When Bella and I finally pulled into the driveway, the porch light glowed faintly against the damp night air, casting long shadows across the wet gravel. The house looked the same as always quiet, steady, like it was holding its breath until we stepped inside.
We pushed through the front door, and sure enough, there was Charlie in his natural environment: slouched comfortably in his worn armchair, a half empty beer balanced on the armrest eyes glued to the TV. The low hum of a fishing show filled the living room, complete with some commentator droning about bait selection like it was the most thrilling thing in the world.
The glow from the screen flickered over his face, catching the little lines of weariness etched into it. He looked up the second the door shut behind us, his thick brows lifting a fraction.
"Hey, you two," he said, voice carrying that steady, no-frills dad tone. His gaze flicked from Bella to me, as if silently checking were we okay? Did anything explode? Were there suspicious looking man lurking in the driveway?
I smiled faintly, brushing damp hair out of my face. The smell of beer and the faint tang of diner food drifted from him, familiar and strangely grounding after the strangeness of the Cullen house.
"Have fun?" Charlie's tone was casual, but his eyes lingered a beat too long, like he had Dad-mode on .
"Yeah," I said, slipping out of my shoes and lining them neatly by the door. (Well, as neatly as sneakers damp from forest air could get.) "Did you eat?"
He took a long sip of beer before answering, eyes drifting back toward the TV. "Grabbed something at the diner earlier."
Translation: Charlie Swan had a romantic rendezvous with a bacon cheeseburger and coffee strong enough to melt silverware. Classic.
Bella was already halfway up the stairs, moving like a ghost that was running on battery saver mode. "I'm going to bed," she mumbled. "Got some stuff to finish first. Night, Dad. Night, Amara."
"Goodnight," I called after her, watching her vanish into the shadows of the hallway. She had that aura like the house itself was pulling her upstairs, draining the energy out of her step by step.
I stretched a little, rolling the stiffness out of my shoulders. "I think I'll call it too," I said to Charlie. "Long day. I'm wiped."
He glanced over, gave a small nod, then flicked his gaze back to the TV where some fisherman was triumphantly holding up a trout like it was the Holy Grail. "Night, girls."
The simple weight of his words steady, grounding settled over me. It was so normal, so ordinary, it almost erased the surreal edges of the day. Almost.
(Because let's be honest, there was nothing normal about house tours with modelesque immortals and one blond stranger who wouldn't stop smiling like he had my soul's cheat codes.)
With that, I offered Charlie a little wave and padded toward the stairs, my body buzzing with exhaustion that wasn't entirely physical.
I climbed the steps up to my little attic room, each creak of the wood under my feet sounding louder in the late-night hush. The air up there always felt different cooler, quieter, like the world outside couldn't quite reach me. My safe pocket of space.
Dumping my bag by the desk, I flopped back onto the bed with a sigh so deep it felt like it rattled through my bones. For a second, I just lay there staring at the slanted ceiling beams, letting the silence press in. Then, out of habit, I reached for my phone, ready to look through messages… well, nothing important.
And then..ping.
The screen lit up.
Lucien: Hope you got home safe.
My stomach did an Olympic-level somersault. Great. Fantastic. Exactly what I needed right before bed my brain turning cartwheels. I rolled my eyes at myself, even as a smile threatened to tug at my lips. Calm down, Amara. It's just a text. A very normal, human text. From someone who just happened to look at you all night like he could peel you apart layer by layer with his gaze. Totally fine. Totally casual.
Before my pulse could climb any higher, I typed back quickly, thumbs flying like I was running a race:
Me: Yeah, I reached. Goodnight.
And then I froze.
No typing bubble. No instant reply. Nothing but my reflection in the black screen staring back at me like, really? That's all you've got?
"Good," I muttered aloud, tossing the phone onto the nightstand like it had burned me. "That's normal. Normal people don't wait around for texts that may or may not come. Normal people go do their homework."
So, I dragged out my books, spreading them across the blanket. Equations, essay prompts, dates to memorize. I forced my brain into study mode, scribbling answers as if sheer focus could erase the echo of Lucien's voice from my head. But of course, he kept slipping in anyway between the margins, in the curve of every number, in the silent pause before I turned a page.
After what felt like hours but was probably forty five minutes, I let the pencil clatter onto the notebook. My eyes were gritty, my shoulders aching. Enough.
Bathroom time.
The moment the hot water hit my skin, steam billowing around me, I sighed. Heat slid down my spine, unwinding every knot of the day, every flicker of tension. I tipped my head back, letting the shower roar in my ears until the world outside blurred away. By the time I stepped out, hair damp and clinging to my neck, skin flushed pink, I felt almost human again.
Skincare routinen dab, pat, smooth. Teeth brushed, mouth mint-cool. Pajamas pulled on, soft cotton hugging me in all the right ways. The rituals were small, maybe silly, but they made me feel steady, grounded like I belonged here, in this life I hadn't chosen but now had to live.
I slid beneath the covers, pulling the blanket tight to my chin. The attic was quiet, save for the faint hum of the house settling. My eyelids grew heavy, my body sinking into the mattress.
But of course, the moment I closed my eyes, he was there. Lucien. That steady amber gaze. The too-sure smile that didn't belong to a high school boy. The way he'd looked at me like he already knew melike I was an answer to a question I hadn't even asked.
I groaned, flipping onto my side with a huff. "Nope," I muttered to the shadows. "Not thinking about that. Not tonight."
Yet, as the dark pressed closer, something prickled at the edge of my awareness. A weight in the air. The kind of silence that felt… watched.
For one breathless second, I could have sworn I felt him Lucien close. Not in memory, not in imagination, but here. The ghost of his presence brushing the room like a whisper across my skin.
I sat perfectly still, heart knocking against my ribs, eyes darting to the corners where shadows pooled. Nothing. Just the old attic, the soft hum of the house.
"Get a grip," I whispered, dragging the blanket tighter.
I shoved the thought aside with sheer stubbornness, building walls in my mind brick by brick.
And maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was nothing. But the sensation lingered, warm and unsettling, until finally, sleep swept over me thick, heavy, and far from dreamless.
Eventually, even Lucien's ghost of a smile dissolved into the dark. Sleep swept over me at last thick, heavy, and mercifully dreamless.
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