Chapter Text
Monday 17th January 2005
The rain pattered softly against the windshield as they pulled into the parking lot of Forks High. Mist curled around the buildings, dull red-brick structures barely distinguishable through the thick, gray morning. The entire place looked… small. Even smaller than she had expected. It looked like the kind of school where everyone knew each other’s middle names. Where someone like her would stand out whether she wanted to or not.
“Are you ready?” Esme asked, watching her carefully.
Gwendolyn drummed her fingers against her knee, the metal of her rings clicking softly. The weight of them was familiar and grounding. An old habit that gave her something to focus on instead of the noise pressing at the edge of her senses. Her gaze flicking over the handful of students huddled under the covered walkways. A girl sneezed from across the lot, the sound clear as if she were standing right next to her. The low hum of conversation, the scratch of wet shoes on pavement—it all pressed at her heightened senses, a dull roar beneath her skin. She sighed, trying to push the sensation down.
Was she ready?
For what? Small-town high school politics? Forgettable locker conversations? Staring? None of it was particularly intimidating. She wasn’t new to school. Just… this kind of school. The normal human kind. Forks High looked like something out of an old TV show—quaint, unimposing, too small to disappear in completely.
She wasn’t sure what answer Esme was hoping for, so she just shrugged.
A huff of warm breath brushed against her wrist. Gwendolyn glanced down, her fingers already resting on the center console, where Boo had stretched his head forward from the backseat. His thick black fur was a dark blur in her peripheral vision, deep amber eyes flicking up at her. Without thinking, she reached down, scratching behind his ear in a motion so familiar she hardly registered it. His tail gave a slow, solid thump against the backseat, the closest thing to reassurance Boo ever offered.
She knew Esme wasn’t just asking about school, though.
They worried about her. Not just because she was grieving or let’s be honest avoiding grief—though that was part of it. It was the sharp edges she hadn’t learned to soften. Her temper. Her magic. Her curse. It sat there, in the back of her mind, like an old wound that hadn’t scarred over yet. Ticking down. Waiting.
Carlisle and Esme had been around her whole life, and they had taken her in, had treated her like family, but there was still that carefulness. That extra second of hesitation when she got frustrated, the way Esme’s eyes softened when Gwendolyn didn’t realize she was clenching her fists too hard. They never said anything, but she noticed the way they measured their words sometimes, as if testing the air for a storm they weren’t sure had passed yet.
Boo shifted again, pressing his head more firmly against her, sensing her thoughts. Maybe that was why he was still here: everyone else was gone.
The thought came before she could push it down.
Macon.
He had been the only steady thing in her life, besides Boo. Her parents had been too obsessed with trying to break the inherited curse, unraveling the past, trying to carve a future that wouldn’t eat her alive. But Macon had just… been there. Calm. Warm. Steady. And then—just like that—he wasn’t.
She swallowed, forcing the thought away. It was too early in the day to go down that road.
Esme gave her a small, reassuring smile. "You won’t be the only new student today," she said, nodding toward a rust-red Chevy truck parked across from them.
Gwendolyn followed her gaze. A girl had just stepped out, dark hair tucked into the hood of her oversized jacket. She hesitated slightly before shutting the truck door, like she was bracing herself for something.
“Chief Swan’s daughter,” Esme supplied. “Isabella. She just moved here from Phoenix.”
Gwendolyn arched a brow. “So, I’m not the only new kid? That’s interesting.”
Small towns didn’t get many new faces. Two in one day was practically a phenomenon.
She watched Isabella for a second—small, a little awkward in her movements—before shaking off the thought and unbuckling her seatbelt. Boo let out a low huff, ears twitching as if he were unimpressed with her lack of enthusiasm.
Gwendolyn smirked, scratching his head one last time before reaching for the door handle. "Alright, alright. I’m going."
☽ ☽ ☽
The front office smelled like stale paper and pencil shavings, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. Gwendolyn had already sensed the movement before stepping inside—someone shifting awkwardly near the door. She moved aside instinctively, barely brushing past.
“Ah—sorry,” the girl stammered, stepping back.
Isabella Swan.
Up close, she seemed even more uncomfortable than she had outside, her expression guarded in a way Gwendolyn recognized immediately. That overwhelming newness that settled on you like an itchy sweater.
