Bella glanced out the windshield at the dark road stretching ahead of them, then back at Edward's perfectly composed profile. There was something almost predatory in the way he'd said that—like he was looking forward to turning the tables, to being the one asking uncomfortable questions for a change. His fingers drummed a silent rhythm against the steering wheel, and she caught the ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
"One more," she said suddenly.
Edward's eyebrows rose in that elegantly skeptical way that probably made teachers reconsider pop quizzes. "One more what?"
"One more question. Before we switch roles and you start psychoanalyzing my tragic backstory." She turned in her seat to face him more fully, tucking one leg beneath her in a way that would have made her mother launch into a lecture about proper posture. "You said you followed me to Port Angeles. But how did you know where to find me? The city's not that big, but it's not like you could have just wandered around until you spotted me window shopping at Forever 21."
For a moment, Edward didn't answer. His hands tightened almost imperceptibly on the steering wheel—those long, pale fingers that looked like they belonged on a pianist or a surgeon—and she saw his jaw work silently like he was weighing his response with the precision of someone calculating missile trajectories.
"Edward," she pressed, enjoying the way his name felt in her mouth, all sharp consonants and soft vowels. "How did you find me?"
He was quiet for so long she was starting to think he wouldn't answer at all. The only sounds were the purr of the Volvo's engine and the soft whisper of tires against asphalt. Then, just as she was opening her mouth to ask again—probably with significantly less patience this time—he said, "I followed your scent."
The words were so matter-of-fact, so casually delivered, that for a moment Bella wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. Like he'd just mentioned checking his watch or glancing at a map.
"I'm sorry, what?" She blinked at him, her brain trying to process what sounded like something out of a Discovery Channel documentary about wolves.
"Your scent," he repeated, still not looking at her, his profile sharp and perfect in the green glow of the dashboard lights. "Everyone has one. Unique, like a fingerprint. Yours is..." He paused, and she saw his throat work as he swallowed. "Distinctive."
Bella stared at him, her mind struggling to process what he'd just said. In 2005, most seventeen-year-old boys were worried about things like whether their AIM away messages were cool enough or if they'd remember to return their Blockbuster rentals on time. They were not casually discussing tracking people through downtown Port Angeles like some kind of human bloodhound.
"You followed my *scent*? Like a... like a..." She gestured vaguely, trying to find an appropriate comparison that didn't sound completely insane.
"Like a bloodhound?" Edward's mouth quirked in something that might have been amusement, transforming his entire face from marble statue to something almost boyish. "I suppose the comparison isn't entirely inaccurate."
"That's..." She trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence. Impossible? Terrifying? Completely insane? The kind of thing that should have her reaching for her Nokia flip phone to call 911? All of the above?
"I know how it sounds," Edward said quietly, his voice carrying that same careful control she'd noticed all evening. Like every word was being filtered through several layers of consideration before he allowed it to escape. "But when you've spent as long as I have learning to... navigate the world differently, you develop certain abilities. Enhanced senses are just part of that."
Enhanced senses. Right. Because that was a completely normal thing for a seventeen-year-old boy from Forks, Washington to casually mention over dinner. Bella found herself wondering if this was how Alice felt when she tumbled down the rabbit hole—everything looking normal on the surface but operating according to rules that made no logical sense.
"Okay," Bella said slowly, trying to wrap her head around this latest revelation. Her voice came out surprisingly steady, considering her worldview was currently doing somersaults. "So you can read minds and you have supernatural senses of smell. What else? Super strength? X-ray vision? The ability to leap tall buildings in a single bound?"
Edward actually laughed at that, the sound warm and genuine in the enclosed space of the car. It transformed his face completely, making him look less like an impossibly beautiful statue and more like... well, like a teenage boy who'd just heard something genuinely funny.
"Nothing quite so dramatic," he said, but there was something in his tone—a careful evasion that suggested she wasn't entirely wrong.
"That's not an answer."
"No," he agreed, glancing at her with those impossible golden eyes that seemed to catch light from sources that didn't exist. "It's not."
Bella huffed in frustration, but she couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. There was something almost endearing about his complete refusal to give her straight answers, like he was determined to maintain some air of mystery even while confessing to supernatural abilities.
"You're impossible," she said, shaking her head.
"So you keep telling me." Edward glanced at her, his golden eyes dancing with something that might have been mischief. The expression made him look younger somehow, less like the controlled, careful person she'd gotten used to and more like someone who might actually be seventeen. "Now, about that explanation you promised me..."
