Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One: The Arrival

The rain greeted her before the town did. A steady curtain of drizzle blurred the windshield of Charlie Swan’s cruiser, the wipers clicking back and forth like a tired metronome. AnnaLeah Michaelson leaned her cheek against the cold glass, watching the forest race past — towering pines, their branches bowed with mist. Forks, Washington. The kind of place people passed through, not to.

Her mom’s voice echoed in her head, muffled by memory: It’s only temporary, sweetheart. The job has me traveling too much. You’ll be better with Charlie and Bella for now.

Temporary. AnnaLeah had heard that word all her life, and it always meant the same thing — long enough to unpack, long enough to start over, long enough to get attached before it all slipped away again.

“Almost there,” Charlie muttered beside her. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, his voice its usual gruff monotone, but there was kindness underneath.

When he pulled into the driveway, Bella was already waiting on the porch. She hugged herself against the chill, her sweater far too thin for the rain. AnnaLeah tugged her backpack over her shoulder, the frayed edges worn smooth from years of travel. A battered copy of Dracula stuck out of the side pocket.

Bella’s gaze landed on it immediately. “Still reading the vampire stuff?” she asked, smiling wryly.

AnnaLeah smirked. “Always. Towns like this practically beg for it.”

Charlie chuckled under his breath as he hauled her duffel bag from the trunk. “Well, let’s get you both inside before we drown.”

---

The Swan house was smaller than AnnaLeah expected, but warm. The living room smelled faintly of coffee and pine cleaner. Family photos dotted the walls — most of them old. Bella carried AnnaLeah’s backpack upstairs, leading her to the spare room.

“It’s not much,” Bella said awkwardly, setting the bag on the bed. “But it’s yours.”

AnnaLeah dropped onto the mattress, glancing at the plain dresser, the narrow window with its view of endless trees. “It’s fine. Better than hotel rooms.”

Bella hesitated in the doorway. “I’m glad you’re here. It’ll be… nice. Having you around.”

AnnaLeah looked up. Bella’s eyes were earnest, soft, and for the first time that day, something eased inside her chest. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Me too.”

---

That night, she unpacked the only constants in her life: stacks of books. Horror novels, true crime paperbacks, dog-eared romances with pale-faced strangers on the covers. She lined them on the desk like old friends, building a fortress of paper and ink. Monsters on the page followed rules. They were predictable, containable.

She trusted them more than people.

As the rain thickened against the glass, AnnaLeah curled beneath the quilt and opened her notebook. In the margins of a half-filled page, she wrote:

New town. New ghosts. Every story has them. Forks won’t be different.

She didn’t know yet that she was right.

Because down the road, in a hospital washed white and sterile, a man with golden eyes was waiting — and he would haunt her in ways no story ever had.

Downstairs, the kitchen was already alive with the smell of frying fish and butter. Charlie wasn’t much of a cook — that much was clear from the way he muttered at the pan as though it were trying to outsmart him.

“Figured we’d keep it simple,” he said, glancing up at the girls. “Fish fry. Bella hates it.”

Bella rolled her eyes and grabbed plates from the cupboard. “I don’t hate it. I just… tolerate it.”

AnnaLeah slid onto a chair at the small table, watching the two of them move around the cramped kitchen. There was an ease between father and daughter that AnnaLeah envied. It was quiet, understated — but real.

When Charlie set the platter on the table, the three of them ate in near silence at first, broken only by the patter of rain against the window.

“So, school starts Monday,” Charlie said finally, clearing his throat. “Bella can show you around. Shouldn’t be too hard to settle in.”

Bella glanced at AnnaLeah. “It’s small. Everyone already knows each other. Being new is… noticeable.”

AnnaLeah smirked faintly. “Good thing I’m invisible, then.”

Charlie looked up, brow furrowing. “You’re not invisible.”

Bella smiled softly. “Yeah. People will like you. You’ll see.”

AnnaLeah didn’t answer, just picked at her fish. She was used to blending in, fading into corners. It was easier that way.

When the plates were cleared, Bella headed upstairs, muttering something about unpacking. Charlie rinsed the dishes, his movements steady, unhurried. AnnaLeah lingered in the doorway, arms folded.

“You don’t have to try so hard, kid,” Charlie said without looking at her. “This house is… quiet. You fit right in.”

Something in his tone — rough, but honest — warmed her. She nodded, retreating to her room.

Later, curled beneath the quilt with her notebook open, AnnaLeah wrote one more line before sleep claimed her:

This house smells like coffee and rain. Maybe it could smell like home.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: A Living Ghost

By Monday morning, the rain had settled into a steady rhythm, soaking the parking lot of Forks High. AnnaLeah tugged her hood tighter and followed Bella toward the office, her sneakers squeaking on the linoleum once inside.

The secretary barely looked up as she handed over schedules and maps. “Welcome to Forks High, AnnaLeah. Junior year, right?”

“Right,” AnnaLeah murmured, clutching the paper like a lifeline.

Classes blurred together after that. Names, faces, a haze of curious stares. By lunch, her brain ached from polite introductions and whispered questions. She slid her tray onto a table beside Bella, already fishing a battered paperback from her bag.

“You’re really going to read at lunch?” Bella asked, half amused, half resigned.

“Always,” AnnaLeah said, opening to the dog-eared page. “Books don’t care if you’re new.”

Jessica Stanley and Angela Weber soon joined them, eager to gossip. Jessica leaned in conspiratorially. “So, have you seen them yet?”

“Seen who?” AnnaLeah asked, not looking up from the page.

Jessica’s eyes darted across the cafeteria. “The Cullens.”

AnnaLeah followed her gaze. At the far table, five impossibly beautiful students sat together, untouched by the noise around them. Their skin was pale, their features sharp, their presence magnetic. They didn’t talk to anyone else — only to each other.

“Dr. Cullen’s kids,” Jessica whispered. “All adopted. And totally weird. No one knows their deal.”

AnnaLeah tilted her head, studying them like she might a strange passage in a novel. Too perfect. Too composed. Even their stillness felt deliberate.

She jotted a note in the margin of her book: Beautiful strangers don’t belong to small towns. They haunt them.

When she glanced up again, the bronze-haired boy — Edward, Jessica supplied — was staring directly at her. His gaze was sharp, almost startled, as though he’d been listening to something and couldn’t quite catch it.

AnnaLeah felt her stomach tighten. She looked away first, pretending to be absorbed in her book, though the words swam uselessly on the page.

Biology smelled faintly of formaldehyde and damp chalk. AnnaLeah slipped into her seat, tugging her notebook from her bag. She liked science — cells and systems, things that had rules.

When the door opened again, he walked in. Edward Cullen.

He moved like the room belonged to him, but stopped short when his eyes flicked to her. For a fraction of a second, his expression shifted — not recognition, exactly, but something more troubled. He slid into the seat beside her, stiff-backed, as though sitting there was an act of will.

AnnaLeah glanced sideways, just once. Up close, he was even stranger. His skin was pale to the point of luminous, his features too sharp to be ordinary. And his eyes — molten gold, fixed forward, unblinking.

She dropped her gaze to her notebook and started scribbling in the margins:
Some people look at you like they can hear the gears in your head turning. Some look at you like they wish they could.

The teacher droned about cell division, chalk squeaking across the board. Edward didn’t move, didn’t tap his pencil, didn’t write a single word. But the air around him felt charged, as though he were straining against something unseen.

AnnaLeah shifted uncomfortably, sensing the weight of his silence. When the bell rang, she packed her things quickly.

As she stood, his eyes locked with hers one last time. In them she saw confusion — and maybe frustration — before he vanished from the room in a blur of motion, gone before anyone else had left their seat.

Bella caught up with her in the hallway. “He’s… weird, right?”

AnnaLeah shut her notebook, hugging it to her chest. “Weird is one word.”

Inside, though, she felt a chill. It was like standing near a storm but only catching the static, not the lightning.

Interlude – Edward

He’d expected her thoughts to flow into his mind as easily as everyone else’s — the usual tide of trivial worries, self-conscious chatter, and noise. That was what he braced for when AnnaLeah Michaelson walked into Biology and took the seat beside him.

But when his focus sharpened, all he found was… nothing.

No, not nothing. Static. A faint, broken hum, like a radio turned to the wrong station. Words surfaced in fragments — gears… storm… strangers don’t belong… — before dissolving into silence again.

It made no sense. He leaned closer, inhaling before he could stop himself. Her scent struck him hard, sharper than he’d expected, but not like Bella Swan’s. Bella was fire and temptation, impossible to resist. AnnaLeah was… different. A puzzle. An irritant he couldn’t tune out.

She scribbled furiously in her notebook, head bent, as though the world in front of her was more interesting than the one around her. The broken hum in her thoughts seemed to align with the scratch of her pen — like the shield wasn’t solid, just fractured, leaking through in pieces.

Edward’s jaw tightened. He hated puzzles. He hated not knowing.

When the bell rang, she looked at him — directly, without flinching — and for one dizzying second he thought he might hear her clearly. But the static only surged louder, and then she was gone, leaving him with silence.

He fled the classroom faster than he should have, jaw clenched, mind reeling.

What was she?

The cafeteria buzzed with the usual chatter, trays clattering, sneakers squeaking on tile. AnnaLeah sat with Bella, Jessica, and Angela again, her nose in a horror novel while the others gossiped about homework and weekend plans.

She wasn’t listening — not really. But she felt it. That prickling sensation at the back of her neck, the one that said someone was watching.

Slowly, she lifted her eyes.

At their table across the room, the Cullens sat like statues in a museum — untouchable, polished, perfect. Rosalie leaned toward Emmett, who chuckled under his breath. Alice’s eyes sparkled with some secret joke as she twirled a grape between her fingers. Jasper, though… Jasper was staring at her.

Not with hostility, not exactly. His expression was puzzled, his brow furrowed as though he couldn’t quite make sense of what he was feeling. His golden eyes flicked to Edward, then back to AnnaLeah.

Edward sat stiffly, his hands clenched on the table. His gaze burned into her, sharp enough to make her skin crawl.

AnnaLeah turned back to her book, cheeks heating.

Jessica noticed and whispered, “Don’t even bother. They don’t date anyone here. Like… ever.”

AnnaLeah smirked faintly, jotting in her notebook:
Predators don’t date their prey. They study it.

Across the cafeteria, Jasper’s frown deepened.

The drizzle hadn’t let up all day, streaking the classroom windows with silver. Bella slid into her usual spot beside AnnaLeah in English, grateful for the warmth inside.

Halfway through the lesson, Bella’s pencil stilled. She’d noticed it again — the way Edward Cullen kept glancing over his shoulder, not at her, but at AnnaLeah. His jaw was rigid, his eyes darkening as though he were fighting some invisible battle.

AnnaLeah, as usual, was scribbling in her notebook, oblivious to everything but her own scrawled words.

Bella leaned closer, whispering, “He’s staring at you.”

AnnaLeah didn’t even look up. “So let him stare.”

Bella frowned. Edward’s attention was unnerving enough when it was on her. But this? The way he watched AnnaLeah wasn’t the same. With Bella, his gaze felt like a warning. With AnnaLeah, it looked like… confusion.

When the bell rang, Edward was out of the classroom before either of them had even zipped their bags.

Bella glanced at her cousin. “I told you he’s weird.”

AnnaLeah finally looked up, eyes thoughtful. “Weird doesn’t scare me,” she murmured. “Sometimes it’s just… interesting.”

Bella shivered. “Well, that’s one word for it.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: The Doctor

Forks wasn’t known for excitement, but accidents still happened. The week after her first day, AnnaLeah found herself in the back of Charlie’s cruiser, clutching her elbow and trying not to wince. Gym class had ended with a badly aimed basketball and a spectacular tumble. Nothing broken, but Charlie insisted she get it checked out.

“Better safe than sorry,” he muttered, steering them toward the hospital.

The building smelled like antiseptic and coffee. Nurses moved briskly from desk to desk. AnnaLeah hated hospitals — too bright, too clean, too full of stories that didn’t have happy endings.

“Dr. Cullen will see you shortly,” the nurse said with a polite smile.

AnnaLeah froze at the name. Cullen.

When the door opened, she thought for a moment she’d hallucinated him. The man who stepped inside looked more like he belonged on a cathedral mural than in a small-town clinic. Tall, poised, with golden eyes that glowed softly beneath the fluorescent lights. His smile was warm, but his presence carried weight, like sunlight filtered through stained glass.

“AnnaLeah Michaelson?” His voice was smooth, calm. “I’m Dr. Carlisle Cullen.”

Her throat went dry. “Uh… yeah. That’s me.”

He glanced at her chart, then at her arm. “You’ve had quite a fall. May I?”

She nodded, and his hands — cool, impossibly steady — brushed against her skin as he examined the joint. No flinch, no hesitation. Just care. Still, she couldn’t help noticing the unnatural grace, the way his movements flowed like water.

“It’s just a sprain,” he said finally, voice gentle. “Rest, ice, and try not to let basketballs chase you again.”

AnnaLeah laughed before she could stop herself. His smile deepened, faint but genuine.

As Charlie came back into the room, Carlisle straightened. “You’ll be fine. But if there’s any pain beyond this, come back and see me.”

AnnaLeah nodded, though she wasn’t sure she could trust her voice.

When they left, she scribbled in her notebook with shaking hands:
Monsters in books are easy. Monsters with kind eyes are harder.

The Cullens’ dining room was dark, except for the glow of the forest beyond the glass wall. They didn’t need food — the table was bare — but the family gathered anyway.

Edward paced, frustration written into every line of his posture.
“I can’t hear her,” he said flatly. “Not clearly. It’s like… static. Like her mind is half-hidden, half-exposed. I catch fragments, then nothing. She’s human, but she shouldn’t be.”

Rosalie scoffed, arms folded. “So she’s quiet. Maybe she’s not broadcasting her every thought like the rest of this town.”

Edward shook his head sharply. “It’s not that. She’s… shielded. And Jasper—”

All eyes turned to Jasper, who leaned back in his chair, jaw tight.
“She feels… odd,” he admitted. “Most people carry emotions like currents. Hers come through muted, jagged, like there’s glass between us. I can sense her, but it’s fragmented. And when she looks at me—” He cut himself off, uneasy.

Alice tilted her head, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “I like her. She writes in the margins of her books. That kind of person usually ends up mattering.”

Edward growled softly. “This isn’t a game, Alice.”

Then Carlisle spoke, calm but firm, his golden eyes thoughtful.
“I’ve met her. She came into the hospital today. She’s intelligent, guarded, but polite. There’s nothing outwardly unusual about her.”

“Except,” Edward said, “that she’s not what she should be.”

Carlisle’s gaze lingered on the dark trees beyond the glass, his expression unreadable. “Sometimes the most dangerous truths hide where we least expect them.”

Carlisle POV

The hospital halls had long since quieted, night staff moving like ghosts through sterile corridors. Carlisle sat alone in his office, chart open before him, though he hadn’t read a single line in the last ten minutes.

AnnaLeah Michaelson.

He whispered the name under his breath, tasting the syllables like a confession. She was just a girl — seventeen, human, fragile. And yet there had been something in her eyes when she laughed at his gentle joke, something that unsettled him. Not attraction, not yet, but a recognition.

A spark.

He closed the chart and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. He had spent centuries mastering restraint, building a life of compassion, suppressing the darker instincts that had once defined his kind. Yet for the first time in decades, something stirred in him he couldn’t easily name.

She hadn’t flinched at his touch. Most humans did, even subtly, shrinking from the unnatural coolness of his skin. But AnnaLeah accepted it without hesitation, her gaze steady, as though she expected monsters to exist and had simply decided not to fear them.

Carlisle exhaled a breath he didn’t need. Dangerous. That kind of girl was dangerous — not to herself, but to him.

Still, he couldn’t dismiss her. He felt a physician’s concern, yes, but also… curiosity. The way Edward described her mind, the way Jasper spoke of her emotions — AnnaLeah Michaelson was no ordinary girl.

And Carlisle, for all his vows of discipline, found himself wanting to know why.

The Swan house was quiet, the rain steady against the roof. Bella had gone to bed early, and Charlie was downstairs watching some late-night fishing show. AnnaLeah sat cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by books.

But she wasn’t reading. Not really.

She kept seeing him — Dr. Cullen — in the too-bright hospital room. His golden eyes, calm and knowing. His smile, gentle but heavy with something unspoken. The way his hands had brushed against her skin, cool but steady, as if nothing in the world could shake him.

AnnaLeah hugged her knees, trying to laugh at herself. “You’re ridiculous,” she whispered to the silence. “Crushing on a doctor. You’ve officially lost it.”

She grabbed her notebook and started scribbling furiously, trying to pin the feeling down before it slipped away:
Some people look at you like you’re a puzzle. Some look at you like they already know the answer. And that’s scarier.

The pen stilled in her hand. She bit her lip, staring at the words.

It wasn’t just that he was beautiful. Or kind. Or impossibly, inhumanly graceful. It was that for the first time in a long time, AnnaLeah didn’t feel invisible. Carlisle Cullen had looked at her — really looked — as though she wasn’t just another face drifting through Forks.

And that was dangerous.

She closed the notebook and slid it under her pillow, curling beneath the quilt. But long after sleep should have come, she lay awake, listening to the rain, her mind circling back to golden eyes and kind hands.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: The Pull

By Wednesday, the clouds over Forks had thickened into a bruised sky. The drizzle had turned into a steady sheet of rain, and AnnaLeah felt the damp in her bones as she trudged across the parking lot with Bella.

Inside, Forks High buzzed with the usual routine. But AnnaLeah couldn’t stop her thoughts from drifting back to the hospital — to him. She’d caught herself tracing the memory of his voice, the way his hands had steadied hers, far more than she cared to admit.

