The next morning, Amara woke up feeling… better.
Not fixed. Not magically healed. Just lighter—like the heavy knot from the night before had finally loosened enough to let her breathe without effort.
She didn't open her eyes right away.
There was no need to.
Her bed was far too comfortable for something as unnecessary as movement.
The mattress cradled her perfectly, as if it had been custom-made after an extensive interview about her emotional needs. The blankets were warm and heavy, layered just right—not suffocating, not cold—hugging her like they'd sworn an oath to protect her from the outside world.
Somewhere beyond the curtains, Forks existed.
But only barely.
The sunlight—or whatever passed for sunlight in Forks—filtered weakly through the fabric, pale and soft, turning the room hazy and muted, like the world had been gently dimmed on purpose. Everything felt slow, quiet, and indulgent, wrapped in that kind of silence that made you feel safe instead of lonely.
For a long moment, Amara simply lay there, half-conscious, sinking deeper into the pillows like a very expensive marshmallow that had absolutely won at life.
She sighed.
A long, content sigh.
Then rolled onto her side, hugging the pillow like it owed her money.
In her previous life, mornings had been cruel.
Alarms screaming at ungodly hours. The constant pressure of time. The never-ending chase for money, stability, and a "better future" that always stayed just out of reach.
Every day had been about doing more, working harder, pushing faster—running endlessly just to stay in the same place.
Rest had been a luxury.
Peace had been temporary.
Now?
Now she had endless money.
A cozy house.
A room that smelled faintly clean and expensive.
No job.
No deadlines.
No one expecting anything from her before noon—or possibly ever.
The realization settled in fully, spreading through her chest like warmth, and a slow, ridiculous smile crept onto her face.
A smile that had absolutely no business being that smug so early in the morning.
I could just… not get up.
The thought was revolutionary.
She squeezed the pillow tighter.
I could stay right here. Forever. Become one with the bed. Let society move on without me.
Her mind drifted lazily, pleasantly.
I could go shopping all day. Buy things I don't need. Things I don't even want. Just because I can.
She imagined walking into a store, sunglasses on, calm and powerful, pointing vaguely at the shelves and saying in a bored voice—
"I'll take everything."
Her smile widened into something borderline unhinged.
Yes. That's exactly what I'll do.
I'll shop until my legs give out and I collapse dramatically onto a velvet couch somewhere, sighing about how exhausting wealth is, like a rich movie villain who's slightly inconvenienced by abundance.
She pictured oversized shopping bags. Soft lighting. Elegant interiors. Store employees whispering among themselves, stealing glances, already telling this story to their friends later.
Did you see her? She bought the entire store.
Amara let out a quiet, pleased hum.
She stretched slightly under the blankets, curling in on herself again, perfectly content.
Her grin—wide, relaxed, and far too satisfied with life—looked deeply suspicious.
Like someone who had completely forgotten she was living in a supernatural disaster zone.
Like someone who, for just a few stolen minutes, had decided that comfort, softness, and doing absolutely nothing were the greatest luxuries of all.
And then—
Knock. Knock.
Amara's smile twitched.
Just a little.
Barely noticeable.
She didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't open her eyes.
If I don't acknowledge it, the person will go away.
That was the rule. A sacred, universal rule.
She rolled onto her other side, squishing her face into the pillow until the world was reduced to warmth, fabric, and denial. The bed creaked softly, protesting her attempt to merge with it permanently.
She knew.
Of course she knew.
There was only one person in this house bold enough to knock before breakfast and persistent enough to ignore social cues.
Bella.
And of course—of course—she knew why Bella was here.
The book.
The cold ones.
The mental corkboard Bella Swan had definitely assembled overnight, complete with invisible red string, newspaper clippings, and frantic internal monologuing.
Amara groaned quietly, the sound muffled by the pillow.
Why did I have to be nice to her?
Why did I have to talk to her? Bond with her?
Make her comfortable?
Movie Bella would've suffered in silence like a cryptid in a rainy forest. Movie Bella would've stared dramatically into space, carried this knowledge like a tragic burden, and told no one.
This Bella?
Oh no.
This Bella shared.
This Bella knocked.
