleen is damp."

Jacob, already at home beside the mat, kicked off his boots and slung his jacket over the back the couch like he owned the place. "You two are a disaster," he declared cheerfully, running a hand through rain-dark hair. "And I say that with all the affection of someone who's dodged death-by-Swan-sisters since fifth grade summer."

"And you loved the show," Elle chirped, already tossing one drenched sock at her sister.

Bella yelped and dodged.

"I'll deny everything when your dad asks why you were dancing on a motorcycle in a thunderstorm like a backup dancer from Flashdance," Jacob said, ducking as she lobbed the second sock.

"Flashdance is a cultural masterpiece, Black. Show some respect!" Elle shouted over her shoulder, already halfway to the stairs.

Bella groaned, rubbing her eyes and wiping her feet on the mat retreating to the stone fireplace for much needed heat. "You'd better change before Dad walks in."

"He's still on shift," Elle protested.

"Forks is small," Bella shot back flatly, wringing rain from her shirt. "And you're a Swan. You were dancing in the back of a truck like a drowned groupie with a death wish. Trust me, he knows."

Elle paused halfway up the stairs, cocking her head with mock solemnity. "...Fair."

She tossed a wink and took steps two at a time, her wet jeans beginning to chaff, practically suctioned to her thighs.

Her room waited at the end of the hall, a stark contrast to Bella's lavender-scented retreat across the way. Bella's room always smelled of laundry, pressed paperbacks, and a faint ghost of lilac lotion.

It was neat, muted, safe.

Elle's space was a riot of scents and color. Worn denim, vintage throwbacks and incense sticks still smoldering in an old mug by the window. She flicked on the lamp and let out a contented sigh.

Home.

The walls were a patchwork of rebellion and dreams: a massive Breakfast Club poster with Judd Nelson's fist raised in immortal defiance, a yellowing world map stuck with pins and doodled stars for every place Elle hoped to run to someday.

Amsterdam, Prague, New Orleans, Tokyo.

A skull sticker blotted out Iceland, courtesy of a bad online breakup she still didn't want to talk about. Across from the bed, a vintage Labyrinth poster watched her with David Bowie's inescapable glare, surrounded by band posters—The Killers, Paramore, Muse, MCR—corners curled and faded from too many years of thumbtacks and riddled angst.

A glitter lava lamp pulsed on the nightstand, sending shimmering flecks of gold and silver spinning across the worn comforter—tiny constellations swirling with a slow and hypnotic. Polaroids ringed her mirror. One had Bella fighting back a smile with whipped cream on her nose, her and Jacob mugging in front of the diner jukebox, a younger Elle with her dad on the river, holding up a fish with a fake mustache drawn on it in Sharpie.

She stripped off her soaked flannel, letting it hit the floor with a wet thwack with her studded belt. Her reflection in the mirror was quite a sight. Her rosacea was very noticeable from the crisp cold, cheeks a vivid, rosy hue. Hair tangled and dripping, mascara streaked like haphazard war paint.

I look like an extra from Bravehart.

She smirked and dug through a drawer for her softest band tee, the logo nearly gone from years of wear. Paired with old plaid boxers, she toweled off, and bundled her hair into a messy bun with a pencil stuck through the thick tresses.

Warm, dry clothes after a storm—nothing better.

The hum of the house resounded. The shifting of pipes with the ebb and flow of Bella and Jakes conversations downstairs. Elle let herself flop onto the bed, watching the lazy swirl of glitter in her lava lamp while the rush of adrenaline slowly ebbed.

"He knows," Bella had said.

Elle smiled to herself.

Charlie probably did know.

In Forks with a population of 3,120 people, privacy was a myth.

Her gaze drifted to the rain lazily trailing down her window as the storm eased on the horizon. For a moment—a blink—she thought she saw something move outside.

A shape.

She sat up, frowning, that old prickle of unease crawling up her spine. A cold pulse. This was the third time she'd felt it since she'd come back, and it gnawed at the edges of her calm. It had to be nerves, she told herself.

But the thought landed hollow.

Where Bella hated the cold and wetness, Elle always felt at home in storms. Maybe because they mirrored her: mercurial, prone to a devastating force and disaster in equal measure. For a second, she saw herself like the world did: a storm of contradiction, mischief and vulnerability, lips curled in a crooked, knowing smirk she'd inherited straight from her old man.

A sudden pair of headlights swept across the room, a familiar engine idling outside. Warmth unfurled beneath her ribs with a mall, secret reassurance.

Chief's home.

  Elle peeled herself up from the bed, stretching her arms overhead until her spine gave a distinct pop. From downstairs, voices drifted up. Bella's laced with gentle sarcasm, Jacob's rumble, and Charlie's dry, world-weary drawl.