Yeah. Been there.
Gwendolyn nodded once in acknowledgment, not bothering with small talk as she stepped past her toward the front desk. Mrs. Cope, the office secretary, looked up with a polite but distracted smile. “You must be Gwendolyn Ravenwood.”
“That’s me.”
She shuffled through a few papers before handing Gwendolyn a printed map of the school, along with her schedule. “Your first class is English with Mr. Mason. You’ll find that in building three—just follow the covered walkway outside. And welcome to Forks.”
“Thanks.”
As she turned to leave, she caught Isabella still standing near the desk, clutching a similar map. She paused, not really knowing why—maybe because she recognized the stiffness in the girl’s shoulders, the slight, invisible flinch at the weight of everyone’s attention, maybe because she remembered what it felt like to be the outsider—but she said, “Ignore the staring. It’ll stop eventually.”
Isabella blinked. “What?”
“The staring,” Gwendolyn said simply. “They’ll get bored. Just don’t make it interesting for them.”
She didn’t bother pulling the hood of her coat up and stepped back outside in the light rain, not waiting for an answer. But something in the back of her mind itched, an awareness that had nothing to do with the girl behind her. It was instinct, a pull, a presence on the edge of her senses, just outside the school.
Boo.
Without looking, she knew exactly where he was. Somewhere past the parking lot, just beyond the treeline, pacing and watching. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Technically, he was banned from school grounds. Carlisle had told her it would ‘raise questions’. Not that Boo cared. He was already moving, weaving effortlessly through the shadows. No one else would notice him, not unless he wanted them to.
She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course he was keeping close.
☽ ☽ ☽
Classes were… fine.
Some students were staring—new people were rare in Forks, after all—but Gwendolyn barely noticed. That part wasn’t new. If it wasn’t about what she was, it was about how she looked. Her long, navy blue curls were braided loose down her back, some strands already pulling free in the damp Forks air, curling like they refused to be tamed. Or the eyes—pale, too pale, the kind that made people look twice and then look away just as fast. They were a kind of blue that didn’t belong in oceans or skies or anything alive. Or maybe it was the jewelry—rings on almost every finger, bracelets stacked up her wrists, necklaces layered under her coat, clinking softly when she moved.
Whatever. Let them stare. She didn’t blend in, but she never had before, so why start now?
Her bigger issue was the noise. The shuffle of feet, the hum of conversation, the scratch of pencils against paper, the distant slam of a locker. It all bled together into a dull roar beneath her skin. A low, constant static under her skin, every sharp noise spiking like a needle under her skin. She definitely hadn’t missed this part.
By the time lunch rolled around, she was more than ready for a break. She slid into a seat at the Cullen table, setting down her tray and immediately digging into her food.
“Surviving?” Emmett asked, grinning at her.
Gwendolyn replied, “So far, no one’s thrown holy water at me, so I’d say we’re off to a good start.”
Emmett barked out a laugh, while Alice grinned at her over the rim of her soda cup.
Gwendolyn leaned back in her seat, eyes flicking over the cafeteria. Somewhere near the center of the room, a now familiar voice carried over the low murmur of conversation, louder than it needed to be, animated and unfiltered.
Stiles Stilinski.
She had ended up next to him in most of her classes without realizing it. At first, she thought it was coincidence, until she noticed the spot next to him was always empty in all her morning classes. It took her less than two minutes to figure out why no one else sat there.
Stiles never stopped moving. Long limbs everywhere, like someone had stretched him out too fast and forgot to teach him coordination. He twitched, fidgeted with his pen, tapped his foot relentlessly, muttered things under his breath that were definitely not part of the lesson. And if she made the mistake of accidentally making eye contact, he immediately roped her into whatever chaotic train of thought was currently derailing in his brain. Even now, he was gesturing wildly as he talked, nearly knocking over his soda, his entire body moving with whatever dramatic retelling he was in the middle of.
Across from him, Scott McCall just shook his head, amused, but still listening. Scott was calmer, and often clueless. Broad-shouldered, always steady like he belonged in his skin —the quiet one in a group that didn't need to be loud to be listened to. He nodded every now and then, occasionally interjecting, but he wasn’t caught up in the same restless energy. Neither of them noticed her watching. Too caught up in whatever story Stiles was telling.
