Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Zoe Clark used to have ordinary dreams.

As a child, she dreamed of the ocean, even though she’d never seen it - of turquoise waves lapping against white sand, of gulls crying overhead and salt on the wind. She dreamed of places she’d only read about: wide deserts glowing under the sun, green hills that rolled into forever, cities sparkling with lights like constellations pulled to earth.

And, like all children, she had her share of nightmares - shadowy, shapeless fears that chased her through hallways, dreams where she forgot her homework or showed up to class with no shoes. They were typical, harmless, forgettable.

Until they weren’t.

The shift happened slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. Her dreams began to center around a man she didn’t know. He was older - handsome, blonde, with eyes that sometimes held warmth, sometimes sorrow - but always familiar. She didn’t know his name, but she knew his voice in her sleep before she’d ever heard it in the waking world. In her dreams, he knew her. He spoke to her like they had a history. Like he was waiting for her.

Then the nightmare began. Not nightmares - just one. Always the same.

Zoe and the man would lie side by side in a field, the tall grass swaying around them, bathed in amber sunlight. It should have been peaceful, and for a moment, it was. Then they would tense, eyes snapping toward the horizon as figures emerged - silent, sudden, red-eyed. Their presence felt like a shadow spreading across her skin.

And every time, right before she woke, she would feel the man’s hand grip her arm - tight with panic, with recognition. With fear.

She never told anyone about the dreams. They weren’t real. At least, that’s what she told herself.

But then her waking life became a nightmare.

It started the day Stefan Salvatore walked into Mystic Falls High, and with him came secrets - vampires, doppelgangers, Originals. With him came death.

Zoe’s dreams changed again. She stopped seeing the field. She stopped seeing the man. Instead, her sleep became a haunted theatre of memories. Klaus Mikaelson killing her father - cruel, efficient, grinning. The blood. The sound of a neck snapping. Klaus dragging her away as she screamed, sacrificed for a curse she never asked to be part of.

She dreamed of Jenna Sommers dying - sweet Jenna, who used to help her with math homework. She dreamed of Jules, the werewolf, looking at Zoe, scared. And Zoe dreamed of her friend, Elena… drained, lifeless.

Or maybe she wasn’t dreaming. Maybe she was remembering.

After the carnage, after the funerals, after everything, her Uncle Charlie came.

She hadn’t seen him in years - her mom’s half-brother, quiet and awkward, from a rainy little town in Washington. He didn’t ask too many questions. He didn’t flinch at her silences. When she asked if she could go back with him - just for a little while - he didn’t hesitate.

He didn’t need to know the truth. That Zoe wasn’t running from grief. She was running from Klaus. From the life Mystic Falls had forced on her. From the tether that bound her to someone she couldn’t afford to love.

Elena… had not.

Elena had cried, too, but in a different way. Angry. Desperate. Not ready to let go of someone who shared her face, her fate, her fear.

“Please, Zo.” Elena grabbed her hand. “Everything’s different. Jenna and Stefan are gone and…I don’t want to lose you, too.”

And Damon.

Damon had nearly made her stay.

While Zoe had managed to reason with Elena, there was no reasoning with Damon.

He didn’t do goodbyes. Not well, not quietly.

The night before her flight, he showed up on her porch without warning - just the sound of gravel crunching under boots and a bottle of bourbon swinging from his hand. No apology. No plan. Just Damon.

He didn’t speak at first. Just stood on the edge of the porch, staring at her like he could stop her with his icy blue eyes alone. Zoe, sitting on the top step with her duffel bag at her side, didn’t look away.

“If you’re looking for my permission,” he said eventually, voice low and even, “you’re not gonna get it.”

Zoe sighed. “I’m not asking for it.”

She looked tired. Not just physically, but worn-down in a way that made something in Damon’s chest twist—like grief wrapped in guilt wrapped in some sick version of love. She looked older than fifteen. And Damon hated that he had a part in that.

“I’m going, Damon,” she said quietly. “Not forever. But for now.”

He glanced at the house behind her, as if trying to see through the walls to all the ghosts left inside. “You’re not the only one who lost someone, you know. Stefan’s gone.”

“I know.” She kept her voice soft. “My uncle lost his sister. I lost my dad. Uncle Charlie… I need to be with him right now.”

“You’re lying.”

She flinched. Not because he was wrong - but because he wasn’t. She didn’t need her Uncle Charlie. She didn’t need anyone. She was Zoe Clark.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted. “But it makes it easier to leave.”

He stepped closer. “I risked my life for you, Zoe. You’re not just someone I saved - you’re not just - “

“I know what I am to you, Damon.” She stood, facing him fully now. “And you matter to me. You do. But if you throw that in my face to try and guilt me into staying, then you’re not really doing it for me, are you?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared at her with something wounded and burning behind his eyes.

“I didn’t have a John Gilbert with an ancient potion. I didn’t have a magic ring,” she said softly, “but I had you. I’ll always be grateful for that. You saved me.” 

A last ditch effort, a spell, binding his life to her’s. A bond that would never go away.

Damon’s jaw clenched. “You think I did all that just to let you go?”

“I think,” she said carefully, “that maybe that’s exactly why you did it. You could have turned me, but you didn’t because I don’t want to be a vampire. You knew we couldn’t always be together - one of us would have always had to leave eventually.”

They stood in silence. The weight of everything they weren’t saying pressed into the space between them. They’d never dated. They’d slept together - a few times - but never…she wasn’t Elena Gilbert. Zoe Clark was no more girlfriend material than Damon was ready to be a boyfriend. And even if they’d tried, Zoe would always question if Damon saw her, Zoe, or Katherine , and she couldn’t handle that.

“Zoe,” he said, voice low. “I feel you. Every minute. Every heartbeat, every spike of fear, every goddamn tear. Bonnie’s spell tied us together. I can’t not feel you. So when you leave… I lose half of myself.”

Zoe’s throat tightened. “We’ll still be connected.”

“It’s not the same.”

“No,” she whispered. “But it’s what we have.”

She reached for his hand, and he let her take it. His fingers were warm and steady. Hers were shaking and cold.

“It’s better this way,” she said. “For now. It’s safer if Elena and I aren’t in the same place. If Klaus finds out about me - about us -”

“I could compel you to stay,” he said suddenly, voice sharp and daring.

Zoe didn’t flinch. “You could.”

They locked eyes.

“Or,” she said, “you could let me go and trust that I’ll come back when I’m ready.”

Damon’s gaze dropped to their joined hands. “I feel like I’m losing you.”

“You’re not.”

Her grip tightened. “We’ll always be tied together, Damon. That bond - it’s not going anywhere. You’ll always mean something to me. You’ll always have me. But I need to figure out who I am without everything else defining me.”

He studied her face like he was trying to memorize it. Like he didn’t know if he’d ever see it again.

“You better not come back with some human boy toy,” he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual bite.

Zoe smirked, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I wouldn’t think of it. You’re a hard act to follow, Damon Salvatore.”

She didn’t tell him that she never planned to date anyone again. That her line - her cursed, hunted doppelganger bloodline - was going to end with her. No children. No risks. No more offerings to ancient magic.

Just an end.

“You’ll always know if I’m in trouble,” she said. “And I’ll know if you are. That’s the upside to being magically tethered to a stubborn, overprotective vampire.”

He laughed once—dry and hollow. “You really know how to flatter a guy.”

She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Goodbye, Damon.”

“Don’t make it forever.” He smiled sadly - a real smile, not his signature smirk. “You don’t have that long.”

Zoe smiled back. “It won’t be.”

Everyone respected Zoe’s final request. No goodbye party. No tears at the airport. No final walk through Mystic Falls.

Just Ric, her old history teacher turned reluctant vampire hunter, driving her and her uncle to the airport in silence. Zoe stared out the window the whole way, the trees blurring into streaks of green and gold.

She didn’t look back.

Mystic Falls faded behind her like a dream she didn’t want to remember.

But she knew she would.

Chapter Text

Returning to Forks didn’t feel like a homecoming. It wasn’t really, since Zoe had never lived here for more than a few weeks at a time as a child. Summers spent with Bella and Uncle Charlie after her mom died while her dad worked, Thanksgiving visits where her dad wrinkled his nose at Uncle Charlie’s fried fish bake, spring breaks when Uncle Charlie took her to the local rec center to learn to swim. But Forks had never been home - not truly. 

Forks would never be Zoe’s home, no matter how hard she tried, because Mystic Falls would always be her home. It was where her friends were - Bonnie, Caroline, Elena, Tyler, Matt - always waiting for her to come back. They were still waiting for her to come back, even if it would take longer this time. Home was where Stefan and Damon were, who protected her, even when they lied. Where Alaric Saltzman took her in the woods to learn to spar. 

Mystic Falls was the place she was born, the place she lost her parents, the place she made best friends, the place she became bound to Damon and learned she was a doppelganger, and the place where she died. There’d be no Zoe Clark without Mystic Falls or what happened in that small, unassuming town.

Forks was darker than Zoe remembered. The trees seemed taller somehow - older, closer, like they'd grown inward with the years. The clouds hung low and heavy, turning afternoon into something that felt more like dusk. It wasn’t eerie, exactly, but it wasn’t welcoming either. It just was —gray, damp, and familiar in the kind of way that made your chest ache without knowing why.

The air didn’t smell like Virginia, but it carried the same weight - wet pine, moss, and earth. And still, somehow, Forks reminded her of that day. The circle of fire. The forest around them going silent. Jenna and Jules, limp on the ground. Elena, barely breathing. Her father - gone, his heart ripped out like it was as easy as flipping on a light switch. Zoe remembered shaking, too numb to scream. And then the pain. The blood. Klaus draining her like she was nothing. Like it didn’t matter that she was only fifteen, that she had people who loved her, that she’d barely had a chance to live yet. And maybe she hadn’t mattered. Maybe she was just a girl who was born to die. Wasn’t that the curse of being a doppelganger?

The silence that followed—the heartbeat before her own started again - felt exactly like this.

Too still.

Too quiet.

She swallowed hard and pushed the memory down. But the trees felt like they were watching. And she hated that they reminded her what it felt like to die.

The rain had already started by the time they pulled into the driveway. Before they’d pulled into town, really.

Charlie cut the engine. “It’s not much,” he said, getting out and popping the trunk. “Hasn’t changed much since the last time you were here.”

Zoe followed him up the front steps. She didn’t pack much – just one duffel bag and a backpack slung over her shoulder. The rest of her things would be shipped later, if she even wanted them. Right now, she just wanted to sit down.

Charlie unlocked the door and pushed it open. “My room’s upstairs. Bella’s is too – not that she’s used it in a while. The attic’s where you’ll be, if it’s still livable. My buddy’s kid was supposed to clear it out while I was in Virginia. If he flaked, we’ll figure something out. You can bunk in Bella’s room for a bit.”

Zoe stepped inside and let the smell settle over her – wood polish, black coffee, and something faintly metallic from the baseboard heaters. It wasn’t her parents’ house on Cherry Street, or the Forbes’ on Green Mile, or Elena’s on Floyd Street. It wasn’t the Boarding House, either. It wasn’t home – but it wasn’t not home, either. It was quiet. Solid. Safe, at least. Miles away from where Klaus had killed her, thinking her body would never get back up.

“I’m sure it’s fine, Uncle Charlie,” she said softly, brushing a damp curl from her cheek. “I really appreciate you letting me stay here.”

Charlie glanced at her – really looked at her, for just a second. She was so much smaller than she used to be. Not just thinner, though she was that too. There was something carved-out about her. Hollow, but not fragile.

“I’m glad you’re here. Considering…”

“The circumstances.” Zoe nodded, finishing the thought.

She didn’t say the word funeral , and neither did he.

“I know things with Dad and you were always... complicated,” she continued. “But I think – I know – he would’ve appreciated you doing this. Taking me in.” Her dad would be happy she was far away from where Klaus would think to look for her. Far away from Damon and vampires, even if it meant she was with his estranged brother-in-law.

Charlie shrugged, his voice quiet. “We’re family, kid. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” A pause. “Besides, Forks is quiet. Might be good for you. Give you time.”

Zoe nodded again, though she wasn’t sure if that kind of time existed anymore. Not after everything.

“I’ll get you signed up for school in a few days,” Charlie added, making his way toward the kitchen. “We’ll pick up supplies when you’re ready. You’ve got, what, two more years?”

It wasn’t fair that she died at fifteen and she still had to go to high school.

“Yeah,” she said. “Just two.” 

And then, maybe, she could disappear for real. Travel far enough away that Klaus would never find her. Her friends could visit, but she’d be somewhere so remote that no one would stumble across her small house.

She’d be safe. Finally safe.

Later that night, after Charlie went to bed and the house slipped into stillness, Zoe stood at the window of the attic with her fingers pressed lightly to the glass.

Forks didn’t sleep – it brooded. The pine trees loomed in thick silhouettes against the dark sky. The porch light glowed weakly in the fog. Somewhere in the woods, something moved – a rustle, a breath, maybe just the wind.

Zoe couldn’t feel Damon anymore. Not strongly. Just a whisper, like an old scar aching with the weather.

But she could feel something else.

A heaviness. A tug. A grief that didn’t belong to her, but felt like her.

She had felt it ever since arriving in Forks.

She pressed her forehead to the glass.

She was tired. Always tired.

She turned to face the bed but made no movements to slip under the covers. It was nice. She could tell someone - maybe Charlie, maybe his friend’s kid - had tried hard to make it feel like this attic was home.

When she’d been young, she and Bella used to share the bed in Bella’s room. And then, when she got a little older, Bella stopped visiting and Zoe had the bed to herself. She’d never had a room in uncle’s house that was just her’s.

It was lonelier than she expected it to feel. Or maybe it was just the distance from her friends. 

The sunlight filtered weakly through the dense treetops, casting speckled patterns on the moss-covered ground. It was one of those rare clear days - dangerous for people like Zoe, but beautiful.

Zoe Cullen lay on her back in the clearing, her fingers laced through Carlisle’s as she stared up at the sky. Her bare toes brushed the soft grass, her shoes discarded nearby. She had insisted on this break. A pause. A moment between the chaos of movement.

She was laughing at something Carlisle had said - a comment about how Edward was probably sulking over the latest century's shift in musical trends - when it happened.

It was a scent first. Faint. Then sharp. Carnal. Not animal. Not human.

Vampire .

Zoe sat up instantly, eyes scanning the tree line. Carlisle was already crouching beside her, instinct drawing him protectively forward.

They didn’t need to speak. The fear in his eyes mirrored her own.

Then five of them appeared. Red-eyed. Predatory. Smiling.

They hadn’t come to talk.

Zoe Cullen knew how this story ended before it even began. She had experience with things like this, long before she’d been given this immortal second chance at life.

“Run,” Zoe whispered, grabbing Carlisle’s hand.

They ran.

But they were too close. Too many of them. Too fast.

She was never fast enough.

Zoe’s scream shattered the silence when one caught her arm and pulled - hard. A sickening crack echoed as her shoulder was ripped from her body. Carlisle turned, teeth bared, only to be knocked back by two more.

She was trying to fight. Trying to crawl. One of them laughed, and the others joined. Zoe’s world narrowed to pain - blazing, ripping pain - and the sound of Carlisle screaming her name.

She stopped trying to reach for him.

“Run.” She managed to call out.

And then - 

Nothing.

Zoe shot upright in her bed, drenched in sweat. Her breath came in sharp, gasping heaves.

She could still feel it - the tearing. The fear. The acceptance.

But this time, it wasn’t just her pain.

She curled forward, arms gripping her stomach as a wave of nausea and dread rolled over her. Damon.

She felt his anger first - sharp and reckless, like lightning across her spine. Then the pain. A jolt. Not mortal. But close.

“Damon,” she whispered, grabbing her phone off the nightstand.

No answer.

She tried again.

Still nothing.

Zoe rubbed her arms, trying to soothe herself. Her body felt like it had been through a warzone. It was the bond. She could always feel him - his highs, his lows, his anger, his hunger . But this was different. This was bad .

Her chest hurt. Not just metaphorically.

She texted him.

Zoe: “You better not be dead. I’ll kill you if you are.”

Then, a second later:

Zoe: “Answer me, Damon.”

Nothing.

She shoved her blankets off and stood up. The floor was cold under her bare feet. She felt like a marionette with cut strings—barely able to keep herself upright.

She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt the wetness on her cheeks.

Zoe didn’t know how long she sat there in the dark, phone clutched tight in her hand. She was still on the edge of the bed, knees pulled up to her chest, her eyes wet but no longer leaking. The ache in her chest had dulled into something hollow.

A knock on the door startled her.

She quickly wiped her face.

“Yeah?” Her voice cracked.

Charlie cracked the door open and leaned against the frame. His silhouette was soft in the hallway light, just a blur of flannel, mustache, and quiet concern.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said gently. “I thought I heard you moving around.”

Zoe hesitated. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to -”

“You okay?”

It was a simple question. Too simple for an answer like I felt my soul-bonded ex get stabbed three thousand miles away.

“I had a bad dream,” she said instead.

Charlie nodded, stepping a little further into the room. He looked awkward, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to stay.

“Want some water?” he offered.

She shook her head. “Thanks though.”

He hovered for a moment. “Nightmares are… rough. I used to get them a lot after Renee left with Bella. Just - empty house. Quiet. No one around but me.”

Zoe looked up at him, surprised by the confession. Charlie didn’t talk much about emotions - or anything personal, really.

“It helps to talk, sometimes,” he said. “But it’s also okay if you don’t want to.”

Zoe exhaled a shaky breath. “It’s not just the dream. Someone I care about... I think they’re in trouble. And I can’t do anything about it.”

Charlie was quiet. Not because he didn’t care - but because he didn’t pry. That was Charlie Swan.

“You’re not alone here, Zo.” His voice was quiet but firm. “Even if you feel like it.”

Zoe looked down at her phone. Damon still hadn’t texted back. It could mean anything. It could mean he was in trouble, it could mean he was dead, it could mean he was getting drunk at the Mystic Grill.

“Thanks, Uncle Charlie.”

He gave her a small nod and turned to go, but paused at the door. “You ever want to talk to someone - about anything - you don’t have to protect me by keeping it in. I may not know all the teenage lingo, but I’m a good listener.”

Zoe smiled faintly. For a moment, she imagined telling Charlie everything - about Damon, Katherine, Elijah, Trevor, Rose, and Klaus. She pictured him standing up, saying he’d grab his gun, calling his friends, and they’d all go hunting vampires together. It was a comforting thought - being protected like that.

“I’ll remember that,” she said softly.

He left, and the door clicked softly shut behind him.

And Zoe Clark was left alone again.

Only, she was never alone anymore, not really. Not when she felt the familiar thrum of Damon coaxing through her veins. It was somehow the most welcome and unwelcome feeling in the world.

Zoe lay back down, still gripping her phone. The house was quiet again, except for the low hum of the fridge and the distant sound of rain on the roof.

She closed her eyes.

And for the first time in three nights, she actually fell asleep.

Zoe sat cross-legged on the porch steps, arms wrapped around a mug of tea she wasn’t drinking. The last few days had been a blur. Charlie had asked her if she was okay at least five times. She’d lied. At least five times.

Now she was watching the driveway.

Charlie’s familiar police car pulled up.

Bella.

Zoe stood slowly, her joints stiff. The bond was quieter now. Damon was alive. She could feel that much. But something had changed. She felt… thinner. Like part of her had been stretched to the point of tearing.

Bella got out of the car, awkwardly slamming the door shut behind her. She spotted Zoe and waved.

Zoe gave a small smile and stepped off the porch.

“Hey,” Bella said, approaching.

Zoe tried to smile wider. “Hey, cousin.”

They hugged, and Bella immediately noticed how tense Zoe was.

“You okay?”

Zoe didn’t miss the way Charlie watched her.

“Yeah,” Zoe lied. “Just… long week.”

“You look like you haven’t slept.”

Zoe shrugged. Sleep is for people who don’t share a mystical blood tether with a suicidal vampire. “Yeah, not a big fan of sleep these days.” She said instead.

Bella blinked. “Okay.”

Zoe pulled back. “Sorry. That was a Mystic Falls thing. The not sleeping thing.”

“Well, Forks is blissfully boring,” Bella said, grabbing her bag. “So maybe that’ll help.”

Zoe didn’t reply.

She wasn’t sure anything could help.

Bella and Zoe had been living with Charlie for a month, and both were starting to regret coming to Forks - for very different reasons. Bella grew more nervous with each passing day as the prospect of starting at a new school loomed closer. And Zoe… well, it was hard being three thousand miles away from everything she’d ever known - and from her mystical soul-buddy.

Before leaving for work that morning, Charlie had practically insisted Bella take Zoe out of the house.

“You’re both going stir crazy,” he’d said gruffly over breakfast. “Zoe’s barely sleeping, and it’s worrying me. Fresh air might do both of you good.”

Charlie had been talking to his daughter when he thought Zoe was still upstairs. She wasn’t. But it was kind of novel to be in a home where a vampire wasn’t constantly using their supernatural hearing to listen for you.

With no friends in Forks and nowhere else to go, Bella didn’t argue.

By the time they got to La Push, the morning fog was just starting to burn away. As Bella and Zoe walked along the pebbled shore of La Push Beach, the sun had climbed high enough to warm the damp sand beneath their feet, but the air still held a crisp chill.

Bella wasn’t convinced. Zoe was the last person she thought needed babysitting, but Charlie’s concern was clear, and Bella wasn’t about to argue.

“So, thanks for dragging me out here,” Zoe muttered, kicking a small stone into the surf.

Bella smiled, tugging her jacket tighter. “You needed it. You’ve been cooped up all week.” Bella was too kind to say that Zoe Clark barely left the house all summer .

Before Zoe could answer, a shadow fell across the beach behind them.

“Hey,” a voice called out.

Zoe tensed, her body hardwired to go into fight-or-flight whenever someone snuck up on her. In Mystic Falls, it was rarely a good thing when someone did that.

They turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered boy approaching, his bare feet leaving prints in the sand. His dark hair was tousled by the breeze, and his grin was easy and welcoming.

“Jacob,” he said, holding out a hand.

Bella glanced at Zoe, then shook it. “Bella.”

Zoe nodded warily in greeting. “Zoe.”

Bella stepped forward, a flicker of recognition crossing her face. Jacob’s eyes widened slightly as he took in her. “Jacob Black?” She asked.

“Bella Swan?” he asked, voice tinged with surprise.

Bella nodded. “That’s me.”

Jacob smiled, warmth returning to his expression. “I remember you. We used to make mudpies together.”

Bella blinked, surprised. “Yeah… a long time ago.”

Zoe looked between them, intrigued.

Jacob turned to Zoe and held out his hand. “And you must be Zoe. My dad’s friends with your uncle. You’re all Charlie talks about.”

Zoe didn’t even want to know what Charlie was telling his friends about her. “Just moved in,” Zoe said instead, shaking his hand.

Jacob grinned at her. “I’m from here - La Push. Been around these parts all my life.”

“There’s tons of local legends.” Bella told her cousin.

Jacob rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Legends?” Zoe asked, glancing between Bella and Jacob.

Jacob’s smile flickered, then returned softer this time. “Local stuff. Old stories. But it means a lot to some people.”

Zoe raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like there’s more beneath the surface.”

Jacob chuckled quietly. “Maybe. But if you’re respectful, you’ll be fine.”

Bella smiled, though a flicker of unease remained. “Thanks, Jacob.”

He nodded and turned toward the trail leading back to town. “See you around.”

As his footsteps faded, Zoe watched the restless ocean, wondering how many unseen currents were pulling at this town  - and at her.

When Bella arrived in Forks, Zoe had genuinely wanted to be there to greet her. She’d imagined the moment  - a warm hug, a sarcastic quip, maybe a peace-offering coffee from the only halfway decent café in town. But life rarely went the way Zoe Clark pictured it.

Bella was still asleep when Charlie came downstairs, already dressed for work. He asked if Zoe had her license, and - well  - she lied. Technically. But she could drive. She’d driven Jenna home more times than she could count after nights at the Mystic Grill, and had chauffeured Damon in his beloved Camaro whenever he was too mangled to manage it himself.

So maybe she jumped at the chance to be useful.

And that’s how she ended up in La Push, standing in a gravel driveway outside Billy Black’s house while Charlie’s cruiser disappeared down the road. She was supposed to be picking up the old truck Charlie had bought for Bella - sturdy, indestructible, and just retro enough to be charming. But before she could knock on the Black’s door, her phone rang.

Damon.

He was yelling. Elena was being reckless - again. Something about a mountain, a full moon, and werewolves. His words blurred together, but his panic was razor-sharp. And now because of the bond, when Damon panicked, Zoe panicked. The moment Zoe felt it in her chest  - that bond-pull of dread and worry - she started pacing, one hand gripping her phone, the other clenched in a fist. She didn’t notice how far she wandered from the house until her boots were sinking into damp moss and branches tangled in her hair.

Then the pain hit. Not hers - not really. A phantom stab beneath her ribs, sharp and sudden. It nearly doubled her over.

She fell to the ground with a soft thud, curling her arms around herself like it might protect her from a pain that wasn’t even hers.

That’s how Sam Uley found her.

“Hey - are you okay?” He asked, already crouching beside her. His deep voice was careful, even as concern flickered across his features.

Zoe blinked up at him, dazed. It took her a moment to realize he was shirtless. “Do you always run through the woods half-naked?”

Sam arched an eyebrow, straight-faced. “Do you always collapse in them fully dressed?”

A shaky smile tugged at her lips. “Touché.”

He held out his hand. She hesitated before taking it, startled by the ease with which he pulled her to her feet  -  like she weighed nothing. Which, to be fair, wasn’t far from the truth these days.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, still watching her with that same furrowed concern.

“My uncle dropped me off to pick up a truck from Billy and Jacob Black. I… got distracted.”

“Uncle?”

“Charlie Swan.”

Sam nodded slowly. “That explains it. The Chief’s niece.” A pause. “You’re really pale. No offense.”

Zoe gave him a dry smile. “None taken. I’m usually pale. I’ve just recently added ‘slightly translucent’ to my aesthetic. My friend describes my pallor as ‘ghostly’, which…” She cleared her throat, suddenly uncomfortable. She was about to make a joke about Jeremy seeing ghosts. “Yeah.” She finished lamely.

Sam didn’t laugh. He studied her face for a beat too long.

“You look like you’re in pain.”

She looked away, brushing a leaf off her skirt. “It’s just a weird headache. I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

Zoe glanced at her hands. She clenched them into fists and tucked them behind her back. “I appreciate the concern, but I promise I’ve had worse days.”

Sam looked like he wanted to press - really press - but instead he said, “Let me walk you back. It’s not far, but you shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“I’m not helpless, you know.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

Zoe followed him anyway.

“You’re the reservation’s tour guide now?” She asked as they wove between trees.

“Something like that,” Sam replied. “Saw you go into the woods from the trail. I thought maybe you were...”

“Running away from home?” She smirked, knowing she didn’t look like she lived on the Quileute reservation.

“Running from something,” Sam said, unamused.

Zoe didn’t answer. Because maybe she was. Running was something that she’d done well. She’d run from her relationship with Damon, run from Katherine, and she’d tried running from Klaus. Running kept her safe. And she’d be running for the rest of her life.

When they reached the house, the front door creaked open before they even stepped onto the porch.

“Sam? Zoe?” Billy Black sat in his usual place just inside the threshold, a look of amusement and mild suspicion on his face as he took in the odd pairing - Sam’s towering frame beside Zoe’s much smaller one, her long dark hair tangled, her pale face flushed.

Zoe winked at Billy. “Met your forest patrol.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Stay out of the woods, kid.”

“You got it, Sammy-boy,” Zoe teased, climbing the steps, showing a little bit of her normal personality. Her pre-Klaus, pre-death, pre-bond self. Less scared, less flighty, less angry.

Billy tilted his head. “Charlie called an hour ago saying he was on his way. Everything alright?”

Zoe gave him a too-bright smile. “Peachy with a side of keen. Just wandered off a bit while I was on the phone. Lost track of time.” Zoe Clark had always been good at pretending everything was okay.

Billy’s eyes flicked to Sam, then back to Zoe. “Come on in. I’ll get you something to eat while we go over the truck.”

“I’m okay-” Zoe started, but Billy cut her off.

“Charlie would kill me if I let you leave without offering food. Besides, Jacob should be back soon. You’ll want to say hi.” He said, as if Zoe was best friends with Billy’s son and hadn’t just met him once.

Zoe stepped inside, letting the warmth of the house wrap around her like a heavy coat. It smelled like old wood, cedar smoke, and the faintest trace of engine grease. A reminder that there were still corners of the world untouched by the supernatural - mostly. She was here, afterall, and doppelgangers were nothing if not supernatural.

As Sam turned to go, Zoe called out, “Hey.”

He paused on the steps.

“Thanks for stopping.”

He gave her a short nod. “Take care of yourself, Zoe.”

She watched him disappear into the trees - like he belonged there - then turned back to the warmth of the house. The safety of something almost normal.

For now.

Zoe’s small hands gripped the edge of the bathroom sink. She looked pale - even paler than usual - like the color had been quietly drained from her during the night. Her long, dark curls tumbled down her back in soft spirals, slightly frizzy from the misty Forks air. They lacked their usual shine, but she didn’t fuss over them.

he tugged at the hem of her navy skirt - short and perfectly pressed. A pale lavender blouse, silky and buttoned to the collar, was tucked neatly into the waistband. Over it, she wore a soft gray cardigan, the sleeves pulled over her wrists firmly to hide how bony they’d gotten in recent months, pearlescent buttons catching the light. And already on her feet - in a defiant act of aesthetic over logic - she wore blush pink block heels. The kind with open backs and narrow toes. The kind that clearly hadn’t been chosen with rain or mossy pavement in mind.

But Zoe Clark had grown up in Mystic Falls, attending pageants, cotillions, and Founders’ events. She was Caroline Forbes’ best friend. Or one of them, anyway. And if Caroline had taught her anything, it was that looking put together was the first step to holding yourself together.

She adjusted her dangling earring and blinked at herself. Just hold together.

Behind her, Bella appeared in the bathroom doorway, yawning. “Do you always look like a fairy princess on school days?”

Zoe smirked faintly, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “I like control,” she said simply. “Clothes are controllable. People - not so much.”

Bella raised a brow. “So the stilettos and the ruffles are what, your shield?”

Zoe tilted her head at her reflection. “They aren’t stilettos.”

By the time they went downstairs, Charlie was already in uniform, pouring coffee.

He looked up when he saw Zoe and blinked, half expecting her to show up in sweatpants and arguing about having to leave the house. “Wow. You, uh… you clean up nice, kid.”

“Thanks, Uncle Charlie,” she said gently, brushing a curl behind her ear.

He studied her face a little too long. “You sleep okay?”

Zoe hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Fine.” 

Liar , she could almost hear Damon’s voice in her head. As if he was right next to her. 

Charlie didn’t look convinced. The dark circles under his niece’s eyes revealed the truth and Charlie didn’t need to be a cop to know that. He glanced at Bella, who just shrugged, munching on toast.

“I made eggs,” he offered. “You sure you don’t want something?”

Zoe smiled politely. “I don’t think my stomach’s quite ready for solids. Maybe tomorrow.”

Charlie frowned, setting his coffee mug down. It had become routine. Whatever food - whether Charlie or Bella made it - that was offered to Zoe was turned down. “You let me know if it gets worse, alright?”

“Of course,” she said - too quickly, too sweetly.

Charlie glanced at his daughter. “You make sure she has some lunch, okay?”

Bella looked at Zoe, then back at her dad before nodding. “Sure,” she said, though she knew she couldn’t make Zoe do anything she didn’t want to. In just a month of living together, Bella had already learned how stubborn Zoe Clark could be.

In the truck, Bella chattered to fill the silence - about how strange it felt to be back in Forks, how much she missed the Arizona sun, the call from her mom the night before, how proud Jake was of the old truck he’d rebuilt for her. Anything to drown out the quiet that clung to Zoe like fog - cold, creeping, and impossible to shake.

Zoe sat still, knees together, hands folded on the hem of her skirt, eyes half-lidded as the trees smeared past the window like streaks of green and gray.

She was too busy tracking the low thrum in the back of her skull - Damon. Alive, but furious. Always alive. Always furious. And lately, Zoe worried she was starting to absorb it - that simmering, relentless rage Damon clung to like armor slowly bleeding through their bond, seeping into her bones, her breath, her thoughts.

She was terrified it would swallow her whole.

Like a migraine that knew her name - and whispered it back in his voice.

Chapter Text

Carlisle Cullen had made a promise to himself centuries ago: to live a full life. He’d never wanted immortality, but it had been thrust upon him  -  a gift or a curse, he still couldn’t say. At first, it was enough to simply resist the bloodlust. Then, it was enough to practice medicine, to heal rather than harm. And now, he could say with confidence that his life had never been as full as it was with his coven — no, his family .

He loved his children -  Edward, Rosalie, Emmett, Alice, and Jasper -  deeply. Whether he had turned them or not, they were his in every way that mattered.

But there had been a time when his life was more full. A time when he had a mate. A partner. A woman who helped build the family from the ground up. A woman whose loss had broken something fundamental in him.

Zoe Cullen.

His Zoe.

His love.

Even now, seventy-three years later, his children still whispered about the year it happened. 1938. A year he’d do anything to forget.

Edward had been the first companion Carlisle turned. Then Zoe -  his mate. He had found her in 1920, stabbed and alone in the woods, barely breathing. She hadn’t even had the strength to cry out. The moment she opened her eyes as a newborn, she had gasped, “We need to run.” And from that moment forward, they had run -  together. Carlisle never left her side again.

Zoe never spoke of what had happened to her before he found her. He never pressed.

Edward couldn’t hear her thoughts. From the beginning, it was like static - a low, buzzing interference that blocked him from accessing her mind. It didn’t scare Edward exactly, but it unsettled him. He’d grown used to the noise of other people’s minds, and the sudden absence -  the void Zoe seemed to cast -  was jarring. Still, he trusted her. They all did. Even when Zoe wouldn’t speak of her past or human life, they understood, because it was painful for all of them to do so.

She’d been the one to find Rosalie, broken and bleeding in an alley in 1933. She had carried the dying girl to Carlisle and begged him to save her. He’d warned her of the consequences, but Zoe hadn’t cared. He never could say no to her.

Two years later, when Rosalie returned home carrying Emmett’s broken body, it had been Zoe who turned him -  Carlisle had been away. It was her decision, her mercy, and no one questioned it.

They had been happy then. Carlisle, Zoe, Edward, Rosalie, and Emmett. Their sleepless nights were filled with piano music, books, card games, and quiet laughter. Emmett’s booming voice. Zoe’s quick wit. The way Rosalie smiled more easily when Zoe was near. The way Edward watched her, trying to decipher the mystery he couldn’t read.

Zoe had worried about the war in Europe. She had asked Carlisle if there was anything they could do. He always said no - that their duty was to stay hidden and protect their family. That didn’t stop her from attending local protests, from volunteering at synagogues, from handing out pamphlets under aliases. But she always came back to him. Always. Even after days or weeks or even months away, Zoe always found her way back.

They were between homes when it happened - moving from one place to another, scouting a new town in British Columbia. Edward, Rosalie, and Emmett had gone ahead. It was a rare sunny day, so Carlisle and Zoe had gone deep into the woods to hunt.

They didn’t know the territory belonged to another coven.

There were five of them - nomads, vicious and unrestrained. Not Volturi, but close in cruelty. Carlisle and Zoe had been lying in the grass, talking about where to settle next. Zoe had always hated moving. Always worried about meeting new people, even though Carlisle didn’t know why exactly. Out of everyone in her family, she was able to bond with humans - blend in - the best. 

One moment, they were laughing. The next, the coven descended. They ran, hand in hand.

He would never forget the moment Zoe’s fingers were ripped from his. The way she screamed. The sound of her limbs torn apart - like steel scraping steel. And then her silence. Her stillness.

By the time Edward, Rosalie, and Emmett returned two months later, they found Carlisle sitting alone in the house they had planned to make a home. Unmoving. Hollow. Destroyed.

The decade that followed was bleak. Carlisle left, volunteering as a medic in the war, not to serve - but to suffer . To do something. To feel the hot iron of blood thirst in his throat. His children worried. He returned after three years, but he wasn’t the same. Grief clung to him like a shadow.

It was Emmett - kind, loyal Emmett - who sat with him in his study. Who reminded him that Zoe was his mother and he’d lost her too. That they all had loved her. It helped, a little.

But still, Carlisle shut himself away for years.

It wasn’t until Alice and Jasper arrived - until he took them in, for her , in her memory - that the fog began to lift. Zoe would have wanted them to open their hearts. Zoe would have loved Alice. Would have tried to soothe Jasper’s self-loathing. By 1955, they’d helped Jasper enough to begin playing human again.

Now, in 2011, Carlisle could hardly believe it had been seventy-three years since he’d seen Zoe. Since he’d touched her, kissed her, laughed with her. Too long. Not long enough. A blink and a lifetime all at once.

This was the first time they’d returned to Forks since Emmett’s turning. Zoe had loved this place - the gray skies, the quiet woods. She had felt peace here. And in returning, so many ghosts stirred.

Sometimes, he caught Edward or Emmett or Rosalie lingering at an old object they hadn’t realized was still in the house. The people who had renovated it over the decades hadn’t thrown everything out. Alice had been the one to unpack the forgotten boxes, giving the old things new homes.

A chipped vase Zoe had adored that Carlisle had always made to bring home flowers to fill it. A worn deck of cards Jasper pulled from a drawer. A first edition Hobbit that Rosalie discovered on a shelf, still bookmarked where Zoe had stopped reading. An old suffragette sash, proudly displayed in a shadow box now.

Alice and Jasper never met Zoe, but they felt her. They heard about her in whispers, on soft rainy nights when memories ached too loudly. Emmett would tell stories - Zoe teasing Rosalie’s vanity, Zoe throwing snowballs at Edward. Rosalie would smile, barely. Edward almost never spoke of her, but sometimes he played her song. A song once happy, now haunting.

Only three images of Zoe Cullen were ever displayed in the house. A photograph of the family, months after Emmett’s turning, always placed atop Edward’s piano. A wedding photo of Rosalie and Emmett, with Zoe beside her, smiling proudly - always on Rosalie’s vanity. And a painted portrait, commissioned by Carlisle himself, veiled behind a black cloth in his study. For his eyes only. A shrine of silence.

They were a coven of seven — with only six still standing.

Even after seventy-three years, the seventh had never truly left them.

Chapter Text

Zoe found Charlie in the garage after breakfast, leaning over a weathered cardboard box like it had just told him a secret.

She stood in the doorway, arms folded, watching him pick through old fishing gear and high school trophies. He looked different out here — more relaxed somehow. Maybe it was the flannel. Maybe it was the silence. Or maybe, like Zoe, Charlie was just better with things than people.

From inside the house, Zoe could still hear Bella’s voice through the kitchen window — soft, half-laughing, on the phone with Renee. She’d been chatting with her mom all morning, trying to sound cheerful. Zoe didn’t listen in, but the warmth in Bella’s voice made something tighten in her chest.

“You need help?” Zoe asked softly.

Charlie looked up, startled, like she’d caught him doing something he shouldn’t.

“Hey, kid,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Nah, just cleaning up. Got a bunch of this stuff from your grandma’s place after she passed. Figured I should finally go through it.”

Zoe nodded, stepping inside. The air smelled like oil and pine sawdust. She watched as Charlie lifted a small photo album from the box and hesitated.

He flipped it open, then paused on a single photo tucked between the pages. It was loose, slightly bent at the corners, like someone had looked at it too often or not enough.

Charlie stared at it for a long moment, then held it out to her.

“This came in the mail a couple months before your mom passed,” he said. “She didn’t write a note. Just sent it.”

Zoe took the photo with careful hands.

It was of six people — all outside, mid-laugh, framed by a Virginia summer. Bonnie and Elena were five, arms slung around each other like they’d never known a world without each other. Zoe was four, face round and flushed, caught mid-giggle as she tried to twirl in a too-long dress. Miranda Gilbert knelt beside Elena, her hand steadying her daughter. Sheila Bennett — Abbie’s mother — smiled calmly beside her. Abbie stood tall and tired behind them all, hand resting on Zoe’s mother’s shoulder.

Zoe’s mother looked beautiful. And distant. Like someone trying not to cry.

Zoe’s throat closed.

“I didn’t know this picture existed,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Charlie leaned against the workbench. “I didn’t either. Not until it showed up.”

“She looks…” Zoe stopped. There wasn’t a word for how her mother looked. Not quite haunted. Not quite sad. Just... done .

Charlie crossed his arms. “I didn’t know she was sick. She never told me.”

Zoe blinked down at the photo. “They never told me either.”

There was a silence between them then — thick, not uncomfortable, just full. Charlie sighed and rubbed his hand over his jaw.

“Wilbur called after she died,” he said eventually. “Told me it all happened fast. Said there wasn’t time to reach out. I didn’t push. We were never… close. You know that.”

Zoe’s lips pressed into a line.

She remembered the funeral. The way her father looked like he might shatter if someone touched him. How Bonnie held her hand the entire time. How quiet the house was after. How no one ever said the word “cancer” louder than a whisper, like it might catch fire in their mouths.

“I’m still grateful,” Charlie added. “That Wilbur let me keep in touch. That he didn’t… cut me out.”

Zoe’s eyes stayed on the photo. “He was different after she died. Not bad. Just… tired. He worked more and I spent more time with Bonnie and her Grams and Elena and Caroline and their parents.” She sniffed. “Bonnie’s mom left. Right before Mom died. So… we clung to each other, I guess. Needed someone who understood.”

Charlie was quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“I’m still grateful,” he said. “That Wilbur let me keep in touch. That he let you visit.”

Zoe nodded slowly. Her eyes were a little glassy now, but she blinked the shine away.

“I’m glad, too.”

Charlie cleared his throat, reaching for something else in the box, like he needed to busy his hands. “You okay?”

Zoe nodded once, but her grip on the photo tightened.

“Yeah,” she lied. “Thanks for showing me.”

Charlie didn’t call her out on it. He just gave a soft grunt and turned back to the box. “Take it, if you want.”

She hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Was always yours,” he said.

Zoe folded the photo carefully and tucked it into her cardigan pocket.

Later, when she was alone in her attic bedroom, she’d pull it back out and stare at it until the sunlight shifted. Until she could almost feel her mother’s hand in her curls. Until the ache dulled into something she could carry.

But for now, she just nodded again and quietly slipped back inside.

The forest was silent.

Not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the thick, pressing silence of something watching. The tall trees closed in overhead, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. Mist curled around the base of the trunks. Zoe stumbled over roots slick with rain and blood.

Her blood.

She didn’t remember how far she’d run — just the feeling of her dress catching on thorns, the sting of air in her lungs, the sound of Elijah’s voice echoing behind her like a prayer in a dead church.

“You can’t run from this, Zoe,” he had called. Not cruel. Not angry. Just inevitable . You are meant to be part of something greater. Come back, before my brother finds you first.”

She’d tried to escape. But she wasn’t fast enough.

Klaus appeared through the fog like a wolf through tall grass. No— not like a wolf. Like a vampire.

He didn’t smile this time. Just stepped forward and drove a long tree branch straight through her — through her stomach, into the forest floor beneath her — pinning her there like a specimen.

She couldn’t even scream. Couldn’t move.

He crouched beside her, eyes bright with cold curiosity. “I’ll come back,” he said. “Before it’s too late. You’re too valuable to waste.” Then, with a tilt of his head and a mock-pitying smile, “But you really must learn your place, my darling doppelgänger.”

And then he was gone.

Zoe lay alone, her breath growing shallow. The forest spun above her, black between the stars.

Then came footsteps.

Another figure — tall, composed, careful. Not like Klaus. Not like Elijah. Blonde hair. Worried eyes.

She forced her arm up, blood streaking down her sleeve.

“Kill me,” she gasped, seizing his wrist. “Please. Before they come back. Kill me.”

The man knelt beside her, eyes scanning her wounds, her face, her fear.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly.

“You don’t understand,” she choked out. “They’re monsters. They’ll use me. I don’t want to be used.”

He touched her forehead, tentative. Gentle. His palm was cool, not cold.

He hesitated—then spoke words that might have been comforting to anyone not being hunted by Klaus and Elijah. “I can save you,” he said.

She laughed once, weak and broken. “Are you a doctor?”

He gave the smallest nod. “Yes. But not the kind you’re thinking of.”

Her voice cracked. “Then what kind are you?” Her own blood tickled her lips, warm and metallic.

He hesitated.

Then his golden eyes met hers, full of sorrow.

“The kind who doesn’t let people die when he can help it.”

And Zoe, for the first time in hours, let go of her fear.

Zoe Clark woke to hands on her shoulders and her name in the dark.

“Zoe—hey, hey. Zo. Wake up.”

She jerked upright, gasping, her sweater twisted around her, her sheets tangled like vines. Her pulse throbbed behind her eyes. She still felt the mud under her fingers. Still heard Klaus’s voice. Still saw the stranger’s eyes—

“Zoe. It’s okay. You’re home.”

She blinked hard and found Charlie, kneeling next to her bed in his flannel pajamas and an old Forks PD t-shirt. His hair was messy from sleep, his expression drawn tight with concern.

Her bedroom window was fogged from the rain. The room was pitch black, except for the soft yellow light spilling from the hallway.

She tried to breathe normally. She couldn’t.

“That must’ve been some dream,” Charlie said, gently releasing her shoulders but staying close.

Zoe pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He sat back on his heels. “You were crying out. Sounded like you were fighting someone.”

Zoe gave a humorless huff. “I was.”

Charlie studied her for a second. “You want to talk about it?”

She hesitated, staring down at her lap. Her voice was small. “Not really.”

“Okay,” he said. No pressure. No judgment. Just Uncle Charlie.

She looked up at him. “But thanks for waking me. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“You didn’t.” He stood slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, maybe a little. But I’ve heard worse in this house. Bella sleep-talks like she’s doing math homework in her dreams.”

Zoe laughed under her breath — barely, but it was real.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Zoe nodded. “I will be. Eventually.”

Charlie gave her a small nod. “Alright. I’ll leave the hallway light on. Just in case.”

She watched him step out, his silhouette lingering in the doorway for a beat before the door clicked shut behind him.

Zoe sat in the dark for a long time, her heart still pounding like she’d run a mile barefoot.

She could still see him — the man from the woods. The one with the soft hands and golden eyes.

She hadn’t realized until now, in the thick silence after the dream, how familiar he felt.

Charlie had insisted.

“Just a walk,” he’d said that morning, holding a thermos in one hand and his fishing gear in the other. “You’ve been cooped up for days, Zo. Some fresh air won’t kill you.”

Zoe didn’t argue. She hadn’t had the energy.

Charlie was spending the day fishing with Billy Black and Harry Clearwater down at the river, and since the reservation was on the way, he’d brought Bella and Zoe along—half for convenience, half because he didn’t like the idea of Zoe alone in the house again.

Billy’s place was warm, cluttered, and smelled like cedar smoke and motor oil. While the men loaded the truck, Jacob offered to take the girls for a walk along one of the nearby trails. He was cheerful, a little shy, and didn’t seem to notice how Zoe’s eyes stayed fixed on the trees, or how she flinched slightly at loud laughter.

She followed them in silence as Jacob and Bella talked, her shoes crunching lightly on the dirt and pine needles.

The forest here was different from Virginia—older somehow. Quieter. It held its breath in a way Zoe recognized but didn’t like.

“So you really don’t remember me?” Jacob asked Bella, half grinning.

Bella glanced over at him. “We made mud pies. I think that’s more of a you memory than a me memory.”

Jacob laughed, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket. “Fair. It’s weird, though, seeing you both back here. Like… you’re familiar, but not.”

Zoe didn’t respond. She kept walking, arms folded, the damp air clinging to her skin like a warning.

They reached a rise in the trail that overlooked the coast in the distance—gray water churning beneath a fog-wrapped sky. Below them, the trees thickened into dark green walls. The wind carried the salt and the cold and something else. Something instinctual.

Jacob kicked a pine cone off the path. “You ever hear the story of the Cold Ones?” he asked suddenly.

Bella blinked. “What?”

Jacob smirked. “The old Quileute legend. My dad tells it every time someone new visits. Says our tribe descended from wolves, and that we’ve been fighting these things called the Cold Ones for generations.”

Zoe looked at him then, finally. Her mouth opened slightly, but she didn’t speak.

Jacob didn’t notice. “Supposedly, they’re pale, beautiful, and cold as stone. Sound familiar?” He elbowed Bella.

Bella rolled her eyes. “Sounds like something out of a campfire story.”

“It is,” Jacob said. “I mean, no one actually believes it. Not anymore.”

But somewhere in the trees, something watched.

A low wind moved through the underbrush. Quiet. Calculating.

A wolf—massive and still—stood half-shrouded by the pines just off the trail. Its fur bristled with unease, eyes locked on the dark-haired girl walking ten feet behind the others.

It didn’t recognize her face. But her scent—

It didn’t make sense.

She smelled wrong.

Like vampire, but not. Like blood, but not. Like something old. Something broken and burning at the edges.

She smelled like death and something else the wolf couldn’t name.

Zoe paused, her eyes drifting to the trees. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She didn't see the wolf. But something deep in her gut twisted, cold and crawling.

“Zoe?” Bella called, noticing she’d fallen behind.

“I’m coming,” Zoe said softly, eyes still scanning the woods.

The wolf watched until they were gone. Then it turned and vanished silently into the forest—already running, already returning to the others.

Because something had come to Forks.

And the wolf wasn’t sure if she was human.

Chapter Text

Zoe was trying her best not to scowl as Bella drove them to school. Her eyes tracked the rain running in rivulets down the car window, fingers tapping against her thigh like they were trying to shake off something crawling under her skin.

“I could’ve driven, you know,” she muttered, glancing sideways at her cousin. Bella was seventeen, only two years older, and Zoe’s sixteenth birthday was fast approaching—though the thought made her stomach turn.

She and Damon used to watch the old tv show Buffy the Vampire Slayer and they’d laugh at how wrong the show got vampires. There’d been that line, “I may be dead but I’m still pretty,” that made Damon laugh and wiggle his eyebrows at her now. Zoe wasn’t laughing anymore. Dead at fifteen. She even beat Buffy. And yet, Zoe still had another birthday. It was…wrong. Unnatural. And she was grateful.

Bella didn’t look away from the road. “Rain’s tricky. Just because Charlie doesn’t realize you’re lying about having a license doesn’t mean I don’t.”

Zoe huffed, flopping back in her seat.

“Hey,” Bella softened, “when the weather’s good, you can drive.”

Zoe didn’t answer, just nodded vaguely. The weather was never good in Forks, she thought.

Her whole body felt too still, like something inside her was pacing. She could feel it—Damon’s anxiety bleeding through their bond, sharp and insistent. He wasn’t answering his phone. None of the Mystic Falls crew were.

This was Zoe’s first time starting school without Elena, Caroline, or Bonnie. Without Matt or Jeremy or even Tyler to lean on. Those older girls had always walked her to the school doors hand in hand, like it was just expected that Wilbur Clark’s daughter would be part of their circle. It had never mattered that she was a year younger. Now, it was just her—and Bella, who might’ve been family, but wasn’t from that part of her life.

“Are you nervous?” Bella asked as they pulled into the school lot.

“No,” Zoe said too quickly. “Just… missing home, I guess.”

Bella didn’t press. She focused on parking. “Alright,” she said finally, turning the car off.

Zoe stared up at the school building and made no move to get out. “Ready to face hell?”

“Hell?”

“High school,” Zoe deadpanned.

Bella snorted. “It won’t be so bad.”

“As long as no one dies.” Zoe muttered, swinging the door open. She stepped out, her heel immediately slipping on a slick patch of concrete. “Fantastic,” she grumbled, catching herself with a hand on the car. “Caroline’s gonna murder me for what Forks is doing to my shoe collection.”

By the time they reached the entrance, students were starting to trickle in. Zoe didn’t acknowledge the stares they got—she was used to being looked at. Small town, new girl, short skirt and high heels? It wasn’t exactly like she was trying to fit in like Bella. People stared at Zoe. They always had, they always would, she was part of a Founding Family after all. It was practically her brand.

Caroline had spent hours on the phone helping Zoe pick the perfect outfit: edgy but not too much, Mystic Falls glam toned down for rainy Forks. Bella, by contrast, looked every bit the local in her rain jacket, oversized sweater, jeans, and Converse. The kind of outfit Zoe wouldn’t be caught dead in—which, to be fair, she already had been.

Zoe smoothed the hem of her skirt and straightened her jacket as they made their way up the steps. Her stomach was tight, like it had been all morning. Charlie’s voice echoed in her head—“Just let her do her thing, Bels. If she needs to be early, let her be early.”

She wasn’t going to be late. She needed to be in control of something today. Better to get the lay of the land before a battle.

