The fluorescent lights hummed their eternal dirge above Katherine Morrison's hospital bed, casting everything in that particular shade of institutional white that seemed designed to leach the life from anyone unfortunate enough to spend too long beneath it. She'd been staring at those lights for three days now—or was it four? Time had become slippery, meaningless, just another thing the cancer had stolen from her along with her hair, her dignity, and any illusion that the universe gave a damn about fairness.
Thirty-seven years old. Single. Unemployed for the last eight months, though "medically unable to work" sounded slightly more dignified than "fired for missing too many shifts." No family—her mother had died when she was nineteen, her father had never been in the picture, and she'd been an only child. No friends, either, unless you counted the nurse who checked her vitals every few hours with practiced sympathy that never quite reached her eyes.
Katherine had always known she'd die alone. She just hadn't expected it to happen quite so soon, or quite so slowly.
The morphine drip kept the worst of the pain at bay, but it also made everything feel distant and dreamlike, as if she were watching her own death from somewhere far away. Maybe that was a mercy. She wasn't sure anymore. She wasn't sure about much of anything except the laptop balanced precariously on the adjustable table beside her bed, its screen glowing with the paused image of Edward Cullen's face, all sharp cheekbones and topaz eyes and that particular expression of tortured longing that had made a generation of women weak in the knees.
Twilight. Her comfort movie. Her escape. Her guilty pleasure that she'd never felt particularly guilty about, despite the sneers and mockery the franchise attracted. Let them laugh. Those books, those movies—they'd been there for her when nothing and no one else was. Through the lonely nights in her studio apartment, through the devastating diagnosis, through the brutal rounds of chemotherapy that had ultimately failed to do anything but make her suffer.
She'd watched the entire saga four times in the past week alone. The nurses had stopped commenting on it, though she'd caught them exchanging glances—that particular look that said poor thing and how sad and at least she has something all at once.
Katherine's finger trembled as she reached for the laptop's touchpad, unpausing the movie. The scene resumed: Bella in the hospital after James's attack, Edward sitting beside her bed, his face a mask of self-loathing and desperate love. "I'm here," he whispered to her. "I'm not going anywhere."
A sound escaped Katherine's throat—half laugh, half sob. The irony wasn't lost on her. Here she was, dying alone, watching a story about a girl who'd been so thoroughly, completely, obsessively loved that a vampire had been willing to damn himself for eternity just to be near her.
But that wasn't quite right, was it? Because Bella hadn't been loved—not really. Not the way Katherine had always thought she should have been.
The thought had crystallized over years of rewatching, of analyzing, of losing herself in the fantasy while simultaneously seeing its flaws with increasing clarity. Edward had controlled Bella. Isolated her. Disabled her truck so she couldn't see Jacob. Abandoned her in the woods, triggering months of catatonic depression. The Cullens had voted on whether she deserved to live or die as if she were a pet they were deciding whether to keep. Even Jacob, sweet Jacob, had forced a kiss on her, threatened to get himself killed to manipulate her emotions.
And Bella—beautiful, selfless, self-destructive Bella—had accepted it all. Had believed she deserved nothing better. Had been so convinced of her own worthlessness that she'd been willing to give up everything—her family, her humanity, her very soul—just to be allowed to stay in Edward's orbit.
It had always bothered Katherine, that underlying message. That a woman should be grateful for whatever scraps of affection she received. That she should make herself smaller, quieter, less human to accommodate the needs and fears of those around her. That her own wants and needs and boundaries were secondary to everyone else's.
Bella had deserved better. She'd deserved to be protected, cherished, respected. She'd deserved to have someone in her corner who put her first, who saw her worth, who wouldn't let the world—or the supernatural creatures in it—treat her like she was disposable.
Katherine's vision blurred, and she realized she was crying. Stupid. Crying over a fictional character when she should be crying for herself, for the life she'd never really lived, for all the things she'd never done and now never would.
But maybe that was the point. Maybe Bella had always been a mirror, reflecting back all the ways Katherine had let herself be diminished, overlooked, forgotten. All the times she'd accepted loneliness because she'd believed, deep down, that she didn't deserve anything more.
The movie played on. Edward and Bella at prom, dancing, his arms around her as if she were something precious. "I leave you alone for two minutes and the wolves descend," he murmured, and the audience was supposed to find it charming, romantic, proof of his devotion.
Katherine had found it charming once, too. Now all she could see was the possessiveness, the implication that Bella needed protecting from her own choices, her own friends.
"She deserved better," Katherine whispered to the empty room, her voice barely audible over the beep of the heart monitor and the hiss of the oxygen machine. "She deserved so much better."
The pain was getting worse. She could feel it creeping past the morphine, a deep ache that radiated from her bones outward, as if her skeleton were trying to escape her failing flesh. She fumbled for the call button, pressed it, waited. No one came. They were probably busy with patients who actually had a chance, who weren't just waiting around to die.
On screen, Edward dipped Bella into a dramatic pose, and she laughed, radiant with joy despite everything she'd been through. Despite nearly dying. Despite being surrounded by creatures who could kill her with a thought. Despite having her agency stripped away again and again in the name of love.
Katherine's finger hovered over the touchpad, ready to restart the movie again, to lose herself one more time in the forests of Forks and the impossible love story that had been her companion through so many dark nights.
But the pain was too much now. The morphine wasn't enough. Nothing was enough.
She let her hand fall back to the bed, too heavy to hold up anymore. The laptop screen seemed to be getting dimmer, or maybe that was her vision failing. Everything was fading at the edges, going soft and gray like an old photograph left too long in the sun.
I wish, she thought, and wasn't even sure what she was wishing for. A different life? A second chance? Someone to hold her hand as she slipped away? Or maybe just for Bella to have had someone—anyone—who'd truly put her first, who'd seen her as more than a fragile human to be managed and controlled.
The heart monitor's beeping was slowing down. Katherine could hear it, distant and dreamlike, like a clock winding down. She tried to take a breath and found her lungs wouldn't cooperate. Panic fluttered weakly in her chest, but even that felt far away, happening to someone else.
On the laptop screen, Edward and Bella swayed together, frozen in their eternal dance. The image flickered once, twice.
I wish I could have protected her, Katherine thought, and wasn't sure if she meant Bella or herself or some combination of the two. I wish someone had been there to tell her she was worth more than this. That she didn't have to accept so little. That she deserved the world.
The room was getting darker. Or maybe her eyes were closing. She couldn't tell anymore.
The last thing Katherine Morrison saw before the darkness took her was Edward Cullen's face, beautiful and cold and forever young, frozen in that expression of tortured devotion that had never quite managed to hide the control underneath.
And then there was nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
And then—
Consciousness was the wrong word for what Katherine experienced first. It was more like... awareness. A gradual sense of being that coalesced slowly, like fog condensing into rain.
She was aware of warmth. Of softness beneath her. Of sounds—a television playing somewhere, voices, the creak of floorboards. Of smells—coffee, bacon, something sweet like maple syrup.
Of being alive.
The realization hit her like a physical blow, and suddenly she was gasping, her eyes flying open, her small hands—
Small hands?
—clutching at the blanket covering her.
Katherine stared at her hands. They were a child's hands. Smooth, unmarked by age or illness. No IV bruises. No papery skin stretched over prominent bones. Just... small. Young. Healthy.
She sat up so fast her head spun, and that's when she realized she was in a bed—a twin bed with a faded purple comforter—in a small bedroom with pale yellow walls. Posters of horses and a periodic table hung on the walls. A backpack slumped in the corner, "Forks Elementary School" printed on its side. A digital clock on the nightstand read 8:47 AM, and beneath the time, the date: September 3rd, 1987.
