Charlie leaned back on the couch, surveying the freshly decorated living room one last time. It finally looked like a space where humans actually lived, not a cabin straight out of a crime scene documentary. He cleared his throat, half-smiling. "You know… after all this work, maybe we should eat out tonight."
I arched an eyebrow. "Eat out? Look at you, Chief Swan, suggesting dinner dates. Where to?"
"The diner," he replied, like it was the only option in town. Which, to be fair, it basically was. "They know me there."
Of course they did. Forks was the size of a shoebox Charlie was probably the most exciting thing they had after Bingo night.
"Fine," I sighed dramatically, grabbing my jacket. "But we're taking my car. I refuse to be seen arriving in that cruiser of yours. No offense, but the vibe is… questionable."
Charlie scoffed. "My cruiser is perfectly fine."
"Yeah, if we were trying to intimidate the salad bar."
Still, he tossed me the keys without much of a fight, and soon enough, we were cruising down the wet roads in my sleek 2004 audi A4 .The drive was quiet, but not awkward. Charlie wasn't a chatterbox, and thanks to my little moon-given perk, he didn't feel the need to fill the silence. He was comfortable. I was comfortable. That was enough.
When we pulled up outside the diner the same one from the movie, all neon glow and small-town charm every set of eyes seemed to swivel in my direction the moment I stepped out of the car. Subtle, Forks. Real subtle.
We walked inside, the little bell jingling overhead, and heads actually turned to follow us. I could feel Charlie stiffen beside me. He glanced at me, then at the gawkers, before muttering, "You… uh, might want to carry pepper spray. Just in case."
I raised a brow at him, deadpan. "Really? Pepper spray? Chill, Uncle. I can handle small-town gawking."
He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like still… not safe, but I let it slide.
A waitress appeared, bright-eyed and too cheerful. "Evening, Chief Swan," she said, before her gaze slid to me with open curiosity.
Charlie straightened slightly. "This is my niece, Amara. She's living with me now."
I gave her a polite smile. "Hi."
Wait hold on. What was her name again? Clora? Cara? Clorine? Ugh, I should know this. Think, Amara, think… My eyes dropped to the name tag pinned neatly to her shirt. Cora. Of course. Right. Forks diner. She's the one who always has a smile for Charlie. Should've remembered.
She blinked, nodded, then led us to a table for two. The whole place still buzzed faintly with whispers.
Charlie buried himself in the menu, pretending not to notice. I didn't bother. I leaned back and ordered fries, a burger, and a milkshake without hesitation.
Charlie gave me a sidelong look. "Not going for anything… healthier?"
I snorted. "Please. That's for home. If we're eating out, we eat junk. Otherwise, what's the point?"
He shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh. He ordered something steak and mashed potatoes with gravy probably the most tasty option on the menu, knowing him.
Dinner passed in relative silence, though not uncomfortable. The food was decent, greasy in all the right ways. Charlie paid the bill before I could even pretend to reach for my wallet. Old-school manners, I guessed.
Back in the car, rain streaking across the windshield, I drove us home. The silence stretched longer this time, my thoughts drifting traitorously toward the life I'd left behind. Spotify, Instagram, group chats, delivery apps, late-night ramen runs… gone. Now it was just me, my sarcastic mouth, and a supernatural small town full of vampires and werewolves.
Charlie must've noticed my face fall, because he cleared his throat. "You'll meet people once school starts. Make some friends. And Bella's coming soon too. Won't be so quiet around here."
I forced a small smile for his sake. "Yeah. Bella."
Inside, my thoughts whispered louder: The moody sparkle-lover herself. Great.
By the time we pulled into the driveway, the drizzle had picked up, painting the porch in silver streaks. Charlie yawned, tugging his jacket tighter.
"You should get some rest, Amara," he said, unlocking the door. His tone was firm but kind, like it was both an order and a suggestion.
I smiled faintly. "You too. Goodnight, Uncle."
He gave a small nod, almost awkward, but warm. "'Night, kid."
I climbed the stairs to the attic, my footsteps muffled against the wood. Inside my walk-in closet, I slid my hand across the hangers until I found one of the pajama sets. Silky, with pearl buttons and wide cuffs it felt indulgent, like something that belonged in a magazine spread.
Grabbing it, I padded into the bathroom, steam already fogging the mirror as I turned on the water. The shower was slow and deliberate. I let the heat sink into my sore muscles, washing away the stickiness of diner grease and the chill of Forks' damp air. My fingers lingered at my scalp, massaging shampoo into my hair until the scent of clean florals filled the room. Conditioner followed, smoothing through strands, leaving them soft and heavy under the hot spray.
I stood there longer than I needed to, letting the water rush over my face, shoulders, back each droplet grounding me, each breath reminding me I was alive. Alive, but in a world where the rules had changed.
Finally, reluctantly, I turned the knob off. Steam curled around me as I stepped out, wrapping myself in a plush towel. I dried slowly, savoring the comfort, before slipping into my pajamas. The fabric was cool against my warmed skin.
Next came my hair. I sat before the bathroom mirror, towel-drying first, then brushing through with patient strokes. The strands gleamed under the light, dark and glossy, falling neatly over my shoulders. Blow-drying followed, the warm air humming low and steady, almost lulling me into sleep. By the time I was finished, my hair was soft, light, and smelling faintly of lavender shampoo.
Feeling refreshed, I carried myself back into the attic bedroom. The comfort of routine almost fooled me into believing everything was normal. Almost.
Because then I noticed the window.
It was open.
I froze, towel still in my hand. Did I… leave it like that? I don't remember. The curtains fluttered inward, carried by a cool draft that smelled of wet pine and soil. Goosebumps rose on my arms.
I stepped closer, hesitating. Outside, the forest blurred under the drizzle, misty and endless. The raindrops tapped against the roof in a steady rhythm, the kind that usually soothed. But tonight, it only sharpened the silence between.
Then it happened.
A snap of wood. A low shift of something heavy moving.
Two glowing eyes blinked at me through the trees. Just a second. Just long enough to know I wasn't imagining it.
My breath caught, heartbeat rattling against my ribs. I blinked, leaned forward...
Gone.
Only rain and shadow remained. The forest was still. Too still.
But that feeling the pressure, the certainty of being watched clung to me like the mist itself.
Slowly, deliberately, I pushed the window shut and pulled the curtains tight, fingers trembling only slightly.
Maybe it's nothing. Just my mind playing tricks. But… it feels like something out there already knows I'm here.
I sat on the edge of the bed, the soft fabric of my pajamas a thin comfort against the chill that lingered in the air. My mind churned with what I'd seen or thought I'd seen. Glowing eyes in the woods. The kind of thing I used to only read about in books or watch in late-night movies.
But this wasn't fiction anymore.
And the strangest part?
I hadn't even met anyone yet. No wolves, no vampires, no classmates, no Bella.
The only person I truly knew in this world was Charlie.
And for tonight, that had to be enough.
Still, whoever or whatever that was, why should I let it worry me? I refused to sit here trembling like some helpless heroine.
With a little huff, I got up and wandered to the small drawer tucked near the vanity. Inside, I found an old sketchbook and a tin of pencils, the kind of thing I used to have in previous life. Perfect.
I curled up by the desk lamp, flipping open the book to a blank page. My hand moved without thought, sketching out the trees outside, the dripping rain, the sharp edge of the roofline. Then more random shapes followed plants, swirls of color, half-finished doodles. Anything to keep my mind away from glowing eyes and the truth of this world.
Little by little, the unease quieted, replaced by the scratch of graphite and the faint smear of color on paper.
Distraction. Control. Something normal.
And tonight, that was exactly what I needed.
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