When they reached the front office, Zoe held the door open for Bella. It was an unspoken thing between them—neither said thank you, neither expected it.

“Hi,” Bella offered a small smile to the receptionist. “We’re new. My dad registered us last month. Bella Swan—and Zoe Clark.”

The woman behind the counter looked them over carefully, her eyes lingering a moment longer on Zoe’s bare legs. “The Chief’s daughter and niece,” she said, tapping her keyboard.

“That’s us.” Zoe smirked, hitching her backpack up by one strap.

“I’m Ms. Cope,” the woman said as she slid two packets of papers across the desk. “Schedules, maps, code of conduct. Get each of your teachers to sign this”—she tapped the top page—“and return it at the end of the day. Code of conduct needs to be signed by Friday. And,” she added, eyes flicking back to Zoe, “Forks High has a strict no-skipping policy.”

Zoe offered her most charming grin and snapped a lazy salute. Mrs. Cope must have seen her records from Mystic Falls. It wasn’t like dealing with your psychotic, vampiric doppelganger was an excuse absence, even if Zoe totally thought it should be. “Roger that, Ms. Cope.”

Bella side-eyed her cousin but said quickly, “We’ll read it. Thanks.”

They took their papers and walked out of the office.

“Locker number?” Bella asked, flipping through her papers.

“204,” Zoe answered, scanning hers. “Like that means anything.”

“I’m 205,” Bella said with mild surprise. “Guess they assign them by registration instead of grade.”

“Or the universe is just that generous,” Zoe muttered. Her voice was dry, flat. Bella didn’t need to be told something was off. She could see the faint tremble in Zoe’s hands. The way she was tapping the edge of her packet like a metronome.

“Well,” Bella said gently, “we’re early. Let’s find them together.”

Zoe nodded. “Cope said there was a map.” She unfolded the papers.

“Zoe,” Bella said, hesitating. “You okay?”

Zoe didn’t look up. “Peachy with a side of keen.” She traced her finger across the school map. “Our lockers are by the science hall.”

They were at their lockers—Zoe organizing hers with mechanical efficiency—when a student approached them.

“You’re Isabella Swan and Zoe Clark, right? The new girls?”

Zoe’s locker slammed shut with a clang. “Depends on who’s asking?” She asked, eyes narrowing at the boy.

“I’m Eric. Eyes and ears of this place. Anything you need—tour guide, lunch date, shoulder to cry on—”

“Thanks,” Bella interrupted with a polite smile, “but we’re more the suffer-in-silence type.”

“Speak for yourself,” Zoe muttered. “I’m the vaguely-threaten-between-tequila-shots type.”

Eric grinned, undeterred. “Great headline for your feature. I’m on the school paper—you’re front-page news, baby.” He glanced at Bella. “Babies?” Even Erik winced at how awkward he sounded.

“You print my picture or name,” Zoe said, tone suddenly serious, “you’ll only be the ears of this place. Got it?”

“She’s joking,” Bella said quickly, sending Zoe a pointed look.

“Chillax.” Eric held up his hands in mock surrender. “No features.”

Zoe plucked her schedule out of Bella’s hand without asking. “As fun as vaguely threatening boys in hallways is, I have a class to not be late to.”

“See you at lunch,” Bella called after her.

Zoe didn’t answer. She just walked away, her heels clicking defiantly on the linoleum. Bella watched her go, unease settling in her stomach. Charlie had asked her to look out for Zoe—but what if Zoe didn’t want to be looked after?

Edward Cullen hated first days of school. And he had many first days both behind him and in his future.

It wasn’t the nerves or awkward conversations — those he could block out with practiced indifference. It was the noise. The overwhelming noise of teenage minds, bouncing thoughts, crushes, hormones, lies, daydreams, insecurities — all of it crashing against his skull like an unrelenting tide.

This year, it was worse.

Because this year, someone had said her name.

Zoe.

Not Zoe Cullen. Of course not. That was impossible. Zoe Cullen had been gone for over seventy-three years — longer than most of these students’ families had lived in Forks. But still, hearing the name echo through the halls was like a blow to the ribs.

Zoe Clark. That was the name now. Forks’ newest mystery. She’d arrived early in the summer, moved in with the Chief of Police. The same Chief who now also had a daughter in town — Isabella Swan, nicknamed Bella.

His siblings heard the whispers too — he could feel Rosalie tense two classrooms away, Emmett’s discomfort flickering through the brief silence between thoughts. Even Alice had gone still for a moment, her fingers tightening around her pen, her visions stuttering as they would soon often become when Zoe was involved.

Because Zoe Clark — the human girl — wasn’t like the others.

No one had seen her yet. She wasn’t in any of the Cullens’ classes, being younger than the Cullens claimed to be. But Edward could already sense it. Her name came wrapped in a long-forgotten static. Anytime a student tried to picture her face in their minds, it shimmered, indistinct. The memory of her image bent, wavered — like a radio tuning out. Worse than that, he’d tried to seek out her thoughts and found only a wall. A thick, impenetrable veil. Just like—

His jaw clenched.

Just like the first Zoe.

And then, before he could dig deeper, the door to his biology class swung open.

“I’m sorry,” said a quiet voice — soft, but steady.

Bella Swan stepped into the room, schedule in hand. She was tall, pale, with dark chestnut hair falling around her face. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but her tone didn’t waver.

“I got lost,” she added, offering the teacher a sheepish shrug and a tense smile.

Not even Edward knew that Bella Swan hadn’t been lost. No one knew that Bella spent her lunch hour on the bleachers, trying to coax her cousin to eat something. Anything besides the coffee she seemed to subside on.

Mr. Banner waved it off and scrawled his signature on her paper. “No problem. There’s an open seat next to Mr. Cullen.”

Edward went rigid in his chair.

Bella glanced around, then locked eyes with him — and in that instant, he stopped breathing.

Her scent hit him like a punch to the chest.

It wasn’t just enticing. It was consuming. Golden warmth and spice, tangled with something richer and deeper than anything he’d smelled in decades. His throat burned with a thirst so violent it terrified him. His hands clenched into fists beneath the table.

He didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

She approached, hesitant, unaware that she was walking into the lion’s den.

“Is this okay?” she asked softly, gesturing to the stool beside him.

Edward forced a nod. It took everything in him not to flinch as she sat down, her proximity like fire to dry paper. He pressed his palm against the cool metal of the lab bench, anchoring himself.

Focus. He couldn’t afford to lose control.

He glanced sideways, studying her. Her thoughts — they should have been loud now, pouring out, streaming into his mind like every other human. But they were gone. Silent. As if she weren’t there at all.

Another one.

Just like Zoe Clark.

Just like Zoe Cullen.

Different from the mysterious girl, different from his mother, but infuriating all the same.

Edward turned away, his eyes narrowing.

Bella Swan might be the one sitting beside him — but it was Zoe Clark he couldn’t stop thinking about. The girl who had no mind to read, who walked through Forks High like a living echo of someone he thought he’d never see again.

Something wasn’t right.

And Edward Cullen hated not knowing the answer.

Chapter Text

Zoe sat on the low concrete wall behind the gymnasium, a pair of delicate black heels dangling from her fingers, her sneakers from class kicked off. Her bare feet pressed into the cool gravel, the sharp edges a quiet reminder she was still here. The air was damp — not quite rain, but close enough to cling to her skin. Her coffee had long gone cold, but she held it anyway, hands wrapped tightly around the cup like it might still offer warmth.

She hadn’t meant to ditch gym class — not really. But the smell of sweat and floor polish, the too-loud whistles and laughter, it had all started to spin. So she’d slipped out, quiet and practiced. The teacher barely noticed. They never did. Except Alaric. Alaric always noticed Zoe. Always looked out for the Clark girl.

The bond with Damon buzzed beneath her skin like static. Something was wrong. Not urgent, not bleeding, but simmering — and he wouldn’t answer her. Typical.

“You know,” came a voice from behind her, “this doesn’t look like gym class.”

Zoe turned slightly, looking up at Emmett Cullen, who stood a few feet away with a bemused smile. Rosalie was with him, arms crossed, sharp eyes scanning Zoe from head to toe — not judging, just seeing.

Zoe shrugged. “Gym and I had creative differences.” She took a sip of bitter coffee. “Also, I require a lot of supervision.”

Rosalie arched an eyebrow. “You slipped out without anyone noticing?”

“Fifteen and full of questionable decision-making,” Zoe said, lifting her cup in a mock toast.

Emmett chuckled and dropped onto the wall beside her. “You always skip class in heels?”

“These?” Zoe dangled them by the straps. “Fashion casualties. I made it about five minutes before I called it quits. I’m biding my time before I have to change back to my street clothes out here.”

Rosalie's eyes softened slightly. “Why not wear something more comfortable?”

Zoe tilted her head. “Because then the exhaustion shows. And you don’t get a second chance at a first impression.”

Emmett glanced at her, concern flickering in his expression. Up close, Zoe looked too pale, too slight, like one strong breeze might knock her over. She held herself tightly, like something inside her was threatening to fall apart.

“You’re not from around here,” he said gently.

“Nope. Virginia.” She looked away. “And don’t ask. It’s like asking a soldier about the war.”

Rosalie and Emmett exchanged a glance. They didn’t press.

Zoe's grip tightened on the coffee cup. “I just needed a minute,” she added, quieter now. “Sometimes everything gets too... much. Teenagers can be very loud, you know.”

“We get that,” Rosalie said, voice surprisingly soft.

“Yeah?” Zoe glanced between them, searching their faces.

Emmett nodded. “More than you know.”

They sat with her a little longer, quiet and steady, not asking her to go back, not trying to fix her.

Just staying. And for Zoe — that was enough.

The shovel clattered against the stone porch as Damon let it drop. Dirt still clung to his hands, wedged beneath his nails. His shirt was rumpled and smeared with dried mud, and his boots were caked from the walk back through the woods.

No blood. There hadn’t been any. Not when Stefan snapped Andie’s neck before compelling her to fall from the Waverly building.

She’d crumpled like a broken doll.

Damon hadn’t even had time to scream. He wasn’t sure if he would have if he could. Mostly, he’d just been stunned. That Stefan would do this. His brother. The good brother. The brother with the conscience. The brother with hero hair.

Now he poured himself a drink with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. The bourbon did nothing to steady them.

“She was just scared ,” he muttered aloud, hearing his brother’s approach. “You could smell it on her, Stefan. And you still did it.”

The door creaked open behind him.

“Where is she?” Stefan asked from the threshold, voice too calm.

Damon scoffed. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, brother. You’ve killed a lot of ‘she’s’ lately.”

Stefan didn’t rise to the bait. “Zoe.”

Damon’s smirk twisted. “Oh, now you remember her. Let me guess—Klaus wants a souvenir? Sorry, but no one here’s gonna tell you where she is. Not while you’re still playing loyal little Ripper.”

“Don’t push me, Damon.”

Damon took a lazy sip. “Or what? You’ll kill me too?”

Stefan didn’t answer.

He just moved .

One second Damon was upright. The next, he was on the floor, neck snapped cleanly with a crack that echoed through the room like thunder.

Zoe had almost made it to the parking lot.

The cold drizzle hadn’t bothered her all day — she’d barely noticed it, her body humming with tension. She hadn’t felt Damon clearly in hours. Just flickers. Like music underwater—muffled and warped. That should’ve been her first warning.

The second came like a blast .

A jolt of white-hot pain split through her chest, tearing through bone and breath like fire. Her knees buckled.

She gasped, stumbling, hand shooting out—

Edward Cullen caught her before she hit the ground.

His hand gripped her elbow, cool and steady. She didn’t look at him right away—couldn’t, not yet. The bond seared behind her eyes, fading too slowly. She clenched her jaw, breathing hard, steadying herself.

“Thanks,” she rasped.

And then she looked up .

Edward froze.

It wasn’t her voice. It wasn’t her scent. It wasn’t even the unspoken static in her mind.

It was her face .

It stole the breath he didn’t need.

Edward had spent decades convincing himself the memory had blurred—that he’d exaggerated the way she steadied them all, the way she made their house feel like something close to home.

But now, faced with this girl—this Zoe —he realized he hadn’t forgotten a single detail.

The cadence of her voice. The set of her shoulders. That quiet, aching strength.

Not exactly the same—softer, younger, not yet sharpened by time and immortality.

But it was her.

The same curve of the jaw. The same burn behind the eyes.
The same soul-deep ache in her gaze.

And for the first time in seventy-three years, Edward felt something he didn’t know he still could: hope.

“Zoe…” he whispered, barely audible.

Zoe blinked, dazed. “What?”

Edward dropped his hand from her arm like he’d been burned.

“I—sorry. You just… you startled me.”

She nodded absently, still trying to catch her breath. “Yeah. Me too.”

Edward took a careful step back. “Are you alright?”

“I will be.” Zoe straightened, already retreating into herself. “Just a… migraine.”

Edward didn’t believe her for a second. But he said nothing.

Zoe started toward the truck. Behind her, Edward watched every step.

Chapter Text

The living room was dim, lit only by the muted gray glow leaking through the rain-blurred windows. The TV was off. So was the lamp. Zoe sat curled on the far end of the couch, her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them like she could keep herself from falling apart if she just held on tight enough.

Her phone was in her lap. She hadn’t moved in over twenty minutes.

She stared at the screen, thumb hovering, tapping, retreating, trying again.

Message after message went unanswered.

I felt that. Damon—say something. Just let me know you're alive.

You don’t have to talk. Just type one word. Hell, grunt.

Please.

Still nothing. Not from Damon. Not from Bonnie. Not from Caroline. Not from Elena. The silence was a hollow kind of ache—bigger than her, bigger than Forks. Bigger than the distance between here and Mystic Falls.

She hadn’t cried. Not really. Not yet. But her jaw was clenched tight, like crying would undo something she was too tired to rebuild.

Across the room, Bella lingered quietly in the doorway, out of sight behind the hallway wall. She’d meant to ask if Zoe wanted help making dinner. She’d even grabbed the box of pasta from the pantry. But when she’d turned and saw her cousin curled into herself on the couch, something made her stop.

Zoe looked small. Not just physically, though she’d definitely lost weight since arriving in Forks. There was something else—something hollow in her posture. Like she was barely holding herself together.

Bella didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched, uncertain if she should interrupt or give space.

Zoe exhaled shakily and let her forehead rest against her knees. Her phone slipped from her fingers and landed on the cushion beside her.

Bella’s grip on the box of spaghetti tightened. “Are you okay?”

Zoe didn’t look up right away. She just shrugged, barely a motion at all. “Long day,” she murmured.

Bella stepped a little closer. “You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong. Just… maybe let someone care that it is?”

That got Zoe to look up. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry. “I’m fine,” she said quietly—too quickly to be convincing, but not sharp enough to push Bella away.

Bella didn’t call her out. She just nodded, turning toward the kitchen. “I’m making dinner. You’ll come sit at the table, push your food around like usual, and I’ll pretend that counts. Deal?”

A tiny, weary smile tugged at Zoe’s mouth. “Deal.”

The smell of garlic and tomato sauce filled the kitchen, warming the space in a way that felt like home — or as close to it as Zoe Clark could pretend.

She sat at the kitchen table, one leg tucked under her, a glass of water sweating beside her untouched plate. Bella moved with quiet efficiency, dishing out steaming pasta and scooping salad onto plates. Charlie walked in from the station just in time to hang his coat by the door and rub the rain from his shoulders.

The condensation slid down the glass, pooling against her fingertips.

Zoe Clark stared at the water in front of her, unmoving, the cool sweat of the cup clinging to her skin. The overhead light caught in the rim like a faint halo.

She wished it were bourbon.

Not because she wanted the burn—she didn’t even like bourbon. But Damon did. Damon always had a glass in hand. His brand of comfort. His way of saying you're still breathing, kid, so drink to that. That sharp, warm scent had clung to the Boarding House like a second layer of wallpaper, familiar and strange and somehow safe.

Water wasn’t the same. It didn’t wrap around her the way Damon’s presence used to. It didn’t hum through her bond or anchor her when the world spun too fast.

But it was what she had.

She tightened her fingers around the glass anyway and took a slow sip, wishing the weight in her chest could be drowned in it.

“Something smells good,” Charlie said, nodding toward the stove as he leaned against the counter, still dressed in his work uniform.

“Bella made dinner,” Zoe offered, voice faint but even.

Bella shrugged. “Spaghetti and store-bought sauce barely count as ‘made.’”

Charlie pulled out a chair and sat with a grunt. “You made it without setting anything on fire. That’s a win in my book.” He reached for the salad. “So. First day. Let’s hear it.”

Zoe twirled her fork, eyes locked on the noodles. “It was fine.”

Charlie gave her a look — the kind that said I know you better than that.

Bella jumped in first. “It wasn’t bad. Just...new. Lot of staring.”

“Small town,” Charlie said, chewing thoughtfully. “People don’t get a lot of excitement. You two are about as close to celebrities as we get.”

Zoe gave a weak smile. “I should’ve signed autographs.”

Charlie studied her for a beat too long. “How’d classes go?”

“Teachers are fine. Curriculum’s a little behind what I had back in Mystic Falls.” She poked a piece of broccoli with her fork, nudged it across the plate. “I’ll survive.”

“You meet anyone?” he asked, more gently now.

Zoe shrugged. “Some guy named Eric. He offered me a tour and a place to cry. I passed.”

Bella smirked. “He tried to interview us for the school paper. Zoe threatened to gouge his eyes out.”

“I didn’t threaten ,” Zoe said lightly. “I warned .”

Charlie gave a soft chuckle and shook his head. “Well, sounds like you made an impression.”

“I always do,” she murmured, and for a second, the air shifted — heavy, but gone just as fast.

Charlie didn’t push further. He just scooped another bite of pasta and said, “Glad you girls made it through Day One. That’s the hardest.”

Bella glanced at Zoe’s plate — still mostly untouched.

Zoe caught the look and offered, “I’ll heat it up later. Just not that hungry.”

Charlie gave a nod, even though his eyes lingered too long.

The rest of the meal passed in quiet conversation — nothing urgent, nothing revealing. Just forks clinking against plates and the low hum of rain against the windows.

But later, when Zoe cleared her plate and slipped away to her room, Charlie looked at Bella.

“She eat anything at lunch?” he asked, voice low.

Bella shook her head. “Not really.”

Charlie exhaled through his nose. “Keep an eye on her, would you?”

“I am,” Bella said.

And she was.

The first week of school ended without fanfare. No murders, no murder plots, not even a single supernatural breakdown. A little bland for Zoe’s taste—but wasn’t that the point of leaving Mystic Falls?

Still, when she stepped into the parking lot, she realized Bella had already left.

“Awesome,” Zoe muttered, tugging her floral skirt down and stepping off the curb into a puddle. Her kitten heels soaked instantly. “Caroline is going to send a hit squad.”

It wasn’t raining, but Forks always seemed to hold water in its bones. She trudged forward, heels squelching, avoiding the worst puddles as she made for the road. Charlie’s house was about a thirty-five-minute walk—closer to fifty factoring in the shoes and Zoe Clark’s deeply-rooted identity as a drama queen in distress.

She was halfway home when something moved across the street.

Her body stilled. Just beyond the tree line—

A wolf. Massive. Watching.

Zoe froze. It didn’t move. Just stood there, half-hidden in shadow. Forks wasn’t Mystic Falls, but that thing was huge . Wolves weren’t supposed to come that close to town. Not unless...

She took a step forward.

A horn blared. Headlights flared.

Zoe’s heart dropped. Her limbs locked, too slow, too stunned. The car screeched to a halt just inches from her knees. If she had bent forward, her head might have kissed the hood.

The driver’s door flung open. “Are you alright?”

A tall man climbed out—blond, clean-shaven, dressed sharply. Too calm for someone who’d almost committed vehicular manslaughter.

“Yeah,” Zoe breathed. “Close call.”

He stared at her—too long.

Zoe stiffened. That was never a good thing for a doppelgänger.

“…You okay?” she asked, eyeing him warily.

“You just… look familiar,” he murmured.

That was worse.

“I’m Carlisle,” he said, stepping forward slightly, offering a hand.

“Zoe,” she said, not taking it. “And no offense, but you’re kinda giving serial killer vibes.”

Carlisle blinked, then smiled—warm, even amused. “I’m a doctor. Forks Hospital.”

“Oh good,” Zoe deadpanned. “A professional serial killer.”

He laughed. It surprised her. His laugh was low and gentle, but his eyes—those stayed sharp. “Can I offer you a ride? I owe you one after that... incident.”

Zoe glanced down at her soaked heels. She really didn’t want to walk the rest of the way.

“You can offer,” she said. “I reserve the right to say no.”

“Fair enough.”

She studied him for a moment longer, then sighed. “Alright. But just know—if you try anything, I will knee you in the throat.”

“Noted,” he said, clearly amused.

He opened the passenger door, and Zoe slid in. The car was warm. She hadn’t realized how cold her fingers were until they started to thaw.

Carlisle got in and glanced over. “Where to?”

“You know where Charlie Swan lives?”

Recognition flickered. “The Chief? You’re his...?”

“Niece. I’m staying with him.”

“And Isabella is his daughter. That makes you cousins.”

“Gold star, Doctor,” Zoe muttered, glancing toward the woods. The wolf was gone.

Carlisle’s tone softened. “He’s lucky to have you both.”

Zoe blinked. That wasn’t what she expected. “Are you always this polite?”

“Occupational hazard.”

As the car rolled down the slick road, Carlisle asked, “So. First week of school?”

Zoe groaned. “Let’s see... the cafeteria is a war zone, I threatened a guy with a stapler, and I think your kids are scared of me.”

He chuckled. “I doubt that.”

“No. Seriously.” She turned toward him. “Edward looks at me like he’s hearing dial-up when I talk. Alice keeps squinting at me like I’m glitching. Rosalie and Emmett? They look at me like I’m a ghost. Jasper’s nice, though. He joined my English class yesterday. Very… still. Like if you asked him to blink, he’d consider it a personal attack.”

Carlisle’s hands tightened on the wheel.

“And you,” she added, “you’re looking at me like I grew a second head.”

Carlisle’s voice was calm. “You remind me of someone I once knew.”

Zoe didn’t press. Something in his voice warned her not to.

They pulled into Charlie’s driveway.

Zoe grabbed her bag. “Thanks for the ride, Doctor Cullen.”

“My pleasure.”

She paused, hand on the door. “You’re not gonna disappear the next time I see you, right?”

He smiled faintly. “I’ll try not to.”

“Good,” she said, stepping out. “Because next time, I’m picking the music. I’m a big fan of Beyoncé, just warning you.”

She shut the door and walked toward the house, heels tapping on wet pavement.

Carlisle watched her go—haunted and still.

It had been a full day since he met her.

And still, Carlisle Cullen couldn’t let her go.

Zoe Clark.

He’d said her name out loud only once—introducing himself on the roadside, still rattled from nearly hitting her. But her name hadn’t stopped echoing in his mind since. Not just because of what it was… but because of who it brought back.

It wasn’t just the name.

It was her eyes.

Grey. Stormy. Human.

He hadn’t seen eyes like that in over seventy years—not since the woods outside Vancouver, when Zoe Cullen still had blood in her veins and breath in her lungs. When she was just Zoe Albert. Before fangs. Before fire. Before death.

Before him.

Carlisle had lived long enough to forget many things. He’d forgotten the sound of his own mother’s voice. He’d forgotten what London smelled like in the spring when he’d been human. But he had never—not once—forgotten his wife’s eyes.

And now, there they were. Alive, in the face of a girl who couldn’t possibly be her.

He’d told himself it was a coincidence. A trick of biology and grief.

But every time he closed his eyes, Zoe Clark stared back. Not identical. Not immortal. But something beneath the skin—a familiar grief, an unspoken knowing—that twisted in his chest like a reopened wound.

And worse: he knew his family had seen it too.

Edward had gone quiet. Alice couldn’t see her. Rosalie had stared like she’d seen a ghost. And Emmett—dear, honest Emmett—had looked like someone had punched the air from his lungs. Jasper had gone still, his usual hum of unease replaced with something colder—like even he could feel a shift in the atmosphere, but didn’t yet know what it meant. He

It was happening again.

The same ache. The same pull.

And that was why Carlisle had made his decision.

It didn’t matter who Zoe Clark was.

She had to stay human.

She couldn’t be swept into their orbit. Not again. Not like last time.

Because if Edward got too close—if Alice grew too curious—if he himself started to hope…

Zoe Clark would lose what little innocence she still had. Maybe even her life. Maybe more.

Carlisle stared out the window of his office, hands clasped behind his back, jaw tight.

He would protect her. For Zoe Cullen’s sake, if nothing else.

Even if it meant shielding her from the family she reminded him of. Even if it meant lying. Even if it meant keeping his children at arm’s length.

Because Zoe Clark had the same storm-grey eyes that had once looked up at him in the snow, trembling but brave.

And he couldn’t lose her again.

Chapter Text

The Cullens didn’t go to parties.

It was a rule more than a tradition, understood without being spoken. They’d perfected the art of elegant detachment—always present, never involved. But that was before Zoe Clark.

Carlisle had been clear: keep your distance. Zoe Clark wasn’t their concern. She wasn’t Zoe Cullen. She was a teenage girl with a complicated past and too many unknowns. The safest thing—for her and for them—was space.

But that silent agreement among siblings had always been flexible. What Carlisle didn’t know wouldn’t keep him up at night - not that vampires slept anyway.

So when Alice caught wind of the weekend bonfire in the woods and insisted they should go, no one stopped her.

“You want to go to a high school rager in the middle of nowhere?” Jasper asked, eyeing her skeptically.

Rosalie shrugged. “We can blend in.”

Edward gave her a look. “This has nothing to do with Zoe Clark, I suppose?”

Neither Alice nor Rosalie answered.

When they arrived, the party was already in full swing—bonfires crackling, music blasting, laughter echoing between trees. Bella stood by her truck, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the girl sitting on the tailgate just a few feet away.

Zoe Clark looked like she was trying to keep herself from unraveling.

Her phone was clutched tightly in her hand, her whole body hunched forward as though bracing for impact.

“She got a call just before we pulled in,” Bella explained quietly when Alice approached. “Sounded serious.”

The Cullens didn’t need to guess.

“I know you’re mad,” Zoe whispered into the phone. “I just… I needed to hear your voice.”

A beat. Then Damon’s voice—sharp, cold, and unmistakable: “If you wanted to hear my voice, you wouldn’t have left me to deal with all of this alone, Zo.”

Zoe flinched like she’d been slapped. “I miss you. Even if you’re a dick. Love you, okay? I gotta go.” She hung up quickly, wiped her face, and slid down from the tailgate.

“Ready?” she asked Bella with forced brightness.

“That was Damon, wasn’t it?”

Zoe didn’t answer. She just smiled tightly. “Let’s go.”

They merged into the crowd, Bella trailing just a step behind.

“You talk to him a lot,” Bella said, watching Zoe scan the crowd. “You two aren’t—”

“Dating? You can say it, Bella.”

“Well? Are you?”

Zoe shrugged. “I’m not a relationship person.”

Bella arched her brow. “That means nothing.”

“It means… Damon’s just a friend. Who sometimes lets me sleep in his bed. And yeah, there are naked sexy times.”

Bella nearly dropped the drink she’d been handed. “Zoe!”

Zoe grinned. “He didn’t flinch at the mess I was.” Her voice went quieter. “That’s why I loved him. Past tense... mostly.”

Behind them, Emmett frowned. Rosalie’s jaw clenched.

They watched Zoe bounce from person to person, her energy too big, too loud, like she was trying to prove something to herself. She drank from a bottle of bourbon she’d smuggled in her oversized tote bag, winking at Emmett as she raised it in salute.

“She’s spiraling,” Alice whispered.

“She’s trying to feel normal,” Edward replied. “Only she doesn’t know how anymore.”

The night blurred.

Zoe played with fire—literally. She splashed gasoline on one of the bonfires, earning a collective cheer from the crowd as flames roared skyward. Emmett had to rush forward and grab her by the wrist.

“Let someone sober handle this,” he said gently.

“No fun,” Zoe pouted.

“You’re flammable.”

“Add that to the list of my worst ideas today.”

She vanished before he could say more. Then returned minutes later — shirtless, barefoot, and dancing on a table, bottle of bourbon in hand.

Edward appeared beside her like a shot, jacket already off. Bella followed close behind, catching Zoe just as she started to sway. Without a word, she wrapped Edward’s jacket around her cousin’s bare shoulders, tugging it closed in the front.

“Party foul!” Zoe shouted, grinning wildly. “Take a shot, Bells! Or I will for you!”

Bella kept her hands on the jacket. “You’re freezing, Zo.”

“I’m fun!” Zoe declared, slipping free and spinning. “I’m fun again, Bella.” Her eyes were wild, glassy. “I used to be fun. Before I wasn’t.”

She lifted the bottle again, downing a shot just as Emmett reached the edge of the table.

“You’ve had enough,” he said, quiet but firm.

“I’ve barely started,” Zoe shot back, leaping from the table and landing with a wobble before spinning barefoot on the grass.

Then, she froze.

The bottle slipped from her hand and shattered on a nearby rock. Her fingers clutched her stomach. Her eyes darted, frantic.

“Zoe?” Bella asked.

“My phone. Need my phone—brown bag? Pink?”

“It’s black,” Bella said gently, already pressing her own phone into Zoe’s hand.

Zoe took it and dialed, hands shaking. “If you’re not answering, you better be dead. Like, seriously dead. Neck snapped, bleeding on the floor, dead.”

No answer.

She tried again. “Ric? Find him. Damon. I felt it. Something’s wrong.”

“I’ll find him,” came the quiet reply. “Don’t worry.” Then the line went dead.

Zoe exhaled and lowered the phone, ending the call. When she turned, the Cullens were there—still, silent, watching.

“I’m Zoe,” she said shakily. “Zoe Clark.” 

​​She introduced herself like it was the first time, despite already having met all the Cullens. Maybe she didn’t remember. Or maybe she just needed to feel like she was starting fresh.

Alice stepped forward. “Nice to finally meet you.”

Zoe smiled, even if it trembled. “Thanks. I’m told I’m a high-maintenance drunk. I’ll forget this tomorrow. Or pretend I will.”

Emmett chuckled, and the tension broke for a moment.

Zoe laughed with him. “Still,” she added, looking around at the firelight, the faces, the stars peeking through the trees. “This might be the most human I’ve felt in months.”

They didn’t respond. They didn’t have to.

Zoe Clark hated morning afters. The headache, the regret, the distant memories clawing at the edge of sleep. Especially when those memories had teeth.

Then, The smell hit Zoe like a freight train.

Bacon. Coffee. Something aggressively egg-related. Her stomach turned traitor instantly, growling and twisting all at once.

She groaned and pulled a throw pillow over her head on the couch. “Are you trying to kill me?”

From the kitchen, Charlie Swan didn’t answer. He just whistled—loudly. Off-key. Purposefully cheerful.

Zoe whimpered. “Uncle Charlie, I swear to God, if you whistle Yankee Doodle one more time, I’m going to summon something unholy.”

“I’m just makin’ breakfast.” His voice was far too chipper for seven in the morning. “Big day. Big... loud... sunny... day.”

He flipped something in a skillet with a clang. The sizzle screamed like demons escaping hell.

Zoe groaned again, burrowing deeper into the throw blanket she’d passed out in last night. “You’re enjoying this. You know I’m hungover, and you’re torturing me on purpose.”

Charlie walked into the living room with his mug, leaned on the edge of the armchair, and sipped—loudly. “Huh. Didn’t know you drank. Thought that was just how you naturally sounded.”

Zoe peeked one eye out from under the pillow. “You’re a sadist.”

He grunted, clearly satisfied. “You’re lucky I don’t ground you for bringing contraband into my jurisdiction. Bourbon? Seriously?”

She squinted up at him, muttering, “Bella’s a snitch, by the way.”

“Didn’t need Bella to tell me. You reeked of bourbon and bad decisions.”

Zoe groaned and flopped fully onto her back. “Ugh. I hate this town.”

Charlie placed a plate on the coffee table. Eggs. Toast. Bacon. Salt, grease, and heartburn.

She stared at it like it might explode. “Thanks,” she croaked.

“You’re welcome,” he said, calm as ever, like this was just another morning and not the aftermath of a Category 5 teenage spiral.

Her phone buzzed. Once. Twice. She reached for it on instinct, praying it was spam or a wrong number.

But the name on the screen jolted her faster than any hangover remedy.

Damon.

She hit answer, sitting up too fast. The room tilted sideways.

“Damon?” she said softly. “I tried calling last night. I sent Ric—”

His voice cut through, low and urgent. “Stefan’s back.”

Zoe’s blood turned to ice. “He’s—wait. He’s back ?”

There was a pause. Damon never hesitated. That was how she knew this was real.

“So that means…”

“Klaus is back,” Damon said quietly. “And he knows you and Elena aren’t dead.”

She couldn’t breathe.

The sunlight pouring through the blinds suddenly felt like a spotlight. Like a sniper’s scope trained on her chest.

“No. No, that’s—he can’t know—he’s not supposed to—”

“He knows,” Damon confirmed grimly. “You’ve got maybe a few days, maybe a few months. I don’t know. But someone’s coming. I don’t know if it’ll be him or one of his lackeys—but Zoe , I need you to be ready. He wants you.”

She stood unsteadily. “Ready? Damon, I’m hungover . I’m in a house full of…” She stopped herself, Charlie still in the room. “If he finds me here—”

Charlie, eyes narrowed, stood at the edge of the kitchen. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t look away either.

Zoe spun toward the stairs like she might run. “I could go. Just... disappear. Burn my ID, ditch my phone. Make him chase ghosts—”

“You think Klaus gets bored ?” Damon snapped. “You think he just lets people go ? Katherine ran for centuries . Running won’t save you. It never has. You’ve got to be smarter than him.”

She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to slow her breathing. “So what do I do?”

“You don’t run. You think . You plan . You stay put and let me work. We’ve dealt with him before. You’ve lived through worse.”

Her voice trembled. “You don’t know that.”

There was silence on the line.

Then, softer: “You’re not alone this time. I can find you—no matter where he takes you.”

She swallowed hard. “Right.”

“Call me later. Sober .”

He hung up.

Zoe lowered the phone slowly. Her hands were still shaking.

Charlie set the coffee pot down on the counter. “Something I need to know?”

She didn’t look at him. “No.”

“You sure?” he asked, folding his arms. “Because that looked like the kind of call that ruins more than just a morning.”

Zoe turned toward him, eyes hollow. “I think... trouble found me again.”

Charlie stared at her, jaw tight. “Then it’s a good thing you’re not alone anymore either.”

Zoe blinked. That’s exactly what Damon had said.

“I’m not your dad,” Charlie added, shrugging. “But I’m a decent shot. So if this trouble has a name and a face... we’ll handle it.”

She didn’t respond. Just nodded.

Then she sat back down, picked up a piece of toast with trembling fingers, and bit into it like it might be the last thing she’d ever taste.

Zoe Clark was twitchy.

Not in the chaotic, lovable way people were starting to expect after Friday night’s party—but something sharper, quieter. Like she was waiting for a gunshot. Her eyes flicked to every movement, every laugh that was too loud, every locker that slammed harder than it needed to.

She walked beside Bella like a shadow at war with its own outline.

Bella noticed. She didn’t say anything, but Zoe could feel her cousin’s eyes skimming over her whenever she thought Zoe wasn’t paying attention. Bella’s silence wasn’t indifference—it was a loaded pause. A waiting space. Zoe was grateful for it. And irritated by it. Equally.

When someone dropped their books during her first period, Zoe jumped like they’d fired a starter pistol. The teacher barely looked up. No one else reacted.

But four rows back, Jasper Cullen turned his head—eyes steady, calm, and focused. He didn’t blink. He didn’t look away.

The cafeteria was loud, and Zoe hated every second of it.

She sat across from Bella, pushing lettuce around her tray, a salad she hadn’t wanted but grabbed out of guilt. Bella didn’t say anything—she just watched as Zoe stabbed a crouton like it had insulted her personally.

Her skin itched. Her mind buzzed. Her phone remained maddeningly silent. Damon wasn’t answering. Neither was Ric. Bonnie, Elena, Caroline—ghosts, all of them. 

Across the cafeteria, the Cullens were silent.

Edward leaned toward Alice, his voice low. “She’s getting worse.”

Alice frowned, eyes still fixed on Zoe. “Still nothing. I try to look, and she’s like… fog. But the kind that bites.”

“She’s not just overwhelmed,” Jasper said, eyes narrowing. “She’s scared.”

Emmett drummed his fingers against the table. “Should we do something? She looks like she’s gonna bolt.”

“She looks like she’s planning to,” Edward muttered.

And when Zoe abruptly stood, muttered something to Bella, and dumped her untouched tray in the bin—they weren’t surprised.

None of them moved.

Until Rosalie did.

Zoe leaned against the side of the school building, arms wrapped around herself, breath fogging in the cold air. She hadn’t meant to come out here. It just… happened. One moment, she was sitting across from Bella. The next, her legs were moving. Her body moving on instinct.

She didn’t bring her jacket. Of course she didn’t. Forks was always cold. She should’ve known better.

“You forgot this,” said a voice.

Zoe jumped. Rosalie Cullen stood a few feet away, holding out her black suede jacket.

Zoe blinked. “Thanks.” She took it with care, like it might bite. “Didn’t realize you knew I left.”

Rosalie raised a brow. “You’re hard to miss.”

Zoe gave a humorless laugh and slipped the jacket on. “Story of my life.”

Rosalie didn’t smile. But her tone softened. “You okay?”

Zoe hesitated. The usual lies rose up: Peachy. Perfect. Living the dream.

But they tasted like ash.

“I’m fine,” she said eventually. “Just... tired.”

“You look more than tired.”

Zoe glanced at Rosalie—at her impossible beauty, the way she glowed even under cloud cover. She stood like a statue carved by someone too afraid to soften her. But her eyes were watchful. Steady. Like she was waiting to catch Zoe mid-fall.

“You the designated welcome wagon now?” Zoe asked dryly.

“Just the designated observer,” Rosalie replied. “You’ve caught all our attention.”

Zoe tensed. “Sorry I don’t blend in.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No?” Zoe’s voice sharpened. “Because if this is a check-in disguised as small talk, you should know—I’m used to worse.”

Rosalie didn’t flinch. “I’m not here to interrogate you, Zoe.”

Not Clark . Not Bella’s cousin. Zoe.

That caught her off guard.

Rosalie turned, glancing out toward the trees. “You remind me of someone. That’s all.”

Zoe’s stomach twisted. “Let me guess. Too much eyeliner. Set fires for fun.”

Rosalie’s mouth twitched. “No. Someone who carried too much of everyone else’s weight until she cracked.”

That hit like a body blow. Zoe dropped her eyes to her boots. “She sounds like a riot.”

“She was. Stubborn. Kind. Didn’t know when to ask for help.”

Zoe let out a slow breath. “Maybe we’ve got more in common than I thought.”

Rosalie looked over at her. “Whatever’s got you looking over your shoulder? It’s not here. Not today.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

Zoe wanted to believe her. Wanted to let the certainty in Rosalie’s voice carry her. But the echo of Damon’s voice haunted her: Klaus is back. He knows you’re not dead.

She closed her eyes. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

Rosalie nodded. “Then stop trying to carry it alone.”

Zoe looked up—really looked—and saw something behind Rosalie’s perfect posture. Not pity. Not judgment.

Understanding.

“Thanks,” Zoe said quietly. “For the jacket. And... the rest.”

Rosalie just nodded and turned back toward the building.

Zoe lingered, watching the mist swirl across the field. The moment stretched out like breath held underwater. Then she followed—back into the chaos, a little warmer, a little steadier.

Not fixed.

But not alone.

Chapter Text

Zoe Clark hated parking lots.

Wide open. Nowhere to hide. Too much sky and too many strangers moving too fast.

But she barely noticed it today. Her phone screen glowed in her trembling hands. One new message from Ric:

Klaus turned Tyler. He used Elena’s blood.

Zoe stopped dead in the icy lot.

"Tyler's a hybrid," she whispered, breath clouding in the cold air. The words tasted like metal.

Tyler Lockwood. Zoe’s stomach twisted harder. Of all the people Klaus could’ve turned… Tyler had been one of the few constants in her life. Rough around the edges, sure — but he’d always had her back. She’d stood up to his father more times than she could count, slipping between them with shaking hands and a defiant glare when Mayor Lockwood got too loud, too angry. Tyler never asked her to, but he never stopped her either. He just stood there afterward, quiet, eyes lowered, like her bravery meant more than he could say. He was the first one to sneak her champagne at the Founders’ Party, laughing when Caroline scolded them both. He and his mom were the first to show up at the hospital when Zoe’s mother died. He’d sat beside her in silence while the world cracked apart. And now... he was gone. Not dead — worse. Taken. Twisted. Turned into something Klaus could use. And Klaus had used Elena to do it.

If Zoe had been there, it could have been her blood instead of Elena’s. Klaus didn’t need confirmation that Zoe was alive — she was certain he already suspected she was out there, somewhere. Hiding. Waiting. And if he’d had the chance, he would drain her dry without hesitation or remorse. Because to Klaus, Zoe wasn’t a person.

To Klaus, she was just a means to an end.

The wind sliced across her skin, but all she could feel was the sharp snap of panic threading through her ribs. Klaus had made his first hybrid. With Elena’s blood. She felt sick.

Bella’s voice came faintly behind her. “Zoe?”

Zoe didn’t turn.

Her pulse thudded in her throat. Her vision tunneled. She wanted to scream. Run. Fight. But she stood frozen.

Until the sound of screeching tires tore her out of her daze.

A van skidded into the parking lot—blue, too fast, slipping across black ice—and careening straight toward Bella.

Zoe’s instincts roared to life. She moved—too slow.

“Bells!”

Time broke.

There was a blur of motion. A rush of air. Then two things happened at once:

Edward Cullen appeared out of nowhere. He shoved Bella out of the van’s path with one hand—and with the other, he pushed Zoe.

Hard.

Zoe hit the pavement, shoulder-first, gasping as pain crackled down her arm. Gravel bit into her palms. The van slammed into the side of Bella’s car—and stopped. Inches from where Bella had landed.

Zoe groaned, rolling to her side. Her shoulder screamed.

Bella sat up across from her, dazed. Edward crouched in front of them, calm, too calm.

“You were across the lot,” Bella said, voice thin.

“I heard it,” Edward replied smoothly. “I ran.”

Zoe sat up shakily. “You shoved me.”

“You were in the way,” Edward said, tone infuriatingly even. “You would’ve been hit.”

“You threw me like a rag doll.”

“You’re welcome,” he said.

Zoe’s glare could have melted pavement. “You could’ve said something first!”

“Would that have helped?” he snapped, the mask slipping.

Bella blinked at them both. “Zoe—are you okay?”

“I’ll live,” Zoe muttered, clutching her shoulder. “Can’t say the same for my jacket.”

By the time the ambulance arrived, Zoe was sarcastic and surly and trying to walk it off.

Bella was quieter. Shaken. Edward hovered, uninvited and unreadable.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, cradling her arm as she stood with visible effort. “I bounce. I’m like a rubber band. Or a roach.”

The paramedic reached for her elbow. “You really shouldn’t—”

“Unless I’m actively bleeding out, I’d rather skip the whole ‘let’s bill your insurance’ part,” she muttered, flinching when she tried to lift her arm. “And I swear if anyone tries to cut this jacket off me, I will haunt them.”

Edward was at her side in an instant. “You could have a concussion.”

“I probably do,” she said flatly. “Still not getting in your magic death van unless someone bribes me with snacks or a morphine drip.”

Emmett stepped in behind her, arms crossed. “Zoe. Come on.”

She glanced up at him, brow arched. “You too, Big Guy? I thought we had a no-nagging agreement.”

Bella, already on a stretcher, reached out. “Zo. Please.”

Zoe looked at her cousin—pale, shaken, silent—and something shifted behind her eyes. She let out a long breath, the fight leaving her in a slow leak.

“God, fine.” She turned back to the paramedics, rolling her eyes. “But I’m not peeing in a cup, and I’m not talking to anyone whose name rhymes with Chad.”

With a wince, she climbed onto the second stretcher, muttering under her breath, “Damon would’ve fixed this with a half-glare and some blood. Kinda rude of him not to teleport here.”

Edward tilted his head, amused now that he was sure Zoe would be taken care of. “What was that?”

Zoe shot him a glare that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Eavesdropping is rude, Bambi.”

Bella sighed. “Zoe…”

“Nothing. It was nothing,” Zoe snapped. “Just wishing my emotional support sociopath wasn’t on the other side of the country.”

Bella blinked. Emmett stayed quiet but exchanged a look with Edward, who frowned. Neither of them seemed sure whether to be amused—or deeply concerned.

As the ambulance doors shut behind them, Zoe laid back, stared at the ceiling, and whispered under her breath, too low for the EMTs to hear, “Anytime now, Damon. A cracked shoulder’s a real buzzkill.”

She didn’t expect a reply—not out loud. But the bond flared, faint and anxious, like a knock against the inside of her ribs. Damon felt it. Somewhere, thousands of miles away, he felt her pain and panic. And he was worried. The pressure of it settled over her like a second blanket—sharp, hot, and familiar. Almost enough to make her feel safe.

Almost.

Fifteen minutes later, Charlie stormed into the hospital, pale and furious.

Charlie stormed into the hospital fifteen minutes later.

“Where are they?!”

“Dad, we’re fine—” Bella started.

Zoe raised her good hand from the gurney. “I bounced.”

That earned a tight look from Charlie and a lecture she mostly tuned out—until another figure entered the treatment bay.

Carlisle

Dr. Cullen.

Zoe stared.

He looked like a ghost. No—like someone who’d seen one.

Carlisle’s calm was the stuff of legends, but when his eyes locked on hers, something flickered.

Recognition.

Pain.

Possibility.

She knew that look. She’d seen it in the mirror when she woke up from dreams of other lives.

“You’re the doctor?” she asked.

“We meet again,” he said gently. “Zoe, right?”

She blinked at him, caught off guard by how carefully he said her name. “That’s me,” she replied slowly. “Still in one piece, more or less.”

Carlisle said nothing. He gently examined her shoulder, barely touching her.

“It’s just a bruise. Some ligament strain. No breaks.”

Zoe smirked. “So I do bounce.” She shot Bella a look — pointed, smug — the kind that clearly said I told you so , even without words.

Carlisle looked away.

“You’re sure you’re a doctor?” she asked.

His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yes.”

But Zoe could tell: something about her had shaken him.

Aftermath

Once Carlisle left, Bella and Zoe exchanged a look.

“You ever get the feeling,” Zoe murmured, “that someone knows more about you than you do?”

Bella nodded. “I think everyone here’s hiding something.”

In the hallway, Carlisle leaned against the wall, fists clenched.

“She’s not the same,” he whispered. “She can’t be.”

But her eyes—God, her eyes.

They were exactly the same.

The ride home was quiet—tense in that awkward, overprotective dad kind of way. Charlie kept glancing into the rearview mirror like he expected Zoe to pass out or jump out of the car. Bella sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, still wrapped in Edward’s jacket. She hadn’t said much since they left the hospital.

Zoe was curled up in the backseat, her slinged arm resting on a pillow Bella had smuggled from the ER. She kept her face tilted away, staring blankly out the window. She hadn’t felt Damon’s presence again since the ambulance, but his silence was deafening now. She knew he was awake. Alert. Pacing, probably. Brooding. Definitely.

Charlie practically leapt out of the car when they pulled into the driveway. “Inside. Both of you. Couch, water, food. Now.”

“I’m not dying, Uncle Charlie,” Zoe groaned as she slid out of the car, holding her arm protectively. “I just got yeeted into a school bus.”

“ Van, ” Bella corrected automatically, trailing behind her.

“Details,” Zoe muttered.

“You're concussed,” Charlie snapped as he unlocked the door. “That’s not ‘not dying,’ that’s ‘not ideal.’”

Zoe rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Once inside, she flopped onto the couch dramatically, using her good hand to grab the throw blanket and pull it over her head like a cape. Bella went to the kitchen and returned with two glasses of water and some Tylenol.

Zoe peeked out from under the blanket.

“Charlie made me promise to get these into both of us,” Bella said, holding out the glass.

Zoe took it with a sigh. “You’re such a snitch.”

Charlie walked in behind them, arms crossed, still wearing his uniform. “I heard that. ”

“I meant for you to hear it,” Zoe mumbled, tossing the Tylenol back with dramatic flair. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to sink into the couch and pretend I don’t exist.”

“You can do that after I check your pupils again.”

Zoe groaned and flopped onto her back. “I’m going to scream.”

“You can scream after I check your reflexes.”

“Uncle Charlie—”

“No. Couch. Still. Eyes.” He kneeled next to her and clicked a small flashlight on. “And don’t think you can charm your way out of this. You scared the hell out of me, kid.”

Zoe fell silent at that. Her face softened just a little. “…Sorry.”

He sighed, his voice quieter now. “You’re all I’ve got left of your mom.”

Zoe swallowed hard and didn’t answer. It had been years since her mom died. Zoe rarely even thought of the woman anymore, barely remembering her. So Zoe just nodded.

A long, quiet moment passed.

Then her phone buzzed.

She jolted upright so fast it made Charlie startle. Bella raised an eyebrow.

Zoe grabbed the phone from the side table and stared at the screen. Damon.

Her thumb hovered for a second before she stood, still cradling her shoulder.

“I’m taking this outside.”

“No,” Charlie said firmly. “Couch.”

Zoe gritted her teeth, glanced at Bella, then retreated to the hallway, ignoring Charlie’s demand, and answered in a whisper. “What the hell, Damon?” Her voice was sharp. It was the first time he’d called her in weeks.

“You alright? I felt it. One minute I was sipping bourbon and the next, panic attack by proxy .”

Zoe’s voice dropped to a hiss. “Yeah, well, someone punted me like a football in front of my entire school, so that was fun. Thanks for the bond-related panic attack.”

Damon exhaled. “I asked if you were okay.”

“No, you felt I wasn’t okay. Big difference.”

“Zoe—”

“You didn’t tell me about Tyler.”

Silence.

Her eyes flashed. “Don’t play dumb, Damon. I know. Klaus turned him. Into a hybrid. Using Elena’s blood. And you didn’t think that was something I should know?”

“You’re across the country. I didn’t think you needed to know.”

“Oh screw you, Damon!” Zoe shouted suddenly, then quickly lowered her voice, stepping into the laundry room. “Everything Klaus does is my business. You know why? Because I’m a doppelganger, remember? That makes me a walking blood bag in his sick hybrid factory.”

“Zoe—”

“You should’ve told me,” she snapped, voice thick with fury. “But no, you just—you let me leave. You let me believe things were quiet. That everything was fine. And meanwhile Klaus is experimenting on people I used to sit next to in AP Bio!”

“Putting aside the fact that Tyler Lockwood definitely never took AP Bio, you two never weren’t even in the same grade.”

“Not the point.” She hissed.

“You left, Zoe.”

The silence hit hard.

Damon continued, cold now. “You left. You ran. You said you didn’t want this life anymore. So don’t get pissed at me for keeping you out of it.”

Her voice cracked. “I left because I had to. I left because every time I looked at Elena, I saw blood.” Of Jenna Sommers waking up, scared and confused. Of Jules staring at Zoe through a ring of fire. Of Klaus’ hand through her dad’s chest. “And every time I looked at you, I saw everything I couldn’t have. I didn’t leave because I stopped caring. ”

“…Zoe.”

“I have to go.”

“You still matter, Zo.”

Her hand clenched around the phone. “I wish that made me feel better.”

She hung up.

Bella looked up as Zoe reentered, pale and trembling. She sank back onto the couch, blanket tugged up around her shoulders again. Charlie hovered in the kitchen, trying not to hover. He was failing.

“Zoe?” Bella asked softly.

Zoe shook her head. “Just…an old friend being a pain in my ass.”

“You okay?”

“No.”

She said it with a smile.

Charlie returned with a heating pad and a glass of juice. “Here. Doctor’s orders.”

Zoe blinked. “Carlisle called?”

“No, but I liked him, so I’m pretending he did.”

Zoe managed a small laugh. “You’re very dedicated to your role.”

Charlie softened. “I just want my girls safe.”

Zoe curled further into the couch, letting the heat of the pad soak into her shoulder.

Safe.

She wasn’t safe. Elena wasn’t safe. Tyler sure as hell wasn’t safe. Klaus was still out there.

But right now?

Right now, she had her cousin. And Uncle Charlie. And a house full of quiet.

And maybe that was enough for one night.

The street outside the Swan house was silent, draped in fog and pine-scented stillness.

Edward moved like a whisper through the trees, shoes silent against damp earth. He hadn’t meant to come this late—not really. But after the accident, after the adrenaline wore off and Bella’s heartbeat was safely steady again, he found himself unable to rest.

So he came.