"Right. The mind-reading thing." Bella settled back in her seat, tucking her other leg under her and trying to organize her thoughts. It felt surreal, discussing telepathy like it was a class assignment or weekend plans. "So you can hear everyone's thoughts, all the time? Like, right now you're listening to... I don't know, some soccer mom in Forks wondering if she remembered to TiVo American Idol?"
"All the time," Edward confirmed, his expression growing more serious. "It's like being in a room where everyone is talking at once, and no one ever stops. Sometimes the voices are louder, sometimes quieter, but they're always there. Background noise that never quite goes away."
The casual way he described it—like he was talking about tinnitus or the hum of fluorescent lights—made her chest tight with something that might have been sympathy. She tried to imagine what that would be like, never having a moment of true quiet, never being alone with your own thoughts.
"That sounds exhausting," she said softly.
"It is." His hands shifted on the steering wheel, and she caught the faintest hint of tension in his shoulders, like he was carrying invisible weight. "Most people's thoughts aren't particularly... interesting. The grocery list they're mentally reviewing, wondering if they remembered to lock the car, replaying conversations from earlier in the day. Jessica thinking about whether her new jeans make her look fat. Mike wondering if you noticed the way he styled his hair today."
Bella wrinkled her nose. "Mike was thinking about his hair? That explains why it looked like he stuck his finger in an electrical socket."
Edward's smile was sharp and amused. "He spent twenty minutes with a bottle of gel this morning."
"Twenty minutes? For that?" She shook her head in disbelief. "Boys are weird."
"Present company excluded, I hope?"
"The jury's still out on that one." But her tone was teasing, and she saw his smile widen in response.
"Sometimes I get flashes of memory," he continued, his voice growing more serious again, "or emotion, or images of things they're planning to do later. It's not always clear or coherent—thoughts rarely are. But it's... constant."
"But not mine."
"No." He glanced at her again, and there was something almost frustrated in his expression, like she was a puzzle he couldn't solve. "Your mind is completely silent to me. It's like you're not even there, which is..." He paused, seeming to search for the right words. "Unsettling."
Bella felt something cold settle in her stomach, heavy and unpleasant. "Unsettling how?"
"I don't know what you're thinking. Ever." His voice dropped to something barely above a whisper, and she had to strain to hear him over the purr of the engine. "I can't predict what you're going to say or do, can't prepare for your reactions. I can't tell if you're angry or amused or planning to run screaming into the night."
He said it like it was a fundamental problem with the universe, like she was operating outside the natural order of things. The way he might describe a computer that wouldn't boot up or a math equation that refused to balance.
"With everyone else," he continued, "I have at least some idea of what's coming. I can see the thoughts forming before they become words, can sense the emotions building before they become actions. With you, I'm flying completely blind."
The way he said it—like her mental silence was some kind of defect, some fundamental wrongness that set her apart from normal people—made her shrink back against the passenger seat. She felt exposed suddenly, like he'd pointed out some visible flaw she'd been trying to hide.
"So I'm a freak," she said flatly, her voice coming out smaller than she'd intended.
Edward's head whipped toward her so fast she was surprised he didn't get whiplash, his golden eyes wide with what looked like genuine shock. "What?"
"You said it yourself." She crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling defensive and vulnerable in a way that made her want to curl up like a hedgehog. "Everyone else is normal—you can read their thoughts, predict their behavior, know what they're going to do. Jessica thinking about her jeans, Mike obsessing over his hair, all perfectly readable and predictable. But not me. I'm the exception. The weird one. The glitch in your system."
Her voice was growing sharper with each word, years of feeling like an outsider bubbling to the surface. "The freak."
"Bella, no." Edward's voice was sharp with something that might have been pain, his hands tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. "That's not—you're not—"
But Bella had already turned away, staring out the passenger window at the dark forest rushing past. The trees were just black shapes against a slightly less black sky, an endless wall of Douglas fir and cedar that pressed close to the road like they were trying to reclaim the asphalt.
She'd always known she was different, had always felt like she was operating on a frequency that no one else could quite tune into. Her classmates in Phoenix had been polite but distant, treating her like a foreign exchange student who spoke the same language but followed different cultural rules. Her mother had loved her but never quite understood her, always seeming slightly puzzled by the daughter who preferred books to shopping and would rather spend Friday nights reading than going to parties.
Even here in Forks, she felt like she was watching everyone else's lives through glass—close enough to observe, too far away to really participate. Angela was sweet but already had her close friendships. Jessica was friendly enough but treated their conversations like social experiments. The boys who asked her to dances or tried to carry her books seemed more interested in the idea of the new girl than in actually getting to know her.
