(Thomas POV)
The cabin had gone quieter. Bella's breathing had evened out, slow and steady under the blanket. Edward still watched everything that moved, including the aisle and the flight attendants and the man three rows up who kept clearing his throat like it was a personal mission.
Just as my mind began to settle again, Edythe spoke.
"Tell me more about Leah." Her tone was soft, too soft for it to be idle conversation.
I blinked and turned my head slightly toward her. "More?"
Edythe's eyes stayed on the dark window, her reflection faint in the glass. "You said she's improving tremendously. I want to understand why. Is it discipline… or motivation?"
I huffed a quiet laugh. "Both. Mostly stubbornness."
"And when she struggles," Edythe continued, "what does it look like?"
I hesitated, searching for the right words. "She… gets sharp. Defensive. Like she's expecting the world to swing first and she refuses to be caught flat-footed."
Edythe's thumb traced my knuckle once, slow. "Does she take correction well?"
"That's the weird part," I admitted. "She does… when it's about control. When it's practical. But if it even smells like pity, or someone trying to tell her who she is… she bristles."
"She needs respect," Edythe murmured, as if stating a fact. "Not reassurance."
I glanced at her. "You say that like you've met her."
Edythe's eyes finally left the window. She looked at me, calm, unflinching.
"I have," she said simply.
I blinked. "You have?"
Edythe nodded once. "Twice you don't know about, and one you know of."
My brows pulled together. "Okay… when?"
"The first time was when you were gone," she said. "I went to your rock—the one you sat on when you needed quiet while living at Charlie's. Leah was there."
My stomach tightened. "You didn't tell me."
"I didn't want to add to your training," she said, voice steady. "Not when you couldn't do anything with the information from the other side of the world."
That was irritatingly reasonable.
"And the second time?"
Edythe's gaze returned to the window, but her voice didn't waver. "That was the one you know about. The time Jacob came to warn Bella and Edward about the treaty specifics. Leah didn't say anything out loud, but I still heard her."
I held still. "Heard what?"
Edythe paused, just long enough to choose the clean truth instead of the dramatic one.
"I heard her wish... no, her desperation," Edythe said softly, the word catching like it bothered her. "That she could... or would... imprint on you."
The words hit harder than they should have, like the plane had dipped.
I stared at her. "Desperation, she was that bad?"
"Not said, so much as wished," Edythe replied evenly. "She was in a very dark place in the pack mind and still torn up over Sam. She saw you as a way out of that. Someone she was genuinely coming to care about who could override all the hurt she had about Sam and Emily."
My jaw tightened. "And the third?"
Edythe's hand stayed in mine. "I asked her to meet me. After you and I became engaged."
I turned fully toward her. "You asked Leah to meet you."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Edythe didn't smile. Didn't preen. She just answered.
"Because she deserved to hear it from me, woman to woman," she said quietly. "And because I didn't want her turning her feelings into something sharp enough to cut you with later."
My throat tightened. "What did she say?"
"Some of it is between her and me," Edythe said, gentle but final. "But for my part…" She drew a slow breath. "I told her she didn't need to apologize for what she felt."
I stayed very still, watching her.
Edythe's voice didn't change, but it sharpened in a way only I would catch. "And I told her I wouldn't be cruel about it, but I also won't pretend you're unclaimed."
A beat.
"You and I are building a life," she continued softly. "If Leah stays close to you, she stays close to us."
I didn't know what to make of that last comment.
It sounded like a boundary.
It also sounded like… room.
I swallowed, eyes flicking from her face to our joined hands. "Edythe… are you saying you're okay with Leah being close to me?"
"I'm saying I won't punish her for existing near you," Edythe answered, precise. "And I won't punish you for caring about someone who is hurting."
"That's not the same thing."
"No," she agreed softly. "It isn't."
The engine hum filled the space between us. Bella shifted in her sleep, sighed, and settled again. Edward's eyes flicked over, then away, like he was politely pretending not to hear anything while hearing everything.
I kept my voice low. "I don't want her to get the wrong idea."
"Leah doesn't live by ideas," Edythe said. "She lives by what people do."
"And what am I doing?" I asked, and I hated that there was edge in my voice.
Edythe didn't react to the edge. She just answered. "You're teaching her. You're giving her structure. You're treating her like she's capable instead of broken." Her thumb moved once over my knuckles. "That's what she responds to. Not promises."
I stared at the seatback. "She's going to get hurt anyway."
Edythe's eyes narrowed slightly. "Because of imprinting."
"Because of imprinting," I confirmed. "Because if it happens, it doesn't matter what she wants. Or what I want. Or what anyone thinks is fair."
Edythe inhaled slowly, like she had to make space for her own anger before she could speak around it. "Then don't make this about outcome," she said quietly. "Make it about who she becomes while she's still free."
I let out a humorless breath. "That's a nice thought."
"It's a necessary one," she corrected, still gentle. "Thomas—answer me one thing."
I glanced back at her. "Okay."