To check on her. To breathe her in. To know she was okay.

He was nearly to her window when he saw the figure near the tree line—still and unmistakable.

“Carlisle?” he asked softly, brow furrowing.

His father didn’t startle. He turned slightly, hands folded behind his back like he was in a hospital hallway and not standing outside a suburban house at two in the morning.

“Edward,” Carlisle said with a small nod. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Edward stepped closer, joining him beneath the dark canopy of trees. “We don’t sleep.”

Carlisle almost smiled. “Right.”

A pause settled between them—not awkward, but heavy.

Edward stepped closer, voice low. “You alright?”

Carlisle’s hands were folded behind his back, posture deceptively composed. “I don’t know.” He exhaled slowly, gaze still fixed on the darkened window. “It’s like seeing her ghost. Not just the resemblance—but the energy. The defiance. Even her heartbeat reminds me of… before.”

Edward nodded slightly, understanding without needing further explanation. “You grieved her,” he said gently. “You don’t have to apologize for not being done.”

Carlisle almost smiled. “I thought I was.”

Edward looked up toward the house. “It’s not just you. She’s... destabilizing. Alice is frustrated. Jasper’s on edge. Emmett’s too quiet. And Rosalie—”

“Rosalie sees the same thing I do,” Carlisle finished, voice brittle. “The beginning of the end. Or a second chance we’re not supposed to want.”

They stood there in silence for a long moment. Then Edward said softly, “She’s not your Zoe.”

Carlisle closed his eyes. “I know.”

“But she’s someone. And that should matter too.”

Carlisle finally turned toward him. “It does. That’s what makes it worse. I can’t mourn her, and I can’t save her. And the more I see of her, the more I worry... we’ll destroy her.”

Edward nodded, his expression unreadable. “Then maybe keeping your distance is the right thing. Even if it hurts.”

Carlisle looked back at the house one last time. “It does.”

Edward didn’t speak again. He simply stood beside him for a moment longer, the two of them bound by memory, fear, and something unspoken.

Then he turned toward the house. “I’m going to check on Bella.”

“I’ll stay out here a little longer,” Carlisle murmured.

And Edward left him there—still and solemn under the trees, listening to the echo of a heartbeat that shouldn’t belong to a ghost, but did.

The morning sun crept in like it didn’t know it was supposed to be cloudy in Forks. It slanted through the blinds and lit up the living room in soft, harmless gold.

Zoe Clark groaned.

Her shoulder ached. Her hair was a mess. And the house smelled like black coffee and parental overreach.

“Morning,” Charlie called from the kitchen, like a man who knew he held power today.

Zoe blinked up from the couch, a blanket tangled around her legs. “You’re still here.”

He appeared in the doorway, already in jeans and a flannel. “I took the day off.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“You have a concussion,” he replied flatly, holding up a plate of toast like a peace offering. “Doctor’s orders.”

“I don’t think the doctor meant you had to babysit me.”

Charlie crossed the room and set the plate on the coffee table, then pointed at the sling draped uselessly across the arm of the couch. “Put that back on.”

Zoe ignored him and reached for the toast with her bad arm. A jolt of pain made her hiss. “I’m fine.”

Charlie didn’t say anything. Just picked up the sling and handed it over.

Zoe glared. “You’re really leaning into this overprotective uncle routine, huh?”

“I’m a man of simple pleasures,” he said, deadpan. “Fishing. Baseball. Making sure you don’t re-injure your shoulder because you’re too stubborn to sit still.”

Zoe muttered something under her breath but took the sling anyway, fumbling it on one-handed. Charlie didn’t help. He just waited.

Once it was secured, she slouched deeper into the cushions. “Bella gets to go to school. Why don’t I?”

“Because Bella didn’t get launched into the pavement like a cartoon character.”

“Unfair. She definitely rolled dramatically.”

“Sure,” Charlie said. “But you’re the one who got stretchered into my house like a quarterback with poor instincts.”

Zoe snorted and reached for her toast. “It’s not even my first concussion.”

Charlie blinked slowly. “Not helping yourself.”

“Technically, this isn’t even top five for worst injuries. There was this one time in Mystic Falls—”

“Zoe.”

“I’m just saying,” she said, grinning now, “I bounce.”

Charlie took a long sip of coffee and muttered, “Bounce less.”

They sat in silence for a beat. She chewed. He sipped his coffee.

Then, without looking, he added, “And don’t even think about taking that sling off again. I will duct tape it to your body.”

Zoe grinned wider. “You wouldn’t.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Try me.”

Zoe leaned back with a groan and flung her good arm across her eyes. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Charlie took another sip. “Better than your last one.”

And she had to admit… he wasn’t wrong.

Zoe Clark had always been good at pretending.

Pretending to be fine. Pretending to be normal. Pretending she didn’t feel Damon’s panic echoing through her ribcage like a second heartbeat when a van tried to yeet her cousin across the parking lot.

Pretending she hadn’t missed twelve calls from him since.

But Forks was a town of professional pretenders. She fit right in.

She silenced her phone again—Damon Salvatore calling—and slid it deeper into the pocket of her suede jacket as she stepped onto school grounds. Two days after the accident and Forks was still buzzing about it.

And now she was officially “the girl who got tackled out of the way.” Perfect.

She shoved her sling into her bag now that Charlie had driven away, took a long sip of lukewarm coffee, and pretended not to notice the stares.

Bella had already come back to school the day before. Zoe could’ve come too, probably, but she'd needed space. Charlie’s hovering had nearly driven her up the walls. Damon’s voicemails were all variations of “I know you’re alive, so call me back or I’m flying to Forks,” and she didn’t trust herself not to yell at him if she answered.

He should have told her about Tyler.

He should have told her Klaus was experimenting again.

And now he wanted to play protector— after she’d nearly been mowed down by some teenage idiot with a learner’s permit?

No, thanks.

She didn’t make it to her locker before she was intercepted.

“Zoe.”

She froze.

Emmett Cullen was leaning against the lockers like a statue that had wandered out of a museum. Towering, relaxed, eyes too sharp for someone who always looked like he was about to high-five the world.

Beside him, Rosalie was a vision of precision: cool, poised, and annoyingly beautiful.

“Hey,” Zoe said, voice raspy from too little sleep and too many ignored texts.

“You’re back,” Emmett said cheerfully. “Glad to see you didn’t flattened.”

“Yeah,” Zoe replied, voice light. “Still vertical. All things considered.”

“We wanted to check on you,” Rosalie said, eyes scanning Zoe like she was reading something between the lines.

Zoe shifted, slinging her coffee from one hand to the other. “That’s sweet. But I’m good.”

“You sure?” Emmett tilted his head. “You looked… not great.”

She rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks, Em.” The nickname. So casual, thoughtlessly thrown out into the world.

He grinned. “I mean during the accident. Not right now. Right now you look like you’re about to walk into traffic just to spite someone.”

“I might,” Zoe muttered. “Just for the drama.”

Rosalie’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You were pretty shaken.”

Zoe didn’t answer right away. Her phone buzzed again. She ignored it again.

Damon.

Of course.

She took another sip of coffee. “I don’t like being surprised,” she said eventually. “And the last few weeks have been one long, miserable surprise.”

“We get that,” Rosalie said softly.

That startled Zoe enough to look up. There was something about the way Rosalie looked at her—like she knew things Zoe hadn’t said aloud.

“You and Bella both,” Emmett added. “The whole school’s talking about how Edward basically went full superhero.”

“Yeah,” Zoe said, forcing a laugh. “That was… something.”

“You saw it happen?” Rosalie asked carefully.

Zoe hesitated. “Not clearly. It was fast. Loud. There was adrenaline. And a lot of van.”

“But Edward got to you. And her.” Rosalie’s gaze was sharp now.

Zoe’s phone buzzed again.

She sighed. Pulled it out. Another missed call. This one with a text.

From Damon: I know you’re dodging me. We need to talk, Zo. Don’t make me come up there.

She shoved it back in her pocket.

“You okay?” Emmett asked, catching the flash of irritation on her face.

Zoe forced a smile. “Fine. Just… my ex-boyfriend is a stage-five clinger.”

Rosalie blinked. “Is he the same one you were talking about the night of the party? Damon?”

Zoe arched a brow. “What, were you eavesdropping?”

Emmett looked mildly panicked. “No! I mean… you weren’t quiet. You and Bella were very not quiet.”

Zoe let the smile drop. “Yeah. That’s my bad habit. Not knowing when to shut up.”

Rosalie said nothing.

Zoe adjusted the strap of her bag, trying not to fidget. “You know,” she said, voice dry, “for people who usually ignore everyone, you two are being suspiciously friendly.”

“You’re interesting,” Emmett said simply.

“And you,” Rosalie added, “remind me of someone.”

Zoe tilted her head. “Hopefully someone hot.”
Hopefully not Katherine.

Rosalie rolled her eyes but didn’t look away.

Zoe hesitated. “Thanks. For checking in. Even if I don’t get it.”

Rosalie didn’t blink. “You don’t have to get it. But we’re here.”

And for a second, something in Zoe cracked. Not enough to show, but enough that it ached.

Then her phone buzzed again, and the moment passed.

She sighed, already pulling it out.

From Damon again : I’m not kidding. Call me.

She looked at Emmett and Rosalie, both still watching her like she was something they couldn’t quite explain.

Maybe they were right.

“Sorry,” Zoe said. “Duty calls. Or in this case, dysfunction.”

She gave them a mock salute and turned on her heel, muttering, “If you see me on the roof later, mind your business.”

Rosalie raised a perfectly arched brow. “Is that a joke?”

“Mostly,” Zoe called over her shoulder. “Fifty-fifty.”

She didn’t make it more than halfway across the lot before another Cullen appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

Edward.

“You’re ignoring him,” he said — no preamble, no pleasantries. He must have been listening in on her conversation with Emmett and Rosalie. Or maybe he'd read her screen from halfway across the quad. Typical.

Zoe didn’t flinch. “Wow. Straight to the point. I’m not ignoring anyone. You stalking me now, too?”

“Just walking,” he said, too smoothly. “It’s a small school.”

Zoe turned, arms crossed. “So this is the part where you offer cryptic advice and disappear?”

“No,” Edward said, his voice even. “This is where I ask you to let us help you.”

Zoe blinked. Then barked a laugh. “You don’t even know what I need help with.”

“Maybe not. But whatever it is, you’ve been carrying it alone.”

Zoe looked away. “Have you ever considered thatI like it that way?”

“You don’t,” he said simply. “No one does.”

Zoe bit the inside of her cheek, sizing him up. “I’m not your problem.”

“No,” he agreed. “But you look like someone who’s been trying to outrun a fire.”

She paused. “What if I’m the fire?”

Edward didn’t hesitate. “Then we keep you from burning down.”

That silence again.

Zoe didn’t answer, but she didn’t leave either.

After a beat, Edward said, quieter now, “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Zoe exhaled through her nose, a tired half-laugh. “Alone’s kind of the goal.”

Edward didn’t smile. “It doesn’t have to be.”

She looked away, jaw tight. “Yeah, well. Not everyone gets a choice.”

Zoe leaned against the passenger side door of Bella’s rusty truck, her boot heel rhythmically tapping against the fender. The rain had eased to a mist, but the clouds still loomed low and oppressive, the air clinging to her skin like static.

Bella was inside turning in a makeup assignment. Zoe had begged off, citing a headache—and while it wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t the whole truth either.

She checked her phone.

Six missed calls.

Four from Damon.

Two from a blocked number.

One from Ric.

A text from Damon: Answer your goddamn phone, Zo. I’m done playing this game.

Zoe winced, then exhaled sharply and hit Bonnie's contact instead. It rang only once.

“You’re dodging him.” Bonnie’s voice was soft but knowing.

“Tell him to stop.”

“Zoe…”

“Tell him to back off. I need quiet.”

A pause. “You’re not quiet. I know you. We’ve been friends forever. You’re probably spinning out. You always do this—”

“He’s going to show up. He’s going to do something reckless.”

Bonnie sighed. “He’s already being reckless. You know how he gets when he’s scared.”

“Well, I’m scared too,” Zoe hissed, glancing up at the sky, half-expecting lightning. “And him spiraling doesn’t help.”

Across the lot, Alice Cullen leaned subtly against Jasper’s shoulder, her eyes distant, brow furrowed. She tilted her head slightly in Zoe’s direction.

“She’s blurred again,” Alice whispered, voice low. “I can’t see anything around her. Like she’s not even there.”

Jasper frowned, gaze fixed on Zoe. “But I can feel her. She’s like… static electricity and panic wrapped in sarcasm.”

Zoe, oblivious to the audience, clutched the phone tighter.

“Bon,” she murmured. “I left to keep the storm there. Not bring it here.”

“He doesn’t see it that way.”

“Well, he doesn’t get to make that call.”

“You know he’s just scared. You’re his—”

“Don’t,” Zoe whispered, her voice cracking. “I can’t be anyone’s anything right now.”

Another pause. Then Bonnie said, “Okay. I’ll tell him.”

“Thanks.”

“And Zo?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time, maybe just text him. Before he ends up eating someone in frustration.”

Zoe barked out a laugh, dry and short. “Tell him he’s a drama queen.”

“Already have.”

They hung up.

Zoe lowered the phone to her chest and stared at the pavement, her pulse racing just under her skin.

A door opened behind her. Bella jogged up to the truck, breathless and clutching her binder.

“You okay?” she asked, noticing Zoe’s faraway expression.

Zoe plastered on a half-smile. “Peachy with a side of emotionally constipated.”

Bella raised a brow. “You talk to Damon?”

“No.” Zoe slid into the passenger seat and shut the door. “I talked to Bonnie.”

Bella didn’t press. She never did—not when Zoe was like this. Not when her cousin’s edges were fraying.

As the truck rattled to life, neither of them noticed Alice across the parking lot, still watching, still trying to piece together the girl whose future she couldn’t see—and the storm she clearly carried with her.

That evening, the Cullen living room was quiet, but not peacefully so. The tension in the air felt brittle—tight with restraint.

Alice stood near the grand piano, arms folded, one heeled foot tapping restlessly on the hardwood. “I couldn’t see anything. Not even the call.”

“Same as every time she’s involved,” Edward muttered, pacing in front of the fireplace. “She’s a void. Not just to you. I can’t read her either.”

“She’s human, ” Emmett pointed out, sprawled on the couch with a grimace. “I don’t like how... off this feels.”

“She’s not just human, ” Alice snapped. “Not with what I felt earlier. Not with the way she talks like someone who’s lived ten lives.”

Rosalie, perched on the arm of the sofa, didn’t say anything. Not yet. Her fingers drummed slowly, her golden gaze distant.

Jasper had his back to the room, staring out the tall windows at the fog-draped trees. He was the only one who had a gift that worked with Zoe Clark, but even then, he could only feel her emotions, not influence them as he normally could. “The girl’s a live wire,” he said quietly. “She’s terrified—but hiding it behind sarcasm and bravado.”

Edward turned sharply. “She’s hiding something from everyone.”

“No,” Rosalie said, finally. “She’s protecting something.”

They all turned to look at her.

Alice tilted her head and looked at her husband. “You think she’s in danger?”

“I know she is,” Jasper said darkly.

“She called someone named Bonnie.” Alice added. “Today.” The vampire glanced at her siblings. “To tell Damon to back off.”

“She didn’t even say his name,” Jasper corrected Alice, brows furrowed. “But the way she said it... it was him. She was shaking.”

Edward stood near the fireplace, unmoving, but his voice was taut. “He’s dangerous. You heard her. Heard the way she begged Bonnie to handle it.”

“She’s scared of him,” Emmett said quietly, which was rare for him. “But she still misses him. That’s messed up.”

“That’s trauma,” Rosalie snapped from the edge of the couch, where she sat stiff and alert. “You get used to pain and start calling it love.”

The room fell silent, all knowing exactly the series of events that caused Rosalie to be changed into a vampire.

“She reminds me of her,” Rosalie said finally, barely above a whisper. “Our Zoe. The way she walks, the way she fights affection. Even the way she cracks a joke when she’s panicking.”

“Zoe Clark isn’t a vampire,” Edward reminded. “Her heart races. She bleeds. She’s human.”

“She’s not normal,” Jasper said. “She feels... wrong. Like her fear’s laced with something old.”

“She doesn’t know what we are,” Alice said. “She doesn’t know anything.”

“She doesn’t want to know,” Rosalie corrected. “It’s not just fear in her eyes. It’s denial.”

“Do we think Damon hurt her?” Alice asked.

Rosalie’s jaw tensed. “If he did, I’ll kill him.”

“She won’t let anyone help her,” Jasper said. “Every time she starts to open up, she pulls away. There’s a reason she left wherever she came from—and it wasn’t just to move in with Charlie Swan.”

“It’s not just Damon,” Edward added. “It’s everything. She thinks she’s being hunted.”

Alice finally began to pace. “There’s something she’s not telling anyone. Not Bella, not Charlie, not us. She’s hiding something big.”

“Like what?” Emmett asked. “Another ex?”

“No,” Edward said slowly. “She thinks she’s dangerous. Or cursed. Like just being near her could get someone hurt.”

Rosalie closed her eyes. “Just like our Zoe.”

They all turned toward the stairwell at the sound of Carlisle’s careful footfalls.

He didn’t speak right away, only stood in the doorway, golden eyes unreadable.

“You heard all that?” Rosalie asked, too tightly.

Carlisle nodded once.

“And?”

He hesitated. “She’s not Zoe Cullen. I know that.”

“But she looks like her,” Edward said. “Talks like her. The timing lines up. Her age, her eyes—”

“She’s not her,” Carlisle said again, more firmly. “She’s not a vampire. She’s a teenager. Hurt. Scared.”

“And you’re still drawn to her,” Rosalie whispered.

Carlisle didn’t deny it.

“I don’t want history to repeat itself,” he said instead. “And I’m not sure if I’m saying that for her sake or mine.”

No one spoke for a long moment.

Then Jasper said quietly, “Should we tell her?”

“Tell her what ?” Edward snapped. “That we’re vampires? That we used to know someone who looked just like her and loved Carlisle more than life itself?”

“That her ex-boyfriend might still be watching her?” Alice added, eyes wide. “That we can’t see her future or read her mind but something about her pulls us in anyway?”

“No,” Carlisle said. “Not yet.”

Rosalie stood, slowly, and looked him in the eye. “She deserves to know she’s not crazy.”

Carlisle looked away. “Maybe when we know what she really is.”

The Cullen house was quiet again.

After the discussion in the living room splintered off into wary silences and unspoken thoughts, Rosalie retreated to her room.

From the outside, their home looked like a sculpture of light and glass suspended in the trees — all clean lines, sharp edges, and expansive windows. But inside, the silence wasn’t peaceful. It hung like a breath held too long.

Rosalie stood in front of her vanity.

The room, like the rest of the house, was minimalist and modern. Cool neutrals. Sleek furniture. The walls were lined with professional photography—Emmett’s taste, not hers. Her one indulgence — the carved mirror and cream vanity — sat like a relic in a museum, framed by the forest beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass.

And framed on that vanity was the small photo.

It wasn’t much. Just a moment on matte paper: Rosalie and Emmett on their wedding day, framed in twilight. And between them, her.

Zoe Cullen.

In a dress far too glamorous for the time. Laughing like she’d just said something awful. Knowing Zoe, she probably had. Her arms were slung around their waists like she belonged there — and she had.

Rosalie reached out and gently adjusted the edge of the frame. Her reflection didn’t blink.

“You were such a pain in the ass,” she murmured, lips barely moving. “But you were mine.”

Only the two of them had ever understood what it meant to be changed by violence caused by another’s hand. Rosalie by her fiance and his friends, Zoe by…someone. Even Carlisle hadn’t been told the specifics. To have their humanity stolen, not offered. Rosalie had taken one look at that furious, broken woman—messy dark hair falling into wildfire eyes, mouth set in a defiant scowl—and thought: Mine.

Zoe might have been Carlisle’s mate, but to Rosalie, she was a mother in every way that mattered. It started as a joke—Zoe bossing Edward and Rosalie around, laughing that she was their mother. Then it wasn’t a joke. Not really. 

Rosalie sat on the edge of the bench, her spine straight, her fingers curled loosely in her lap.

And now there was another Zoe.

Zoe Clark.

Same sharp tongue. Same stubborn jawline. Same pain in her eyes she couldn’t quite hide.

Rosalie hadn’t wanted to care. She didn’t want to let this human girl claw open wounds she’d buried decades ago. But there was something about her —the storm under the smirk, the way she flinched—not expecting to be protected, but still built like someone who should be.

Rosalie had seen it before. Had held it before.

She stared at the photo. Zoe Cullen’s dark hair curled like smoke across her shoulders. Emmett’s arm rested casually across her back. Rosalie’s smile was softer in that picture than she remembered.

“You don’t get to come back like this,” she whispered. It wasn’t just unfair—it was cruel. To Rosalie. To Emmett. To Carlisle. To Edward. Even to Alice and Jasper. To all of them who had loved Zoe Cullen and were still relearning how to breathe in her absence.

The trees outside shifted in the wind. A single pine branch tapped softly against the windowpane.

Rosalie reached for the frame again, then pulled her hand back.

“I never promised to protect you before,” she said, voice low. “I didn’t have to—you protected me. But it’s my turn now. For her. For you. Whoever you are.”

Behind her, the house remained still — the silence now filled with the weight of memory and the ache of something she hadn’t let herself name.

Yet.

Chapter Text

It began with water.

Cold, rushing water. White foam over jagged rocks. Wind in her ears and a scent that wasn’t Forks—wasn’t modern at all. Pine and smoke, and something sweet: lavender oil and the faintest trace of ink.

She wasn’t Zoe Clark in the dream.

She wasn’t anything at all, just a girl in a high-collared dress with a parasol and a book tucked under her arm. She stood at the edge of a cliff, overlooking a wide river. Her heart was racing—but not with fear. With joy.

A man stood behind her.

She didn’t turn to look. She didn’t need to. She knew him. Every fiber of her soul did. He stepped closer, gloved fingers ghosting along the edge of her sleeve.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” she whispered.

“You shouldn’t have run,” he murmured, voice low and kind. “You know I’d always find you.”

She turned. His face was blurred by sunlight. But his eyes—gold, glowing with impossible warmth—caught her breath. She reached for him, hand grazing his lapel—

A crack behind them—that caused her to slip back, over the cliff and into the water.

A voice yelling, “Zoe!”

She spun, but there was no one there.

Just wind. Just water. And then him .

It had taken everything in Zoe not to scream that morning. She was suffocating.

Charlie had hovered. Bella had hovered. And Damon—don’t even get her started. Ten missed calls. Three voicemails. One text that just said, “Zoe. Answer the damn phone.”

Missed calls from Bonnie and Elena. A text from Caroline asking her to please put Damon out of his misery.
Zoe hadn’t answered anyone. She couldn’t.

Now she sat slouched in Bella’s truck, fog creeping up the windows as rain pattered on the roof. The grocery store parking lot blurred around her, distant and irrelevant. The phone was pressed to her ear.

“Bonnie,” she whispered as soon as the line connected.

A pause.

“I figured it was you,” Bonnie said, her voice cautious. “You okay?”

“No,” Zoe muttered, staring at her reflection in the glass. “You told Damon to back off, right?”

Bonnie sighed. “You know he won’t.”

“He has to. I can’t—” Zoe’s throat caught. “I can’t let anyone else get hurt because of me. Not again.”

Silence bloomed on the other end. This time, gentler.

“I’ll try,” Bonnie said. “But you know how he gets. He still thinks it’s his job to protect you.”

“It’s not,” Zoe whispered. “Tell him that. I don’t belong to Mystic Falls anymore.”

Bonnie hesitated. “How are you really?”

Zoe closed her eyes. “I had that dream again. But it wasn’t mine this time.”

“Which one?”

“It’s new. Kind of. It’s... me, but not. A different version. I had my name. But it felt older. Like I was watching someone else wear my skin. There was a man. I knew him. He’s here. In Forks.”

Bonnie didn’t answer right away. “Zoe… if they’re dreams, memories, visions—whatever—bleeding together... it’s possible this is another doppelgänger life showing itself. We still don’t know why you get them.”

“We’ve been through this, Bon,” Zoe said, voice hollow. “I’m special. Yay me. Haunted by ghosts of lives I didn’t live.”

“At least you didn’t die in this one,” Bonnie offered.

Zoe gave a thin smile. “Small victories.”

“I’ll start digging again,” Bonnie said quickly. “My grams had grimoires that might help.”

“Damon tried compelling them away,” Zoe admitted, quiet. Ashamed.

“What?” Bonnie snapped.

“When we were together. He didn’t want me chasing it down. Said it would only mess me up more.”

“It didn’t work?”

“Obviously not,” Zoe muttered, plucking at a loose thread on the edge of her sleeve. 

“I can talk to Ric,” Bonnie offered. “He has access to—”

“No,” Zoe cut in. “You and Damon and Elena knowing is bad enough. I don’t want anyone else involved.”

“Zo—”

“I’m weird enough already, Bon. The less people know, the better. Especially if Klaus is sniffing around. If he finds out I’m talking to anyone—”

“Okay.” Bonnie exhaled. “Okay. But if you change your mind, I’m here. Always. You know that, right?”

“Yeah.” Zoe’s voice went soft. “You always are.”

There was a beat.

“Even when you’re busy helping Elena not die. Or helping Damon help Elena not die.”

“Are you jealous?” Bonnie asked, dry.

“No,” Zoe said, too fast. “Damon and I are over. Totally over. We’re just… friends. Who share a soul bond.”

“Completely platonic,” Bonnie deadpanned.

“You suck.”

Bonnie laughed. “Text me later. Even if it’s just to insult me.”

“I will.”

They hung up, and Zoe let her phone fall into her lap. The fog outside hadn’t lifted, but something in her chest had eased, just a little. Not gone. Not even close. But lighter.

Then she took a breath, grabbed the keys, and stepped out into the rain.

They hung up, and Zoe let her phone drop into her lap. The fog outside hadn’t lifted, but something in her chest had eased—barely. Not gone. Not even close. But lighter.

She stared out at the grocery store entrance. The rain had softened into mist, and the automatic doors yawned open and shut as people came and went, arms full of produce and plastic. For a second, she thought about driving off. But then she remembered Charlie’s voice this morning: “You want Pop-Tarts, you’ve got legs.”

So she used them.

Inside, the store was too bright, the linoleum too cold under her boots. The smell of overripe bananas and floor cleaner made her nose wrinkle. She dragged a hand through her tangled hair and headed for the cereal aisle, hoodie up, spine tight. She hadn’t even grabbed a cart.

She turned a corner—and nearly collided with someone.

“Sorry—” she started, then froze.

Carlisle Cullen stood in front of her, dressed in a heather-gray sweater under a fitted jacket, sleeves rolled casually at the cuffs. He had a hand basket hanging from one forearm, filled with practical things: whole milk, oranges, whole grain pasta. It was so aggressively normal it almost made her laugh.

Instead, she tensed.

“Zoe,” he said, voice low. Surprised. And something else—like the name didn’t belong on his tongue, but it had nowhere else to go.

There was a charge in the air. That flicker of static again, crawling across her skin like invisible lightning.

She straightened, every nerve on alert. “Dr. Cullen,” she said too quickly, the name coming out brittle and defensive. She stepped back, bumping into the corner of the shelf.

He didn’t move. His expression was calm, practiced—but his grip on the basket had gone white-knuckled.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she added, almost accusatory.

“I’m just picking up a few things,” he said, his gaze scanning her like she might vanish if he blinked. “Feeding a house of six requires constant resupply.”

Zoe didn’t answer. Her heart was pounding and she didn’t know why.

Well. That was a lie. She knew exactly why.

Because for a second—just one aching second—she saw him not as Carlisle Cullen, the town doctor with perfect posture, but as the man from her dream. The one in the sunlight. The one who reached for her with hands she somehow knew.

She looked away, shoving her hands into her hoodie pocket. “Tell Edward thanks, by the way,” she muttered. “For the whole ‘yeeting me out of the way of a car’ thing.”

Carlisle’s voice was softer now. “You’re welcome.”

It wasn’t the right answer, and they both knew it. But what else was there to say?

She turned, ready to disappear into the nearest freezer section, when—

“Zoe,” he said again.

She stopped, spine stiff, back still to him.

“If you ever need someone to talk to,” he said, carefully, “about whatever it is you’re going through—”

“I’ve got people,” she cut in, not turning around. “Friends. Sort of. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I do,” he said quietly.

That landed harder than she wanted it to. She swallowed, hard.

“I’m fine,” she said, but the words felt like tin in her mouth. She glanced at him over her shoulder, eyes guarded. “I’m used to being not-fine.”

Then she walked away, her footsteps too loud in the too-bright aisle.

Carlisle stood there for a long time, one hand still wrapped around the useless basket. The weight of something unspoken pressed into his chest. He watched her disappear around the corner like a ghost he’d already lost once.

And for the second time in his long life, Carlisle Cullen wondered if he was going to survive Zoe.

Chapter Text

The house was quiet—too quiet.

Charlie usually liked the silence, especially after long shifts at the station. But now it felt wrong. Too still. Too heavy. Like the whole place was holding its breath.

Maybe because he wasn’t used to the house not being empty.

Zoe was curled up on the couch, knees to her chest, blanket drawn tight even though the afternoon light filtered weakly through the windows. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were red—not from crying, Charlie thought, but from something deeper. A kind of sleeplessness that didn’t just live in the body.

He cleared his throat and nudged a pizza box onto the coffee table. “Figured you might be hungry.”

Zoe glanced up, mug cupped in both hands like it was anchoring her to this reality. “Thanks.”

He sat across from her, elbows on knees, trying not to look like he was watching her too closely. “Bella’s out at La Push. Thought you were going too?”

Zoe didn’t look at him. “I’m not feeling social. I’m good with ghosts.”

Charlie frowned. “That a joke?”

She shrugged. “Kind of.”

There wasn’t much else to say to that. Charlie had gotten used to the way she spoke in riddles. Every time he asked Zoe what she meant, she just muttered “it’s complicated” and changed the subject.

After a long pause, he said carefully, “You know you can talk to me. I’m not great at this stuff, but I listen.”

Zoe blinked at him, like she was trying to decide if he was serious.

“You’ve been through a lot,” he added. “I don’t know all of it, and I’m not asking. But I need to know you’re okay.”

“I’m not,” Zoe said, quiet. “But I’m trying.”

The honesty in it landed hard. Charlie could almost see his sister’s face in hers. That same weariness. That same guarded ache.

Before he could answer, they both heard it—the sound of a car pulling into the driveway.

Zoe froze. The mug trembled in her hands. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no. He wouldn’t.”

The knock came seconds later.

Charlie stood, confused. “You expecting someone?”

“No,” she hissed. “But I know who it is.”

He was already moving toward the door before she could stop him.

Damon Salvatore stood on the porch, all effortless charm and sharp edges, dressed in black like he was headed to either a funeral or a rooftop bar. “Hi, Chief.”

Charlie squinted. “And you are?”

Zoe’s voice cut from behind him. “Damon. He’s Damon. My ex. The one who doesn’t get the message.”

Charlie crossed his arms. “Ah. The one blowing up the phone.”

“That’d be me,” Damon said easily, lingering just outside the doorway, hands in his pockets. “Nice place. Smells like discipline… and pepperoni.”

Charlie squinted. “You waiting for something?”

Damon’s smile widened. “Just being polite. I know better than to enter uninvited these days.”

Zoe groaned behind Charlie. “Don’t let him in.”

Charlie looked between them, then stepped aside with a grunt. “You break anything, you’re mopping it up.”

Damon dipped his head in mock gratitude. “Is that an invite?”

Charlie huffed. “Come on in, I guess.”

And then Damon stepped inside.

“Seriously?” Zoe snapped. “Get out.”

“Nope,” Damon said, unbothered. “Not until I know you’re breathing and not bleeding.”

“I’m breathing just fine.”

“You’re lying just as well.”

Charlie moved between them, tension growing. “Hey. She said leave.”

Damon’s gaze flicked over to him—measured, not threatening, but unsettling all the same. “I’m not here to fight. I’m here because I care.”

“You look like trouble,” Charlie said flatly.

“I am,” Damon said. “But so is she.” He nodded toward Zoe, who groaned and flopped dramatically onto the couch.

Charlie studied him a beat longer. “You care about her?”

More than anything, Damon thought. But all he said was, “Yeah. I do.”

There was something real in the way he said it—quiet, stripped bare. Charlie could spot it a mile off. He softened. Just a little.

“I don’t know what went down between you two,” he said slowly. “But she’s under this roof now. That means she gets peace. So if you’re here to stir up whatever storm she left behind—”

“I’m not.” Damon’s voice lost its smirk. “She may hate me. But I’m not walking away. Not this time.”

Charlie turned toward Zoe. “From what, exactly?”

Neither of them answered.

Finally, Damon said, “The past. The things that chase her. Doesn’t matter what name they wear.”

Charlie let the silence stretch before finally sighing. “You sticking around?”

“For a few days,” Damon said.

“Then you’re staying for dinner,” Charlie muttered, walking back toward the kitchen. “But you’re on dish duty.”

Zoe lifted her head from the couch, horrified. “Are you kidding ?”

Charlie didn’t even turn around. “If I’m going to have teenage drama with a soundtrack, someone’s doing the dishes.”

“I like him,” Damon grinned, following. “You’re fun, Chief.”

Charlie waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah. I don’t like you. But she does.”

Zoe muttered something that sounded like “kill me” and dragged herself off the couch.

Damon waited in the kitchen doorway until she reached him. She didn’t meet his eyes.

He lowered his voice. “I know I’m the last person you want to see. But I came anyway.”

Zoe looked up at him, eyes tired. “Why?”

“Because I remember your birthday. And I remember what happened the last time you spent it alone.”

She didn’t say anything.

Not thank you. Not go away.

But she didn’t move either.

And Damon called that a win.

Charlie didn’t stay long.

But he didn’t go far either.

After a long, heavy pause in the doorway—eyeing the tension between his niece and the too-slick stranger in his living room—he jerked his chin toward the back porch.

“I’ll be in the shed,” he said gruffly. “Snowblower needs oiling. And the radio’s on the fritz again.”

Zoe blinked. “It hasn’t even snowed yet.”

Charlie didn’t miss a beat. “It will. It’s November. And I like to be prepared.”

He looked between them, gaze narrowing. “If I hear yelling, I’m coming back with a wrench.”

Damon raised both hands. “Wouldn’t dream of raising my voice under your roof, Chief.”

Charlie snorted. “Good. Because I don’t care how charming you are—if she says leave, you’re leaving. Got it?”

Damon’s smile thinned. “Crystal clear.”

With a grunt and one last warning glance, Charlie pulled on his jacket and stepped outside. The shed door creaked open and shut behind him a minute later.

Inside, the silence coiled tight.

Zoe turned, shut the front door, and twisted the lock harder than necessary. By the time she turned back to Damon, he was already seated like he owned the place, ankles crossed, swirling a glass of bourbon Zoe was certain Charlie hadn’t offered.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Did you break into our liquor cabinet?”

Damon lifted the glass. “I borrowed. Temporarily.”

She crossed the room with quiet fury and plucked the bourbon from his hand before he could take another sip. Then, without breaking eye contact, she drained it in one go.

She set the glass down hard. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“I know.”

She blinked. That wasn’t the answer she expected.

Damon stayed leaning against the counter now, arms crossed. “You didn’t want me here. You didn’t need saving. You’re furious. Got it.”

Zoe folded her arms tighter, more like self-preservation than defense now. “Then why did you?”

“Because the bond doesn’t care what we want,” he said quietly. “Because I feel you. Constantly.”

“Damon—”

“I do. I always feel you. When Klaus drained you, when you were dead. When you hit the pavement, when you were scared — it felt like I was being ripped in half. I feel all of it.”
He swallowed. “And I hate we’re fighting. I hate that no matter how far you run, you still feel like home.”

That last part hung between them, too honest.

She looked away. “You can’t just say things like that. You don’t get to show up, spill all your guilt and loyalty and trauma, and expect me to fall apart for you.”

“I’m not asking you to fall apart,” Damon said. “I’m just asking you to let me be here.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“But you didn’t tell me to leave.”

Zoe’s breath hitched. Her jaw clenched.

Damon stepped closer.

“None of this is fair,” he said, voice low but firm. “But the truth is, your blood can be used to make hybrids. That puts a target on your back whether you’re in Mystic Falls or Siberia. So yeah, I came here to see if you’re okay. I came here because I need to know if I’m going to be burying another version of you.”

Zoe swallowed hard, blinking fast. “You don’t get to say that.”

“I do,” Damon said, softer now. “Because I’ve felt it. Every time you’re in pain, every time you shut me out—I feel it. And I don’t get to stop caring.”

“I’m not your responsibility.”

“You are,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Because of the spell. Because of whatever that bond did to us. I don’t get to stop caring.”

“Well, I don’t want to care,” she whispered, tears brimming now. “I just want to be left alone.”

Damon looked at her for a long moment—no smirk, no sarcasm. Just something honest and unguarded.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know the feeling.”

The silence thickened, but this time it wasn’t hostile. Just heavy. Real.

“I get it, Zo,” he said after a beat. “You want to be the lone wolf. You think if you push hard enough, you’ll be safe. That it’ll protect the people you love if you make them hate you first.”

Her eyes snapped to his.

“Don’t,” she warned.

But he didn’t stop.

“I’ve done the same thing. Still do. So believe me when I say... it doesn’t work. You don’t get safer. You just get lonelier.”

She broke his gaze first. Her throat bobbed.

Damon’s voice softened again. “You don’t have to let me in. But you don’t have to keep bleeding alone, either.”

Zoe’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to do this. Any of it.”

“You don’t have to,” he said. “You just have to start.”

Another long beat passed.

Then she let out a shaky breath and brushed past him toward the couch. “If you’re staying for dinner, I’m not talking about feelings over pasta.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Damon said.

She dropped onto the couch and grabbed the remote, flipping on the TV like the conversation hadn’t happened.

But Damon just watched her — saw the way her shoulders relaxed, the way her guard cracked a fraction.

Progress.

He settled on the armchair again. Not close. Not far.

And for the first time since arriving, the silence wasn’t a threat.

It was the beginning of a truce.

The clink of silverware was the loudest sound at the table.

Bella stabbed at her baked potato like it had personally offended her. She hadn’t said a word since sitting down, and Zoe was ninety-nine percent sure she was calculating the exact age difference between Damon and herself — and deciding how many laws he’d broken.

If only she knew.

Across the table, Damon was the picture of poise. Elbows off the table. Fork held perfectly. Smiling charmingly every time Charlie looked at him.

Too charming.

Charlie finally broke the silence again. “So what brings you to Forks, Damon? Business? Or just bad instincts?”

Damon smiled, all white teeth and casual confidence. “Just checking in on an old friend.” He raised his glass slightly in Zoe’s direction, like it was a toast.

Zoe didn’t look up. “You’re a week early for my birthday. Try again.”

Bella’s glare intensified. “You didn’t think to call first?”

“I wasn’t expecting company,” Zoe muttered.

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “So this wasn’t a planned visit?”

“Spontaneity keeps things interesting,” Damon said breezily. “Besides, who doesn’t love a surprise?”

Zoe dropped her fork a little too hard. “You know what’s surprising? Restraint. Try it sometime.”

Bella’s expression turned glacial. “And you thought just showing up out of nowhere was a good idea?”

Damon turned his head toward her with a wink. “Fashionably early. Like any good ex-boyfriend.”

Charlie’s fork paused midair. “Ex-boyfriend, huh?”

Damon glanced at Zoe, who looked far too amused for someone supposedly mortified by her ex’s surprise visit. “She was very persuasive,” he said with a smirk. “Old soul.”

Zoe raised an eyebrow, swirling her water. “Yeah, you could say I’m into…old things.”

Bella dropped her fork with a loud clink. “How old are you again, Damon?”

There was no good way to answer that.

Damon just grinned and leaned back in his chair. “Let’s just say I’ve had enough birthdays to appreciate the classics.”

Damon, apparently, opted for the worst possible way.

Zoe bit her lip to stifle a laugh. “He’s basically vintage.”

Charlie gave Damon a long, uncomfortable once-over. “What do you do for work?”

“Consulting,” Damon said smoothly.

“What kind of consulting?”

“Lifestyle.” He sipped his water. “People call me when their lives are falling apart and they need…direction.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling that now?” Zoe muttered into her mashed potatoes.

Bella’s eyes darted to her cousin. “Sorry — what?”

“Nothing.” Zoe smiled sweetly. “Just reminiscing about the good old days.”

Charlie’s eyebrows climbed. “You know, it’s funny. I don’t remember you mentioning Damon when you got here, Zoe.”

“Oh, he’s like a ghost,” she said innocently. “Shows up uninvited, stares a lot, drinks all your good bourbon, and leaves.”

Bella choked on her water.

Damon glared at Zoe, playfully but not without sting. “You wound me.”

“Not yet.”

Charlie sat back, clearly trying to figure out if he should be worried or impressed. “So you two were serious?”

“Define serious,” Zoe drawled.

“She ran away from home to stay at my place,” Damon said at the same time.

Charlie blinked before turning to his niece, expecting an explanation.

“It was earlier this year,” Zoe said tightly, shooting Damon a withering look. “Things were bad at home.”

Charlie’s expression shifted, almost imperceptibly.

“My dad and I had a fight,” she continued, her voice lower now. “One of my friends got hurt — really hurt — and he said she brought it on herself. Thought they all did.”

Caroline had been kidnapped by Jules and her merry band of werewolves. Zoe had wanted to help. Her dad tried to keep her home, said Caroline was dangerous, that she should be put down. He didn’t understand — or maybe he did, and that was worse. Zoe loved her dad, but he was on the Council, and the Founder's Council had never exactly been Team Vampire. Still weren’t. Liz was getting better, but the rest… not so much.

Charlie looked like he might say something — then didn’t.

“So I left,” Zoe said flatly. “Packed a bag, showed up at the Boarding House. Damon was the only one who asked why instead of telling me to go home.”

Damon said nothing to that.

“It was for a month,” she added after a beat. “Or three.”

“Four,” Damon corrected, raising his hands. “She had nowhere else to go. I didn’t exactly seduce her with bourbon and jazz vinyl.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a weirdly specific denial.”

Zoe stabbed her mashed potatoes. “Because it’s a weirdly specific thing he actually does.”

Damon said nothing to that.

Charlie turned slowly to Damon. “You gave my niece bourbon?”

Damon’s jaw twitched. “I said I didn’t.”

“Didn’t sound like that,” Bella mumbled.

Zoe waved her fork dismissively. “Can we not act like I didn’t grow up in a town where drinking was the only thing to do?”

Charlie blinked. “...Sorry, what?”

“Small towns,” Damon interjected. “Teenage angst. You know how it is.”

Charlie looked very much like he did not.

The room went quiet again.

Zoe propped her chin on her hand and turned to Damon. “So. You staying at a motel, or did you plan on stalking me full-time?”

“I was hoping for a warm bed and some hospitality,” Damon said with a wink.

Charlie set his fork down. “I’ve got a couch.”

And just like that, the whole room tensed again.

Damon’s expression barely flickered, but Zoe gave Charlie the most betrayed look she could summon.

“Seriously?”

“You want him wandering the woods, harassing hikers?” Charlie shrugged. “At least this way I know where he is.”

Bella was glaring again. “There’s a lock on my bedroom door, right?”

Zoe didn’t flinch. “Damon Salvatore is a lot of things. But right now? Mostly just irritating.” That, at least, she could handle.

Damon raised a hand like he was flattered. “Aw. You do care.”

“I care about keeping my pillow free of bourbon breath,” she muttered, rising to her feet. “I’ll start on dishes.”

“I’ll help,” Bella said instantly, standing so fast her chair scraped the floor.

Once they were in the kitchen, the tension didn’t leave — it just shifted.

From the dining table, Damon watched Zoe out of the corner of his eye. She was animated now, half-arguing with Bella about who got dish duty. Her cousin was giving him frequent, suspicious glances over her shoulder like she expected him to turn into a bat at any moment.

Damon couldn’t blame her.

She was just trying to keep Zoe safe.

Once they were out of earshot, Charlie leaned toward him. Voice low. Measured. “You ever hurt her — even a little — I don’t care how many birthdays you’ve had. I’ve got a shotgun and a clean conscience.”

Damon smiled slowly. Not smug. Not threatening. Just old. Tired. Honest. “Duly noted, Chief.”

From the kitchen, Zoe leaned around the corner. “You two bonding over weapons? Should I be concerned?”

“Nope,” Charlie called. “Just a little healthy male posturing.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Great. Testosterone stew for dinner.”

She ducked back out of view, muttering, “Alaric’s ego is gonna short-circuit when he finds out Damon made another friend.”

Bella snorted as she dried a plate. “You really do attract chaos.”

Zoe grinned. “Please. I am chaos.”

And from the dining room, Damon watched her with that same unreadable look — part nostalgia, part heartbreak, and something else he didn’t dare name.

This Zoe wasn’t his Zoe.

But she was still Zoe.

The one who muttered biting comebacks into mashed potatoes. Who wielded sarcasm like a weapon and tenderness like a secret.

But there was something else now, too — a softness he hadn’t seen in a long time.

Not weakness. Not at all. Just… the quiet space she carved out for herself here. The way her shoulders eased, just slightly, when Bella dried dishes beside her without asking questions. The way Charlie didn’t push, didn’t prod, but made sure she ate, made sure she slept.

She was still heavy with everything Mystic Falls had left behind. Still haunted, still hunted, still carrying fear like a second spine. But here, in this gray little corner of the world, she looked less brittle. More rooted.

Maybe Forks wasn’t the answer. Maybe nowhere was.  But watching her now — laughing under her breath, chin tilted toward the sound of Bella’s voice — Damon couldn’t help but think that Forks wasn’t the worst place for Zoe Clark.

And maybe that was enough.

Enough to make him stay.

For now.

Chapter Text

The dreams were more frequent now.

The scent of wildflowers clung to the breeze — sweet, heady, almost too much. Zoe stood barefoot in a sun-drenched meadow that shimmered in colors more vivid than real life ever allowed. Lavender, buttercup, wild roses. Somewhere, a distant piano played a haunting waltz, its melody trickling through the air like rain.

She looked down.

Lace sleeves grazed her wrists, white and delicate. Her hands were paler. Veinless. Her curls were darker than they were now, pinned in soft ringlets that brushed her collarbone. She wore something old — vintage in a way that belonged to another century.

She turned, sensing someone behind her.

A man stood at the edge of the clearing, haloed in golden light. Pale skin. Broad shoulders. Eyes like golden honey, warm and watchful. His face was achingly beautiful — and painfully familiar.

He didn’t move.

But when their eyes met, her breath caught.

"Zoe," he murmured, like the name itself was something holy.

Her heart clenched, aching in a way that made no sense.

“You came back,” she whispered, her voice refined, clipped, not her own. Older. British. Softer. Familiar.

She stepped forward and reached for him, their fingers brushing —

And then it shattered.

A scream tore through the air.

Zoe jolted upright with a gasp, tangled in her sheets. Her chest heaved as she clawed her way out of sleep.

“Hey. Hey — it’s okay. You’re okay.”

Damon’s voice. Calm. Low. Close.

Her vision adjusted, and his face appeared above hers, bathed in the pale glow of her bedside lamp. He looked impossibly tired — like he hadn’t slept in a century.

“What are you doing here?” she rasped, clutching the sheet. “My uncle—”

“He’s out cold,” Damon said, settling casually against the headboard. “Probably dreaming about fishing and beer commercials. I slipped upstairs. Not exactly courtly, but I figured you’d forgive me.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Still having those dreams?”

Zoe didn’t answer right away. She rubbed her forehead, fingers lingering over her temple like the pain might be physical. “Elena doesn’t have them. Did Katherine?”

Damon scoffed. “Would Katherine have told me if she did?”

Zoe frowned. “Probably not.”

There was a long pause. Zoe leaned back against the pillows, and Damon watched her with an expression she couldn’t read — protective, maybe. Regretful.

She broke the silence. “How bad is it back home?”

Damon’s jaw tightened. “Worse than I expected.”

“What happened?”

He hesitated, only briefly. Not because he didn’t trust Zoe, but because he didn’t want to burden her. “I started seeing someone this summer,” he said, voice oddly light, like it didn’t matter. “Nothing serious. Her name was Andie. Reporter. Smart. Funny.” He glanced away. “Stefan killed her.”

Zoe flinched. “No. He wouldn’t—”

“He turned it off.” Damon’s voice cut like glass.

The words hung in the air like a noose.

Zoe swallowed hard. “The switch.”

“Yep.” Damon didn’t elaborate — he didn’t need to. She knew what it meant. She’d seen what happened when a vampire gave up on their humanity. She remembered what Isobel Flemming had been like when Zoe had met her. Cold, calculating, cruel.

Zoe looked at him, eyes softening. “Did Klaus make him?”

Damon nodded once. “Compelled the hell out of him. Broke him down piece by piece.”

Zoe looked away, guilt curling in her gut. “Did you ever tell Stefan where I was?”

“No.”

Zoe let out a small sigh of relief. “That’s why you’re really here,” she said quietly. “Not just because my birthday’s coming up andI got yeeted by a van.”

Damon gave a half-smile. “I do enjoy a good yeeting, but yeah. Stefan’s unraveling. Elena thinks she can help him.”

“Can she?”

“I don’t know.” Damon leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “He’s not like other vampires. You know that. He’s a ripper. Always has been. Without guilt holding him back…” He trailed off.

Zoe finished it for him. “There’s nothing left.”

Damon nodded.

She reached over and took his hand — fingers cold and familiar. “You got yours back.”

“Yeah, well. Mine was barely flickering. You and Elena turned the lights back on. Stefan’s… different.”

Zoe was quiet, staring at their joined hands. She didn’t say it, but she leaned toward his warmth like a plant toward sunlight — reluctant, instinctive, impossible to stop.

The bond hummed faintly between them — not painful, but present, like the echo of a phantom limb. Damon always showed up when she needed him. She hated how comforting that was.

“How’s Tyler?” she asked after a while.

Damon blinked. “Caroline’s trying. She’s keeping an eye on him, making sure he doesn’t lose himself. But she’s out of her depth, and she knows it. Klaus isn’t looking at Tyler like a person. He’s a proof of concept.”

Zoe closed her eyes. “He was my friend.” Her voice cracked. “One of the good ones. Before any of this.”

Damon didn’t argue. “I know.” A beat. Then softer, more bitter: “Caroline doesn’t deserve to be in the middle of this.”

Zoe nodded slowly. “None of us do.”

Zoe exhaled slowly. “And Elena?”

“She’s drowning in guilt, per usual. Thinks she has to save everyone, especially Stefan.”

Zoe offered a faint smile. “Maybe she’s not wrong this time.” Zoe shifted under the weight of Damon’s penetrating gaze. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asked, quietly.

 “Like I’m still yours.”

Damon didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to. Because for all her anger, for all her fear and flight, she hadn’t pushed him away when he found her. And for all his flaws, he hadn’t stayed away.

“You ran,” he said softly. “I was angry. But I get it now.”

Zoe’s voice cracked. “You didn’t tell me about Tyler. Or Stefan. Or Klaus.”

“I wanted to,” Damon said. “But I knew you’d come back if I did. And I didn’t want you anywhere near that nightmare.”

There it was. The truth between them — sharp as ever, but gentler now, like the edge had dulled from overuse.

“I don’t know how to forgive you,” she admitted.

Damon didn’t flinch. He reached out, not to take her hand, just to rest his fingers near hers. A breath apart. A peace offering.

“I’m not asking you to,” he said. “I’m just… here.” Then, quieter — raw, like something broken open.  “You’ll always be mine, Zo. The bond made sure of it. And I’ll always be yours. Even if we’re not together. Even if we’re with other people. We’re always gonna care. I love you. I’ll always love you. You’re my Lexi.”

Zoe closed her eyes. Her breath caught on something jagged. When she finally opened them again, her expression wasn’t cold. It wasn’t even angry. It was wrecked.

“I don’t want to need anyone,” she said, voice shaking. “Not anymore. Not after my mom. Not after Tyler. Not after every time I opened my heart and watched someone walk away or get ripped out of my life or die.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she didn’t bother to hide it.

“But you never walk away. And that’s worse, somehow.”

Damon reached for her then — not to pull her into some grand romantic gesture, but to touch her wrist, grounding her.

“I know exactly how that feels,” he said, steady and quiet. “To need someone you can’t afford to lose. To hate them for staying when it hurts. And to love them anyway.”

Zoe let out a bitter laugh — breathless and wet. “You know me better than anyone. And I wish to God you didn’t.”

Damon’s thumb brushed the back of her hand. “But I do.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Then she leaned in, not for a kiss, but for silence. For space that wasn’t loneliness. For the one person who saw through every mask and stayed anyway.