Now she knew why. She wasn't just different—she was fundamentally broken in some way that even someone with supernatural abilities couldn't figure out. A radio that couldn't pick up any stations, a computer that wouldn't connect to the network.
"Bella." Edward's voice was gentler now, coaxing in a way that reminded her of her father trying to talk her down from childhood tantrums. "Look at me."
She didn't move, keeping her face turned toward the window where her reflection stared back at her, pale and serious against the dark glass.
"Please."
There was something in his voice—not quite pleading, but close enough—that made her finally, reluctantly, turn back toward him. His expression was intense, earnest in a way that made her chest tight and her breath catch.
"You're not a freak," he said firmly, his voice carrying absolute conviction. "You're extraordinary."
Bella let out a short, bitter laugh. "Same thing, isn't it?"
"No." Edward's voice was sharp, almost fierce. "It's absolutely not. Your mind is like nothing I've ever encountered, and I've encountered a lot of minds over the years. It's not broken or wrong or defective—it's just... yours. Private. Protected. And that makes you..."
"What?" The word came out smaller than she'd intended, like she was afraid of his answer.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel again, and when he spoke, his voice was so quiet she had to strain to hear him over the purr of the engine.
"Fascinating," he said simply.
Bella felt heat rise in her cheeks, though she couldn't quite say why. The way he said it—like she was something rare and precious instead of fundamentally flawed—made something flutter in her chest. "Fascinating like a science experiment?"
"Fascinating like..." He paused, seeming to search for the right words, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Like the first person I've ever met who surprised me. Like someone who can't be predicted or catalogued or filed away into neat categories. Like..." He glanced at her, his golden eyes intense. "Like someone worth knowing."
That made her breath catch, though she tried to hide it by turning her attention back to the road ahead. They were making good time—she could see the glow of Forks in the distance, the warm yellow lights of houses and streetlamps that meant civilization and safety and the end of this strange, impossible evening.
"Your turn," Edward said, apparently sensing her attempt to deflect. His voice had taken on that hint of challenge she was beginning to recognize, like he was daring her to live up to her own promises. "I've answered your questions. Now you answer mine."
"Okay," Bella said, settling back in her seat and trying to ignore the way her heart was still doing irregular things in response to his words. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything," he said immediately, with an intensity that caught her off guard. "Your childhood in Phoenix. Your mother. Why you decided to move to Forks. What you were like before you came here. What you're thinking when you look at me like I'm a particularly complex equation you're trying to solve."
"Like what?"
"Like you're trying to figure out whether I'm a polynomial or a quadratic," he said, his mouth quirking in amusement. "Like you're working through variables and looking for patterns that will help you understand how the whole thing fits together."
Bella couldn't help but smile at that. It was uncomfortably accurate—she had been studying him like a math problem, looking for clues and connections that would help explain the impossible contradictions he represented.
"Maybe I am," she admitted.
"So start solving," Edward said, his voice carrying that hint of challenge she was beginning to recognize. "Tell me about—"
"Oh my God, Edward!" Bella's voice cut through his question like a knife, high and sharp with genuine terror. Her eyes had gone wide as she stared at the speedometer, and she was suddenly gripping the door handle like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to earth. "Slow down!"
Edward blinked, glancing at the speedometer for the first time in several minutes. They were doing just over a hundred miles per hour, the speedometer needle hovering in territory that would have made NASCAR drivers reconsider their life choices.
He looked genuinely puzzled by her reaction, like she'd just expressed fear of cotton candy or puppies. "We're fine, Bella. I have excellent reflexes—"
"EDWARD!" She was practically pressed against the passenger door now, her knuckles white against the leather interior. "This is a two-lane highway! In the dark! In 2005! What if there's another car, or an animal, or—or a deer, or—"
"There isn't," he said calmly, but he did ease off the accelerator slightly. The speedometer needle dropped to ninety, then eighty-five, like he was making a concession to her completely irrational fears.
"How can you possibly know that?" Her voice had gone up at least an octave, and she sounded like she was on the verge of hyperventilating.
"Enhanced senses, remember?" But he slowed down further, bringing their speed to a more reasonable eighty. The kind of speed that would only get them a hefty ticket instead of a one-way trip to the morgue. "I can hear if there are any other cars coming, can smell any animals that might be thinking about crossing the road. We're perfectly safe."
"Better?" he asked, glancing at her with something that might have been amusement.