Katherine's breath came in short, sharp gasps. This wasn't possible. This wasn't—she'd been dying. She'd been in the hospital. She'd been thirty-seven years old with stage four cancer eating her from the inside out, and now she was—
She scrambled out of bed and nearly fell, her legs shorter than she expected, her center of gravity all wrong. She caught herself on the dresser and found herself staring into the mirror mounted above it.
A child stared back at her. Ten years old, maybe eleven. Dark hair cut in a practical bob. Wide brown eyes. A smattering of freckles across a snub nose. A faded t-shirt with a cartoon character she didn't recognize and a pair of shorts.
Not her face. Not Katherine Morrison's face. But somehow, impossibly, her face all the same. She could feel it was her, the same way you know your own hand even in the dark.
"What the fuck," Katherine whispered, and the child's voice that came out was high and thin and completely wrong.
"Language!" a male voice called from somewhere else in the house—downstairs, maybe. "I know you're awake, kiddo. Breakfast is ready!"
Katherine's—the child's—her legs gave out, and she sat down hard on the floor, her back against the dresser. Her mind was racing, trying to make sense of the impossible. She'd died. She was sure she'd died. The monitor had flatlined, the darkness had taken her, and there'd been nothing, and then—
And then she'd woken up here. In 1987. In a child's body. In a house she didn't recognize.
Except... except she did recognize it, didn't she? Not from her own life, but from—
No. No, that was insane.
"Kiddo? You okay up there?" The voice again, closer now. Footsteps on the stairs.
Katherine tried to stand, failed, tried again. Her body felt foreign, like wearing someone else's clothes. Too small. Too young. Too alive in a way she'd forgotten bodies could be—no pain, no exhaustion, no sense of her own flesh betraying her.
The door opened, and a man stood in the doorway. Early thirties, maybe. Mustache. Brown hair. Wearing a police uniform, the badge catching the morning light.
Katherine knew that face. She'd seen it dozens of times, in four movies and countless rewatches.
Charlie Swan.
"Hey," he said, his expression softening with concern. "You feeling okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Charlie Swan. Bella's father. Chief of Police in Forks, Washington. A fictional character from a movie series about vampires and werewolves and a girl who fell in love with both.
A fictional character who was standing in front of her, solid and real and looking at her with genuine worry.
"I—" Katherine's voice came out as a squeak. She cleared her throat, tried again. "I'm fine. Just... weird dream."
Charlie's expression relaxed slightly. "Well, come on down when you're ready. Made your favorite—chocolate chip pancakes. Figured we could both use a good breakfast before the big day."
"Big day?" Katherine echoed faintly.
"First day of fifth grade?" Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you forgot. You've been talking about it all week."
Fifth grade. 1987. Forks, Washington.
Oh God.
"Right," Katherine managed. "Yeah. I'll be down in a minute."
Charlie lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, and Katherine could see him trying to decide if he should push, if something was really wrong. But then he just nodded, that awkward dad nod that said he was out of his depth with emotional stuff but trying his best.
"Okay. Don't take too long, or I'll eat all the bacon." He smiled, trying to lighten the mood, and then he was gone, his footsteps retreating down the stairs.
Katherine sat frozen on the floor, her mind reeling.
This wasn't possible. Reincarnation wasn't real. The Twilight universe wasn't real. She was hallucinating, or dreaming, or the morphine had finally scrambled her brain completely, and she was actually still in that hospital bed, dying, imagining all of this.
Except it felt real. The floor was hard beneath her. The air smelled like breakfast and coffee and the faint mustiness of an old house. Her heart was pounding in her chest—a strong, steady rhythm, not the weak flutter of a failing organ. When she pinched her arm, it hurt.
She stood up slowly, testing her balance, and walked to the window. Outside, she could see trees—massive evergreens stretching up toward a gray sky. A quiet street with a few houses scattered along it. A police cruiser parked in the driveway.
Forks. It had to be Forks. The trees, the gray sky, the small-town atmosphere—it all matched.
Katherine turned back to the room, really looking at it this time. The backpack in the corner. The homework on the desk—math problems, a book report on Charlotte's Web. A framed photo on the nightstand showing the child whose body she now inhabited standing next to Charlie, both of them holding fishing rods and grinning at the camera.
She picked up the photo with trembling hands. The child—she—looked happy. Genuinely happy, in a way Katherine Morrison had never been.
There was another photo tucked into the frame's edge, this one older and more faded. A baby in a hospital blanket, tiny and red-faced. Charlie holding the baby, looking young and terrified and awed all at once. Someone had written on the back in looping handwriting: Welcome to the world, little one. We love you.
Katherine's hands were shaking so badly she nearly dropped the frame. She set it down carefully and backed away, her mind racing.
Okay. Okay. Accept the impossible for a moment. She was here. In Forks. In 1987. In a child's body. Living with Charlie Swan.
Which meant—
She grabbed the backpack, dumped its contents on the bed. Notebooks, pencils, a lunch box. She flipped open one of the notebooks, looking for a name.
Property of Katherine Swan.
Katherine. Her name was Katherine. Katherine Swan.
Swan.
Charlie's... daughter? No, that didn't make sense. Bella was Charlie's daughter, and Bella hadn't been born yet. Bella was born in—when? Katherine tried to remember the timeline. The first movie took place when Bella was seventeen, in 2005, which meant she'd been born in—
The realization hit her like a freight train. Bella was about to be born. Maybe had already been born. Charlie's daughter with Renee, the marriage that had fallen apart, the divorce that had shaped both their lives.
But if Bella was Charlie's daughter, then who was Katherine?
Katherine sat down hard on the bed, trying to piece it together. The photos showed Charlie with this child, this body she now inhabited. The house was clearly his. But Bella was supposed to be his only child, the daughter who came to live with him when she was seventeen, the catalyst for everything that happened in the story.
Unless—
"Oh my God," Katherine whispered.
Sister. Not daughter. Sister.
Charlie had taken her in. The homework, the elementary school backpack, the way he'd called her "kiddo" instead of something more parental—it all fit. She was Charlie Swan's little sister, living with him because—
Because why? Where were her parents? Their parents?
Katherine pressed her hands to her temples, trying to think. In the movies, Charlie's parents were never mentioned. He'd always seemed like a solitary figure, defined by his role as Bella's awkward, well-meaning father. But that didn't mean he couldn't have had a family, a backstory that simply hadn't been relevant to Bella's story.
And if she was his sister, if she was living with him, then something must have happened. Something that meant she couldn't live with their parents.
The thought came unbidden, rising from somewhere deep in this body's memories—not her memories, not Her's, but Katherine's, the child whose life she'd somehow inherited along with her body.
They didn't want me. They left me because I was wrong. Because I was born wrong.
The memory was fragmented, more feeling than concrete detail. Shame. Confusion. The sense of being a burden, a mistake, something that needed to be hidden away. And underneath it all, a word she was too young to fully understand but old enough to know made her different:
Intersex.
Katherine's breath caught. Katherine had been born intersex, and her parents—Charlie's parents—had abandoned her because of it. Had given her up, or kicked her out, or simply refused to acknowledge her existence. And Charlie, good, decent Charlie who'd always tried to do the right thing even when he didn't know how, had taken her in.
The pieces were falling into place now, creating a picture that was both heartbreaking and somehow perfectly in character for the man she'd watched on screen. Charlie Swan, who'd loved his daughter even when he didn't know how to talk to her. Who'd tried so hard to give her space while also keeping her safe. Who'd been awkward and gruff but fundamentally good.