Gwendolyn wasn’t sure what to make of them yet. Stiles was… exhausting, but weirdly endearing in the way stray dogs sometimes were—loud, unpredictable, but not mean. Scott, on the other hand, was harder to read. He didn’t talk as much, but when he looked at people, he really looked. Like he was paying attention to something you hadn’t said out loud, which was mildly terrifying.
But they hadn’t asked anything personal and that alone put them miles ahead of most her classmates. Some had poked around, asking where she was from, why she was staying with the Cullens, what her deal was. No one here knew the Ravenwoods, and thankfully, no one was tactless enough to dig into family. But the questions still came, nosy in that small-town way. She shut them down fast—flat looks, clipped answers, the kind of dry sarcasm that made it clear she wasn’t interested. By the end of the morning, they stopped trying.
Gwendolyn exhaled sharply, dragging her attention back to her own table. “You know,” she mused, absentmindedly spinning the water in her cup without realizing it, “for people trying to blend in, you’re really bad at it.” She didn’t expect them to actually care what she thought, but it was baffling that a group of supposedly ancient, hyper-intelligent immortals had zero grasp of basic human behavior.
Emmett grinned. "We do alright."
"You do terrible," Gwendolyn countered. "Sitting in a tight, closed-off group, never eating, never talking to anyone else? You might as well wear shirts that say ‘We are definitely not vampires’."
Alice gave her a pointed look, flicking her gaze toward the swirling water in her cup. Gwendolyn blinked, realizing what she was doing, and dropped her hand. The water stilled instantly.
Rosalie, who had been picking at the cap of an untouched water bottle, finally looked up, eyes flicking over Gwendolyn’s dark blue braid that cascaded down to her waist. “Says the girl who looks like she walked out of a gothic fairy tale,” she said dryly. “You’re not exactly subtle yourself.”
Gwendolyn absently adjusted the thin chains around her neck—a mix of silver, leather, and something older, worn smooth from years of touch. Fair point.
“Yeah, but at least she eats,” Emmett added, grinning.
She was about to retort when Edward, who had been unusually quiet the whole time, finally spoke, “Jessica Stanley is giving the new Swan girl all the dirty laundry on the Cullen clan.”
Emmett chuckled “I hope she’s making it good.”
“Rather unimaginative, actually,” Edward replied, his tone dry. “Just the barest hint of scandal. Not an ounce of horror. I’m a little disappointed.”
Gwendolyn tilted her head, "And Isabella? Is she disappointed in the gossip as well?"
Edward shrugged, but Gwendolyn noticed the slight furrow in his brow, a rare crack in his perfect calm. It wasn’t just annoyance. There was something else there. Curiosity? Frustration? He had been expecting something that hadn’t happened. Gwendolyn took another slow bite of her food, watching him.
“I think you should try harder to act normal,” she said lazily, glancing around at the table, “if you all really wanted to blend in, you’d at least pretend to eat. Shove food down your throats, even if it means puking later. I mean, can’t venom just melt that crap away?”
Edward only rolled his eyes, but the muscle in his jaw twitched. He looked tense and distracted. Whatever was on his mind, it wasn’t this conversation.
Emmett sat forward, expression lighting up like a switch had flipped. “That’s actually a great idea. What if venom does break it down full acid-style?”
Alice sighed. “Emmett, please don’t.”
“No, no, I have to try this.”
Rosalie groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You are not going to eat human food just to see if you can melt it, Emmett.”
Emmett reached across the table, snatched a small roasted potato off Gwendolyn’s tray, and popped it into his mouth.
Jasper arched a brow. “Well?”
Emmett chewed thoughtfully. Swallowed. Shrugged. “Tastes weird.”
“Congratulations,” Edward muttered. “You now have a lump of undigested potato sitting in your stomach. Enjoy that.”
Gwendolyn grinned, leaning forward. “Oh, no, we’re in it now. I want updates. Let’s see how long you can keep it down before you cave and throw it up.”
Jasper smirked. “I give him two hours.”
Alice shook her head. “One.”
Rosalie sighed. “Thirty minutes, max.”
