Twilight: Immortal Dusk

The Next Morning

Swan Residence – Bella's Room – 7:06 AM

Soundtrack: The muffled hush of snow pressing against the world like a secret it doesn't want to spill.

When Bella woke, everything was too bright. Not sunlight exactly—Forks didn't do sunlight—but the kind of glowy white light that made it feel like the inside of her eyelids were made of tracing paper.

She blinked blearily at the ceiling, then groaned and rolled toward the window. Her hand fumbled past a dog-eared paperback of Wuthering Heights and an ancient flip phone she'd forgotten to charge again. She shoved aside the curtain.

"Snow?" she mumbled, smushing her cheek to the freezing window glass.

The whole street looked dipped in powdered sugar. Thick drifts weighed down the trees, and her truck—bless its rustbucket soul—looked like a frosted cupcake. Icy flakes still floated lazily down, like the sky hadn't quite finished decorating yet.

Bella squinted into the brightness, then flopped back onto her bed with a dramatic sigh and yanked the comforter over her face.

"Great. Death by slipping on black ice. That's on-brand."

And then, like a traitorous reflex, her mind whispered his name.

Edward.

Her stomach did that ridiculous thing again. The swoop. The flutter. The hormonal jazz hands of it all.

Nope. Absolutely not.

She shoved the covers off, muttering to herself as she swung her legs over the side of the bed.

"Why am I like this?" she asked the floor. It did not answer.

She got dressed quickly—jeans, thermal tee, zip-up hoodie, and her puffy navy coat that made her look like an overstuffed marshmallow. Her hair was doing that weird static thing it always did in dry winter air, and no amount of brushing made it cooperate. She gave up and pulled it into a low ponytail, then leaned in toward the mirror and made a face.

No makeup. Pale lips. Slightly haunted eyes.

"Peak Washington chic," she muttered. "Yay, me."

She hesitated, glancing at her backpack, at the window again. Then—quietly, almost involuntarily—she said, "I wonder if he'll be there today."

She rolled her eyes so hard it hurt.

"Focus, Bella. You're here for school, not to swoon over emotionally constipated boys."

Probably.

—

Kitchen – 7:29 AM

The house smelled like cold wood and burnt coffee. Charlie's boots were gone from the mat, and the police cruiser was already missing from the driveway.

On the counter, beside the half-used bottle of Tabasco sauce, a sticky note rested like a small reminder that someone out there loved her, even if he showed it through awkward silences and shotgun maintenance.

Early call. Roads are bad. Be careful — love, Dad.

She poured cereal. The milk was almost empty. She added just enough to keep the flakes from being dry and leaned against the counter as she ate in slow, distracted bites.

The kitchen was quiet except for the occasional creak of the pipes and the soft hum of the fridge. Outside, the sky was still that weird steel color that meant not quite morning, not quite night, and everything looked like a backdrop to some black-and-white indie film.

Her mind wandered.

Edward Cullen.

Again.

"Ugh," she groaned into her cereal. "This is getting embarrassing."

She stabbed at a flake with her spoon.

"He barely talked to me. He looked like he wanted to strangle me with his lab apron. And I was just… babbling. Like some kind of literary golden retriever."

She took another bite, chewing slowly.

"He probably thinks I'm a hazard to his immortal soul."

A pause.

"Which, to be fair, might not be entirely inaccurate."

She rinsed the bowl, grabbed her bag, and slipped on her boots by the door. The snow squeaked underfoot as she stepped outside, the cold air immediately stinging her cheeks and nose.

She paused before locking the door, breathing out a little cloud of vapor.

"Just focus. No weird expectations. It's just another day."

But even as she said it, her heart skipped a beat—traitorous, eager, wild—as if it already knew something was going to happen.

And it didn't care how many walls she tried to put up.

—

Bella wrapped her scarf tighter, the wool scratchy against her neck, and reached for the doorknob. The metal was freezing—bit into her palm like it held a grudge—and when she tugged the door open, a gust of icy air slapped her cheeks red and tried to steal the breath from her lungs.

The whole world was white.