Of course he'd taken in his little sister when no one else would. Of course he had.
Katherine stood up, her legs steadier now, and walked back to the mirror. She looked at Alex's face—her face—really looked at it. Saw the child who'd been rejected by her own parents, who'd found safety with a brother barely out of his teens himself. Who'd been given a second chance at having a family, even if it was small and unconventional.
Just like Katherine was being given a second chance now.
The thought stopped her cold.
A second chance. That's what this was, wasn't it? She'd died alone and unloved, and somehow—through some cosmic joke or miracle or glitch in the universe—she'd been given another life. A chance to be young again, healthy again, to have a family and a future and all the things that had been stolen from her the first time around.
But not just any life. Not just any universe.
She was in Twilight. The story she'd watched obsessively as she died. The universe she knew inside and out, every plot point and character beat and tragic flaw.
And Bella—Bella was about to be born. Was maybe already born, a tiny baby in a hospital somewhere, with no idea what her future held. No idea that in seventeen years, she'd move to Forks and fall in love with a vampire and nearly die a dozen times over because no one, no one, had truly protected her the way she deserved.
Katherine's hands clenched into fists at her sides.
She knew what was coming. She knew every danger, every threat, every moment where Bella would be hurt or manipulated or put at risk. She knew about James and Victoria and the Volturi. She knew about Edward's controlling tendencies and Jacob's boundary violations and the Cullens' casual disregard for Bella's autonomy.
She knew, and she was here, and she had time.
Seventeen years. That's how long she had before Bella came to Forks and the story began. Seventeen years to prepare, to plan, to figure out how to change things.
Because she was going to change things. She had to. She'd been given this impossible gift—a second life, a chance to be part of the story she'd loved—and she wasn't going to waste it. She wasn't going to stand by and watch Bella suffer through everything Katherine had watched her suffer through on screen.
Bella deserved better. She'd always deserved better.
And now, somehow, impossibly, Katherine was in a position to make sure she got it.
"Kiddo! Pancakes are getting cold!"
Charlie's voice jolted her out of her thoughts. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and headed for the door.
She was Katherine Swan now. Charlie's little sister. Ten years old, with a whole life ahead of her and a purpose crystallizing in her mind with every passing second.
She was going to protect Bella. When the time came, when her niece—her niece, God, that was going to take some getting used to—arrived in Forks, Katherine would be ready. She'd be the one person in Bella's corner who knew what was coming, who could keep her safe, who could make sure she understood her own worth.
No more watching helplessly from the sidelines. No more dying alone while fictional characters got their happy endings.
This time, Katherine was going to be part of the story.
And she was going to make damn sure it had a better ending than the one she'd watched.
She walked down the stairs, following the smell of pancakes and coffee, and found Charlie in the kitchen, spatula in hand, looking domestic in a way that would have been funny if Katherine's entire world hadn't just been turned upside down.
"There she is," he said, smiling. "Thought I was going to have to send out a search party."
Katherine slid into a chair at the small kitchen table, still feeling like she was moving through a dream. Charlie set a plate in front of her: three chocolate chip pancakes, bacon, and a glass of orange juice.
"Eat up," he said, settling into his own chair with a cup of coffee. "Big day ahead."
"Yeah," Katherine managed, picking up her fork. The pancakes were warm and fluffy, the chocolate chips melted just right. Real. Solid. Here.
Charlie was watching her over the rim of his coffee cup, that concerned look back on his face. "You sure you're okay? You seem... off."
"Just nervous," Katherine said, and it wasn't entirely a lie. "About school."
"You'll do great," Charlie said with the confidence of someone who had no idea how to help with homework but was determined to be supportive anyway. "You're a smart kid."
Katherine took a bite of pancake, chewed, swallowed. It tasted like childhood, like Saturday mornings and safety and all the things she'd never really had the first time around.
"Hey, Charlie?" she said, the name feeling strange on her tongue. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure, kiddo. Shoot."
"Renee—" Katherine hesitated, trying to figure out how to phrase this. "Your wife. Is she... is the baby here yet?"
Charlie's expression shifted, something complicated passing over his face. Pride and worry and a deep, bone-deep exhaustion that Katherine recognized from the movies—the look of a man who was trying his best and wasn't sure it would be enough.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah, Bella was born two days ago. September first. Seven pounds, three ounces. Healthy. Perfect."
Bella. Her name sent a shiver down Katherine's spine. She was real. She was here. She was two days old, tiny and helpless and completely unaware that her life was going to be anything but ordinary.
"That's... that's great," Katherine said, and meant it. "Can I meet her?"
Charlie's smile was sad around the edges. "Maybe in a bit. Renee's still at the hospital, and things are... complicated right now. But yeah, you'll meet your niece soon. I promise."
Niece. The word settled over Katherine like a mantle, heavy with responsibility and purpose.
She had a niece. Bella Swan was her niece. And in seventeen years, when Bella came to Forks looking for a place to belong, Katherine would be here. Ready. Waiting.
"I can't wait," Katherine said, and she'd never meant anything more in either of her lives.
Charlie reached across the table and ruffled her hair, that awkward affection that was the best he could manage. "Finish your breakfast, kiddo. We've got a lot to do today."
Katherine ate her pancakes and drank her orange juice and tried to wrap her mind around the impossible reality of her situation. She was alive. She was young. She was in a world where vampires and werewolves existed, where the story she'd loved and criticized in equal measure was about to unfold.
And she had seventeen years to get ready.
Seventeen years to become someone strong enough, smart enough, prepared enough to stand between Bella and all the dangers that were coming.
Seventeen years to make sure that this time, Bella Swan would have someone who truly put her first.
Katherine looked at Charlie, at this good man who'd taken in his sister when no one else would, who was about to become a father and had no idea how much that little girl would come to mean to him. Who would try so hard and still not be enough to protect Bella from the supernatural world that would claim her.
But Katherine would be enough. She had to be.
Because she'd been given a second chance at life, and she wasn't going to waste it.
This time, she was going to save someone.
Even if that someone didn't know she needed saving yet.
The first time Katherine discovered she had power, she was twelve years old and Tommy Marks was shoving her against the lockers at Forks Middle School.
"Freak," he hissed, his breath hot and sour in her face. "My dad says you're not even a real girl. Says you're some kind of—"
"Stop."
The word came out different than she'd intended. Not louder, but heavier, like it carried weight that normal words didn't. Tommy's hand froze mid-shove, his whole body going rigid. His eyes were still his own—wide and confused and a little scared—but his body wouldn't obey him.
Katherine's heart hammered in her chest. "Let go of me."
Tommy's fingers unclenched. He stepped back.
"Walk away," Katherine whispered. "And don't ever touch me again."
He turned and walked down the hallway like a puppet on strings, and Katherine stood there shaking, her back pressed against the cold metal lockers, trying to understand what had just happened.
She didn't tell Charlie. She couldn't. Because Charlie was good and normal and human, and he'd already sacrificed so much to take her in. The last thing he needed was to know his sister was some kind of... what? Witch? Mutant? Monster?
So Katherine kept it to herself. She experimented in private, in her room late at night when Charlie was asleep. She learned that her commands worked best when she spoke with intention, when she meant them. She learned that the effect wore off after a while, that people could resist if they were strong-willed enough, that she couldn't make someone do something that would kill them.
She learned to be careful.
At fourteen, Katherine discovered her second gift.
She'd cut her hand on a broken glass while doing dishes, a deep gash across her palm that bled freely into the soapy water. Charlie was at work. Katherine grabbed a dish towel and pressed it against the wound, hissing at the sting.
And then, without thinking, she reached for the pain.