Emmett sat back, arms crossed. “You all underestimate my dedication to science.”
Gwendolyn snorted. “Science? This is the dumbest experiment in the history of dumb experiments.”
Emmett’s grin widened—he was like a golden retriever with biceps—as he announced, “Then I guess I’ll be the first ever test subject.”
She leaned back, letting herself enjoy the chaos. For once, it wasn’t her causing it. The Cullens might be terrible at blending in, but at least they were entertaining. She should’ve known better than to relax though.
“So,” Emmett started looking at Edward, grinning way too wide. “What’s the verdict?”
Gwendolyn arched an eyebrow. “On what?”
“On you.” He gestured vaguely around the cafeteria. “The mysterious, brooding new addition to the Cullen circus. What are the humans saying?”
Gwendolyn rolled her eyes, “I don’t brood.”
But Emmett ignored her, still leaning in towards Edward. The latter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Nothing original.”
Emmett leaned in even more. “Come on. Give us the good stuff.”
Edward finally glanced up, expression flat. “The usual theories. They think she’s related to us. Some suspect the adoption. One girl is convinced she’s your long-lost sister.” He paused. “And another is absolutely certain she’s secretly dating me.”
Gwendolyn grimaced, taken aback. "What?"
Across the table, Alice grinned behind her soda cup.
Emmett, meanwhile, nearly howled with laughter, slapping the table. “Oh, that’s good.”
Gwendolyn set her fork down with exaggerated care. "That is disgusting.”
Edward’s expression didn’t change, but his tone was deeply offended. “Agreed.”
Rosalie, who had been idly picking at the cap of an untouched water bottle, finally glanced up, her sharp gaze flicking over Gwendolyn. “Well, it makes sense,” she said dryly. “We’re all taken.”
Gwendolyn scowled. “That is not the logical conclusion here.”
Emmett wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Oh man, I love this. How’s it feel, little sister? Being paired with Eddie?”
“Don’t call me that,” Edward muttered at the same time Gwendolyn snapped, “Absolutely not.”
Alice was giggling now, and even Jasper looked vaguely amused.
Edward shot a sharp glare in Emmett’s direction. “Fix your face, or I’ll rip it off.”
Gwendolyn, horrified, turned to Alice. “Please tell me your visions say this nonsense will die immediately.”
Alice just smirked. “Oh, I wouldn’t count on it.”
Gwendolyn groaned, dragging a hand down her face. Before she could recover, Emmett, sensing an opportunity, grinned wider. “Oh, and that’s not even the best part.”
Gwendolyn narrowed her eyes. “What now?”
Edward, clearly debating whether or not to answer, exhaled sharply before relenting. “There are a few who think you’re… intimidating.”
“Good,” Gwendolyn said immediately.
Alice snickered. “Not in a bad way.”
“More in a ‘I’d ask her out, but I enjoy living’ kind of way,” Emmett added, smirking.
Gwendolyn’s fork hovered midair. “You’re joking.” Of course they weren’t. She already knew how people looked at her—like she was a challenge, not a person. They weren’t interested in her. Not really. Just curious. Maybe a little afraid. But it was never about her.
She stabbed at a potato, the silver tines scraping the tray. She wasn’t sure why it bothered her, but it did.
Edward, ever unimpressed, just shrugged. “Hardly. A few of them are interested, but none of them have the nerve to talk to you.”
Alice hummed, amused. “It’s the confidence. The mystery. You’re basically the dark, untouchable new girl.”
Gwendolyn turned her glare on her. “Stop talking.”
Emmett clapped her on the shoulder, grinning ear to ear. “Look on the bright side, Gremlin. At least they didn’t think you were dating me.”
Edward exhaled sharply. “This semester is going to be insufferable.”
“Tell me about it,” she muttered.
☽ ☽ ☽
After her first day of classes, Gwendolyn stepped into the damp afternoon air, relieved to spot Esme’s familiar car waiting at the curb. The rain had settled into a steady mist, curling around the parked vehicles like breath against cold glass. She barely made it two steps before she heard the soft thud of Boo’s heavy paws on wet pavement. He slipped out from behind a row of trees, his massive frame moving too silently for something his size. He barely glanced at the students around them, just kept his deep amber eyes locked on her.