Not gray. Not washed-out or rainy like usual.

White.

Snow blanketed everything—the roof, the mailbox, even the sagging porch railing that looked like it hadn't been painted since Nirvana broke up. Tree branches dipped under the weight, drooping like they were trying to touch their frozen reflections. Her truck was barely recognizable beneath the thick coat of powder, a frosted hulk parked faithfully by the curb.

Bella blinked. Her lashes stuck together briefly, crusted with sleep and cold.

"Okay, what in the Dickensian novel is this?" she mumbled.

She took one cautious step onto the porch.

Then another.

The snow squeaked under her boots—an oddly satisfying crunch that echoed in the stillness. Every step felt like breaking the surface of some long-forgotten dream, and part of her wanted to turn around, crawl back into bed, and pretend this whole quiet, weird, frostbitten morning hadn't happened.

But her body, traitorous and dutiful, kept moving forward.

The steps were slick, and Bella clutched the rickety railing like she was scaling a glacier.

"Don't die before second period," she muttered under her breath, voice muffled by her scarf. "Charlie would never forgive me for embarrassing him on the police blotter like that."

She made it to the sidewalk, boots sliding once on black ice hidden beneath the powder. Her arms pinwheeled in that distinctly not cool way, like a broken puppet on a slippery stage, and somehow—miraculously—she didn't fall.

"…nailed it," she whispered, breath puffing visibly in front of her face.

Her truck sat like a frosted dinosaur, windows opaque with frost, but loyal as ever. She dug the keys from her pocket and scraped the windshield with a frozen credit card—her scraper was somewhere in the back seat, buried under spare notebooks and crumpled Safeway receipts.

When the glass was just clear enough to see through, she climbed in and slammed the door shut, the cold following her like a ghost. The truck groaned to life on the second try, heater coughing reluctantly into action.

The engine's familiar rumble soothed her, grounding her in something real.

As she pulled away from the curb, slow and careful, her thoughts started wandering.

Forks High.

Boys.

Edward.

Ugh.

She didn't want to think about him, but he had this annoying gravitational pull. Like a black hole in a black turtleneck.

Instead, she thought about Mike and Eric.

Mike with his over-eager grin, like a puppy who'd just learned the word fetch. Eric with his constant proximity and nervous monologues about guitar pedals and The Strokes.

Back in Phoenix, she could have walked through the halls of school on fire and nobody would have noticed unless their locker was also burning.

Here? She was suddenly interesting.

To boys.

Bella made a face, gripping the steering wheel.

"Do I give off some kind of pheromone? New girl with trust issues?" she asked the dashboard. "Maybe it's the flannel."

Her tires hit something solid. Not snow. Not ice.

Traction.

The truck moved forward without slipping. It held the road like a well-trained sled dog.

Bella frowned. That… shouldn't be happening.

She parked carefully in her usual spot at the far end of the lot, next to a snowbank that looked like it had dreams of becoming an iceberg, and hopped down.

As she turned to grab her backpack, her eye caught the rear tire.

Something silver glinted beneath the snow. She crouched—half confused, half curious—and brushed the slush aside with her glove.

Chains.

Thick ones. Clean. Latched perfectly. Secured just the way someone who knew what they were doing would've done it.

Bella stared.

She blinked again, slower this time, as the realization hit.

Charlie did this.

He'd gone out early—in the dark, probably—just to make sure she wouldn't skid off a backroad or fishtail into the biology building. No words. No big talk. No "Hey, kiddo, I put chains on the tires." Just… this. Quiet. Reliable. Good.

Her throat felt tight.

Not in a crying way. Not exactly.

Just… full. Like her chest didn't quite know how to hold all of this.

This is what love looks like, she thought. Not grand gestures. Not roses or whatever fake crap they sell at Safeway. Just chains. Cold fingers. A tired man doing his best before sunrise.

She stood slowly, brushed the snow from her jeans, and looked toward the school building.

Students were already shuffling in, some half-laughing, some yelling, a snowball fight breaking out near the bike racks. She pulled her coat tighter and adjusted her bag.