Not with her other hand. With something else. Something inside her that she hadn't known was there until that moment. She felt the edges of the wound, felt the torn skin and severed capillaries, felt the way her body was already trying to knit itself back together.
She could do it faster.
Katherine closed her eyes and pushed, and the skin began to move. Cells multiplied and migrated, blood vessels reconnected, tissue regenerated. In thirty seconds, the gash was gone. In sixty, there wasn't even a scar.
Katherine stared at her unmarked palm, her heart racing.
She spent the next three years learning the limits of this power. She could heal herself, yes, but she could also change herself. Make herself stronger, faster, more resilient. She could alter her appearance if she wanted to, though she rarely did—she'd been abandoned once for being different, and some part of her refused to hide what she was, even if she could.
But she could also hurt. She could reach into living tissue and unmake it, could stop a heart or burst blood vessels or trigger a stroke with nothing but a touch and an intention.
She practiced on animals she found dead in the woods. Mice and birds and once, a deer that had been hit by a car. She learned to feel the difference between life and death, learned to sense the biological systems that kept a body functioning.
She learned to kill.
And she didn't tell Charlie about that either. Because Charlie was a cop, and cops believed in laws and justice and due process. Charlie believed in the system.
But Katherine had died alone in a hospital bed at thirty-seven, and she knew that sometimes the system failed. Sometimes the only justice was the kind you made yourself.
And if anyone ever tried to hurt her family, she would make that justice swift and absolute.
The shadows came to her at sixteen.
She'd been having nightmares—memories of her death, of the darkness closing in, of the nothing that had swallowed her whole. She'd wake up gasping, her room pitch black, and the darkness would feel alive somehow, pressing in on her from all sides.
One night, she woke from a particularly bad dream and the shadows in her room were moving.
Not the way shadows moved when light shifted. They were moving on their own, writhing and twisting like living things, reaching toward her bed with tendrils of pure darkness.
Katherine should have been terrified. Instead, she felt a strange sense of recognition, like greeting an old friend.
She reached out, and the shadows reached back.
They were cold but not unpleasant, solid but not quite physical. She could shape them, control them, make them do what she wanted. She could hide things in them—objects just disappeared into the darkness and reappeared when she called them back. She could use them as weapons, as shields, as extensions of her own will.
She could kill with them too. Wrap them around a throat and squeeze, or send them into someone's lungs to steal their breath, or simply pull them into the darkness and let them disappear.
Katherine practiced in secret, always in her room with the door locked, always when Charlie was at work or asleep. She learned to summon shadows even in daylight, learned to make them dense enough to hold weight, learned to store things inside them—a knife, a first aid kit, supplies she might need in an emergency.
She learned to be ready.
The years passed.
Katherine grew up. She got her driver's license, graduated high school, took online college courses in criminal justice and emergency medicine. She worked part-time at the diner in town, saved her money, trained her body and her powers.
She watched Charlie become a father from a distance—Renee had taken Bella to Phoenix, and Charlie only got her for a few weeks each summer. Katherine saw the way it broke his heart, the way he tried to hide it behind gruff silence and long hours at work.
She saw the way Bella looked at Forks like it was a prison, the way she counted down the days until she could leave again.
And Katherine waited.
She was there for the summer visits, watching from the sidelines as Bella grew from a toddler to a child to a teenager. She tried to connect, tried to be the cool aunt, but Bella was always distant, always eager to get back to her mother.
It hurt, a little. But Katherine understood. Bella didn't know what was coming. Didn't know that Forks would become the center of her world, that the choice to move here would change everything.
But Katherine knew. And she prepared.
She learned to fight—took self-defense classes in Port Angeles, practiced with weapons in the woods where no one would see. She learned about vampires from every source she could find—folklore, fiction, the few obscure accounts that seemed to hint at real encounters. She didn't know how much of it was true, but she absorbed it all anyway.
She learned about the Quileute legends from Billy Black, Charlie's best friend. Listened to the stories about cold ones and spirit warriors and treaties, and filed it all away for later.
She made herself strong. Made herself dangerous.
Because she'd been weak once, in her first life. Weak and alone and helpless as cancer ate her from the inside out. She'd died without ever really living, without ever mattering to anyone.
But this time was different.
This time, she had Charlie. Charlie, who'd taken her in without hesitation when their parents had abandoned her. Charlie, who'd never once made her feel like a burden, who'd worked extra shifts to make sure she had everything she needed, who'd taught her to fish and change a tire and be strong.
Charlie, who was the first person in either of her lives to make her feel like she belonged.
Katherine would die for him. Would kill for him. Would burn the whole world down if it meant keeping him safe.
And Bella was Charlie's daughter. Which meant Bella was family.
Which meant Katherine would protect her, whether Bella wanted it or not.
At twenty-seven, Katherine was working as a dispatcher for the Forks Police Department and living in a small apartment above the hardware store on Main Street. She was strong, trained, ready. Her powers were honed to a razor's edge, hidden carefully from everyone who knew her.
She'd spent seventeen years preparing for this moment.
And then, on a gray January morning, Charlie called her.
"Bella's moving in," he said, and Katherine could hear the mixture of joy and terror in his voice. "Renee's getting remarried, and Bella wants to live here so her mom can travel with the new guy. She'll be here next week."
Katherine closed her eyes and felt something settle into place in her chest. Relief. Purpose. Fear.
"That's great, Charlie," she said, and meant it. "That's really great."
"Yeah," Charlie said. "Yeah, it is. I just... I don't know if I'm ready. I don't know how to be a full-time dad to a teenager."
"You'll be fine," Katherine told him. "You're a good man, Charlie. She's lucky to have you."
And I'll make sure nothing happens to her, Katherine thought but didn't say. I'll make sure she survives this. Even if I have to tear Edward Cullen's head off with my bare hands to do it.
A week later, Katherine stood in Charlie's driveway as an old truck pulled up—Bella's welcome-home present, bought from Billy Black. She watched as a police cruiser pulled in behind it, watched as Charlie got out, awkward and hopeful.
And then Bella emerged from the passenger seat.
Seventeen years old. Brown hair, brown eyes, pale skin. Pretty in an understated way, but hunched in on herself like she was trying to take up less space in the world.
Katherine's niece. Charlie's daughter.
The girl Katherine had spent seventeen years preparing to save.
Bella looked up and saw Katherine standing there. Their eyes met, and Katherine smiled.
"Hey, Bella," she said. "Welcome home."
And in the shadows at Katherine's feet, darkness stirred and waited.
The story was beginning.
And this time, Katherine was ready.
Bella
The woman standing in Charlie's driveway was not what Bella expected.
She hadn't expected anyone, actually. Charlie had mentioned he lived alone, and Bella had pictured arriving to an empty house, awkward silences, and the slow suffocation of small-town life. But here was this woman—tall, maybe late twenties, with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and an easy smile that made something in Bella's chest unclench slightly.
"Hey, Bella," the woman said. "Welcome home."
Bella climbed out of the cruiser, her legs stiff from the flight and the drive. "Um. Hi?"
Charlie cleared his throat, looking almost embarrassed. "Bells, this is Katherine. My sister. She, uh, lives here in Forks. Thought she should meet you."
Sister. Bella blinked. Charlie had a sister? He'd never mentioned—but then again, Charlie didn't mention much of anything. Their phone calls over the years had been exercises in uncomfortable silence punctuated by weather reports.
"It's nice to meet you," Bella said automatically, the polite phrase worn smooth from years of her mother's coaching.
Katherine's smile widened, and something about it felt genuine in a way that made Bella's shoulders drop from where they'd been hunched up near her ears. "You too. I've been looking forward to this for a long time." She gestured to the truck. "What do you think of your new ride?"