She smirked, already expecting him. “I hope you at least tried to stay hidden.”
Boo didn’t respond, just huffed, ears flicking, before slipping into the backseat of Esme’s car.
Gwendolyn slid into the passenger seat, tugging her coat closer around her. “No mobs, no torches, no burning stakes,” she said dryly. “I’d say it went well.”
Esme smiled, but her eyes lingered on Gwendolyn for just a beat too long, studying for something left unsaid. Maybe she looked tired. Probably did. She hadn’t really slept. Or at least, not without waking up halfway through, heart pounding and throat dry.
The drive home was quiet, the familiar hum of the tires against wet asphalt almost soothing. She let her head rest against the window, watching the trees blur past. Her notebook sat in her lap, still flipped open to the same page she’d been doodling on all day—ravens.
Small ones, mid-flight, wings stretched wide. A larger one, head turned, feathers caught in rough, sharp lines. A half-formed silhouette, shadowed and undefined.
She hadn’t even pretended to take notes. What was the point? She wasn’t going to graduate. She wasn’t going to get a degree, or a job, or a future. Not when her curse was already waiting for her.
She could hear Esme’s voice in her head already—school is important, just in case.
In case what? In case she miraculously broke the curse before it broke her?
She sighed, running a finger over the rough edge of the paper. Maybe that was why she kept sketching the ravens. Not because they were beautiful. Not because they were clever. Because they felt like something real and inevitable. Something old and sharp and real. Something that wouldn’t wash away with the tide. Something hers.
Ravens didn’t belong to anyone but themselves. They circled battlefields and bones. They watched things decay. They survived. Maybe that was what she wanted or what she pretended she didn’t. To carve something into her skin so deep, so permanent, it wouldn’t matter what the curse took. It wouldn’t matter if she turned dark, if she broke, because at least that would stay hers. Another mark she chose and not a scar left behind.
She could already feel where the ink would go—on her back, surrounded by protective sigils and runes. She'd just have to finish the full design one day.
Maybe that’s what being a Ravenwood was anyway. Cutting yourself open before anyone else could do it for you. Leaving marks before they could leave them worse.
And still, she was here. She had given in. After weeks of Esme’s gentle persistence, Carlisle’s quiet logic, Alice’s vague insistence that "it’s better this way," she had finally caved. School wasn’t her choice. It was the price of keeping the peace, but not for herself. For them. Because when she had arrived in Forks last autumn, she was not okay. Not something easy or clean they could tuck into their perfect family portrait. She hadn’t slept more than three hours a night for weeks. She’d left burn marks in the wood of her bedroom floor at the Cullens’ place the first time she woke up from a nightmare, heart hammering like prey. She hadn’t been able to sit still or eat properly. She spent her time walking in the the woods for hours until Boo forced her home because staying inside felt suffocating.
She wasn’t moping though. Gwendolyn Ravenwood didn’t do quiet sad grieving. She did reckless magic. She sketched until her fingers cramped. She jumped cliffs without looking back. She stole one of the Cullens’ car, once, just to drive until the road bled into nothing but ocean. She avoided mirrors. She avoided Esme’s soft looks of worry. She avoided Carlisle’s patience. But eventually, she had sat at that kitchen table, stared at a mug of tea she didn’t want and said, “Fine. School.” Not for herself. But because peace was cheaper than fighting forever.
A soft shift of fabric, and then Esme’s voice, quiet but warm. “That’s beautiful.”
Gwendolyn blinked, startled. She hadn’t realized Esme was looking. Her gaze flicked down at her open notebook. The last raven she had drawn was different—wings curved inward, talons flexed, mid-dive, like it was caught between falling and flying. For a second, she considered closing the notebook, brushing it off.
Instead, she just said, “It’s nothing.”
Esme hummed lightly. “It doesn’t look like nothing.”
For a moment, it was just the steady hum of the car, the soft scratch of Boo shifting in the backseat.
Then Esme, always careful, always gentle, asked, “How were your classes?”
Gwendolyn scoffed, flipping the notebook shut with one hand. “You mean besides art?”
Esme didn’t push, just gave her that soft, knowing look.