The wind bit at her cheeks again, but this time it didn't sting as much.

Bella started walking.

She didn't let herself think about Edward.

Much.

"Don't cry about tire chains," she muttered, voice dry. "You'll lose all your goth girl cred."

And yet, something inside her still curled warm and careful. Something that felt like maybe, just maybe, she wasn't as alone as she'd convinced herself she was.

—

Bella crouched low beside her truck, fingertips numb from the cold, scraping snow off the tire chains like they were some kind of tiny miracle. She exhaled slow and steady, watching her breath puff out in soft spirals, a little ghost in the gray morning air.

Chains. Her chains.

They weren't just metal wrapped around rubber. They were Dad's quiet way of saying: I've got you.

Her throat tightened, and suddenly it was like someone had stuffed her chest with bricks, but not in a painful way. More like… a weird kind of fullness, the kind that felt like maybe she wasn't as invisible as she always thought she was.

And then—

SCREEECH

A sudden, awful sound ripped through the silence. Like a banshee caught in a blender.

Bella's head snapped up so fast it almost gave her a headache.

Across the lot, just four cars down, the Cullens stood like statues carved from ice and mystery.

Not just Edward, either.

Emmett looked like he'd been dipped in muscle juice overnight, arms folded, towering and amused like he'd just heard the worst joke ever and was deciding whether to laugh or punch someone.

Rosalie was glaring at the snow like it personally offended her, which, given how bad her hair always looked around here, wasn't far off.

And beside Edward — tall and impossibly still — was Hadrian.

A hood shadowed his face, but his eyes—emerald green—cut right through the cold air like they were carved from lightning.

Before she could think on it more, before she could even breathe in properly—

SCREEEEEECH

The sound got louder, sharper.

Tires on ice. Metal scraping asphalt. Pure, unfiltered panic.

Bella turned her head slowly, like a deer in the headlights who wasn't ready to be dinner yet.

A black Chevy Astro van was spinning out of control, sliding across the parking lot like it was being pulled by some cruel force of nature. Ice and slush sprayed everywhere, a messy, frantic blur of winter chaos and bad luck.

It was coming straight at her.

Like it had a vendetta.

Her eyes locked on the windshield, and she saw her own face reflected back at her—wide-eyed, pale, a jumble of terror and disbelief.

Her boots were frozen to the spot.

She couldn't move.

Not a twitch.

The world slowed down.

The air thickened so much she felt like she was breathing underwater.

Her heart was thudding so loud she was sure the whole parking lot could hear it.

Then —

"Bella!"

The voice cracked through the haze like a lifeline.

Edward was already moving.

So fast it made her head spin.

She hadn't even seen him start. One second, he was just standing there, staring at her like she was some kind of fragile glass sculpture. The next, he was a blur, a streak of impossible speed across the lot.

His eyes never left hers.

And just behind him, Hadrian moved too—silent, purposeful, a shadow sliding through the white.

But Bella only saw Edward.

The van kept sliding.

Closer.

The screech of tires was deafening now, mixed with the dull, terrifying sound of metal about to meet flesh.

Bella's mouth opened to scream—

But all that came out was a breathless, shattered no.

And then the world went white.

—

The van's screech hadn't stopped—it echoed in Bella's ears like a bad mixtape stuck on repeat. But then, snap — two hands grabbed the van's bumper like it was a prank prop, yanking it back just enough to keep her from becoming roadkill.

"Whoa! Gotcha," said a voice low and steady, not even breaking a sweat.

Bella staggered back, knees jelly, blinking up at Edward—his bronze hair wild with snowflakes, his eyes wide like he'd just sprinted a mile for her.

"Edward! Are you insane?" she gasped, clutching her chest like it was a fragile antique. "How—how the hell did you get here so fast? You're not even—"

"I was right here," he said, breath coming quick but calm, "Like, less than an arm's length away." He threw her a grin that was half sheepish, half 'yeah, I'm the fastest thing alive' kind of thing.

Bella blinked, flabbergasted. "You're telling me you're basically teleporting now? Because that's not in the biology syllabus."