"When Leah looks at you during training," Edythe asked, voice soft enough it almost vanished under the engine noise, "does she look like she's waiting to be judged… or like she's waiting to be seen?"
That question hit too cleanly.
I looked out into the black sky, buying time.
"Seen," I admitted finally. "And that's the problem."
Edythe tilted her head. "Because you don't want to be what she clings to."
"Because I don't want to be anybody's way out," I said. "Not like that. Not when it isn't real choice."
Edythe's expression softened. "You're not her way out," she said. "You're her proof that the world doesn't only take."
My throat tightened. "You make it sound noble."
"I make it sound true," she replied.
I swallowed. Then the uglier thought slipped free, the one I'd been circling since she said package deal.
"And you?" I asked quietly. "You're not bothered that she… wants that?"
Edythe didn't flinch. "I'm not made of glass."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know." Her fingers laced more firmly with mine. "And I'm not ignoring it. I'm choosing how I respond."
I tried to breathe around the tension in my chest. "How?"
"By refusing to turn her pain into a battleground," she said. "And by trusting you."
I stared at her. "Trusting me to do what?"
"To stay who you are," she said softly. "Steady. Honest. Not cruel."
Something in my chest loosened enough that I could breathe.
I leaned closer, forehead almost touching hers. "You're terrifyingly reasonable."
"I've been told," she murmured.
I gave a quiet huff of laughter, then sobered. "And… you really don't feel threatened."
Edythe's lips curved, small and controlled. "Threatened? No."
I frowned. "Then what—"
Edythe cut in, still gentle. "Thomas, I'm capable of noticing reality without panicking about it."
"What reality?"
She held my gaze for a beat—long enough that I knew she wasn't going to dodge it.
"I think Leah is attractive," Edythe said simply.
I blinked. "You—"
Edythe's mouth twitched. "Don't make that face."
"I'm not making a face."
"You are," she said, calm as ever. "Leah is… striking. She's beautiful." A pause, then a dry little exhale. "And yes. Hot."
The bluntness of it did something bizarre to my brain—half shock, half laughter.
I stared at her. "You just—said that."
"I have eyes," Edythe replied, matter-of-fact. "And I have no interest in lying to you because honesty is inconvenient."
My throat went tight. "That's… not the answer I expected."
"It's the honest one," she said.
I let out a slow breath, trying to reset my thoughts. "So you think she's hot, and you're still telling me to keep boundaries."
"Yes," Edythe said. "Both can be true."
"And what about the part where she thinks you're giving her… hope?" I asked, voice rougher than I meant. "Because 'package deal' sounds like—"
"It sounds like what it is," Edythe interrupted gently. "A boundary."
I waited.
Edythe's thumb stroked once across the back of my hand. "I did not promise her a place," she said quietly. "I didn't offer her comfort. I offered her truth."
My jaw tightened. "What truth?"
"That you are not property," Edythe said, steady as stone. "And neither is she. If she chooses to fight for something, she does it honestly. If she chooses to let it go, she does it honestly." Her eyes held mine. "And if she stays near you, she does it knowing I am not a woman who will punish her just to feel powerful."
I swallowed. "That's… dangerously reasonable."
Edythe's lips curved. "Only when I need to be."
I stared at her for a long moment, then asked, "So what do I do?"
"Keep teaching her," Edythe said. "Keep your boundaries. Don't offer her anything you can't give." Her gaze sharpened a fraction. "And don't shut her out just because her feelings are inconvenient."
I exhaled slowly. "That last part is going to be difficult."
"I know," she said, and there was no judgment in it. Just understanding.
For a moment, the cabin felt like it belonged to the hum of the engines and the dark glass and the quiet certainty of her hand in mine.
Then Edythe shifted, letting the tension ease by degrees. Her voice softened into something almost normal.
"And your aunt," she murmured. "Do you think she'll throw something, or will it be verbal first?"
I snorted, grateful for the exit. "Verbal. Renee likes to build momentum. Phil will try to intervene. Bella will look guilty. Edward will look guilty even though he doesn't feel guilt the way normal people do."
Edythe's quiet laugh warmed the space between us. "And you?"
"I will stand my ground," I said, surprised by how steady it sounded. "Like you told me."
Edythe's eyes held mine. "Good."
Bella sighed again in her sleep. Edward's gaze flicked over, then away. The cabin lights dimmed another notch, like the plane itself was insisting on rest.
Edythe leaned into my shoulder, cool and still, and I let my eyes close.
Not to sleep, at least not yet.
Just to hold onto the quiet while I had it.
Because in a few hours, the sun would be climbing over Florida, Renee would be awake and armed with opinions, and I'd be walking into a living room where normal people problems waited for me like a trap.
And somewhere back in Forks, a wolf with too much fire and nowhere safe to burn it would be training, fighting, and trying to survive being herself.
Package deal.
I didn't know what that meant yet.
But Edythe's hand stayed in mine like an anchor, and for now, that was enough.