  The faint aroma of pizza permeated the air.

  "So, what culinary disaster are we avoiding tonight?" Bella called, voice carrying that familiar mix of affection and mockery.

  Charlie's response was gruff, but softer at the edges. "Figured pizza was safer. Last time I cooked, Elle nearly called in backup."

  Jacob's low laugh rolled up the stairs, rich and deep. "She said your spaghetti could be classified as a crime scene."

  Charlie's raspy chuckle was rare, but real. "It wasn't that bad."

  "You set off the smoke detector," came Bellas voice.

  "I take it your staying here late, Jake?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Long as Billy knows."

  Elle padded barefoot into the hall, the old carpet cool and plush underfoot, the boards eliciting a distinct creak. She ran her fingers along the banister as she descended, pausing briefly to glance at the faded family photos. There were several faded snapshots with sun bleached corners and awkward, windblown moments.

  Many taken over multiple summers that Elle had stayed for.

  The kitchen was a pocket of warmth, a stack of greasy pizza boxes left on the counter. Bella, hair still damp and cheeks pink, set plates with her signature quiet efficiency. Jacob, arms folded across his chest, lounged against the wall, the easy curve of his mouth betraying how familiar he felt within their home. Even when he pretended otherwise. The glow from the fireplace's hearth cast his russet skin into the soft light.

  Charlie shrugged off his heavy, rain-damp jacket, revealing the starched uniform beneath. His thick hair was threaded with more grey in the recent months she'd seen him, scrubbing a hand down his bristled mustache. His expression, for all its gruffness, softened as he looked at his daughters with a flicker of warmth.

  He glanced at Elle, eyebrow raised. A silent interrogation.

  "Hey, Chief," she greeted, leaning in the doorway, her arms loosely crossed, smirk firmly in place.

  Charlie's mouth quirked with that familiar mix of suspicion and endearment, eyes narrowing just enough to say, I know what you did.

  Elle raised her brows, feigning innocence, her lips twitching at the corners. "What?"

  He shook his head, exhaling a sigh full of resignation and something like pride. "Small town. Word travels faster than the cruiser."

  Jacob grinned behind his hand, Bella shot her a smug I told you so.

  Elle just shrugged, shameless.

  "Lauren Mallory's hair still intact?" Charlie asked, his voice lowered, one brow arched higher.

  Elle's eyes glimmered. "Mostly. Might smell a little... chemical."

  Charlie shook his head. He slid a plate toward her. As she took it, their fingers brushed.

  A small, grounding moment.

  Bella set the last fork on the table, rolling her eyes fondly. "Told you he'd know."

  Elle grabbed a slice of pizza, folding it in half while she hopped up onto the counter, bare feet dangling against the painted cabinets.

  "Like I said, this town's got eyes everywhere."

  Jacob pushed away from the wall, eyes glinting with mischief. "Forks, Washington: where secrets last about as long as a pizza on movie night."

  "That should go on the town sign," Elle nodded. "Welcome to Forks: We Know What You Did Last Friday."

  Charlie tried for stern but couldn't keep the smile out of his voice. "Maybe I'll bring it up at the next council meeting."

  Bella dropped into her chair, shaking her head as she laughed. "Don't encourage her, Dad."

  The kitchen glowed with easy, lived-in warmth. Laughter threaded with steam and the last traces of rain. For all her rough edges, Elle felt herself slowly unwinding from the restless tension that never fully settled, the roots finally burrowing down for the night.

  Charlie nodded at Jacob. "How's Billy?"

  Jacob's face softened. "He's good. Wants to know when you'll come down for the game."

  Charlie smiled, a little wistful. "Tell him soon. And it's his turn to bring the beer."

  The room filled with another round of laughter, the walls echoing with old stories.

  "Eat up," Charlie said quietly, his gaze holding Elles with a promise she knew by heart. "You'll need your strength for whatever trouble tomorrow brings."

  Elle's lip curled, the challenge bright in her eyes. "Don't worry, Chief. I was born ready."

  Charlie took a long sip from his glass of water, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he swallowed. It was a silent, practiced pause, as if weighing each word in measure. Similar to how he interrogated in enforcement. His face was half-shadowed by the antique kitchen lamp, worry lines etched deep at the corners of his eyes. His mouth remained set in a straight line that almost masked the fatigue. He set the glass down with a quiet clink, fingers drumming the rim for half a beat.

  He looked at Elle, brows drawn. "Don't pull any more reckless stunts that could get me sued."