She shook her head hard, trying to banish the thought. What was wrong with her? Crushing on a doctor — and not just any doctor, but the father of those strange, impossible Cullens. It was absurd.

“Hey,” Bella nudged her, noticing her distracted look. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” AnnaLeah lied, tugging her hood lower. “Just tired.”

But as they walked into the cafeteria, the hum of voices seemed to fade. Because at the far table, the Cullens were watching again. Not all of them — just Edward, sharp and restless; Jasper, frowning like he’d tasted something sour; and Alice, smiling faintly as though she already knew a secret.

AnnaLeah’s stomach tightened. She lowered her eyes quickly, pretending to dig through her bag, but she could feel the weight of their gazes.

Edward looked frustrated, his fingers clenched around the edge of the table. Jasper’s golden eyes flicked to her and away, unsettled. Alice’s smile only widened, like she’d been waiting for this moment.

Bella frowned, whispering under her breath. “Why are they staring at us?”

AnnaLeah closed her book and muttered, “Maybe we’re more interesting than we thought.”

But inside, her mind was already running circles — back to golden eyes, back to steady hands, back to the pull she didn’t dare name.

The rain hadn’t let up by the time Charlie’s cruiser rumbled back into the driveway. Bella and AnnaLeah hauled their backpacks upstairs, shaking off damp jackets.

Bella dropped onto her bed with a groan. “I swear, the Cullens stare at us more than anyone else in that school.”

AnnaLeah leaned against the doorframe, tugging off her boots. “Maybe they’re bored. Small town, not a lot to look at.”

Bella frowned. “No. It’s not like that. It’s… intense. Edward—he looks at you like he’s trying to figure you out.”

AnnaLeah’s pulse skipped, but she shrugged. “And you too. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Yeah, but with you it’s different.” Bella sat up, hugging a pillow to her chest. “With me it feels like he hates me. With you it’s like… I don’t know. Like he’s frustrated.”

AnnaLeah smirked faintly, masking the flutter in her stomach. “Some people just don’t like mysteries.”

Bella tilted her head. “You’re not creeped out?”

AnnaLeah hesitated, then flopped onto her own bed across the room. “Creeped out, fascinated… sometimes it’s the same thing.”

Bella laughed softly. “You’re impossible.”

AnnaLeah smiled at the ceiling, though inside her thoughts tugged elsewhere — not to Edward, but to golden eyes that had looked at her with something warmer. Something steadier.

She rolled onto her side and reached for her notebook, pretending to jot down homework notes. Instead, she wrote in the margin:
Some ghosts don’t haunt you with fear. They haunt you with comfort, and that’s worse.

The Swan house settled into its quiet evening rhythm. The smell of fried fish lingered in the kitchen, Charlie having insisted on cooking for once. Bella washed the dishes while AnnaLeah dried, the two moving in a comfortable silence.

“Not bad, right?” Charlie asked from the living room, pretending not to care about their answer as the baseball game crackled on the TV.

Bella shot AnnaLeah a look, fighting a smile.
“Better than I expected,” AnnaLeah called back, hanging the last plate.

Charlie grunted, clearly pleased with himself.

Later, upstairs, the girls sat cross-legged on Bella’s floor with their homework spread between them. Bella chewed the end of her pencil, brow furrowed. “I don’t know how you finish so fast. You’re like a machine.”

AnnaLeah shrugged. “Books are easier than people.”

Bella looked at her for a moment, thoughtful, then nodded. “Yeah. I get that.”

They worked in companionable quiet until Charlie shouted goodnight from downstairs. Bella yawned, retreating to her bed, while AnnaLeah lingered by the window. Outside, the rain had finally thinned to mist, the streetlamps glowing soft halos in the fog.

For a fleeting second, she let herself imagine what it would feel like to belong to a family like the Cullens — elegant, untouchable, eternal. Then she shook her head, retreating from the window. She had a family here, in this house, with these people. That was enough.

Still, when she slid under the quilt, her mind betrayed her, circling back to a quiet doctor’s golden eyes.

Carlisle POV

The night was quiet, the Cullens’ house steeped in a silence thicker than the rain outside. Carlisle sat in his study, a book open in his lap, though he hadn’t turned the page in an hour.

Edward’s words still echoed from their last family gathering: She isn’t normal. She’s shielded.

Carlisle closed the book gently, resting it on the desk. He’d lived through centuries, seen empires fall, plagues rise, entire worlds shift beneath his feet — and yet one human girl unsettled his balance in a way he couldn’t justify.

AnnaLeah.

There had been a spark in her, something at once fragile and unyielding. When she spoke to him at the hospital, her eyes didn’t dart away the way most humans’ did. She didn’t shrink from him, didn’t sense danger where there should have been only instinctual fear.

Instead, she had looked at him as though she recognized him.

Carlisle pressed his fingers against his temple, weary with the thought. It wasn’t attraction — he refused to let himself name it that. Not now. Not ever. But it was… something. And in his long life, he’d learned that something always led to consequences.

In the next room, he could hear Jasper’s unease bleeding into the air, Alice’s laughter, Edward’s restless pacing. His family was already entangled in this girl’s presence.

Carlisle leaned back, exhaling slowly. “What are you, AnnaLeah Michaelson?” he murmured into the quiet.

And though he tried to dismiss the thought, he found himself hoping he would see her again sooner than he should.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five: Cracks in the Foundation

AnnaLeah hadn’t noticed at first. To her, the Cullens were still the picture of impossible perfection, untouchable and whole. But behind the walls of their glass-and-cedar house, the family was shifting.

Esme was gone.

She had left quietly, without anger, her words soft but final: I need time to remember who I am outside of all this. No one argued, not even Carlisle. He had only nodded, his jaw tight, watching the woman he’d built a century of stability beside vanish into the mist.

Now the house carried a hollowness. Rosalie moved with sharp edges, Emmett forced laughter that didn’t reach his eyes, Jasper lingered near Alice more than ever. And Edward — Edward simmered, restless, as though the missing piece made AnnaLeah’s presence all the more unbearable.

Carlisle bore it with his usual composure, though Edward could feel the cracks. The doctor buried himself in work, in books, in anything that kept his hands occupied. But Edward knew the truth: Carlisle’s thoughts circled the girl almost as often as his own did.

And that was dangerous.

The family gathered around the long, empty dining table, its polished surface gleaming under the low light. They didn’t need to sit, didn’t need to pretend, but Alice had insisted.

Edward leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, golden eyes burning. His thoughts cut sharp and relentless: He’s thinking about her again. Carlisle. Always her.

Jasper shifted in his chair, his unease thick as smoke. “It’s worse without Esme,” he said finally, breaking the silence. “The balance is… off.”

Rosalie’s lips curled into a sharp sneer. “Don’t start this again. Esme will come back when she’s ready. Until then, we keep living. Or whatever passes for living.”

“She won’t come back if he doesn’t stop—” Edward’s voice was low, dangerous. “—thinking about her.”

Alice’s eyes glimmered, unbothered. “AnnaLeah isn’t going anywhere, Edward. You should stop trying to fight what’s already in motion.”

Edward’s jaw clenched. “You don’t understand.”

Alice only smiled, soft and knowing. “Don’t I?”

Emmett, for once, didn’t laugh. He glanced at Carlisle, who sat at the head of the table with his hands folded, his face serene but unreadable. “We’re not saying you’re doing anything wrong, Carlisle,” Emmett rumbled. “It’s just… obvious. To all of us.”

Carlisle lifted his gaze at last, calm and measured. “She’s a patient. Nothing more.”

But even Edward, who would have given anything to believe it, heard the lie in his father’s mind.

The room held the silence like a wound.

The family gathered around the long, empty dining table, its polished surface gleaming under the low light. They didn’t need to sit, didn’t need to pretend, but Alice had insisted.

Edward leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, golden eyes burning. His thoughts cut sharp and relentless: He’s thinking about her again. Carlisle. Always her.

Jasper shifted in his chair, his unease thick as smoke. “It’s worse without Esme,” he said finally, breaking the silence. “The balance is… off.”

Rosalie’s lips curled into a sharp sneer. “Don’t start this again. Esme will come back when she’s ready. Until then, we keep living. Or whatever passes for living.”

“She won’t come back if he doesn’t stop—” Edward’s voice was low, dangerous. “—thinking about her.”

Alice’s eyes glimmered, unbothered. “AnnaLeah isn’t going anywhere, Edward. You should stop trying to fight what’s already in motion.”

Edward’s jaw clenched. “You don’t understand.”

Alice only smiled, soft and knowing. “Don’t I?”

Emmett, for once, didn’t laugh. He glanced at Carlisle, who sat at the head of the table with his hands folded, his face serene but unreadable. “We’re not saying you’re doing anything wrong, Carlisle,” Emmett rumbled. “It’s just… obvious. To all of us.”

Carlisle lifted his gaze at last, calm and measured. “She’s a patient. Nothing more.”

But even Edward, who would have given anything to believe it, heard the lie in his father’s mind.

The room held the silence like a wound.

Carlisle scrubbed his hands at the hospital sink long after the soap had rinsed away, the sterile sting of antiseptic clinging to his skin. His reflection stared back from the polished steel, too perfect, too cold.

The absence at home pressed heavier than he’d expected. Esme’s laughter no longer echoed in the halls, her warmth no longer softened the edges of their existence. She had not left in anger, but her absence was its own grief, one he had not permitted himself to name.

And in that void, his thoughts betrayed him.

AnnaLeah.

He had tried to dismiss it as curiosity, a physician’s instinct sharpened by Edward’s unease and Jasper’s discomfort. But alone, in the quiet of his office, her image returned unbidden — her steady eyes, her curious mind, her quiet resilience.

It wasn’t desire, not yet. He would not allow it. But it was interest, and interest was a dangerous seed.

He closed his eyes, resting his hands flat on the desk. He thought of his vows, his discipline, the life he had built on self-denial and compassion. He would not falter now, not when his family already trembled at its foundations.

Still, when the door opened and a nurse leaned in to ask for his consult, his first thought was a fleeting, foolish hope — that it might be her.

And when it wasn’t, the disappointment was sharper than it should have been.

The chatter of Forks High carried strangely in the cafeteria, bouncing between the linoleum floor and buzzing lights. AnnaLeah balanced her tray, half-listening to Bella complain about gym, when a voice drifted from the next table.

“—Dr. Cullen’s wife? Haven’t seen her around in weeks.”
“Maybe she left him. Weird family like that, wouldn’t surprise me.”

AnnaLeah froze mid-step.

Bella followed her gaze, frowning. “Don’t listen to them.”

But AnnaLeah couldn’t help it. She slid into her seat, suddenly aware of the Cullens at their usual table across the room. Edward’s stare was a blade, Jasper looked coiled and tense, Alice serene as always. Carlisle wasn’t there — of course he wasn’t — but her mind supplied him anyway, golden-eyed and calm, untouched by gossip.

Still… gone. His wife was gone.

AnnaLeah stabbed halfheartedly at her apple. It shouldn’t matter. It wasn’t her business. And yet something about the rumor tugged at her, unsettling and sharp.

“People around here love to talk,” Bella muttered, rolling her eyes. “The Cullens are… private. That’s all.”

“Right,” AnnaLeah agreed, but her voice was too quick, too thin.

Later, in English, she found herself doodling in the margins of her notes:
What happens when the thing that anchors you disappears? Do you drift? Or do you find something new to hold onto?

She stared at the words until they blurred. Then she snapped her notebook shut, as though that could banish the thought.

But it clung to her the rest of the day.

The Cullen house was too still.

Carlisle moved through it like a ghost, his footsteps silent on polished wood. The others had dispersed to their corners of the night — Alice sketching in the den, Jasper prowling the forest, Edward restless and sharp as ever. Rosalie and Emmett whispered low upstairs, their closeness loud in contrast to the silence Esme left behind.

Carlisle paused in the living room. The space felt wrong without her. Esme had been the warmth that filled these walls, the gentleness that bound them all together. Now there was only quiet, and the faint ache of absence.

He settled into her chair by the window, an unconscious betrayal. His hands folded in his lap, but his mind wandered where it shouldn’t — not to the woman who had gone, but to the girl who haunted him now.

AnnaLeah.

He could almost see her there, curled in the corner with a book, scribbling notes in the margins, her brow furrowed in thought. He imagined asking her questions just to hear her answer, listening for the spark of her curiosity.

The thought tightened his chest.

This was dangerous. He knew it. Centuries of discipline, of restraint, all built on holding himself above temptation. And yet, in the hollow space Esme had left behind, AnnaLeah’s presence pressed in like light through a crack in the walls.

Carlisle closed his eyes, steadying himself against the memory of her voice, the spark in her gaze. “She is a child,” he whispered into the stillness, the words an oath and a prayer.

But the echo that lingered in the empty house sounded dangerously like a lie.

Chapter Text

Chapter Six: Shadows and Sparks

Carlisle POV

He had tried to convince himself it was nothing. That his thoughts of AnnaLeah Michaelson were passing curiosities, a physician’s instinct sharpened by Edward’s unease and Jasper’s tension.

But lies had a way of unraveling.

She lingered in his mind with quiet insistence: a child with beautiful, soulful dark eyes, mostly hidden by the curtain of her long brown hair. Eyes that had looked at him without fear, without hesitation. Her fragile frame — barely five foot two, delicate as glass — should have inspired nothing more than protective distance. And yet…

Carlisle closed his eyes, pressing his palms together as though in prayer. The image of her stayed anyway, soft and stubborn, refusing to fade.

It unsettled him. She was human. Young. Mortal. Everything he had sworn to guard, not covet. But there was a gravity to her, a pull he could not name, and in the silence left behind by Esme’s absence, that gravity felt perilously close to filling the void.

He told himself it was wrong. He told himself he could stop. But the truth was harder: he didn’t want to.

And that was the most dangerous thought of all.

The Cullens gathered in the den, the rain tapping faintly against the glass walls. It was Alice who had called them together, her voice bright but her eyes sharp.

Edward stood apart from the circle, restless, his mind a storm no one needed to read to feel. “He’s thinking of her again,” he snapped. “Even now.”

Carlisle, seated in his usual chair, didn’t rise to the bait. His expression was measured, but the stillness of his hands betrayed the restraint in his every word. “Enough, Edward.”

“Enough?” Edward’s laugh was brittle. “She’s a child. Barely more than Bella. And you—” His voice cracked into something raw, almost pleading. “You’re supposed to be better than this.”

Jasper shifted uneasily, his fingers digging into the arm of his chair. “He’s not wrong. I can feel it, Carlisle. The way you try to smother it, to bury it under discipline, but it bleeds through anyway. It’s… sharp. Dangerous.”

Rosalie’s golden eyes cut toward them, cold and accusing. “I knew it. Esme leaves, and suddenly—”

“Rosalie,” Emmett warned, though his own gaze was tight, uncertain.

Alice leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand, her smile faint and unshaken. “You’re all too focused on what it looks like right now. AnnaLeah matters. Not just to him. To us.”

Edward turned on her, his voice harsh. “You’ve seen something.”

Alice’s smile widened just enough to be infuriating. “I’ve seen enough to know she doesn’t leave. She’s not passing through. She’s a thread in the tapestry, and pulling at her will only make it unravel faster.”

Carlisle finally spoke, his voice calm but carrying iron underneath. “That’s enough. AnnaLeah is a child under my care, nothing more. Whatever you think you sense, whatever you think you see—it ends here.”

But even as he said it, Edward’s jaw locked, because the lie in his father’s thoughts rang louder than the words themselves.

The silence after Carlisle’s words stretched too long, brittle as glass.

Edward broke first, storming from the room in a blur, the front door rattling in his wake. Jasper flinched at the echo, emotions splattering across the house like paint on canvas—Edward’s fury, Carlisle’s buried shame, Rosalie’s sharp disdain.

Emmett leaned back with a heavy sigh. “This is bad. Real bad.”

Rosalie’s voice was ice. “It’s pathetic. Centuries of discipline, and one fragile little girl cracks it? Esme deserves better.”

Alice’s gaze flicked to her, calm and unshaken. “It’s not about discipline. It’s about fate.”

Rosalie’s glare hardened, but she didn’t reply.

Jasper pushed to his feet, tension rolling from him like static. “I can’t be around this. The emotions are… too loud.” He slipped into the night, chasing Edward’s storm.

Emmett rubbed his face, muttering, “We’re falling apart.”

Alice remained still, eyes distant, her smile faint. “Not falling. Shifting. There’s a difference.”

All the while, Carlisle hadn’t moved. He sat perfectly composed, every inch the image of serenity—but Emmett could see the strain in the line of his shoulders, Alice could hear the cracks whispering through the futures, and Edward, wherever he ran, could taste the lie burning through his father’s mind.

AnnaLeah Michaelson was no passing shadow. And none of them—not even Carlisle—could pretend otherwise anymore.

The house had quieted again, but the silence was jagged.

Carlisle stood in his study, the lamplight soft against rows of untouched books. His reflection stared back from the darkened window — ageless, unchanging, the mask of a man who had carried centuries with perfect restraint.

A mask that no longer fit.

Edward’s voice echoed in his memory, sharp as a blade: She’s a child. You’re supposed to be better than this.

Carlisle pressed his hands to the edge of the desk, gripping hard enough that the wood protested beneath his fingers. He had been better. For hundreds of years, he had built a life of compassion, of discipline, of control. He had turned temptation into silence, hunger into healing.

But AnnaLeah had looked at him with those soulful, dark eyes, mostly hidden by the fall of her hair, and the silence inside him had fractured.

