(Thomas POV)
The rest of the evening passed normally, a new familiarity I was getting used to.
As I ate, Edythe sat nearby with a book she borrowed from the new release section of the school library. The living room lights stayed low. Rain worried at the windows. Every so often, I glanced at my phone that sat there on the table like it was daring me to leave the room.
I had just slipped into the kitchen to rinse my plate when it finally buzzed.
Sam.
I wiped my hands on a towel and answered before it could ring a fourth time. "Hey."
His voice came through clipped, controlled. "The council will meet you."
That landed like a weight and a relief at the same time. "Okay. When?"
"Tomorrow. After sundown." He paused"Elders' hall."
"Seven?" I asked, because schedules mattered even when the details didn't.
"Seven," Sam confirmed. "You show up alone."
"I know," I replied. "No Cullens. No Edythe. Just me."
A pause, long enough to be a warning without sounding like one. "And you understand why."
"Well… I mean there is the treaty for starters." I joked to lighten the mood.
Sam exhaled through his nose, apparently, I wasn't funny. "Good."
I rubbed my thumb along the edge of my phone case, a nervous tick I had apparently picked up. "Like I said earlier, I'm not trying to do this sideways, Sam. No sneaking. No bruised egos. I want to speak to them straight."
"Then speak straight," he said. "Because they're going to ask questions."
"I'm ready for that," I answered. "As long as it's mutual."
"It'll be mutual," Sam said, like he wasn't promising comfort, just honesty. "I'll see you there."
"See you," I said.
The call ended.
I stood there for a second with the phone still at my ear, letting it settle. It wasn't the location that mattered. It wasn't even the time.
It was the fact that it was happening at all.
Edythe was in the doorway when I turned, motionless in that way she had that made the whole room feel like it had a center.
"Tomorrow?" she asked.
"Tomorrow," I confirmed. "Elders' hall. Seven."
Her expression didn't shift into analysis. No worry lines, no strategic spiraling, just that calm attention she always had when something mattered.
"Good," she said simply.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "They're going to want answers."
Her eyes stayed on mine. "Then give them the ones that keep their people alive."
I nodded, because there wasn't anything clever to say to that.
"Yeah," I murmured. "That's the plan."
Edythe stepped into the kitchen, not crowding me, just closing the distance enough that I could feel her presence like a steady hand at my back. She glanced at the phone still in my grip.
"They'll test you," she said.
"I know."
"And they'll try to decide if you're a liability."
"Also know," I said, then let out a slow breath. "I'm just… not thrilled about walking into a room full of people who've spent their whole lives being told my fiancée is a monster, and I'm the guy who decided to marry her anyway."
Edythe's expression didn't change, still calm, still controlled, but something softened in her eyes.
"Then don't walk in as the man who decided," she said quietly. "Walk in as the man who is choosing. There's a difference." Her gaze held mine. "You also have to keep in mind that in a way they are right. Vampires are their enemy, just not all of them."
I huffed a short laugh. "That's very you."
"It's very true," she corrected.
I set the phone down on the counter and leaned back against it, staring at the dim reflection of the kitchen lights in the window. Rain slid down the glass in thin, restless lines.
"I can handle questions," I said. "What I don't want is to turn this into a pride thing."
"Then don't make it one," she said, simple as that.
I glanced at her. "You make it sound easy."
"It isn't easy," she replied. "It's just necessary."
There it was again. That word that kept showing up lately like the universe was trying to tattoo it on my forehead.
I reached out and took her hand, thumb brushing her knuckles. "You're not coming. I know. Treaty. I'm not asking."
"I know you're not," she said. "But you can still take me with you."
I blinked. "What, like… morally?"
She arched one perfect eyebrow. "Like the part of you that doesn't enjoy violence unless it's useful. Like the part of you that wants to build instead of burn."
I couldn't help it, I smiled. "You're getting manipulative."
"I'm getting practical," she said, and then her mouth twitched. "It's rubbing off."
"Great," I muttered. "Next you'll be making spreadsheets."
Edythe's eyes flicked toward the living room where her library book lay open. "Alice would."
"Don't summon her," I warned.
"I would never," she said, far too innocent.
We moved back into the living room after that. We pretended to watch TV as I held her in my arms on the couch. Mostly, we just existed in the same space until the hour got late enough that my body started doing what it always did, slowing down, dragging me toward sleep whether I wanted to think or not.
When I finally lay down, Edythe stayed beside me like always, still, cool, present. I didn't have to look to know she was watching my face, tracking the way my thoughts settled.
"Try to sleep," she said softly.
"I am trying," I muttered.
"That was not trying," she said, like she could see my brain pacing in circles.