Edward shrugged, cheeks flushing a soft copper. "Nope, just... fast."

Before she could tease him into blushing harder, a shadow peeled off beside Edward, calm as a winter lake. Hadrian moved like a whispered secret through the snow, hood up, emerald eyes burning cool and bright.

He knelt beside the van's driver's side, voice dropping to a murmur as he spoke to the dazed kid behind the wheel.

Tyler Crowley's hands shook, still gripping the wheel as if it was the last thing keeping him tethered to reality. His dark eyes were wide, pupils blown, confusion written all over his face like he'd just been hit by a cosmic bus.

Hadrian's words were a low thread of sound, unintelligible to Bella but somehow full of purpose. Tyler blinked, trying to focus, then slumped back against his seat, breaths coming in shallow gasps.

Bella's breath caught in her throat. The whole parking lot seemed suspended in a strange, heavy silence—broken only by the distant wails of freaked-out students and the soft patter of snow.

Edward was right there again, brushing a cold snowflake from her cheek with a gentleness that didn't fit the storm inside her.

"Talk to me, Bella. You're breathing." His voice cracked just enough to sound like he really meant it, like every syllable was a tether pulling her back from the edge.

Bella forced a shaky laugh. "Yeah, well... you almost made me die of terror. And then save me from dying. Thanks for the emotional rollercoaster."

Edward smirked, eyes flicking toward Hadrian with a silent question, like you see that? But then he turned back, completely focused on her.

"I'm not letting you get flattened by a rogue van. Not on my watch."

Bella rolled her eyes, but her fingers curled tight around her scarf. "You're all heroic and stuff today. What's the occasion? Did the Cullens get tired of their usual vampire gig and sign up for 'Van Rescue 101'?"

Edward laughed, this time without the tension. "Something like that."

Hadrian stood, brushing snow off his sleeves, his gaze never leaving Tyler. The driver looked up, dazed, and for a second their eyes locked—something passed between them, quiet but sharp, like a code only Hadrian understood.

Bella could've sworn she caught him murmur something—words just too low to catch, like a secret wrapped in smoke.

Tyler's confusion deepened, his mouth opening and closing as if trying to find his voice, but it got caught somewhere between the frost and his shock.

Behind Bella, the parking lot buzzed back to life—the adrenaline wearing off, replaced by whispers and murmurs.

Bella hugged her arms, snowflakes melting on her eyelashes.

Edward leaned closer, voice soft but steady: "You okay?"

She nodded, breath hitching. "I think so. Mostly."

But her eyes kept flicking to Hadrian, who was still watching Tyler, still waiting—like this wasn't just a near-death accident, but the first move in a game none of them had signed up to play.

—

Bella Swan was having a morning.

One minute she was walking across a perfectly normal, snowy parking lot. The next, she was almost flattened like a moody pancake by a rogue blue van—because apparently Forks liked to greet new students with vehicular manslaughter.

Now she was lying on a stretcher in a neck brace, as the cold seeped through her jeans and the humiliation climbed up her spine like secondhand embarrassment on speed.

And worst of all?

Edward freaking Cullen was hovering.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked again, crouching beside the stretcher, bronze hair dusted with snow, his face all ethereal concern like he'd stepped out of a tragic love song and into her personal nightmare.

Bella narrowed her eyes. "Edward. Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That thing. Where you act like I didn't just see you standing four cars away."

He blinked, lashes clumped with snowflakes. "I wasn't—"

"You were." Her voice cracked, and not from weakness — from irritation. "I saw you. You were leaning on your precious Volvo, arms crossed like you were modeling for a sad vampire cologne ad."

Edward looked almost offended. "I don't wear cologne."

"Oh, well, that's the part you're choosing to argue?"

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against the chill. "Bella, listen. If I had really been that far away, there's no way I could've reached you in time."

"Exactly!" she hissed, ignoring the EMT who was gently tucking the scratchy blanket tighter around her like she was a fragile antique. "So how did you?"

He hesitated. A full beat too long. His jaw tensed.