Gwendolyn sighed, slouching deeper into the seat. “I survived.”
Esme didn’t argue. She just smiled lightly, turning her focus back to the road. By the time they pulled into the long drive leading to the Cullens’ home, the unease had already settled into her bones. Something was wrong. The house was unusually too quiet. Boo slipped past her, taking his place near the couch, his ears twitching. He felt it too.
Alice and Jasper stood near the couch, their expressions carefully composed, but too still. Too stiff. Gwendolyn’s stomach twisted. She hated when they did that. The way vampires just froze when something was wrong, like statues waiting to shatter.
She dropped her bag by the door and took a seat on the couch, Boo curling at her feet. Esme leaned against one of the walls, watching everyone, worry evident on her face. Gwendolyn broke the silence, “Okay… what’s with the doomsday vibes?”
Alice hesitated, just for a moment, “Edward left.”
Gwendolyn frowned. “What do you mean, left?”
She watched with narrow eyes as Jasper exchanged a glance with Alice before answering. “He—he’s struggling. With the new girl.”
“Isabella?” Gwendolyn said, confused. “What does she have to do with anything?”
Alice hesitated. “…Her blood. He almost killed her in biology.”
Gwendolyn stilled. The words wrapped around her like a vice.
He almost killed her.
Her throat felt tight, her breath too sharp in her lungs. Because she knew what that felt like. The ache in the gums, the dry burn in the throat, the way hunger coiled deep in the bones like something living. The way scent could turn from curious to desperate in an instant. But more than that, she knew what happened when someone lost control. She had seen it. The hollow, animal madness in her father’s eyes. The snarl, raw and not human. The frenzy. And the aftermath—when the blood was gone, when the screaming stopped, when only the horror remained.
Her stomach twisted. A sharp, dry heat surged in her chest—too fast, too much. She squeezed her eyes shut for half a second. The lights above flickered again, longer this time. A glass on the table vibrated, just enough to rattle. Boo stood, muscles taut, positioning himself between her and the rest of the room.
“Gwendolyn,” Esme said softly.
She exhaled—shaky, forced—and the room stilled. Just like that. But the quiet that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was tense. She didn’t look up, didn’t need to. She could feel their eyes measuring her, waiting for her to slip again.
This wasn’t the same. Edward wasn’t the same. Right?
But then again, her father hadn’t been the same either. Until he was.
Her jaw clenched. The thought lingered longer than she liked. Because she knew better than anyone—some things couldn’t be fought forever. Some things weren’t a matter of willpower. Sometimes, the choice wasn’t yours. And one day, she wouldn’t have a choice either.
Boo shifted closer, his body warm against her leg. She clenched her fists. She knew what it meant when someone left like that. It wasn’t just distance. It was a fracture, a countdown to something breaking. No one left because things were fine. They left because they were running out of time.
“So, he just left?” she asked, her voice quieter than before.
Alice nodded. “He’s going to stay with the Denalis for a while.”
A sharp scoff came from the other side of the room. Rosalie was curled in an armchair, legs tucked beneath her, arms crossed. Her golden gaze flicked to Alice, unimpressed, “Coward.”
Boo growled softly, as if agreeing. Emmett shot her a look, but Rosalie only lifted a brow, “He should’ve controlled himself. He’s had nearly a century to practice.” Her tone was clipped, sharp. “Running away doesn’t solve anything.”
“He didn’t run away,” Alice snapped. “He’s trying to fix it.”
Rosalie rolled her eyes. “Sure. And when he comes back? What then? This girl still exists, and he still wants her blood.”
Jasper, standing near the fireplace, barely said a word. He looked exhausted. Gwendolyn didn’t blame him. He had to be feeling everything. Esme, standing near the kitchen, finally spoke, her voice gentle but firm. “He’s doing what he thinks is best.”
Gwendolyn let out a slow breath, leaning against the back of the couch. This was going to be a disaster.
Alice was watching her. “He’ll be back,” she said, but… there was something off about it. Hesitation. Not uncertainty. Alice was never uncertain. But she wasn’t comforted by her own words.
Gwendolyn exhaled sharply. “Great. So, we’re just supposed to sit around and pretend this isn’t a disaster waiting to happen?”