  Elle, perched up on the chipped counter with her legs now folded like a pretzel, arched one eyebrow in exaggerated innocence. She twisted a strand of damp hair around her finger, the hint of a smirk surfacing, "Define reckless," she teased, voice light but her eyes bright with challenge.

  Charlie didn't flinch.

  He leaned back in his chair and sighed, running a callused hand over his stubbled jaw, eyes shadowed. "You know exactly what I mean." His voice was tired, a father's sternness blunted by love. "The Mallorys were already talked down. I can't keep smoothing things over for you, Elle."

  Bella, sitting prim and small at the end of the table, winced. She started folding her napkin into smaller and smaller squares, her gaze fixed on her hands. A flush crept up her cheeks in guilt.

  Jacob, slouched comfortably against the wall, leaned forward, eyes darting between Elle and Charlie.

  Elle tilted her head, scratching absently at her temple as if giving his words due consideration. Her face shifted, mock thoughtfulness warring with barely concealed restraint. "Okay, but technically, the burner thing was chemistry adjacent. Educational, even."

  One eyebrow inched higher, bordering on trouble. "Elle."

  She spread her hands, palms up in halfhearted surrender. "I didn't ask Lauren to use half a can of hairspray before first period. I just... nudged science along."

  Charlie pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. "You are going to kill me before I retire."

  Jacob barked out a laugh, head tipped back.

  Bella just sighed and propped her chin on her   palm, dark lashes brushing her cheeks, resigned. She gave Elle a look that said, this is why we can't have nice things.

  Charlie leaned in again, voice dropping—a warning wrapped in worry. "I'm serious, kid. You've always been a spark plug. But you're not a little kid anymore. You know this town... people talk. They don't always let things slide."

  Elle's bravado cracked for just a heartbeat. Her lips parted, her gaze dropping to the scuffed tile floor. She saw him then. Not just the cop, but the man worn thin by years of storms, by her especially. It lived deep in the lines around his eyes, in the way his hands trembled just slightly as he reached for another slice of pizza.

  She slid off the counter, bare feet landing quiet on the cool linoleum. For once, her voice was softer, genuine. "I'll cool it, Chief."

  Charlie regarded her for a long moment, a slow nod the only response. The tension seemed to leak out of his frame; the set of his shoulders relaxed. "Good," the word thick with meaning.

  "And don't think I didn't hear about the truck bed stunt. Newtons mom lit up the phones. Usually I get 'Elle being Elle.' But pull that again, you better hope I don't find out. That flannel's not bulletproof."

  Elle winked, swinging into the chair beside Bella. "Could've fooled me."

  Charlie tried to glare, but the corners of his mouth twitched, giving him away. "You're impossible."

  "Genetics," Elle fired back, her grin wide and bright.

  He held her gaze with that time-honed, fatherly intensity.

  She met it, unflinching, her own look a silent promise, I love you. I'll try. Mostly.

The night air moved softly from the cracked window above the sink, brushing over her bared arms as she leaned against the counter. Fingers curled loosely around a cold soda can, one eyebrow arched in a private little challenge while watching Jake through the glass. The screen door creaked once and then clicked shut behind him as he stepped off the porch into the thickening mist.

He was hugging Bella goodbye—again.

"Give it up, lover boy," she murmured with a roll of her eyes. The guy had had a puppy love crush on her for what felt over a decade.

Naturally Bella shrugged it off since they weren't in regular contact.

There was nothing casual about the hug, not really. Jake's arms stayed around her just a beat too long, his jaw shifting slightly as he memorized Bella's face. Bella's voice, barely above a whisper, was muffled against his jacket. Her hands fidgeted at his sides, unsure and soft.

Jake knew he had an audience.

As he pulled away, his gaze slid up over Bella's shoulder straight to Elle.

Elle was already waiting with a slow, wry grin, eyes half-lidded with silent mocking wave. "Try not to crash your bike fantasizing about this moment," Elle called out, her voice light, but her gaze watchful. She raised her soda in a lazy salute. "We both know you're dramatic enough to make the news."

Jake ushered huff laced with sarcasm, shaking his head as he stepped backwards into the mist. "Good to know you're keeping me honest."

"I'm a public service," she said, popping the can open with a crisp snap and taking a long, deliberate sip.

Jake gave a crooked, two-fingered salute and disappeared down the path, boots fading under the crunch of gravel and into the hush. His engine purred to life with a growl eventually fading away into the distance.

Bella lingered by the door, arms wrapped around herself, eyes trained on the window for a long moment. She finally turned back, flicking the lock with a soft click, her movements almost delicate. Neither sister spoke. Their silences had always been companionable, shaped by years of unspoken understanding.