"You must've hit your head. Maybe you got turned around in the moment. Adrenaline messes with perception—"

"Oh my God," she muttered. "You're literally trying to gaslight me with science. I know what I saw, Edward. You teleported. Or you run like The Flash on Red Bull. Either way, I'm not stupid."

He frowned, frustration flickering across his otherwise porcelain-perfect features. "Bella, please. Just... drop it."

"Why?"

His voice dropped, almost a whisper. "Because people are watching. Because it's not safe for you to know. And because I'm begging you to pretend you didn't see anything."

Bella stared at him, lips parted. "Wow. You want me to lie to a bunch of paramedics and possibly my dad, so your reputation as a mysterious brooding weirdo with perfect cheekbones stays intact?"

Edward had the audacity to look sheepish. "...Please?"

Before she could give him the tongue-lashing he richly deserved, the EMTs returned with a stretcher, looking like they were prepping for a guest star on Grey's Anatomy.

"You're Miss Swan?" asked the taller EMT, a woman with a clipboard and no time for sass. "We're going to check you for a possible concussion."

Bella blinked up at her. "Do I have to wear the brace? Because I feel like a rejected Transformer."

"It's standard procedure."

Edward, ever helpful, added, "She's a little shaken. Might've hit her head."

Bella turned her head—well, as much as the brace would allow—and glared daggers at him. "Traitor."

"I care about your health."

"I care about not being wheeled through a parking lot like a scene from Napoleon Dynamite: Medical Edition."

Still, they strapped her down.

Click. Click. Shame click.

The brace snapped into place like a vice made of regret and plastic.

"I'm going to kill you," she muttered at Edward as they wheeled her toward the ambulance.

"You'll thank me later," he said, too pretty to punch but not by much.

"Maybe after I haunt you."

Then, as if the embarrassment meter wasn't already broken, Charlie Swan pulled into the lot.

His cruiser screeched slightly as he threw it into park and hopped out. He looked about 85% sleep-deprived and 100% Dad Mode, flannel jacket half-zipped and mustache twitching with fatherly panic.

"Bella!" he barked, stomping through the snow like a man who'd missed his morning coffee and then found out his only daughter almost became asphalt salsa.

"Dad, I'm fine," she groaned from the stretcher. "It's not even a real injury. I got... slightly grazed by the possibility of death."

"Then why are you in a damn brace?"

"Ask Edward," she snapped. "He threw me under the ambulance."

Charlie's gaze swung to Edward like a searchlight. "You the one who called this in?"

Edward raised his hands, angelic. "Just trying to help, sir."

Charlie grunted. "Right. You also trying to flirt with my daughter while she's in a neck brace? Because I've got handcuffs in the car, Cullen."

Edward blanched. Bella snorted despite herself.

Meanwhile, about ten feet away, Hadrian stood near the van, a silent sentinel in a dark hoodie. He hadn't moved much since the crash, snow gently frosting his shoulders. He looked like a statue built from quiet rage and ancient calm—eyes glowing with an emerald heat that didn't match the weather.

Tyler Crowley, lying on another stretcher now, looked up at Hadrian with glassy eyes.

"I—I don't even know what happened," Tyler muttered. "I was just pulling in. Then something... moved. I swear, it was like a blur. And then I wasn't hitting her anymore."

He sounded like a man trying to explain a dream he didn't understand.

Hadrian crouched beside him, voice too soft to carry. He didn't speak often—but when he did, people listened.

Tyler blinked up at him. "Did you... Was it you? What did I see?"

Hadrian didn't answer. He just stared at him with a look that was part apology, part warning, and part something else—something ancient.

One of the medics gestured to the gurney. "We're going to take you in for evaluation. Let's go."

Hadrian rose with a slow, snow-crunching step backward, watching Tyler with the stillness of a shadow that had seen too much.

Bella, still strapped down like a burrito of indignity, watched from her humiliating horizontal position as the pieces fell into place.

Edward. The impossible save.

Tyler. The blur he couldn't explain.

And Hadrian... saying nothing. Always watching. Always knowing.