She squeezed her eyes shut tighter.
Please leave. Please leave. Please leave—
Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.
Amara's eye snapped open.
Her jaw clenched.
A vein somewhere in her soul popped.
"…Why," she muttered to the ceiling, voice hoarse with betrayal, "why did I get transmigrated into this world?"
She flopped dramatically onto her back, staring up at the ceiling like it had personally wronged her.
Couldn't I go somewhere normal? With normal people? With normal problems?
Like taxes. Annoying coworkers. A boss who sends passive-aggressive emails.
Instead, I get vampires, wolves, ancient feuds, and a teenage girl who knocks like she's trying to summon the dead.
Knock knock knock knock knock.
"OKAY," Amara snapped.
She launched the blanket off herself with unnecessary force, as if the fabric had been complicit in this betrayal. Her feet hit the floor, cold enough to offend her personally, and she stomped toward the door with all the grace of someone who had been robbed of sleep, peace, and dignity.
She yanked the door open—
Bella stood there, her hand raised mid-knock.
Frozen.
They stared at each other.
Amara gave her a death glare so potent it could've curdled milk.
Bella smiled.
Smugly.
"Good morning."
Amara felt something in her soul crack.
Before Amara could form a response—or a restraining order—Bella stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and walked straight in like this was her room. Like she owned the place. Like she'd been doing this her entire life.
She went directly to Amara's bed and sat down, patting the mattress casually.
Amara stood there, blinking.
Once.
Twice.
"…Wow," she said flatly. "You don't knock. You invade."
Bella shrugged, completely unbothered.
"You didn't answer."
"That," Amara said slowly, turning around, "was on purpose."
Bella tilted her head.
"Oh."
A beat passed.
"Oh."
Her expression shifted.
The smug smile faded. Her shoulders straightened. Her posture sharpened.
Uh-oh.
Amara recognized that look.
That was Bella Swan in Investigation Mode.
"Amara," Bella said seriously, "I read the book."
Amara sighed internally.
Here we go.
Bella leaned forward, elbows on her knees, eyes bright and intense now—like she'd been waiting hours for this moment.
"It talked about the cold ones," Bella said.
"About vampires."
Amara kept her face neutral, nodding slightly, as if this was brand-new information and not something she'd been mentally screaming about while staring into the forest like a haunted Victorian orphan.
"And Jacob," Bella continued, words tumbling faster now, "what he said—it matches. The stories. The legends."
She stood up and started pacing.
"And Edward—he was too fast. When the accident happened, he was suddenly there. And his skin—it's cold. Like really cold. And they don't come to school when it's sunny, and they're all—"
She gestured vaguely, hands flailing.
"—beautiful. Like unreal beautiful. Like they were sculpted by something that hates normal people."
She stopped pacing and turned sharply toward Amara.
"They're vampires."
Bella didn't stop there.
She kept talking.
About the Cullens. About Edward. About patterns, instincts, coincidences that were definitely not coincidences. Her voice wavered between fear and fascination, like she was terrified and thrilled all at once by the idea that the world was bigger—and far more dangerous—than she'd ever imagined.
Amara listened quietly.
Outwardly calm.
Inwardly?
Absolute chaos.
Should I tell her I already know?
No. That sounds unhinged.
Should I deny it?
Also stupid.
Should I pretend it's impossible?
With Bella's luck? That would practically summon a vampire to the doorstep.
She watched Bella pace, watched her mind race ahead, watched the truth click into place, and felt that familiar twist of unease settle in her chest.
Bella needed to know.
Even if knowing put her closer to danger.
Because ignorance had never protected anyone in this world.
Bella finally stopped talking and looked at Amara expectantly, chest rising and falling from her ramble.
"Well?" she asked.
Amara opened her mouth—
Then closed it again.
Her thoughts tangled.
She didn't know what to say.
Didn't know what to do.
Didn't know how to protect Bella without setting off a chain reaction that could ruin everything.
She leaned back against the bed, rubbing her face with both hands.
"…You really don't do mornings gently," she muttered.
Bella blinked.
The room fell quiet—warm, tense, ridiculous.
And Amara knew, with sinking certainty, that this was only the beginning.
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