I turned my head enough to find her eyes in the dark. "If this goes bad…"
"It won't," she said.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one that matters," she replied. Then, quieter: "And if it gets difficult, remember what you told Sam. Straight. No sideways."
I exhaled. "Okay."
Her fingers brushed my hair back once, feather-light, and I closed my eyes.
The last thing I remember before sleep took me was the sound of rain and the steady, familiar certainty of her beside me.
(Break)
Jasper showed up early.
Which, honestly, was on-brand for a vampire who treated time like it owed him interest.
I was already awake, my body rarely let me sleep in, but I was still wiping sleep from my eyes when the soft knock came.
Edythe was already at the door before I could move. She opened it and Jasper stepped in like he belonged here, which, at this point, he kind of did.
"Morning," Jasper said, calm as ever.
"Morning," I replied, rubbing my eyes. "You ever think about taking up a hobby that doesn't involve tormenting me before breakfast?"
"I have several hobbies, World of Warcraft, EVE, Guild Wars… You're just my current favorite," Jasper said, deadpan.
Edythe's mouth twitched. "Try not to break my floors."
Jasper's eyes flicked to her, faint amusement. "No promises."
"I heard that," I warned.
He didn't even blink. "Good."
We headed for the gym Esme had built into the house, clean, functional, and just personal enough that it still felt surreal sometimes. Not because I hadn't thanked her. I had. Repeatedly.
It was just… strange to have a space made for me by someone who didn't have to.
Jasper rolled his shoulders once, like he was settling into a familiar rhythm. "Same as last time?"
"Yeah," I said, stepping up to the bar. The iron itself wasn't the point. It was just structure. A place to put my hands. A line to push against.
I set my grip and lifted.
Jasper's palms came down on the bar, light at first, then firm as he added pressure, controlled, measured, exactly what we'd agreed on. It felt like lifting a decision. When it hit where I started to feel the strain I pushed up and he tried to keep the same pressure as I moved the bar.
My muscles burned, not because the weight was too much, but because the balance demanded precision I didn't always want to give. In my head, I could brute force half my problems. In my body, that got you hurt.
"Steady," Jasper said.
"Yeah," I grunted through my teeth.
Again.
Again.
The strain built until my arms trembled and my breath went loud. Not panic loud, work loud.
"That's it," Jasper murmured. "Don't fight the resistance. Own it."
I adjusted. Slowed. Controlled the movement instead of trying to win it.
The bar rose.
Jasper pressed.
I held.
Something in my body clicked into place, the way it did when training stopped being about strength and started being about control.
Jasper eased the pressure and I racked the bar, chest heaving.
I straightened, wiping sweat off my forehead. "Okay," I said between breaths. "That felt… different."
Jasper nodded once. "It was cleaner."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning you didn't try to prove anything," he said. "You just did the work."
I stared at him for a second, then snorted. "You're doing therapy again."
"Yes," Jasper said immediately.
Edythe's voice drifted from the doorway. She hadn't come in, but she'd been there, silent, steady. "He can't help himself."
Jasper glanced at her. "Neither can Thomas."
"Hey," I protested, then had to admit it was fair.
Jasper stepped back, done with the session as abruptly as he always was. "Eat. Hydrate. Don't waste energy on rehearsing conversations you haven't had yet."
I gave him a look. "Do you know how hard that is for me?"
"Yes," Jasper said. "That's why I said it."
And then he was gone, quiet, controlled, leaving me standing in my own gym with my heartbeat still running hot.
The day crawled after that.
School happened. Conversations blurred. Teachers talked. Forks stayed Forks.
But everything in my head was focused on sundown.
By the time the sky went slate-gray and the rain started again, I'd showered, changed, and checked my phone too many times to pretend I wasn't nervous.
Edythe didn't try to stop me from spiraling. She just anchored me.
"You don't have to perform," she reminded me as I grabbed my keys.
I paused with my hand on the doorknob. "I'm not going to."
"I know," she said simply. Then, softer: "Come back to me."
That hit harder than any warning.
I turned, stepped in close, and rested my forehead against hers for a heartbeat, brief, careful, the way we did it when we didn't need witnesses.
"I will," I promised. My lips found hers, slow at first, then sure, and for a second the rest of the world stopped existing.
Then I left.
The drive to the reservation felt longer than it should have. Not because the road changed, just because my mind did. The trees seemed denser. The world quieter. Like everything was holding its breath.
When I pulled up near the elders' hall, the building sat solid and dark against the wet evening, warm light behind the windows, the faint hint of woodsmoke in the air. It wasn't dramatic.
It was real.
I parked, cut the engine, and sat there for one last second with my hands on the steering wheel.
Straight. No sideways.
I got out, shut the door, and started walking toward the entrance.