Bella looked at the faded red Chevy, ancient and sturdy. "It's... great. Really great." And she meant it. There was something honest about the truck, something unpretentious that felt like relief after Phoenix's relentless sunshine and her mother's equally relentless optimism.
"It's got character," Katherine said, and there was something in her voice—warmth, maybe, or understanding. "Come on, let's get you inside. I bet you're exhausted."
She was. Bella followed Charlie and Katherine into the house, noting the way Katherine moved with easy familiarity, the way she knew exactly where the glasses were when she got Bella water, the way she'd clearly been here before. Often.
"So you live in Forks?" Bella asked, sipping the water and trying not to feel overwhelmed by the sheer greenness visible through every window.
"Yeah, I work dispatch at the station with Charlie." Katherine leaned against the counter, casual but attentive. "Born and raised here, unfortunately. Well, raised. It's not so bad once you get used to the rain."
"I don't mind rain," Bella said, which was true. She'd always preferred gray skies to the aggressive cheerfulness of Arizona sun.
"Then you'll fit right in." Katherine's eyes were kind. Dark brown, almost black, and there was something in them that made Bella feel seen in a way she wasn't used to. "Listen, I know moving is hard, and starting a new school is worse. If you need anything—anything at all—I'm around, okay? Charlie's got my number."
"Okay," Bella said, and meant it.
Katherine stayed for dinner—pizza, because Charlie's cooking skills were apparently limited to breakfast food—and her presence made everything easier. She filled the silences, asked questions that weren't invasive, told stories about Forks that made Charlie laugh. By the time she left, Bella felt something she hadn't expected to feel here.
Almost comfortable.
Katherine
Katherine drove home with her hands tight on the steering wheel and shadows writhing in the backseat.
Bella was here. Bella was here, in Forks, in Charlie's house, and she was so young and so vulnerable and so completely unaware of what was coming for her.
Breathe, Katherine told herself. You've prepared for this. You know what to do.
But knowing and doing were different things. Seeing Bella in person—seeing the way she hunched her shoulders, the way she smiled like she wasn't sure she was allowed to, the way she looked at Charlie with cautious hope—it made everything more real. More urgent.
Katherine had spent seventeen years training. Learning her powers, testing their limits, preparing for the moment when Edward Cullen would walk into Bella's life and try to claim her like she was his to take.
She'd learned that her command power worked on anyone within hearing range, that she could make people obey with just her voice. She'd learned that her biological manipulation could heal or harm, could reshape flesh and bone with a touch. She'd learned that her shadows could store anything, could strike like living weapons, could hide her secrets in darkness.
She'd learned, and she'd waited, and now the waiting was almost over.
"She seems like a good kid," Katherine said to the empty car, to the shadows that listened. "Smart. Kind. Deserves better than what's coming."
The shadows pulsed in agreement.
Katherine pulled into her driveway—a small house on the edge of town, close enough to Charlie's to respond quickly if needed—and sat in the darkness for a long moment.
Tomorrow, Bella would start school. Tomorrow, she'd meet the Cullens. And soon—maybe not immediately, but soon—Edward would fixate on her, would start his stalking, would convince himself that his obsession was love.
And Katherine would be ready.
She got out of the car, shadows trailing behind her like loyal dogs, and went inside to prepare.
Bella
Forks High School was smaller than Bella's school in Phoenix, which meant everyone noticed the new girl immediately.
Bella kept her head down as she navigated the office, got her schedule, found her locker. People stared. People whispered. A few introduced themselves—Mike Newton, who was friendly in an overeager way; Jessica Stanley, who talked rapidly about everything and nothing; Angela Weber, who seemed genuinely nice.
By lunch, Bella's head was spinning with names and faces and the constant awareness of being watched.
She followed Jessica to the cafeteria, got food she didn't want, and sat at a table with her new acquaintances. They were nice enough. Normal. Exactly what she'd expected from a small town.
And then Jessica said, "Oh my God, don't look now, but that's them."
Bella looked.
Five people sat at a table in the corner, and they were beautiful in a way that made Bella's breath catch. Inhumanly beautiful. Pale and perfect and utterly still in a way that made them seem like sculptures rather than teenagers.
"Who are they?" Bella asked.
"The Cullens," Jessica said, and launched into explanations. Dr. Cullen and his wife, foster children, all adopted, all gorgeous, all weird. Rosalie and Emmett, the blonde and the big one. Alice and Jasper, the pixie and the one who looked like he was in pain. And Edward, the bronze-haired one who—
Edward looked up.
His eyes met Bella's across the cafeteria, and something in his expression made her stomach drop. Not attraction, though he was beautiful. Something else. Something that looked almost like horror.
He stared at her like she'd done something terrible just by existing.
Bella looked away quickly, her cheeks burning. "What's his problem?"
"Edward? He's... weird. They all are. Keep to themselves mostly." Jessica shrugged. "Don't worry about it. He's like that with everyone."
But Bella couldn't shake the feeling that his stare had been personal. Specific. Like she'd offended him somehow.
She didn't look at the Cullens' table again for the rest of lunch.
Alex
Alex Morrison had been teaching Biology at Forks High for three years, and he'd learned to recognize the signs of teenage drama from across the classroom.
So when Bella Swan walked into his fifth-period class—the new girl everyone was talking about, Chief Swan's daughter—he noticed immediately that something was off.
She was nervous, which was normal for a first day. But there was something else in her expression as she handed him her slip, something that looked almost like dread.
"Bella Swan," Alex said, smiling to put her at ease. "Welcome. Let's see... you can take that seat there, next to Edward Cullen."
He gestured to the empty lab table, and that's when he noticed Edward's reaction.
Edward Cullen—always pale, always composed, always eerily perfect—had gone rigid in his seat. His hands were clenched on the edge of the table hard enough that Alex could see the tension in his shoulders from across the room. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on Bella with an intensity that made Alex's teacher-senses ping with concern.
Bella walked to the table and sat down, and Edward turned his face away from her like she'd burned him.
Alex started the lesson, but he kept half his attention on that table. Edward didn't look at Bella once. Didn't speak to her. Sat angled away from her like he was trying to put as much distance between them as possible without actually leaving his seat.
And his hand, the one closest to Bella, was clenched so tight that his knuckles were white.
What the hell?
Alex had never seen Edward act like this. The Cullens were weird, sure—too perfect, too insular, too still—but they were always polite. Always controlled. Edward especially seemed to glide through school like nothing touched him.
But right now, he looked like he was barely holding himself together.
When the bell rang, Edward was out of his seat and through the door before Bella had even closed her notebook.
Alex watched him go, frowning. Then he looked at Bella, who was gathering her things with a confused, hurt expression that made something protective flare in Alex's chest.
"Bella," he called as she headed for the door. "How was your first day?"
She turned, surprised. "Oh. Um. Fine. Good."
"Good." Alex hesitated, then said, "If you need anything, or if anyone gives you trouble, my door's always open. Okay?"
"Okay. Thanks, Mr. Morrison."
She left, and Alex stood there for a moment, thinking.
He knew Katherine Swan—well, not well, but they'd crossed paths at the station, had coffee a few times when he'd stopped by to drop off paperwork for the school resource officer program. She was sharp, funny, fiercely protective of her brother. And now her niece was here, and something was wrong.
Alex pulled out his phone and sent a quick text: Hey, saw Bella today. She seems great. But something weird happened in class—one of the students had a really strange reaction to her. Might be nothing, but thought you should know. Coffee sometime this week?
He hit send and tried to shake off the uneasy feeling in his gut.