She was fragile — barely more than a girl, her small frame delicate as glass. Every part of him knew he should protect that fragility, preserve the human life he could never touch.

And yet, in the hollow space Esme had left behind, he found himself reaching for her in thought, again and again, as though she might steady him.

Carlisle closed his eyes, forcing the image away, replacing it with vows, with centuries of practiced restraint. He whispered the words he had repeated to himself so often of late:

“She is not mine to want.”

But the quiet that followed rang hollow, and in the crack of silence, her name pulsed like a heartbeat he could not ignore.

AnnaLeah.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven: Fault Lines

The family sat fractured in the quiet. Conversations were shorter, silences longer, the air thick with everything left unsaid.

Edward paced the edge of the living room, his jaw locked tight. Every thought Carlisle buried only sharpened his fury. He’s lying to himself. And to us. To her.

Jasper sat slouched in an armchair, rubbing his temples as though the emotions pressing on him were migraines instead of echoes. “He’s unraveling,” he muttered. “It’s not hunger. Not like that. It’s… need. Loneliness. He’s pulling her into that space without even realizing it.”

Rosalie, perfectly poised on the sofa, rolled her eyes with a scoff. “We’re supposed to believe this is noble? That he’s pining because Esme left and the first mortal girl with big, tragic eyes walked into town? Pathetic.”

“Rosalie,” Emmett warned softly. But even his easy smile had dulled; even he could feel the strain.

Alice remained silent, perched on the arm of Jasper’s chair, her gaze far away. When Edward finally snapped, “Say something,” she blinked back to the present and smiled faintly.

“I already did,” she said. “AnnaLeah isn’t passing through. Fighting it only makes the path harder.”

Rosalie bristled. “And what path is that, Alice?”

Alice’s lips curved like a secret. “One we can’t change now.”

Edward snarled low in his throat, his frustration boiling over. “Then we protect her from him. If he won’t control himself, we’ll keep her away.”

Jasper’s gaze flicked up, steady and grim. “And if she doesn’t want to be kept away?”

That silenced the room.

Because none of them could deny what lingered in AnnaLeah’s gaze when Carlisle entered a room, however fleeting.

Carlisle POV

Carlisle had grown used to silence over the centuries, but this silence was different. It was edged, charged, like a room filled with whispers that ceased the instant he entered.

He felt their eyes on him. Edward’s too direct, Jasper’s too cautious, Rosalie’s too sharp. Even Emmett, loyal to a fault, couldn’t quite hold his gaze. Only Alice met him without judgment, though her knowing smile unsettled him more than any accusation could.

He told himself it was fine. He was fine. He poured himself deeper into his work at the hospital, volunteering for longer shifts, taking patients others would not. Healing was his calling. Healing was safe.

But even at the hospital, her shadow followed him. A glimpse of dark hair bent over a book in the waiting room. The flicker of soulful eyes lifting when she thought no one noticed. He told himself it was coincidence, nothing more, but the image clung like an echo long after he’d turned away.

Esme’s absence hollowed the house, and in that space AnnaLeah’s presence pressed closer. Too close.

Carlisle closed his office door and leaned back in his chair, hands folded tightly in his lap. He should tell Edward he was right. He should admit to Jasper that the need Jasper sensed was real. He should tell Rosalie that her contempt was deserved.

But the words would not come.

Because in the privacy of his mind — the only place Edward could not quite reach, the only place his family could not follow — he did not want to let AnnaLeah go.

And that truth was the one he could never say aloud.

Carlisle had told himself he would avoid her. He had sworn it. But fate, it seemed, had little patience for his vows.

She came into the hospital late in the afternoon, her arms full of books and her bag slung awkwardly over her shoulder. She wasn’t sick — he knew that instantly — but she hovered at the nurses’ desk with that shy, careful way of hers, dark hair curtaining her face.

“Dr. Cullen?” the receptionist called, relief in her tone. “This young lady is here for her cousin’s prescription. Could you—?”

AnnaLeah turned, eyes meeting his.

For one suspended moment, Carlisle forgot the world.

Her gaze was steady, soulful, searching in a way that made something inside him ache. She was so small before him, fragile frame dwarfed by the sterile brightness of the room. He felt every oath he had ever taken — healer, protector, father — crash against the sudden, dangerous urge simply to reach for her.

He managed a smile, the mask of composure he had worn for centuries. “Of course,” he said smoothly. “AnnaLeah, isn’t it? Bella’s cousin.”

Her lips curved into the smallest smile, but it lit her whole face. “Yes. Thank you, Dr. Cullen.”

The sound of his name in her soft voice settled in his chest like a secret. He turned away quickly, focusing on the prescription, on the familiar rhythm of routine. But even as he handed her the small paper bag, his fingers brushed hers — accidental, fleeting.

Too fleeting. Too much.

The warmth of her skin lingered against his cold as she tucked the bag into her arms, thanked him again, and disappeared through the sliding doors.

Carlisle stood frozen, every muscle locked. He had lived centuries without faltering, without cracks, without slips. But that single brush of skin felt like fire under his skin.

And for the first time, he was not certain he could put the fire out.

Edward was waiting when Carlisle returned home.

The house was quiet, shadows stretching long across the polished wood floors, but Edward’s presence was a storm coiled tight. Jasper lingered near the staircase, tense, while Alice sat perfectly still on the arm of the sofa, her expression unreadable.

Carlisle closed the door with deliberate calm. “Edward.”

“You touched her.” Edward’s voice was low, dangerous. “Even if it was only her hand—you let it happen.”

Jasper flinched, emotions bleeding sharp and hot.

Carlisle’s jaw tightened. “It was nothing. A slip of circumstance.”

Edward’s laugh was brittle, mirthless. “Do you even hear yourself? A slip? Carlisle, you’ve lived three centuries without faltering, and now you expect me to believe this is coincidence?”

Alice’s voice broke the tension, light but carrying weight. “Coincidence or not, it changes things. A line was crossed.”

Rosalie swept into the room like she’d been waiting for her cue, arms folded across her chest. “I knew it. First stolen glances, now hands. How long before—”

“Rosalie.” Emmett’s warning tone was heavy, but his eyes betrayed unease.

Carlisle drew in an unnecessary breath, centering himself. “Enough. There was no intention. No danger. She is a patient’s relative, nothing more.”

Edward’s eyes burned, his voice a snarl. “Stop lying. Not to us, not to yourself.”

The words hung like thunder in the silence that followed.

Carlisle didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Because Edward was right.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight: In the Shadows

Forks High had never felt so strange.

AnnaLeah slipped through the crowded hallway, books hugged to her chest, the chatter of students buzzing around her. But it wasn’t the usual noise that made her skin prickle — it was the weight of certain stares.

The Cullens.

Edward was sharper than ever, his golden eyes snapping toward her whenever she passed, as though she were a puzzle he hated and couldn’t solve. Jasper avoided her gaze altogether, but tension radiated from him like static. Even Rosalie’s disdain had sharpened — not the casual dismissal AnnaLeah had grown used to, but something colder, almost personal.

Only Alice offered her a smile, bright and easy, but there was something behind it. A knowing that unsettled more than it soothed.

She tried to shake it off, ducking into class and sliding into her seat beside Bella. But when Bella leaned close, whispering, “Are you okay? You look pale,” AnnaLeah just shrugged.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, though the lie tasted bitter.

Because she wasn’t fine.

Everywhere she turned, she felt the Cullens’ eyes — some sharp, some soft, some unreadable. And underneath it all, unspoken but undeniable, was the memory of Carlisle Cullen’s steady gaze at the hospital. The way his hand had brushed hers, fleeting but enough to linger like a spark she couldn’t explain.

Her heart gave an unsteady kick at the thought. She shoved it down quickly, burying herself in notes, in the safe weight of ink and paper. But even then, she couldn’t quite stop herself from glancing toward the window, where the rain slid down the glass in silver streaks.

Somewhere out there, she knew, he was thinking of her too.

She didn’t know how she knew. She just did.

By the time the final bell rang, AnnaLeah longed for the quiet of home. Forks High had been too loud with whispers she couldn’t hear, too heavy with eyes she couldn’t ignore.

The drive back with Bella was uneventful, the windshield wipers keeping steady rhythm against the rain. Bella hummed absently to the radio, her thoughts clearly tangled elsewhere — but that was Bella. Always half in another world.

Charlie was already home, his cruiser parked in the drive. The smell of coffee clung to the kitchen when they stepped inside, and he greeted them with a gruff, “Hey, girls,” before sinking back into his armchair with the evening paper.

Dinner was simple — leftover lasagna and salad. AnnaLeah set the table while Bella fetched drinks, and the quiet domestic rhythm settled something in her chest. It was the sort of evening she’d missed back home, the kind that tethered her against the strangeness of this town.

Charlie asked about school, about homework, about the weather. Bella mumbled short answers; AnnaLeah filled the silences with stories from her English class, the teacher’s dry humor, the book she’d started reading for fun.

Charlie listened, nodding, offering the occasional “Huh,” or “That so?” in his steady, dependable way.

By the time the plates were cleared and Bella had retreated upstairs, AnnaLeah stayed a little longer at the kitchen table, her notebook open. She doodled absent shapes in the margins of her homework, her mind wandering.

Normal. Safe. Ordinary.

And yet… behind her scribbled notes and Charlie’s quiet movements in the next room, the memory of soulful golden eyes and the brush of a cold hand lingered, threading through the quiet like an echo she couldn’t quite escape.

AnnaLeah curled under the quilt Bella had left at the foot of her bed, the soft patter of rain against the window lulling her toward sleep. She had told herself it would be an ordinary night. Homework finished, books stacked neatly on her nightstand, the world narrowed to the comfort of four walls and familiar shadows.

But sleep had its own rules.

The dream began in fragments — the flicker of pages turning, the scent of old paper and ink. She stood in a library that stretched endlessly, rows upon rows of books towering above her. The spines gleamed with titles she knew — horror, true crime, romances she’d dog-eared at sixteen — but when she reached out, the letters blurred and shifted into names.

Her name. Bella’s. And his.

Carlisle.

She spun, and there he was. A silhouette at first, tall and still, his golden eyes watching from the shadows between shelves.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, though her voice didn’t tremble.

“Neither should you.” His voice was velvet, carrying centuries of restraint, but it vibrated through her bones like a secret she already knew.

When she stepped closer, the floor creaked under her small frame, fragile and breakable. His hand reached out, pale and cold, hovering inches from hers. The air between them burned with a heat that shouldn’t exist.

AnnaLeah wanted to step back, to break the spell, but her feet carried her forward.

Their fingers brushed — and she woke with a start, breath sharp in her throat, quilt tangled around her legs.

Her room was quiet, shadows familiar, but her heart thundered like she’d just lived something more than a dream. She pressed a hand against her chest, willing herself calm.

It was just a dream. Just a dream.

But the echo of his name lingered in her mind, steady as a heartbeat.

Carlisle.

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine: The Pull of Silence

Scene One – Carlisle

Carlisle did not sleep. He never had, not in all the centuries since his body had turned from mortal to something other. Yet tonight the quiet pressed heavier than usual, every hour dragging with a weight he could not shake.

He sat in his study, the lamplight burning low, a book open but unread before him. His mind wandered where it should not — back to the hospital, to the fleeting brush of AnnaLeah’s warm hand against his cold one. A simple accident, nothing more, yet it lingered like fire beneath his skin.

He told himself he had crossed no line. He told himself Edward was wrong. But every lie rang hollow in the stillness.

A strange sensation stirred in him — not hunger, not the sharp edge of thirst, but something subtler. A tether, thin as silk, pulling at him. It was absurd. Dangerous. Impossible. Yet as the hours stretched, he swore he could almost feel her heartbeat echoing through the quiet, steady and fragile, as though her very being reached for him in the dark.

He rose, pacing the length of the study, hands clasped tightly behind his back. Discipline had always been his anchor, his identity, his salvation. But tonight the anchor felt loosened, the chain fraying.

Carlisle paused at the window, rain streaking the glass. Somewhere beyond the trees, AnnaLeah slept. He could not see her, but the thought of her stirred in him a restlessness older than his restraint.

“She is not mine to want,” he whispered again. The words sounded weaker now, more prayer than promise.

And yet the silence after seemed to answer him — not with peace, but with longing.

AnnaLeah woke with the dream still clinging to her like smoke. For a moment, staring at the ceiling with the quilt tangled around her, she couldn’t remember where the dream had ended and reality began. Carlisle’s eyes—golden, steady, impossibly close—burned behind her eyelids when she blinked.

She shook her head hard, whispering to herself, Get a grip. It was just a dream.

Downstairs, the smell of coffee drifted from the kitchen. Charlie was already gone for his shift, but Bella shuffled around in her sweatshirt, hair sticking up at odd angles. “Morning,” Bella mumbled, yawning as she poured cereal into a bowl.

AnnaLeah forced a smile, grabbing a banana from the counter. “Morning.”

They didn’t talk much over breakfast—Bella never had been a morning conversationalist. But AnnaLeah was grateful for the silence, for the chance to wrestle the dream back into the private corners of her mind.

Still, as they drove to school, the memory of Carlisle’s voice followed her. That velvet tone, soft and warning all at once: You shouldn’t be here.

By the time she slid into her first class, AnnaLeah had promised herself she’d let it go. She’d bury herself in notes, in homework, in the safe distractions of books. She was good at losing herself in words.

But even in the middle of lecture, with her pen moving steadily across paper, her thoughts strayed. To the library shelves in her dream. To the brush of a hand that had felt too real.

And to the quiet certainty, impossible but unshakable, that somewhere out there, Carlisle Cullen had passed the night as restless as she had.

AnnaLeah hadn’t planned on stopping at the library after school, but the weight of the dream had followed her all day. Books, at least, never asked questions she couldn’t answer.

The moment she stepped inside, she was met with orange and black streamers looped along the front desk, paper bats dangling from the ceiling, and a crooked row of carved pumpkins glowing faintly with electric candles. A plastic skeleton grinned from its perch by the check-out counter, its bony hand forever raised in a silent wave.

AnnaLeah smiled despite herself. Forks might be dreary, but at least someone had put effort into the holiday.

She drifted into the stacks, letting the hush and faint musk of paper wrap around her. The aisles had been laced with fake spiderwebs, stretched across shelves, catching the light like silver threads. She reached for a paperback—one with a tattered cover and bold red lettering—when she turned the corner and nearly collided with him.

“Dr. Cullen—” Her voice leapt out before she could stop it, startled and breathless.

Carlisle had already stepped back, graceful as ever, though the golden warmth in his eyes betrayed a flicker of surprise. He held a medical text, its spine cracked with age, but the way his fingers tightened on it told her he hadn’t expected this either.

“AnnaLeah,” he said softly. Her name seemed to hang in the air, delicate and secret against the backdrop of paper bats and shadowed shelves. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Her heart gave a hard, unsteady kick. “No, it’s fine. I… didn’t expect to see you here.”

The faintest smile curved his lips, polished but sincere. “Books are a weakness of mine, I’m afraid. Old habits.”

She hugged her own stack closer—two horror novels, both splashed with lurid covers of blood and fangs. “Mine are darker,” she admitted, cheeks heating.

His gaze flickered, a spark of something like amusement tempered by something heavier. “There’s nothing wrong with shadows,” he murmured. “As long as you don’t let them consume you.”

AnnaLeah’s throat tightened. Around them, the plastic skeleton grinned and the orange lights hummed, but the air between them was sharp and alive, a current she couldn’t name.

Then Carlisle inclined his head, retreating into composure. “Enjoy your reading, Miss Michaelson.” His voice was velvet, steady, but his hand clenched the book once more before he turned away.

AnnaLeah stood frozen between cobwebs and paper bats, her pulse loud in her ears, long after his footsteps vanished into the stacks.

The faint hum of the library’s lights faded as Carlisle stepped out into the drizzle, the medical text tucked beneath his arm. He should have felt nothing unusual—another chance encounter with another student. And yet, his mind refused to let go of her.

AnnaLeah.

Her name still rested on his tongue like a forbidden prayer. Her eyes—dark, too old for seventeen—had met his without flinching, though her voice had trembled. And then there had been the books.

The lurid covers had burned in his mind far more vividly than they ought to have. Horror novels, dripping in shadows and crimson. Stories of creatures who thirsted, who stalked, who seduced and destroyed.

It was dangerous, how fitting her choices were. How close they cut.

Carlisle paused beneath the library’s overhang, rain pattering steady against the awning, and shut his eyes. It was not the first time he had seen mortals drawn to darkness, romanticizing it, playing at the edges of nightmares. But this was different.

Because AnnaLeah hadn’t clutched those books like a game. She had held them as though they spoke to something inside her.

She is drawn to shadows.

The thought curled through him, unwanted and yet undeniable.

And what was he, if not the very shadow she believed to be fiction?

He opened his eyes, lifting his face briefly to the rain as though it could wash the thought away. He was a doctor, a guardian, a man bound by discipline and morality hard-won over centuries. He had no right to dwell on the way her cheeks flushed when she admitted her taste for darkness.

Yet as he walked toward his car, the image refused to loosen its grip: AnnaLeah standing among cobwebs and plastic bats, clutching stories of blood and terror like they belonged to her. Like they belonged to him.

Carlisle clenched his jaw. He told himself, firmly, that he would not seek her out again. He told himself that chance had been the only reason for their meeting.

But as he slid into the driver’s seat, his hands tight on the wheel, he knew the lie for what it was.

Carlisle

The drive home blurred past in muted shades of green and gray, the forest hemming him in on both sides. Carlisle barely registered the familiar turns. His mind was elsewhere—locked in the shadow of AnnaLeah’s wide, curious eyes.