Elle shifted, crossing one ankle behind the other, the linoleum cool under her bare feet. She sipped her Cherry Coke and let her eyes drift around the kitchen.

The cabinets had once been loud, brilliant yellow—so bright it nearly stung, painted on in thick strokes that left dried rivers and ridges across every door. The years had worn them to a dull, washed-out cornmeal, the edges chipped.

Stubborn as old regrets.

The scent of lemon cleaner clung to the air, undercut by warmed cheese and punch of garlic with notes of woodsmoke from the crackling hearth. From the den, the faint play-by-play of a baseball game drifted in, Charlie's lazy drawl surfacing, tired.

But the cabinets—those damned cabinets—always pulled her back.

"You remember when she painted those?" Bella asked, voice barely above the hush, mirroring Elle's stance.

Elle's fingers curled around the soda with a bone knuckled grip. The faint hiss of carbonation her only answer. Finally she spoke, "Yeah,"her voice scraping over the memory.

It had been Renee's "sunlight project". An afternoon manic with hope, paintbrushes everywhere, and a Janis Japlin record echoing from the living room. Elle remembered sticky hands, the smell of turpentine, Renee's laughter a little too loud, a little too sharp.

The way sunlight could be faked, for a while.

"She said they'd make the kitchen feel less dreary," Bella murmured, head down. "Said we needed brightness. Something warm."

Elle laughed, but the sound was hollow, sharp as broken glass. "And then she packed up and took the sunshine with her."

Bella's shoulders drew in, chin tucked. The words had clearly stung, "I didn't mean—"

Elle sighed, her tone was soft, a confession, not a barb. "No," she interrupted gently. "You did." She lifted her chin, her jaw set, expression unreadable. "And you're not wrong."

Bella leaned back against the sink, arms folding protectively. Her gaze hovered near Elle's, "She asked about you."

Elle looked away, tracing condensation on her can. "Figured."

"She said you haven't answered her texts."

Elle's shoulders stiffened. "Because I haven't."

"It's been two weeks, Elle. Since we got here."

Elle shrugged, but there was no lightness in it, a storm brewing there. Fourteen days of quiet. Fourteen days of sidestepping old ghosts. "Let me guess, she guilt-tripped you into bringing it up?"

"She's worried, Elle."

"Oh is she now?" Elle's laugh came bitter, the edge liked a blade. "She's on the road with Phil. Another part of Arizona, or is it Florida this time? It's hard to keep track."

Bella's lips pressed together, a faint furrow in her brow. "That's not fair."

Elle's eyes flashed, voice low, raw. "No? She left dad when you were a baby, Bells. I was barely older. You don't remember the late-night fights, the vanishing weekends. You never saw Dad stop turning on the porch light because he stopped expecting her to come home."

Bella opened her mouth but faltered, hands gripping the edge of the counter.

Elle set her soda down with a hard thunk. "Every summer, I came back here and watched him crumble. I needed to there for him. Because this," She gestured around the kitchen, the battered table, the yellow cabinets, "was home. Because he stayed."

"I know you're mad," Bella said softly, fingers fidgeting with a crack in the countertop. "But she does love us. In her own way."

Elle's jaw worked, lips pressed thin. "Maybe she does. But love isn't enough if you keep choosing the exit every time things get hard."

A heavy silence pressed in.

"She wanted the yellow to make the rain feel less heavy," Bella whispered, voice smaller than Elle had ever heard.

Elle's face was a mask, unreadable for a moment. "Funny. Never made the rain stop."

From the den, Charlie turned up the volume, a subtle reminder that he was there. Or maybe a gentle mercy, letting them finish.

Bella traced a fleck of old paint on the counter with the crescent of her nail, eyes stubbornly fixed downward. "She just wants to talk to you."

"She always wants things," Elle said, softer now, "but she never stays long enough to finish the conversation."

Bella let the words hang.

She didn't argue.

Elle tipped her head back against the cabinet, closing her eyes. The wood was cool, grounding her. For a heartbeat, she was a little girl again, spinning through the kitchen with a very little Bella. The yellow had always felt like a lie to Elle. A promise that was and never was kept.

Finally, she pushed away from the counter and pulled out the last slice of pizza, strings of cheese dangling from the stuffed crust. She handed it to Bella, who took it with quiet gratitude.

"You gonna text her back?" Bella asked, voice thread-thin.

"Maybe," Elle replied, unreadable. "But not tonight."

And with that, she left the kitchen, the faint murmur of the ballgame trailing after her like a veil of static as she slipped into the hallway.

Behind her, the cabinets remained—still yellow, still peeling, still pretending to be sunlight.