Bella's heart was still hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird, but she managed a shaky nod. "Better. Jesus, Edward. Are you trying to kill us both?"
"Language," he said mildly, but there was definitely amusement in his voice now.
"Oh, excuse me. Are you trying to send us both to our untimely demise via high-speed collision with a Douglas fir?" She was still breathing hard, adrenaline making her voice shake slightly. "Because that's what was about to happen. People die in car crashes, you know. Especially when they're going a hundred miles per hour on dark, winding roads that were designed for horses and buggies."
Edward was quiet for a moment, studying her with an expression she couldn't quite read. Then he said, almost wonderingly, "You're afraid of my driving, but not of me."
It wasn't a question, but Bella answered anyway. "Should I be? Afraid of you, I mean?"
The question seemed to catch him off guard. His expression grew serious, almost grave, and when he spoke again, his voice carried a weight that made something cold settle in her stomach.
"Yes," he said simply. "You absolutely should be."
The certainty in his voice should have terrified her. Should have had her demanding he pull over immediately so she could call her dad to come pick her up, or maybe just start walking back to town despite the miles of dark forest between here and safety.
But somehow, sitting there in the warm cocoon of his expensive car, watching his perfect profile in the dashboard lights, listening to the careful control in his voice as he warned her away from himself, Bella found that she wasn't afraid at all.
Maybe that made her the biggest freak of all.
"Well," she said finally, settling back in her seat with a casualness that probably should have worried her, "lucky for both of us, I've never been particularly good at doing what I should do."
Edward's laugh was soft and surprised, like she'd caught him off guard again. "No," he agreed, glancing at her with something that might have been admiration. "I don't suppose you are."
—
The silence that followed stretched between them like a taut wire, filled with the steady purr of the Volvo's engine and the whisper of tires against asphalt. Edward's hands had gone perfectly still on the steering wheel, no longer drumming that restless rhythm, and Bella could see the subtle tension that had crept into his shoulders.
"So," he said finally, his voice carefully neutral in a way that immediately put her on edge. "Do you have any new theories? About what I am?"
Bella felt her stomach clench. She'd been dreading this moment since the restaurant, knowing it was coming but hoping somehow they could avoid it. Her hands twisted in her lap, fingers knotting together as she tried to find the right words.
"I..." She started, then stopped, her throat feeling dry despite the half-finished Coke still sitting in the cup holder. "I don't know how to begin."
"The beginning is usually a good place to start." But there was something too casual about his tone, like he was working very hard to sound unaffected.
Bella bit her lip, staring down at her hands. In the green glow of the dashboard lights, her skin looked pale and fragile, almost translucent. "I'm afraid you'll be angry."
"Angry?" Edward's voice sharpened slightly, genuine surprise cutting through his careful neutrality. "Why would I be angry?"
"Because..." She took a shaky breath, forcing herself to meet his eyes for just a moment before looking away again. "At the beach last weekend, I talked to Jacob Black. He's a family friend—his dad Billy is friends with my dad. Jacob's a member of the Quileute tribe, and he..."
She trailed off, watching Edward's profile in her peripheral vision. His expression had gone perfectly blank, which somehow seemed more ominous than if he'd started shouting.
"What did Jacob tell you?" Edward's voice was very quiet, very controlled.
"A legend," Bella whispered, the words barely audible over the engine noise. "About vampires. About your family. About the Cullens being..." She swallowed hard. "Being the cold ones."
Edward's hands tightened imperceptibly on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white against the dark leather. For a moment, the only sound was their breathing and the steady hum of the road beneath them.
"And after that?" His voice was barely above a whisper now.
"After that, I did some research. On the internet." The words tumbled out in a rush, like she needed to get them all out before she lost her nerve. "I looked up vampire legends, folklore, tried to find patterns that matched what I'd observed about you and your family. The way you move, the way your skin looks in sunlight, the way you never seem to eat anything, your eyes..."
She risked another glance at his face. His expression was still perfectly controlled, but she could see something dangerous lurking behind his golden eyes, like storm clouds gathering on a distant horizon.
"But then I decided it doesn't matter," she said softly.
Edward's head snapped toward her so fast she was surprised the car didn't swerve. "What?"
"It doesn't matter," she repeated, her voice growing stronger. "Whatever you are, whatever your family is—it doesn't change anything. Not for me."
For a long moment, Edward just stared at her, his expression cycling through disbelief, confusion, and something that might have been pain. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough with incredulity.