She thought of shadows as stories. Creatures that could be folded between pages, pressed flat by imagination. She had no idea.

Monsters like him didn’t belong in novels. They belonged in nightmares.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, the leather groaning faintly under his inhuman strength. Their kind was designed to lure, to beguile. Skin pale as marble, cold as the grave, yet smooth enough to make mortals lean closer instead of recoil. Faces sculpted in impossible symmetry, beauty sharpened into a weapon.

A predator’s mask.

And beneath it—the truth.

Eyes black as coal when hunger gnawed at them, when restraint frayed. Eyes the color of fresh blood when one surrendered to human prey. Even their golden irises, so painstakingly cultivated by years of discipline and guilt, were only another disguise. A compromise. The mark of those who fed on beasts instead of men.

AnnaLeah had spoken of her books so easily, clutching them like talismans. She could not know how close they cut to what he was, what his family was. Creatures of impossible speed and strength, able to crush steel as easily as paper, able to rip through flesh and bone before a mortal heartbeat had passed. Creatures who burned if sunlight touched their skin, though not in fire’s embrace but in revelation—the glittering fracture of their disguise, the unveiling of the impossible.

And those fangs. Retractable. Deceptively hidden until instinct bared them. Until thirst demanded it.

He had spent centuries perfecting his restraint. A surgeon’s hands, steady as stone. A father’s patience, a leader’s discipline. And yet, one slip of concentration, one foolish brush of chance—and the monster would emerge.

AnnaLeah could never understand.

He would never allow her to.

And still—when she stood in that aisle, her books clutched to her chest, her cheeks flushing under his gaze—he had felt something treacherous whisper inside him.

She isn’t afraid.

That was the danger. Not that she knew, but that she didn’t.

Carlisle exhaled slowly as the house loomed into view, framed by dripping evergreens. He told himself he had control. He had always had control.

But tonight, with the image of her still vivid in his mind, he wasn’t sure he believed it.

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten: Threads in the Dark

Dinner at Charlie’s was simple, as always. Leftover lasagna warmed in the oven, garlic bread, two glasses of milk. Bella pushed noodles around her plate more than she ate them, her eyes glazed with the same distant look she wore most evenings since Edward.

AnnaLeah tried to focus on her food, on the clink of forks and the hum of the kitchen light, but her thoughts drifted—back to the smell of old paper, the fake cobwebs draped across library shelves, and the sudden presence of Dr. Cullen standing too close, his voice lowering as he spoke of shadows.

“You’ve been quiet,” Charlie said, breaking her spiral. His fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Everything okay at school?”

AnnaLeah blinked, startled. “Yeah, fine. Just… tired.”

Bella glanced at her, eyebrows slightly raised, as though she wasn’t convinced. But she didn’t press. Instead, she excused herself early, muttering something about homework.

That left AnnaLeah alone with Charlie, who quickly shifted into a rambling account of a fishing buddy’s latest story, his voice steady and grounding. She nodded along, grateful for the ordinary noise.

Later, curled up in her room with a blanket around her shoulders, she tried to bury herself in one of her new books. The lurid cover—fangs slick with red—should have distracted her. Horror usually did.

But tonight, the words blurred.

Because when she read about monsters with coal-black eyes and cold skin, she didn’t imagine nameless creatures from the page.

She imagined Carlisle.

And the strangest, most terrifying thing was this: she wasn’t afraid.

She closed the book sharply, heart pounding, and pressed her forehead to her knees. She told herself it was silly, that she was reading too much into a chance encounter. That it was just nerves, or exhaustion, or her own imagination spinning wild because she liked the idea of living inside a story.

But in the quiet, with rain streaking her window and the forest stretching dark beyond it, another truth whispered in the back of her mind.

Something about Carlisle Cullen didn’t belong to fiction.

Something about him was real.

By morning, the thought had rooted itself so firmly in AnnaLeah’s mind that she couldn’t shake it, no matter how hard she tried.

Carlisle Cullen. Vampire.

It was absurd, ridiculous, the kind of thing only a desperate, book-obsessed girl would imagine. And yet…

The signs lined up too neatly. His skin—unreal, too pale, too perfect. His presence, sharp as electricity, but softened with grace that didn’t belong to ordinary men. The way his golden eyes seemed to hold secrets.

If he were…

She traced the thought like a finger over the spine of a well-worn book. Could a human really be with a vampire? Could she live inside her fantasies—the dangerous, heady kind she’d always swallowed in novels?

Could she belong to him?

Her cheeks burned even as the thought unfurled further, bolder. She imagined Carlisle stepping from shadows, eyes dark with hunger, fangs glinting before he caught himself. She imagined his cold skin brushing hers, imagined herself tilting her head back instead of running.

Her pulse quickened. She almost laughed at herself. Pathetic. Completely insane.

But the question hung stubbornly in her chest, even as she slipped into the day’s routine, even as she sat in her classes with pen in hand and blank pages in front of her.

By third period, she wasn’t even pretending to listen. Her mind had gone off on its own, words curling in whispers only she could hear: vampire… handsome… golden eyes… dangerous, but… beautiful… lust…

She didn’t notice she was staring out the window until she felt the weight of a gaze burning across the classroom.

When AnnaLeah blinked and looked up, she caught Edward Cullen’s eyes. Sharp, unreadable, but too focused. He was listening.

Her stomach dropped.

She turned quickly back to her notebook, scribbling nonsense to cover the flush in her cheeks. But it was too late—the Cullens had noticed. She felt their attention like static in the air, quiet but pressing, as if every stolen glance of hers was being measured, catalogued, weighed.

And Edward… Edward looked troubled.

The rest of the school day dragged like a dream she couldn’t wake from. Every time she risked a glance across the cafeteria or down the hallway, she caught sight of them. The Cullens.

Beautiful. Untouchable. Watching.

Or maybe she was imagining it. Maybe her paranoia was just the echo of her own guilty thoughts.

Still, she couldn’t shake the memory of Edward’s eyes on her in class, the way his brow had furrowed slightly as though listening harder than he should. The memory made her stomach twist. Had she… thought too loud?

She buried herself in her notebook during last period, doodling crooked bats and scribbling phrases she didn’t dare speak aloud. Cold skin. Golden eyes. Hidden fangs. Could I… belong to one?

The bell rang and she startled, snapping the notebook shut before anyone could see. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she tried to slip through the crowded hall, but the sensation of eyes lingered—an itch she couldn’t scratch.

On the drive home with Bella, she kept her gaze fixed on the dripping trees sliding past the window. Bella chattered absently about a book assignment, but AnnaLeah only half-listened. Her own thoughts looped endlessly: Did Edward hear? Did they all know now?

At home, she escaped quickly to her room, shutting the door, dropping her bag with a thud. She sank onto the bed and pressed her palms to her face.

Maybe she was losing her grip. Maybe Forks had gotten into her head already, all this mist and isolation and endless forests feeding her imagination. Maybe Carlisle Cullen wasn’t anything more than a kind, too-perfect doctor who’d happened to bump into her at the library.

And yet…

Her heart still raced when she thought of him. Her pulse still skipped when she replayed his voice—There’s nothing wrong with shadows…

Shadows.

She curled onto her side, notebook clutched to her chest, and wondered—half in shame, half in hope—if she was already too far gone.

By late afternoon, the walls of her room felt too tight, too suffocating with her own thoughts. She needed air.

The drizzle outside wasn’t enough to stop her. Forks was always wet, and she’d learned quickly that if you waited for the rain to end, you’d wait forever. She tugged on her sneakers, shoved her earbuds in, and slipped out the door without telling Bella or Charlie where she was headed.

The mist clung to her hair, cool against her cheeks. She set an easy pace down the road, letting her mind blur with the beat of her music.

A song shuffled on. Her breath caught when she recognized it—“Every Breath You Take.” The lyrics settled into her chest with eerie weight. She laughed once, breathless, trying to shake the coincidence. Of course. Perfectly creepy timing, AnnaLeah.

That was when headlights cut through the drizzle behind her.

A sleek, black Mercedes slowed until it matched her pace. Her pulse jumped.

The passenger-side window rolled down.

“Miss Michaelson,” a familiar velvet voice called, calm but edged with something she couldn’t name. “You’ll catch cold. Would you like a ride?”

Her feet slowed to a stop. Carlisle Cullen. Of course. His face framed in the dim interior, golden eyes warm despite the rain, an image that could have stepped straight from her imagination.

Normally, she would have declined out of instinct. But she was soaked through, her hair plastered against her neck, and the shadows of evening were thickening fast. Logic warred with nerves, but she found herself nodding.

“Y-yeah. Thank you.”

He leaned over and opened the door. She slipped inside, suddenly engulfed in him—his scent, clean cedarwood layered with a hint of citrus. The interior hummed softly with restrained luxury, every detail neat, precise, like him.

From the back seat, he pulled a hoodie—black, folded, faintly carrying his scent—and handed it to her without hesitation. “You’ll be more comfortable with this.”

Her fingers brushed his as she accepted it. Cold, of course. But not unpleasant. She tugged it over her damp clothes, drowning in fabric, and felt her pulse stutter.

The heater clicked on with a low sigh. Carlisle’s hands rested steady on the wheel, his gaze fixed on the road as though it were the only thing that mattered.

AnnaLeah stared forward, though her eyes kept flicking sideways, drinking in the clean line of his jaw, the way the dashboard light softened the edges of his impossible features. She worried about dripping water onto his immaculate leather seats.

“I’m going to ruin your car,” she murmured, clutching the sleeves of the hoodie.

Carlisle’s voice was quiet but sure. “You won’t. Don’t concern yourself with that.”

She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek, her heart thundering against her ribs.

By the time he pulled into Charlie’s driveway, dusk had deepened into near-dark. She didn’t want the drive to end, but she didn’t know why—or rather, she didn’t dare name it.

“Thank you,” she whispered, slipping the hoodie tighter around her as though it could shield her from the weight of his gaze.

Carlisle only inclined his head, expression unreadable, as she opened the door.

But long after she stepped out, the warmth of cedarwood and citrus lingered, pulling her deeper into a truth she wasn’t ready to face.

Carlisle POV

The moment AnnaLeah settled into the passenger seat, damp hair clinging to her cheeks, the air shifted.

Her scent—warm, human, alive—was threaded with rain and something sweeter beneath. It curled around him instantly, tangled with the faint cedarwood and citrus that lingered in the car’s upholstery. Carlisle gripped the steering wheel tighter, every inch of discipline summoned to the surface.

She was soaked through, shivering faintly, and the protective instinct flared before he could smother it. Reaching behind, he pulled his hoodie from the back seat, the one he kept for nights at the hospital when the air-conditioning was relentless.

“Here,” he said softly, passing it to her. Their fingers brushed—brief, fleeting—and the jolt of warmth that shot through him had nothing to do with temperature.

She slipped it on, sleeves hanging loose, fabric swallowing her small frame. His hoodie. On her.

Carlisle focused on the road, on the drizzle glinting silver in the headlights, on anything but the sight of her curled in his peripheral vision, studying him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

When she worried aloud about ruining his car, his answer came automatically, voice low but firm: “You won’t. Don’t concern yourself with that.” If she only knew how little he cared about leather and rain, about material things, when every nerve in his body was already taut with her nearness.

The heater hummed, fogging the windows faintly. Her heartbeat, steady but quickened, filled the silence. Every shift of her breath was another test of his control.

By the time he pulled into Charlie Swan’s driveway, the struggle had knotted inside him, tighter than before. He stopped the car, forcing his expression to calm neutrality as she whispered her thanks.

She stepped out, still wrapped in his hoodie, and the sight pierced him in ways he could not name. A dangerous image, branded into his mind: AnnaLeah Michaelson, fragile and mortal, cloaked in something that belonged to him.

Carlisle sat in the idling Mercedes long after she disappeared inside, fingers pressed to the wheel as though it alone anchored him.

Fool, he thought bitterly. He should have let her walk, should have left her to the rain. He should not want this.

And yet the ghost of her warmth lingered in the air, undeniable.

Carlisle POV

The moment AnnaLeah settled into the passenger seat, damp hair clinging to her cheeks, the air shifted.

Her scent struck him at once—delicate peony laced with the crisp bite of apple, sharpened by rain. It wrapped around him, tangling with the cedarwood and citrus that faintly clung to the car’s upholstery. Too human, too alive. Too tempting.

Carlisle gripped the steering wheel harder, every muscle in his body locked in careful restraint. He had trained himself for centuries, refined control into an art—but never had it been tested by something so deceptively gentle.

She shivered faintly in her soaked clothes, and his instinct overrode everything else. Reaching behind him, he retrieved the black hoodie and passed it across. “Here,” he said softly. Their fingers brushed—brief, fleeting—and the contact left a spark he should not have felt.

She tugged the hoodie on, the sleeves swallowing her hands, the fabric clinging faintly to that scent—peony and apple, now threaded with him. His hoodie. On her.

The heater filled the car with warm air, but the silence felt hotter still. Carlisle kept his gaze trained firmly on the drizzle-slicked road, though in his peripheral vision he felt her eyes on him, cautious and curious.

When she murmured about ruining the leather, he forced calm into his voice. “You won’t. Don’t concern yourself with that.”

But concern was all he knew. Concern for how close she was. Concern for how the scent of her—bright floral, sharp fruit—seared into him in ways he couldn’t excise. Concern for the image he’d carry with him now, impossible to forget: AnnaLeah Michaelson, fragile and mortal, wrapped in something that was his.

By the time he pulled into Charlie Swan’s driveway, the conflict in him had hardened into a knot. She whispered her thanks, slipped out into the drizzle, and vanished inside—still cloaked in his scent, and his hoodie.

Carlisle sat unmoving in the Mercedes, headlights casting pale beams across the dark. He should have let her walk. He should not want this.

And yet, long after she was gone, the ghost of peony and apple clung to him, sharp and sweet and utterly inescapable.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven: Shadows in the Glow

The hoodie was far too big for her—black cotton that swallowed her arms, the hem brushing her thighs when she curled into bed. But it wasn’t the warmth she craved.

It was the scent.

Cedarwood and citrus clung faintly to the fabric, threaded now with rain and something richer beneath—him. She pulled it tight around herself like a shield, like a secret, and let her eyes close.

Sleep came quickly, and with it the dream.

A man, tall and impossibly beautiful, his golden eyes glowing against pale skin. His hands brushed her cheek, cold as stone yet gentle as silk, and she leaned into his touch with aching familiarity. His voice was low, velvet and steady, but she couldn’t make out the words. It didn’t matter—she knew. She knew him. She belonged here, in his shadow and his light.

AnnaLeah startled awake, the dream fading, her fingers still clutching the hoodie to her chest. Her heart hammered, the lingering ghost of golden eyes blazing in her mind.

She dressed for school quickly, slipping on jeans and boots, but when she reached for a jacket, her hand stilled. The hoodie hung across her chair, waiting.

She tugged it over her head without hesitation. If she couldn’t have him—if he was nothing but dream and impossible fantasy—then at least she could keep this. Keep him close, even if it was only in scent.

---

School buzzed with the low hum of pre-Halloween excitement. Orange and black streamers stretched across the hallways, paper bats dangling from the ceiling. The bulletin board bore a large sign in dripping font: Halloween Dance – One Week Away.

Students whispered and planned, pairing off with nervous glances and awkward smiles.

AnnaLeah walked beside Bella, clutching her books close. Edward Cullen lingered nearby, close enough that Bella’s eyes flicked toward him every few seconds, her lips parting like she wanted to speak but couldn’t summon the nerve.

“You should just ask him,” AnnaLeah murmured, nudging her cousin lightly.

Bella flushed. “He won’t. I know he won’t.” Her voice was half frustration, half longing.

Before AnnaLeah could answer, she felt it—the weight of eyes. She glanced up. The Cullens, gathered casually near their lockers, had all turned their attention to her. Or more specifically, to what she was wearing.

Carlisle’s hoodie.

Their expressions varied—Alice’s curious tilt of the head, Jasper’s narrowed eyes catching the flicker of emotion around her, Rosalie’s faint sneer, Emmett’s poorly suppressed grin. And Edward… Edward looked sharply between her and Carlisle’s absence, his mouth set in a hard line.

AnnaLeah’s pulse skipped. She tugged at the sleeves, pretending not to notice, though her cheeks betrayed her with heat.

---

It was in biology, her pen scratching faintly against paper, when a shadow fell across her desk.

“AnnaLeah.”

She looked up into the easy grin of Kellan, a boy from her history class. Broad-shouldered, messy blond hair, eyes bright with the kind of confidence only teenage boys could summon.

“Hey,” she said softly.

He leaned on her desk. “So… the Halloween dance.” He grinned wider, shifting his weight like he was trying too hard to appear casual. “You going with anyone?”

Her throat tightened. In her mind’s eye, the dream-man’s golden eyes flashed again.

“No,” she admitted.

“Well… maybe you should.” Kellan’s grin turned hopeful. “With me?”

The room seemed to tilt for a moment, and AnnaLeah’s hands clenched tighter around her pen. She forced a polite smile, but her mind was already a thousand miles away—on golden eyes, cedarwood and citrus, and the hoodie wrapping her like a lifeline.

It wasn’t subtle.

The moment AnnaLeah Michaelson walked through the doors, wearing his hoodie, the entire family felt it like a ripple cutting through still water.

Alice’s eyes snapped to her first. She leaned forward in her chair, lips parted, visions fluttering too quickly for her to pin down. A hoodie, a dance, the glint of golden eyes… but it shifted, blurred, slipping from her grasp.

Jasper caught the spike of emotions immediately—nerves, longing, the tentative glow of a secret pressed close. The girl’s pulse thrummed like a fragile bird’s wing. Jasper frowned, shifting uneasily.