And when she finally whispered, “I’m so tired,” it wasn’t about the day.  It was about everything.

“I know,” Damon said, pulling the blanket higher around her shoulders. “You don’t have to be strong with me. Not tonight.”

And for the first time in weeks, Zoe let herself rest. Not because she was safe. But because he knew her. And didn’t run.

The birthday banner was crooked when Zoe got home from school.

Charlie had tried to straighten it three times before giving up and muttering something about Scotch tape being useless.

Zoe sat hunched on the couch like a ghost at her own wake, party hat askew, the room trying too hard to be cheerful around her.

Zoe didn’t feel normal.

Charlie came out of the kitchen holding a lighter and a small bundle of candles. “Hey, Zo. Almost ready for cake. Want to light ‘em?”

She shrugged, curled deeper into her blanket. “You can.”

Charlie hesitated. Then, forcing a smile, he looked over at Bella, who was perched on the arm of the couch. “Bella, help me with these?”

She nodded, rising quietly and leaving Zoe with Damon in the living room.

Damon, who’d been strangely quiet all afternoon, leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He watched her, concern edged with something heavier. Guilt maybe. Frustration. Or just… helplessness.

“Sixteen,” he said. “You’re officially ancient.”

Zoe snorted but didn’t smile. “I feel like I’m a hundred.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “Want me to compel Charlie into giving you a car? A yacht? A fake ID and a trust fund?”

She arched a brow. “Got a compulsion trick for PTSD? That’d be a hit.”

Damon winced. “No, but I brought bourbon. You know — in case you decide to embrace your family tradition of emotional suppression through alcohol.”

She rolled her eyes, but a flicker of amusement passed over her face.

“You’re quieter than usual today,” he said.

“I’m older today.”

“You’re not exactly glowing with birthday cheer.”

Zoe didn’t answer. It was the first time she was celebrating her birthday with Caroline, Bonnie or Elena. The first birthday without her dad. The first birthday after she’d been sacrificed and come back to life.

Damon leaned back, gaze still on her. “You know, most people cry when they turn thirty . You’re early.”

Zoe finally looked at him. “It just feels stupid. Celebrating. Like I’m supposed to be grateful I made it to sixteen when I’ve technically already died once.”

Damon’s smile faded. “You didn’t die.”

“Tell that to the part of me that wakes up screaming.”

Damon didn’t have an answer to that. He looked away.

From the kitchen, Charlie’s voice called out: “Cake’s ready!”

Zoe groaned and stood, reluctantly dragging her blanket around her shoulders like a cape. Damon followed, hands stuffed in his pockets.

In the kitchen, the lights had been dimmed slightly. Bella had lit the candles — all sixteen of them — and the little chocolate cake flickered in the soft glow.

“Happy Birthday, Zo.” Charlie smiled warmly. “Make a wish.”

Zoe stared at the cake. The flames flickered in her eyes.

Damon’s presence behind her was a steady hum. Not quite comforting, not quite ignorable. Just there .

She closed her eyes.

Please let everyone stay alive this year.

And blew.

Applause from Bella and Charlie, a soft smirk from Damon.

“Cut the cake,” Charlie said, passing her the knife. “You earned it.”

“I survived it,” Zoe muttered, but cut a generous slice anyway.

As they sat at the small kitchen table, Charlie kept watching Zoe like he expected her to crumble at any moment. When she half-laughed at Bella’s deadpan commentary on school gossip, Charlie’s shoulders eased a bit. His kid — no, his niece — was complicated, closed-off, and sharp in ways that made him ache with helplessness. But tonight, with Damon there, she at least seemed less hollow.

After a few minutes, he nudged his chair back. “I’m gonna run a few things out to the shed before it gets dark. You kids hold down the fort.”

Zoe glanced at Damon as Charlie disappeared.

As soon as Charlie was gone, Zoe couldn’t hold back a small giggle as she turned to Damon. “He called you a kid.” 

Damon chuckled. “I’m very childlike.”

“Said no one, ever.”

Bella cleared her throat. “I, uh… I’m gonna go watch that French vampire movie. You know, the one with the guy who looks like a wet cat.”

Zoe raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to say Louis from Interview with the Vampire looks like a wet cat?”

“I stand by it.” Bella grabbed her slice of cake and headed for the living room.

That left Zoe and Damon alone again, the candles burned down to stubs.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Zoe said, “Charlie likes you.”

“Shocking,” Damon said. “I thought he’d chase me off with a baseball bat.”

“You’re lucky he didn’t. He’s got one in the shed.”

Damon smirked. “He’s got good instincts. He’s technically responsible for you now. And he cares.”

Zoe’s eyes lowered. “You really think so?”

“I think…” Damon hesitated. “He loves you, Zo. You scare the hell out of him, but he’s trying. Which is more than a lot of people ever do.”

Zoe toyed with her fork. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know what I expected.”

Damon leaned forward again, this time softer. “You expected to feel alone.”

She looked up, eyes shining. “And I didn’t.”

There was a long pause.

“Thanks for coming.”

Damon gave a half-nod. “Any time, birthday girl.”

Zoe snorted, but this time the smile stuck.

They sat together in the kitchen — just a girl and the vampire who would burn the world to keep each other safe — the candles burned low, the cake half-eaten, and the silence no longer empty.

It wasn’t the birthday Zoe would have wished for.

But for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel forgotten.

The house had gone quiet again.

Bella was upstairs, probably halfway through her weird French vampire movie. Charlie hadn’t returned from the shed. The candles were burned to nubs, and the cake — already half-eaten and lopsided — sat under a loose sheet of foil on the counter, like someone had tried to pretend it wasn’t just dessert for four.

Zoe stood at the sink, rinsing the last of the plates. Not because they needed doing — just because her hands needed something to do. Damon leaned back against the opposite counter, arms crossed, watching her with that unreadable expression he always got when he was thinking too much.

“You know,” he said casually, “I never actually gave you your birthday present.”

Zoe shot him a dry look over her shoulder. “Was it emotional damage? Because if so, you’re late. Already got it.”

Damon gave a quiet laugh and reached behind his coat, pulling out a tall, narrow black gift bag — minimalist, slightly crumpled, like he’d almost talked himself out of bringing it.

“I outsourced the wrapping,” he said, offering it to her.

Zoe dried her hands on a towel and took the bag with a raised eyebrow. Inside was a bottle of bourbon — vintage, expensive, the kind that probably belonged in a locked cabinet with velvet lining.

Wrapped carefully around the neck of the bottle was a bracelet.

Delicate. Antique. Gold with a single bright green stone in the center — faintly worn, like it had lived a life long before hers.

Zoe froze.

“It belonged to my mother,” Damon said. His voice soft — almost embarrassed.

Zoe didn’t say anything. Her fingers closed gently around the bracelet. “You don’t talk about her.”

“She’s been gone a long time.” Damon shrugged. “I know we’re not together,” he went on, slower now. “I know we won’t ever be. And I’m not trying to change that. But you mean more to me than you understand. You’re not just my soul bond or my history or some broken promise. You’re… it. You’re the person.”

Zoe’s mouth parted, but no words came out.

“I’ve lived a while,” Damon said. “And most people blur together after enough time. But not you. Never you.”

He looked away for the first time, like it was too much to hold her gaze.

“So take it,” he said. “Wear it. Or don’t wear it and tell me I’m a sentimental idiot. That’s fine too.”

Zoe looked down at the bracelet for a long moment. Then, slowly, she slid it onto her wrist. It was too big, just a little. It slipped and rested at the narrowest part of her arm like it had been waiting there all along.

Then she looked up and whispered, “You’re an idiot.”

Damon’s smirk returned, soft-edged. “Yeah.”

“But,” she added, “a stupidly sweet one.”

He smiled wider. “I’ll take it.”

“I love it, Damon. Thank you.” 

It wasn’t the first piece of jewelry he’d given her. She still wore the delicate vervain necklace he’d pressed into her hands over a year ago — a peace offering disguised as a gesture of protection. Back then, it was his clumsy attempt to prove she could trust him. It hadn’t exactly worked. Not right away. Maybe not at all.

But in the end… maybe it didn’t matter. Because Damon was probably the person she trusted most in the world. More than her friends. More than her father. Maybe even more than her uncle.

They stood in silence, the kitchen dim around them — two people who’d shattered and reshaped each other and somehow still fit. The cake was half-eaten. The night was still.

The bond hummed softly between them — not painful this time, just present. Like it was watching. Like it knew.

And for the first time in months, Zoe felt like maybe it was okay to let someone stay.

Chapter Text

Charlie didn’t announce himself, just walked up beside Damon on the back porch and offered him a beer. In a fatherly moment, Charlie had sent Zoe and Bella to bed, telling them they had school in the morning.

Damon glanced sideways. “You offering this out of kindness or as a bribe to stay out of your house past ten?”

Charlie snorted. “Call it a peace offering. I’m still not sure what to make of you.”

Damon accepted the beer anyway. “Most people don’t.”

The night was quiet — a chorus of crickets in the woods, the distant hum of a car down the road. The sky was navy, just starting to sparkle with stars.

Charlie leaned against the porch railing. “She’s not doing great.”

Damon didn’t answer right away. He took a long sip of the beer and watched the tree line.

“I’ve seen war veterans with that same look in their eyes,” Charlie said quietly. “Like they’re waiting for something awful to show up again.”

“She’s been through a lot,” Damon said eventually.

“She doesn’t talk about it.”

“She doesn’t need to.”

Charlie looked at him sharply. “You’re saying you know?”

“I know enough.”

“You don’t strike me as the sensitive type, Damon.”

“I’m not usually.” Damon tilted the bottle in his hands. “But I know what it’s like to carry something so heavy you stop believing anyone else could hold even a piece of it.” He hesitated. “And Zoe’s special. I’ve developed a soft spot for her.”

That quieted Charlie for a long beat.

“You dated her?” he asked at last.

Damon’s lips curled in a faint, unreadable smile. “You could say that.”

Charlie didn’t react, but his grip on his beer tightened. “She’s fifteen.”

“Sixteen as of a few hours ago.” Damon didn’t take offense. “And I didn’t come here to date her. Or whatever it is you’re worried about.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

Damon looked at him. “She’s got people back where we’re from. People who care about her. But some of those people… they’re not always good for her. I came to make sure she’s safe.”

Charlie’s jaw worked. “You’re not her family.”

“I never claimed to be.”

“But you know things about her that I don’t.”

Damon turned slightly, meeting Charlie’s eyes. “You don’t have to know everything to love someone. But you do have to be there when they fall apart.”

Charlie looked away.

“I think you’ve done better by her than most people ever have,” Damon said softly. “Honestly, no disrespect to the dead, but maybe even better than Wilbur Clark ever did.” He shrugged. “You’re here, she’s still here. That counts.”

The two men stood in silence again, something tentative and unspoken forming between them.

Finally, Charlie sighed. “She trusts you.”

Damon’s gaze softened. “I don’t deserve it, but yeah. She does.”

Charlie nodded slowly. “That’s the only reason I’m not chasing you off my property.”

Damon smirked. “Duly noted, Chief Swan.”

Charlie cracked the faintest smile and took another drink.

“Don’t make me regret it,” he said.

“I won’t.”

They stood together on the porch, two men who loved the same girl in very different ways, both trying — and failing — to protect her from ghosts they couldn’t or wouldn’t name.

And inside, upstairs, Zoe finally slept on restlessly.

Fog blanketed the school parking lot like a ghost that refused to leave. Most cars were beat-up trucks and old sedans, paint dull from years of drizzle. But when a sleek black Camaro pulled in, its low growl turned every head.

It didn’t belong.

Too fast, too shiny, too loud for Forks. Just like the people inside.

The car slid to a stop like it knew exactly where it didn’t belong. The windows were tinted, the paint so polished it caught what little light the clouds allowed.

Zoe Clark stepped out of the passenger seat like she was arriving at a Founder’s Day Event, not a high school.

Her heels clacked sharply against the wet pavement, completely impractical for the weather. Her short, pastel dress was cut for a warmer climate, layered beneath a long wool coat that looked like it belonged to an East Coast boarding school—not a town where flannel was a uniform. Even her usually messy, dark hair seemed to fit to perfection despite the mist in the air.

She looked like memory and danger and somewhere else entirely. She looked like she’d already lived and died once. She looked like Mystic Falls.

And Forks had no idea what to do with her.

Zoe didn’t care. Her chin was high. Her face unreadable. Her body too thin, like she was stretched between this place and somewhere else. Something about her was sharpened —not fragile, but brittle, like a beautiful piece of glass.

She turned back to the car, arms crossed. “Wait until I tell Care you rented a Camaro. It’s like you can’t go a few days without yours.”

Damon leaned across the center console, smirking under his sunglasses. His usual leather coat was sleek, his shirt crisp—every inch of him screamed expensive and smug. The car, the outfit, the attitude—it all belonged to someone who used to drive down the tree-lined roads of Mystic Falls like he owned them.

“This one doesn’t smell like blood,” he said casually. “Thought I’d make a good impression on your family.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “You’re a menace.”

His smile faded. For a beat, he just looked at her—at her tired eyes, at how she shifted too much of her weight to one side, like standing was suddenly too much. Like she was barely holding it together.

“I worry about you, Zo,” Damon said quietly. “You better take care of yourself.”

The old Zoe might’ve had a sarcastic comeback. The one who used to dance barefoot at midnight, who used to make fun of his brooding. 

This Zoe just nodded. “I’ll try.”

When he reached out and brushed his fingers across her wrist, the bond sparked faintly between them—electric and aching. It was more than touch. It was memory and magic and something they hadn’t yet named. Zoe flinched, but didn’t pull away.

Damon was the one who broke it. “Be brave,” he said softly. “And answer the phone.”

And then the Camaro peeled off, too fast, too dramatic for the sleepy lot.

The Cullens had seen the whole thing.

From across the parking lot, Rosalie folded her arms. Edward tilted his head. Alice bit her lip. Emmett squinted after the retreating car like it might answer the dozens of questions none of them had the words for.

“Rental plates,” Alice murmured.

“Who is that?” Emmett asked.

“Someone not from here,” Rosalie said.

“She looks like she belongs somewhere else entirely,” Edward noted.

“She does ,” Alice said. “That dress? The heels? That’s not Forks.” She shivered. “I mean suede in rain? Who does that?”

Rosalie narrowed her eyes. “It’s Mystic Falls.”

Edward looked at her. “What?”

“She’s not trying to fit in here,” Rosalie said, her voice unusually quiet. “She’s remembering who she was before she got stuck here.”

Zoe didn’t look at the Cullens. She didn’t glance at anyone. She walked toward the front steps like the rain didn’t touch her, like the whispers didn’t reach her ears, like she’d built her own world and locked the door behind her.

Her fingers brushed the bracelet at her wrist — delicate gold, cool against her skin, the green stone catching what little light filtered through the clouds. Damon’s gift. A memory. A weight. A promise she hadn’t asked for but still wore.

Forks wasn’t home. It never would be.

But whatever she was running from in Mystic Falls? She hadn’t outrun it yet.

The wind had picked up. It tugged at the hem of Zoe’s coat as she leaned against the cold brick wall, balancing her coffee in one hand and flicking through her phone with the other. She wasn’t really reading—just going through the motions. Her heels tapped absently against the pavement, and her eyes were sharp, scanning the courtyard even though she pretended not to care.

She hadn’t made it more than a few feet into the building before needing air again.

The door creaked open.

Rosalie Cullen stepped out like she belonged there, though she never usually took this exit. Her long blond hair was immaculately pinned back, her tan leather jacket catching the dim sunlight. She looked less like a student and more like she was modeling for an ad called Winter Elegance: Danger Optional .

Zoe didn’t look up.

But she felt her.

“You know,” Rosalie said, voice smooth and easy, “heels in Forks are either a power move or a cry for help. Jury’s still out.”

Zoe glanced at her sideways, suspicious. “You don’t strike me as the jury type.”

Rosalie smirked. “I do strike people, though.”

Zoe let out the ghost of a laugh and looked back at her phone. “They’re a power move,” she muttered. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Rosalie echoed.

Silence stretched a few seconds too long, and Zoe finally locked her phone. She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want, Rosalie?”

Rosalie raised her brows. “Maybe I’m just being friendly.”

“You’re not the friendly one. That’s Emmett.”

“And you’re not the talkative one, but here we are.”

Zoe gave her a long, wary look—then sipped her coffee, clearly debating whether to stay or bolt. “You guys always this…observant?” she asked. “Or just when people show up in fast cars with older boyfriends?”

Rosalie chuckled. “Only when the boyfriends look like they could charm half of Seattle and then disappear into the fog without a trace.” Her tone was light, but Zoe could tell she was watching closely—measuring her.

Zoe rolled her eyes. “It’s not what you think.”

“I’m not thinking anything,” Rosalie said, and for once, it sounded honest. “You’re not exactly easy to read.”

“Good.” Zoe drained the rest of her coffee. “I like it that way.”

“I bet you do.” Rosalie leaned against the wall beside her, leaving a respectable distance but not walking away. “You seemed…off the last few weeks. After the accident.”

Zoe tensed slightly.

“Better now?” Rosalie asked, quieter this time.

Zoe hesitated. “Do you always make a habit of keeping tabs on people you barely know?”

“Only when they show up looking like they stepped out of another century,” Rosalie said, almost gently.

Zoe stilled.

Rosalie looked at her, something unreadable in her eyes.

“I like your dress, by the way,” she added, changing the subject too quickly. “It’s completely impractical. But it suits you.”

Zoe turned toward her, wary but curious now. “Thanks…I think.”

Rosalie shrugged. “You make it work. Even if you look like you’re about to host a garden party in a thunderstorm.”

Zoe laughed. Not loud, but real.

“Alright,” she said, glancing at Rosalie sidelong. “That was funny.”

Rosalie smiled. “I have my moments.”

Zoe didn’t move, but something in her posture eased, just barely.

“You know,” Rosalie added after a beat, “you don’t have to be alone all the time. You can sit with people. With me and my siblings, even. You don’t have to keep standing outside like you’re guarding a secret.”

Zoe looked at her for a long moment, eyes darker than they should’ve been. “Maybe I am.”

Rosalie didn’t push. She just nodded.

“See you around, Zoe Clark.”

And she walked back inside without waiting for a response.

Zoe stood there for another minute, coffee cup empty, heart a little lighter, though she didn’t know why.

The Cullens sat at their usual table near the windows, untouched trays in front of them for appearances. Alice had gone to intercept Bella, leaving the others with a rare moment to themselves.

Rosalie leaned back in her chair, cool and aloof as always, but her eyes drifted—subtly—toward the door every time it opened. She didn't say anything, didn’t even twitch, but Emmett noticed.

He smirked. “So…”

Rosalie narrowed her eyes at him instantly. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” he said, raising his hands in mock innocence.

“You were going to say something stupid.”

“ Wow, that hurts, babe.” Emmett leaned forward, grinning. “I was just going to say it’s really nice to see you make a new friend. You even went outside to talk to her. In the cold. Voluntarily. That’s friendship.”

Rosalie stared at him. “We don’t get cold, Emmett.”

“You're glowing,” Emmett added with a mock-dreamy sigh. “Should I be jealous? Is it a new friendship? Can we finally ask her why she looks like a dead ringer for our dead mother?” 

Edward set down his untouched apple and gave Emmett a flat look. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Emmett said.

Rosalie rolled her eyes. “I was just being civil.”

Emmett leaned into her space. “You don’t do civil.” He kissed her cheek.

Rosalie jabbed him in the ribs with a sharp elbow, but a ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Edward spoke then, tone lower. “Just because she looks like Zoe Cullen doesn’t mean she is her.”

Rosalie stilled. Her jaw tightened. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I think it’s easy to forget,” Edward said quietly. “Especially when we’ve all been feeling it. The… draw.”

“She’s different,” Rosalie said firmly. “You saw what she wore this morning. She doesn’t care what people think of her. She’s… sharp. Angry.”

“She’s fifteen,” Edward reminded them. “That’s not the same as immortal .”

Rosalie didn’t respond. Instead, she looked back toward the cafeteria entrance again—just for a heartbeat.

“She’s sixteen.” Alice said softly. “Her birthday was yesterday.” No one questioned how Alice knew that.

Jasper raised a brow at Edward, curious. “You still can’t read her?”

Edward shook his head. “Nothing. It’s like static. She blocks me out the same way Bella does, but… differently.”

“Freaky,” Emmett muttered. “You think it’s just a coincidence?”

“No,” Edward said. “I don’t.”

Rosalie crossed her arms. “I don’t care who she is. Or who she looks like. If she’s in pain, I’m not going to stand there and let her drown in it.”

The words surprised even her.

Edward didn’t argue.

Emmett looked at her with a little less teasing and a little more admiration. “You really do like her.”

“She reminds me of someone,” Rosalie said. “Not just Zoe Cullen.”

She didn’t say who.

But they all knew.

And none of them could shake the feeling that this wasn’t a coincidence at all.

The door to the cafeteria opened again, and this time, Rosalie wasn’t the only one to glance up.

Zoe Clark stood just inside, tray in hand, scanning the room.

She looked… out of place.

Still in her heeled boots and tailored dress, a little less polished today than she’d been when Damon dropped her off—her makeup lighter, her hair messier, like she’d done it in a rush. Thin. Fragile. As if the weight of the air around her might knock her sideways.

Her eyes landed on the Cullen table.

She hesitated.

Then she squared her shoulders and walked toward them.

All five vampires went still—not tense, not afraid, just… watching.

Zoe stopped at the edge of the table. She looked at Emmett first, maybe because he seemed safest, or maybe because he was already smiling at her like she’d brought sunshine in on her shoes.

“Mind if I…?” she asked, nodding toward the open seat between Alice and Emmett.

Rosalie was the first to answer. “Of course.”

Zoe’s eyebrows lifted at that—maybe surprised Rosalie hadn’t rolled her eyes or scoffed—and she slid into the seat with a small, awkward smile.

“Hey,” Emmett greeted, cheerful and easy. “Look who’s slumming it with us mortals.”

Zoe blinked. “What?”

Emmett chuckled. “Kidding.” He shrugged. “But, you know -”

Alice beamed, cutting off her brother before he could insult anyone. “I’m so glad you came over! I was just about to go find you.”

Zoe looked between them all. “You were?”

Alice nodded too enthusiastically. “We’ve been talking about you all morning.”

Zoe squinted. “That’s not even a little weird.”

“She means we were talking about how stylish you are,” Rosalie interjected smoothly, tilting her head. “Forks doesn’t usually get anyone who wears anything but boots in the rain.”

Zoe snorted. “Well, my shoes are constantly soaked through. You’d think I’d learn my lesson.”

Rosalie smiled, amused. “You don’t strike me as someone who changes just to fit in.”

Zoe shrugged, picking at her sandwich. “I don’t really know how to fit in anymore.”

That quieted the table.

Alice tilted her head, thoughtful. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

Zoe glanced at her. “That’s a very nice way to say I’m weird.”

“I like weird,” Alice said brightly. “We’re all a little weird.”

Edward cleared his throat softly, the first sound he’d made since Zoe sat down. “You feeling okay?” he asked, voice measured. “After… everything.”

Zoe didn’t meet his gaze. “Still a little bruised. But I’m fine. Thanks for the whole… yeeting me out of the way of a van thing.”

“You’re welcome,” Edward said, voice softening. “Though I’m starting to suspect you just like to say the word ‘yeet’.”

Zoe cocked her head. “It is fun, but is it even really a word?”

Emmett leaned in. “Wait—you got Edward to say ‘yeet’? I’m obsessed with you now.”

Zoe laughed, quiet and surprised. “Please don’t be. I’m at my stalker limit. Past capacity, really.”

“I’m just saying, if you ever want to trade sarcasm for sarcasm, I’m here for it,” Emmett said.

There was a beat of quiet after that. Zoe glanced at Rosalie, who was watching her a little too closely, and then at Alice, who smiled like Zoe had just passed a test.

Edward was harder to read, but he was leaning back in his chair now, watching with a sort of wary curiosity.

Zoe exhaled. “This is… the weirdest lunch I’ve had in a while.” And she’d been to that fiasco where Damon tried to use Jenna Sommers to out Mason Lockwood as a werewolf.

“We’ll try to keep things interesting,” Alice said, gently nudging her shoulder.

Zoe didn’t smile back, not fully, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

And for the first time in days, she didn’t feel quite so alone.

The drizzle had slowed to a misty spray as Zoe walked briskly down the slick sidewalks of Forks’ small downtown. Her heeled boots clicked softly against the wet pavement, her eyes mostly focused on the cracked asphalt, lost in a swirl of thoughts she couldn’t quite catch.

 She rounded the corner near the small post office, balancing her jacket tighter around her slender frame against the chill. The air smelled faintly of pine and damp earth—Forks in a quiet moment.

From the other side of the street, a familiar figure emerged.

Carlisle Cullen.

They both stopped, as if pulled by an invisible thread. For a moment, neither moved.

Carlisle smiled softly and gave a small wave. He moved with that unmistakable graceful ease, his posture impeccable even in the casual clothes he wore. His pale face caught the fading light, sharp and timeless, eyes a deep shade of amber that seemed to flicker with something beyond simple sight.

As he approached, the air felt charged, thick with things unsaid.

Carlisle stepped forward, his hand briefly brushing Zoe’s wrist as he reached out to steady her from the uneven pavement. The contact was fleeting but electric, and Zoe’s breath caught. She flinched slightly, eyes widening, but didn’t pull away.

“Sorry,” Carlisle murmured, voice low, careful not to alarm her. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No,” Zoe whispered, heart pounding. “It’s... just strange.”

Carlisle studied her face, his gaze tracing the delicate line of her jaw. He wondered if she felt it too—that flicker of something neither dared name.

Zoe glanced away, fingers pressing lightly against the back of her neck, trying to steady the sudden rush of heat and confusion.

The silence stretched between them, neither rushing to fill it.

“I didn’t expect to run into you here,” Carlisle finally said, clearing his throat.

“Neither did I,” Zoe admitted, managing a small, wary smile. “Forks isn’t exactly full of surprises, Dr. Cullen.”

Carlisle nodded, glancing down the street, then back. “Please, call me Carlisle. If you ever want company on your walks... or anywhere, I’m around.”

Zoe raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She always had a thing for older guys, and Carlisle had that calm confidence she found oddly comforting. But there was a wariness in her eyes too—a guardedness born from years of not trusting the world.

Carlisle sensed it and gave a soft chuckle. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts, then.”

Zoe hesitated just a moment before nodding. “Thanks... Carlisle.”

He stepped back, giving her space, but the pull lingered—unspoken, undeniable. As she turned to continue down the street, Zoe glanced over her shoulder once, and Carlisle’s amber eyes met hers for a brief moment before she disappeared into the misty dusk.

Chapter Text

The Forks High hallway buzzed with its usual brand of chaos — damp sneakers squeaking on tile, lockers slamming, someone yelling about a test they definitely didn’t study for. Bella weaved through the mess with practiced silence, spotting Zoe leaned against the wall near the back stairwell, halfway hidden behind a row of faded vending machines.

She stood out.

Zoe was in a short, fitted black dress that looked more like it belonged at a gallery opening than a public school, paired with grey suede, thigh-high heeled boots that clicked softly when she shifted her weight. Her long dark hair was a little frizzed from the damp, but it only made her look more untouchable. Pale arms. Sharp posture. Blank expression. She looked like something out of place in the best and worst way — like she’d walked into Forks through the wrong door and decided not to apologize for it.

And on her wrist, Bella noticed again, was that delicate gold bracelet — antique, elegant, anchored by a single green stone. It looked out of time, like it belonged in a glass case somewhere, not on the wrist of a teenager in a public high school. But Zoe wore it constantly now. Always on her left wrist, paired with the dainty vervain necklace she never took off either. Bella hadn’t asked where it came from, but she was pretty sure she didn’t need to.

Zoe looked up when Bella cleared her throat, her eyes sharp. “You sneak up like a predator,” she muttered, pulling one earbud out. “You know that, right?”

Bella gave a faint smile. “Working on it.”

Zoe raised a brow but didn’t comment. Her gaze drifted back to her phone like she wasn’t really in the mood for small talk.

Bella hesitated, then forged ahead. “Hey. Jessica, Angela and I are going to Port Angeles after school. Dress shopping. Pizza maybe. I thought... I don’t know, you might want to come.”

Zoe looked up again, blinking like she hadn’t heard right. “You want me to voluntarily spend an afternoon with Jessica Stanley?”

Bella grimaced. “Angela will be there too?”

Zoe snorted. “So, it’s a hostage situation, then.”

Bella crossed her arms. “You don’t have to stay the whole time. Just come hang out. Get out of the house. I mean, you’ve been... kind of withdrawn lately.”

Zoe didn’t reply right away. She leaned her head back against the wall, eyes drifting to the ceiling tiles like they held the secrets of the universe.

“I know you’re trying,” she said finally. “And I appreciate the invite, I really do. But I’d rather chew glass.”

Bella blinked.

“Slowly,” Zoe added. “Without anesthesia.”

A laugh burst out of Bella before she could stop it. “That’s... specific.”

“I’ve had time to think about it,” Zoe said dryly, a smirk flickering at the edge of her mouth before vanishing again. She absently twisted the bracelet around her wrist, fingers lingering over the green stone. “Besides, you don’t need me dragging your day down. Go. Gossip about Edward. Eat carbs. Have a normal teenage moment.”

Bella frowned. “You deserve one of those too, you know.”

Zoe glanced at her, and for a moment, something cracked in her expression — not enough to shatter the mask, but enough to show the weight beneath it. “Maybe. Just not today.”

Bella shifted, unsure what to say. “You sure?”

Zoe nodded. “But thanks for asking.”

Bella opened her mouth, thought better of it, and gave a small, reluctant nod.

“Alright,” she said, stepping back toward the hall.

“You girls have fun,” Zoe called after her, deadpan.

Bella glanced over her shoulder. “You’re a menace.”

Zoe gave a little wave. “Tell Angela I said hi. Don’t tell Jessica I exist.”

And with that, she plugged her earbuds back in, gaze fixed on something distant that had nothing to do with dresses, pizza, or soft-lit evenings in Port Angeles.

Bella didn’t say anything else. She just nodded, turned, and walked back toward the main hall, footsteps soft against the linoleum.

But the weight of Zoe’s words clung to her like mist — quiet, cold, impossible to shake.

She glanced back once, just before turning the corner.

Zoe was still leaning against the wall, one boot braced behind her, head tilted like she was listening for something no one else could hear. Her dark hair curled wildly around her shoulders, untamed as ever. She didn’t look up. Instead, her fingers absently found the gold bracelet at her wrist — the one with the deep green stone that Damon had given her — and traced it like it might tether her to the ground.

Bella hadn’t seen her take it off once since she’d gotten it. Just like the dainty gold necklace she always wore — barely visible under the collar of whatever dramatic outfit she’d thrown on that day.

They weren’t just accessories.

They were armor.

Anchors.

Zoe wore grief like jewelry, Bella thought. Not loud. Not flashy. Just constant. Just close.

Bella’s stomach twisted. She didn’t know what Zoe had been through. Not really. But whatever it was, it had hollowed out space behind her eyes — and left her clinging to the few pieces of herself she could still carry.

Still, Bella turned and kept walking, already hearing Jessica’s voice echo down the hallway — bright, grating, and unmistakably loud in the way only Jessica Stanley could be.

Zoe wouldn’t come to Port Angeles.

But maybe — just maybe — she didn’t want to be left behind, either.

The steady drizzle painted a muted sheen over the streets of Port Angeles as Bella trudged beside Jessica and Angela, boots splashing in shallow puddles. The rain blurred the shop windows and turned the streetlights to soft halos of gold.

Jessica’s chatter was easy and bright. “Okay, I’m definitely trying on that green dress. You’ll help me pick shoes, right?”

Bella smiled faintly. “Of course.”

They stepped inside a dress shop, warmth and perfume curling around them. Bella lingered near the entrance as Jessica and Angela disappeared between racks of fabric, their laughter fading.

“Go ahead without me,” Bella called. “I want to check out the bookstore we passed.”

Jessica peeked out, holding a dress against herself. “You sure? We won’t be long.”

“Positive. I’ll meet you back here.”

They nodded, already caught up in their hunt for the perfect dress.

Outside again, Bella tugged her jacket tighter and turned toward the small shop she’d spotted earlier. The mist clung to her hair, and the quiet felt heavier now without her friends’ voices.

But when she reached the shop, disappointment sank in. The windows were dark — closed early for the evening. She sighed, glancing back down the street, debating whether to return to Jessica and Angela or wander a bit longer.

That was when she noticed them — a small group of men loitering near a side alley. At first, she tried to ignore them, but as she walked, she realized their voices grew louder, their footsteps falling into rhythm with hers.

Bella’s heartbeat quickened. She turned down a street she thought would loop back toward the dress shop, but the unfamiliar layout of Port Angeles betrayed her — the buildings pressed close, the streetlights thinning, and the voices behind her drawing nearer.

A flicker of panic rose. She quickened her pace. The men’s voices slurred, ugly and taunting now, their shadows stretching toward her.

And then—headlights sliced through the dusk. A silver Volvo glided to the curb, the passenger door already swinging open.

“Get in,” Edward’s voice called, sharp but controlled.

Bella didn’t hesitate. She dove into the car, breath ragged, as Edward hit the locks and pulled smoothly back onto the main road.

Only then did she glance at him, his jaw clenched, golden eyes dark with fury barely held in check.

“Are you all right?” he asked, voice low, strained.

“I—I think so,” Bella managed, still shaking.

Edward exhaled slowly, as if fighting to calm himself. “You shouldn’t have been out here alone.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be,” Bella whispered, voice small.

The rain drummed harder on the windshield as they sped away, the danger left behind — but the questions, and the electric tension between them, only deepened.

Inside the diner, the warmth was almost overwhelming after the chill outside. The scent of coffee and frying bacon wrapped around them. Edward led Bella to a booth near the window, his movements smooth, precise.

Bella sank into the seat, still trembling from the encounter. She wrapped her hands around the mug the waitress placed in front of her, grateful for the heat.

Edward watched her with those burning golden eyes. His expression was calm, but beneath it, something coiled — worry, maybe, or something she couldn’t quite name.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner,” he said quietly.

“You were there,” Bella whispered. “That’s what matters.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the low murmur of other diners filling the space between them. Then Edward’s gaze softened.

“You’re protective of people,” he said, almost like an observation.

Bella blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“I saw it today. And I’ve seen it before. With your cousin, Zoe.”

Bella stiffened slightly, instinctively defensive. “Zoe’s had a hard time. She doesn’t need anyone else judging her.”

“I wasn’t judging.” His voice was gentle, but there was an intensity beneath it. “I was... curious.”

Bella frowned, fingers tightening on her mug. “Why?”

Edward hesitated, as if weighing how much to say. “She seems... fragile. Like she’s carrying more than she lets anyone see.”

Bella felt a pang of protectiveness sharpen. Zoe was fragile in some ways — but she was also stronger than people realized.

“She’s been through a lot,” Bella said carefully. “It’s not really my story to tell.” And Bella didn’t even know the story herself.

Edward studied her. “The guy who dropped her off at school earlier this week. Was that part of the story?”

Bella blinked in surprise. “You saw that?”

He shrugged, lips curling faintly. “I notice things and it wasn’t exactly hard to miss. Half the school was talking about it.”

Bella took a breath, trying to sound casual. “That was... her ex. He came to visit for a couple of days. They’re still on decent terms.”

Edward’s eyes darkened slightly, as if filing that away. “He looked..older. Protective, too.”

“Yeah,” Bella said quietly. “A little too protective sometimes. But he means well.”

“How does your dad feel about it?”

Bella huffed. “I think Charlie kind of likes Damon, actually.” She shook her head ruefully.

Another silence stretched between them, thicker now, charged with unspoken questions.

“Zoe doesn’t like people prying,” Bella added, voice firmer now. “And neither do I. So if you’re going to ask about her... maybe don’t.”

Edward’s expression softened again, but his eyes still held that searching look. “I only ask because I want her to be safe.”

Bella’s heart skipped. “From what?”

Edward glanced out the window at the rain, as if the answer might be hidden in the fog. “From anything that could hurt her.”

And somehow, Bella sensed he didn’t just mean ordinary dangers.

The warmth of the diner felt thin now — as if it couldn’t quite chase away the chill that had settled deep in Bella’s bones. Edward watched her from across the table, his gaze steady, unreadable.

Bella took a shaky breath, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee mug.

“You’re not going to tell me the truth, are you?” she said quietly.

Edward tilted his head slightly. “About what?”

“About the accident. How you saved me and Zoe. About what you are.”

“I’m not allowed to pry but you are, then?” The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he wasn’t surprised. “What do you think I am?”

Bella hesitated, heart pounding so hard it hurt. The words felt dangerous, but she couldn’t keep them in any longer.

“A Cold One.” Her voice came out in a whisper. “One of the creatures from the Quileute legends.”

For a moment, Edward said nothing. The rain tapped gently at the window beside them, the sound loud in the silence between them.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

Bella’s stomach clenched. She forced herself to meet his eyes. “Are we safe? I mean—me, Charlie, Zoe? Should we be worried about you? Or your family?”

Edward’s expression shifted — not offended, not angry. Just sad.

“I won’t lie to you,” he said softly. “It’s... not always easy. But you’re safe. My family, we don’t harm humans. We don’t feed on them.”

Bella stared at him, trying to reconcile the impossible truth with the boy sitting in front of her — someone who looked both terrifying and heartbreakingly human.

“And Zoe?” she asked, her voice tightening. “Are you why she’s been so different lately? Is she scared of you?”

Edward shook his head. “No. But I can’t say we don’t affect her. We... confuse things for her.”

Bella frowned. “What does that mean?”

Edward exhaled slowly, leaning forward, his voice low and careful. “Some vampires”—he spoke the word without hesitation—“have... abilities. Gifts, or curses, depending on how you look at it.” A faint, sad smile touched his lips. “Mine makes things complicated.”

Bella’s breath caught. “What is it?”

He hesitated, watching her, as if weighing how much to trust her. His voice dropped even further, the words meant for her alone.

“You can’t tell anyone, Bella. Not Charlie. Not Zoe. No one. It’s not just for my sake — it’s for yours. For theirs.”

Bella nodded, her heart hammering. “I won’t.”

Only then did Edward continue, his golden eyes dark with the weight of the admission. “I can read minds.”

Bella froze. “You can what?”

“I hear the thoughts of everyone around me... except yours. And Zoe’s.”

Her pulse spiked. “Why not ours?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice soft but troubled. “You’re like silence. Like a void where sound should be. And Zoe...” He shook his head slightly. “She’s like static. Like I can sense the presence of a signal, but I can’t reach it. You’re both quiet in a way no one else is. And it... unsettles me.”

Bella tried to make sense of it — of him. Of all of it.

“And Damon - Zoe’s ex - did you read him?”

Edward shook his head. “I wasn’t there when he dropped her off. I didn’t have the chance.”

Bella swallowed hard. “You’re saying Zoe’s hiding something.”

Edward’s gaze softened. “I think she’s protecting you. Just as fiercely as you’re protecting her.”

Bella stared out at the rain-smeared streets, the world she thought she knew slipping further and further away — replaced by shadows, secrets, and the silent promise that nothing would ever be the same again.

Bella stared out at the rain-smeared window, her mind whirling with everything Edward had said — and everything he hadn’t. The secrets, the danger, the strangeness of Zoe’s silence in Edward’s head — it was too much, all at once.

“I should go home. I want to go home,” Bella said softly, turning back to him. Her voice felt small, but sure. “Will you take me?” She surprised herself by asking.

Edward nodded immediately, as if he’d been waiting for her to ask. “Of course.”

She dug her phone from her jacket pocket, fingers trembling as she typed a message to Angela and Jessica: Ran into Edward. He offered me a ride home. I’ll see you both at school.

Before she hit send, she hesitated — then added: Thanks for tonight.

A moment later, both Angela and Jessica’s replies buzzed in.

Glad you’re okay! See you tomorrow.

Ooooh Edward Cullen! Spill later!

Bella tucked the phone away, feeling the weight of it like an anchor.

They walked out together into the soft mist, the rain gentler now. Edward opened the car door for her — that same strange, old-fashioned courtesy — and she slid in, the warmth of the Volvo wrapping around her.

For a while, they drove in silence, the hum of the engine and the whisper of tires on wet pavement the only sound. Bella watched the dark trees blur past, her thoughts as tangled as the branches overhead.

Finally, Edward spoke, his voice low but firm. “Bella... about what you asked before. About whether you’re safe.”

She glanced at him, heart beating fast.

“My family — we don’t harm humans. We hunt animals.” His hands tightened slightly on the wheel. “It’s... our way of living with what we are.”

Bella let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“But for our sake,” Edward continued, his tone turning serious, almost pleading, “you can’t tell anyone what you’ve learned. Not Charlie. Not Zoe. Not anyone. Please.”

Bella nodded slowly. “I wouldn’t. I promise.”

Edward glanced at her, his expression softening, but there was still tension in his jaw, as if he was waiting for some invisible threat to appear.

“I know this is a lot,” he added quietly. “More than you should have to carry.”

Bella gave a small, wry smile. “Welcome to my life lately.”

The rest of the drive passed in quiet, the night pressing close around them, filled with secrets neither of them dared name aloud.

Chapter Text

Forks had never felt like home, but lately, it felt like exile.

Bella was changing. Zoe could see it in the little things—quieter laughs, distracted glances, the way she’d disappear into her head and come back different. She didn’t need to be a mind-reader to know something had shifted. Edward Cullen’s shadow had lengthened across Bella’s life, and Zoe felt it in every word Bella didn’t say.

She didn’t press. Not exactly. But whenever she asked where Bella had been, or what she was doing after school, Bella’s answers came a beat too late—too carefully vague. Her cousin flinched at casual questions, dodged meaningful ones. And Edward… Edward looked at Zoe like she was a puzzle with missing pieces he didn’t trust himself to solve. He was polite. Guarded. Unreadable.

Zoe didn’t push. She knew what it was like to have secrets that strangled. She just wished Bella trusted her enough to share them.

So she pulled away.

It was easier, in some ways, to retreat back into the familiar world of Mystic Falls—even from a distance. Her phone became her lifeline: late-night texts with Bonnie, emotionally charged calls with Caroline, a few dry jokes exchanged with Jeremy Gilbert. She found herself missing Elena and Matt and even Tyler.

Especially Tyler.

Caroline had called the night before, voice trembling with frustration and worry. Tyler was spiraling—erratic, angry, half-wild from the sire bond Klaus had forced on him. Caroline was trying to help, but it wasn’t working. She needed backup.

“I don’t know what to do, Zoe,” Caroline whispered. “He’s not… him anymore. Or he is—sometimes. And then it’s like a switch flips, and he’s not Tyler, not our Tyler. He’s Klaus’s.”

Zoe had stayed on the phone long after midnight, curled up under her blanket, the bracelet Damon had given her clutched like a worry stone in her fist. She whispered reassurances she didn’t believe and offered comfort she wasn’t sure Caroline could even hear. But it was something. It was real. It was hers.

She stopped sitting in the cafeteria with the Cullens—not that she’d done it more than once. But now Bella was always there beside them, and somehow that made it worse. That table had never quite belonged to her, but now it was sealed off entirely. She didn’t want to intrude. Didn’t want to look like she needed anything.

So she ate outside when she could, or skipped lunch altogether. Pretended the ache in her stomach was from too much coffee. Pretended she didn’t see Rosalie glance her way, or Emmett’s hesitant half-smile. Pretended she didn’t care.

In contrast, Bella felt distant. Paper-thin. Always on the edge of somewhere else.

Zoe tried not to resent her. She really did.

But when Bella didn’t show up for lunch again, and when Edward’s eyes tracked Zoe like a threat every time she walked by, the ache settled deeper. Zoe wasn’t part of whatever Bella was caught up in. She wasn’t invited.

And in Forks, surrounded by rain and secrets and people who weren’t quite what they seemed, Zoe was once again exactly what she’d always feared she would be.

Alone.

The sky was bone-white and still, a pale wash above the fir trees heavy with snow. Forks was quieter in winter—blanketed in silence that made every sound sharper. Zoe’s boots crunched over the packed snow on the sidewalk, the chill biting at her ankles through her too-thin tights. She hadn’t expected to walk home, but Bella had left again with Edward, no warning, no message. Just gone.

It was fine. Everything was always fine. Zoe was fine.

She tugged her sleeves of her jacket down over her hands, her fingers numb, fiddling absently with the gold bracelet on her wrist—the green stone catching what little light the afternoon sky allowed. She turned it once, then again. Like it meant something. Like it anchored her.

A quiet engine cut through the cold.

She looked up just as a familiar black Mercedes pulled to a gentle stop along the edge of the road, tires skimming through slush.

Carlisle Cullen leaned over and rolled down the passenger-side window. The heat poured out.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he said, voice warm enough to melt the frost.

Zoe stared at him for a second, then glanced down the empty road. “Do you only drive this route to rescue damsels in distress?”

Carlisle offered a faint smile. “Only the ones walking home in a snowstorm with impractical boots.”

Her nose wrinkled faintly. “They’re not impractical. They’re iconic.”

“And soaked,” he replied evenly.

She gave a reluctant huff, but opened the door and slid in, the warmth hitting her like a wave. She didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Snow streaked the windows. She rubbed her hands together for heat and didn’t notice when his eyes flicked—just briefly—toward the gold bracelet on her wrist. He didn’t ask about it. But he saw the way her fingers lingered there, like it wasn’t just jewelry. Like it was a lifeline.

“I was headed back from the hospital,” Carlisle said after a moment. “But... I could be convinced to detour. There’s a café nearby. Warm drinks, bad music. Sound tolerable?”

Zoe gave him a sideways glance. “Are you always this charming, or is this just your way of avoiding paperwork?”

Carlisle’s smile deepened. “Don’t tell my staff.”

Forks’ only café was dim and cozy, strings of fairy lights laced through frost-covered windows. Inside, the smell of cinnamon and roasted beans wrapped around them like a comfort.

They chose a booth near the back. Zoe shrugged off her coat and curled her legs up on the seat, her hands tight around the ceramic mug Carlisle had ordered for her—some vanilla-chai concoction she hadn’t asked for but liked anyway.

They didn’t talk at first. The silence felt strangely easy.

Eventually, Carlisle said, “You look tired.”

Zoe let out a breath, her voice low. “That’s because I am.”

“Long day?”

“Long month.” She made a face. "Eh, let's call it a long year."

Carlisle tilted his head, morbidly curious to know more about Zoe Clark. “Do you miss it? Your hometown?”

Zoe shrugged, her fingers tightening on the cup. “Some days. But... it wasn’t exactly sunshine and puppies.”

“You had people there though. Friends. Familiar streets.”

Zoe’s mouth twisted. “Yeah. I also had dead parents, a questionable ex who had a crush on one of my best friends, and a punch card for emotional trauma. Pretty sure I earned a free one.”

Carlisle didn’t flinch. He just nodded slowly, listening.

He watched her for a moment, quiet. Then, carefully, “You carry yourself like someone who’s had to be strong for too long.”

Zoe glanced at him, uncertain if it was a compliment or an observation.

“You don’t talk like someone pretending to be fine,” he added, more gently now. “You just... are. And that says more than most people ever realize.”

Zoe looked down, fingers tightening around her cup. “Most people want me to be something I’m not.”

Carlisle’s voice stayed soft. “I don’t.”

The heat between them wasn’t romantic. Not yet. But something flickered under the surface—recognition, maybe. Curiosity. Something unnamed.

When he reached for her coat to help her into it, their fingers touched. That spark again. Not imagined. Not ignored. But still unnamed.

Zoe didn’t pull away.

Outside, snow began to fall again—slow, heavy flakes dusting the windshield and the hood of the car. They stood in the glow of the café lights, two figures lost in the quiet white hush of a small town winter.

Forks was still cold. But Zoe didn’t feel quite so frozen.

They'd been sitting in the corner booth of the café for nearly half an hour now, the space warmed by the smell of cinnamon and the steady hum of the heater. Outside, the sky had gone slate-gray, and the snow on the sidewalks was slushier than it had been when they arrived.

Zoe glanced up from her untouched croissant and tilted her head. “You want something? Coffee, tea, one of those seasonal lattes that probably taste like liquid nostalgia?”

Carlisle smirked faintly. “I’m not much of a coffee drinker.”

Zoe gasped in mock horror, clutching her chest. “You mean to tell me you brought me to a coffee shop without any intention of drinking coffee? That’s a cardinal sin, Dr. Cullen.”

His smile grew, amused. “Is it?” 

“Absolutely,” she said, tone dry. “And now I have to question everything I thought I knew about you.”

Carlisle let out a quiet breath — not quite a laugh, but something close. She was warm like this. Not all the time, not even most of the time, but it slipped out in unexpected moments. Wry, disarming, human. 

Zoe Cullen had been quieter. Polished. Distant in a way that had felt curated. She’d walked like she was trying not to leave footprints. Zoe Clark was all scuffed heels and sudden honesty, her pain too close to the surface, her wit a defense she didn’t always bother sharpening.

He wasn’t confused. He just couldn’t stop noticing.

“You can call me Carlisle, you know.”

“Sure. Right after I start calling Uncle Charlie ‘Chuck.’”

Carlisle shook his head ruefully. “You mentioned Mystic Falls,” he said gently, steering the conversation somewhere softer. Safer. “Do you still keep in touch with your friends?”

Zoe’s expression shifted — thoughtful, a little guarded. She nodded. “Yeah. Mostly through calls and messages now. It’s… easier that way.”

He waited.

“Elena and I used to be a lot less complicated,” she said slowly, unsure why she was telling him this. “She’s still like family. They all are. But sometimes…with Elena it can feel like she’s trying to fix a version of me that doesn’t exist anymore. Like she expects me to agree with her. See the world the same way she does. And I just… don’t.”

Carlisle nodded once, encouraging her to go on.

“Bonnie’s my anchor,” Zoe continued. “She doesn’t say much, but she always knew. About me. About everything. Even when I didn’t.”

There was a beat of silence, then: “Caroline’s… something else. She’s loud, and intense, and she gets under your skin. But she never goes away. I think she might be my constant.”

“And the others?”

Zoe smiled faintly. “Matt, Tyler, Jeremy… they’re all great. Too good sometimes. They want to help, but they don’t always know how.”

Carlisle watched her carefully. Not just the words, but the way her fingers kept brushing the bracelet on her wrist — the one she never took off. The one that seemed to anchor her, too.

She paused, fingers tracing the edge of her cup. “And the others—Ric, Stefan, Damon… I worry that too much has changed since I left. That maybe it’s changed me. Or them. Or both.”

She was a teenager. But she carried herself like someone who’d already survived more than most adults. And she had loved, deeply, fiercely. You could see it in how she talked about her people — like she was still tethered to them, even from a thousand miles away.

“You miss them,” he said, not as a question.

Zoe didn’t answer right away. Then she took a sip of her coffee and said, quietly, “I miss who I was when I was with them.” 

Then, catching herself, she cleared her throat and forced a small, embarrassed smile. “Don’t you have to get back to the hospital?”

Carlisle smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting gently. “There aren’t many emergencies in a town like this. I think they can survive without me for a little while longer.”

Zoe’s gaze dropped to her bracelet, fingers brushing over the gold as if grounding herself. “I should call my uncle,” she murmured. “He’s at the station. It’s just around the corner — he can pick me up on his way home.”

Carlisle’s brow creased. “I could drive you,” he offered, careful and measured. “It’s no trouble.”

“It’s fine.” The answer came too quickly, too practiced. Her hand curled tighter around the cup.

But then—before the moment could close in on itself—Zoe glanced up, her lips tugging into a hesitant smile. “But thanks. For the coffee. And the company. Most people would’ve let me freeze out there.”

Carlisle blinked, surprised—not by her words, but by the quiet sincerity beneath them.

“You’re welcome,” he said, softer now.

Zoe looked away again, rubbing her thumb over the bracelet once more, like she hadn’t even realized she was doing it. “I guess Forks isn’t all bad,” she muttered. “Still too much snow. Still a small town. But... maybe not the worst.”

Carlisle studied her carefully. The shift in her tone. The way she hadn’t fully shut down this time. And somewhere deep in the back of his mind — where Zoe Cullen’s memory used to sit like a shadow — something moved.

Something warmer. Something now.

They stepped outside into the soft hush of early evening. The snowfall had lightened to a lazy drift, catching in Zoe’s curls and dusting her shoulders like ash. Streetlamps flickered on in slow succession, casting pools of yellow light against the white-tipped sidewalks.

Carlisle held the door for her without thinking. She didn’t thank him aloud, but her chin dipped almost imperceptibly — acknowledgment in Zoe Clark’s native language.

A beat passed.

Zoe wrapped her coat tighter around herself and glanced toward the police station down the block. “That’s me,” she said, nodding. “Home is just a ride away.”