"You researched vampires," he said slowly, like he was testing each word for hidden meaning. "You concluded that I'm an inhuman monster who survives by drinking blood, and you're telling me it doesn't matter?"
The way he said 'monster'—with such bitter self-loathing that it made her chest ache—had Bella turning in her seat to face him fully.
"Don't," she said sharply, surprising them both with the firmness in her voice.
"Don't what?"
"Don't call yourself that." Her hands had balled into fists in her lap, and she could feel her heart rate picking up—not with fear, but with something that might have been anger. "Don't you dare sit there and call yourself a monster."
Edward let out a harsh laugh that held no humor whatsoever. "What else would you call something that—"
"I'd call him Edward," Bella interrupted, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'd call him someone who saved my life tonight. Someone who's never hurt me, never made me feel unsafe, never given me any reason to be afraid."
"You should be afraid," Edward said, his voice dropping to something barely above a whisper. "You should be terrified. You should be demanding that I pull over right now so you can get as far away from me as possible."
Bella studied his profile in the dashboard lights—the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing anchoring him to earth, the careful control he maintained even when discussing his own perceived monstrosity.
"You're angry," she said quietly, and it wasn't a question.
Edward's laugh was bitter. "Angry? Bella, I'm—"
"Not at the situation," she clarified, her voice soft but certain. "You're angry at yourself. For telling me. For letting me figure it out. For caring what I think about it."
That stopped him mid-sentence, his mouth snapping shut as he stared at the road ahead. The silence stretched between them again, but this time it felt different—less like a standoff and more like Edward was trying to figure out how she'd managed to read him so accurately when he was supposed to be the mind reader.
"I'm not afraid of you," Bella said finally, her voice barely above a whisper but carrying absolute conviction. "I know I should be. I know any rational person would be. But I'm not."
"Then what are you afraid of?" The question sounded like it had been pulled out of him against his will.
Bella bit her lip, looking down at her hands again. This was the part that made her feel most vulnerable, most exposed. "I'm afraid of upsetting you. Of making you angry or sad or... or making you regret telling me. My only concern isn't my safety, Edward. It's making you happy."
The words hung in the air between them like a confession, raw and honest in a way that made her want to curl up and hide. She'd never admitted that to anyone before—that she cared more about his emotional state than her own physical wellbeing. That the thought of causing him pain was infinitely more terrifying than any danger he might pose to her.
Edward was staring at her now with an expression she couldn't quite decipher—something between wonder and horror, like she'd just performed a miracle that also happened to be a catastrophe.
"Bella," he said finally, his voice rough. "That's..." He stopped, shaking his head like he couldn't find words for what he wanted to say.
"Stupid?" she offered, trying for lightness and failing miserably.
"Impossible," he whispered. "You're impossible."
But the way he said it—like she was some kind of miracle he couldn't quite believe in—made warmth bloom in her chest despite the seriousness of their conversation.
"So," she said, settling back in her seat and trying to project a confidence she didn't entirely feel. "Are you going to tell me I'm wrong? About what you are?"
Edward was quiet for a long moment, his golden eyes fixed on the road ahead where the lights of Forks were growing steadily brighter. When he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet she had to strain to hear him.
"No," he said simply. "You're not wrong."
—
Two miles behind the silver Volvo, Hadrian downshifted as they approached a gentle curve, the Triumph's engine purring with restrained power. The motorcycle's twin headlights cut through the darkness, but he kept their distance carefully calculated—close enough for their enhanced hearing to catch fragments of the conversation ahead, far enough that the human girl wouldn't notice an extra set of lights in her mirrors.
Daenerys tightened her arms around his waist as they leaned into the turn, her chin resting against his shoulder. Even through their leather jackets, he could feel the coolness of her skin, the supernatural stillness that marked them both as predators masquerading as something softer.
"—call yourself a monster," Bella's voice drifted back to them in the wind, sharp with an emotion that made Daenerys lift her head in surprise.
"Did she just—" Daenerys started, her voice barely a whisper against his ear.
"Defend him," Hadrian finished grimly, his hands tightening slightly on the handlebars. "Yes, she did."
They'd been following since Port Angeles, close enough to hear Edward's careful revelations, his growing desperation as he tried to warn the girl away from himself. It was painful to listen to—their brother, their companion in this strange existence, tearing himself apart over a human who seemed determined to see past every warning he threw at her.
"—never hurt me, never made me feel unsafe—" Bella's words carried clearly in the still night air, and Daenerys made a soft sound that might have been sympathy or exasperation.