Rosalie’s lips curled, her tone sharp even without speaking. “Unbelievable.” She didn’t bother to lower her voice when she muttered to Emmett, “Our father’s charity case playing dress-up in his clothes.”

Emmett only grinned, though his eyes were wide with mischief. “Hey, don’t look at me. Kinda bold move. Didn’t think the doc had it in him.” His laugh rumbled low, though he earned a withering glare from Rosalie.

Edward sat stone-still, the tension in his shoulders wound tight. AnnaLeah’s mind flickered with fragmented words—vampire, attention, lust, golden eyes, beautiful… Each whisper stabbed through him, sharp and insistent. And now, with the hoodie clinging to her, it was no longer innocent.

“She dreams of him,” Edward said under his breath. His voice was so soft only his siblings heard it. “She wears him like a talisman.”

Alice’s gaze snapped toward him. “And Carlisle?”

Edward’s jaw tightened. “He’s… struggling.”

The word hung heavy between them.

Jasper shifted, unease curling through him. “You’re saying her thoughts feed it. That she’s tempting him.”

Edward’s voice was rough. “Not deliberately. But yes.”

Rosalie let out a bitter laugh. “So the great Carlisle Cullen—the man who’s preached restraint for centuries—can be undone by a girl who barely knows herself? Pathetic.”

Emmett cut in before Edward could respond, his tone gentler. “It’s not that simple, Rose. She’s not like other humans. He’s… drawn.”

Alice finally spoke, her voice measured but sharp with certainty. “And it will only get worse.”

The family fell into silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Carlisle’s absence felt louder now, like the ghost of a storm gathering just beyond their walls.

The glares were sharper than knives.

Every time AnnaLeah lifted her eyes in the hallway, Rosalie Cullen’s stare met her—icy, cutting, beautiful in its cruelty. And when Rosalie leaned close to mutter something to Emmett, though AnnaLeah couldn’t hear the words, she didn’t have to. She felt the weight of them, heavy and dismissive, curling under her skin like barbs.

She’d thought the hoodie might make her feel closer to Carlisle, like she could carry him with her. Instead, it painted a target on her back.

Maybe if she made herself less of a spectacle, they’d stop staring. Maybe Rosalie would stop glaring.

So when Kellan leaned over her desk again after class, grin wide and hopeful, she swallowed hard. Her chest ached, but she forced the smile anyway.

“Yes, Kellan,” she said softly, heart hammering. “I’d like to go with you. But just… as friends, okay?”

His grin faltered for a second, then recovered with a boyish shrug. “Yeah, sure. Friends.”

She managed a nod, though her stomach twisted. Maybe this would fix it. Maybe if she looked normal, acted normal, no one would see the storm inside her.

---

Later, at lunch, Bella nudged her tray closer, her eyes wide. “You said yes? To Kellan?”

AnnaLeah nodded, keeping her tone light. “As friends.”

Bella studied her for a long moment, then glanced across the cafeteria. Edward sat at his usual table, his gaze already fixed on Bella as though she was the only person in the room.

“If you can go with someone,” Bella said slowly, “then I can… I mean, maybe I should…” Her cheeks flamed pink. “I could ask him.”

AnnaLeah smiled faintly, though the hoodie sleeves were still twisted between her fingers like a lifeline. “You should.”

Bella took a deep breath, determination flickering in her eyes.

And across the cafeteria, Edward’s golden stare only burned brighter.

Carlisle POV

The hospital was quiet that evening, the halls softened by the low hum of fluorescent lights. Carlisle had buried himself in charts and patient rounds, convincing himself that work could be enough to drown out distraction.

But then he heard her heartbeat.

Soft, steady, approaching down the corridor. A rhythm he recognized instantly—because he had memorized it.

He looked up from the nurses’ station just as AnnaLeah appeared, her dark hair damp from drizzle, sleeves tugged down over her hands. She held something bundled close: his hoodie.

Her eyes found his, and the world stilled.

“Hey,” she said quietly, her voice too small for the wide, sterile hallway. “I thought I should bring this back to you. I… borrowed it too long.”

She placed it gently on the counter between them, though her fingers lingered against the fabric as if reluctant to let go.

Carlisle should have smiled, should have said something warm and easy to dismiss her worry. But he saw it—the sadness in her eyes, the flicker of something heavy weighing her down. A burden too large for a girl her age to carry.

His voice softened. “You don’t need to rush it back. It was meant to keep you warm.”

She shook her head quickly, almost too quickly. “No. I shouldn’t… I mean, it’s yours.”

The hollowness behind her words cut through him sharper than any blade. She wasn’t just returning fabric. She was retreating.

Carlisle’s hand hovered for the briefest second, aching to reach across the counter, to tilt her chin up and ask what haunted her. But he couldn’t. He mustn’t. His hand curled back into his coat pocket instead.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “I’m glad it served its purpose.”

Her gaze flicked to him one last time, her dark eyes luminous and fragile, before she turned and slipped back down the corridor. Her scent lingered after her—peony laced with crisp apple, sharper now in her absence.

Carlisle stood motionless, the hoodie still folded neatly on the counter. It looked harmless enough, but it carried the warmth of a storm he was trying desperately not to step into.

And for the first time in centuries, he wondered if he was already too deep to claw his way out.

Carlisle POV

The hoodie sat where she left it. A simple thing, black cotton, folded neatly on the counter as though her delicate hands had blessed it into order.

Carlisle couldn’t move.

The scent clung to the fabric—peony, crisp apple, rain—and through it, her. Not just her body but her sadness. That look in her eyes when she forced the hoodie back into his hands… it echoed inside him. He had seen grief, despair, loss in countless patients, but this—this quiet, aching sorrow in a girl who should have been carefree—struck him deeper.

She is trying to pull away.

Carlisle leaned back against the counter, closing his eyes. His control, honed over centuries, should have been unshakable. And yet her retreat hollowed him out, left him with a gnawing ache he could not name without shame.

He thought of what they were. Monsters hiding in plain sight. Skin cold to the touch, strength coiled beneath pale flesh, hunger burning in blackened eyes when thirst rose too high. Fangs retractable, but never gone. Beasts pretending at humanity.

And yet she had worn his scent like a lifeline.

Carlisle opened his eyes, staring down at the folded hoodie. For one wild, dangerous instant, he wanted her to keep it. To keep him. To cling tighter instead of retreating.

His hands curled against the counter. Foolish. Reckless. Selfish.

If Edward was right—and he always was when it came to minds—then she dreamt of him. Fantasized. Desired. That truth should have horrified him. Instead, it tore at him with temptation sharper than thirst.

He pressed his palms flat to the cold surface, grounding himself.

She is a child.

He repeated it silently, the way one might recite a prayer, clinging to it like salvation. But the image of her dark eyes, wide and sorrowful, was a wound that would not close.

When he finally picked up the hoodie, his hand trembled—not with hunger, but with the unbearable ache of wanting to keep what was never his.

The house was heavy that night.

Carlisle returned from the hospital later than usual, his coat still carrying the faint scent of rain—and beneath it, sharper still, AnnaLeah. Peony and crisp apple trailed like an invisible thread into the living room.

Alice’s gaze snapped to him the moment he stepped inside. Her visions had been restless all evening, flickers of black hoodies and blurred faces, of shadows stretching toward futures she couldn’t quite see. Now the sight of him only confirmed the knot in her chest.

“Carlisle,” she murmured, more question than greeting.

He met her eyes with the calmest expression he could summon, but Edward was already leaning forward from his place on the sofa, jaw tight.

“She was there,” Edward said. His voice was low, edged. “At the hospital. With you.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. Jasper shifted, pulling in the raw storm of emotion rolling from Carlisle—guilt, hunger, longing wrapped tight in denial. He grimaced, catching the weight of it like smoke choking the air.

Rosalie scoffed, her tone biting. “So it’s true. She runs to him, and he lets her. Our father—our leader—risking everything for a child who doesn’t even know what she’s toying with.”

“Rosalie,” Emmett muttered, his hand brushing hers, though even he looked uneasy. “Maybe don’t—”

But Rosalie pressed on, eyes flashing. “She shouldn’t be near us. Near him. And he should know better.”

Carlisle’s stillness was the only thing keeping the room from fracturing. His voice, when it came, was quiet but unyielding. “She is a child. Nothing more. She returned something that belonged to me. That is all.”

Edward’s teeth clicked together. “That’s not all. She’s sad, Carlisle. Sad because she thinks she has to let you go.” His words were sharp with accusation. “And you feel it. Don’t deny it.”

Alice drew in a slow, unnecessary breath, her eyes troubled. “This doesn’t end cleanly,” she whispered. “No matter what path I try to see, it’s… tangled.”

The family fell into a tense, uneasy silence, broken only by the soft hiss of the fire in the hearth.

Carlisle stood apart, outwardly composed, but Edward’s gaze burned into him, knowing. Jasper pressed a hand briefly against his temple, overwhelmed by the clash of emotions. Rosalie turned away with disgust, Emmett pulled her close, and Alice stared at the fire as if trying to divine answers from its flicker.

And for the first time in centuries, the Cullens realized their unshakable foundation—Carlisle’s restraint—was beginning to crack.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twelve: Veins of Glass

Morning came too quickly.

AnnaLeah stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the pale light catching the shadows beneath her eyes. Her reflection looked tired, older somehow, as if the choice she’d made—giving back the hoodie, stepping away—had carved something hollow into her.

She pulled her hair into a loose braid, fingers trembling faintly. Her chest still ached with the memory of Carlisle’s face when she’d handed the hoodie back, his calm voice hiding something she couldn’t name.

Bella’s knock came soft at the door. “Leah? We’re gonna be late.”

“I’m coming,” AnnaLeah called, forcing brightness into her voice. She tugged on a sweater, jeans, boots, and painted on the thinnest smile she could manage.

---

At school, the halls were alive with chatter, the decorations for the Halloween dance spreading like wildfire. Paper skeletons hung in crooked rows, pumpkins painted with grins lined the window ledges, and clusters of students huddled together, buzzing about dates and costumes.

AnnaLeah walked beside Bella, clutching her books tight.

“You okay?” Bella asked softly, eyes narrowing in that cousin’s way that saw too much.

“I’m fine,” AnnaLeah lied easily. “Just tired.”

But her eyes flicked—against her will—toward the Cullens at their table. The whole group sat impossibly beautiful and untouchable, but she felt the tension ripple even from across the cafeteria. Rosalie’s glare sliced sharp as ever. Alice looked pensive, as though watching futures that slipped through her fingers. And Edward—Edward was looking directly at Bella, expression unreadable but intent.

AnnaLeah tore her gaze away, heart squeezing.

She slid into her seat and tried to laugh at something Bella said, tried to pretend that she was just another girl worrying about grades and dances. But the weight in her chest didn’t budge.

When Kellan dropped into the seat across from her with his easy grin, she mustered her smile again. “Hey,” he said, “so… I was thinking. You like scary books, right? Maybe we should match costumes for the dance. Something creepy. Something fun.”

AnnaLeah nodded, though her thoughts were miles away, still lingering in the quiet hospital corridor where golden eyes had searched hers and she’d forced herself to let go.

Her smile stayed fixed, but her heart whispered otherwise.

Kellan slid his tray onto the table with a thud, dropping into the seat beside Bella. His dark hair was still damp from the drizzle outside, curling slightly at his temples, and his grin was easy in the way that only someone untouched by secrets could manage.

“Alright,” he said, leaning forward, elbows braced on the table, “so here’s the thing—I’m hopeless at costumes. But I figure you’d know, AnnaLeah. You’ve got that whole horror-books-and-creepy-stories vibe going on.”

Bella smirked over her apple. “She does.”

AnnaLeah tilted her head, caught off guard by his earnestness. “You want me to pick your costume?”

“Us,” Kellan corrected quickly, flashing a smile that carried more hope than casualness. “We’re going to the dance together, right? We should match. You and me. Something good.”

AnnaLeah blinked down at her untouched food, heat rising faintly in her cheeks. She almost told him she didn’t care, that it didn’t matter—but then the decorations caught her eye. A paper bat dangling over their heads, a pumpkin painted with fangs. Something sharp and bittersweet rose in her chest, and before she could stop herself, the word was out:

“Vampires.”

Kellan grinned like she’d handed him treasure. “Perfect. Dark and dramatic. And honestly? I could totally pull off the brooding thing.”

Bella laughed softly, shaking her head. AnnaLeah—despite herself—smiled too. For the first time all day, the sadness eased just a fraction.

But her gaze betrayed her. Across the cafeteria, at the Cullens’ table, golden eyes lifted briefly to meet hers. Carlisle wasn’t there, but Edward was, expression unreadable. She ducked her head, pulse fluttering, as if her choice of costume were some secret confession whispered into the open air.

Kellan didn’t notice. He only leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “So, you’ll help me make it good, right? I want to impress people.”

AnnaLeah smiled again, though this one trembled faintly at the edges. “Yeah,” she said softly. “We’ll make it unforgettable.”

The word drifted across the cafeteria like a spark in the dry air.

Vampires.

Edward heard it first, the thought escaping AnnaLeah’s mind in bright, sharp clarity. Not whispered with fear—but with fascination, tinged with that same thrum of longing that clung to her when she daydreamed. He stiffened, eyes flicking toward her table.

Rosalie followed his gaze. The moment she saw AnnaLeah smiling at the boy beside her, the scowl carved across her perfect face. “She said what?” Rosalie hissed under her breath, venom lacing the words.

“Vampires,” Edward confirmed, his voice a low thread only his family could hear. “She wants to go as one to the dance. With him.”

Emmett’s grin spread wide. “That’s hilarious. The human girl obsessed with horror stories decides to dress up like us, without even knowing.” He chuckled, but it faded when Rosalie shot him a glare sharp enough to cut stone.

Alice was quiet, her eyes glazed for the briefest second. A flicker of futures danced behind her gaze—AnnaLeah draped in black, pale makeup dusted across her face, lips stained red. The image trembled, blurred, refused to settle. She frowned, fingers tightening around Jasper’s.

Jasper caught her unease and murmured, “What is it?”

“She’s choosing paths I can’t quite see,” Alice whispered. “Every time I try to follow, it shifts.”

Across the table, Rosalie folded her arms. “It’s reckless. Dangerous. She’s playing with fire and doesn’t even realize it.” Her eyes narrowed, venom sparking. “And the way she looks at Carlisle…”

Edward’s jaw tightened. He didn’t need her to finish the sentence. The fragmented words in AnnaLeah’s mind still clung to him—handsome, golden eyes, lust, vampire.

“She’s just a child,” Edward said finally, but his tone was less certain than he wanted it to be.

Alice leaned in, her voice low and deliberate. “She may be a child now. But she’s walking toward something more, Edward. And none of us can stop it.”

For a long moment, the Cullens sat in silence, the cafeteria noise fading around them. The only sound was the faint scrape of Rosalie’s nails against the table, like claws against glass.

The rain had followed her home, tapping against her bedroom window in a steady rhythm. AnnaLeah curled up on her bed, books spread across the quilt like old friends. A cracked-spine copy of Dracula lay open in her lap, though her eyes kept slipping past the words.

Instead, they replayed lunch.

The way Kellan’s grin had brightened when she’d said vampires. The way Bella had laughed. The way—for a fleeting second—she had actually smiled, like something heavy had lifted.

And yet.

Her thoughts tangled, drifting where she didn’t want them to. To golden eyes that had followed her in dreams. To the scent of cedarwood and citrus clinging to a black hoodie she had forced herself to return. To the way she’d wondered, half against her will, if she could ever truly be close to someone who wasn’t… human.

AnnaLeah sighed, tugging her braid loose until dark strands fell forward like a curtain. She traced her finger absently along a line of text:

I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air.

Her chest ached.

She told herself Kellan was safe. Normal. Kind. A boy who wanted to take her to a dance and make her laugh. If she leaned into that, maybe Rosalie’s stares would soften. Maybe the Cullens would stop watching her as though she were glass about to crack.

And yet, when she closed her eyes, her body curled tighter into itself, all she could smell was cedar and citrus. All she could see was a pair of golden eyes watching her with something unspoken.

AnnaLeah buried her face into the pillow and whispered to the dark, “Why can’t it just be simple?”

Outside, the rain kept falling, as if the world itself offered no answer.

Later that night, Bella padded into her room, curling up at the foot of the bed with that thoughtful look she always wore when Edward was on her mind.

They talked in the quiet, the rain a steady backdrop. Bella confessed how badly she wanted Edward to notice her, to really see her. How it terrified her, how it thrilled her.

AnnaLeah listened, nodding, but the words tangled inside her chest. She wanted to tell Bella that she understood—maybe too well. That she knew what it felt like to crave something untouchable, to be drawn to someone you shouldn’t be. But the words stayed locked in her throat.

Instead, she reached out, squeezed Bella’s hand, and said softly, “Then ask him. Don’t wait forever.”

Bella smiled, shy but determined, and after a while she drifted off back to her room.

AnnaLeah lay awake long after. Her mind spun, restless. The hoodie was gone, but his scent still haunted her memory. Rosalie’s glare still burned against her skin. And Kellan—sweet, normal Kellan—was waiting for her to help make their vampire costumes real.

Something inside her cracked open.

I need space. I need air.

By the time the clock glowed past midnight, AnnaLeah had decided. Tomorrow was Friday, and the thought rooted itself like a lifeline: she would go to Port Angeles. Buy her costume. Get away from Forks for a few hours, away from stares and secrets and golden eyes.

She even looked up the train schedule on her phone, her heart lifting a little when she saw she could catch an afternoon departure. A small adventure. A chance to breathe.