Rosalie let out a bitter laugh. “Finally, someone with sense.”
Emmett elbowed her lightly. “That’s debatable.”
Gwendolyn crossed her arms, irritation sparking. “We should leave.”
What were they even doing here? Playing house while one of them lost his mind over a girl whose blood drove him mad? Staying in Forks was a time bomb. She didn’t care how much they insisted they had the situation under control—Edward had already bolted. That said everything. They were vampires. Immortal. They could go anywhere, vanish for a decade, come back later when the temptation was gone. Why stay? Why flirt with disaster?
Her words were met with silence.Alice looked away. Esme frowned. Jasper’s expression remained unreadable, but the way his shoulders tensed told her enough.
Rosalie, however, scoffed, “Absolutely not.”
Gwendolyn turned toward her, “Rosalie—”
“No,” Rosalie snapped. “This is Edward’s mess. Why should we have to leave because he can’t handle himself?” She shot a glare toward the empty space where Edward usually stood. “I have never slipped. Not once. Neither has Carlisle.” She huffed. “So why does he get an excuse?”
Gwendolyn hesitated. That was a fair point. “But if he does lose control—”
“Then he should be the one to leave,” Rosalie cut her off sharply, golden eyes burning with intensity. “Not us.”
Gwendolyn opened her mouth to retort, but Rosalie wasn’t done. She turned her sharp gaze on Alice. “Do you see him fail?”
Alice’s mouth opened slightly, then closed. “…No, it’s all blurry now.”
Rosalie’s smirk was cold. “Then why are we panicking?”
Jasper, who had been silent for most of the conversation, finally spoke. “Because we all know what happens if he does.”
Rosalie rolled her eyes. “Then he stays away from her.”
Gwendolyn let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You think he’ll just do that?”
Rosalie’s jaw tightened. That was the problem, wasn’t it?
Alice broke the silence. “He’ll be back.”
Jasper didn’t say anything, but his eyes flicked to Gwendolyn for just a second. She clenched her jaw. He felt it, didn’t he? The way her pulse had spiked, the way her stomach had twisted at Alice’s words. He didn’t push, he didn’t have to.
Rosalie scoffed. “Of course he will.”
Gwendolyn exhaled. “And when he does?”
Esme spoke then, her voice quiet but firm. “Then we handle it as a family.”
All eyes turned to her. Esme wasn’t often the one to step into arguments, but when she did, her presence was absolute. She wasn’t angry—she was unshaken, her gaze filled with something deeper than frustration. “I will not let us become a fractured family, not even for a few years,” she said, looking at Rosalie first, then Gwendolyn. “We have been together for too long. We have been through too much. Edward is one of us, and we will not cast him aside because of this.”
Rosalie’s lips parted slightly, but Esme held up a hand. “You love Forks,” Esme acknowledged gently. “And I understand why. But I will not allow us to break apart over this.” She looked at Gwendolyn now. “And I understand your fear. I do. But running isn’t the answer, sweetheart. If Edward comes back, we will handle it. Together.”
And just like that, the argument was over. For now.
Gwendolyn’s hands curled into fists. She was convinced this would end in disaster. She wanted to argue. She wanted to push, because hadn’t she already lost enough? Hadn’t they already seen what happened when someone lost control?
She could still feel their eyes on her, even after the argument had ended. It wasn’t just the silence—it was the weight of it. The way Jasper’s shoulders tensed. The way Alice’s fingers curled, restless. Like they were waiting for something. Like she was going to snap next. Like they weren’t sure how much time she had left. Gwendolyn let out a sharp breath, shoving away from the couch. She needed out. Before she said or did something she’d regret.
☽ ☽ ☽
The cold air burned in her lungs, her feet barely touching the ground as she cut through the trees. Branches that should have snagged against her coat shifted at the last second, bending just out of reach. The wind bit at her skin, but she welcomed it, let it scrape away the static that had been building all day. Boo followed, keeping pace effortlessly, a dark blur at her side.
She pushed herself faster, the trees blurring together, the pounding of her feet matching the steady rhythm of her heart. Maybe she could outrun it. If she moved fast enough, the unease wouldn’t catch her.