This wasn't just a crash.

It was something else.

Something bigger.

And whatever it was?

It hadn't started today.

—

The world narrowed to the padded ceiling of the ambulance and the distant sound of Charlie arguing with two immortal man-children. Bella Swan was officially having the worst first week in history.

The plastic of the neck brace squeaked every time she shifted on the gurney, like it was mocking her.

You're fine, she told herself. Just a little van incident. Just a brush with death. Just a 6-foot Edward-shaped dent in the side of a vehicle that shouldn't exist.

She exhaled slowly, ignoring the EMT's murmured vitals check. He was polite enough to pretend not to notice her eye twitching.

The metal doors at the back of the ambulance were still open, letting in a sliver of cold air — and from her awkward angle, she could just make out the scene outside. Her dad stood with arms folded, flannel flapping in the breeze, looking like he was five seconds from handcuffing Edward to a lamppost. Again.

Edward stood across from him, lips moving fast, hands gesturing like someone trying to explain a Dungeons & Dragons rulebook to a confused adult. Hadrian loomed behind them like a bad omen, coat unzipped, green eyes glowing faintly in the light, utterly unmoved.

The three of them looked like they were having three different conversations.

Bella tuned them out. She wasn't in the mood to be "handled."

Instead, she let her gaze drift toward the van.

The very much totaled van.

It had skidded sideways and crashed into another car, but that wasn't the problem. No. The problem was the shape pressed into the side panel — like someone had tried to cosplay Captain America and failed spectacularly.

The metal was warped inward with a deep, unmistakable indent: shoulders. Arms. Back.

Edward-shaped.

Bella swallowed.

That didn't happen by accident.

There was no blood on him. No broken bones. His jacket hadn't even torn. And yet he'd stopped a speeding hunk of metal with his body like he was auditioning for an off-brand Superman movie.

And then there was Hadrian.

He hadn't said a word since the whole thing started. Had just stood there while Edward panicked and Tyler babbled. Watching. Listening. Calculating.

Now he was watching Edward.

No. Studying him.

As if he were waiting for Edward to say one wrong word.

Bella squinted toward the Cullen siblings.

They'd finally exited the cafeteria building and were clustered near the edge of the lot like they hadn't even pretended to run over in concern. Jasper stood rigid, arms crossed, practically vibrating with discomfort. Rosalie wore a frozen, furious glare that could've curdled milk. She was staring daggers at Edward — not with worry, but with blame.

Katherine and Emmett were whispering in low tones, Emmett's massive arms folded like he was holding back the urge to stomp over and pick Edward up by the hoodie.

Elizabeth, sleek and still as a marble statue, stood half-turned toward Hadrian, unreadable. Her eyes flicked between him and the van like she was doing some terrifying calculus.

And Alice…

Alice just smiled.

Serene. Like she'd seen this scene a dozen times already. Like it was supposed to happen.

And then there was her.

Daenerys Hale.

Hair like moonlight, eyes like forged steel, she stood a little apart from the others — her arms folded, but not in anger. Not in judgment.

No.

She was watching Hadrian like a general awaiting orders from a king.

Bella frowned.

They were waiting on him. Not Edward. Him.

Bella inhaled slowly, ignoring the cold seeping in and the faint scent of antiseptic. Her thoughts were spinning like an emo carousel and she hated that none of this made sense.

Edward stopped a van with his body and barely flinched.

Tyler saw something — a blur. A shape. A movement too fast to track.

And Hadrian… Hadrian didn't even need to move. His presence alone changed the air.

"Miss Swan," the EMT said gently, pulling her from her thoughts, "we're about ready to head out. Anything you want us to tell your dad?"

Yeah, she thought bitterly. Tell him his daughter just joined the cast of X-Files: Forks Edition.

She forced a smile. "Just tell him I'll be back before second period."

The EMT chuckled. "You're a tough one."

Bella didn't answer. She was too busy staring out the open doors as Edward leaned in close to Charlie again, no doubt laying it on thick with the eyes and the earnest voice. Probably trying to convince her dad that Bella was just clumsy and he was just conveniently close and also built like a Mack truck made of secrets.