With that thought warming her, she finally drifted to sleep.

And in her dreams, a man with golden eyes waited at the end of a shadowed street, watching her as though she already belonged to him.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirteen: Crossroads

Alice froze mid-sentence, her eyes glazing as the future tugged her sideways.

The others fell quiet around the dining room table, a silence as sharp as glass settling over the room. Edward leaned forward instantly, his voice low, urgent. “What is it?”

Alice’s gaze darted, unfocused, following threads only she could see. “She’s leaving Forks tomorrow. A train. Port Angeles.” Her lips pressed together, her hand tightening around Jasper’s. “But it’s strange… I can’t see what happens once she’s there. The picture blurs. Too many paths.”

Jasper’s brow furrowed. “Blurs like danger?”

Alice hesitated. “Maybe. Or choice. Something important.”

Across the table, Rosalie’s hands curled into fists. “Of course she is. Running off where she shouldn’t, making herself a target. And dragging our attention with her.” Her eyes flicked sharply toward Carlisle, her tone biting. “This is exactly what happens when a fragile human girl starts orbiting too close to what she can’t have.”

Edward’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He didn’t need to; the fragments he’d caught in AnnaLeah’s mind were more damning than anything Rosalie could spit. Words whispered with yearning—handsome, vampire, golden eyes.

Esme would have softened the edges, but Esme was gone, her absence a hollow space none of them could quite fill.

Carlisle finally spoke, his voice calm but lined with a weight the others didn’t miss. “She is Charlie’s niece. Bella’s cousin. She deserves to be safe, whether she chooses foolish adventures or not.”

“Safe?” Rosalie snapped, eyes narrowing. “You mean protected. You mean watched.”

Emmett shifted in his chair, trying to ease the tension. “Come on, Rose. She’s just going shopping for a costume, not running off to Vegas.” But even he glanced at Carlisle, uneasy.

Alice’s voice was soft, almost apologetic. “It isn’t simple. Something is coming. I can’t see it clearly, but AnnaLeah’s choices are starting to weave into ours.”

Carlisle met her gaze, then Edward’s, and for one breathless moment, he let the truth surface in his own thoughts before locking it away again: Her choices already bind me.

He folded his hands together, voice steady, even as that truth gnawed at him. “If she’s going to Port Angeles, we’ll make sure nothing happens to her.”

Rosalie scoffed, muttering under her breath. But no one else spoke against him.

Carlisle POV

The house had long since fallen silent, but Carlisle remained awake, pacing slow circles in his study.

Alice’s words haunted him. Something is coming. Something tied to her.

He knew she wasn’t wrong. AnnaLeah Michaelson had already shifted the current of his world in ways he could scarcely admit. What began as curiosity—a young girl’s mind shielded in curious patches, her sharp eyes softened by sadness—had grown into something perilous. An attachment. A pull.

He pressed his palms flat against the desk, bowing his head. His restraint had held for centuries; it had to hold now. And yet the memory of her scent lingered—peony and crisp apple—curling through his senses like a chain he could not break.

She had looked at him with those soulful dark eyes, sadness shadowing her smile, and he had wanted—dangerously, foolishly wanted—to be the one to banish it.

That was not the role of a protector. That was not the vow he had made to himself, to his family, to humanity.

And yet when Alice said the word Port Angeles, Carlisle’s instincts had flared sharp and immediate. He pictured her walking city streets alone, small in the drizzle, her fragile frame easily overlooked—easily threatened. The thought turned his calm to ash.

He would not let her come to harm.

Not because she was Bella’s cousin. Not because she was Charlie’s ward. But because he could not bear it.

Carlisle closed his eyes, drew in a steadying breath, and whispered into the quiet:

“Just this once. I’ll watch from the shadows. Nothing more.”

But even as he said it, he knew the truth. Watching would never be enough.

Edward leaned against the doorframe of Alice’s room, arms folded, his face unreadable. Alice sat cross-legged on her bed, sketching lines of futures across a blank page, her eyes distant.

“She’ll go,” Alice murmured without looking up. “Even if we warned her, even if we tried to change it. AnnaLeah will be on that train tomorrow.”

Edward’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And Carlisle will follow.”

The words settled heavy between them, the truth undeniable.

Alice finally glanced up, her golden eyes troubled. “He told himself it’s about safety. About duty. But you felt it too, didn’t you? The way his thoughts flickered when I said her name.”

Edward didn’t answer at first. He had felt it—the fracture in Carlisle’s self-control, the way desire slipped through his carefully constructed calm. It rattled Edward more than he cared to admit. Carlisle was their foundation, their certainty, the one who never wavered. To hear such thoughts in his mind was like seeing cracks in stone.

“He won’t admit it,” Edward said finally, his voice low. “Not even to himself. But he can’t stay away.”

Alice closed the notebook softly, her expression caught between sadness and inevitability. “Then tomorrow will be a turning point. For her. For him. Maybe for all of us.”

From the hallway, Rosalie’s voice cut sharp as glass. “Let him follow her if he wants. But don’t pretend it’s noble. He’s already slipping, and we all see it.”

Emmett muttered something under his breath, but the house fell quiet again, the tension thick enough to choke.

For the first time in their immortal lives, they wondered not about AnnaLeah’s future—
but Carlisle’s.

Carlisle POV

The hospital was quiet, the steady beeping of monitors echoing in the halls as Carlisle made his last rounds. He moved with practiced ease, offering gentle smiles, steady hands, reassuring words. To anyone watching, he was the picture of calm.

Inside, he was not calm at all.

AnnaLeah’s name pulsed through his thoughts like a heartbeat. Every time he pushed it aside, it returned. Every corridor reminded him of her walking alone tomorrow, her delicate frame swallowed by the crowd, her eyes wide in a city she didn’t know.

It isn’t about desire, he told himself. It’s duty. Protection. Nothing more.

But the truth hissed beneath the lie. He had protected countless humans before, but never like this. Never with this ache in his chest when he imagined her frightened. Never with this desperate need to be near, to breathe in peony and crisp apple, to see her and know she was safe.

Carlisle leaned against the counter in the empty nurses’ station, staring down at his pale hands. The same hands that could heal—or destroy.

He remembered the weight of her eyes in the library, watching him over the edge of a horror novel. The way she clung to his hoodie, unwilling to let his scent go. The sadness he’d seen in her face when she gave it back.

Something inside him fractured further.

He whispered into the empty hall, voice almost trembling:
“I’ll keep you safe, AnnaLeah. Even if you never know I was there.”

It wasn’t the vow of a doctor. It wasn’t the vow of a leader. It was something more dangerous, more personal.

When the clock chimed midnight, Carlisle gathered his coat and walked out into the rain. The decision was made. Tomorrow, he would follow.

Not because he must.
Because he couldn’t bear not to.

Chapter Text

Chapter Fourteen: The City of Masks

The train rattled along the tracks, its rhythm thrumming against the soles of her boots. AnnaLeah sat tucked against the window, her earbuds in, forehead resting against the cool glass. Outside, the forest blurred past—wet, dark, endless.

She told herself this was just a trip. Just a chance to breathe. A chance to shop for a costume, drink bad coffee, maybe even laugh with herself.

But the truth pressed closer. She wanted distance from Forks because she needed space from everything heavy there—the stares, the unspoken tension, the ache she couldn’t name when her thoughts drifted toward a certain man with golden eyes.

The train swayed, her reflection staring back faintly in the glass: pale skin, long dark hair pulled into a loose braid, eyes that seemed older than seventeen. She barely recognized herself.

A notification buzzed across her phone: Bella, Be safe, okay? Text me when you get there.

AnnaLeah smiled faintly, typing back Promise. She slipped the phone into her bag, fingers brushing against the paperback she’d brought. Not Dracula this time—something lighter, though even so her thoughts kept circling back to fangs, shadows, the thrill of danger.

The intercom crackled, announcing Port Angeles less than an hour away. Her chest fluttered with anticipation.

Freedom. Just for a little while.

She closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. For a brief moment she imagined herself walking through crowded streets—unseen, unnoticed, her own person. But the image twisted, her heart stumbling when she pictured another shadow slipping quietly behind her. Someone watching, golden eyes glowing just out of reach.

AnnaLeah opened her eyes quickly, pressing her palm to the glass as if the coolness could steady her.

“It’s just a trip,” she whispered to herself. “Just a costume.”

And yet, somewhere deep down, she wondered if her choice had already set something in motion that couldn’t be undone.

Carlisle POV

Port Angeles was cloaked in drizzle, the streetlamps casting long, blurred halos in the damp night. Carlisle moved silently along the sidewalks, a shadow among shadows, blending into the restless shuffle of the city.

He saw her the moment she stepped off the train. Small. Fragile. Her braid trailing down her back, her boots splashing lightly against the wet pavement. Her bag hung loose at her side, far too vulnerable for a place like this.

He followed at a distance, careful, his steps soundless. To any passerby, he was another face in the crowd—a pale man in a dark coat, unremarkable. But his every sense was tuned only to her.

The cadence of her heartbeat thrummed against the murmur of the city. He caught the faint trace of her scent—peony laced with crisp apple—threading through exhaust fumes and wet concrete, and it struck him deep, sharp as hunger but heavier, more dangerous.

AnnaLeah ducked into a small costume shop, the window dressed with plastic fangs and velvet capes. Carlisle lingered across the street, the rain dripping down his collar, his body still as stone. Through the glass he could see her lift a dress from the rack—dark velvet, lace at the throat—and press it against her frame, testing the idea. Her lips curved into a small, private smile.

He should have turned away. Should have left her to her mortal play, her fragile joys.

Instead, Carlisle remained rooted to the spot, aching in a way that had nothing to do with thirst. He felt the truth coil inside him, unbidden:

I would burn for you.

A gust of wind swept down the street, carrying her scent stronger, pulling him a step closer to the door before he forced himself still again.

She had no idea he was there. No idea the monster in the shadows had followed her.

Carlisle closed his eyes against the pull, whispering into the rain as though the storm itself might carry his vow away:
“Just tonight. Just to be sure she is safe.”

But even he knew it was a lie.

The little bell above the door jingled as AnnaLeah stepped inside, shaking droplets from her braid. The warmth of the shop was immediate, scented faintly of dust, fabric dye, and cheap plastic masks.

She exhaled, tension easing from her shoulders. Rows of costumes filled the narrow aisles—princess gowns, superhero capes, vampires with exaggerated collars.

Her fingers trailed along the racks until they caught on something soft: black velvet, trimmed with lace at the throat. She lifted it, holding the hanger against her body in the long mirror near the fitting rooms.

A vampire.

Her lips curved despite herself. It felt almost like fate, like leaning into the daydreams she’d been carrying for weeks. Dark, mysterious, dangerous—and perhaps, in some secret way, a chance to embody the world she longed for.

She tilted her head, studying her reflection. The dress made her look older, her figure more defined, her eyes darker and more soulful under the overhead light. For the first time in a while, she didn’t look like a lost little cousin, trailing after Bella. She looked like someone who might belong in another life entirely.

AnnaLeah turned back to the rack, searching for accessories. A choker. Gloves. Fake fangs that made her grin and roll her eyes at her own silliness.

But as she moved down the aisle, the small hairs at the back of her neck prickled. She froze for a moment, her fingers brushing over the satin trim of a cloak.

The shop wasn’t crowded. A mother and child at the counter. A bored teenager scrolling on her phone near the wigs. Nobody watching her.

And yet—her skin tingled with the sense of eyes, unseen, following her.

AnnaLeah shook it off, tugging the velvet dress tighter to her chest, laughing quietly at herself.
“You read too many horror books,” she whispered.

Still, when she finally stepped up to the register, her gaze flicked once toward the glass door. Beyond it, the drizzle blurred the streetlights into halos, and for half a second, she swore she saw a tall, pale shape across the way.

She blinked. Empty sidewalk.

Her heartbeat quickened anyway.

The bell over the bookstore door jingled faintly as AnnaLeah pushed it open, a paper bag of books hugged to her chest. She hadn’t meant to stay so long—the narrow aisles and the scent of old paper had wrapped around her like a spell. When she finally checked the clock at the register, her heart sank.

By the time she hurried back to the station, breath fogging in the cooling air, the platform was empty. The train had already gone.

She scanned the schedule with trembling fingers. Three hours until the next one.

A cold drizzle slipped into her hair, seeping through her hoodie. She clutched the bag tighter, retreating toward the only shelter: a small glass enclosure at the far end of the platform. It offered little against the wind. The storm was building, rain hammering the roof, making the glass walls shiver.

AnnaLeah pressed into the corner, curling small against the bench. Her braid was damp, tendrils of hair sticking to her cheek, her books already threatening to warp in the wet. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady her breathing.

It’s fine. Just three hours. You’ll be okay.

But the city felt different now. The streets beyond the tracks seemed darker, the storm swallowing sound. A flicker of unease coiled in her chest, the sense that the shadows stretched too long, too close.

Her heart thudded once, hard. That same sensation from the costume shop—eyes.

AnnaLeah turned her head toward the blurred glass. For an instant, she thought she saw movement—a pale outline beyond the rain-streaked pane. Her pulse jumped.

And then—

“AnnaLeah.”

The voice was low, warm, familiar.

She startled, books sliding slightly in her lap. Her eyes widened as the figure stepped from the storm. Tall. Composed. His presence commanding and strangely calming all at once.

Dr. Carlisle Cullen.

He stood at the threshold of the shelter, rain dripping from his coat, golden eyes steady as if they’d been waiting for her.

AnnaLeah’s lips parted, the breath caught in her throat.
“C–Carlisle?”

He inclined his head, just slightly, his voice softened.
“You looked… cold. I thought you might need some company until the next train.”

Her heartbeat stumbled. Of all the people in the world to find her stranded in the storm—it had to be him.

The sound of her name still hummed in her ears when he spoke again, calm and measured despite the storm raging around them.

“You’ll be waiting a long time for the next train,” Carlisle said gently, his golden eyes catching the dim station lights. “Three hours, in this weather… you’ll be miserable.”

AnnaLeah blinked at him, heart tripping over itself. The storm pounded against the glass shelter as though to agree.

She tried to smile, though her voice wavered.
“Guess I lost track of time in the bookstore. It happens.”

Carlisle’s lips curved faintly—kind, not mocking. He took a careful step closer, as though mindful not to startle her. “My car is parked just across the way. If you’d like, I could drive you home instead. It would be warmer… safer.”

For a moment, AnnaLeah could only stare at him, pulse fluttering wildly. Every sensible thought whispered she shouldn’t. He was her cousin’s doctor, a man she barely knew outside of brief conversations and fleeting glances.

And yet.

The warmth in his tone wrapped around her like a blanket. The storm rattled the glass walls again, cold air seeping in through the cracks. The thought of sitting here alone for hours, soaked and shivering, suddenly felt unbearable.

“Are you sure?” Her voice was small, almost swallowed by the rain. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

His answer came without hesitation.
“You could never be a bother.”

The words lingered, curling through her chest. She swallowed, hugging her bag of books tight, and gave a tiny nod.
“Okay. Thank you.”

Carlisle extended a hand—not touching, just an invitation to step out into the storm with him. She rose slowly, her braid damp against her back, her fingers trembling as she adjusted the strap of her bag.

They dashed across the slick pavement together, the storm soaking her within seconds, though Carlisle seemed untouched by the cold. His sleek black Mercedes gleamed beneath a streetlamp, droplets racing down the glass. He opened the passenger door for her with old-fashioned courtesy, his gaze steady, almost too steady.

Sliding inside, AnnaLeah was enveloped at once in the rich scent of cedarwood and citrus, familiar from the hoodie she still clutched like a lifeline.

By the time Carlisle slipped into the driver’s seat and the engine purred to life, her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

The storm drummed against the roof of the car, steady and relentless, while the heater began to hum softly, chasing away the chill in her damp clothes. AnnaLeah sank into the leather seat, hugging herself, her bag of books balanced carefully in her lap.

The road lights blurred by in streaks of gold and white, and for a few moments, the silence felt safe. Comforting. Almost like a dream.

But when the car jolted slightly over a pothole, the bag tipped. Books spilled onto the floorboard, sliding against Carlisle’s polished shoes.

“Oh—sorry!” AnnaLeah fumbled, leaning down quickly, her braid slipping over her shoulder as she reached. Her fingers brushed a damp paperback just as another hand reached for it too.

Carlisle’s.

His long, pale fingers closed over the cover a heartbeat before hers, and the back of his hand grazed her knuckles.

AnnaLeah froze. The touch was feather-light, almost accidental—but it lingered, his skin impossibly cool against her own. Her breath caught in her throat.

She dared a glance up, only to find him already looking at her, his golden eyes steady, unreadable in the dim interior light. For a suspended moment, the storm outside seemed to fade, the only sound her own racing heartbeat.

Her cheeks flushed hot, contrasting sharply against the cold of his skin. She wanted to pull back, to break the tension—but some reckless part of her didn’t want to.

“I—uh, sorry,” she whispered, her fingers trembling as she slid the book fully into his hand.

Carlisle returned it to her lap with quiet precision, his voice low and smooth.
“No need to apologize.”

The way he said it… like the touch itself had been nothing to regret.

AnnaLeah clutched the stack of books against her chest, staring down at them though her mind was a whirl of fragments: cool skin, golden eyes, steady voice. Could he feel it too—that electric pull sparking between them?

Her pulse hammered so loud in her ears she was certain he must hear it.

She turned back toward the window, watching rain snake across the glass, trying to steady her breathing. And yet her fingers still tingled where they had touched his, as if some invisible thread had been woven between them.