Carlisle gave a quiet smile. “I’m glad.”

Zoe hesitated. Not quite ready to go, not quite willing to stay. Her breath fogged in the cold, mixing with his in the space between them. Then, without looking at him, she muttered, “See you around, Dr. Cullen.”

He almost reminded her she could call him Carlisle. But the moment was delicate, and something about the nickname — the distance it held — felt safer.

So he just nodded. “Stay warm.”

Zoe turned and walked away, boots crunching softly in the snow. Her silhouette was sharp against the white, coat flaring behind her, heels defiant even on slippery pavement. She touched her bracelet again as she walked, fingers brushing it lightly, like it was her armor.

Carlisle stood there, unmoving.

She looked nothing like Zoe Cullen in that moment.

Not a trace of immortal stillness or old-world grace. Just a girl — stubborn, complicated, fragile in all the ways that mattered.

And he watched her until she disappeared into the amber-lit doorway of the station.

Bella pushed open the front door, the hinges creaking softly in the quiet house. It was late — later than she meant — and her coat was still damp from the walk to Edward’s car, from the drizzle that never really stopped in Forks. The kitchen light was on, but the TV wasn’t, which meant Charlie hadn’t gone to bed yet.

Her stomach sank.

She stepped inside, shut the door gently, and toed off her boots. The house was too quiet.

Then she saw him.

Charlie stood in the archway between the kitchen and living room, arms crossed, jaw tight, his flannel shirt rumpled like he hadn’t changed out of his work clothes. His expression wasn’t angry at first — just tired. Deeply tired. But it changed when he looked at her.

“Have fun with Edward?”

Bella blinked. “What?”

Charlie didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.

“Your cousin had to walk home, Bella.”

The words hit harder than she expected.

“You just left her without making sure she had a way home. She showed up — freezing — at the station. Alone.”

Bella opened her mouth, tried to explain, but Charlie wasn’t finished.

“Who knows what could’ve happened? It’s cold, it’s dark — this isn’t Phoenix. And you know her. What she’s like. She won’t ask for help. Won’t stand up for herself.” His voice lowered, but the hurt in it was unmistakable. “But I will.”

Bella stepped forward, guilt rising in her throat. “I didn’t realize—”

“Of course you didn’t.” His words were clipped, sharp. “You didn’t think. You’re wrapped up in whatever this thing is with Edward, and you left her behind.”

There was a beat of silence. Bella’s chest ached.

“She’s not healthy enough, Bels,” Charlie said softly. “To be abandoned like that. You know she doesn’t sleep. You know she doesn’t eat enough. She barely talks when she’s hurting. I know it isn't fair but you’re supposed to help me keep an eye on her.”

“I’m sorry.” Bella’s voice cracked. “I didn’t think she’d need— I didn’t mean to…”

“I know you didn’t mean to,” Charlie said, his expression softer now, but still heavy. “But that doesn’t fix it.”

A floorboard creaked upstairs. Bella looked up — toward the attic.

“She’s already gone to bed,” Charlie added, quiet now. “Didn’t say much. Just said she was tired.”

Bella nodded slowly. Her heart was sinking in her chest, piece by piece. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

Charlie didn’t reply. He just stepped back into the kitchen and turned off the light.

The house dimmed again.

Bella stood there, still wet from the rain, cold creeping up her spine.

And upstairs, Zoe didn’t sleep.

The snow had started to fall again midnight — light, almost reluctant, blanketing the yard in a soft dusting of white. Bella sat curled on her bed, watching it melt against her windowpane, the frost clinging to the corners of the glass like it didn’t want to let go.

Her jacket still dripped faintly onto the rug. Her boots were near the door, crusted with slush. She hadn’t changed, hadn’t spoken much since Charlie went to bed.

Zoe hadn’t come downstairs to say goodnight. Bella had peeked in her room and saw Zoe restless, but asleep. She hadn’t woken her up.

Bella leaned her head back against the wall, eyes closed, Charlie’s voice still sharp in her ears.

“She won’t ask for help. But I will.”

She hadn’t meant to abandon Zoe. She’d just… forgotten. Not in the obvious way. But in the careless way that cuts deeper.

She flinched at the soft knock of something against the window.

Then sighed. “I should really start locking that.”

Edward slipped through the open pane like he’d been waiting for the invitation. His eyes moved quickly over her — from the slump of her shoulders to the tight set of her mouth.

“You’re upset,” he said.

“Zoe walked home alone in the snow. And I was too busy with my... vampire boyfriend to notice.” Bella gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah. I’m upset.” She sighed. “I’m supposed to be looking after her. Charlie’s worried and…” She shook her head, not wanting to dive too deep into her family business with anyone, even Edward.

Edward’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze softened. “You made a mistake. But Charlie’s wrong about one thing.”

Bella raised an eyebrow. “Only one?”

“You’re not alone in this,” Edward said. “You’re not the only one who cares about her.”

Bella scoffed. “You don’t even know her.”

“I don’t need to,” Edward said. “Not to care. And not to help.”

She stared at him. “Why would you even want to?”

Edward looked at the window, at the pale snow still falling beyond it. “Because I’ve seen the way she looks when she thinks no one’s watching. And because you love her.”

Bella swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Maybe don’t try to fix her,” Edward said gently. “Just show up.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, snow clung to the trees like icing, soft and weightless. It crunched faintly underfoot as Zoe stepped out onto the porch, her boots leaving sharp indents in the powder. Her coat was too thin for the cold, buttoned high at the throat, but she didn’t shiver. No one ever said that Zoe Clark learned a lesson easily.

She spotted the silver Volvo immediately.

Bella followed close behind. “Hey. Thought we could ride together.”

Zoe stared at the car. “Is that a royal ‘we’ or...?”

Edward stood leaning against the driver’s side, his breath a faint cloud in the air. He looked crisp and untouched by the weather.

Zoe narrowed her eyes. “What, no horse drawn carriage today?”

Edward actually smiled. “Morning.”

“You’re giving Bella a ride,” Zoe said flatly.

“I’m giving both of you a ride,” Edward replied, calm but firm.

Zoe blinked. Then scoffed. “You do realize this is starting to sound like the setup to the world’s weirdest threesome.”

Bella choked on her breath.

Edward’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t look away. “I’m just offering a ride. No strings. No... arrangements .”

Zoe crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced. Her fingers drifted to the bracelet on her wrist, thumb tracing the green stone like it might offer her guidance.

Behind her, Bella winced. “Zoe—”

“I didn’t ask for a ride,” Zoe said, but her voice was quieter now. Less sharp.

Edward met her gaze. “You didn’t have to.”

There was a long moment. The snow kept falling. The world held its breath.

Then, with a sigh so small it barely stirred the cold air, Zoe walked toward the car.

“I’m taking the aux,” she muttered as she passed him.

Edward opened the passenger door with a silent nod.

Bella followed, her breath fogging in front of her.

They drove together in the pale light of morning — three shadows in a snowbound town, none of them quite belonging, but inching toward something that felt like it might become a connection.

The lunchroom buzzed with the low, constant drone of conversation and clinking trays. Forks High was a small school, but somehow the cafeteria always managed to feel too loud. Too crowded.

Zoe had found a quieter corner—an empty table near the back, half-shadowed by a row of lockers and mostly forgotten by students who preferred to huddle closer to the heat or the windows. She sat cross-legged on the bench, untouched food in front of her, fingers idly turning her bracelet like it might give her something else to think about.

“I heard you were supposed to be eating lunch with us.”

She looked up.

Jasper Hale stood a few feet away, hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket, his expression unreadable but not unfriendly.

Zoe tilted her head. “I think I got Bella in trouble with her dad.” She shrugged like it didn’t matter. “And I’m not big on social settings.”

Jasper didn’t say anything at first. Then he nodded once and slid onto the bench across from her. “Me either.”

That surprised a flicker of a smile from Zoe. “Could’ve fooled me. You all sit at that table like you own the place.”

“It’s easier to blend in when people are too scared to come close,” Jasper said quietly. “But we feel it anyway. The stares. The... dissonance.”

Zoe arched a brow. “‘Dissonance’? You all rehearse that brooding vocabulary together, or is that just a you thing?”

Jasper smirked faintly. “Just me. The others have their own specialties.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Not uncomfortable, but thoughtful. Across the cafeteria, Alice watched them from the Cullen table, her smile almost secretive.

“You always know when someone’s lying?” Zoe asked eventually, her voice soft, guarded.

Jasper looked at her, surprised. “Why do you ask?”

Zoe shrugged, eyes on her tray. “Just a feeling.”

Jasper’s gaze held hers. “Not always. But sometimes... people carry emotions like bruises. Even when they say they’re fine.”

Zoe didn’t answer. But her fingers curled around her bracelet, turning the green stone between her thumb and forefinger like it anchored her in place.

“Being seen isn’t the same as being judged,” Jasper added.

Zoe looked up at that, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. But she didn’t move.

The bell rang, loud and sharp. Students began to rise, the noise swelling.

Zoe stood first, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“You can sit with us,” Jasper said as she turned to go. “Tomorrow, or whenever. No pressure. No expectations. Just... company.”

Zoe paused. Just long enough for him to notice. Then gave a single nod before vanishing into the crowd like she always did—quiet, fast, brittle around the edges.

Jasper watched her go.

And he smiled, just a little.

The sky over Forks was the color of wet ash, pale and heavy with clouds that hadn't quite decided whether to rain or snow. Zoe sat curled on the window seat of her attic bedroom, legs pulled close to her chest, a blanket draped carelessly around her shoulders. Her phone buzzed for the third time that afternoon.

Bonnie.

Zoe let it ring.

The screen dimmed, then lit up again almost immediately — a text this time.

Just checking in. Call me when you can. If the dreams are getting worse, you need to tell me.

Zoe stared at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

She could type I’m fine and hit send.

She could call Bonnie and hear her best friend’s voice — calm, steady, and always a little too perceptive.

She could admit the truth.

That the dreams weren’t just dreams anymore. That they had weight now. Taste. Sound. A pulse all their own.

She could admit she was scared.

Instead, she locked the screen and shoved the phone face-down under a pillow.

She wasn’t ready for that conversation. Not yet.

Outside, snow began to fall again — slow, spiraling flakes that clung to the roof and blurred the edges of the world. Zoe pressed her forehead to the cold glass, her reflection faint and flickering in the pane. She looked tired. Too tired.

The bracelet on her wrist caught the light, the green stone a sharp contrast against her pale skin. She touched it absently, the same way she did when something inside her felt too loud.

She didn’t want to talk about dreams. Didn’t want to talk about Mystic Falls. Didn’t want to talk about anything that would force her to admit she was unraveling.

Let Bonnie wait.

The lake was mostly frozen, save for the holes Harry Clearwater had already drilled before Charlie and Billy Black arrived. A light snow sifted through the pine trees, settling gently on the ice and their shoulders. Three folding chairs stood near the edge of the largest hole, tackle boxes beside them, thermoses steaming quietly in the cold.

Charlie tugged his coat tighter to his neck and adjusted his rod. “It’s colder than last year.”

Harry chuckled, thumbing a cigarette from his coat. “That’s what you say every year.”

Billy shook his head. “You say that, and yet you always forget the whiskey.”

Charlie smirked but didn’t argue. “I’m starting to get into bourbon.”If only because he kept confiscating a certain teenager’s stash. Zoe seemed to have an unending supply — and an even more unending creativity for where to hide it.

He shifted on the overturned bucket, looking out across the frozen lake.

“I’m pretty sure Zoe’s drinking,” he said finally. “Or stocking up to start. I keep finding bottles — bourbon mostly — tucked into the most ridiculous places. Bottom of her laundry basket. Inside a cereal box she sealed back up like it hadn’t been touched. Once, in an old snow boot in the hall closet.”

Harry let out a soft breath. Billy’s expression didn’t change, but his silence sharpened.

“I don’t think it’s just teenage rebellion,” Charlie went on, quieter now. “I know what that looks like. This… this feels like something else. Like she’s gearing up for something. Or trying to quiet something down.”

The wind cut across the lake, stirring the snow in fine, glittering sheets.

“I take the bottles away. I try not to make a scene. But it keeps happening. And I can’t shake the feeling she’s not doing it for the buzz — she’s doing it to cope.” Charlie’s jaw worked. “Sometimes I think she drinks just to get to sleep. Or not dream.”

Still, Billy didn’t speak. Harry looked at his old friend, then back to the hole in the ice.

“I don’t know what to do,” Charlie admitted. “She doesn’t talk. Not about what matters. I thought she was getting better. I really did.”

The three men sat in silence for a while, letting the cold seep into their boots and the quiet do its work. The snow fell in delicate spirals, the world muted.

Eventually, Charlie spoke again, softer this time. “I thought Zoe was doing better.”

Harry looked over, brow raised.

Charlie sighed. “She was…laughing again. Sleeping more. Eating without me having to remind her. But now she’s pulled back. Quiet. Even Bella’s noticed.” He paused. “Though Bella’s been distracted.”

Billy gave him a look. “Distracted?”

Charlie hesitated a second too long. “She’s been spending time with that Cullen boy.”

There was a subtle shift. Billy’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Harry’s shoulders stiffened. The snow seemed to fall a little heavier, like the trees were listening.

“They dating?” Harry asked after a beat.

Charlie nodded. “Yeah. I think so. She hasn’t exactly said it, but… yeah.”

The men exchanged glances — unreadable, but not meaningless.

Charlie caught it. “What? Something wrong with him?”

Billy didn’t answer right away. “Just… the Cullens keep to themselves. Always have.”

Harry added, “They’re not from here. Sometimes folks don’t realize what that means.”

Charlie sighed. “He’s polite. Polished. Kind of strange. But she seems happy.”

“And Zoe?” Billy asked.

Charlie shook his head. “She’s not herself. She barely talks to Bella anymore. Walks home from school alone even when it’s snowing. Says she’s fine, but you can tell. I know that look — when someone’s trying too hard to keep it together.”

He let out a long breath, watching it curl into the air like smoke.

“She won’t ask for help,” Charlie muttered. “Won’t say she needs anything. But I see the signs.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Leah’s been the same. Since Sam…” His voice trailed off, roughened by emotion. “It’s hard to watch them hurt and not know how to fix it.”

“She still not talking to you?” Billy asked gently.

Harry shook his head. “Not about the real stuff.”

Charlie glanced between them, then looked back at the frozen lake. “I keep thinking if I do the right thing — say the right thing — she’ll come back to me. Zoe. But sometimes it feels like she’s still somewhere else.”

Billy’s voice was quiet, thoughtful. “Sometimes the only thing we can do is wait. Be there when they’re ready. Just… show up.”

Charlie rubbed his hands together, the cold biting. “I just worry if I wait too long, I’ll lose her.”

“You won’t,” Harry said with quiet certainty. “You’re showing up. That’s what matters.”

Charlie nodded slowly, grateful but still heavy. The snow swirled around them. A trout tugged on his line, but he barely noticed.

The lake stayed still. The world stayed cold.

But the fire in the thermos kept their hands warm. And for now, that was enough.

Harry exhaled, watching his breath fog in the cold air. “You got any idea why she’s acting so down? Is it still about Wilbur? Or a boy? Or maybe she just misses home?” He glanced sideways. “Or maybe it’s something she saw in one of those moody movies you always pretend not to watch.”

Charlie gave a soft grunt that might’ve been a laugh. “All of the above. None of the above.” He paused, shaking his head. “I wish I knew.”

Billy shifted slightly in his chair, the creak of his coat cutting through the stillness.

Charlie rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “I met her ex. Damon.”

That got a low whistle from Harry.

“He’s…” Charlie hesitated, clearly choosing his words. “Older than I’d like. But mostly polite. Steady. Has that look like he’s always watching the exits, though. Like something dangerous might walk in.” He glanced down at the hole in the ice, jaw tightening. “Zoe lights up differently around him. Not good or bad. Just… different.”

Billy raised a brow. “You worried they’ll get back together?”

Charlie considered that for a long beat, then shrugged. “Honestly? I think I could live with it. As long as he doesn’t hurt her. As long as she’s not hurting herself to be with him.” He blew out a breath, clouding the air in front of him. “They seem to be on good terms now. But hell if I understand the rules of teenage soulmates or whatever it is these days.”

Harry chuckled and nudged him lightly with his elbow. “Look at you. Both your girls caught up with boys.”

Billy joined in, smiling. “Must be something in the water. Or the weather. You’ve got the brooding type and the charming one under one roof.”

Charlie shook his head, a reluctant smile pulling at his mouth. “Don’t remind me.” But his voice softened as he added, “They’re still my girls. Even when they drive me nuts.”

The three men sat in companionable silence again, the kind forged by long winters and years of shared history. Above them, the sky stretched wide and gray, and the snow kept falling — quiet and steady, like a secret that hadn’t yet decided to be told.

The snow had started falling again, soft and steady, blanketing the trees in silence. From the outside, the Swan house looked like a Christmas card. Inside, it felt like a waiting room.

Zoe sat curled up in the armchair by the window, chin resting on her hand, eyes unfocused. Her phone buzzed once on the side table. She didn’t move.

Bella stood in the doorway, watching her.

“I’m not mad,” Zoe said without turning her head.

Bella frowned. “I didn’t say you were.”

“You thought it.”

Bella walked into the room, boots quiet on the wood floor. “You haven’t said more than ten words to me all morning.”

“I’m tired.” Zoe’s voice was flat, almost mechanical. She was still wearing pajamas under her oversized hoodie she’d long stolen from Matt when it no longer fit him, her hair pulled back in a careless knot. The only hint of something deliberate was the gold bracelet glinting faintly on her wrist — antique, delicate, worn. She touched it absently with her thumb, like a rosary.

Bella sat on the edge of the couch across from her cousin. “Charlie asked me to take you out with me today.”

Zoe blinked slowly. “Because he doesn’t want me drinking alone, or disappearing into the woods, or walking into traffic?”

Bella didn’t answer.

“I’m not gonna turn into a Kate Chopin novel when no one’s looking.” Zoe turned her head just enough to look at her. “I’m not trying to worry anyone.”

“But you are,” Bella said, voice gentle. “Especially Charlie.”

Zoe didn’t respond. Her fingers curled tighter around the bracelet.

“I was going to the Cullens,” Bella added carefully. “I figured… you could come with.”

Zoe gave a humorless smile. “Yeah. I’m sure they’re dying to see me.”

“They like you,” Bella said. “Alice thinks you’re mysterious, and Emmett thinks you’re hilarious.”

Zoe snorted faintly. “Emmett thinks microwaves are hilarious.”

Bella stood and reached for her coat. “Come on. You’ll hate it less than staying here.”

After a long moment, Zoe rose. “I need to change.”

Bella smirked. “If I told you I wasn’t in a rush, you’d take a year to get ready. Can we try to get out of her in half an hour?”

“Sure.” As she passed Bella, she muttered, “This better not turn into a group therapy session.”

Chapter Text

The Cullen house looked like it belonged in a magazine about minimalist wealth. Clean lines, open spaces, walls made of glass and light. Zoe had been here once before, briefly. The space had struck her then as beautiful but sterile — like a dream that didn’t belong to her.

Now, it just felt unreal.

Bella and Zoe stepped into the living room. Alice offered them both warm greetings, disappearing to find Jasper. Rosalie barely looked up from a book, but Emmett gave them a cheerful wave from his spot on the floor in front of the television. Edward waited near the stairs, smiling faintly at Bella.

“Come on,” Bella said, touching Zoe’s arm. “Let me show you the view upstairs.”

Zoe hesitated, her eyes sweeping the glass walls and open stairwell. “I can see the view just fine from down here.”

Bella offered a weak smile. “Just for a minute?”

Edward appeared then, quiet as ever. He gave Zoe a polite nod but his eyes were already on Bella. “You should see the paintings upstairs. Carlisle amassed quite the collection.”

Zoe caught the look that passed between them — one of those private Cullen exchanges that now included Bella. It made her feel like she’d wandered into someone else’s script. That she didn’t belong.

“Go ahead,” Zoe said, stepping back and waving a hand. “I’m a big girl. I can tie my shoes and plot murders all on my own.”

Bella paused. “Are you sure?”

Zoe didn’t quite smile. “Positive.”

Bella lingered half a heartbeat, then let Edward lead her up the stairs — casting one last glance over her shoulder.

Zoe exhaled slowly. She was alone again — or as alone as one could be in a living room that looked like an architecture magazine exploded into a museum.

But she wasn’t technically alone.

Rosalie and Emmett were still nearby. A beat passed before she realized the quiet had stretched a little too long. Bella and Edward hadn’t come back.

Her fingers curled around the arm of the couch, nails tapping an anxious rhythm.

Emmett appeared from around the corner, Rosalie just a few steps behind him, her arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“They ditched you, huh?” Emmett asked, tone casual but not unkind.

Zoe looked up. “I wouldn’t say ‘ditched.’ Maybe just... forgotten.” Again.

Rosalie’s eyebrow lifted. “Typical.”

Zoe gave a faint, mirthless smile.

Emmett flopped onto the arm of the couch. “You want the remote? I’ll surrender control — just this once.”

Zoe eyed him suspiciously. “Do you even own anything that’s not a Fast & Furious sequel?”

“Excuse you,” Emmett said, mock-offended. “We have range. There’s also Die Hard.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes and sat on the other side of Zoe, more poised than casual. “We might have some classics. Definitely a few Westerns for Jasper, at least.”

Zoe hesitated, then sat down between them. She kept her posture guarded — arms folded, knees angled away — but her fingers drifted to the bracelet around her wrist, thumb brushing the edge of the green stone like it might ground her in place.

Emmett glanced at her again, this time a little quieter. “You alright?”

Zoe didn’t answer right away. Her eyes stayed fixed on the sleek glass wall across the room. Then she said, voice low, “You ever feel like you’re somewhere you’re not supposed to be? Like you walked into someone else’s story and forgot your lines?”

Emmett’s grin faded. “Yeah. I’ve felt that.”

Zoe nodded like that was enough. She didn’t meet his eyes, but she didn’t leave either.

“You’re not alone,” Rosalie said, not looking at her — but not cold either. Just matter-of-fact.

Zoe gave a soft snort. “Could’ve fooled me.”

No one argued. Rosalie leaned back. Emmett picked up the remote, paused, then handed it to Zoe without a word.

Zoe took it, holding it lightly — not ready to press play, but she stayed.

The room settled into a hush again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was strange—Zoe realized—for all their beauty and precision, the Cullen house didn’t feel cold. Not exactly. Just… paused. Like a museum waiting for the next shift in history.

“I didn’t expect you to stay,” Rosalie said suddenly.

Zoe glanced at her. “Bella asked me to come.”

“She didn’t drag you.”

“No,” Zoe said. “But I owed Uncle Charlie. And maybe I owed her a little too.”

Rosalie nodded slowly. “You don’t trust easy.”

Zoe’s mouth quirked. “Do you?”

“No.” The answer was immediate. Honest.

Emmett looked between them, then leaned forward, grinning. “Well, lucky for both of you, I’m the friendly one.”

Zoe let out a reluctant breath of laughter.

Rosalie studied her for another moment. “You’re different today. Quieter. Like your edges are sharper.”

Zoe didn’t respond right away. Then, “It’s just one of those days.”

Rosalie’s gaze dipped briefly to the bracelet. “That new?”

Zoe’s fingers brushed it protectively. “Sort of.”

Rosalie didn’t ask more, but something softened in her posture.

Zoe shifted her weight, eyes flicking to the hallway where Bella had disappeared. “I thought being here would feel worse.”

“And?” Emmett asked.

“It doesn’t,” she admitted. “Still weird. But not... bad.”

“High praise,” Rosalie said dryly, but there was the hint of a smile on her lips.

The silence that followed was easier. Zoe leaned into the couch cushions, for once not trying to disappear. Emmett put on a movie — something ridiculous and loud — and Rosalie stayed seated beside him, arms folded but not leaving.

It was the first time in weeks she hadn’t felt like an outsider.

But it was something. And for now, that was enough.

The front door opened with a quiet click , followed by the muted thud of careful footsteps.

Zoe barely glanced up from the far end of the living room, where she sat curled against the arm of the couch. Emmett had gone to find snacks he probably wouldn’t eat if Zoe knew him as well as she thought she did. Rosalie had disappeared upstairs after the first movie ended, claiming a sudden headache—likely brought on by Emmett’s commentary.

Zoe was alone again. Or had been.

Carlisle paused in the foyer, his coat still buttoned against the cold. For a split second, his features betrayed surprise. He hadn’t expected anyone—least of all her.

"Zoe," he greeted, his voice low and warm. "I didn’t know we had company today."

She looked up, wary but not unfriendly. "Edward invited Bella, Bella invited me." She glanced down the hallway, toward the upper floor. "And then they both disappeared. Like Houdini, but ruder."

Carlisle smiled faintly as he unbuttoned his coat. "Ah. So you’ve been left to the mercy of Emmett’s movie collection?"

"Don’t remind me," she muttered, massaging her temple with her fingers. "I’m either getting a migraine or—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. 

Or Damon was hungover or angry. Possibly both. 

"It’s just been a long day." She finished lamely.

Carlisle’s expression flickered but he said nothing about it.

Zoe shot him a sidelong look. “Is disappearing for hours a rich people hobby, or just a you thing?” As if she didn’t have her own Founder’s Family Member trust quietly accruing interest until she turned twenty-five.

Carlisle paused, then chuckled softly. "I imagine that was quite a double feature to endure—Emmett and migraines."

"Lethal combo."

He took a step closer, gentle as ever. "Would you like a tour? It might be quieter than staying here. And I imagine the light is better in other rooms than whatever cinematic abomination Emmett chose."

Zoe hesitated. She wasn’t in the mood to talk, not really. But Bella was still MIA, her head was pounding, and something about Carlisle’s presence—calm, measured, kind—soothed the sharp edges gnawing at her.

"…Sure," she said finally. "So long as you promise no haunted wings or hidden portraits with eyes that follow me."

Carlisle’s mouth quirked. "I make no promises."

He waited as she stood, adjusting the cuffs of her sweater and brushing a loose curl from her eyes. The faintest dusting of snow glittered in her hair, stubbornly unmelted from earlier. Carlisle had never seen Zoe Clark so... unguarded. Aside from her usual tangle of wild hair, she was typically polished—makeup precise, posture sharp. But today, she was barefaced, raw, not even a hint of concealer to mask the dark circles beneath her eyes. Her sweater was oversized, clearly well-worn and familiar, and her leggings clung to her slight frame, revealing just how thin she’d become.

As they walked toward the main hall, she touched the bracelet on her wrist—just briefly—like grounding herself before stepping into unknown territory.

Carlisle noticed but didn’t mention it.

They passed minimalist paintings, glass-lined hallways, and elegant shadows that bent with the light. Zoe was quiet, but not closed off. She asked occasional questions—mostly sarcastic—but he answered each one with practiced ease. Over time, she relaxed, if only slightly.

"Nice place," she muttered as they passed a sleek, modern music room.

"Thank you," Carlisle said. "Alice and Rosalie did most of the design. Jasper has an eye for harmony, though, and very strong opinions."

They stopped in front of a wide window that overlooked the tree line, the snow dusting the tops of the evergreens like powdered sugar.

Zoe pressed a hand lightly to the glass, her breath fogging a small circle. "Kind of makes you forget how cold it is outside."

Carlisle watched her carefully, the way she stood so still, like she hadn’t let herself rest in a long time. There was a fragility to her posture—faint, but constant. A thread pulled too tight.

He wanted to ask if she was okay. He didn’t.

Instead, he said, "You’re always welcome here, Zoe. Even if Bella forgets to tell you that."

She turned to look at him, expression unreadable. "That’s… not nothing. So thanks."

The silence between them held weight. Not tension, exactly—but something quieter. Sadder.

And then, from upstairs, Emmett’s voice rang out again. "Who wants to watch Final Destination ?!"

Zoe closed her eyes and groaned. "Okay, that’s it. We’re hiding somewhere with doors that lock."

Carlisle laughed softly, and—without thinking—offered her his hand.

Zoe looked at it for a second. Then took it. A spark ignited and Zoe glanced at their hands, a small frown forming on her face. Something that sharp wasn’t just caused by static electricity.

Neither of them said a word about the spark of heat that passed between them as their palms touched.

Neither of them let go too quickly, either.

Chapter Text

A few weeks had passed. The snow was thicker now—no longer delicate flurries but steady, soft blankets that muted everything beneath them. Forks had surrendered to winter entirely, the town buried under layers of white and gray, the sun a distant rumor. School days blurred together under clouds and cold breath, and Zoe could feel the eyes on her more than ever.

The Cullens watched her. Bella watched her. Charlie watched her like she was a glass about to crack.

They were subtle, for the most part. Rosalie lingered longer at her locker. Alice offered coffee without asking. Emmett had stopped pretending he wasn’t concerned and had started treating her like a spooked animal—loud but gentle. Even Edward, who still barely spoke to her, seemed to stand closer than necessary whenever she passed.

And then there was Jasper.

He’d started sitting next to her in their shared English class. Not with a word or a look—just a quiet, consistent presence that didn’t demand anything from her. He didn’t touch her. Didn’t ask questions. Just opened his copy of Wuthering Heights and nodded if she glanced his way. He never interrupted when she doodled in the margins instead of taking notes. His stillness was strangely calming, like his silence gave her permission not to explain herself.

Sometimes, she thought he was doing it on purpose.

She could never prove it—but every time her heart rate spiked, every time her skin prickled with old panic, he was just... there. A steady breath in a sea of noise. Not fixing anything. Not changing it. Just softening the edges.

And that, maybe more than anything, made her feel seen.

And Bella? Bella tried. But every invitation to sit together at lunch, every over-explained excuse for vanishing in the middle of the day, every sideways glance only widened the distance between them. Zoe wasn’t mad. She was just tired.

She pulled her coat tighter as she stepped outside, breath misting in the frozen air. Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Caroline Forbes.

A smile formed on Zoe’s face for the first time that day as she answered on the second ring. “Hey, Blondie.”

“Zoe Clark,” Caroline breathed dramatically. “Talk me down.”

Zoe smiled faintly, her nose stinging from the cold. “What’s the emergency? Did you dye your hair blue again?”

“No, worse.” Caroline’s voice was sharp with emotion. “I turn eighteen next week.”

Zoe blinked. “Right. That’s how time works.”

“You know what I mean,” Caroline said quickly. “I was seventeen when Katherine turned me. I’m going to be technically eighteen, but I’ll look seventeen forever. That’s it. I’m done. No more aging, no more birthdays, no more anything.”

Zoe leaned against the side of the building, watching snow gather in her boot prints. “Existential dread. Got it.”

“I mean, who am I even supposed to be now?” Caroline continued. “Everyone else gets to grow up. Bonnie’s gonna graduate and go to college and get married and have a dog and a picket fence and I’ll still be... this. Forever.”

Zoe was quiet for a moment. Then, “You’ll still be you .”

“But I don’t know who that is anymore.”

Zoe swallowed. “Yeah. I get that.”

The wind picked up, and Zoe tucked her chin into her scarf. The bracelet on her wrist was cold against her skin, but she rubbed her thumb over it anyway—an unconscious habit now. One of the only things that made her feel anchored.

Caroline’s voice softened. “I know I’m being dramatic.”

“No,” Zoe said. “You’re just being honest.”

“I just... wish things had stayed normal a little longer.”

“Me too.”

Zoe pressed her phone tighter to her ear. It had been weeks since she started feeling this dred bleeding over her bond with Damon. Weeks where she felt sick to her stomach. Weeks since Bella had started hovering. Since Carlisle started offering her tea she didn’t drink and Edward began watching her like a locked diary.

Caroline’s voice crackled through the line, sharp with frustration. “I know it’s ridiculous, okay? It’s just—there’s something about birthdays. I always used to love them. I made spreadsheets for party themes, Zoe. You remember .”

Zoe smiled faintly. “I remember. Cupcakes with glitter frosting, mood lighting by 6:45, backup playlists.”

“Exactly.” Caroline sighed. “And now I’m stuck . Seventeen forever. Frozen like a vampire popsicle. And everyone keeps treating me like I’m this walking miracle because I haven’t gone off the rails. But none of them understand. They didn’t lose their futures the same way I did.”

Zoe’s fingers drifted to the bracelet on her wrist, thumb grazing the stone. “I understand.”

There was a beat of quiet. Then: “I know you do. That’s the problem. I didn’t want you to. You’re supposed to be safe up there, away from all this… Klaus crap and hybrid politics and Salvatore melodrama.”

Zoe laughed softly, bitter. “There’s melodrama up here too. It’s just dressed in flannel and teenage ennui.”

Caroline huffed. “I still don’t trust that Edward guy. He gives me ‘Ben-the-bartender’ vibes.”

Zoe’s lips quirked at Caroline’s protective nature. “You’ve never even met him.”

“I worry. Let me worry.” Caroline’s voice softened. “I just miss you. Things are weird here. Bonnie’s tense all the time. Ric’s trying to hold everyone together like duct tape on a sinking boat. And Damon…” She paused. “He’s trying. But he’s a mess without you.”

Zoe closed her eyes. “He’s always been a mess. With or without me.”

More silence. Comfortable, aching.

“You could come home,” Caroline offered, not for the first time.

“I don’t think I know where that is anymore,” Zoe said, voice barely above a whisper.

Snow tapped against the window like tiny fingers trying to break in.

Caroline didn’t argue. She just breathed, quiet on the other end of the line. “Then I’ll stay on the phone a while longer. Just until you have to go.”

Zoe nodded, knowing Caroline couldn’t see it. “Okay.”

They stayed like that—two girls in two different worlds, holding onto a connection neither of them could fully explain.

Eventually, the line went quiet. Caroline had to go—she was meeting Matt at the Grill, something casual that had taken her an hour to plan. Zoe said goodbye, promised to text later, and then sat there behind the Science Outpost Building, the phone still in her hand long after the call ended.

The silence crept in slowly. Heavy. Familiar.

Zoe stared at the screen until it dimmed, her thumb brushing across Caroline’s contact one more time. She didn’t call back. She didn’t text. What could she say that wouldn’t sound pathetic? That she missed them? That Mystic Falls felt like another life? That she didn’t know who she was without the constant chaos of it?

The bracelet shifted against her wrist as she stood. She traced the worn band, her fingers brushing the smooth emerald. Not because she was fidgeting. Because she needed to feel it. To remember something real—someone real—who had seen her and given her more than just memories.

The school was quiet. Too quiet. Zoe must have missed the warning bell for class. A draft whispered between the buildings, stirring the edge of her coat and the loose strands of her hair. Zoe didn’t move.

She leaned back against the building, letting the cold brick seep through her coat, watching the school grounds get covered in snow. Everything was still. Blurred. Like the whole world had forgotten how to move forward.

And maybe she had too.

She missed Caroline’s noise. Her confidence. Her spreadsheets and glitter and ridiculous hope.

She missed the way Caroline always made her feel like the center of a story, even when she didn’t want to be.

She missed having someone who didn’t look at her like a puzzle or a warning sign.

She missed what they were before the Salvatores came to town. Normal. Ordinary. Unafraid. Unencumbered.

The bracelet bit cold into her skin, and she tightened her grip around it. Not to hold on, but to anchor herself. To something. Anything.

Zoe exhaled slowly, the sound barely audible.

She wasn’t paying attention enough to hear the door from the building open, or a set of footsteps approaching her.

“Zoe?” Rosalie frowned, standing there watching her. “What are you doing? Class started ten minutes ago. Are you okay?

Zoe blinked, as if waking from a trance. She didn’t look at Rosalie at first—just kept her eyes on the falling snow, like it might answer for her.

“I’m fine,” she said finally. Flat. Automatic. A lie so worn it barely sounded like one anymore.

Rosalie didn’t move. “You don’t look fine.”

That earned her a glance. Zoe’s eyes were tired, shadowed, but sharp. “Do you always skip class to check on emotionally unstable underclassmen? Or am I just special?”

Rosalie crossed her arms. “You’re not an underclassman. And you’re not unstable.”

Zoe snorted, a humorless sound. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

A gust of wind sent snowflakes scattering sideways, catching in Rosalie’s golden hair and clinging to the edges of Zoe’s lashes. Still, neither of them moved.

“You don’t have to talk,” Rosalie said after a beat, voice quieter now. “But you don’t have to freeze out here either.”

Zoe hesitated. Her fingers drifted again to the bracelet on her wrist, the movement slow, almost unconscious.

Rosalie followed the gesture with her eyes, but didn’t ask. Didn’t pry.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” Zoe said finally, her voice small and frayed. “I thought I was getting better. I thought I was okay. But I’m not. I feel… stuck. Like the ground’s frozen under me and I forgot how to walk.”

Rosalie didn’t say anything right away. She just stepped closer—not too close—and leaned against the same brick wall, shoulder to shoulder, not quite touching.

“Sometimes,” she said, “the best you can do is stay standing. Even if it’s in the cold.”

Zoe turned her head, surprised by the gentleness in Rosalie’s tone. “Since when are you the wise one?”

Rosalie gave the ghost of a smile. “Don’t tell Emmett. He thinks it’s his job.”

They stood there for a moment longer—two girls who didn’t trust easily, who wore armor so heavy they’d forgotten what it felt like to breathe without it.

Zoe’s voice broke the silence. “Do you ever miss who you were? Before something changed? Maybe before you moved here or you were adopted?”

Rosalie looked out over the snow-covered campus. “Every day.”

Zoe nodded, like she understood. Because she did.

After a while, Rosalie pushed off the wall. “Come on. I’ll walk you to class. Or we can keep skipping and pretend we’re cool.”

Zoe didn’t smile exactly, but her expression softened. “Let’s pretend.”

They disappeared into the falling snow together—just for a little while—less alone than they’d been a few minutes before.

Chapter Text

The house smelled like rosemary, melted butter, and burnt sugar.

Charlie hovered over the turkey like it might personally offend him if it dried out. He’d followed a recipe from an old Forks Rotary Club Annual Cookbook , muttering under his breath every few minutes, rereading the basting instructions with the intensity of a bomb defusal expert.

Bella stood at the counter, rolling out gingerbread dough with practiced focus. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun, a dusting of flour already across her cheek. A tray of misshapen trees and vaguely person-shaped cookies waited to be baked, while Zoe sat perched on a stool at the edge of the room, untouched piping bag in front of her.

She’d been there for ten minutes. Staring at the cookie. Not moving.

Not decorating.

Just… stuck.

“Need help?” Bella asked carefully, without looking up.

Zoe blinked. “With what?”

Bella glanced over. “The cookie. It’s a blank canvas.”

Zoe stared at the gingerbread shape. “It’s gonna stay blank.”

Charlie looked up from the oven, frowning. “You feeling okay, kiddo?”

“I’m fine,” Zoe said, voice soft and mechanical. Her sleeves were pulled over her hands. The bracelet Damon had given her peeked out from under the cuff. She was wearing one of Charlie’s old flannels over a sweater, layers like armor.

“You sure?” Charlie asked.

Zoe gave a brittle smile. “Yep. Full of holiday cheer.”

Bella set down her rolling pin. “We could do the tree next. Or you could open one of your gifts early.”

Zoe shook her head. “It’s Christmas Eve. You’re supposed to suffer through the anticipation.”

Charlie chuckled. “She’s not wrong.”

Outside, snow drifted gently past the windows. The living room was lit with twinkling lights, the tree decorated with a strange mix of Bella’s neat white bulbs and Zoe’s haphazard tinsel, plus the mismatched ornaments Charlie had saved since Bella was six.

It should have felt warm. Whole.

But Zoe’s silence filled the room like a heavy fog, worrying her uncle and cousin.

She picked up the piping bag and tried to decorate one gingerbread cookie. The frosting bled too quickly, the lines too shaky. She stared at it, then quietly placed the cookie aside.

Charlie stepped away from the turkey and gently set a mug of cider in front of her.

“You don’t have to be festive,” he said quietly. “But you don’t have to sit in the corner, either.”

Zoe looked up at him. Her voice cracked when she said, “I don’t know how to be here and not feel like I’m somewhere else.”

Charlie didn’t press. He just pulled out the chair next to hers and sat.

“You don’t have to know,” he said. “You just have to let us be here with you.”

Bella brought over a plate of cookies — decorated, some with too many sprinkles, some slightly burnt — and slid it between them. “We made the ugliest snowman in history,” she said, nudging one forward. “It’s a war crime in frosting.”

Zoe stared at it. Then — faintly — she smiled. “He looks like he has fangs.”

Bella stiffened and turned away. “Candy canes were a mistake,” Bella said.

Charlie grinned and took a bite. “Still tastes like Christmas.”

Zoe didn’t laugh, not fully. But she reached for a gingerbread tree and picked up the green icing again. Her fingers shook a little, but she kept going.

Outside, the snow kept falling.

Inside, the silence wasn’t quite so heavy.

Later that night, the Swan house had gone still.

Upstairs, the floor creaked faintly as Zoe moved in her attic room — then quieted. The light under her door went dark. Outside, the snow had thickened, blanketing the world in white silence.

Charlie stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing out the cider mugs. He didn’t turn when Bella padded in quietly, arms wrapped around herself.

“She asleep?” he asked, drying his hands on a dish towel.

Bella nodded. “I think so. Or she’s pretending really well.” She leaned against the fridge. “She didn’t even try the cookies.”

Charlie sighed and leaned back against the counter, his face drawn with something deeper than tiredness. “It’s a hard night.”

Bella gave him a questioning look.

“She’s trying,” Charlie said. “But this is her first Christmas without her dad. First one away from home.”

“I know.” Bella’s voice was small. 

“She’s holding it together, but barely.” Charlie turned around, eyes tired. “You know how she is. She won’t ask for anything. But she notices everything.”

Bella sighed. “And we let her disappear upstairs for most of the day.” She hesitated. “Maybe it’d help if... Edward came tomorrow? Just for a little while.”

Charlie’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “No,” he said firmly.

Bella blinked. “What? Why not?”

“Because tomorrow’s about us.” His voice wasn’t angry, just resolute. “Me. You. Zoe.” Charlie shook his head. “And I’m sure Carlisle Cullen would prefer his youngest to spend the day with him and his other children.”

“Edward’s important to me,” Bella said quietly.

“I know,” Charlie replied, meeting her eyes. “But this isn’t just about you. Not tomorrow. Zoe needs to feel like she’s still got a place here. That she’s not just some girl who got absorbed into your boyfriend’s orbit. She needs her cousin. Not a third wheel.”

Bella lowered her gaze.

Charlie’s voice softened. “You can see him the day after. Hell, bring him leftovers. But Christmas? Christmas is for us. Just the three of us.”

Bella nodded slowly, guilt curling in her stomach. “Okay.”

He stepped past her, squeezing her shoulder on the way out. “Thanks, Bels. She’s tough, but… even the tough ones break sometimes.”

Bella lingered in the silence that followed, listening to the hum of the fridge and the distant tick of the wall clock. The house smelled faintly of turkey and cinnamon and something aching beneath it all — absence, maybe.

She turned, almost absently. “Is she really okay?” she asked, voice low.

Charlie didn’t answer right away. “No. But she’s not falling apart either. She’s just… grieving. And trying not to take anyone down with her.”

Bella crossed her arms. “I should’ve noticed sooner.”

“You noticed,” Charlie said gently. “You’re here now.”

Bella looked toward the stairs. “I’ll do better.”

Charlie gave a tired smile and reached for her hand, giving it a quiet squeeze. “You don’t have to be perfect, Bells. You just have to show up. And not just when it’s easy.”

She nodded, eyes glassy.

Charlie released her hand and leaned back in his chair. “Zoe’s not a guest in this house. She’s not an afterthought. She’s your family.”

Bella swallowed. “I know.”

“Good,” he said softly. “Then make sure she knows it too.”

The wind rattled faintly against the windows, and Bella stood in the quiet of the kitchen, thinking of the girl in the attic bedroom who hadn’t cried once and never asked for help.

Tomorrow, she promised herself.

Tomorrow, she’d try harder.

Tomorrow, they’d be a family again — even if it was a little broken, a little makeshift.

Just the three of them.

The scent of burnt cinnamon and too-dark coffee greeted Bella as she padded down the stairs, her flannel sleeves tugged over her hands. She froze in the doorway.

Zoe was already in the kitchen—hair wild, face pale but flushed with energy. She moved like a whirlwind, flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs while bacon hissed on the stove. Dressed in pajama shorts and a sweater too thin for winter, she looked like someone trying to outrun something invisible.

Charlie came in behind Bella, blinking blearily. “Did you sleep at all?” he asked.

Zoe didn’t look up. “Coffee counts as sleep.”

“That’s not how that works,” Bella muttered.

Charlie watched her for a beat longer. “Slow down, kid. You’re gonna vibrate through the floor.”

Zoe only grinned and poured more coffee. “Merry Christmas!”

They sat down at the table. The food was decent. The mood wasn’t.

Zoe didn’t touch much of her plate. She downed two mugs of coffee before Charlie gently reached over and tilted the pot out of her reach. “Try some food,” he ordered.

Zoe picked at the corner of a pancake.

Bella leaned in. “Hey. You okay?”

“Peachy.” Her smile was too bright. Her hands shook as she refilled her mug with water instead.

They migrated to the tree next—Charlie in his slippers, Bella cross-legged on the rug, and Zoe kneeling stiffly by the fire. The presents were opened quietly: a flannel jacket from Charlie to Bella, a new pair of snow boots from Bella to Zoe, a new fishing pole from Zoe to Charlie.

Then Charlie cleared his throat and reached for a shipping box near the tree. “Got something here for you, Zo. Came last week—your friends from Mystic Falls sent it to the station. Said they wanted to make sure you had something.”

Zoe froze, already tense posture turning to stone.

Inside the box were carefully wrapped gifts. Zoe reached for the one on top.

A leather-bound journal. Elena’s handwriting on the note: “I know we’re not the same person, but this helped me after my parents died. Maybe writing down your feelings will help you too. Merry Christmas. Write something beautiful. And call me. Love you.”

Zoe smiled faintly. She reached for the next—fluffy slippers, pastel and clearly chosen by Bonnie. “Feet warm, heart warm.”

She hesitated at the third.

The paper was elegant. The tag in sharp, ornate script: “I’ll be seeing you soon. —Klaus.”

Zoe’s breath hitched. The paper slipped from her fingers.

Charlie noticed first. “Zoe?”

Zoe bolted.

She was out the door in seconds, clad only in socks, still in pajama shorts. She grabbed Bella’s keys from the hook by the door.

Zoe didn’t even feel the cold as she ran barefoot across the icy porch, the socks she wore doing nothing to keep the bite of wet cold away. Snow bit at her legs, the thin pajama shorts no match for the sharp wind, but none of it registered.

All she could see was Klaus’s handwriting—impossibly neat, menacing in its familiarity.

I’ll be seeing you soon.

He’d found her. Or he wanted her to think he had. Either way, it didn’t matter. She was back in the crosshairs. Again. She had to go. Go before Klaus found her. If only to keep her cousin and uncle safe.

“Zoe!” Bella yelled, racing after her, Charlie close behind. 

The key turned in the ignition and Bella’s truck groaned in protest, tires skidding slightly before catching traction. Zoe barely checked the road as she took off, her breath shallow and erratic, one hand clenched tight around the steering wheel, the other around her bracelet as if it could hold her together.

She didn’t know where she was going. She just needed to go.

“Zoe!” Charlie yelled, as he watched Bella’s old truck disappear, taillights vanish around the curve of the street. “Damn it.”

Bella stood behind him, barefoot, still holding the discarded wrapping paper. “She took my keys,” she whispered, stunned. “Why would she—?”

Charlie slammed the door shut against the cold and turned to face her, his voice low and sharp. “Did you see what was in that box?”

“No,” Bella said quickly, panicked now. “I—I don’t know what happened.”

Charlie ran a hand over his face. “We can’t just wait here. I’m calling the station, getting someone out to look—”

“No,” Bella said suddenly. “Let me try something first.” She was already scrambling for her phone.

“Bella—”

“I need to try,” she snapped, heart hammering as she scrolled through her contacts.

She hesitated just a second before pressing Alice Cullen’s name.

The phone rang once.

“Bella?” Alice answered, alert.

“She ran. Zoe. She just… bolted. She took my truck and she’s gone.”

“She ran?” There was silence on the other end. Then Alice’s voice sharpened. “Tell me everything.”

Charlie stood frozen for a beat before finally sinking into the couch. He looked down at the discarded wrapping paper on the floor, the coffee mugs still steaming on the table, the cozy image of a Christmas morning turned upside down.

He’d promised himself he wouldn’t let anything hurt her here. Not again. And yet…

Bella returned, her phone still pressed to her ear. “They’re going to help look.”

“They?” Charlie’s tone was skeptical.

“The Cullens. Please, Dad. We need as many people as we can. I can’t just sit here.”

Charlie looked at her long and hard, and then finally nodded. “Take my cruiser. Call if you see anything.”

Chapter Text

The Cullens did Christmas morning the same nearly every year. Soft music from an old record would echo through the home. A few presents were exchanged. The fire in the sleek, modern hearth crackled low, more for ambiance than necessity. This year, snow blanketed the trees outside in heavy drifts, making the woods look like something out of a glass globe.

Alice’s phone buzzed once, then again—urgent. Her hand hovered over the screen, already knowing who it was before she picked it up.

“Bella?” she answered, already standing.

The others turned subtly at her tone—Rosalie looking up from a glossy fashion book gifted by Alice, Emmett lowering his new handheld game, Edward raising his eyes from the window where he’d been lost in thought. Carlisle looked up from his new medical journal, and even Jasper, who rarely startled, shifted his weight.

Alice was quiet for a beat, her face frozen in concentration. Then she blinked—hard—and whispered, “She ran?”

The room snapped to full alert.

Emmett was already on his feet, game forgotten. “Zoe?” 

Rosalie flashed to Alice’s side while Jasper watched his wife carefully from his place on the couch, feeling his family’s waves of panic and doing his best to soothe them back.

Edward’s brows furrowed. “What happened?”

Alice turned the speaker on and set the phone on the coffee table. Bella’s voice spilled out, tight with guilt and panic. “Tell me everything.”

“She got a package this morning. It was from someone named Klaus. Or at least signed like it. She just… she saw it and bolted. Took my truck and disappeared.”

Rosalie’s knuckles went white against the arm of the couch. “Who is Klaus?”

Bella hesitated only for a minute. “I don’t know. I don’t think Zoe’s ever mentioned him, but she has a lot of friends from home. They all sent her gifts together. She was opening them and…” Her voice trailed off. The Cullens already knew how the story ended.

Carlisle moved first, crossing the room in seconds. “Where was she heading?”

“We don’t know,” Bella admitted. “She didn’t say a word. Just ran. Charlie and I couldn’t stop her.”

Alice’s expression darkened, but not with surprise—frustration. “I can’t see her. It’s like it always is with her. She’s a black hole. Every time I try, my vision warps.”

Jasper exhaled quietly. “We need to spread out.”

Carlisle nodded. “We’ll take different routes. Edward, head toward the south end of town. Jasper, west. Emmett, north. Alice and Rosalie—stay close to the highway exits, just in case she tries to leave Forks.” He took Alice’s phone. “Bella, can you have your father call his friends in La Push? Ask them to keep an eye out.”

Bella was silent for a moment. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“What about you?” Edward asked Carlisle, already grabbing his coat.

“I’ll sweep the forest trails near the mountain access roads. If she’s scared, she might pull off and go somewhere quiet.”

Rosalie’s mouth tightened. “It’s below freezing.”

“She won’t get far dressed like she was,” Bella said softly. “She wasn’t expecting to go anywhere today. She wasn’t even wearing shoes.” She sniffed. “She was in shorts, Carlisle.”

Jasper grit his teeth as he stood. “If we’re lucky, she’ll pull off and stop when the panic fades.” He told his family.

Edward paused, gaze flicking toward Carlisle. “She doesn’t know what we are. Remember that.”

Carlisle gave a small nod. “Then we be careful. We stay calm. No vampire speed. No sharp movements.”

Everyone was already moving—grabbing keys, phones, boots. The house emptied in seconds.

Only Alice lingered at the door, her phone still in hand, frown creasing her perfect features.

“She’s scared,” she murmured, almost to herself. “But not just of the package.”

Edward turned back. “Of what, then?”

Alice looked out into the snow-blurred trees, eyes glassy and distant. “I don’t know yet.”

Then she shut the door behind her.

The snow had picked up again—gentle, but constant. It blurred the horizon and turned the road into a ribbon of white shadow, winding through the trees. Carlisle’s tires crunched softly along the shoulder of the mountain road just outside Forks, the Mercedes moving at a crawl.

His hands stayed loose on the wheel, but his jaw was tight.

He hadn’t needed to be told what the name Klaus meant—a mere gift from him caused Zoe to flee. And while he didn’t know the context, he knew danger when he heard it. He’d seen it in Zoe before—in the tremble of her breath, the distance in her eyes, the way her fingers clutched that bracelet like a lifeline.