"She has no idea what she's dealing with," Daenerys murmured, though there was something almost admiring in her tone. "Absolute fool of a girl."
"Brave fool," Hadrian corrected, slowing slightly as Edward's brake lights flared ahead. "Listen to her voice. She's not naive—she's terrified. But not of him."
They'd all been turned on the same day, seventy-three years ago now, though the memories still felt sharp as broken glass when he let himself examine them too closely. Three teenagers who'd found each other in their human lives, who'd faced their transformation together, who'd learned to navigate this existence as a unit. Edward was the closest thing to a brother he'd ever had, and watching him torture himself over this human girl was like watching someone methodically tear off their own limbs.
"—I'm afraid of upsetting you. Of making you angry or sad—"
Daenerys went perfectly still against his back, her breathing stopping entirely for a moment. "Did she just say what I think she said?"
"That she cares more about his emotional state than her own safety?" Hadrian's voice was grim. "Yes. She did."
They'd watched Edward struggle with isolation for decades, seen him pull away from them and from the others, convinced that he was somehow more monstrous than the rest of them because he could hear the darkness in people's thoughts. He'd never allowed himself to get close to humans beyond what was necessary for their cover, never let himself believe he deserved anything resembling happiness or companionship.
And now this slip of a girl was sitting in his car, having deduced exactly what he was, and her primary concern was making him happy.
"—You're not wrong," Edward's voice drifted back to them, so quiet they had to strain their supernatural senses to catch it.
Daenerys pulled back slightly, and Hadrian could practically feel her rolling her eyes. "Finally. I thought he was going to keep dancing around it until they reached Forks."
"He's terrified," Hadrian said quietly, taking another curve as the lights of town grew brighter ahead. "Look at him—his whole posture, the way he's gripping the wheel. He's more afraid right now than he was during the newborn wars."
And it was true. Even from this distance, they could see the rigid tension in Edward's shoulders, the careful way he held himself like he was afraid any sudden movement might shatter something precious. In all their years together, through battles and hunts and the countless small dangers of their existence, Hadrian had never seen Edward this vulnerable.
"She's going to destroy him," Daenerys said softly, but there wasn't malice in her voice—just the weary recognition of someone who'd watched their family member fall for something impossible before. "One way or another. Either by leaving, or by staying and getting hurt, or by making him believe he deserves something good and then having it all fall apart."
Hadrian was quiet for a moment, considering. "Maybe. Or maybe she's going to save him."
"From what?"
"From himself. From thinking he's a monster. From believing he doesn't deserve to be loved." He slowed as they approached the outskirts of Forks, letting the distance between them and the Volvo increase. Soon they'd have to peel off, take the back roads to the house while Edward delivered Bella safely home. "Listen to the way she talks to him, Dany. When's the last time you heard someone speak to Edward like he was just... a person? Not a vampire, not a mind reader, not a dangerous predator. Just Edward."
Daenerys was quiet against his back, considering this. They both knew what it was like—the constant awareness of what they were, the careful distance they maintained from humans, the way people sensed something wrong about them even when they couldn't quite put their finger on what it was. They'd had each other, had Carlisle and Esme, had their makeshift family of monsters trying to be better than their nature.
But Edward had always held himself apart, even from them. Always convinced that his ability to hear thoughts made him somehow more of a violation, more of an invasion. That the darkness he glimpsed in human minds reflected some essential darkness in himself.
"She doesn't know about the bloodlust yet," Daenerys pointed out pragmatically. "Doesn't know how hard it is for him to be around her. Doesn't know about the hunting, or what we've all done to survive."
"No," Hadrian agreed. "But she knows he could hurt her, and she's choosing to trust him anyway. That's... something."
They were approaching the turn that would take them home while Edward continued toward Bella's house. Hadrian could see the Volvo's taillights ahead, steady and sure as Edward navigated the familiar streets of Forks.
"Should we follow them all the way?" Daenerys asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.
"No. He needs to do this part alone." Hadrian took the turn toward their house, the Triumph's engine note changing as they left the main road. "But we should be ready. If this goes badly—if she changes her mind, or if he does something stupid—"
"He'll need us," Daenerys finished. "Our brother has never been good at handling emotional crisis alone."
They rode in comfortable silence after that, the familiar weight of decades of companionship settling around them. Behind them, Edward was delivering Bella home after telling her exactly what kind of monster he was. Ahead of them lay whatever consequences that revelation would bring.
But for now, in this moment, their family was intact and their brother had found someone who looked at him and saw something worth protecting instead of something to fear.
That had to count for something.
---
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