The books sat safely in her lap again, but her fingers refused to stop trembling. No matter how tightly she hugged them, the memory of Carlisle’s cool touch lingered, echoing like a secret she couldn’t shake.

She dared a glance at him from her peripheral. His profile was illuminated softly by the dashboard glow: sharp jawline, composed expression, golden eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. He looked utterly at ease, as though driving through a storm with a teenage girl clutching horror novels beside him was the most ordinary thing in the world.

But it wasn’t ordinary. Not for her.

AnnaLeah pressed her cheek to the window briefly, watching the storm smear the streetlights into hazy streaks. She tried to breathe in deeply, to calm the heat creeping into her skin. It didn’t help—the car smelled faintly of him, cedarwood threaded with citrus, wrapping around her like invisible arms.

She fiddled with the zipper on her hoodie, trying to distract herself. You’re being ridiculous, she scolded silently. He’s older. He’s your cousin’s doctor. He’s… Carlisle Cullen.

And yet her mind betrayed her anyway, wandering where it shouldn’t. Imagining his hand lingering just a little longer. Wondering what it would feel like if he ever smiled at her in that secret, dangerous way she only read about in books.

The silence stretched, broken only by the rain and the hum of the heater. She thought she might drown in it until he spoke.

“Did you find what you were looking for in Port Angeles?” His voice was calm, measured—but it tugged at her like velvet against her skin.

AnnaLeah swallowed, hugging her books tighter. “Too much, actually,” she admitted with a nervous laugh. “I… lost track of time in the bookstore. Like always.”

The corner of his mouth curved slightly, his eyes still on the road. “A good place to lose time.”

Her chest tightened at the quiet understanding in his tone. For a moment she wondered if he could hear her heart racing, if he knew the chaos inside her head.

She turned back to the window quickly, cheeks burning, but the smallest smile tugged at her lips.

For the rest of the drive, she sat cocooned in warmth and stormlight, clinging to the memory of his hand against hers, knowing she’d replay it over and over in the privacy of her dreams.

The storm pressed heavy against the Mercedes as Carlisle guided the car along the slick, winding road back toward Forks. His hands rested steady on the wheel, but inside he was anything but calm.

He could still feel it.

The brush of her skin against his, fleeting and innocent, but seared into him like a brand. Her warmth had clung to his cold hand, the echo of her pulse racing loud in his ears. It wasn’t thirst that burned in him now—it was something far more dangerous.

He forced his gaze to remain forward, though every fiber of him wanted to glance sideways, to steal another look at the small girl curled in his passenger seat. AnnaLeah. Hugging her books like armor, eyes darting between the storm and him, cheeks faintly flushed.

The scent of her—peony and crisp apple—coiled around him, almost unbearable in the close space of the car. He’d offered her his hoodie days ago, not realizing how intoxicating it would be to smell himself on her, mixed now with her own soft fragrance.

Monster. The word pressed sharp against his thoughts. What sort of man—what sort of thing—felt this way about someone so young, so fragile, someone who trusted him implicitly?

And yet he could not deny the truth: he wanted.

Wanted to reach for her hand again, wanted to keep her warm, wanted to drown in her dark, soulful eyes until the centuries of loneliness fell away.

Carlisle’s jaw tightened. He had centuries of discipline, endless practice at restraint, but this—this was different. She was different. He had walked through wars, through plagues, through temptation and ruin, and never had his resolve felt so fragile.

He drew in a slow breath, centering himself, speaking softly to fill the silence between them.
“A good place to lose time,” he’d said, meaning it more than she could know. Because near her, hours felt like minutes, and centuries like nothing.

When the familiar lights of Forks finally came into view, Carlisle felt a pang sharper than he expected. Relief—because the drive was over and his control would not be tested further. Loss—because stepping out of the car meant losing the warmth of her presence, the fragile, dangerous peace he’d felt with her only inches away.

He slowed before the Swan house, headlights cutting across the driveway. She turned toward him, offering him a shy, grateful smile. It was enough to undo him all over again.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice nearly drowned by the storm.

Carlisle inclined his head, holding his voice steady. “Always.”

He watched her disappear into the safety of her home, her braid dark against the rain, before pulling away into the night. Only then did he allow himself the truth.

He could not stay away.

Chapter Text

Chapter Fifteen: The Quiet Fracture

Carlisle POV

The Cullen house was dark, serene, the storm outside muffled by thick glass and polished wood. Carlisle slipped through the front door with practiced quiet, but he knew it was pointless. His family would sense him.

Edward’s head lifted first from where he sat at the piano, fingers suspended above the keys. A flicker of something unreadable passed over his face, and then his gaze sharpened, almost too sharp.

“You lingered in Port Angeles.” Edward’s tone wasn’t accusing, not yet, but there was weight in the words.

Carlisle’s jaw tightened as he slid off his coat, hanging it neatly by the door. “I had business there.”

Edward’s eyes narrowed slightly. Carlisle knew what business he’d seen, what fragmented thoughts he’d caught in AnnaLeah’s head: books, storm, vampire. Perhaps even the stray word—handsome. His son would never say it aloud, but the awareness pressed between them like a crack in glass.

From the couch, Rosalie’s gaze swept over him, suspicious, calculating. Jasper’s head tilted, expression faintly curious but reserved, while Alice sat too still, her golden eyes fixed on a point beyond Carlisle as though waiting for a vision to clarify itself.

Esme wasn’t here to soften the room.

Carlisle straightened his shoulders, crossing into the living room as though nothing weighed on him at all. But inside, the ghost of AnnaLeah’s touch still clung to his hand, searing, impossible to ignore.

“Port Angeles is hardly a place for wandering at night,” Rosalie said coolly, though her eyes glinted with something sharper—accusation, perhaps.

Carlisle let the comment pass without reaction. He had centuries of practice in calmness, after all. Centuries of being their anchor.

But Edward’s gaze lingered. Too knowing. Too close.

“You’re… distracted,” Edward murmured finally.

Carlisle met his son’s eyes. For a heartbeat, silence held them both, heavy with truths neither dared to speak aloud. Then Carlisle turned away, his voice even.

“Perhaps I am tired.”

A lie. They all knew it.

But no one pressed further, not yet. The storm lashed against the windows, and Carlisle climbed the stairs to his study, each step echoing with the truth he carried like a forbidden flame:

He could not stop thinking of her.

Sleep came late, broken into restless fragments. Each time AnnaLeah closed her eyes, she was back in the car—rain drumming against the roof, the heater humming softly, his profile etched in the glow of the dashboard.

And that moment.

His hand brushing hers.

She curled tighter beneath her blanket, Carlisle’s hoodie wrapped snug around her small frame. The scent of him still lingered in the fabric—cedarwood and citrus, grounding her, overwhelming her. She pressed her nose against the sleeve, eyes fluttering shut, and the ache in her chest softened into something warmer, almost sweet.

Her dreams blurred reality with fantasy. She saw golden eyes watching her in the storm, a velvet voice whispering promises only she could hear. Sometimes he was close enough to touch; sometimes she reached for him and found only shadows.

When morning light crept through her blinds, her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted as though she’d been whispering his name in her sleep.

She dressed slowly, choosing her jeans and simple shirt, but it was the hoodie she pulled on last. It dwarfed her frame, sleeves falling over her hands, but she didn’t care. It was her tether, her secret armor.

Downstairs, Bella raised an eyebrow when she caught sight of it but didn’t comment. Charlie just sipped his coffee, distracted by the morning news.

At school, though, it was different. The Cullens noticed. AnnaLeah felt it like static across her skin—eyes on her as she crossed the parking lot, clutching her books close. Edward’s gaze lingered too long, Alice tilted her head with faint curiosity, and Rosalie’s glower was sharp enough to cut.

AnnaLeah ducked her head, braid slipping forward to shield her face, pretending she didn’t feel the weight of their stares.

She only tightened her grip on the hoodie’s sleeves, letting the familiar scent surround her. Whatever the Cullens thought, whatever their golden eyes hid—this small piece of Carlisle was hers.

And she wasn’t ready to let it go.

Carlisle POV

He hadn’t expected to see her that morning. His rounds at the hospital had run late, and he’d only come to campus for a brief consultation with the school nurse. But when he stepped into the hallway, the current of voices and footsteps parting around him, he saw her.

AnnaLeah.

The world slowed, narrowed. She stood just beyond the lockers, her head bent slightly as she shifted books against her chest. Her braid slid forward like a curtain, hiding half her face—yet he saw everything.

She was wearing it.

His hoodie.

The sight struck him harder than it should have. The dark fabric swallowed her delicate frame, the sleeves too long, the hem grazing her thighs. It was unmistakably his, and yet on her it looked as though it belonged, as though it had always been meant to keep her warm.

Her small hands clutched the cuffs, drawing the sleeves tight around her knuckles. He didn’t need Edward’s gift to sense what it meant—she was holding onto him, even here, in front of everyone.

The monster in him thrilled at it. The man in him ached.

Fool, he chastised himself silently, turning his gaze away before it lingered too long. But not before he caught Rosalie’s sharp glance flicking toward him, suspicion in every line of her expression.

Carlisle forced his posture into its usual calm, hands folded neatly behind his back as though he hadn’t noticed anything at all. But inside, the truth burned.

She carried him against her skin.

She’d chosen it. Chosen him.

He drew a careful breath, retreating down the corridor before his mask slipped further. His resolve was a fragile, fraying thread—and with every small, innocent thing she did, she pulled it tighter, closer to breaking.

The family gathered in the living room as twilight deepened, the storm clouds outside casting the house in dusky shadow. Carlisle had retreated to his study hours earlier, the quiet click of the door still echoing in everyone’s memory.

Rosalie broke the silence first.

“She was wearing his hoodie.” The words were clipped, sharp, her golden eyes flashing. “Do none of you see how inappropriate this is?”

Emmett leaned back in his chair, brows lifting. “Rose, come on—it’s a hoodie. People borrow clothes all the time.”

Rosalie turned on him, her glare like knives. “Not his. Not Carlisle’s. He doesn’t… he doesn’t give things away like that. And she clung to it like it was a lifeline.”

Edward sat apart at the piano, fingers grazing silent keys. His jaw was tight, his voice low. “She dreams about him. Constantly. Fragments slip through—his eyes, his voice, the way his hand felt when it brushed hers.”

Alice tilted her head, her gaze unfocused for a moment, as though trying to catch a slippery vision. “It’s blurry,” she admitted. “But I see threads binding them. Choices neither of them have made yet. It could become… more.”

Rosalie hissed softly. “More? She’s a child. He’s supposed to be above this.”

Jasper’s voice cut through quietly, calm but weighted. “Her emotions around him aren’t childish. They’re conflicted—fear, longing, curiosity. But strong.” He paused, eyes flicking toward the ceiling where Carlisle’s study lay above. “And his emotions… are harder to ignore.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Edward finally exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “He’s fighting it. He always fights. But…” His eyes shadowed, unreadable. “This time, I’m not certain it will be enough.”

Alice’s lips curved into something small and sad. “The storm has already started.”

Rosalie crossed her arms, her fury edged with fear. “Then we’d better decide if we’re going to let it destroy us—or stop it before it does.”

Carlisle POV

The low murmur of voices drifted up through the floorboards, more easily discerned than any mortal sound. He had not meant to listen—he never sought out their judgments, their private councils—but their words carried clearly through the wood and silence of the house.

“…wearing his hoodie.” Rosalie’s voice, sharp as shattered glass.

Carlisle closed his eyes.

The pause, then Emmett’s half-hearted defense, Alice’s wistful tone, Jasper’s quiet weight. But it was Edward’s words that cut through most mercilessly.

“She dreams about him. Constantly.”

Carlisle’s breath caught, a reflex of shame more than need. He had suspected—he had seen the flicker in AnnaLeah’s gaze, the way she held herself around him—but to hear it aloud, spoken into the family’s shared air, was unbearable.

She should dream of boys her own age. Of futures untouched by shadows. Not… this.

Then Rosalie again, furious, disgusted. “She’s a child. He’s supposed to be above this.”

And Jasper, soft but steady: “His emotions… are harder to ignore.”

Carlisle leaned forward in his chair, elbows braced on his knees, his hands pressed hard together as though in prayer. They could all see it. They could all feel it. The centuries of restraint, of distance he had so carefully maintained, fraying because of one fragile girl with eyes too deep, too knowing.

The shame burned colder than his skin, but beneath it—worse—was something else. The smallest, most selfish whisper of relief. That they had named it for him. That his torment was no longer silent.

Alice’s words floated up last, delicate and damning: The storm has already started.

Carlisle rose then, silently. He could not listen further. If he did, he feared they would hear not only his guilt but the raw edge of his longing—and that was something he could not bear to share, not even with his family.

He crossed to the window, staring out into the endless dark of the forest. His reflection stared back faintly in the glass: pale, inhuman, monstrous. And yet all he could think of was the way she had looked in his hoodie, sleeves swallowing her hands, her eyes softened by something like safety.

His voice was barely a whisper. “God forgive me.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Sixteen Masks and Shadows

The cafeteria buzzed with the kind of restless energy only a Friday before a school dance could bring. Orange and black streamers dangled from the ceiling, a paper skeleton grinned from the far wall, and the smell of pizza clung heavy in the air.

AnnaLeah balanced her tray, weaving through the tables. She felt them before she saw them—those eyes.

The Cullens.

Alice’s gaze was bright, almost pleading. Jasper’s lingered on her a little too long, as though he was trying to decipher something beneath her skin. Edward sat beside Bella now—Bella who looked flustered and shy, her cheeks pink with excitement since she had asked him to the dance. Rosalie’s expression was the sharpest of all: cold, cutting, her golden eyes like shards of amber glass.

It wasn’t just Rosalie’s hostility that unsettled AnnaLeah, though that was clear as day—it was the way the others stared. Not cruel, but heavy. Weighted. Like they knew something she didn’t.

Alice leaned forward suddenly, her bell-like voice carrying across the noise of the room.
“AnnaLeah, come sit with us.”

For a heartbeat, she almost said yes. Alice’s smile was warm, inviting. But then Rosalie’s glare sliced across the space between them, and AnnaLeah’s stomach sank. She couldn’t. Not when she already felt like an intruder in their world.

She forced a small smile, shaking her head. “Thanks, but I’ll sit with Kellan today.”

Relief and disappointment tangled in Alice’s expression.

Sliding into her seat across from Kellan, AnnaLeah felt lighter almost instantly. He grinned at her, all eager energy and rough-edged charm. Today he was dressed entirely in black, his hair slicked back with too much gel, his skin dusted pale with makeup.

“What do you think?” he asked, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Practice run for next week.”

AnnaLeah blinked at him, then laughed before she could stop herself. He really was trying—throwing himself fully into the idea of the dance. And for a moment, it felt nice to be wanted without complication.

“You look… convincing,” she teased, shaking her head. “A little too enthusiastic, maybe.”

He grinned wider. “Good. I want to look the part. If you’re going as a vampire, I’m not showing up half-done.”

Her chest tightened faintly at that word—vampire. She couldn’t help but glance toward the Cullens’ table. Their perfect, pale faces framed against the dullness of the cafeteria, like art misplaced in the wrong gallery.

Rosalie was still watching her.

AnnaLeah tore her gaze away, smiling tightly at Kellan, willing herself to stay grounded in the ordinary.

At least Kellan was safe. Human.

Wasn’t he?

Carlisle POV

The shift was quiet at the hospital, the kind of lull where the steady rhythm of heart monitors and distant footsteps filled the silence more than any patient’s voice. Carlisle welcomed the quiet—it kept his thoughts contained, at least for a time.

But when Alice slipped into his office at the end of the day, he knew before she spoke that his fragile calm was about to shatter.

“She didn’t sit with us today,” Alice said, her tone light but threaded with meaning. “She chose Kellan instead.”

Carlisle’s pen paused above the chart he’d been filling out. He set it down slowly, deliberately, so his hands would not tremble. “Kellan?”

“The boy who asked her to the dance,” Alice explained, watching him too closely. “He’s very… committed. Wore all black today. Even used makeup to pale his skin. He’s trying hard to impress her.”

For a moment, Carlisle said nothing. He only folded his hands together atop the desk, staring down at them as though they belonged to someone else.

Kellan. A boy with flushed cheeks, a beating heart, a future unshadowed by blood or immortality. A boy who could give her everything Carlisle could not.

He should feel relief. Gratitude, even. If AnnaLeah gravitated toward Kellan, if she chose a human path, then she would be spared the danger Carlisle embodied. She would laugh, fall in love, grow old, live fully.

But instead, an ache bloomed in his chest, sharp and consuming. The thought of her smile turned toward another—toward anyone but him—was unbearable.

Alice tilted her head, her expression gentle but knowing. “She still wore your hoodie.”

The words lodged deep, painful and sweet all at once. Carlisle looked up at Alice then, his composure slipping just enough for her to see the truth in his eyes.

“This cannot continue,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “She deserves a life untouched by… me.”

Alice’s lips curved into the faintest, saddest smile. “Maybe. But try telling her heart that.”

Carlisle turned his gaze to the window, to the silver rain streaking down the glass. His reflection stared back—pale, inhuman, a monster wrapped in a doctor’s skin.

And still, all he could think of was her laughter. Her warmth. The fragile girl in his hoodie, sitting beside a boy who was safe when he was anything but.

By Monday the cafeteria decorations had multiplied—more pumpkins, more cobwebs, and a dangling paper bat that swayed each time someone walked past. AnnaLeah sat across from Bella, Kellan beside her, poking at his mashed potatoes with theatrical disinterest.

“So,” Bella said, nudging AnnaLeah’s arm, “you realize after this dance, your birthday will be the next big thing. February isn’t that far away.”