A girl like Zoe Clark didn’t panic like that over nothing.

He reached the curve of a service road often used by hunters and forestry workers and pulled off, tires slipping gently before catching. The forest loomed dense and blue-grey, muffled under fresh powder. He opened the door and stepped into the snow.

Bella’s familiar red truck sat, unassuming, at the edge.

His boots crunched softly as we walked towards it. Carlisle looked inside, already knowing what he’d find.

An empty cab. No Zoe. 

His gaze shifted to the forest around him. No wind. No birds. Just the delicate whisper of snowfall and—

A trail.

Barefoot prints. Tiny. Unmistakable.

Zoe.

Carlisle’s heart seized.

She’d left the road and walked into the woods. No coat. No boots. Just socks, likely soaked through by now. The footprints meandered first, like she hadn’t known where to go. But then they curved—off the main trail. Deeper.

He followed quickly, but not so fast as to spook her if she heard him coming. Every few steps, he paused. Listened. His breath didn’t fog in the air, but he imagined hers would. Shallow. Cold. Scared.

The footprints began to falter. She’d slipped once, caught herself. The snow was deeper here, up to her calves in places.

And then, around a bend—

A splash of dark fabric. Motionless.

“Zoe,” Carlisle called gently, not moving closer yet. “It’s me. It's Carlisle Cullen.”

She flinched.

She was crouched near a tree, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her pajama shorts were soaked through, her sweater crusted with snow, her curls frizzing wildly around her face. The bracelet on her wrist gleamed dully in the overcast light, her fingers clamped around it so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

“Don’t,” she rasped through blue lips, backing against the trunk. “Don’t come closer.”

Carlisle held up his hands, staying where he was. “Okay. I won’t. Just talk to me.”

She didn’t answer.

“You’re freezing,” he said, voice low, soothing. “Let me take you somewhere warm. We don’t have to talk. We can just get you out of the cold.”

Her breath came fast and uneven. “Why are you even here?”

“Bella called,” he said honestly. “We’re all looking for you. Everyone’s worried.”

Zoe’s eyes were wide and wet, but not crying. Not yet. Her chin trembled. “It was supposed to be a normal day,” she whispered. “I was trying. I was really trying.”

“I know.”

She looked away. “And then he—he ruined it. Like always.”

Carlisle took one step forward.

Zoe didn’t move.

Another.

Still nothing.

He knelt, slowly, keeping a respectful distance. His coat rustled faintly as he settled into the snow. “I won’t ask who sent the gift. But I know he hurt you.”

She didn’t reply. Just closed her eyes like she wanted the world to disappear.

Carlisle waited. His voice, when he spoke again, was barely above a breath. “You don’t have to run, Zoe.”

Her shoulders trembled. And then, softly—like the ice cracking on a pond—she said, “I didn’t know where else to go.” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t have anywhere to go.”

Carlisle’s chest ached.

“You don’t have to go anywhere alone,” he said. “You can always come to me.”

This time, she didn’t stop him as he crossed the last few feet and gently draped his coat over her shoulders. Her head tipped toward him—not a full lean, but enough. Enough to show she wasn’t running anymore.

Not for now.

And so he sat with her in the snow, quiet and unmoving, until her breath evened out. Not pressing. Not prying. Just present.

Carlisle’s coat hung heavy on Zoe’s shoulders as he guided her back through the snow, one slow step at a time.

She hadn’t said much since he’d found her. Her voice had gone hoarse from the cold and panic, and her body felt hollow—like her soul had gone quiet to avoid cracking. But she hadn’t protested when he offered to carry her. Hadn’t flinched when his arm wrapped around her for warmth. She was too cold to fight anymore.

By the time they reached his car, Zoe’s teeth were chattering uncontrollably, but she was still gripping the bracelet like it might disappear if she let go. “Bella’s truck…”

“One of my children will bring it home.” Carlisle promised as he guided Zoe past the truck and towards his Mercedes. He opened the passenger door and helped her in carefully, kneeling beside her to adjust the seatbelt, his fingers light as they brushed her wrist.

That same spark—quiet, electric—flickered between them, but neither said anything. She just leaned her head against the cool window and closed her eyes.

He drove slowly, his usual grace tinged with caution. Zoe didn’t speak once.

When they reached the Cullen house, the glass walls shimmered faintly with snowlight. The driveway was empty. Carlisle had called ahead—quietly, firmly—asking the rest of the family to give them space. Edward was going over to Bella’s home to tell Charlie that Zoe had been found and would be returned shortly. Alice was bringing the truck home. 

The engine cut off.

Zoe didn’t move.

Carlisle stepped out and came around to her side. When he opened the door, she blinked at him slowly, as if waking from a long sleep. He offered a hand. She took it.

Inside, the house was warm—low lights, soft classical music humming faintly through unseen speakers. It smelled faintly of evergreen and woodsmoke, even though no fire burned.

Zoe stood awkwardly in the foyer, dripping snow onto the polished floor. Her socks were soaked through and her pajama shorts clung to her skin like paper.

Carlisle took one look at her and said gently, “Come upstairs. You need to change into something warm.” 

As a doctor, Carlisle had begun to worry when Zoe stopped shivering, when her lips turned to a deeper shade of blue. She was already so small, so fragile, so human. She couldn’t handle being out in the cold for as long as she had been in the forest.

She hesitated.

“There’s no one else here,” he added quietly. “Just us.”

Zoe nodded once.

He led her upstairs to a guest room—minimal, quiet, with pale blue walls and a thick knit blanket draped over the bed. He handed her a pair of soft sweatpants and a hoodie from a drawer, clearly Alice’s doing at some point. “These should fit. I’ll be just down the hall.”

She didn’t say anything, but she changed. When she came downstairs again, her hair was towel-dried and her face scrubbed free of tears she hadn’t let fall. Carlisle was in the kitchen, heating a kettle even though he wouldn’t drink it.

He looked up and offered a soft smile. “Tea? Or cocoa?”

Zoe stood at the edge of the room, eyes heavy-lidded. “Tea. If it’s not too much trouble.” It reminded Zoe of late night talks with Jenna Sommers when they gossiped about anything from school to boys to Zoe’s dad.

“Never.” Carlisle broke Zoe out of her memories before they could get too bad. Too recent. Too tragic. “Is mint okay?”

Zoe nodded slowly feeling numb. Even her bond with Damon was quiet, like something had diverted the connection. She watched him move, graceful and deliberate, and for a moment, she didn’t feel like she had to brace for impact. She didn’t feel like she was a problem to be solved. Just a girl who was tired. And someone who was quietly being taken care of.

When he handed her the mug, her hands shook as she took it.

Carlisle nodded toward the couch in the corner of the open space. “Sit. Rest. You don’t have to talk.”

Zoe sat.

He joined her but gave her space, angled slightly toward her but not crowding. The silence between them wasn’t tense. Just still. Like a snow-covered forest.

Zoe finally whispered, “I didn’t want to ruin today.”

“You didn’t.”

She looked at him, eyes too big for her face, rimmed in red. “He never lets me forget I’m not free.”

Carlisle didn’t ask who he was.

Instead, he said, “Maybe not. But you’re not alone either.”

Zoe nodded slowly, staring into her mug.

Outside, the snow kept falling.

The warmth of the fireplace wrapped around the room like a thick quilt, the only sound the low crackle of flames and the soft tick of a nearby clock. Carlisle sat in a high-backed chair he’d pulled close to the hearth, angled just close enough to keep an eye on Zoe.

She was curled beneath a thick throw, knees tucked to her chest on the end of the long leather couch. Her hair had just begun to fully dry by the heat of the nearby fire.

The tea cup she’d been cradling slipped slightly in her lax grip, and Carlisle reached out with inhuman speed without thinking, catching it before it could tumble to the floor and wake Zoe.

He watched her a moment longer. Her breathing had evened out, mouth slightly parted in sleep, the lines in her brow finally softening. Her bracelet still circled her wrist like armor, catching the firelight in tiny, deliberate flashes.

Carlisle exhaled quietly.

She looked so young.

So breakable.

The doorbell rang, low and urgent. Not waiting for a response, Charlie Swan let himself in. His boots were soaked, his face pinched and raw from the cold, panic etched into every line.

Carlisle met him in the foyer. “She’s okay.”

Charlie didn’t answer at first—his eyes already searching past Carlisle, locking onto the figure on the couch.

“She's sleeping?” he asked, voice rough.

Carlisle nodded. “She was freezing, disoriented, but she let me bring her here. She changed and I gave her something warm to drink, and she fell asleep by the fire not long after.”

Charlie let out a long breath. “I knew something was off this morning. She was wired. I should’ve—”

“You followed your instincts,” Carlisle interrupted gently. “You came after her.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Then Charlie stepped forward, kneeling down beside the couch. He didn't touch Zoe, but he looked at her like he might break from it.

“She hasn’t slept through the night in weeks,” he admitted in a low voice. “And now she’s out cold at a stranger’s house. I don’t know whether to be grateful or terrified.”

Carlisle’s voice was soft. “You’re not the only one worried about her.”

Charlie nodded, eyes still on Zoe. “Thank you. For finding her.”

Carlisle didn’t reply—he didn’t need to. The fire cracked softly behind them.

And in that quiet, snow still falling gently outside, the two men kept watch over the girl they both cared about more than they could say.

Zoe stirred under the soft weight of the blanket, a crease forming between her brows as consciousness crept back in. The crackling of the fireplace was the first thing she registered—then the smell of cedar and something faintly floral. Not home. Not the Swan house. Not the Boarding House or the Clark House either. For a moment, she almost believed she was back at Bonnie’s Grams’ cabin.

She bolted upright.

Her heart jumped, disoriented panic rising in her throat until she saw him—Carlisle, still seated in the chair near the fire, his expression calm but alert. And beside her, lower, closer—

“Uncle Charlie?” Her voice was hoarse, brittle from sleep and cold air.

Charlie straightened from where he’d clearly been sitting on the floor. His eyes were red at the edges. “Hey, kiddo.”

Zoe’s arms tightened instinctively around herself. “What… What time is it?”

“Almost noon.” Charlie’s voice was careful. “You’ve been asleep a few hours.”

She blinked at him, then looked down at the borrowed clothes. Her bracelet was still on, faintly warm against her pulse point. “I—God.” Her breath caught. “I didn’t mean to run.”

“I know,” Charlie said quietly. “I know you were scared.”

Zoe’s throat bobbed, but she didn’t argue. She didn’t have the strength. Her eyes flickered from her uncle to Carlisle and she knew she had to give them an explanation. Normal people didn’t run because someone sent them a creepy card.

She looked away at that, shame coloring her cheeks. “I thought it was a joke,” she whispered. “Klaus… he always plays games, but this—on Christmas—” She lied. Or didn’t. Klaus did like to play games, especially with her and Elena, treating them like they were his property to play with. Like a cat batting around an injured mouse.

Charlie’s hand hovered near her shoulder but didn’t quite land. “We’ll deal with it. However we need to. But you can’t just disappear like that again, Zoe.”

“I didn’t think.” She bit her lip. “I just… reacted.”

Carlisle’s voice was soft. “Most people do.”

There was a long pause.

Zoe finally glanced at the fire, the light catching in her eyes. “Sorry I ruined Christmas.”

Charlie gave a quiet, huffing sound. “You didn’t ruin anything. We were just scared.”

Zoe managed a small, tired smile. “Still kind of sounds like a Hallmark plot. Kid with a dark past ruins cozy holiday.”

Charlie looked at Carlisle, who raised a brow, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“You didn’t ruin it,” Charlie repeated. “You just made it real.”

Zoe exhaled slowly and finally nodded.

“Think you’re up for heading home?” he asked gently.

Zoe looked toward the window, snow still falling in thick flakes outside. “Yeah. I think I’m okay now.”

Carlisle stood, offering her Alice’s boots they’d set near the fire to warm. “Then let’s get you home.”

Zoe hesitated before accepting them. “Thank you. For finding me.”

Carlisle met her gaze, quiet but steady. “Always.”

And for the first time that day, Zoe believed it.

Chapter Text

The snow hadn’t melted. If anything, it had only grown heavier over Zoe and Bella’s Winter Break—now crusted in jagged gray banks around the parking lot, clinging to tree branches like frostbite. Zoe stepped out of Charlie’s cruiser, the soles of her block heels crunching against ice, her coat zipped to her chin, scarf pulled too tight. 

She hadn’t been allowed to go back to school with Bella and Edward at first, Charlie still intent on keeping a close eye on Zoe while he could after what happened on Christmas. She’d asked to walk in alone, at least. Charlie hadn’t liked it, but he’d let her go with a sigh and a quiet, “Text me if anything feels off, kiddo.”

Everything felt off.

Zoe crossed the parking lot quickly, shoulders tense, fingers curled around the strap of her bag like it might keep her upright. The bracelet Damon gave her clinked against her wrist, cold and constant. Like the world’s most comforting handcuff. She didn’t look around. Didn’t check for eyes on her. But she felt them.

The Cullens.

They were better at pretending than most. But she wasn’t stupid. Not after that day.

No one mentioned Christmas. Not Bella. Not Uncle Charlie. Not the boy with golden eyes who came over every day to see Zoe’s cousin and watched her as if it mattered to him if she was a flight risk. The only mention had been when Zoe passed the borrowed boots Carlisle had leant her to Edward with a message to tell the boot’s rightful owner thank you.

They knew what happened.

They knew that she knew that they knew what happened.

And Zoe… Zoe was pretending that she didn’t know that they knew.

Inside, the hallways felt too loud, too bright, too normal. Lockers slammed. Boots squeaked. Someone laughed too hard near the vending machines. She walked to her locker like it was any other day. Like nothing had changed.

Except Jasper nodded when she passed. Alice offered her a spare pair of gloves, smiling too widely. Emmett clapped her shoulder like he didn’t know what else to do. Rosalie didn’t say anything—but she lingered, hovering near Zoe’s locker with a practiced aloofness that was almost comforting.

And Edward… Edward just watched her. Not invasive. Not unkind. Just… watching. Like he expected all of Zoe’s secrets to fall out of her at any moment.

Zoe stuffed her books into her locker, calm on the outside, storm underneath. Then Bella appeared at her side like guilt made real.

“Hey,” Bella said, too casual.

Zoe didn’t glance over. “Hey.”

“Did you sleep okay?”

Zoe shut her locker. “Sure. Dreamless and peaceful.” She gave Bella a crooked smile. “Thanks for asking.”

Bella winced. “Zoe—”

But the warning bell rang, and Zoe was already walking.

In her English class, Jasper was already in his seat. Zoe slid into the desk beside him, not saying a word. He didn’t either. But he angled his chair slightly toward hers, enough to make the space feel less like a battlefield.

Zoe opened her notebook and doodled in the margins.

At least Jasper didn’t expect her to talk.

At lunch, Zoe didn’t sit with Bella and Cullens. Not because she didn’t want to—but because she didn’t know how to. Not anymore. Bella sat between Edward and Alice. Jasper held Alice’s hand tightly as if it was the only thing keeping him sitting and Rosalie leaned against Emmett’s side like she belonged there. They were a portrait of belonging.

Zoe sat near the windows of an unused classroom with a half-eaten apple and a lukewarm coffee, watching the snow fall in slow, soft spirals.

The door creaked open.

Rosalie.

Zoe didn’t look up until she heard the familiar leather swish of Rosalie’s jacket. The blonde didn’t sit—just stood beside her, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.

“I thought you weren’t coming back today,” Rosalie said finally. “Edward said that Charlie wanted to keep you home a little while longer.”

Zoe shrugged. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

Rosalie stared at her for a long moment. “You don’t have to sit alone.”

Zoe tapped her fingers against the table, bracelet catching the light. “It’s fine. You guys already saved me once. I don’t expect a sequel.”

Rosalie’s jaw clenched—but she didn’t argue.

Instead, she pulled a chair out and sat.

Rosalie didn’t say anything else. Just sat. The chair didn’t screech—of course it didn’t. Rosalie moved like a ghost, all smooth lines and measured grace, like even her silences were rehearsed.

Zoe stared at her coffee cup. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I know.”

A beat. Then another.

“I’m not going to break,” Zoe muttered. “Or run away.” She added, realizing that was probably the more prominent worry these days.

“I didn’t say you would.”

Zoe looked at her, eyebrows raised. “But you think I might.”

Rosalie’s lips quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I think you’d set yourself on fire before letting anyone see you shiver.”

That pulled a short laugh from Zoe—sharp and involuntary. “That’s... morbidly accurate.”

Rosalie didn’t look away. “You aren’t wearing eyeliner today.”

Zoe blinked. “What?”

“You usually wear a smoky eye. Every day. But not today..”

Zoe narrowed her gaze. “You catalog my makeup choices?”

“I notice things,” Rosalie said simply. “Especially when people start disappearing one piece at a time before running into the woods half naked during a snow storm on Christmas.”

Zoe sat back slowly, the breath catching just a little in her throat. Her fingers reached up to tug her scarf tighter, more out of habit than cold.

“Look,” she said, voice low. “I know what you’re all doing. Watching me. Trying to make sure I don’t implode or self-destruct or whatever it is you think I’m about to do.”

Rosalie raised a brow but didn’t interrupt.

“I get it,” Zoe continued. “I scared people. I scared myself. But that doesn’t mean I’m broken. I’m not going to shatter if someone breathes wrong around me.”

“No,” Rosalie agreed, quiet. “But I think you’re lonely.”

Zoe stared at her, stunned still by the softness of the words.

“And I think,” Rosalie added, leaning in just slightly, “you’re exhausted from pretending otherwise.”

Zoe looked down at her lap. The bracelet on her wrist gleamed, sharp and gold.

“I don’t do heart-to-hearts,” she muttered.

Rosalie smirked. “Good. Neither do I.”

They sat like that—shoulders angled, words fading—while the rest of the cafeteria buzzed with noise and warmth that never quite reached them.

Zoe poked at the remains of her apple. “You know, most people who try to help me end up regretting it.”

Rosalie didn’t flinch. “I’m not most people.”

Another pause. This one more comfortable.

Zoe glanced at her. “If I ever do break…”

“I’ll be there,” Rosalie said.

“I was gonna say you should run away. Far away.” Zoe didn’t smile. But she didn’t look away either.

“Not my style.” Rosalie said, voice light but heavy with meaning.

The house was quiet. Bella was downstairs, half-watching a rerun with Charlie. Acting as if they were guarding the front door from Zoe. Snow pressed softly against the windows, and the faint scent of pine and vanilla drifted up from the living room candle.

Zoe lay across her bed, fully dressed but unmoving. The lights were off, the room dimly lit by the blue glow of her phone screen. She didn’t jump when it buzzed. She’d seen the name.

Damon.

For a second, she just stared at it.

Then she answered.

“Hey,” she said, voice flat.

A beat. Then Damon’s voice—light, careful. “Wow. You picked up. Wasn’t sure you would.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

Another pause.

“You sound like hell.”

Zoe gave a quiet snort. “Thanks.”

“I meant it affectionately.”

She didn’t reply.

Damon exhaled. “You okay?”

“I’m breathing.”

“Not what I asked.”

She shifted, her fingers closing around the bracelet at her wrist. “Things are fine.”

“Zoe…”

“I had a cold, Damon.” She lied. “Drop it.”

He was quiet for a beat, then his tone shifted, like he knew pushing wouldn’t work.

“Ric’s dating Meredith Fell now,” Damon said casually, like he hadn’t been waiting to say something heavier.

Zoe blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yep. Doctor, high-functioning alcoholic, prone to stabbing problematic vampires. Match made in heaven.”

A soft breath escaped her. Almost a laugh. “God, I missed Mystic Falls.”

“You say that like you ever really left it.”

Another silence. Zoe turned onto her side, facing the wall.

Damon’s voice was gentler now. “I heard from Klaus.”

Her breath hitched. She didn’t respond.

“Stefan made a move,” he went on. “Tried something stupid. And Klaus… reacted.”

Still nothing.

“Zoe?”

She closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“I need you to know—”

“No, you don’t.” Her voice was sharp now. Too loud in the quiet room.

He went still on the other end. “I didn’t call to scare you.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned Klaus.”

“Zoe, you’re not alone—”

“I never said I was.”

More silence.

She could hear the unsaid worry in his breath, feel the weight of all the things he wasn’t saying. But she couldn’t carry that tonight. Couldn’t carry him.

“I have to go,” she said suddenly, sitting up.

“Zoe—”

“Uncle Charlie’s calling. It’s my turn to do the dishes. Sorry.” She ended the call.

The screen dimmed, and the silence returned.

The bond between the buzzed slightly with concern. Anxiety. Warmth.

Outside, snow kept falling. Inside, Zoe pressed her fingers hard to her bracelet like it might keep the world from cracking open.

The snow fell steadily outside, blanketing the dark world in silence. But inside the attic, the quiet didn’t last.

Zoe twisted in her bed, tangled in sweat-damp sheets, eyes flitting behind shut lids. Her breath hitched—uneven. Panicked.

In her mind, Zoe wasn’t in Forks. 

She was in a forest, drenched in mist. Snow on bare branches. Zoe stood in a pale, high-collared dress, her hair pinned neatly, her gloved hands trembling.

Elijah appeared first. Suave. Sympathetic. A gentleman’s concern that cloaked something colder.

Then Klaus.

She didn’t see his face—not clearly—but she felt the fear. The wrongness. She was taken. She remembered the snap of a parasol hitting the ground, the grip on her arm, the way the trees swallowed her scream.

Zoe jolted upright with a ragged scream.

Her bracelet seared hot against her wrist.

Sheets fell away as she clawed at the fabric around her, disoriented, breath shallow, eyes wide and unfocused.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Footsteps scrambled up the stairs, only increasing Zoe’s disoriented panic. Charlie burst in, hair messy, having just rolled out of bed and wearing a t-shirt over flannel pajama pants.

“Zoe? Zoe!”

She was still gasping, knees tucked to her chest, spine against the headboard. The scream still echoed faintly in her throat.

Charlie rushed forward but didn’t touch her. He crouched beside the bed, his voice low and firm. “You’re okay. It’s over. You’re safe.”

Zoe nodded numbly. A lie she told herself too.

Charlie looked at her bracelet glowing faintly in the dark and didn’t ask. He just waited.

Edward sat frozen beside Bella’s bed, still wearing his shirt from dinner, hair slightly mussed from running his fingers through it too many times.

Upstairs, the scream tore through the quiet again. Edward flinched, his golden eyes darting upward. “What was that?”

Bella didn’t move. Just rolled over slowly, eyes still hazy with sleep. “That…was Zoe.”

Edward groaned softly, incredulous. “What do you mean that was Zoe?”

“She has nightmares.” Bella yawned. “All the time. She wakes up screaming like that once a week. Sometimes more. It’s normal.”

“That wasn’t normal,” Edward said sharply, still listening.

Bella turned onto her back. “It is for her.”

He didn’t respond. He kept listening until the quiet returned upstairs.

The sun rose reluctantly, casting pale light across the snow-covered streets of Forks. The Swan house was quiet, the hush of early morning disturbed only by the ticking of the kitchen clock and the occasional groan of the old pipes.

Zoe sat on the edge of her bed, shoulders curled in, blanket wrapped around her like armor. Her phone glowed faintly in her hand.

She hesitated over the keyboard, thumbs hovering.

Then she typed: Can you bind dreams?

No punctuation. No explanation. Just a message for Bonnie. A cry for help.

She hit send and placed the phone beside her, eyes fixed on the pale gray outside her window. She didn’t cry. She didn’t move. She just sat, bracelet warm against her wrist, anchoring her to the now.

Edward stood near the window of his father’s study, arms crossed. Snow fell silently outside. Carlisle sat behind his desk, flipping through a medical journal he hadn’t truly read in hours.

Edward spoke without preamble. “Zoe had a nightmare last night.”

Carlisle glanced up. “A nightmare?”

“No.” Edward shook his head slowly. “A night terror. It was visceral. She screamed like something was killing her.”

Carlisle stilled. “Is she all right?”

“Charlie sat with her until she calmed down.” Edward’s voice darkened. “But it wasn’t the first time. Bella said it happens often.”

Carlisle leaned back in his chair, eyes distant. “And she never speaks about them?”

“No,” Edward said. “And I can’t see inside her head. You know that. She’s… blocked. Like Bella, but different. More chaotic. More distorted. Like static. It’s like she’s haunted by something, but won’t let anyone near it.”

Carlisle’s fingers traced a pen on his desk. “You said she screamed.”

“Like she remembered dying.” Edward’s voice was tight now. “And afterward, the silence was worse. Like the house was holding its breath.”

Carlisle didn’t reply right away.

Edward turned. “You think it’s just trauma?” There was a small hope, buried deep in the recesses of Edward’s mind, that Zoe’s dreams were horrible. That they weren’t dreams and they were memories of Zoe Cullen. That Zoe Clark, somehow, was Edward’s adoptive mother and had found a way to come back to them. To Carlisle.

Carlisle’s gaze lingered on the frost-veiled trees beyond the glass. “I think…” he paused, quiet. “I think Zoe’s been running from something longer than any of us know. And it’s finally catching up to her.”

Zoe’s phone buzzed on the windowsill, screen lighting up with Bonnie’s name. She hesitated before answering, already feeling the tension curl in her chest.

“Hey,” she said, voice tired and flat.

Bonnie didn’t bother with small talk. “I’m looking into it. The dreams. I found a few old rituals that might help bind them, limit what gets through—but…”

Zoe’s fingers tightened around her blanket. “But?”

“I don’t know what it would do to the bonding spell.”

That silenced her.

Bonnie continued, gentler now. “You know the one. The one tying you to Damon. It’s old, Zoe. Powerful. If we mess with it—”

“I know what it is,” Zoe snapped. “I know what it’s keeping me from.”

“It’s keeping you alive,” Bonnie said firmly. “We don’t know if binding your dreams could unravel something. Or hurt you. Or him.”

Zoe turned toward the window, her reflection a ghost in the glass. “And you just decided to tell me this now?”

“That’s not all.” Bonnie’s voice dropped. “There’s another spell on you. I’ve known for a while, but I didn’t want to say anything until I could figure out what it was.”

Zoe’s breath hitched. “You’ve known?”

Bonnie hesitated. “I’m sorry. I was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” Her voice rose. “You’ve known there was some kind of ancient magic tangled in my body, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to scare you.”

Zoe laughed bitterly. “Too late.”

Bonnie sighed. “It’s old. Older than the bond with Damon. It’s… complicated. Layered. I haven’t seen anything like it before. I don’t know what it does. I just know it’s there.”

Zoe closed her eyes, feeling the weight settle deeper in her chest. “I’m so tired, Bon.”

“I know,” Bonnie whispered. “I’m trying. Just give me a little more time.”

Zoe didn’t say goodbye before hanging up. She just stared out at the snow-covered trees, wondering how much more of herself she hadn’t discovered yet—and if it would kill her when she finally did.

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead. Zoe sat in one of the plastic waiting chairs just outside the main office, arms crossed, foot tapping against the floor with a sharp rhythm.

She muttered under her breath, “What did I even do?”

Inside the glass-walled conference room, Charlie sat across from Ms. Russell, Zoe’s English teacher, who flipped open a folder and smiled politely.

“I want to be clear, Mr. Swan — this isn’t disciplinary,” she said, hands folded. “In fact, Zoe’s doing remarkably well.”

Charlie frowned slightly. “So… she’s not in trouble?”

Ms. Russell chuckled. “No. Quite the opposite.”

Charlie raised a brow. He supposed there was a first time for everything.

Ms. Russell continued, her tone turning more thoughtful. “Zoe’s academic performance is exceptional. She rarely turns in anything late, her papers are sophisticated, her reading comprehension is collegiate. She’s intuitive, articulate — honestly, she’s the kind of student we worry about not challenging enough.”

Charlie nodded slowly, trying to catch up.

“She’s been a little distracted lately,” Ms. Russell acknowledged, “but even so, she’s ahead of most of our juniors and seniors. We think she’d benefit from moving up a grade.”

Charlie blinked. “You want her to graduate early?”

Ms. Russell smiled. “We’d work with her to finish this semester’s coursework and start senior-level classes this spring. She could graduate with her cousin if she wants.”

From outside the room, Zoe caught Charlie’s stunned expression through the glass. Her brow furrowed. Great, she thought. Expulsion and disappointment.

Ms. Russell added, lowering her voice slightly, “We know she’s had…a difficult year. But this could give her a new sense of purpose. She doesn’t talk much in class, but when she writes?” She handed Charlie a printed essay. “She has something to say.”

Charlie skimmed it, brow furrowing at the complexity. Then glanced at the door.

“She’s going to be furious you called me in,” he said, though a note of pride had crept into his voice.

Ms. Russell smiled. “Probably. But I thought it was worth it.”

Zoe stood as Charlie exited the office.

“So,” she said, hands on her hips, ready for the fallout. “How bad is it?”

Charlie handed her the essay. “Apparently, you’re a genius.”

Zoe blinked. “Wait, what?”

“They want to move you up a grade,” he said casually, walking past her. “Come on, future valedictorian. I’m buying dinner.”

Zoe stared at his back, speechless, then looked down at the essay in her hand. The title: Monsters in the Mirror: Self-Perception and Gothic Dread in Brontë’s “Wuthering Heights.”

She muttered, “This is ridiculous,” but couldn’t help the corner of her mouth from curling upward — just a little.

The roast chicken was barely touched.

Bella blinked across the table, fork paused midair. “Wait—what?”

Zoe sat curled in her usual chair, one leg tucked under her, calmly spooning mashed potatoes onto her plate like this was the most normal conversation in the world.

“They want to move her up a grade,” Charlie said, still sounding faintly dazed. “Graduate early.”

Bella gaped. “You?”

Zoe didn’t look up. “Yeah. Wild, right?”

“I mean—” Bella floundered, glancing between her cousin and her father. “You’re barely passing P.E.”

Zoe shrugged. “Not my area of expertise. I hate team sports.”

“I mean, I knew you were smart, but…”

“I took AP classes in Virginia,” Zoe offered with a shrug. “And Dad made me do a few summer college courses for extra credit. Mostly lit and comp stuff.”

Charlie dropped his fork. “And you never thought to mention any of that?”

Zoe looked genuinely puzzled by the question. “Why would I?”

Bella sputtered. “Because we live with you ?”

Zoe smirked, finally glancing up. “I like to be underestimated. Comes in handy.”

Charlie opened his mouth to respond—then shut it again, shaking his head with a quiet laugh.

Bella narrowed her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Only on weekdays,” Zoe said sweetly, stabbing a green bean with the air of someone completely unbothered by being found out.

Charlie leaned back in his chair, watching both girls for a beat before smiling faintly.

“Alright, brainiac,” he said, raising his glass of iced tea. “To early graduation—if you want it.”

Zoe hesitated for a moment, then clinked her glass softly against his. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Bella, still stunned, stared at her cousin as if seeing her for the first time.

Zoe just went back to her dinner, unbothered as ever.

On Monday morning, the moment Zoe stepped onto campus, the stares started.

Some subtle, some not. Heads tilted, conversations paused mid-sentence, eyes flicked to her like she was walking into class in head-to-toe sequins.

She didn’t blame them. Kids didn’t just move up a grade at Forks High. Especially not the girl who once pretended to sleep through gym and who nearly failed a unit in Health because she refused to dissect a frog on moral principle (“Frogs have families too,” she’d told the horrified sub).

But here she was. Junior year.

New classes. New schedule. Same body in the same coat, walking a little straighter through halls that suddenly felt tighter.

And still—an anomaly.

Just not in the way they thought.

At lunch, Zoe slid her tray onto the Cullen table before any of them could protest—not that they ever did. Without hesitation, she dropped into the empty seat beside Jasper. Alice’s usual seat.

He looked up, surprised but unreadable. He gave a small nod.

Zoe nodded back, like a silent truce. They didn’t have English together anymore and it was bothering her more than she expected. Jasper had been… grounding. Even if neither of them ever said much.

Across from her, Rosalie raised a perfectly arched brow but didn’t object. Emmett gave her a broad grin.

“Didn’t think we’d get to be classmates,” he said, nudging her boot under the table.

“I didn’t think you’d be in AP Trig,” Zoe replied dryly. “Is that a sign of the apocalypse?”

Rosalie smirked at that.

Emmett just grinned wider. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

Zoe snorted. “That’s one word for it.”

Bella gave her a cautious smile from across the table, but Zoe didn’t meet her eyes. Edward, beside her, just studied Zoe with that cool, unreadable expression she was coming to associate with all things Cullen.

“I heard you’re in Bio with us now,” Bella offered, trying to be casual.

Zoe didn’t even blink. “Yeah. Should be fun. I mean, I’m sure you two are already very well-acquainted with biology. Or at least each other’s biology.”

Bella choked on her water.

Rosalie snorted.

Edward blinked once, slowly, like he was resetting.

Emmett let out a low, appreciative whistle.

Alice winced, trying not to think too much about her brother…doing things with her new friend.

Jasper, next to her, barely smiled. But the air around her felt warmer. Calmer.

Zoe picked up her apple like nothing had happened.

The heating in the classroom hissed faintly, mixing with the scratch of pens and the rustle of worn paperback novels. Outside, snow flurried against the windows, soft and relentless. Inside, the silence was thicker.

Zoe sat two rows from the front, a dog-eared copy of Frankenstein open on her desk. She twirled her pen, underlining a passage she already had memorized. “I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel.” Same story, different names.

Rosalie sat ahead of her, back straight, hair shining like spun glass under the fluorescents. Her copy of Frankenstein looked untouched, pristine, but Zoe doubted that meant anything. She was probably the type to read it all in a night and recall it verbatim.

“Alright, class,” the teacher called out, clapping his hands once. “For the next two weeks, we’ll be working on a partner project. Comparative literary analysis— Frankenstein and one modern media of your choosing. Film, TV, podcast—whatever. But I want substance. Depth. Get past the obvious monster metaphors. I’ll give you the rubric tomorrow.”

The shuffle of chairs and groans of protest filled the room as students began glancing around.

“Pick your partners.”

Zoe didn’t move.

Emmett turned in his seat with a bright grin, raising his brows at Rosalie in silent invitation.

Rosalie didn’t even look at him.

She turned in her seat—slow, deliberate—and fixed Zoe with a calm stare. “We’re partners.”

It wasn’t a question.

Emmett gaped. “Babe—”

“I’ve worked with you three times this year already,” Rosalie said smoothly. “You don’t read the books. You just distract the teachers with extra credit charm.”

Zoe smirked behind her book. “Ouch.”

Emmett shot her a look that was more amused than offended. “You wound me, Rose.”

“I’ve seen you try to spell ‘Shelley,’ Em. Sit this one out. Make a new friend.” Rosalie turned back to Zoe, already sliding her desk a fraction closer. “You okay with that?”

Zoe raised a brow, amused. “I mean, I’m not sure I can match your ruthlessness, but sure.”

“Good.” Rosalie opened her notebook without another word, already outlining their topic with a kind of fierce grace.

Zoe leaned sideways, whispering just loud enough for Emmett to hear, “Don’t worry, big guy. I’ll take good care of her.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Emmett muttered, grinning despite himself.

As the rest of the class paired off, Zoe turned back to her book, still smiling faintly. Rosalie worked quietly beside her, efficient and focused.

It was the most peace Zoe had felt in a classroom in weeks.

Zoe stepped through the Cullen house’s front door, boots tapping softly against the sleek flooring. It was quiet, as always—too pristine, too still, too unlike any home she'd ever known. It wasn't like her Uncle Charlie's house or her childhood home or the Boarding House in the slightest. No comforts, no old world charm, no fighting and no faint smell of bourbon and bloodshed. Bella nudged her arm with a knowing look before heading off toward wherever Edward had ghosted away to.

"Don't fall into a Edward-shaped love coma," Zoe called after her, loud enough for Bella to flip her off as she disappeared. “And for all that is holy don’t forget to use protection! I like being Uncle Charlie’s favorit-”

"Hey," came a familiar voice.

She turned and found Jasper leaning in the doorway of the hall, arms crossed. He looked relaxed, a faint smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Zoe smirked. “Well if it isn’t my very first Forks High English partner. It’s nice to know fame hasn’t gone to your head.”

Jasper actually chuckled, which startled her more than it should have. “I didn’t realize I was famous.”

“You are in my book. The one titled ‘Guys Who Didn’t Make Me Cry in English Class.’ You’re on the first and only page.”

Jasper shook his head, amused. “Glad to know I made the cut.”

Just then, Rosalie appeared, dressed in casual elegance that somehow made Zoe’s sweater and circle skirt feel like rags. “You ready?” she asked, lifting a brow. “Or are you too busy flirting with my brother?”

Zoe blinked. “We were having a moment.” She joked, knowing Jasper was with Alice. “It was simmering with tension. I’m very close to tempting him away from his one great love.”

Jasper’s face cracked into an amused smile. “Oh? A moment?”

"She's mine today, Jasper." Rosalie rolled her eyes and grabbed Zoe’s wrist. “Moment over. Kitchen. Now.”

As she was pulled away, Zoe called back to Jasper, “Don’t be jealous. She’s got a project with me. I’ll wait for you, Jasper!”

In the kitchen, Rosalie spread out their materials on the counter—texts, notebooks, printed outlines. Zoe leaned over to peek.

“Wow,” she said. “You don’t mess around.”

“You were moved up for a reason,” Rosalie replied without looking up. “Don’t make me regret partnering with you.”

“Too late. I’m a menace.”

Rosalie grinned. “Yeah, Jasper warned me.”

They were already bickering lightheartedly when the front door opened again, a soft click of leather soles on hardwood announcing Carlisle’s arrival. He stepped into the threshold of the kitchen, pausing when he spotted Zoe.

His eyebrows lifted. “Zoe.”

Zoe glanced up from where she was pretending to read a passage from Frankenstein. “Hey, Doc.”

He blinked once, then smiled. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

Rosalie didn’t even look up. “She’s mine for the afternoon. We’ve got a project.”

Carlisle raised a brow at Zoe. “School project?”

She gave him a wry smile. “Trying not to get shown up by the actual super genius.”

Carlisle chuckled softly. “Good luck.”

Zoe held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary, and for just a moment, something passed between them—something quiet and warm and unspoken.

Rosalie snapped her fingers. “Eyes on the paper, Clark.”

Zoe rolled her eyes, but smiled as she bent back over the notebook.

Rosalie busied herself highlighting lines from Frankenstein and cross-referencing themes in a notebook already half-filled with near-perfect cursive. Zoe, on the other hand, kept glancing over the top of her book, distracted by Carlisle lingering just a few steps away—still watching her with a mixture of surprise and something else she couldn’t quite name.

She finally tilted her head and said, “You’re staring.”

Carlisle blinked, caught. “Apologies. It’s just… unexpected.”

“Me showing up?”

He nodded once. “Yes, but pleasantly so.”

Zoe gave him a crooked smile, the kind that tried to hide sincerity behind sarcasm. “I didn’t crash your fancy lair, if that’s what you’re worried about. Bella dragged me here under the guise of boyfriend bonding and advanced academics.”

Carlisle’s lips twitched, but he didn’t comment on the vampire reference. “It’s nice to see you out. You’ve been… quieter since the holidays.”

Zoe looked back down at the book. “Yeah, well. Sometimes silence is safer. And Uncle Charlie may have deadbolted the front door.”

Rosalie’s pen paused mid-sentence, but she didn’t look up. Carlisle took a few steps closer, speaking with quiet warmth. “You don’t have to be silent here.”

Zoe shrugged one shoulder. “Sure I do. This place echoes.”

Carlisle’s eyes softened. He stepped over to the kettle, pouring himself a cup of tea—an unnecessary gesture, but one that gave Zoe a moment to breathe. The scent of mint filled the space, sharp and grounding. He set the mug beside her with a quiet clink.

She glanced up, surprised.

“You looked cold,” he offered, then added, “and undercaffeinated.”

Zoe quirked a brow. “Are you enabling my caffeine addiction, Dr. Cullen?”

“I prefer to think of it as harm reduction,” he said smoothly.

Rosalie smirked from her seat. “Just drink the tea, Zoe.”

Zoe wrapped her hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. “I didn’t realize doctors were allowed to be charming.”

Carlisle smiled at that, faint but genuine. “Only after hours.”

Zoe looked away quickly, back to the lines of her book—but not before Carlisle noticed the slight flush rise to her cheeks.

He turned, giving her back the distance she hadn’t asked for but clearly needed. As he moved toward the archway, she glanced up again.

“You really didn’t mind me being here?” she asked, quieter now.

He paused, one hand resting on the doorframe. Then he turned back to her, his gaze steady.

“I’m always glad to see you, Zoe.”

Rosalie didn’t comment. She didn’t need to.

Zoe took a sip of her tea, the mug still warm in her hands—and, for a moment, so was she.

Chapter Text

Zoe had been having a good week.

She’d been a junior for two weeks now. She and Rosalie had finished their English project. People at school had almost stopped staring at her like she was some kind of anomaly—like skipping a grade mid-year was the strangest thing about her.

If only they knew.

That she had a vampire bound to her soul.

That she was a doppelgänger—hunted by the Original Hybrid.

That she remembered past lives when no other doppelgänger could.

But for once, she was starting to feel like her old self again. Confident. Witty. A little chaotic, but not unhappy.

Bella was supposed to be watching her. Charlie had been called into the station—unusual for a Saturday—and he still didn’t quite trust Zoe to be alone. Not after Christmas. Understandable, sure. But the constant surveillance was starting to wear thin.

Bella had invited Zoe to come with her to the Cullens. But Zoe, for once in a rare good mood, had decided to stay home—to call her friends, speak freely, be herself.

She’d barely gotten two minutes into her call with Caroline when her voice rose in disbelief.

“Wait—Klaus gave you a dress?”

On the other end of the line, Caroline sighed. “It’s very pretty, and I’m supposed to play distraction.”

Zoe scoffed. “Distraction or dignity, Care. He killed me and Elena, remember? And it actually stuck for Jenna.”

A knock at the door pulled Zoe’s attention. “Give me a sec. Someone’s at the door,” she muttered, phone tucked to her shoulder as she moved through the house.

She opened it to a woman she didn’t immediately recognize.

“Can I help you?” Zoe asked, offering a cautious but polite smile.

The woman didn’t speak. Just looked at her.

Then recognition struck. “Aunt Abby?”

The woman smiled. “Hey, Zozo.”

Zoe blinked. “Caroline, I’m gonna have to call you back.”

“Zoe, wait—”

Click.

Zoe lowered the phone slowly. “How did you find me?”

“Bonnie told me you were staying with your uncle,” Abby said. “I remembered your uncle’s name, knew he lived in Forks. It wasn’t that hard.”

“You talked to Bonnie?” Zoe’s voice was flat. She was already on edge.

“Can I come in?”

The moment her eyes flicked to the threshold, Zoe knew.

Abby Bennett was a vampire.

Zoe stiffened and narrowed her eyes. “You’re not here for Klaus, are you?”

Abby raised her hands, peaceful. “No. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to explain.”

Zoe’s tone sharpened. “Explain what?”

Abby hesitated. “What happened the month before your mother died.”

Zoe flinched, the words cutting deeper than expected. “That’s not funny—”

“She didn’t die of cancer, Zoe.”

The world stilled.

“You’re really not here to hurt me?” Zoe asked, one last confirmation, as if a vampire was incapable of lying.

Abby shook her head. “You deserve the truth.”

Zoe nodded once, curt. “There’s a coffee shop in town. Do you have a car?”

Zoe sipped her latte while Abby settled in across from her. A gentle snowfall blurred the windows behind them, the town quieter than usual.

“Where do I even start?” Abby murmured.

“Maybe how you became a vampire?” Zoe offered, voice low.

Abby’s smile was more of a grimace. “I have Damon Salvatore to thank.”

Zoe stiffened. “Damon…”

“I know what he is to you." Abby said quickly. "Bonnie told me.”

Zoe’s stomach knotted.

“I’m not angry at you, Zozo. I’ve sacrificed too much to keep you safe.”

Zoe frowned. “What does that mean?”

Abby looked away. “Bonnie came to me before Damon turned me. She needed help... and she had questions. About you.”

Zoe was silent. Barely breathing.

“When you were little, the Originals’ father came to town. Mikael." The vampire exhaled deeply. "He wanted to stop Klaus from breaking his curse... permanently.”

“He came for me and Elena,” Zoe said quietly. The dots were easy enough to connect.

“He didn’t know about you. Doppelgängers don’t come in twos.”

Zoe gave a sharp, humorless smile. “I live to defy expectations.”

Abby huffed out a tired laugh. “He called you unnatural. The existence of Elena was a shock enough—after the last doppelgänger died only sixty years ago. But you?” She shook her head. “He planned to kill you both.”

“So what happened?”

“Your mom and Miranda Gilbert came to me. Begged for help.”

There hadn’t been a reason for her mom to know—not about vampires, not about witches, not about any of it. She wasn’t born into a Founding Family. As far as Zoe knew, Mystic Falls hadn’t had a vampire problem in 2000. Not then. Before that, sure. But not then.

The only reason her mother had known was because of her. Because of what Zoe was. Because of what Zoe would become. Because what Zoe could be used for.

Abby's voice was soft as she continued. “They were my best friends. And you and Elena were Bonnie’s. Of course I wanted to help.”

Zoe blinked fast. “What did you do?” A sick feeling churned in her gut.

“I cast two spells. They were both big and ancient and…they required a lot of magic. Maybe too much for one witch.”

“What were they?” Zoe asked, horrified, remembering what happened to Bonnie's Grams from just one big spell.

“One to neutralize and entomb Mikael. And one to hide you and Elena from any vampire who might come looking.”

“Is that why I have the dreams? Of other doppelgängers?”

Abby looked startled. “What?”

“I dream of them. Their deaths, their lives… all of it. All the girls who look like me but aren’t.”

Abby exhaled. “Your mother told me you had violent night terrors. I thought they’d stop, truthfully, after the spell.”

Zoe needed confirmation, just in case she was understanding Abby incorrectly. “So I had them before the spell?”

Abby nodded, expression tight.

But Zoe didn’t care about that anymore. “You said my mother didn’t die of cancer.”

Abby’s jaw tensed. “The spells... I needed more power…they required channeling. My mother wouldn't help. She didn't like getting involved with vampire problems. So your mother volunteered. She said she could handle it. She—she wanted to protect you.”

Zoe froze. “She died because of me.”

“Zoe—”

“Because I was born. Because I was unnatural.”

Abby reached across the table, but Zoe had already stood.

“I’m going home,” Zoe said, voice distant.

“I’ll drive you.”

“My uncle’s working nearby.”

Abby rose too. “Let me at least walk you.”

Zoe didn’t stop her. But she didn’t wait for her either.

The moment Charlie saw her through the glass of the station’s front office, he knew something was wrong.

The way she held herself—stiff, small. The way her hands shook.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, standing abruptly.

Zoe stared at him. Then her face crumpled. A sob escaped before she could stop it, and she covered her mouth in horror.

“Hey,” Charlie said, gentler now. “Come here.”

He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her tight against his chest like he could shield her from whatever had shattered her.

A nearby deputy started to rise from his desk, but Charlie waved him off.

“Let’s go in my office, okay?” he murmured. “I’ll even let you have an extra cup of coffee if you tell me what’s going on.”

Zoe’s shoulders shook. He wasn’t sure if she was laughing or crying.

Zoe wasn’t sure either.

The door clicked shut behind them. Zoe stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed tightly, like she didn’t know what to do with herself now that she was here.

Charlie moved quietly behind his desk and pulled out the second chair, not his usual one, but the one he used when people needed to talk and they weren’t in trouble. The chair he reserved for the quiet breakdowns, not the loud ones.

“You want to sit?”

Zoe didn’t answer at first. Then, slowly, she did. She looked pale. Unmoored.

Charlie sat across from her, watching her carefully. Not pressing. Just there.

“Did something happen at home?” he asked, voice low and calm.

Zoe shook her head, then nodded. “Not… not at home.”

Charlie waited.

“I’m not hurt,” she added after a beat. “I’m not in trouble. It’s not that.”

“Okay.” He nodded once. “Then talk to me.”

Zoe’s eyes didn’t meet his. She stared at the edge of his desk like it could anchor her. “You ever find out something about someone you love... and it makes everything else feel heavier? Like the air isn’t yours anymore. Like maybe it never was.”

Charlie was quiet for a moment. Then, “Yeah. I have.”

Zoe let out a breath. “I found out something about my mom.”

Charlie’s shoulders tensed slightly at the mention of his sister. “What kind of something?”

Zoe ran a hand through her hair. “The kind of something that makes it impossible to pretend the story I’ve been told was the whole truth.”

He said nothing.

“I think she died because of me,” Zoe said softly. “Not directly. Not like I did anything. But because of what I am. Of what being my mom meant.”

Charlie’s brows furrowed. “Zo…”

“She knew things she wasn’t supposed to know,” Zoe went on, her voice too even. “She made choices that had consequences. She put herself in the line of fire. And now she’s dead.” Her voice cracked. “And it didn’t matter. She wanted me to be safe and I wasn’t. They still found me.” 

Charlie stood slowly and crossed to the corner of the office, where the coffeemaker sat. He poured two cups without asking. Brought them back.

Zoe took the mug but didn’t drink. She just held it, fingers tight around the warmth.

Charlie set aside his million questions for the moment. “Zoe, your mom loved you,” He said finally. “That’s not a guess. I knew her. She was my sister. I saw it every time she looked at you, everytime she called to tell me about what trouble you were starting. Whatever happened—whatever she did—she made that choice. That’s not on you.”

Zoe blinked hard. “She shouldn’t have had to make that choice.”

“No. But parents do. Every damn day.” He hesitated. “She did what she thought would keep you safe.”

Zoe swallowed. “And she died for it.”

Charlie leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I'm sure that's not true. But you’re still here. That matters too.”

They sat in silence for a beat. Zoe’s grip loosened on the cup.

“She used to hum in the kitchen,” Zoe said quietly, like it was a confession. “Not even real songs. Just random notes. I forgot that. Until today.”

Charlie’s throat worked around a knot. “I remember that.”

Zoe finally looked at him, eyes glassy. “I don’t want to forget her. But I don’t want to remember like this either.”

“You don’t have to,” Charlie said gently. “Not all at once.”

Zoe nodded slowly. The coffee went untouched, but the warmth helped.

Charlie stood and grabbed the blanket from the back of his chair, the one he usually used during night shifts. He draped it over Zoe’s shoulders.

“You don’t have to go home yet,” he said. “Stay here as long as you need. I’ll take a break whenever you’re ready and bring you home.”

Zoe didn’t respond. But she didn’t move either. And Charlie took that as enough.

That night, when Zoe got up to her attic bedroom, Bella was waiting for her, arms crossed. She was pacing the room like a storm cloud trapped in a too-small room.

“You just had to leave, didn’t you?” Bella hissed. “I was gone for two hours, Zoe!”

Zoe didn’t answer right away. She passed Bella and sat on her bed, pulling out the photo she usually kept in her bedside table in her hands—creased at the corners, worn soft with age. The picture Charlie had given her when she moved in. Bonnie, Elena, her. Their moms. Grams in the background. Had it been taken that day—the day Abby did the spells? Or had it been a better one? Zoe couldn’t remember. She wished she did.

She blinked down at the faces. So young. So safe. Her throat tightened.

Bella stepped closer, not angry now, just tired. “Zoe... I get it. Whatever’s going on, I do. But Charlie’s already worried enough, and now I’m in trouble because you snuck out—”

Zoe cut her off gently, her voice low. “My mom’s friend showed up.”

Bella blinked.

“She left town twelve years ago. Left her daughter. No one’s heard from her since. And she came today and told me something about my mom that I didn’t know. That I didn’t ever want to know.”

Bella’s face softened, but she didn’t speak.

“I’m sorry you’re in trouble,” Zoe said. “I am. But I made a choice, Bella.”

She held the photo tighter, her fingers brushing the image of her mother. She made a choice to leave with a vampire instead of inviting her inside. 

Her mouth curled slightly. “And you made a choice too. So did my mom. So did her friend. And now…” Zoe’s voice wavered. “Now we all have to live with the consequences.”

For a moment, the only sound was the snow ticking softly against the window. Then Zoe lay back against the pillows, the photo still clutched in her hand. She didn’t look up again. And Bella didn’t press her.

Not that night.

The scream tore from her throat before she even realized she was awake.

Zoe bolted upright in bed, gasping, her sheets twisted around her legs like vines. Her chest heaved with breath she couldn’t catch. The room was dark but pulsing—walls breathing like lungs, shadows too deep, too alive. Her bracelet was hot against her wrist, as if the stone had burned itself into her skin.

She clutched it like a lifeline, hands shaking. Not a dream.

The scent of blood and fire still lingered in her nose. The feel of the witch’s circle trapping her in place. Elena crying. Jenna’s eyes going blank.