Probably nothing. Just teenage weirdness.
But he'd mention it to Katherine anyway. Just in case.
Edward
The scent hit Edward like a physical blow the moment Bella Swan walked into the classroom.
Blood. Rich and sweet and singing through his veins like nothing he'd ever experienced in a century of existence. Her blood called to him, screamed at him, demanded that he take and drink and drain until there was nothing left.
Edward's hands clenched on the table. His throat burned. Venom pooled in his mouth.
No.
He turned his face away, stopped breathing, tried to think of anything except the girl sitting inches away from him. The girl whose pulse he could hear, whose warmth he could feel, whose scent was driving him absolutely insane with thirst.
Monster, he thought viciously. You're a monster. Control yourself.
But control was a thin thread, and it was fraying with every second that passed. Edward could hear her heartbeat—fast, nervous, alive. Could hear the blood rushing through her veins. Could imagine how easy it would be to reach over, to grab her, to—
No. No. NO.
The teacher was talking. Edward didn't hear a word. All his focus, all his considerable willpower, was bent on not moving. Not breathing. Not turning to look at the girl whose blood sang a siren song that made every instinct in his body scream MINE.
The fifty minutes of class felt like fifty years.
When the bell finally rang, Edward fled. He didn't care how it looked, didn't care about maintaining his careful facade of humanity. He had to get away from her before he did something unforgivable.
He made it to his car, got in, gripped the steering wheel hard enough to dent it.
Leave, his mind whispered. Leave Forks. Leave now. Go to Alaska, go to Denali, go anywhere she isn't.
But even as he thought it, another part of him—the part that had been alone for so long, the part that was so tired of being a monster—whispered something else.
Stay. Figure this out. She's different. She's special. Maybe this means something.
Edward closed his eyes and saw Bella's face. Brown eyes, pale skin, that confused hurt expression when he'd recoiled from her.
He'd hurt her. Just by existing near her, he'd hurt her.
And he wanted to hurt her more. Wanted to sink his teeth into her throat and drink until her heart stopped beating.
Monster.
Edward started the car and drove. Not home. Not yet. He needed to think. Needed to decide.
Stay or go. Control or surrender. Humanity or monstrosity.
The choice should have been easy.
But as he drove through the rain-soaked streets of Forks, all Edward could think about was the scent of Bella Swan's blood and the way it had made him feel alive for the first time in decades.
And that terrified him more than anything.
Katherine
Katherine was at the station when her phone buzzed with Alex's text.
She read it once. Twice. Felt her shadows stir in the corners of the room, responding to the spike of adrenaline that shot through her system.
One of the students had a really strange reaction to her.
Katherine knew exactly which student. Knew exactly what that reaction meant.
Edward Cullen had caught Bella's scent. And if he'd reacted strongly enough for Alex to notice, strongly enough to text her about it, then it was bad.
Shit.
Katherine had hoped for more time. Had hoped that maybe, somehow, things would be different this time. That Edward would stay away, that Bella would be safe, that Katherine wouldn't have to—
But hope was a luxury she couldn't afford. Not when Bella's life was at stake.
Katherine texted back: Thanks for letting me know. Coffee sounds good. Tomorrow?
Then she sat back in her chair and let the shadows crawl up her arms, cold and ready.
She'd known this was coming. Had prepared for it. But knowing and experiencing were different things, and the protective fury that rose in her chest was almost overwhelming.
Edward Cullen had looked at Bella like she was prey. Had struggled with the urge to kill her. And now he was out there somewhere, deciding whether to stay or go, whether to give in to his nature or fight it.
Katherine knew how that decision would go. She'd seen the movies. Edward would convince himself he could handle it, would come back, would start stalking Bella and calling it love.
And Katherine would be ready.
She pulled out her phone again and texted Charlie: How's Bella doing? First day go okay?
His response came quickly: Good I think. Quiet at dinner. You want to come over?
On my way.
Katherine grabbed her jacket and headed out, shadows trailing behind her like a promise.
She needed to see Bella. Needed to make sure she was okay. Needed to start preparing for what came next.
Because Edward Cullen had made his choice the moment he'd walked into that classroom and smelled Bella's blood.
And Katherine had made hers seventeen years ago, in a hospital room, in a moment of death and rebirth.
She would protect Bella Swan.
No matter what it cost.
No matter who she had to kill to do it.
The shadows pulsed in agreement, dark and hungry and ready.
The story was beginning.
And this time, Katherine would make sure it had a different ending.
Katherine typed back quickly: Thanks for letting me know. Coffee tomorrow? My treat.
Alex's response was immediate: You're buying anyway. 7am at the diner?
See you there.
She set the phone down and stared at her reflection in the darkened window. The satisfaction that settled in her chest was cold and sharp-edged. This was it. THE moment. The scene she'd watched unfold on screen, romanticized and softened by movie magic and a swooning soundtrack.
Except there was nothing romantic about a vampire struggling not to murder a teenage girl in a classroom full of witnesses.
She'd known it was coming. Had been waiting for it since the moment Bella told her she was moving to Forks. And now it had happened, exactly as she'd expected, and Edward Cullen was out there somewhere making his choice.
Katherine picked up her phone again, thumb hovering over Bella's contact. She could text her. Warn her. Tell her that Edward Cullen was dangerous, that the way he'd looked at her wasn't normal, wasn't safe.
But Bella wouldn't understand. Not yet. She'd seen the way Edward looked at her and probably thought it was intensity, passion, the beginning of something epic.
She didn't know she'd looked like food.
Katherine set the phone down. Better to wait. See what Edward did next. If he ran—and he might, if he had any sense—then the problem solved itself. If he came back...
Well. Then Katherine would be ready.
She texted Charlie instead: How was Bella's first day? She settling in okay?
The response came a few minutes later: Think so. Said she made some friends. Seemed tired. You still coming over?
Be there in ten.
Katherine grabbed her keys and headed for the door, shadows curling around her fingers like smoke.
Alex
The beer was cold, the TV was on, and Alex Morrison couldn't stop thinking about Edward Cullen's face.
He'd been teaching at Forks High for eight years. Had seen teenage drama in every possible configuration—breakups and makeups, fights and friendships, the whole messy spectrum of adolescent emotion.
He'd never seen anything like what he'd witnessed in Biology today.
The way Edward had looked at Bella Swan... Alex took another drink, trying to find the right word for it. Hungry didn't quite cover it. Neither did desperate. It was something deeper, more primal. The kind of look that made every teacher instinct Alex had developed scream that something was wrong.
Edward Cullen was a good student. Quiet, polite, got perfect grades without seeming to try. All five of the Cullen kids were like that—beautiful, brilliant, and just slightly off in a way Alex had never been able to put his finger on.
Today, he'd seen it clearly.
Predatory. That was the word. Edward had looked at Bella Swan like a predator looks at prey.
Alex pulled out his phone and reread Katherine's response. She'd thanked him, suggested coffee, hadn't seemed surprised. Which made sense—Katherine had been protective of Bella for years, even from a distance. She'd want to know if something seemed off.
And this was definitely off.
He set his phone down and tried to focus on the game. Told himself he was overreacting. That Edward was probably just... what? Attracted to her? Having a bad day? Struggling with teenage hormones?
None of those explanations fit what Alex had seen.
He was glad he'd told Katherine. Even if it turned out to be nothing, even if Edward never looked at Bella that way again, at least someone else knew. Someone who cared about Bella, who would watch out for her.
Because that look in Edward's eyes...
Alex took another drink and tried not to think about it.
Tried not to remember the way Edward's hands had gripped the desk, knuckles white, like he was physically restraining himself from doing something terrible.