AnnaLeah rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. “It’s months away, Bella. And besides, birthdays are overrated.”

“Not eighteen,” Bella pressed, grinning. “That’s the adult one. License, contracts, voting—all the glamorous responsibilities.”

Kellan perked up. “Eighteen in February? That’s perfect. We could throw you a party. Maybe a theme party—vampires again?” He waggled his eyebrows, clearly proud of himself.

AnnaLeah laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re obsessed.”

But her gaze drifted, almost without her permission, toward the Cullens’ table. Alice caught her eye and smiled knowingly, like she’d already bought the candles. Jasper’s expression was harder to read, Edward looked vaguely pained, and Rosalie—Rosalie’s stare was sharp enough to cut.

AnnaLeah ducked her head, fingers tugging unconsciously at the cuff of the hoodie she still hadn’t returned. The mention of turning eighteen lingered in her mind long after Bella had changed the subject, the words echoing with a weight she couldn’t quite name.

Carlisle POV

Edward’s thoughts brushed against his own like a whisper carried on the wind. Carlisle had grown used to the younger vampire’s unspoken commentary, though Edward rarely shared AnnaLeah’s fragments aloud unless compelled. Today, however, the boy’s restraint seemed frayed.

Her birthday is in February. Eighteen. She’s already thinking about it.

Carlisle’s hand tightened imperceptibly around the pen he held. He made a note in a chart that he immediately realized was illegible and set it aside.

Eighteen.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at nothing, the word echoing in his mind. He had known her age of course, knew she was still caught between the fragile world of childhood and the sharper edges of adulthood. But hearing it framed this way—so close, so final—sent something like panic rippling through him.

Legal. Independent. No longer a child in the eyes of the world.

And yet, in his eyes… she would always be fragile. Flesh and blood, heartbeat and warmth. The one thing he could never touch without destroying.

Still, the thought of her stepping across that invisible threshold, leaving behind the last veil of innocence, filled him with a longing he had no right to feel.

Eighteen.

His family would see it as confirmation of their fears—proof that his thoughts had strayed into dangerous territory. Rosalie would be merciless, Edward silent but condemning, Alice perhaps even hopeful. None of it mattered. Carlisle condemned himself more harshly than any of them could.

He pressed his fingertips together beneath his chin, bowing his head as though in prayer. “Lord, grant me strength,” he murmured, the words too quiet for human ears but not for his own.

Through the window, the rain blurred the world into silver streaks. And still, behind his eyes, he saw her—AnnaLeah, small and breakable, tugging the sleeve of his hoodie to her chin, laughter soft as breath.

A girl counting down to eighteen.
And a man who could not allow himself to count with her.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seventeen: The Dance of Shadows

The house smelled faintly of curling iron spray and the vanilla lotion Bella always used. AnnaLeah stood in front of the mirror in Bella’s room, smoothing down the black velvet of her dress for the hundredth time. The silver lace trim caught the light with every shift, making her look more gothic than she’d ever dared before.

Bella fussed with her own hair, cheeks pink with nerves. “I still can’t believe I asked him,” she muttered, glancing at her reflection.

“You did,” AnnaLeah said with a small smile, pulling her braid over one shoulder. “So there’s no turning back now.”

Bella sighed, then caught AnnaLeah’s eye in the mirror. “At least I’ll be eighteen for this dance. Makes it feel less… high school, I guess.”

AnnaLeah smirked faintly. “Yeah, rub it in. You’re the adult now, and I’m still the kid. But just wait—come February, I’ll catch up.”

Bella’s lips curved, and she reached over to squeeze her cousin’s hand. “We’ll survive the teenage years together. Promise.”

Downstairs, headlights flared against the rain-streaked windows. Bella peeked through the curtain and whispered, “He’s here.” Edward’s sleek silver Volvo gleamed in the drive, impossibly out of place in the drizzle-soaked street.

Before AnnaLeah could say anything, another set of headlights cut across the yard. She blinked, her lips parting as the vehicle rolled into view. Black, boxy, unmistakable.

“Oh my God,” she murmured.

Kellan stepped out of a rented hearse, grinning from ear to ear. He wore a black suit, a red tie knotted at his throat, and his face was pale with makeup, his hair slicked back like something out of an old movie. He threw his arms wide when he spotted her in the window.

“Your chariot awaits!” he called.

Bella pressed her fist to her mouth, stifling her laughter. “He did not.”

AnnaLeah buried her face in her hands for a moment, shoulders shaking between horror and amusement. When she finally looked up again, Kellan was leaning against the hearse like it was the smoothest move in the world.

She exhaled, resigned and oddly touched. “Well,” she muttered, “at least he’s committed.”

Clutching her little black clutch and tugging the sleeve of Carlisle’s hoodie one last time before she left it folded neatly on her bed, AnnaLeah squared her shoulders. Tonight was going to be… something.

The living room was quieter than usual, tension strung tight as each of them prepared in their own way.

Alice stood near the windows, her fingers tapping a rhythm against the glass. Her visions had been coming in fragments all day: flashes of velvet, silver lace, headlights sweeping across wet pavement. The threads always converged on AnnaLeah.

“She looks beautiful,” Alice said softly, her eyes far away.

Rosalie snorted from her seat on the couch, arms crossed. “She’s a child in a costume, nothing more.”

“Children don’t wear looks like the ones she gives Carlisle,” Jasper murmured. His voice was quiet but firm, weighted with the emotions he had absorbed too many times.

Edward sat at the piano, not playing, his jaw tight. “She won’t sit with us. Not after Rosalie’s hostility. And now she’s going with that boy…” He trailed off, his mouth a hard line.

“Kellan,” Emmett supplied, smirking faintly. “The one who rented a hearse. You’ve got to admit, that’s kind of funny.”

Rosalie shot him a glare, but even Jasper’s lips tugged in the smallest ghost of a smile.

Edward cut them off. “He’s harmless. His thoughts are shallow, unthreatening. He wants her attention, nothing more. But she’s… unsettled.” His golden eyes flicked toward Carlisle’s closed study door upstairs. “Because her thoughts are never really with him.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Alice finally spoke, her voice soft but certain. “She’s going to be tested tonight. So is Carlisle. The question is whether either of them is strong enough to withstand it.”

Rosalie scoffed, but her glare softened with something closer to fear than disdain. “If he falters, we all pay the price.”

The hearse rumbled to a stop outside Forks High, its headlights sweeping across the gymnasium doors decorated with fake cobwebs and grinning plastic pumpkins. AnnaLeah smoothed her hands nervously down her skirt, fingers brushing against the velvet folds of her costume.

Beside her, Kellan grinned proudly, the black eyeliner smudged just enough to make him look like he hadn’t slept in centuries. His hair was slicked back with too much gel, and the heavy cloak he wore dragged across the ground as he opened her door with a theatrical bow.

“Lady of the night,” he teased, offering his hand. “Your chariot has arrived.”

AnnaLeah couldn’t help it — she laughed. For a moment, the nerves knotted in her chest loosened. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, “but you’re smiling. That’s a win.”

The gym smelled of waxed floors and apple cider, strings of orange lights casting everything in an eerie glow. Students swirled past in capes and costumes, laughter and music tangling in the air. Somewhere across the room, she saw Bella, clinging nervously to Edward’s arm. He bent his head close to her, speaking low, while Alice and Jasper hovered nearby.

AnnaLeah’s stomach twisted. She tugged at the sleeves of her velvet dress, suddenly too aware of the hoodie folded neatly at home, still carrying Carlisle’s scent. She wished she’d worn it, even if it didn’t match her costume.

Kellan leaned close. “So… on a scale of one to ten, how much do I look like I belong in Dracula’s castle?”

She smirked despite herself. “Six. Maybe seven if you stop talking.”

He laughed, unbothered, and guided her toward the refreshment table. But even as she smiled at his effort, her gaze strayed—toward the doors, half-expecting, half-hoping to see a flash of pale gold hair in the crowd.

He wasn’t here. Of course he wasn’t. He had better things to do than lurk in a high school gym. Still, the disappointment stung more than she wanted to admit.

And when Edward’s head suddenly lifted across the room, his golden eyes narrowing as though he’d just caught the edges of her drifting thoughts, AnnaLeah looked away quickly, her cheeks burning.

The music pulsed through the gym floor, a throb in her ribs that made it impossible to relax. Kellan was enthusiastic — too enthusiastic. His limbs flailed in sharp jerks, his cloak catching on chairs, the hem nearly tripping her twice.

“Sorry!” he shouted over the beat, stepping on her toes for the third time.

AnnaLeah forced a smile, laughing weakly. “You’re… really into this.”

He grinned, oblivious. “We’re killing it!”

But then he stumbled, one hand gripping her arm too tightly, his face paling under the dim orange lights. He muttered something, his words slurring. Before she could react, he turned and bolted, nearly colliding with a group of witches near the doorway.

AnnaLeah blinked after him, stunned. Her eyes landed on the punch bowl. Bright red liquid shimmered under the lights, and suddenly her stomach felt warm — too warm. She pressed a hand to her temple.

Oh.

Someone had spiked the punch.

The room tilted faintly, the shadows along the gym walls stretching too long, too dark. She tried to focus, tried to breathe, but her thoughts scattered, her heart racing with something she couldn’t quite name.

“AnnaLeah.”

Bella’s voice cut through the noise. She was at her side in a heartbeat, Edward looming just behind her, his expression dark, unreadable. Bella’s hand gripped hers, firm, steady. “You’re not okay.”

“I’m fine,” AnnaLeah whispered, though her words tangled, betraying her. “Just—just warm.”

Bella shot Edward a desperate look. “She can’t go home like this. Charlie will… you know.”

Edward’s golden eyes flicked toward AnnaLeah, then narrowed at something Bella couldn’t hear. His jaw clenched.

Alice appeared then, bright and calm as ever, though her gaze was sharper than glass. “She’ll come with us. She’ll be safe at the house.”

AnnaLeah blinked, trying to understand. “The… Cullen house?” Her voice was thick, hazy.

Alice only smiled. “Exactly.”

Before she knew it, the night was sliding into something surreal — Edward’s steady grip guiding her through the crowd, Bella murmuring reassurances, Alice’s hand light at her elbow. The decorations, the laughter, the fake cobwebs — all of it blurred into shadow as the crisp night air hit her face outside.

She was going to the Cullens’.

Her pulse stumbled, her thoughts chasing themselves in circles. Maybe it was the spiked punch. Maybe it was something else entirely.

The house was too quiet. Too still.

Rosalie paced in front of the wide windows, her arms folded tight. “This is a mistake. Bringing her here—when she’s like that? What if she remembers too much? What if she notices too much?”

“She won’t,” Alice said softly, her voice calm but unyielding. “Not tonight. This is how it’s meant to happen.”

Emmett leaned against the banister, grinning faintly. “Come on, Rose. It’s not like she hasn’t already noticed half of it. The girl’s sharp.”

“That’s the problem,” Rosalie snapped.

Jasper, quiet near the fireplace, let out a slow breath. “Her emotions are… clouded. Unsteady. The alcohol dulls them, but underneath—” He paused, brow furrowed. “She’s afraid. And longing. Those two keep circling each other like fire and ice.”

Edward entered then, his expression stormy. Bella trailed behind him, visibly worried.

“She can’t go home,” Bella said quickly, as though anticipating their arguments. “Charlie would…” She shook her head. “He’d never understand.”

Esme’s absence left a hollow echo in the room, but her presence was felt in the way Carlisle’s study door stood closed upstairs — the faint hum of his thoughts hidden from Edward, but his unease palpable.

“Carlisle will know what to do,” Alice said finally, her gaze flicking toward the stairs.

Rosalie gave a sharp, bitter laugh. “Of course. Because he always knows what to do, doesn’t he?”

Edward’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “Enough, Rosalie.”

But even as the words cut through the tension, headlights swept across the driveway, and the room fell silent.

She was here.

The low murmur of voices carried up to my study, but I didn’t need to hear their words to know what they spoke of. I had already sensed it the moment Edward and Alice decided: AnnaLeah was being brought here.

I closed the medical text in front of me, though I hadn’t been reading it. My fingers lingered on the spine, steady though my thoughts were anything but.

A human girl. Barely seventeen. Vulnerable, flushed with the fog of spiked punch she hadn’t known she was drinking. And she would walk through my door.

Our world was not meant to touch hers. Yet every day, every chance encounter, had drawn her closer. And tonight—tonight she was about to step fully into it.

I descended the stairs just as headlights cut through the windows. Rosalie’s pacing ceased, her glare sharp as a blade. Alice, serene as ever, folded her hands in front of her like she’d been waiting for a play to begin.

Then the door opened.

Edward stepped inside first, his expression tight, followed by Bella, her eyes protective and anxious. And there she was between them—small, fragile, her damp hair curling at the edges from the mist outside, her cheeks flushed an unnatural rose.

Her scent hit me first, as it always did—peony and crisp apple, sweet and sharp in equal measure. But now it was tinged with something else: warmth, dizziness, vulnerability. It clung to her like a whisper of danger.

She swayed slightly, and I stepped forward before I realized I had moved. “AnnaLeah,” I said gently, my voice softer than the storm building in my chest. “You’re safe here.”

Her dark eyes lifted to mine then, heavy-lidded but searching, and for one impossible heartbeat, I wished—foolishly, selfishly—that she saw me not as the monster I was, but simply as a man.

“Carlisle,” she whispered, his name like a prayer.

Behind me, I heard Rosalie’s sharp inhale. Edward’s jaw clenched. But in that moment, none of it mattered.

All that mattered was her.

Carlisle’s POV

Her weight shifted slightly against Edward’s steady hand, but her gaze never left mine. There was something both disarming and dangerous in that focus, as though the fog in her mind stripped away every barrier she normally held between us.

“Upstairs,” I said quietly, taking a step forward. “She should lie down for a while.”

Edward hesitated, his golden eyes narrowing. He heard what I did not dare think. But after a heartbeat he nodded, and together we steered her toward the wide staircase.

She clung to the banister as though the polished wood might anchor her. The faint scent of alcohol clung to her breath, though it was more subtle than the bitter tang from Kellan earlier. She must not have had much, but enough to make her cheeks glow, enough to make her steps falter.

Alice was waiting at the top of the stairs, a folded blanket in her hands. She smiled, though her expression was layered with quiet calculation. “This way,” she murmured, guiding us to the guest room Esme once loved to decorate for visitors.

The door opened onto pale walls and a neatly made bed. Too pristine, too sterile—hardly fitting for the girl before me. Still, it was safe.

I gestured for her to sit, and she lowered herself onto the edge of the mattress with a soft sigh, her small frame sinking into the quilt. She tugged absentmindedly at the sleeves of her velvet dress, her eyelids heavy.

“Carlisle,” she said again, his name a soft exhale that pulled at something deep within me.

I crouched to her level, careful not to move too close, though every instinct urged me nearer. “Yes, AnnaLeah. I’m here.”

Her gaze sharpened suddenly, cutting through the fog in a way that startled me. For a breathless moment, the intoxication seemed to fall away, leaving only raw honesty in its wake.

“Carlisle…” Her voice trembled, but her eyes did not waver. “Your eyes… they’re golden.”

I froze, my carefully constructed calm fracturing.

And then—her hand lifted. So small, so human, trembling slightly as it reached toward me. Before I could move, her fingertips brushed my cheek. The contact was delicate, reverent, and yet it seared me more than fire could.

Her brow furrowed, her lips parting. “Your skin,” she whispered, almost to herself. “It’s cold.”

My control strained to the breaking point, but before I could draw away, her next words fell into the stillness, quiet but undeniable.

“I know what you are.”

The room tilted. Every instinct demanded I retreat, deny, protect her from the enormity of that truth. But her eyes—those dark, soulful eyes—held me fast. There was no fear in them. Only certainty.

I drew in a breath I didn’t need, steadying myself. “AnnaLeah…” My voice was softer than the whisper of the rain against the window. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

But even as I said it, I knew she did.

She had seen me, imagined me, perhaps long before this night. And now, with the veil of inhibition torn away, she had spoken the words I feared most—and longed for in equal measure.

Edward’s sharp inhale in the doorway broke the fragile stillness, his thoughts pressing against me like an accusation. She knows.

I closed my eyes briefly. This was not how it was meant to happen.

And yet, perhaps, it was inevitable.

Carlisle’s POV

Her words still hung between us, fragile but unshakable: I know what you are.

I should have denied it. I should have smiled gently, soothed her into believing she had imagined it. That would have been the safe path. The right path.

But her fingers lingered against my cheek, trembling yet steady in their intent. And her eyes—dark, fathomless—held me in a way no one ever had.

I couldn’t lie to her.

“Yes,” I whispered, the word slipping past my restraint before I could stop it. My voice was low, roughened by truths long buried. “You’re right.”

Her breath hitched, her lashes fluttering as if her body fought to stay awake. “I knew it,” she murmured, her lips curving faintly. “Beautiful… and terrible.”

The honesty in her words struck me like a blade. For centuries, I had carried the certainty of what I was: a monster tempered only by discipline and denial. Yet here, in this fragile girl’s whisper, I was something else.

“You should fear me,” I said softly, forcing the words past the ache in my chest. “You should run from me, AnnaLeah. Not reach for me.”

Her hand slid weakly back into her lap, her body sinking against the pillows as sleep pulled at her. But her last words—half-breathed, half-dreamed—shattered every wall I had built.

“I could never fear you, Carlisle.”

Her eyes closed, lashes brushing pale skin, and her breathing evened as slumber claimed her.

I sat frozen beside the bed, her confession and my own hanging in the quiet room like a vow neither of us had meant to speak aloud.

And for the first time in centuries, I was truly afraid.

Not for her. For me.