A sob clawed its way out of her throat before she could stop it.

She was there again. She was that girl again—screaming behind her teeth, lungs crushed by the weight of fate and fire.

Charlie didn’t come this time. Not yet. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he was giving her space.

Zoe curled forward, forehead to her knees, rocking slowly like she used to when the walls felt too close. Her fingers dug into her arms.

“I’m not there,” she whispered to herself. “It’s not real. It’s not happening again. They’re safe. Elena’s safe. Jenna’s dead but—God—she was already gone—”

Edward leaned his forehead against Bella’s wall, hands braced beside the window frame. His jaw was clenched tight.

“She’s fine,” Bella said again, softly. But even she didn’t believe it this time. “This-”

“This happens,” Edward muttered, barely above a growl. “I remember, Bella. It doesn’t mean it should.”

Bella crossed her arms, her heart aching. “She doesn’t talk about it. Charlie's tried. I don’t even think she can. She just… survives. One night at a time.”

Edward didn’t respond. He just stared up at the ceiling, eyes heavy with too many thoughts. Then he murmured, “That wasn’t just fear. That was terror. Whatever she saw—whatever she remembers—it’s real.”

Bella stepped beside him. “I know.”

They stood there together, silent. Listening.

Upstairs, Zoe’s sobs finally quieted—but the silence didn’t feel like peace.

It felt like aftermath.

The snow had started again, just light flurries this time, dusting the edges of the sidewalk like powdered sugar. Bella stood outside the cafeteria doors, arms crossed tightly over her coat, watching Edward approach. His eyes were unreadable as always, but softer now, the sharp intensity dulled by thought.

“She’s not eating again,” Edward said gently, barely above the hush of the wind.

Bella sighed. “I know.”

Edward looked toward the school building behind her, where Zoe had disappeared after skipping lunch again. “And she’s not talking to you?”

“Not like she used to.” Bella paused. “It’s not just me. She’s not talking to anyone. Not even my dad. And I’m pretty sure she’s in the middle of a fight with her friends. She’s never on her phone anymore. Not like she used to be.”

Edward’s lips formed a grim line. “She feels alone.”

“She is alone,” Bella whispered, guilt tugging at every word. “And I’ve been making it worse.”

Edward shook his head. “You’ve been trying.”

“Not hard enough.”

A beat of quiet passed. Then Edward asked, “Would it help if I talked to her?”

Bella almost laughed. “That might make it worse. She already thinks you pity her.”

Edward raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”

Bella glanced up at him, her breath fogging in the cold. “No. But she thinks you do.”

Inside, Zoe sat curled up in a back corner of the library, pretending to read. Her fingers toyed with the chain of her bracelet, rubbing the smooth stone with rhythmic familiarity. She hadn’t meant to overhear, but she’d seen them through the glass—Edward’s furrowed brow, Bella’s slumped shoulders.

Her stomach clenched.

She looked down at her reflection in the table’s polished surface. Pale. Tired. Fragile in ways she hated.

They were worried. She knew that. And maybe she deserved it. But something about being talked about —about being someone’s concern—made her feel like a crack they were trying to tape over. A mess they didn’t want to hold for too long.

They were wrong though. Zoe was never alone. Not really. Not with the bond in place, letting her feel Damon’s comforting presence at the base of her spine, even when she was mad at him.

She tucked her knees up to her chest, hiding behind her book. Not Frankenstein this time. Something softer. Forgettable.

Because it was easier to be invisible than pitied.

Chapter Text

Bella lingered at the bottom of the stairs, coat half-zipped and backpack slung over one shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to come with me?” she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.

Zoe didn’t even glance up from the cereal box she was reading like it held state secrets. “I’m sure.”

“They’re just hanging out. Nothing fancy.”

Zoe stirred her spoon through the milk, letting the silence stretch before offering a flat, “You don’t have to pretend it’s about me.”

Bella flinched. “Zoe, that’s not what I—”

“It’s fine,” Zoe said, finally meeting her eyes. “You have your people. I’m not gonna crash your pity party invite.”

“That’s not—”

“Have fun, Bella.”

The door clicked shut behind her cousin a moment later. Zoe exhaled and let her spoon drop into the bowl with a soft clink.

She couldn’t go. Not today.

Not with her mother’s death unraveling inside her chest like thread from a frayed sweater.

It hadn’t been cancer.

It hadn’t been fate.

It had been magic. A spell. A price.

Zoe curled her fingers around the edge of the counter and closed her eyes. She hadn’t told Uncle Charlie the truth—not all of it. But she could tell he knew something was wrong. He hadn’t asked, hadn’t pushed. Just looked at her a little longer than usual, hugged her a little tighter, a quiet question behind his eyes. It was the kind of silence that didn’t demand answers but left the door open if she ever decided to give them.

“Hey, Zo,” Charlie’s voice broke the silence as he entered the kitchen, tucking a folder under his arm. “You’re not going out with Bella?”

Zoe shook her head, managing a faint shrug. “Not feeling it.”

Charlie pulled a beer from the fridge and sat across from her. “I get it. Some days just… don’t fit.”

They sat like that for a moment—quiet, the hum of the fridge filling the space between them.

Then Charlie leaned back. “You know… your mom used to hate snow.”

Zoe blinked. “Really?”

He smiled slightly. “Yeah. Hated how it soaked through her jeans. Said it turned her socks into frozen bricks. But she loved snow days. Any excuse to sleep in and make pancakes.”

Zoe’s lips twitched. “I don’t remember that.”

“You were really little the last time snow coincided with one of your mom’s visits. You were just a baby, chewing on her car keys, but she refused to take you outside. I had to do it for her.” He shrugged. “I remember when she told me she was going to Virginia with Wilbur. She’d just gotten engaged. Tried to act like it was no big deal, but she couldn’t stop fiddling with the zipper on her jacket..” 

Zoe lowered her gaze to her lap.

“She was stubborn, your mom,” Charlie said. “Brave too. She didn’t scare easy.”

Zoe reached up and brushed her thumb over the cool stone of her bracelet—the one Damon had given her. It felt as if it burned cold sometimes, like it knew when her emotions were trying to slip out of control.

She wanted her mom back. Even for five minutes. Just to ask why. Just to hear her say it wasn’t Zoe’s fault.

But she already knew what the answer would be.

A knock at the front door cut through her thoughts.

Charlie stood, pausing to glance back at her. “You expecting someone?”

Zoe shook her head.

He moved to the door and pulled it open. There was a beat of quiet. Zoe couldn’t see her uncle from where she sat in the kitchen. A low murmur of voices. Then:

“Zoe? You might want to come here.”

Her brow furrowed. She stood, slowly, legs stiff with tension, and padded toward the entryway.

There, standing just inside the threshold, was a man in a weathered leather jacket and dark jeans, snow melting in his hair. His expression was both weary and relieved, like he’d been holding his breath for weeks and had only just exhaled.

Zoe stared.

“Ric?”

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Hey, kid.”

Zoe didn’t realize she’d started crying until Charlie quietly stepped back to give them space.

Zoe blinked at the man on the doorstep, the air catching in her throat like a hiccup. And then she laughed—a small, watery sound that cracked mid-way. “What are you doing here?”

Seeing Ric in Forks...it was like seeing a polar bear in the Sahara. Two worlds that weren't supposed to touch, crashing together just for her in the exact moment she needed it.

Alaric Saltzman offered a sheepish shrug, hands shoved into the pockets of his worn jacket. “You’re not answering Bonnie’s calls. Or Damon’s. Or anyone’s. So I figured you wouldn’t answer mine either, and I didn’t want to give you the chance to dodge me.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Besides, you know how Damon gets when he hasn’t talked to you in a while. He mopes.”

Zoe blinked again, this time tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. “You hate when he mopes.”

“Can’t stand it,” Ric agreed with a mock grimace.

Behind them, Charlie crossed his arms, watching the interaction with subtle but unmistakable suspicion. “You’re friends with Damon Salvatore?”

Ric turned to him with a shrug so casual it was suspicious in itself. “Yeah, I guess.”

Zoe didn’t hesitate, stepping forward, her voice clearer than it had been all day. “Alaric’s more than that. He’s one of the good ones. He—he looked out for me. He always has.” She smiled faintly. “He was my history teacher. Dated Elena’s Aunt Jenna.”

Alaric winced, the expression flickering over his features like muscle memory. “She was a good woman.”

“She was family,” Zoe said softly, voice trembling.

Charlie’s gaze narrowed just slightly. “And Wilbur? You knew him?”

Alaric met his eyes with a nod. “Wilbur was a good man. Stubborn, sharp. We got along.” He gave a half-smile. “More or less.”

Zoe laughed again—another mix of too much and not enough. She reached up to brush her sleeve across her eyes.

“Well,” Charlie said after a beat, clapping his hands together like punctuation. “Sounds like you two have catching up to do.”

Zoe glanced at him, surprised. “Are you sure?”

“I think I can trust your judgment,” Charlie said, then added with dry warmth, “Plus, the driveway could use another pass. Snow’s really been piling up.”

Zoe glanced out the window. The driveway was pristine. Not a flake in sight.

Charlie pulled on his coat anyway, giving Alaric one last look that said: hurt her, and I bury you under the perfect driveway.

And then he was gone, leaving Zoe in the doorway with someone who felt a little like home.

Inside the Swan house, the tension eased slightly—at least from Zoe’s posture. She padded toward the kitchen, still in mismatched socks, and opened a cupboard without really looking. “Coffee? I think I have bourbon stashed around here somewhere too, but Charlie keeps confiscating it. I’m pretty sure there’s a bottle somewhere he hasn’t found yet.”

Alaric chuckled, following her with that easy, familiar gait. “Coffee’s fine. I’ll save the bourbon for when I don’t have to drive across the state to the closest airport.”

Zoe smirked and started the machine, silence falling between them for a moment. It was only when she handed him the mug—black, a little sugar, just how she remembered he liked it—that she finally said it.

“Abby came to see me.”

Alaric’s brows lifted. He took the mug and leaned back against the counter. “That explains why you might be mad at Damon—but not Bonnie.”

Zoe stared at the countertop. “She left because of me.”

“She left because she made a choice,” Ric said, gently but firmly. “That’s not on you, Zoe.”

Zoe’s jaw tightened. “It was the spell. To protect me. Bonnie said Abby just vanished one day, but I always wondered. And now I know. I was the reason.”

“Bonnie’s your best friend,” Ric said. “You think she’d blame you for something she would’ve begged Abby to do anyway?”

Zoe didn’t answer. She picked at the chipped edge of her nail polish instead.

Alaric let her sit in it for a beat before breaking the quiet. “So. How long are you grounded for?”

"I don't even want to know how you know I'm grounded." Zoe huffed a laugh. “Depends how long Uncle Charlie takes to figure out that I’m not gonna run away again.”

“Yikes.”

“Tell me about it.” Zoe sighed. “I get it though.” She said softly. “You didn’t see the look on his face when he came to pick me up from the Cullens’. He was more than just worried. He was terrified.” 

Alaric took another sip of his coffee, watching her carefully. “You asked me once if things would ever stop feeling like they were breaking. I didn’t have a good answer then.”

“Do you now?”

“Nope,” he said simply. “But you’re still standing. So that counts for something.”

She didn’t smile, not really, but her shoulders relaxed a little.

Zoe leaned back against the fridge. “How long are you staying?”

“Just the day,” Ric said, voice low.

Her face fell before she could stop it. “You have to go back so soon?”

Alaric gave her a sad smile. “I’d stay if I could. But Mystic Falls is still a mess. I’ve got teenagers to wrangle. Damon to babysit. Klaus to avoid. You know the drill.”

Zoe nodded, her fingers grazing the bracelet on her wrist.

“Besides,” he added, gentler now, “I think your dad would’ve wanted me to check in on you.”

Her head lifted, eyes meeting his.

“I think Wilbur would’ve been proud of the woman you’re becoming, Zoe. Even if you don’t always see it.”

Zoe’s voice was small when she finally answered. “I miss him. Both of them. Dad and Jenna.”

“I know.” Ric’s voice cracked. “Me too.”

They stood there a while longer, surrounded by quiet and snow and the scent of black coffee—just a girl and a man who knew how to lose people and still stand up the next day.

The door creaked open just after sunset, letting in the scent of pine and frost. Bella stepped inside, shaking snow from her hair, and paused—startled by what she saw.

Charlie sat in his recliner, remote in hand, eyes half-focused on an old baseball game on the screen, likely being rewatched for the tenth time. But it wasn’t the sight of her dad that gave Bella pause. It was Zoe.

Her cousin was curled up on the couch, mismatched socks tucked under her, head resting quietly on the shoulder of a man Bella didn’t recognize. The moment was startlingly domestic, intimate even in its simplicity—Zoe, who barely let anyone close, leaning against someone like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Edward stepped in behind Bella and stilled immediately, eyes narrowing slightly at the unfamiliar man.

Charlie noticed them first. “You’re late,” he said mildly, but his eyes flicked between Bella and Edward with faint warning. “This is Alaric. He’s an old friend of Zoe’s family.”

Alaric looked up and offered a polite smile, gently nudging Zoe as he stood. She blinked sleepily, rubbing at her eyes but not apologizing for her proximity. “Bella. Edward. This is Ric. Ric, my cousin Bella and her boyfriend.”

“Nice to meet you,” Alaric said with a nod. “I was just on my way out.”

“You don’t have to rush,” Charlie offered.

Ric shook his head. “Long drive ahead and my flight’s in a few hours.”

Zoe moved to walk him to the door, grabbing her jacket more out of habit than necessity.

Edward watched as they stepped outside, then followed silently to the edge of the porch, staying hidden in shadow. Snow fell soft and soundless, muffling their voices—but not to him.

Zoe stood close, her arms folded tight around herself. “You sure you don’t want to stay longer? There’s room. I’ll kick Bella out of her bed.”

Ric smiled. “Tempting. But I can’t. I’ve got a town full of hormonal idiots waiting for me to keep them from burning everything down.”

She laughed softly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Ric’s smile faded. “You know… I’ve been where you are. Maybe not exactly, but close enough. I know what it’s like to learn the people you loved weren’t who you thought they were.”

Zoe didn’t speak, just stared at the snow underfoot.

He continued gently, “But your mom wasn’t Isobel Flemming. She didn’t run from love. She didn’t lie out of selfishness. She died doing what she thought would protect you.”

Zoe blinked fast, jaw set. “I know.”

“Good,” Ric said softly. “Because I didn't know your mom but Wilbur and Jenna would hate to see you blame yourself.”

Zoe nodded slowly, still silent.

Ric touched her shoulder briefly. “You can be mad at Damon. God knows I’ve been. But don’t wait too long to call him, alright?”

Zoe gave a crooked, tired smile. “You sound like Bonnie.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. And you should call her too. She’s having a rough time.”

They stood in silence for a few seconds more before Zoe reached up and hugged him quickly, fiercely.

“Get home safe, Ric.”

“Always do.”

Edward watched as Ric got into his car and drove off. Only after the tail lights disappeared did Zoe return inside, her fingers grazing the bracelet at her wrist as she shut the door behind her.

And Edward, hidden in shadow, still didn’t understand the whole story—but he was beginning to understand just how much Zoe had lost.

Forks High School smelled like paper glue and sugar.

Red and pink streamers hung limp in the damp February air, and glitter trailed down the hallways like confetti from a sad parade. Locker doors were plastered with heart stickers and cutout doilies, and students clutched crinkled candy grams, laughing too loudly.

Zoe Clark rolled her eyes and kept walking.

Her locker stood out—not for its design, but for its lack thereof. It was one of the only ones left untouched. No ribbons. No paper hearts. No cutesy messages from admirers.

She told herself it didn’t matter.

She didn't even notice when Emmett Cullen wandered by, all broad shoulders and boyish mischief, and casually slipped something into the slats of her locker door. Not until third period, when she found it: a cheap, glittery card wedged between her notebooks. It read:

“You may be scary-smart, vaguely unhinged, and allergic to school spirit—but you’re not getting through this Hallmark holiday without at least one dumb card. Happy Valentine’s Day, from your favorite Cullen. - Emmett”

Zoe snorted and tucked the note into her backpack.

At lunch, she sat with the Cullens and Bella like she had more and more often since joining their orbit. Emmett kept a completely straight face as he dug into his apple slices, and Rosalie sipped her drink with a suspicious innocence.

“So,” Rosalie drawled eventually, eyes flicking toward Zoe. “Did you get any secret admirers, or was Emmett just being subtle again?”

Emmett blinked wide-eyed. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Right,” Zoe muttered dryly. “Subtle as a nuclear warhead.”

The corner of Rosalie’s mouth twitched. “Just remember,” she added to the table, “if any of you go full hearts-and-flowers today, I will throw you out a window.”

“Even me?” Emmett asked, mock-wounded.

Jasper snorted, knowing his brother. “Especially you.”

Edward chuckled lowly, but Zoe didn’t meet his gaze. She was staring down at her phone, where a familiar name flashed on the screen.

Damon.

Rosalie caught the flicker of tension in her jaw. “You okay?”

Zoe pressed the decline button. “Yeah. Just another telemarketer.”

Rosalie raised a perfectly sculpted brow but said nothing.

After school, Zoe finally stepped outside and answered the call that wasn’t about candy grams or fake admirers.

“Hey, Bonnie.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then, “You picked up.”

Zoe leaned against the fence, her coat pulled tight against the drizzle. “I’m sorry. About Abby. About everything.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Bonnie said gently. “You didn’t make her leave. You didn’t make her do that spell. She made her choice.”

“Still,” Zoe whispered. “She’s your mom.”

“And you’re my best friend,” Bonnie said. “That means more.”

Zoe didn’t trust herself to speak, but her hand touched her bracelet unconsciously.

They hung up after a while—quiet, no resolution, but something lighter between them.

That night, Charlie came home late from a shift at the station. The house was quiet, the kitchen light left on. On the table sat a simple, folded card—red construction paper with messy ink handwriting and no other decoration.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Uncle Charlie. Love, Zoe.

He stared at it for a long moment, then gave a quiet, tired smile. It was his first Valentine’s Day card since Renee left.

He tucked the card in the back of the bureau he used to store bills with a small smile.

Chapter Text

It was late, the sky a slate grey veiled by snowfall, and the Cullen house had settled into one of its rare still silences. Emmett had disappeared upstairs with Rosalie, who reappeared minutes later and made a show of dragging him back down. Alice had abandoned her usual perch by the window in favor of pacing the rug, her frustration manifest in every step. Jasper leaned against the wall, quiet but watching everything. Carlisle sat in his reading chair, book closed, but untouched in his hands.

Zoe Clark hadn’t been discussed in days. Which, in and of itself, had started to feel strange.

“I think she’s doing a little better,” Jasper said, voice low but clear, breaking the quiet.

Rosalie looked up sharply.

“After Valentine’s Day,” he added. “There’s still darkness in her. Still grief. But something’s shifted. Just a little. I can feel it.”

Alice stopped pacing. “Good. Because I still can’t see a damn thing.”

Emmett frowned. “Still? Even after all this time?”

Alice shook her head, her eyes flicking toward the window reflexively. “It’s worse than usual. I’ll try to get a glimpse of her future and—nothing. Like a black spot on the map. It’s unnerving. But also kind of… on brand for Zoe.” She gave a dry huff of laughter. “She thrives on being mysterious, cryptic, and aloof.”

“Maybe she just doesn’t want to be seen,” Rosalie said flatly.

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” Edward muttered from the doorway. His arms were crossed, eyes unreadable.

“Maybe not,” Alice admitted. “But whatever it is, it’s strong.”

Rosalie’s gaze sharpened. “She’s not dangerous.”

“No one said she was,” Jasper added evenly. “She’s guarded. That’s not the same thing.”

“Exactly,” Rosalie snapped. “She’s been through hell and still gets out of bed every morning. So excuse her if she doesn’t want to play twenty questions with a bunch of strangers watching her like she might combust.”

Carlisle cleared his throat, calm and neutral. “I don’t think any of us are doubting Zoe’s strength.”

Edward spoke from where he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, tone measured. “She seems to confide in you more than the rest of us.”

Carlisle didn’t meet his son’s eyes. “I doubt Zoe confides in anyone.”

That earned a flicker of surprise across a few faces.

“She’s careful,” Carlisle added after a moment. “She deflects more than she shares. But she listens. And she watches. There’s weight in what she doesn’t say.”

Rosalie let out a quiet breath, as if the words echoed something she already knew. Alice tilted her head, contemplative.

“She trusts you,” Jasper said, glancing at Carlisle.

Carlisle didn’t answer right away. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “Or maybe I’m just quiet enough not to scare her off.”

“Whatever Zoe’s hiding,” Jasper said at last, “it’s not hurting anyone. And she’s not running from it either. Not anymore.”

Alice nodded reluctantly. “She’s not slipping the way she was in January.”

There was a long, quiet pause.

“Then we keep doing what we’ve been doing,” Carlisle said softly. “We stay close. We watch. We don’t push.”

“And if she asks for help?” Alice asked.

Carlisle’s answer was simple: “Then we give it.”

Forks High buzzed with post-lunch fatigue as Zoe wound her way toward the end of the science hall, where few students lingered and even fewer talked above a whisper. Her footfalls were quiet, careful. She wasn’t avoiding class, not exactly—just stalling. Breathing. Rebalancing.

She hadn’t slept well. Again.

The dream had been vague this time. Just snow. Silence. Then a familiar voice in her head whispering something she couldn’t quite recall upon waking. Something about being ready.

Ready for what?

She rubbed her thumb along the edge of her bracelet like it was a worry stone and told herself it was just her mind playing tricks.

She didn’t notice Jasper until he was standing next to her.

“You okay?” he asked simply.

Zoe blinked. “Define okay.”

Jasper didn’t answer. He just leaned his shoulder against the wall beside her, eyes forward, not pushing.

Zoe folded her arms over her chest. “If you’re here to give me another Cullen Care Check-In, I promise I’m not going to bite anyone today.”

His lip twitched. “You’ve been off.”

She gave a dry laugh. “Off’s my default, Whitlock.”

He didn’t move. “Off-er than usual.”

Zoe exhaled slowly, the weight of the pocketknife in her jacket grounding her. No one knew about it. Not Uncle Charlie. Not Bella. Definitely not the Cullens. But ever since Bonnie’s message, she couldn’t leave the house without it.

Klaus hadn’t made a move yet—but that was the problem. Quiet was worse. Quiet meant planning.

And Tyler... Tyler was gone. Disappeared from Mystic Falls with barely a word.

“Look,” she said finally, “some days are just worse than others. You don’t have to babysit me.”

“I’m not,” Jasper said. “Just… offering a buffer.”

That made her pause. “A buffer?”

He shrugged. “Between you and everything else.”

Zoe didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t know how to accept kindness she hadn’t earned.

“Thanks,” she said, after a beat. “I guess.”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Jasper added quietly. “But just so you know… you’re not the only one who’s been walking through fire.”

Zoe tilted her head slightly, studying him. Jasper, for all his stillness, didn’t hide the shadows in his eyes. She wondered—not for the first time—what kind of fire he meant.

But she didn’t ask.

Instead, she nodded once and pushed off the wall. “Well. If I start losing it in chem class, I’m blaming you for jinxing it.”

Jasper gave a faint smile. “Deal.”

They walked back toward the classrooms without another word. Zoe didn’t look at him again, but she felt the quiet strength of him beside her like a shield she hadn’t asked for—but didn’t quite resent.

And her fingers brushed the bracelet once more, not for luck, but to remind herself she was still here.

Still standing.

For now.

Bella knew her cousin well enough by now to recognize the patterns. Zoe got like this—untouchable. When things felt out of control, she stopped answering calls, let texts go unanswered, even from the people she loved most. Bella could never quite tell if it was cause or effect—if something had triggered Zoe, or if shutting down was how she kept the world from pushing her over the edge.

Edward lay beside her, staring at the ceiling with a furrow between his brows. “She’s pacing,” he said quietly, his voice laced with concern.

Bella didn’t look up from her book. “It’s Zoe,” she replied, too quickly, the words landing more defensively than she intended. She loved Edward—truly—but when it came to Zoe, Bella’s protectiveness ran deeper than logic. And honestly, the Cullens’ collective fascination with her cousin was starting to wear thin.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Edward pressed gently. “She should be asleep.”

Bella scoffed, flipping the page she hadn’t read. “You’ve heard her scream in her sleep. Would you want to close your eyes, knowing that’s what’s waiting?”

There was a long pause. Then, quietly, “Why is your family so interested in Zoe?”

Edward exhaled and turned toward her. “Rosalie’s never had a friend,” he said, too evenly. “That makes Zoe interesting by default.”

Bella gave him a look. “You were all curious about her before Rosalie said two words to her. Is she like me? A singer?”

“No.” Edward cut her off, sharper than necessary. He ran a hand through his hair and corrected himself, softer this time. “No. She’s not. It’s… complicated. And it’s not entirely my story to tell.”

“Edward…”

“She’s not in danger,” he said firmly. “Not from us. My family would never hurt her—you can rest assured in that.”

Bella sighed and set her book aside. She turned onto her side, and without missing a beat, Edward reached over to switch off both bedside lamps with a flicker of movement, returning to her just as quickly.

The room fell into stillness, but the silence wasn’t empty.

After a moment, Edward spoke again. “Bella… you don’t understand how rare it is for our abilities not to work on someone.”

“You can’t read my mind,” Bella reminded him.

“Yes. But Alice—she sees nothing about Zoe. Nothing at all. And Jasper can only sense what Zoe feels, not influence it. That’s never happened before. Not once.”

Bella turned the thought over slowly. “If we told her—”

“No.” Edward’s voice was quiet but absolute. Carlisle made it clear. No matter how close their family get to Zoe Clark, the truth stays buried. For Carlisle’s sake, if nothing else.

Bella didn’t like it—but she let it go. It was the Cullens' secret, not her’s. And truthfully, Bella didn’t know if Zoe could handle knowing about vampires.

After a few more minutes passed, she whispered, “What’s she doing now?”

Edward closed his eyes, listening. “Texting someone,” he murmured. Then, after a beat, he smiled faintly. “She just scoffed.”

Bella smiled too, a little. “I can picture it.”

So could he. That faint eye roll, that exasperated little huff, that way Zoe had of pretending nothing touched her when it all did.

Forks General was quiet that afternoon, the kind of quiet that settled in deep and made time stretch. Charlie Swan stood at the nurse’s station, flipping through the clipboard someone had handed him—case files from an old traffic incident finally being closed out. He hated the paperwork more than anything else about his job, but at least it got him out of the station for a bit.

“Chief Swan,” a calm voice greeted him.

Charlie looked up and found Dr. Cullen standing just a few feet away, hands tucked into his white coat pockets, that ever-polite smile on his face.

“Doc,” Charlie nodded. “Didn’t expect to see you up here. Figured you were in surgery or something fancy.”

Carlisle chuckled softly. “Just finished rounds. Thought I’d stretch my legs before getting back to the chaos.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that settled easy between two men who didn’t feel the need to fill the air with noise.

“How’s Zoe?” Carlisle asked, voice light. Casual. But not really.

Charlie didn’t answer right away. He looked down at the folder in his hands, then set it on the counter. “That’s a good question,” he muttered. “Some days, I think she’s getting better. Then some days… she’s just quiet. Too quiet.”

Carlisle nodded thoughtfully. “She’s always seemed…guarded.”

“She’s always been private,” Charlie agreed. “Even as a kid. But lately, it’s more than that. She walks around like she’s trying not to take up space. Like she’s afraid if she breathes too loud, the whole world will come down around her.”

Carlisle’s gaze didn’t waver. “Is she sleeping?”

Charlie let out a breath. “Barely. You can hear her pacing all night sometimes. She’s not eating enough either, even though Bella’s trying. She just pushes food around on her plate most nights.”

Carlisle’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes softened with something that looked like understanding. “She ever talk to you about…anything? Her past, her parents?”

Charlie shook his head. “Not really." He hesitated. "We know the basics. Her dad passed a while ago. Her mom before that. She and Bella were close when they were little, but since she moved in, it’s like... she’s half-there, you know?”

Carlisle nodded again. “I imagine it’s hard for her. Being surrounded by memories that aren’t hers anymore.”

Charlie ran a hand down his face. “It’s hard for me, Doc. I lost my sister too. And now I’m trying to raise her daughter, and I’m just... hoping I’m not screwing it up.”

“You’re not,” Carlisle said gently. “Showing up matters. More than anything else.”

Charlie huffed a dry laugh. “Yeah, well. Showing up doesn’t always feel like enough.”

There was another pause, and then Carlisle tilted his head. “She’s smart. Really smart. I know that much.”

Charlie smiled faintly. “You should’ve seen my face when the school told me they wanted to move her up a grade. I damn near spit out my coffee.”

“Zoe strikes me as someone who doesn’t let people see what she doesn’t want them to.”

Charlie’s eyes flicked to him, thoughtful. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

Carlisle didn’t push further. He just nodded and placed a steady hand on the counter between them. “If there’s anything I can do…”

Charlie looked at him for a long moment. “I think she likes you. Or tolerates you, which is about as good as it gets with Zoe.”

Carlisle smiled faintly. “I’ll take that as a win.”

Charlie straightened, lifting the folder again. “Alright. I better get this back before Jenkins starts leaving passive aggressive notes on my desk again. Thanks, Doc.”

“Anytime, Charlie.”

As the sheriff turned to leave, Carlisle stood still for a long moment, staring after him—something unreadable in his expression. Then he slowly turned and disappeared down the hallway, footsteps quiet as snowfall.

Chapter Text

Dinner was a quiet affair in the Swan house. The kind of quiet that wasn’t awkward, just… tired. Bella picked at the last of her green beans, Charlie was reading the daily local paper, and Zoe sat between them, spinning her fork idly across her plate. The soft clink of metal on ceramic was the loudest sound in the room.

Outside, snow still dusted the ground, though less frequently now. The sun had stayed out for a full half-hour longer than usual. March had arrived with its soft promise of thaw—but none of them felt lighter for it.

Zoe’s phone buzzed against the kitchen table.

She didn’t move at first.

Then she glanced down. Her screen lit up: Bonnie.

Zoe’s stomach dropped. She pressed the phone to her ear and slipped quietly out of her chair, moving toward the hallway. She’d known this call was coming—maybe not from Bonnie specifically, but from someone in Mystic Falls. All day, her bond had been off-kilter, pulsing with Damon’s emotions: frustration, sorrow, need. It had been warning her, whispering that something was wrong. That he needed her.

Bonnie’s voice came through the line, soft but steady. “Zoe… you need to call Damon.”

Zoe stopped in the hallway, fingers tightening around the phone. “What happened?”

There was a long pause on the other end. Then Bonnie’s voice cracked. “It’s Ric. He died tonight… and came back.”

Zoe closed her eyes. “No.”

“He was wearing the ring,” Bonnie said quickly, “but it’s been affecting him. Making him worse. We think—no, we know—Esther did something to him. He’s in transition… but he’s not going to complete it.”

Zoe’s throat went dry. “He’s just going to… let go?”

“He’s not himself, Zoe,” Bonnie whispered. “Not completely. He’s slipping. And he knows it.”

Zoe braced a hand against the wall, breath shallow. “I’m still mad,” she said, barely audible. “About Abby. About what Damon did. But… I love him too much to let him do this alone. I need…”

Bonnie didn’t say anything—she didn’t have to.

Zoe ended the call and dialed Damon.

He picked up on the first ring, like he’d been waiting. “Zoe—”

“I know.” Her voice cracked. “I’m sorry it took me so long to call.”

Damon didn’t answer at first. And then, finally, “He’s here. I’ll put you on speaker.”

There was a quiet shuffle and then Ric’s voice, rough but familiar. “Hey, kid.”

Tears welled in Zoe’s eyes. “Ric…”

“I’m still me. For now,” he said. “But I don’t know how long that’s gonna last.”

“Don’t say that.” Her voice broke. “Don’t you dare.”

“I had to. You know I had to. It’s bad, Zoe. What I’m becoming—it’s not me. But I need you to know something.”

She wiped at her eyes, her back still pressed to the wall like it could hold her up. “What?”

“I’m proud of you. You hear me? Proud. For surviving. For staying kind, even when everything around you tries to tear that out of you.”

Zoe pressed her fist to her mouth.

“I’m sorry I can’t be there,” he said. “To say goodbye in person.”

“You were there,” she whispered. “Always. When I needed you most.”

“I love you, Zo.”

“I love you too.”

The line went quiet.

Zoe stood frozen for a beat before hanging up and walking slowly back to the table. Charlie and Bella looked up as she entered the room, their expressions shifting at the sight of her pale face and red eyes.

“Zoe?” Charlie asked, concern creeping into his voice. “Everything okay?”

Zoe opened her mouth, then closed it. Her fingers curled at her sides, and she looked at both of them, lost.

And then she just nodded.

Not because it was okay. But because she didn’t know how to say it wasn’t.

The Cullen house was as pristine and quiet as ever, nestled against the still-gray chill of early March. Zoe stood on the porch for a long time before knocking—long enough to talk herself out of it twice.

Carlisle answered the door like he’d been expecting her. Not surprised. Just… ready.

Zoe stared up at him, her expression guarded but brittle. “I’m skipping school,” she said simply. “Can I come in?”

He stepped aside. “Of course.”

The warmth inside surprised her. She always expected the house to feel colder somehow—like its owners. But it was elegant and calm, like someone had built a sanctuary out of silence.

Zoe didn’t sit until he did. She settled on the edge of one of the sleek couches in the sitting room while Carlisle folded himself neatly into a chair across from her.

“You don’t have to pretend to be calm around me,” she said after a beat. “You smile like it’s rehearsed.”

Carlisle tilted his head. “You’re very perceptive.”

“I’m very tired,” she corrected softly.

Silence stretched between them—not awkward, just careful.

“I told you once I’d listen,” Carlisle said gently. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to.”

Zoe nodded. Her fingers tightened slightly around the cuff of her sleeve. The bracelet Damon gave her was hidden beneath the fabric, but she could still feel it—could always feel it. The bond thrummed like it always did, faintly tugging at her chest. But here, with Carlisle, it softened just slightly. Blurred at the edges.

“My mom died because of me.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Carlisle’s expression didn’t change, but his posture leaned forward just enough to show he was listening, fully. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

Zoe shook her head. “I just wanted someone to know that part.”

He nodded, not pressing. “I lost someone too. A long time ago.”

Zoe looked at him.

“My wife.” He paused, voice quieter, softer, but no less certain. “It happened on my watch. And I’ve blamed myself ever since.”

Zoe didn’t ask questions. She just nodded again. “Then you get it.”

Another beat of silence. The fireplace crackled in the background, though neither of them seemed to notice.

“My friend died yesterday,” she said suddenly. “He was… he was a lot of things to a lot of people. Kind of a mess. But he looked out for my friends and me when no one else did.” Her voice cracked. “He used to be my history teacher. And he dated my friend’s aunt. She died too.”

“I’m sorry,” Carlisle said, and something in his tone—something real and raw—made Zoe’s throat ache.

“I don’t know how to tell my uncle,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “Not today.”

Zoe stared into the fire. “He would’ve liked you. Ric. You’ve got that same calm-in-the-storm thing. Overprotective. Noble. Dry sense of humor.”

Carlisle smiled faintly.

“He told me a couple of weeks ago that my dad would’ve been proud of me.” Her voice was barely a breath. “I didn’t believe him.”

“I think he was right,” Carlisle said simply.

Zoe didn’t respond. She just pulled her sleeves down a little further. He glanced at the bracelet—almost—but didn’t ask.

Instead, he let the quiet sit between them. Let her grieve without questions. And that, maybe more than anything, was what she needed.

The room was dimly lit, the soft amber glow of her desk lamp casting long shadows across the walls. Zoe was supposed to be heading downstairs for dinner—her uncle had become oddly firm about family meals lately —but she couldn’t bring herself to move just yet.

She had made a promise to herself earlier that day: put aside her anger over Damon turning Abby, just for now. Because no matter how furious she still was, she could feel through the bond how gutted Damon was. Alaric’s death—and what came after—had broken something in him.

Dinner could wait. Damon couldn’t.

Zoe sat cross-legged on her bed, the phone pressed tight to her ear. Her bracelet glinted faintly as she twirled it around her wrist, the motion absent, anxious. Her fingers tapped restlessly against the comforter.

Damon’s voice crackled through the line—sharp, fast, furious. “First of all, let me just say: I hate witches. Really, truly. If I see a bonfire and hear a chant, I’m walking the other way.”

Zoe’s lips twitched, but her tone stayed even. “Witches are back on your bad list. That’s not new.”

“Esther’s back,” he snapped. “Again. Because apparently dying once isn’t enough. She jumped into Rebekah’s body—don’t ask how. And then—surprise!—she hijacks Ric’s transition and turns him into Supernatural-Slaying-Machine-Ric 2.0.”

Zoe froze, heart stuttering. “He transitioned?” she breathed.

“Yep. Possessed Bon-Bon, made her give him her blood, did some freaky spell, and now he’s got one goal: kill every vampire. Ever. Even the maybe-sorta-okay ones like me.”

“You let him go?” Zoe’s voice sharpened.

Irritation pulsed through the bond. “I didn’t let him do anything. One minute I’m standing watch with Bonnie, the next Elena calls and suddenly he’s gone. Took her hostage, dragged her back to the high school. We had to trade Caroline and Stefan to get her back. It was a whole... thing.”

Zoe pressed her fingers to her temple. The weight of it all built like pressure behind her eyes.

“And by the way, he stabbed me. With a stake. Through the stomach.”

“You’ll heal, Damon,” she said softly. “You always do.”

“That’s not the point! My best friend stabbed me because now he’s Team ‘Kill Every Vampire.’ Klaus is pissed, Stefan’s sulking, Elena’s spiraling because no one knows who has dibs on her heart, and I—” He cut himself off, exhaling hard. “I’m losing it.”

“Okay,” Zoe said, gentler this time, grounding herself so she could ground him. “Take a breath. Is Elena safe?”

“She’s fine. Physically. But she saw it, Zo. She saw him change. One second it was Ric—our Ric—and the next, someone else was behind his eyes. Cold. Detached. Like she didn’t matter.”

Zoe closed her eyes. “Bonnie said he’d be different.”

“Oh, he’s different,” Damon said bitterly. “All those fancy hunter instincts? Turned up to eleven. And guess who he’s asking about.”

Zoe’s spine went stiff. “What?”

“Esther made him her perfect soldier. And you—doppelgänger, mysterious bloodline, all-around red flag—you’re on his list.”

Her stomach dropped. “He knows where I am. He came here three weeks ago.”

Silence. Then: “Zoe—he’ll come for you. And if you’re near Charlie or Bella…”

“He’d hurt them,” she finished for him, voice brittle.

“Yeah,” Damon said grimly. “Zoe, you can’t be alone right now.”

Zoe didn’t answer. Her throat was tight. The idea of Ric, her Ric, hunting her—it didn’t feel real. It felt cruel. Wrong.

“I didn’t want to tell you like this,” Damon added. “Not over the phone. Not when I’m half-strangled by my own fury. But you needed to know.”

“I’m glad you told me,” she said softly.

“And for the record,” Damon muttered, “I still hate that you’re up there. Flannel country. With people who can’t protect you. We’re watching Ric’s movements, but if he even breathes in your direction—”

“Do you really think you can stop him?” she whispered. “You said he’s like… an Original.”

“Maybe not. But if he comes for you, we’ll try. And you’ll run, Zoe. Don’t try to fight him. Don’t stay for anyone. Not Charlie. Not Bella. You run.”

She swallowed. “I always do.”

“That’s a lie,” Damon said quietly. “And we both know it.”

Zoe’s smile was a flicker. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

A pause.

“And Zoe?”

“Yeah?”

“If there was another way, I would’ve taken it,” Damon said. “It was Bonnie or Abby, and I wasn’t going to hurt Bonnie.”

Zoe closed her eyes, letting the weight of that sit on her chest.

“Don’t shut me out again,” he said. “Please.”

The call ended a minute later. But Zoe didn’t move.

She sat still on the bed, phone resting in her hand, the weight of it grounding her. Her bracelet was warm against her skin—a quiet hum from the bond she couldn’t shake. She stared into the dim light of her room, heart thudding, knowing full well that the life she’d found in Forks was slipping further and further out of reach.

Because Ric was gone.

Because Ric wasn’t Ric anymore.

And someone—something—was coming.

Everyone could feel it.

The shift.

The subtle but undeniable sense that Zoe Clark was unraveling again—only this time, she wasn’t quiet about it. She was electric. Twitchy. Her energy buzzed like electricity in the air around her.

At school, her hands shook when she flipped through her locker. She answered questions too quickly in class, her words sharp and clipped. In the cafeteria, she barely touched her food. Jasper watched her warily. Alice couldn’t see anything, which made her more agitated than she let on. Even Emmett stopped cracking jokes when he saw her knuckles turning white around her water bottle.

At home, it was worse. She jumped at every floorboard creak, stared too long at the windows. She kept looking over her shoulder like something—or someone—was just a few steps behind.

And then, at 1:37 a.m., Bella’s door slammed open.

Bella sat bolt upright in bed, her heart hammering. “Zoe?!”

Zoe stood in the doorway, barefoot, wearing an old hoodie and leggings. Her hair was in a messy bun and her eyes were too wide, too alert.

“I need your copy of The Great Gatsby ,” Zoe said, already striding toward the bookshelves. “I’m 95% sure you borrowed mine in like—October.”

Bella blinked. “Zoe, it’s the middle of the night.”

“I know. I need it.” She crouched near the second shelf, yanking titles out with single-minded purpose. “I swear, if I have to reread one more passage from Frankenstein, I’m going to throw myself into a lake.”

From the far corner of the room, a low voice broke the silence. “It’s under the desk.”

Zoe startled, her head whipping up toward the shadow by Bella’s window. Edward was leaning against the far wall, arms folded, somehow managing to look both casual and concerned.

Zoe’s eyes narrowed. “Jesus. You’re like a creepy screensaver. No movement until you jump scare someone.”

Edward raised an eyebrow. “Nice to see you too.”

Bella groaned and flopped back against the pillows. “He wasn’t supposed to be here all night.”

Zoe scoffed, retrieving the slim green-covered book from under Bella’s desk. “Yeah, well, Uncle Charlie would absolutely combust if he knew you were sneaking your boyfriend into your bedroom.”

Bella flushed. “And you never snuck a boy into your room?”

Zoe snorted as she flipped through the dog-eared pages. “Please. Damon had his own house with a very comfortable bed.” She shot Bella a sly, unbothered look. “Which I still had to sneak into most nights.”

Edward’s jaw tensed almost imperceptibly. Bella shot him a warning glance.

Zoe didn’t notice—or pretended not to. Her fingers slowed on the pages, and the humor drained from her face. Her bracelet glinted in the low light, and she rubbed it absently.

The silence stretched.

When she finally spoke again, her voice was low, distant. “Someone I care about... changed.”

Bella frowned. “Damon?”

Zoe didn’t answer at first. She stared at the floor, fingers curling tighter around Gatsby. Then she shook her head once, sharp and small. “No. Someone else. Someone important. I don’t know how to explain it.”

There was a long pause.

Bella sat up slowly, concern rising like a tide. “Zoe, what’s going on?”

“I’m fine,” Zoe said too quickly. “I’m just tired. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”

Her voice wasn’t convincing. Not even to herself.

Neither Bella nor Edward pushed further—but the silence turned heavy, like the air had thickened with everything Zoe wouldn’t say.

Edward’s voice was quiet, careful. “You seem… tense.”

Zoe gave a soft, hollow laugh. “That’s just my resting state these days.”

She hugged Gatsby to her chest and moved toward the door. “I’m gonna read for a bit before bed. Night.”

“Zoe,” Bella started, but her cousin was already halfway down the hall, disappearing into the dark.

The door clicked shut.

Wind brushed against the windows outside, a soft moan in the wood frame.

Edward exhaled slowly. “She’s spiraling again.”

Bella didn’t argue. She just stared at the empty doorway, the quiet echo of something broken just beneath the surface.

Chapter Text

Zoe slammed her locker shut with more force than necessary. She’d dropped her pen twice already, her bracelet was too tight on her wrist, and every sound felt like it was pressing into her spine. She tugged her sleeves down and turned—only to find Jasper Hale already standing there.

He wasn’t looming or confrontational, just there. Still. Calm. Watching her with quiet eyes that, somehow, made the noise in her head dull a little.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

Zoe blinked. The question was simple. And way too complicated.

“I’m good,” she said quickly, too quickly. “Just tired. It’s March. Isn’t everyone tired?”

Jasper gave a tiny nod, but didn’t move. “You’ve been tense.”

Zoe snorted, deflecting. “I didn’t know you paid that much attention.”

“I sit near you in History now. You tap your pen four times every time the teacher asks a question,” he said gently. “Today you didn’t bring one.”

She faltered at that. “That’s… weirdly observant.”

“I’m just used to watching for things people don’t say.”

Zoe tightened her grip on the strap of her bag. “Well, not everyone’s great at talking.”

“I know.” Jasper shifted slightly, almost as if trying to give her more space, not less. “Just—if you ever need someone to listen, I don’t mind.”

Zoe gave a short, humorless laugh. “You’re offering free therapy now?”

He smiled faintly. “Not therapy. Just company. Or, you know, silence that doesn’t ask anything of you.”

That landed heavier than she expected.

For a second, she just looked at him. Then she glanced away and rubbed at the edge of her bracelet. “Thanks,” she said, and it wasn’t sarcastic.

Jasper didn’t push. He just nodded once. “See you in class?”

“Yeah.”

As he walked ahead, Zoe lingered behind a few paces, her nerves still buzzing like a live wire under her skin. But the noise in her chest wasn’t quite as loud anymore.

And she hadn’t tapped her fingers once during that whole conversation.

Zoe had barely spoken at dinner.

She’d pushed peas around her plate like it was an art form, answered Charlie’s questions with a tight-lipped “fine,” and disappeared into the attic the second the dishes were done. Bella didn’t follow—mostly because she knew her cousin well enough by now to recognize that no amount of hovering would coax a confession out of her.

Still, it gnawed at her. Zoe wasn’t sleeping, that much was obvious. Her sarcasm had grown razor-sharp again—more weapon than humor—and she'd started carrying her bag pressed close to her side, like she didn’t trust the world not to steal from her when she wasn’t looking.

Bella sat on her bed now, trying to focus on the book in her lap, but her eyes kept darting to the door. Waiting for footsteps. Or something to break.

Instead, there was a knock at the window.

She opened it to find Edward—unreasonably gorgeous, as always, and annoyingly aware of it.

“You’re early,” she said, a little breathless, stepping aside to let him in.

He gave her a look. “You expected me to be late?”

She rolled her eyes and let the front door fall shut behind him. “Charlie’s still at the station. He got stuck on a late call.”

Edward nodded. His golden eyes flicked toward the ceiling, then back to her. “She’s not sleeping.”

It was a familiar routine, Edward coming in through the window, him checking on Zoe. She just sighed. “No. She’s not.”

They stood there in silence for a long moment, until Edward reached out and took her hand. “Come with me tomorrow.”

Bella blinked. “What?”

“Baseball,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “The storm’s rolling in. It’s the perfect night.”

She hesitated. “Edward… I can’t just leave her.”

“You’re not her babysitter, Bella.”

“She’s my cousin.”

“She’s not alone. Charlie has the day off tomorrow. And she clearly wants space.” He paused, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “She’s shutting everyone out right now. Not just you.”

Bella looked down. “That’s the problem. I know she’s spiraling again, but she won’t let me in. And I—I don’t want her to think I gave up on her.”

“You’re not giving up,” Edward said. “You’re allowed to live your life too. It’s not fair that your father expects you to monitor her like she’s going to shatter if you blink.”

“I’m not monitoring her—”

“You’re protecting her. I know. But Bella, you’ve done everything you can. You love her. She knows that. And she’s not a child.”

Bella looked back toward the stairs. The house was too quiet.

Edward’s voice softened. “You need a break. One day. It’ll be fun. You like watching Emmett show off.”

“I like watching you show off,” she muttered.

He smiled. “Then come. Please.”

Bella hesitated for a beat longer, then finally nodded. “Okay.”

Edward pulled her into a quick kiss before she could move. “You won’t regret it.”

And if it was selfish to hope that—for one day—Zoe wouldn’t fall apart.

The text came through at 4:03 PM. From Elena Gilbert.

Klaus is dead.

Zoe stared at the screen. Blinked. Read it again.

Klaus. Dead.

Her fingers curled tighter around the edge of the couch cushion, nails digging into the worn fabric. Her breath hitched, shallow and uneven. The fireplace crackled softly in the corner, but she barely registered it over the pounding in her ears.

Klaus was dead.

Which meant...

Zoe felt the nausea rise like a wave. She sat forward, elbows on her knees, the phone trembling slightly in her hand. Her thumb hovered over the screen before she finally typed, fingers suddenly clumsy.

She texted back quickly. How long do we have?

She didn’t write Damon’s name. Or Stefan’s. Or Caroline’s. Or Tyler’s.

She didn’t have to.

Because if Klaus was gone, so was the entire sire line.

And if Damon died, so did Zoe.

The bracelet on her wrist suddenly felt like it was suffocating her.

She waited. The reply didn’t come fast enough.

The floor creaked behind her and she stiffened instinctively before relaxing at the familiar sound of worn-in boots and the soft jingle of Charlie’s belt holster.

“Everything okay, kiddo?”

Zoe didn’t look up right away. Her voice was flat, a little hoarse. “Not really.”

Charlie crossed his arms, watching her. “But it might be?”

Zoe glanced up, forcing a shrug. “Yeah. Maybe.” She tried to keep her expression neutral, but she wasn’t sure she succeeded.

Charlie narrowed his eyes slightly, but didn’t push. “Where’s Bella?”

Zoe snorted, grateful for the subject change. “Out with Edward.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “That boy sure spends a lot of time with her.”

“Yeah, well,” Zoe muttered, sitting back against the couch. “At least she’s not sneaking him in through the window.”

Charlie grunted. “Small blessings.”

Zoe looked back at her phone. No reply yet.

She didn’t know how to feel. She didn’t know if she should cry or scream or laugh in exhausted relief.

Because Klaus being dead should’ve made her feel safer.

Instead, she’d never felt more afraid.

Lightning flashed across the sky as Bella stepped onto the edge of the clearing, her boots sinking slightly into the wet earth. She tightened her hold on Edward’s hand, still unsure how she had agreed to come. The air buzzed with electricity—natural and otherwise. The storm rolled in thick waves overhead, its rumble perfectly timed for the game the Cullens had promised would only work “with thunder.”

Edward’s family was already in motion.

Alice was a blur, twirling once in the misty rain before darting into position. Carlisle—stoic and sharp—moved with an ease that didn’t match his doctor’s exterior. Emmett cracked his knuckles with a grin, stomping once like he was trying to shake off static.

And Rosalie stood back near the tree line, arms crossed, her golden hair damp from the mist. She hadn’t spoken much since Bella arrived.

Bella glanced around. No sign of Zoe. Not that she expected her cousin to be invited. Not here. Not to this.

“She's not coming,” Edward said softly, reading her expression. “She doesn’t know what we are. We can’t risk it.”

“I wasn’t expecting her,” Bella replied, though a part of her wished she could share this secret. Zoe would’ve had a snarky comment about Emmett’s warmup stretches or Alice's outfit.

“She’s been off again,” Jasper said suddenly from the side, voice low but clearly meant for the others. He was standing in the outfield, but his gaze cut toward the group like he’d felt something shift. “Tighter. Paranoid. Whatever happened a few days ago—it's still gnawing at her.”

Rosalie didn’t move, but her voice was cool and clear. “She’s scared. But pretending she’s not. And no one’s calling her out for it.”

Emmett tilted his head, half-listening, half-shaking out his arms. “That’s kind of her thing, right? Going quiet when stuff gets bad. Acting like she’s just fine.”

“She’s not fine,” Rosalie said, finally turning to look at him. “She’s unraveling again.”

Edward’s jaw tensed. “There’s only so much we can do without telling her.”

Jasper nodded once. “She’s not sleeping again. I felt it this morning. Exhaustion. And guilt.”

Edward exchanged a knowing look with Bella.

“You think it’s about her mom again?” Emmett asked, voice softer now.

“Maybe,” Jasper replied. “Or something new.”

Rosalie’s gaze moved back toward the trees, away from the others. “She’s been carrying a knife again.”

That stilled the conversation.

Thunder rolled overhead, masking the silence that followed.

“I hate this,” Emmett muttered. “Not knowing what’s wrong. Not being able to help.”

“She’s not just some fragile human,” Rosalie said, but her voice held no edge—only worry. “But she’s still one of us. Whether she knows it or not.”

Bella frowned, not understanding what Rosalie meant. Her cousin was fragile and very human. Why would she be one of the Cullens? And why wouldn’t she know?