Edward
"I have to leave."
The words fell into the silence of the Cullen living room like stones into still water. Carlisle looked up from his book. Esme's hands stilled on the piano keys. Alice's eyes were distant, already seeing. Jasper tensed, feeling the chaos of Edward's emotions. Rosalie's expression was carefully blank. Emmett just looked confused.
"What happened?" Carlisle asked quietly.
Edward closed his eyes. Even now, hours later, he could still smell her. Could still feel the burn of her blood singing through the air, calling to him like nothing ever had in his ninety years of existence.
"There's a new girl. Bella Swan. Chief Swan's daughter." He opened his eyes, met Carlisle's gaze. "Her blood... I've never wanted anything the way I wanted her blood today. I had to grip the desk to keep from killing her in front of thirty witnesses."
Esme made a soft sound of distress. Alice's eyes refocused, sharp and knowing.
"You didn't though," Carlisle said. "You controlled yourself."
"Barely." Edward's hands clenched into fists. "I sat there for fifty minutes planning how to do it. How to kill everyone in that room so I could have her. I thought about luring her away after class. I thought about—" He cut himself off, disgusted. "I have to leave. Tonight."
"The Denali's would welcome you," Carlisle said carefully. "You could stay there as long as you need."
Edward nodded. Alaska. Distance. Time away from the siren call of Bella Swan's blood.
But then he hesitated.
"If I leave tonight, it will draw attention. The teacher noticed. I saw it in his thoughts—he was disturbed by how I acted. If I disappear immediately after..." Edward shook his head. "One more day. I'll go to school tomorrow, act normal, then leave tomorrow night. Say I'm visiting family."
"Edward—" Esme started.
"I can do it." He had to believe that. Had to believe he had that much control. "One more day. Then I'll go to Denali and stay there until she graduates and leaves Forks."
Alice's expression was troubled, but she didn't contradict him. Whatever she was seeing, she kept to herself.
"If you feel yourself losing control—" Carlisle began.
"I'll leave immediately. I promise." Edward looked at his family, at the concern and worry on their faces. "I'm sorry. I never thought... I didn't know it could be like this."
"It's not your fault," Esme said softly. "You didn't choose this."
But he was choosing to go back tomorrow. Choosing to test himself one more time.
Edward just hoped it wasn't a choice he'd regret.
Bella
Edward Cullen was in Biology on Tuesday, but he might as well have been a statue.
He sat at their shared lab table with his body angled away from her, hands flat on the desk, staring straight ahead like she didn't exist. He didn't look at her once. Didn't speak. Barely seemed to breathe.
It was, somehow, even more unsettling than yesterday's intensity.
Bella tried to focus on Mr. Morrison's lecture about cellular reproduction, but her attention kept drifting to the rigid line of Edward's shoulders, the way his jaw was clenched tight enough that she could see the muscle jumping.
What the hell was his problem?
Jessica had said the Cullens were weird, but this went beyond weird. This was... Bella didn't even have a word for it. Disturbing, maybe. The kind of behavior that made her skin prickle with unease.
When the bell finally rang, Edward was out of his seat and through the door before Bella had even closed her notebook.
At lunch, she pulled out her phone and texted her dad: Is it normal for people here to act super weird and intense for no reason?
His response came a few minutes later: You okay? Someone bothering you?
No, just this guy in my Biology class acting strange. It's fine.
Let me know if it's not fine. I'm the chief of police for a reason.
Bella smiled despite herself. Will do. See you tonight.
She pocketed her phone and tried to focus on Jessica's chatter about some upcoming dance. Tried not to think about Edward Cullen's white-knuckled grip on the desk, or the way he'd looked at her yesterday like she was something dangerous.
Or maybe like he was something dangerous, and she just didn't know it yet.
Edward
The Volvo ate up the miles between Forks and Alaska with mechanical precision, but Edward's mind was anything but precise.
One girl.
One human girl with brown eyes and a scent that had nearly destroyed a century of carefully constructed control. One fragile, breakable girl who had walked into his Biology class and turned his entire existence into a battle between what he was and what he'd chosen to become.
The highway stretched before him, gray and wet and endless. He pushed the speedometer higher, knowing it wouldn't help, knowing that no amount of distance would erase the memory of her blood singing in his veins.
He'd spent a hundred years proving he was more than his nature. A hundred years of discipline, of choosing animal blood over human, of building a family with others who shared his values. The Cullens weren't just a coven—they were a statement. A declaration that vampires could be more than monsters.
And then Bella Swan had walked into a classroom, and Edward had become exactly what he'd spent a century denying.
The worst part wasn't the thirst. He'd experienced thirst before, had learned to manage it, to control it. The worst part was the want. The way every instinct in his body had screamed at him to take, to possess, to sink his teeth into her throat and drink until there was nothing left.
He'd wanted to kill her.
He'd wanted it so badly that his hands had ached with the effort of staying still.
The trees blurred past, dense and dark. Somewhere around the Canadian border, Edward abandoned the car entirely and ran. It was faster this way, more honest. Just him and the wilderness and the desperate hope that distance would dull the edge of his hunger.
It didn't.
Even here, hundreds of miles away, he could still smell her. Could still hear the rhythm of her heartbeat in his memory, the rush of blood through her veins. Could still see the way she'd looked at him—confused, wary, like she'd sensed the predator beneath his carefully constructed facade.
She should be afraid. She should run.
But she wouldn't, because she didn't know. Because humans never knew until it was too late.
The Denali house appeared through the trees just after midnight—a sprawling structure that managed to look both modern and timeless. Edward slowed as he approached, suddenly uncertain. What was he doing here? What did he expect Tanya and her sisters to tell him that he didn't already know?
You're a vampire. She's human. This ends one way or another, and neither option is acceptable.
He could kill her, or he could leave her alone. There was no third choice, no matter how much he might wish otherwise.
The front door opened before he reached it. Tanya stood in the doorway, her strawberry blonde hair catching the porch light, her expression concerned.
"Edward," she said. "What's wrong?"
Everything, he wanted to say. Instead, he just shook his head and walked inside.
Katherine
Edward Cullen's Volvo was gone from the school parking lot on Wednesday morning.
Katherine noticed because she made it her business to notice things like that. She'd driven past the high school on her way to work, ostensibly checking on road conditions after the previous night's rain, actually cataloging which vehicles were present and which weren't.
The silver Volvo was absent. So was the red convertible, the Jeep, and the Mercedes. All five Cullens, gone.
"Interesting," Katherine murmured, pulling into the police station parking lot.
At her desk, she pulled up the dispatch logs from the previous evening, scanning for anything unusual. Nothing. No accidents, no disturbances, no calls from the Cullen residence. They'd simply... left.
Her phone buzzed. Alex: That student who was acting weird is absent today. All five Cullens are gone
Katherine: I noticed. How's Bella?
Alex: Confused but fine. Keeps looking at Cullen's empty seat like she's trying to solve a puzzle.
Katherine: Let me know if they come back.
Alex: Will do.
She set the phone down and stared at her computer screen without really seeing it. Edward had left. Good. That bought them time, bought Bella safety, bought Katherine space to figure out her next move.
Except.
Except Katherine had read this story, had watched this movie, had seen how it ended. Edward would come back. They always came back. The Cullens would return to Forks, and Edward would convince himself he could handle being near Bella, and the whole dangerous dance would begin again.
Unless Katherine changed something. Unless she found a way to redirect the narrative before it could follow its predetermined path.
She pulled up a blank document and started typing notes. Strategies. Possibilities. Ways to keep Bella safe without revealing what Katherine knew, without exposing her own impossible knowledge of events that hadn't happened yet.