Hadrian, meanwhile, hadn't moved from his spot. But this time — this time — he looked up and met her eyes.

Just for a second.

And in that single glance, Bella felt it like a tremor in her chest.

He wasn't surprised.

He wasn't confused.

He knew.

He'd always known.

And whatever this was — this crash, this lie, this strange ballet of super-powered gaslighting — it hadn't started today.

It was already happening.

She didn't know who she could trust. But she knew this:

Hadrian was involved.

And he wasn't just part of the story.

He might be the one writing it.

—

The back doors slammed shut with a finality that made Bella flinch. The engine rumbled to life a second later, jolting her slightly on the gurney. Everything inside smelled like vinyl, cold metal, and a faint undercurrent of you're fine, stop whining.

Tyler, strapped down across from her, looked like a man who had accidentally signed up for a horror movie and was only now realizing there was no popcorn, just trauma. His eyes flicked toward her, unfocused, and then back to the ceiling like maybe it held the answers to whatever existential crisis was melting his brain.

"Hey," she murmured, voice low. "You doing okay?"

Tyler blinked. "I think I saw an angel… or a really fast ninja."

"Fair," Bella muttered.

The EMT beside her finished checking the monitor and gave her a polite nod, then tapped the window to the front cab. The partition slid open just in time for her to hear the telltale click of a seatbelt being buckled.

She craned her neck slightly, limited by the brace. "Wait. Is that... Edward?"

"Morning," came his soft, annoyingly calm voice from the front seat.

Bella scowled. "Why aren't you back here with the rest of us mere mortals? You were literally involved in the accident."

"Perks of being the doctor's son," he said without missing a beat, turning slightly to glance at her through the rearview mirror. "EMTs figured I could sit up front unless I was spurting blood or missing a limb."

Bella let her head thud gently against the gurney. "Ugh. Of course. Nepotism on wheels."

"Not nepotism," Edward said, his voice a little too proud. "More like... medically-adjacent privilege."

"That's not a thing."

"It should be."

"Tell that to Tyler," she deadpanned.

Tyler let out a low, confused groan. "Is this the afterlife? Why does it smell like antiseptic and judgment?"

"Because Edward's here," Bella muttered.

The ambulance jolted slightly as they turned out of the school parking lot. Bella caught the flash of red-blue lights ahead through the sliver of front window. She groaned. "Oh no. No, no, no. Tell me that's not..."

"Your dad?" Edward supplied helpfully. "Yep. Cruiser, lights on, full Forks P.D. parental panic mode."

Bella let out a strangled noise. "As if I wasn't humiliated enough. Great. Now the entire town's going to think I'm the girl who needs a police escort to survive the parking lot."

Edward chuckled under his breath, like it was cute.

Bella glared at the ceiling. "This day can't get worse."

And then she heard it.

Low. Rumbling. Not the ambulance. Not the cruiser.

A second engine—deep and smooth, purring like a lion that'd been bribed with premium fuel and emotional trauma.

She twisted just enough to catch a glimpse through the back window.

A motorcycle.

Sleek. Red. Aggressive in that not compensating for anything kind of way.

And on it?

Hadrian.

Helmetless, coat flaring behind him like a dark flag, his eyes locked straight ahead. He rode like the world would part for him if it didn't get out of the way fast enough.

Bella blinked.

Edward might've stopped the van.

But Hadrian?

He knew something.

She couldn't shake the memory of the way he'd looked at her. Not shocked. Not worried.

Just… ready.

Like this was inevitable. Like she was inevitable.

And now he was tailing them — silent, controlled, and somehow still managing to look like a walking secret with engine grease in his veins.

Bella closed her eyes and exhaled.

She was trapped in a neck brace, sandwiched between a dazed classmate who might be concussed and a supernatural boy with too many abs and not enough explanations, while her police-chief dad led a personal escort and a mystery biker brought up the rear like the world's hottest apocalypse.

So yeah.

Worst. Week. Ever.

---

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