Before she knew it, she had reached the cliffs. The trees broke away, and she skidded to a stop, boots crunching against damp earth. Her breath still felt tight in her chest. But here, at least, the weight was hers alone to carry. The ocean stretched out before her, endless and untamed. The cliffs were jagged, rough beneath her fingers as she reached out to steady herself. Below, the waves crashed hard against the rocks, sending up misty plumes of white foam. The sky was a heavy shade of gray, but the water was a deep, restless blue, stretching into the horizon, shifting, never still. The wind tore at her hair, whipping strands of it loose from her braid, and she let it.
She just sat there, feet dangling in the abyss, watching the ocean churn, listening to the waves beat against the cliffs, gripping at the edge of the rock like she was waiting for it to pull her forward.
It was always the cliffs first, the beach came later. The first of every month, without fail. Always the same. Always after Ceelia’s visit.
The Council hadn’t done anything yet. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Yet. One day, they’d find what they were looking for.
And maybe that’s why she came here. A ritual, even if she wouldn’t call it that.
Because standing here, watching the ocean rage below, made her feel like something still tethered her to the earth. Because if she was here, she wasn’t somewhere else. She wasn’t sitting in that house, replaying the conversation, picking apart every glance, every hesitation, wondering if this was the month they decided she wasn’t worth the risk. Because at least out here, her thoughts weren’t clawing at her the way they did in bed. Sleep didn’t help anymore. Not when her dreams were just as loud as everything else.
She thought about going to the beach, about taking the long way down, walking along the shoreline. But she knew herself too well. She wouldn’t just sit on the sand. She’d start tracing patterns in it. Then, maybe, she’d start writing things she didn’t want to think about. Things she’d end up staring at until the tide washed them away.
Instead, she stayed where she was and she wondered—Would Edward actually come back like Alice promised? And if he did… Would that really be a good thing? If he had left because he was afraid of what he might become… was that fear enough to keep him from becoming it?
Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her nails digging into the fabric of her sleeves. The only thing keeping her grounded was the soft weight pressed against her, Boo, his massive head resting against her leg.
He wasn’t just watching, he was reading her, the way he always did. He never spoke, never demanded anything, but she could feel his quiet presence in the spaces between her thoughts. That’s how it had always been with him, from the very beginning.
She had never known a world without Boo. He had appeared when she was four—a gift from her uncle Macon. Full-sized from the start, silent and unmoving, like a shadow carved out of something older than the house itself.
She had woken up to find him at the foot of her bed, staring, as if he had always been there.
More than a simple pet. A creature that had never left her, because he was never meant to. He was too big, too knowing, too steady. And sometimes, she caught him staring like he was waiting for something she hadn’t figured out yet.
He was larger than any normal canine, with thick black fur that seemed too long for a regular breed, brushing against the earth as he moved. His build was powerful, almost wolfish, but there was something else about him, something uncanny. His eyes weren’t just sharp; they were deep and intelligent. He understood things he shouldn’t. He saw through her.
He had been a constant, in a life where everything else had been ripped away.
She absently ran a hand over his fur, comforted by the warmth. This time, he did lean into it, pressing more of his weight against her. A quiet, pleased huff rumbled from his chest. She huffed back, a small smirk flickering at her lips. "Needy today, huh?"
Boo just rolled onto his side, head still resting against her leg, paws stretching out in a lazy sprawl. She knew what this meant. He wouldn’t ask. He never did. But if she started scratching his stomach, he wouldn’t stop her either. She snorted, but gave in immediately, fingers scratching through his thick fur. She wasn’t sure if he purred or if the sound was just his deep exhale, but it rippled through the quiet. He was only like this when he knew it was safe. With anyone else, he was a force of nature—watching, guarding, untouchable. But with her? He melted.
She let out a slow breath, still scratching his stomach as she stared out at the waves. Boo’s tail thumped once against the ground. And she thought about something Macon used to say to him. "You and I—we’re the Boo Radleys of the world."
It had been an inside joke, one only she would have understood.
The town recluse, always watching, always lurking just out of sight.
Macon had been the same, back in their little town in South Carolina—too strange for the locals, too quiet, too unknowable.
And Boo had been the same.
A shadow at her side.
A silent ghost that never left.
She had never known a world without Boo and she told herself she never would.
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