The morning passed in a blur of routine calls and paperwork. A fender bender on Highway 101. A noise complaint from Mrs. Henderson about her neighbor's dog. A welfare check on old Mr. Patterson, who hadn't picked up his mail in three days but turned out to be fine, just visiting his daughter in Port Angeles.
Normal. Mundane. The kind of day that made Katherine almost forget she was living in a story where vampires were real and teenage girls fell in love with their would-be murderers.
Almost.
Around noon, Katherine felt it. A pull, faint but insistent, like a hook behind her sternum tugging her toward... something. She looked up from her computer, frowning. The sensation was unfamiliar, not like her telekinesis or her shadows or even her precognition. This was different. External.
Like something was coming.
Something meant for her.
Katherine shook her head, trying to clear it. Probably nothing. Probably just stress and too much coffee and the lingering adrenaline from knowing Edward Cullen had nearly killed Bella Swan in front of thirty witnesses.
But the feeling didn't fade. If anything, it grew stronger as the afternoon wore on.
By the time her shift ended at four, Katherine's skin was practically humming with anticipation. She gathered her things, said goodbye to Chief Swan, and stepped out into the gray afternoon.
The pull was stronger now. Directional.
North.
Katherine got in her car and started driving, not quite sure why, knowing only that something was waiting for her. Something important.
Something that would change everything.
Tanya
The pull had been growing for weeks.
At first, Tanya had dismissed it as restlessness. Three thousand years of existence tended to create patterns, and patterns bred boredom. Perhaps she simply needed a change of scenery, a new hunting ground, a different view.
But the pull was specific. Directional. South, always south, toward the small logging town of Forks, Washington.
Tanya had resisted for as long as she could. She had responsibilities in Denali—her sisters, her coven, the careful balance they'd maintained for centuries. She couldn't simply abandon them on a whim, chasing after a feeling she didn't understand.
Except the feeling wouldn't let her go.
It had started as a whisper, barely noticeable. A sense that something waited for her, something important. Then it had grown into a constant awareness, a magnetic north that pulled at her every waking moment.
Finally, she'd given in.
"I need to go to Forks," she'd told her sisters three days ago.
Irina had looked up from her book, eyebrows raised. "Forks? Why?"
"I don't know." Tanya had paced the length of their living room, restless and uncertain. "I just... I need to."
Kate had exchanged a look with Irina. "Is this about the Cullens? I know Carlisle mentioned they'd settled there."
"No." Tanya shook her head. "I mean, yes, they're there, but that's not... this is something else."
"Something else," Irina repeated, skeptical.
"I know how it sounds." Tanya had stopped pacing, meeting her sisters' eyes. "But I have to go. I have to find out what this is."
In the end, they'd let her go. They always did. The Denali sisters had survived three millennia by trusting each other's instincts, and Tanya's instincts were screaming that she needed to be in Forks.
Now, driving down Highway 101 in the rain, Tanya wondered if she'd made a mistake. The pull was stronger than ever, almost overwhelming, but she still had no idea what she was looking for. A person? A place? Some kind of supernatural phenomenon?
The "Welcome to Forks" sign appeared through the rain, and Tanya's entire body went rigid.
Here.
Whatever she was looking for, it was here.
She drove slowly through the small town, taking in the modest houses, the local businesses, the general air of quiet rural life. Nothing remarkable. Nothing that explained the intensity of what she was feeling.
Except.
Tanya's hands tightened on the steering wheel as the pull suddenly shifted, becoming almost unbearably strong. Close. Whatever it was, it was close.
She turned onto a side street, following the sensation like a compass needle following north. Past a small park, past a row of houses, past—
A woman stepped out of a car in front of a modest blue house.
And Tanya's entire world stopped.
The pull, the magnetic force that had been drawing her south for weeks, suddenly snapped into sharp, perfect focus. Not a pull anymore. A bond. A connection so profound and immediate that Tanya actually gasped, her hands going numb on the steering wheel.
Mate.
The word rose from somewhere deep and ancient, from the part of her that was still vampire despite three thousand years of civilization. The part that recognized its other half when it finally, finally appeared.
The woman—dark hair, late twenties, human—looked up as Tanya's car slowed to a stop. Their eyes met.
And Tanya watched the exact moment the bond snapped into place for her too.
Katherine
The woman in the car was the most beautiful thing Katherine had ever seen.
That was her first thought, immediate and overwhelming. Strawberry blonde hair, golden eyes, features that were too perfect to be entirely human. Beautiful in a way that made Katherine's breath catch, made her forget for a moment where she was or what she'd been doing.
Her second thought was: Vampire.
Her third thought was: Oh.
Because the pull, the inexplicable magnetism that had been drawing her north all afternoon, had just resolved into perfect, crystalline clarity. Not a warning. Not a threat.
Recognition.
The woman got out of her car slowly, gracefully, moving with the fluid precision that marked her as something other than human. She was staring at Katherine with an expression of wonder and shock and something that looked almost like relief.
"Hi," Katherine said, and her voice came out steadier than she'd expected. "I'm Katherine."
"Tanya." The woman—Tanya—took a step closer, then stopped, like she was afraid of spooking Katherine. "I... I've been looking for you."
"Have you?" Katherine's heart was racing, her palms damp. The bond between them was almost visible, a golden thread connecting chest to chest. "That's funny. I didn't know I was lost."
Tanya laughed, and the sound was like music. "Neither did I. But I've been feeling... I've been drawn here for weeks. I didn't know why until—" She gestured helplessly between them. "Until now."
Katherine understood. God, she understood. Because this was it, wasn't it? This was the thing she'd been missing, the piece of the puzzle she hadn't even known was absent. This was why she'd woken up in Forks with knowledge of a story that shouldn't exist, why she'd been given powers that defied explanation.
This was her mate.
Tanya Denali. Leader of the Denali coven. Vegetarian vampire. And, apparently, Katherine's other half.
"You're a vampire," Katherine said, because someone had to acknowledge it.
"How do you know that?" Tanya said as she eyed Katherine
"There is a legend of cold ones on the res" Katherine said quickly
Tanya's expression was cautious, waiting for fear or rejection. "Does that... is that a problem?"
Katherine thought about it. Thought about the impossibility of her situation, about the story she was living in, about the fact that she'd already accepted vampires and werewolves and precognition as part of her reality.
Thought about the way her entire body was singing with rightness, with the certainty that this woman was meant to be hers.
"No," Katherine said finally. "No, I don't think it is."
Tanya's smile was radiant. "Good. That's... that's good."
They stood there in the rain, staring at each other, neither quite sure what to do next. The bond hummed between them, patient and eternal, waiting for them to catch up to what it already knew.
Finally, Katherine laughed. "This is insane."
"Completely," Tanya agreed.
"I don't even know you."
"I know." Tanya took another step closer. "But I'd like to. If you'll let me."
Katherine looked at her—really looked at her. At the hope in those golden eyes, at the careful way she held herself, at the three thousand years of existence that somehow hadn't dimmed the vulnerability in her expression.
"Yeah," Katherine said softly. "Yeah, I'd like that too."
The rain continued to fall around them, soft and steady, as Katherine and Tanya stood in the middle of a Forks street and began the process of learning each other. Of understanding what it meant that fate—or destiny, or whatever force governed the universe—had brought them together.
Katherine had come to Forks to save someone.
She just hadn't realized she'd been saving herself too.
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Someone please pick this story up I don't know how to write and I had massive help with A.I. Just writing this. I really like this story so I need who actually knows how to write pick it up and makeit good