Edward looked toward the storm with narrowed eyes. “The moment this becomes something we can’t ignore, we won’t. Agreed?”

Jasper gave a sharp nod. Rosalie didn’t reply, but her silence was confirmation enough.

From across the field, Alice called cheerfully, “Batter up!”

The Cullen siblings broke away—some running, some vanishing in a blur. But Rosalie lingered a beat longer, eyes still fixed on the woods behind them, as if watching for someone who’d never come.

Zoe lay sprawled on her stomach, twirling a pen in one hand as rain flickered against the window. The storm was picking up—Forks loved a dramatic backdrop, and tonight, it delivered.

Her phone buzzed once, and for the first time in days, she didn’t flinch.

Damon.

She stared at the name for a beat, then tapped answer and rolled onto her back.

“Hey stranger,” Zoe said quietly, the words light in tone but heavy at the edges—like she was holding herself together with frayed thread. “How’s the whole impending death treating you?”

On the other end, Damon snorted. “I’m flattered. You open with sass, not sobs. I was worried you’d gone soft.”

Zoe exhaled a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “I’m emotionally versatile,” she said, though her voice cracked slightly. “Now spill. Klaus is dead? You’re alive? Or do I need to start a funeral Pinterest board, or...?”

Damon hesitated, then said, “False alarm, apparently. Bonnie did some witchy hocus-pocus. Klaus is still technically alive—he’s just wearing Tyler Lockwood like a badly fitted jacket.”

Zoe froze. “Klaus is in Tyler’s body?”

“Yeah,” Damon muttered. “Don’t ask me how. Something about transferring essence—Bonnie was not in a sharing mood when I pressed her for the fine print.”

Zoe’s hand tightened around the phone. “And Tyler?”

A pause.

“I don’t know,” Damon admitted. “But Bonnie wouldn’t have done it if it meant killing him. She wouldn’t have. Not knowingly.”

Zoe sat back against the headboard, heart heavy. “So he’s just… trapped. Somewhere. Inside.”

“Probably.”

“And if Klaus had really died…” Her voice thinned out, distant. “If he had really died, you would’ve…”

“Yeah,” Damon said softly. “Me. Stefan. Caroline. All of us.”

She closed her eyes. “And me.”

There was silence on the line.

“Zoe—”

“You know the bond isn’t just emotional, Damon,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “If you go, I go. We both know that.”

Damon’s voice was quieter now. “I didn’t forget.”

“I almost wish you had,” she murmured. “Would’ve made it easier to pretend this wasn’t real.”

Zoe ended the call, her fingers lingering on the phone screen for a beat longer than necessary. The silence that followed was hollow and sharp. She stayed perfectly still, as if even breathing too hard might shatter the fragile calm clinging to her.

The doorbell rang.

Zoe blinked.

She heard the creak of Charlie’s recliner as he stood, the familiar tread of his boots moving toward the front hall. “Zoe?” he called casually. “Someone’s here for you.”

Her stomach dropped.

She rose slowly, walking toward the door like someone approaching a ledge. The second she stepped into the entryway, she saw him.

Alaric.

Or what used to be Alaric.

He looked the same. Same coat, same rough stubble, same tired eyes. But there was something behind his gaze now—something wrong. Too still. Too cold. Her breath hitched.

Charlie looked between them, relaxed and unsuspecting, while Zoe’s heart thundered against her ribs.

“Hey there,” he greeted casually. “Been a while.

Zoe’s heart pounded. 

Alaric smiled. “Yeah, figured I’d check in.” He turned to Zoe and called her something he’d never called her before. “Hey, Zozo.”

Charlie turned toward the door. “Come-”

“Hey, Charlie,” Zoe said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “I can talk to him outside.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

She forced a shaky smile. “Yeah. I’ll just talk to him outside. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Charlie hesitated, clearly uncertain, but nodded. “Alright. I’ll be in the kitchen. Don’t freeze out there,” he joked.

The second the door closed behind her, Zoe backed down the steps, keeping her eyes locked on him. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Alaric followed, his movements unhurried. “That’s funny. I was about to say the same thing.”

Zoe swallowed hard, the bond with Damon thrumming inside her—warning her. This wasn’t Ric. Not really. Not anymore.

“You’re not Ric,” she whispered.

He tilted his head. “I am. Just… upgraded.” He stepped closer. “Better. Clearer. I see it all now, Zoe. I see what needs to be done.”

She took a shaky step back. “Why are you here?”

“Because I care about you, Zoe. I really do. Which is why this is hard.”

He moved too fast. The blade was in his hand before she could react.

She tried to run, but he caught her by the wrist and twisted.

The knife slid into her stomach—quick and clean, with the same grim efficiency she’d once seen him use to stake vampires.

Her cry was strangled, sharp.

He eased her to the porch steps like a child putting down a toy. Alaric crouched beside her, eyes filled with something almost tender. But it was the wrong kind of soft—eerily calm, haunting in its finality.

“I couldn’t let Klaus find you,” he murmured, brushing a curl from her forehead. “You’re too dangerous, Zoe. You always were.”

Zoe coughed, blood tinting her lips.

”He can’t get his hands on a doppelgänger like you. You’re an anomaly, Zoe. And anomalies… they don’t survive in nature.”

She choked out a breath, pain burning through her.

“I really am sorry,” he said. “But someone has to clean up the mess the Originals made.”

He stood and vanished into the shadows before the door could open again.

And inside, Charlie hummed softly to himself, reheating leftovers—unaware that his niece was bleeding on the front steps.

The storm rolled overhead, a low rumble reverberating across the forest clearing. Lightning flickered across the sky like a fuse slowly burning. Alice went still mid-motion, eyes unfocused, a rigid statue carved in tension.

Carlisle was at her side in an instant, Jasper right next to them.

“What do you see?” he asked, voice calm but clipped at the edges.

Her mouth moved before her eyes caught up. “Three of them. Strangers. Coming fast.”

Rosalie stepped closer, brows narrowing. “Nomads?”

Alice gave the faintest nod. “They heard us.”

It didn’t take long for the family to fall into instinctual formation. Emmett shifted his stance. Jasper slid closer to Bella. Edward was already in front of her, jaw tight.

Carlisle turned toward the dark horizon, the scent of ozone and sap mingling with something sharper. Foreign. The tang of unfamiliar vampires, carried on the wind.

He knew this feeling. The seconds before a predator stepped into the clearing. The quiet before the collision.

His body remembered before his mind allowed it.

A different clearing. Another storm. The scent of blood in the snow.

He’d stood just like this—shoulders squared, head high, calm on the surface as chaos cracked beneath his ribs. And she’d stood beside him.

Zoe Cullen.

No, his Zoe.

The red-eyed monsters had come for her, not knowing who she was to him. Or perhaps knowing exactly.

He remembered the way her coat had twisted in the wind. How she hadn’t screamed when they tore her from him. How her eyes had stayed locked on his even when her body was wrenched away.

He remembered the moment her scream finally came. How she’d told him to run. And the silence that followed.

The wind shifted, and Carlisle snapped back to the present like surfacing from a frozen lake. The ghost of her voice clung to the back of his throat.

This wasn’t 1938. This wasn’t that nightmare.

But the fear was the same.

He looked to Bella—small, human, trembling slightly in her borrowed cap and jacket. She was pressing herself closer to Edward now, instinctively curling in as the others braced around her like a fortress.

Carlisle exhaled slowly and stepped forward, into the open.

“Let’s not escalate this,” he said evenly, as the approaching footsteps grew closer, faster.

A flash of movement on the tree line. Then another.

Three figures stepped into the clearing—Victoria’s feline poise, James’ shark-smile, and Laurent’s weary distance.

A storm overhead. Tension crackling below. And still, in the back of Carlisle’s mind, a single, haunting echo: I’ve lived this before.

But he pushed it down. He was no use to anyone if he let the past bleed into the now.

Still, somewhere in his chest, a whisper of warning stirred. Something else was wrong tonight. He couldn’t name it yet. Couldn’t see it. But he felt it, like a ripple on the surface of a still lake, just before something broke through from below.

He just didn’t know that back in Forks, someone else he cared about was already bleeding.

Chapter Text

The air shifted first.

Carlisle stepped forward instinctively, his body settling into calm, calculated stillness. Behind him, Edward growled low—possessive, wary. Emmett tensed beside him, Rosalie flanking Bella like a silent sentinel. Alice and Jasper had already spread wide, triangulating their positions.

Then they emerged—three strangers with blood-red eyes and the casual arrogance of predators who hadn’t faced a real threat in decades.

Laurent walked at the center, regal and at ease, a faint smile curling his lips. Victoria trailed to the left, flame-red hair wild around her face, her movements too fluid, too watchful. And James… James didn’t walk so much as stalk. Every inch of him buzzed with the anticipation of a hunt.

Carlisle met them with a diplomat’s grace, even as his mind reeled.

“Hello,” Carlisle said evenly, shoving the memory back into its box. His voice was calm, practiced. “I’m Carlisle Cullen. This is my family.”

Laurent gave a shallow bow of his head. “I’m Laurent. This is Victoria, and James.”

He didn’t offer a coven name. That alone told Carlisle everything he needed to know.

“You were playing a game?” Laurent gestured to the broken field. “Baseball?”

“We enjoy the sport during storms,” Carlisle said lightly. “It allows us to be… louder.”

Victoria smiled. It was a thin, terrible thing. “We heard it from miles away.”

Carlisle watched the three nomads with ice in his veins.

James’ eyes flicked to Bella. “She’s human,” He said, more to himself than anyone else. “Interesting.”

“No.” Edward’s voice was a snarl.

Carlisle lifted a hand slightly. A warning

Carlisle took a deliberate step to the side, subtly repositioning himself to block James’s direct line of sight. “She’s with us,” he said evenly. “We don’t want trouble.”

James tilted his head, the smirk not fading. “And yet here we are.”

Carlisle’s mind was working furiously. Laurent was still watching him—not with the same predatory focus, but with curiosity, calculation. There might be a diplomatic angle still. But James… James was already circling the edges of bloodlust.

“Let’s not do this here,” Carlisle said, voice still composed. “We can talk. You’re welcome to hunt the area—we’ll clear out for a few days.”

Victoria moved closer to James without a word. Her eyes hadn’t left Bella once.

Laurent finally stepped forward, raising a hand of his own. “I apologize,” he said smoothly. “We didn’t realize your territory was so… occupied.”

Carlisle inclined his head. “It’s not often. We usually hunt elsewhere.”

James chuckled darkly. “You don’t drink human blood.”

Carlisle didn’t flinch. “No.”

James smiled again. “Pity.”

It was clear now. There was no calming him. Not completely. His interest was piqued—and Bella was the reason. Carlisle could feel it in every breath James took, every angle of his stance. This wasn’t hunger. It was obsession.

Laurent seemed to sense it too. He stepped slightly in front of James. “We didn’t mean to intrude,” he said, tone firmer now. “Perhaps we should go.”

“No,” James said, eyes still on Bella. “I think I’ll stay.”

Carlisle’s voice hardened. “You can’t.”

The clearing went still. Even the trees seemed to hush.

James’ smile faded, just slightly. His eyes flicked to Carlisle, reading him again.

Charlie Swan glanced at the clock, his beer still half-full and the game on mute. Zoe had been out on the porch longer than a quick discussion warranted. A chill crawled down his spine—something primal, fatherly. Wrong.

He stood and crossed the living room toward the front door, boots thudding dully on the floorboards. When he opened it, the breath left his lungs.

Zoe was crumpled on the steps like a broken doll.

For one horrifying moment, Charlie couldn’t move. She was on her side, lips tinged red, blood soaking through her clothes and pooling beneath her. Too much blood. Far too much. His knees hit the porch before he realized he’d moved.

“Zoe—” His voice cracked. He reached for her, hands trembling. Her skin was cold and clammy, her face slack. The kind of stillness that stopped a man’s heart.

Charlie thought she was dead.

God, had she always been this small?

He nearly broke then, nearly buckled under it—until he saw the faintest rise in her chest. Shallow, struggling, but there.

Alive.

“Hang on, kid,” he breathed, already gathering her up. She was light in his arms, too light, and limp as he pulled her against his chest. Her blood soaked into his flannel shirt, still warm.

Alaric. It had to be Alaric. 

The man had shown up out of nowhere, calm and casual, and Zoe had gone willingly. They’d seemed close. Friendly. She’d been so happy to see him when he showed up a couple weeks back. 

But Charlie was a cop, and cops followed facts—even when they pointed to things they didn’t want to believe.

But those questions could wait.

He carried her to the patrol car, gently but urgently, his hand pressing against the wound in her side as if pressure alone could keep her alive. Gravel crunched beneath his tires as he peeled out of the driveway and toward the hospital, one hand on the wheel, the other still cradling Zoe’s bloodied body.

When he burst through the emergency room doors, shouting for help, the world seemed to blur.

“She’s been stabbed—my niece, she’s—she’s losing blood, she—”

Nurses swarmed. A gurney appeared. Hands reached for her.

“Stay with me, kid,” Charlie said hoarsely as they wheeled her away. Her fingers didn’t twitch. Her head lolled to the side.

A nurse gently pushed him back, promising they'd take it from here. And suddenly, she was gone down the hall, swallowed up by swinging double doors.

Charlie stood frozen, blinking under the harsh fluorescent lights. He looked down.

His hands were shaking. His shirt, his arms—soaked in red.

Zoe’s blood.

And for the first time in years, Charlie Swan was terrified in a way that went beyond being a cop. He was terrified in the way only family could be.

The ride back to Forks was supposed to be fast. Edward made sure of that—his hands tight on the wheel, his jaw locked in silence. Bella didn’t ask questions; she didn’t need to. The adrenaline from the encounter with James hadn’t worn off, but now the tension in the car had shifted into something colder. Sharper.

As they pulled into the driveway, Edward’s head snapped toward the porch. His eyes narrowed.

“What is it?” Bella asked, already leaning forward.

Edward’s nostrils flared. “Blood.”

Her heart dropped. “Mine?”

“No. It’s…” He hesitated. “It’s Zoe’s.”

Before she could respond, Edward was out of the car. “Stay here.”

“Like hell,” Bella muttered, throwing open the door and sprinting after him.

Edward was already at the base of the steps, crouched low. His hand hovered over the wood near the porch—stained a dark, sticky red. Still wet. 

Bella’s stomach turned. “That’s—”

“An hour old, at least,” Edward said quietly. He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were fixed on the trail that led to the door—half-wiped footprints, a faint smear against the frame. “It’s not dry. But there was… a lot.”

Bella’s voice cracked. “Was it James?”

Edward shook his head. “No. It doesn’t smell like him. Too clean. Not fresh enough. He was with us the entire time. He wouldn’t have had time to make it here.” His tone was clipped, distracted. “But something happened here.”

Bella didn’t wait. She bolted for the door, flinging it open.

“Zoe?” she called. “Charlie?”

The house was eerily silent.

Bella darted through the rooms—living room, kitchen, upstairs to Zoe’s attic bedroom. Nothing. No blood. No signs of a struggle. No messy footprints or broken glass.

Just… emptiness.

She returned to the living room to find Edward still frozen near the front door.

“Charlie’s patrol car is gone,” he said.

Bella wrapped her arms around herself. “She wasn’t supposed to go anywhere.”

Edward’s jaw clenched. “And she definitely wasn’t supposed to bleed that much.”

Bella sank onto the couch. Her hands trembled as she looked at the empty space where her cousin should’ve been. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know yet,” Edward said, voice low. “But something’s changed. James can wait—this just became more complicated.”

Outside, the wind howled. Inside, the unanswered questions multiplied.

And the blood dried quietly on the porch, marking the place where everything shifted.

Charlie Swan sat hunched forward in a plastic chair that squeaked every time he moved, but he couldn't stop shifting. The sleeves of his flannel shirt were soaked in blood — Zoe’s blood — and he hadn’t even noticed until a nurse offered him a blanket, thinking he was cold.

He hadn’t said much since the doctors rushed Zoe into a room. She'd been stabbed — right in front of his house.

Right on his porch.

God, what if Bella had been home?

What kind of person attacks a teenage girl on a quiet street in Forks? Who even does that ?

His fingers rubbed absently at the dried streaks on his palms. He didn’t even remember getting her into the cruiser — just the gurgling sound she made when she tried to breathe, and how he couldn’t stop watching her chest, making sure it kept moving.

His phone buzzed violently in his pocket, a sharp vibration that startled him out of his fog.

Bella.

He answered immediately.

“Bells.”

“Dad!” Her voice was frantic, hushed. “What happened? I just got your message—Is she okay? Are you okay? What—what’s going on?”

Charlie exhaled, trying to steady himself. “She’s in surgery now. Or something close to it. They’re being vague.” He rubbed his temple. “She was stabbed. In front of the house.”

A pause. He could hear her breathing speed up on the other end of the line.

“Stabbed?” she echoed. “Who—how? Did they catch them?”

“No.” His jaw clenched. “I didn’t see it happen. I just found her out there.” He paused, something bitter rising in his throat.“Didn’t hear a damn thing. One second it was quiet, next she was on the ground, bleeding.”

He stopped. Couldn’t finish.

“Are you at the hospital now?” Bella asked, her voice suddenly tighter. Controlled.

“Of course I am. Where else would I be?” Charlie said, then added, “You should come.”

Another pause. A heavy one this time.

“I—I can’t,” she said.

“What?” His voice rose. “Why the hell not?”

“I just… can’t, Dad. I’m not at home anymore. I had to leave.”

“What does that even mean? You left? Bella, your cousin is in the hospital with a knife wound to her gut, and you’re—what? On a road trip?”

“I’m not on a trip,” she snapped, but immediately regretted the sharpness. “It’s complicated. I promise I’ll explain soon, I just—”

“You’re not making any sense,” Charlie cut in. “You were supposed to stay close. And Zoe—she needs you, Bells. Right now.”

“I know,” Bella whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Charlie felt the silence like a slap. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to completely lose it.

“I know this is a lot,” he said, voice fraying. “But after what happened to Wilbur, you’d think we’d be more careful.”

Bella said nothing.

Charlie looked down at his hands again. “They never found who did it, you know. Heart cut out of his chest. Who the hell does that to a man in his own home?”

Still nothing.

He sighed, long and heavy. “Look, if you’re in trouble… you need to tell me. I’m still your dad.”

“I know.”

“You need to come back.”

“I can’t.”

“Then pray she makes it. Because that girl didn’t deserve this. And she sure as hell didn’t deserve to be left alone.”

There was a click, soft and final, and then just static.

Charlie put the phone down in his lap and stared at the corridor, willing a doctor to come around the corner and say something — anything.

For the first time in years, he felt utterly helpless.

And somewhere deep in his gut, something told him this wasn’t over. Not even close.

The ride was suffocatingly quiet.

Edward’s hands gripped the steering wheel with surgical precision as the trees blurred past them, shadows slipping over the windshield like ghosts. His jaw was clenched so tightly Bella thought it might crack.

Bella sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms folded, heart hammering for reasons that had nothing to do with James anymore.

She could still see the blood.

Zoe’s blood. On the porch. Maybe on the steps. She couldn’t remember exactly but, in her head, it was everywhere.

And Charlie… alone, with that kind of mess. Because of her.

“I shouldn’t be leaving,” she said suddenly, the words bursting out of her like shrapnel. “Charlie’s right. I should be at the hospital.”

Edward didn’t look at her. His eyes stayed locked on the road.

“You can’t be there,” he said flatly.

“She’s my family, Edward.”

“And you’re mine,” he snapped, louder than he meant to. His voice dropped again. “You think I don’t care about Zoe? You think I’d let you leave if I had a choice?”

Bella shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek.

“She was bleeding out. Right in front of the house,” she whispered. “And now I’m just—what? Running away?”

“You’re staying alive.”

They pulled up to the Cullen house. The porch light was already on, glowing like a beacon against the looming trees.

Alice was at the door before they even parked, her expression stormy. “What’s happening? James doubled back toward town—Jasper’s on him, but he’s picking up something weird.”

Emmett followed her out, brow furrowed. “What do you mean weird?”

Edward didn’t answer. He was already out of the car, opening Bella’s door.

Bella stepped out but turned on him. “Tell them,” she said. “They deserve to know.”

Alice tilted her head. “Tell us what?”

Bella’s hands curled into fists.

“Zoe was attacked,” she said, too loudly. “That’s what happened. Someone stabbed her. Outside the house.”

A beat of silence dropped like a weight.

Rosalie’s eyes widened. “What? ”

“She’s in the hospital,” Bella added, voice breaking. “And I just left. I left Charlie to deal with it alone.”

Emmett’s face went hard. Carlisle appeared behind them, his tone measured but sharp. “Who did it?”

Edward spoke carefully. “We don’t know yet.”

“No scent?” Jasper asked from the shadows near the porch.

Edward didn’t respond.

Bella could see the thoughts spinning behind their eyes — the fear that this wasn’t an isolated event. That it wasn’t just about her anymore.

Alice took a small step back, her voice barely above a whisper. “But… Zoe’s just a kid.”

“She’s a target, ” Edward said grimly. “Or she got caught in the crossfire.”

“No,” Bella said immediately, her breath catching. “No, this wasn’t random. Whoever did this meant to hurt her.”

Alice’s jaw tensed. “Still nothing,” she said quietly. “It’s like her timeline won’t stay still long enough to be seen.” She glanced at Edward. “And now someone’s targeting her?”

A pause. “That’s not a coincidence.”

Carlisle looked to Edward. “James?”

Edward shook his head. “No. He’s still focused on Bella. This… this feels different.”

More silence.

Bella could feel it now — the shift. The realization creeping through the family that this wasn’t just a game of vampire tag. Someone had drawn blood close to home .

Carlisle’s voice was calm but firm. “Then we don’t leave Zoe unprotected. I’ll go to the hospital.”

Edward turned sharply. “You’ll expose—”

“I’ll be careful,” Carlisle cut in. “But she’s alone, and I won’t risk it.”

Edward said nothing.

Bella swallowed hard. “I thought Forks would be safe for her.”

Carlisle’s gaze darkened. “So did we.”

Nobody disagreed.

Chapter Text

Carlisle moved through the hospital with purpose, his coat still damp from the forest air and his steps quiet as shadow. The nurses didn’t question him. They never did. Whether he was on call or not, he belonged here.

He spotted Charlie Swan slouched in one of the waiting room chairs near the ER doors — his flannel shirt wrinkled, his knuckles stained a deep brown-red where the blood had dried.

Carlisle approached slowly, offering a soft nod.

“Charlie.”

Charlie looked up, startled but clearly exhausted. “Carlisle. What—what are you doing here?”

Carlisle gave him a small, apologetic smile. “Bella called me. She was worried about Zoe. Asked me to check in.” A lie — gentle and necessary. But it stung as it left his mouth.

Charlie ran a hand over his face. “She’s stable. For now. They think the knife nicked her lung, maybe more. I’m still waiting for a surgeon to give it to me straight.”

Carlisle nodded solemnly. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed slightly. “First Wilbur. Now her,” Charlie said quietly. “You don’t stab a girl like that unless you’re sending a message.”

Carlisle paused. “I don’t know. But I promise you — I’ll find out what’s going on.”

Charlie swallowed, his voice gravel-rough. “She was just a kid, Carlisle. Just a kid.”

Carlisle reached out and rested a steady hand on his shoulder. “And we’re going to make sure she’s safe now.”

Charlie didn’t thank him. Just looked away.

Carlisle turned and slipped through the corridor, his heart thudding in a slow, unnatural rhythm. The smell of antiseptic and blood didn’t bother him. The scent of Zoe’s blood — tangled and strange and heartbreakingly familiar — did.

He found her in a curtained room near the end of the hall. Machines whispered. Her skin was pale. A tube snaked into her arm. Her breath was slow but steady. The hissing of the oxygen tank was faint but steady. He could hear it — the artificial rhythm compensating for the one her body had nearly lost.

A lung puncture. It explained the pink froth he’d smelled in her blood. A breath stolen, not just broken.

And her face—

His throat closed.

Not again.

She was different, yes — softer jaw, darker eyes, newer scars. But the lines of her were still burned into his memory. From decades ago. From another lifetime.

Zoe Cullen. His wife. Dead and buried.

And now… this girl. Zoe Clark.

Still her. And not.

Carlisle sat beside her quietly. He didn’t speak. Didn’t touch her.

He simply watched her breathe, the way he'd watched Zoe Cullen breathe when she was dying in a sunlit clearing in Canada, less than a century ago.

He had failed her then.

He would not fail this one.

The bourbon burned less than it should’ve. Damon tossed back another mouthful and let the glass dangle loosely from his fingers as he paced the living room floor, phone buzzing uselessly in his other hand.

Voicemail. Again.

“Come on, Zo,” he muttered. “Pick up. Just once.”

He tapped the screen. Redialed. Nothing.

She hadn’t answered in hours. And he felt it — that moment — like someone had yanked his spine through his ribs. The bond didn’t give him clarity, just shock . Pain. And silence, like the line between them had gone underwater.

Typical, he told himself. She’s probably fine. Stubborn, bleeding on a gurney somewhere, ignoring his calls on principle.

But his hand was shaking anyway.

The house creaked. No footsteps, just the old wood settling — or pretending to. He felt it a split second before he heard it.

The air changed.

“You’re pacing,” said a familiar voice behind him. “That’s new. Worried about your pet doppelgänger?”

Damon turned slowly, jaw tightening. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Alaric Saltzman stepped out from the shadows near the doorway, eyes glinting, posture relaxed — too relaxed.

“I was in the neighborhood,” Alaric said casually, leaning against the doorframe. “Thought I’d pay my respects. Especially since I got to her first.”

Damon’s breath stopped for half a beat.

“What did you just say?”

Alaric smirked. “She didn’t scream, if that makes you feel better. At least not for long.”

The glass shattered before it hit the wall. Damon was across the room in less than a second, fist slamming into Alaric’s jaw with enough force to send him back against the bookcase.

“You don’t get to talk about her,” Damon growled. “Not now. Not like that .”

Alaric laughed, lips split, blood trailing down his chin. “Oh, Damon. You’re so predictable.”

They collided again — fists, elbows, rage. Damon fought dirty, fast, with no care for style. Alaric fought like a man who wasn't really a man anymore — stronger than he should’ve been. But slower now.

Something had changed.

Damon had him pinned against the floor, ready for another hit — when Alaric suddenly gasped.

And then he slumped.

Just like that.

“Ric?” Damon asked, blinking. 

No answer.

Alaric’s eyes rolled back, his body jerking once like he’d been hit with defibrillator pads. Then nothing.

“Ric! ”

Damon shook him — harder. There was no heartbeat. Not even a shallow breath.

And then… a flicker. Damon’s own chest twisted, the bond inside him flaring again — grief, and something worse than grief. Loss. The tether rippled like someone had snipped a thread just out of sight.

He looked down at Alaric’s face.

Still.

Too still.

Bonnie. Elena. The Gilbert ring. He didn’t know what spell had failed or which life had run out — only that something just ended.

And he still didn’t know if Zoe was alive.

Damon stood slowly, jaw set, fists clenched.

“You son of a bitch,” he whispered. “If she dies because of you…”

But he couldn’t finish the sentence. Because he wasn’t sure if it was already too late.

The second hand on the wall clock ticked with a lazy rhythm that mocked every beat of Charlie Swan’s heart.

He’d been staring at the same square of pale green tile for nearly ten minutes. The coffee in his hand was still cold. It had been cold for a while now — he just kept holding it, like the warmth might come back.

But this time, at least, he wasn’t alone in the dark.

Carlisle had gone to check on Zoe. Said he’d find answers. Said he’d be quick.

Charlie wasn’t sure how long it had been. Long enough to imagine too much.

Then — motion. Carlisle appeared at the end of the hallway, his white coat catching the fluorescent light, steps fast but measured.

Charlie stood, relief creeping in before reason could catch up.

And then Carlisle stopped. Turned on a dime. Ran back into Zoe’s room.

The door slammed open.

A second later, alarms.

Not the soft kind. Not the kind you learn to ignore after years on the force.

Flat. Piercing. Final.

Charlie’s chest went hollow.

A nurse sprinted past him. Then another. A third wheeled a crash cart toward the room, muttering something clipped and urgent into a radio.

Charlie didn’t even realize he was moving until he was at the door.

He saw her.

Zoe. Still. Small. Colorless.

The monitor showed a straight line. The tone was unbroken.

Carlisle was already moving — snapping out instructions with terrifying calm. He injected something into her IV, fast. Epinephrine. Then reached for the paddles, rubbing them together, calling out a charge.

“Clear.”

Zoe’s body jolted, but the line stayed flat.

Charlie tried to step forward.

A nurse blocked him with both hands. “You can’t be in here.”

“She’s my—”

“I know,” she said gently. “Please, Chief. You don’t want to see this.”

Carlisle didn’t look up.

Another shock.

Still nothing.

Charlie let the nurse push him back. The door closed in front of him.

He made it three steps down the hall before the world tilted sideways.

He barely made it to the trash can.

The coffee and bile came up together. He braced one hand against the wall, shaking, gasping, ears still full of that unbroken tone.

Zoe was dying.

And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do.

The room smelled like bleach and worn carpet. The AC clicked every few seconds like it couldn’t make up its mind. Bella lay rigid on the bed, her eyes locked on the cracked ceiling tile like it was going to give her answers.

Alice sat by the window, motionless. Jasper stood with his back to the door, shoulders tense, like he was waiting for something to burst through.

Bella’s phone sat silent beside her.

No messages.

No calls.

Carlisle hadn’t updated her. Charlie hadn’t called. And Zoe hadn’t answered a single one of her texts.

She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly through her nose.

Zoe’s fine. That’s what she kept telling herself. Carlisle’s there. She’s safe now.

But it didn’t feel true.

Her stomach coiled tighter the longer the silence dragged on.

Jasper noticed her shift and moved closer. “You okay?”

She nodded. Then shook her head.

“I hate this,” Bella whispered. “I hate just sitting here. I should be doing something. She’s in a hospital bed and I just… left.”

Jasper’s voice was low, even, empathetic. “You didn’t have a choice.”

Bella didn’t answer.

Alice stood now, walking quietly across the room. She sat beside Bella on the edge of the bed.

“I haven’t seen anything change,” Alice said. “No visions. No decisions made around her. It’s still the same.”

Bella looked up, eyes rimmed red. “Is that better or worse?”

Alice didn’t reply.

Bella curled her hands into fists.

“I should’ve stayed. With Charlie. With her.”

“Bella,” Jasper said gently. “If you had stayed, James would’ve gone through every single person you care about to get to you. Including Zoe.”

The silence stretched again.

“But now he gets to do that anyway,” Bella whispered.

No one corrected her.

The flatline cut through the room like a blade.

Carlisle didn’t flinch. He’d heard it before — more times than he could count. It was just a sound. A signal. Not a sentence.

He moved on instinct.

“Epinephrine,” he snapped, holding out a gloved hand before the nurse had finished turning. She passed him the syringe and he injected it cleanly into Zoe’s IV.

No heartbeat.

No flutter. No arrhythmia. Just nothing.

He checked her pupils — no reaction. The skin around her lips was already paling. Her chest was still.

Too still.

“Charging to 200,” the crash nurse said, voice clipped.

Carlisle rubbed the defibrillator paddles together, watching the monitor even as he called it out: “Clear.”

Her body jerked.

Flatline.

Again.

“300.”

Another jolt. Another useless spike.

“Come on,” he murmured, not to the staff — to her.

He could feel it — the absence. Whatever tether had been holding Zoe to this world was slipping, unraveling like thread pulled too fast through a needle.

And it wasn’t just her fading.

It was her.

The shape of her face — not just Zoe Clark, but the echo of Zoe Cullen — flickered in his mind like a ghost reaching for him through time. His hands moved with precision, but his chest was tight. Tight in a way that no vampire’s lungs should feel.

“Push another round,” he ordered.

The nurse hesitated. “Doctor Cul—”

“Do it. ”

He knew how this looked. Human doctors would’ve stopped already. Would’ve called time of death. But Carlisle wasn’t just trying to revive a patient. He was trying to catch a falling star with his bare hands.

Zoe wasn’t responding.

And he was losing her.

Again.

His mind flared with things he didn’t say out loud. She’s not supposed to die. Not this one. Not again.

“Charge to 360. Clear.”

The paddles jolted her once more.

A spike.

Just a flicker — like a candle guttering in the dark.

“Sinus tachycardia,” the nurse gasped. “She’s back.”

Carlisle didn’t move for a full second.

Then he stepped back from the table, lowering the paddles, chest heaving though he didn’t need to breathe.

He closed his eyes.

Thank you.

It was warm in the car.

The kind of warmth that came from laughter and worn leather seats and Miranda Gilbert’s terrible taste in radio. Some old Top 40 song buzzed through the speakers — bouncy, annoying, familiar. The kind of thing Miranda always claimed to hate and then knew every word to.

Zoe leaned forward between the seats, grinning. “You seriously think that’s what he meant?”

Miranda glanced at her through the rearview mirror, eyes full of mischief. “Absolutely. Grayson’s father was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them.”

Grayson chuckled from the driver’s side. “Don’t let her rewrite history just because he’s dead.”

“He wore a cravat to a parent-teacher conference,” Miranda fired back. “That’s not subtle. That’s Victorian cosplay.”

Zoe laughed, head thrown back against the seat. God, it felt good — this kind of laughter. Easy. Bright.

Elena sat beside her, facing the window.

She hadn’t said a word since they picked her up from the party. Her arms were folded tightly across her stomach, mouth set in a hard line.

Zoe’s smile softened as she glanced sideways. “You okay?”

Elena didn’t answer. Her silence was louder than the radio.

Zoe knew that look. She’d seen it before — when Elena and Matt fought but hadn’t told anyone yet. This time it had happened in front of people. Something about Caroline. About trust. About things neither of them knew how to fix.

She didn’t push.

“I hope they work it out,” she murmured to herself, barely audible over the music.

Outside, the rain had started. The windshield wipers swept in a lazy rhythm. Streetlights glowed soft and gold, stretching across the wet road like ribbons.

For a moment, Zoe closed her eyes.

It felt safe.

Still.

And then—

A shudder. A wrongness.

The laughter faded like someone had turned the volume down. The warmth pulled back like the car itself had taken a breath.

The tires didn’t catch the curve.

There was no screech, no impact.

Just icy water.

Fast and dark.

It poured in through the cracks before she could react. She lunged for Elena—

But her seat was empty.

Gone.

So were Miranda and Grayson.

So was the car.

Zoe blinked. Her chest seized.

She was underwater.

Just herself.

No glass. No headlights. No doors. Just the weightless black pressing against her skin.

She floated in stillness, suspended between nowhere and nothing.

She reached for it—instinctively.

The bond.

But the tether wasn’t there.

Damon was gone.

No— not gone. She couldn’t feel him at all.

Her pulse spiked. Her lungs burned. Something was off . Deeply, fundamentally off.

And then she remembered.

That night—this night—she hadn’t even met him yet.

There’d been no bond. No tether. No Damon.

Zoe’s eyes widened.

This wasn’t a memory anymore.

Something was wrong.

And she was alone.

Chapter Text

Charlie was back to sitting slumped in a chair against the corridor wall, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His sleeves were stiff from Zoe’s blood drying on them, and the trash can beside him still reeked of bile and black coffee.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there. Time had bled out the edges.

All he knew was the sound of the flatline was still ringing in his ears.

The door at the end of the hallway finally opened.

Carlisle stepped out.

Charlie stood too fast, nearly knocking over the chair.

Carlisle looked—composed. But not untouched. His hands were steady, but there was something tight in his jaw. Something quiet in his eyes.

Charlie couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

Carlisle walked toward him slowly, not the measured pace of a doctor delivering bad news — but the step of someone giving a man room to brace himself.

“She’s stable,” he said.

Charlie blinked. “What?”

“She’s not breathing on her own, but we’ve stabilized her. Machines are helping for now. She’s unconscious… but she’s still fighting.”

Charlie’s breath left him like a sucker punch to the gut. His shoulders folded in, one hand gripping the wall.

“You—you’re sure?”

Carlisle nodded. “Her vitals are holding. The lung was in bad shape, but we’ve got it under control with the vent. She’s stable — for now.”

Charlie nodded too quickly, like agreeing would make it more real. “Okay. Okay.” Then he looked up, eyes wet and fierce. “You brought her back?” He needed to hear it one more time.

Carlisle hesitated for a fraction of a second.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I wasn’t going to let her go.”

Charlie scrubbed both hands down his face. “Jesus.”

He laughed once — sharp and joyless. “She’s not even my kid,” he muttered. “But it feels like—”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Carlisle didn’t make him.

They stood in silence for a long moment.

"Can I see her?"

Carlisle looked over his shoulder, then turned back with quiet regret in his eyes. “Not yet. She’s still intubated, and they’re stabilizing her post-code. It’s a closed unit until we’re sure she’s stable.”

Charlie’s jaw clenched, but he nodded. “Right. Yeah. Of course.”

Carlisle softened. “I’ll let you in as soon as I can. I promise.”

Charlie swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

Carlisle met his gaze. “Don’t thank me yet. She’s still not out of the woods. But… I don’t think she’s done fighting.”

Charlie looked down the hallway, toward the door that had nearly closed on his entire world.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “She’s a Clark. She doesn’t quit easy.”

Branches snapped beneath her boots, wet leaves clinging to her calves as Rosalie vaulted over a fallen pine, her breath smooth and even despite the pace. They’d been running for hours. North, then east. Doubling back. Looping, scattering. Always moving.

James was still following.

She could feel it in the trees — the subtle shifts in scent and silence. He wasn’t far, and he wasn’t tired.

“Hard right,” Emmett called behind her.

Rosalie veered without hesitation, trusting his read. The terrain dropped into a gully slick with mud and shallow water, perfect for losing a trail. She splashed through it without slowing.

“You think this is enough to confuse him?” she asked, glancing back.

“It’ll buy time.” Emmett caught up beside her, barely winded. “But not much.”

They ran in silence another half mile before Rosalie felt him slow.

“What?”

Emmett didn’t answer right away. His brow furrowed. “Just—stop for a second.”

She did, reluctantly, listening. But the woods were quiet, broken only by the distant hush of wind and water.

“No sign of him,” she said.

“Yeah,” Emmett muttered. “So call Carlisle.”

She turned sharply. “What?”

“We haven’t heard anything. About Zoe.”

“She’s not our priority right now.”

“She’s your friend, Rosalie.”

The words landed like a stone in her ribs.

Emmett didn’t soften. “You’ve been thinking about it since we left. We all have. You’ve been avoiding it. But you need to know. Carlisle would’ve called if it was good news.”

Rosalie stared down at her mud-speckled hands. She could still see the girl’s face — the panic in her eyes, the blood.

“She looked like Zoe,” Rosalie murmured. “Our mother. Exactly like her — but… not. She was younger. Softer. Alive.”

Emmett nodded. “So let’s find out if she’s still alive.”

Rosalie exhaled through her nose, sharp and cold. She pulled the burner phone from her jacket, fingers curled tight around it.

She didn’t want to know.

Rosalie stood still, phone pressed to her ear, the only motion in her body the subtle twitch of her jaw. Emmett stood close beside her, not touching, but near enough that his presence was grounding. His eyes stayed on her face, listening — not because he was trying to eavesdrop, but because he couldn’t not.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

For a moment, Rosalie thought Carlisle wouldn’t answer, but then the line clicked..

“Rosalie.” Carlisle’s voice — calm, too calm. That practiced steadiness he used when he was trying not to let something slip.

Rosalie didn’t waste time. “Is she alive?”

A pause. Brief. Heavy.

“She’s alive,” Carlisle said. “She’s fighting, Rosalie.”

Her jaw tensed. Emmett could feel the way her spine locked beside him, how her fingers clenched the phone like she could squeeze more truth from it.

“That’s it?” She scoffed. “She’s ‘fighting’?”

Carlisle was quiet a moment longer. “I’m not going to let anything happen to her.”

Rosalie’s lips pressed into a hard line. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Something already did.”

And then she hung up.

The sound of the call ending felt too final in the quiet woods.

Emmett placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “Rose…”

She didn’t look at him — not right away. Just stared out at the trees, jaw tight, eyes sharp with something that looked like fury but wasn’t.

“She’s just a kid,” she muttered. “And she looked like—” She cut herself off.

Emmett didn’t make her finish. Rosalie didn’t need to. Zoe had been his mother too.

He just stepped a little closer and slid his arm around her waist, grounding her.

“We’ll deal with James,” he said. “Then we go back.”

Rosalie nodded once, stiffly, and turned. Together, they ran.

The hotel room hadn’t changed, but everything inside Bella had.

The sky outside the blackout curtains was starting to lighten, pale blue bleeding into night. She’d stopped trying to sleep hours ago. The hum of the mini-fridge, the rattle of the AC unit, even Jasper’s careful stillness — it was all too loud now. It made her skin itch.

Alice sat near the window, perfectly motionless, eyes flicking every so often toward nothing.

Jasper was watching her . Like he was worried she’d bolt.

Bella sat cross-legged on the bed, phone in her hand, thumb tapping the lock screen even though no messages ever came.

Nothing from Carlisle. Nothing from Charlie.

Nothing about Zoe.

Her stomach had been in a tight knot since the phone call — since the blood and sirens and Charlie’s voice cracking like glass.

She couldn’t stop seeing it. Zoe on the porch. The red. The panic. The absence.

She shouldn’t have left.

Bella shoved the thought away for the hundredth time, but it stuck like a burr.

“They should’ve called by now,” she said suddenly.

Alice didn’t move. “They will.”

“When? After—after what? After she dies?” Her voice cracked, more anger than grief now. “Why would Carlisle keep me in the dark like this?”

Jasper stood and crossed the room, slow and deliberate. “Because there’s nothing you can do from here,” he said gently. “And because he knows how much she means to you.”

Bella looked down at her phone again. Still nothing.

“She was just a kid,” she whispered. “And she was my cousin. I’m supposed to look out for her and I’m here. Hiding. While she…”

She didn’t finish.

Jasper didn’t press.

Alice finally spoke. “Carlisle’s still with her.”

Bella turned, hope sparking — until she saw Alice’s face.

“You didn’t see anything,” she said.

Alice shook her head. “I told you. I can’t see her. She’s… blank. Like she’s being erased, frame by frame.”

Bella’s throat tightened.

“And you’re sure that means she’s alive?”

“I’m not sure of anything,” Alice said regretfully.

Bella curled in on herself, pressing her phone to her chest like it might anchor her.

Outside, the sky was turning gold.

Inside, everything felt like it was falling apart.

The room was quiet again.

Alice hadn’t moved in nearly an hour. Jasper paced occasionally, more out of habit than stress. Bella sat curled on the bed, knees to her chest, phone clutched in one hand like it might anchor her if everything else fell away.

Still no calls. Still no texts.

She couldn't take it anymore.

“I need some air,” Bella mumbled, pushing off the bed.

Jasper looked up. “Stay close.”

“I’m not going far,” she said. “Just—just outside.”

Alice didn’t respond. She hadn’t even blinked.

Bella slipped out the door, her bare feet hitting the cold walkway outside the room. A line of rooms stretched along the balcony, the sun just beginning to warm the metal railings. She walked a few doors down, out of earshot.

Her phone vibrated in her hand.

Voicemail. One new message.

Not Charlie. Not Carlisle.

No caller ID.

Her breath hitched.

She ducked into the stairwell for privacy and pressed play.

At first, static.

Then—“Bella? Bella, honey, it’s Mom—are you there?”

Bella’s heart slammed. “Mom?”

The voice on the line sounded panicked. “I—I’m in Phoenix. I came early to surprise you but I—he—Bella, please, I don’t know what he wants—he said I had to call you. That I had to tell you—”

The sound clipped. Shuffled. A different voice came through, low and calm and final.

“Hello, Bella.”

Her blood turned to ice.

“I know you’re listening,” James said. “If you want your mother alive, come alone. I’ll be waiting. You know where.”

Click.

Bella stood frozen in the stairwell, the cheap metal railing digging into her palm.

She didn’t replay it. Didn’t need to.

She knew that voice.

She knew the ballet studio.

And she knew exactly what she had to do.

The emergency room doors flew open with a hiss. Damon stormed inside, soaked and furious, his boots slapping wet against the floor.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

His eyes cut through the emergency bay — wild, desperate.

Dr. Meredith Fell stepped directly into his path, arms raised. “Damon—wait. Please. Just let me explain—”

He didn’t stop. “Where is she?!”

Meredith held her ground, her voice lowering, steady but remorseful. “Damon—when Jeremy brought Elena in earlier tonight, her injuries were worse than I let on. It wasn’t a concussion. It was a cerebral hemorrhage. Bleeding on the brain.”

Damon froze. “What are you saying?”

Meredith sighed. “He was so worried, I didn’t want to tell him. But… I helped her. She needed my help.”

The words hit like a punch to the chest. “You what?”

Silence stretched thick and heavy. Meredith braced herself.

Damon’s world tilted — just slightly.

“Damon!”

Caroline’s voice rang out from behind Meredith. Her heels clicked across the floor as she approached, disheveled and shaken but trying to stay composed. “Take a breath.”

Damon turned to her slowly. He laughed — cold and bitter. No humor. Just unraveling.

“A breath?” he echoed. “You want me to take a breath?”

His voice sharpened.

“Zoe’s dying. And Elena’s already dead. And you want me to take a breath?”

Caroline’s face collapsed. “Wait—what?”

Damon looked past her, jaw clenching.

Meredith frowned. “Ric’s Zoe?” she asked hesitantly.

“She’s not just some girl,” Damon snapped. “She’s tied to all of this. She always was.” He turned slightly, voice dropping.  “She’s a doppelgänger,” he muttered. “Zoe. Just like Elena.”

Meredith blinked. “She is?”

Damon didn’t answer. He could barely look at her.

Caroline stepped closer, her voice trembling. “Is she—Damon, is she okay?”

He shook his head, gaze flat and cold now. “I can’t feel her anymore.”

Caroline’s breath hitched. “What do you mean, ‘feel her’?”

Damon met her eyes — and for a second, she saw the fear he couldn’t say.

“That’s the benefit of the bond we share,” he said.  “I can tell when she’s dying.”

The night pressed in around him, thick and soundless.

The Volvo’s headlights cut through the dark like a blade, illuminating empty stretches of road and the occasional flash of pine trees rushing past. Edward hadn’t spoken a word in hours. His hands gripped the wheel like it was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

He was miles away from Forks now — doing his part. Running the play. Luring James away with the illusion that Bella was still with him.

But it wasn’t working.

Not really.

James was smarter than they’d prepared for. Hungrier.

And now?

Bella was missing.

Zoe was possibly dying.

And Edward — with all his speed, strength, and foresight — was nowhere close enough to stop any of it.

He swerved suddenly, pulling off onto a dark, gravel shoulder. The tires skidded slightly on the loose dirt, but he didn’t care. The car idled in the dark, steam curling faintly off the hood.

He dropped his forehead to the steering wheel, jaw locked so tightly it ached.

He could still hear Zoe’s laughter that morning. The way she teased Bella. How her heart had always beaten just a little too fast when she was annoyed. The way her mind stayed maddeningly unreadable — but warm. So alive.

And now?

Machines could be breathing for her. If she was even still alive.

And Bella was walking into a trap — alone.

The phone buzzed in the cupholder. Alice.

He didn’t hesitate.

He answered. “Where is she?”

“She’s gone,” Alice said, voice brittle. “I saw it too late. I—I think she took the back stairs. Cab. No one noticed.”

Edward didn’t breathe.

“She’s going to him,” he muttered.

Alice didn’t respond.

“She thinks she can save us all.”

Then, a pause. A shift in her tone.

“Carlisle just called. Zoe coded an hour ago.”

His stomach twisted.

“We lost her. For almost a minute. Carlisle got her back, but… she’s still out. The ventilator’s doing the work.”

The darkness in the car suddenly felt crushing.

“Does Bella know?” He asked in a low voice.

“No.” Alice answered quickly. “She was already gone when he called.”

Two lives slipping through his fingers. One heartbeat missing. One barely hanging on.

He stared through the windshield at nothing.

His voice was barely a whisper. For the first time in a long time, Edward felt that no matter what he did, it would not be enough.

The sky outside had gone from charcoal to gray, a dull wash of light creeping in through the high, narrow windows. The waiting room was mostly empty now — night nurses gone, day staff just beginning to cycle in. The coffee in the machine tasted like chemicals, but Charlie didn’t care.

He sat in the same chair he’d been in all night, his jacket bunched into a pillow at his side, a Styrofoam cup cooling in his hands. His sleeves were still stiff with dried blood.

It had been sixteen hours since Zoe was hurt.

Charlie had counted every single one.

Footsteps approached — quiet, deliberate.

Carlisle.

Charlie stood before he even realized it, spine aching, legs stiff.

Carlisle looked the same as he had eight hours ago. Perfectly composed. Not a hair out of place.

Charlie tried to smile, tired and cracked around the edges. “You sleep at all?”

Carlisle gave a small smile in return. “Have you?”

Charlie huffed softly, looking down into his cup. “Didn’t think so.”

Carlisle stepped closer. “She’s stable enough now. You can see her.”

Charlie’s throat tightened.

He cleared it quickly. “She awake?”

Carlisle shook his head. “Still sedated. But she’s holding steady.”

Charlie nodded once, jaw tight. “Okay. Yeah. Good.”

There was a pause.

“Thank you,” he added, softer.

Carlisle met his eyes. “She’s stronger than most.”

Zoe's uncle gave a weary, crooked smile. “She always has been.”

Carlisle motioned gently down the hall. “Room’s this way.”

Charlie followed without hesitation. Carlisle stopped just outside the door. Charlie did too, heart pounding hard in his chest.

Carlisle turned toward him, expression serious but kind. “Before you go in… I need you to prepare yourself.”

Charlie stiffened.

“She’s unconscious,” Carlisle said gently. “Heavily sedated. There’s a breathing tube — we’re keeping her on a ventilator to give her lungs time to heal. There’s some bruising. IV lines. Monitors.”

He paused, giving Charlie time to absorb it.

“She might not look like herself right now. But she’s still here.”

Charlie swallowed hard and gave a single, silent nod.

Carlisle pushed open the door.

The room was dim and quiet, save for the low rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and the steady hiss of the ventilator.

Zoe lay still in the hospital bed, dwarfed by blankets and wires and plastic tubing. The machines made her look smaller somehow. More breakable.

Charlie stood frozen in the doorway.

She looked… frail.

Too pale.

Too still.

His throat tightened as he took a hesitant step forward. He didn’t know what he’d expected — certainly not this . Not the quiet hum of survival clinging by threads. Not the kid who used to race through his kitchen barefoot now lying beneath a web of machines that kept her breathing.

How the hell did we get here?

Charlie rubbed a hand over his face, eyes stinging.

He moved closer, dragging the visitor chair beside her bed.

For a long moment, he just sat there, hands clasped together like he didn’t know what to do with them.

He cleared his throat. “Hey, kid.”

Zoe didn’t move. But the monitor beeped steady and slow.

Charlie leaned in a little closer.

“I’m here,” he said quietly. “You’re not alone.”

Chapter Text

The old house creaked as it cooled in the early desert dawn.

Bella curled tighter under the faded throw blanket she’d pulled off the back of the couch, her body stiff from sleeping in clothes. The living room looked exactly as it had the last time she’d visited Phoenix — sun-bleached furniture, a stack of magazines on the coffee table, and the faint smell of citrus and dust lingering in the air.

She hadn't meant to fall asleep.

Just meant to sit down. To breathe.

After escaping from Jasper and Alice — after the cab, the silence, the fear — she'd come straight here. Her mom’s house. Empty. Familiar. Still tucked in a sleepy subdivision where the cicadas never stopped buzzing.

She’d checked every room, just to be sure.

But she was alone.

And now, sunlight was beginning to stretch across the floor, golden and indifferent. A reminder that it was time.

Bella sat up slowly, her muscles protesting, her thoughts heavier than sleep. Her backpack was by the door, untouched. Her phone buzzed in her pocket — again. Alice. Or maybe Edward. She didn’t check.

She already knew what she had to do.

The cab ride was short and silent.

Bella stared out the window, watching the city pass by in blurry streaks of tan and gold. The sun was high enough to cast sharp lines across the cracked pavement as they pulled up to the familiar corner.

The ballet studio hadn’t changed.

Same chipped trim. Same dusty windows.

Bella stepped out slowly, paying the driver with a hand that shook just slightly. Her sneakers crunched over the sidewalk as she moved to the door.

She paused.

Breathed.

And walked inside.

The air was cool. The front room was dim, shadows spilling across the scuffed floorboards. It smelled of varnish and something old — something wrong .

She heard it then.

“Bella?”

Her mother’s voice.

She moved without thinking. “Mom?”

Her voice cracked.

But there was no answer.

Only a faint hum — and the blinking red light on the camcorder set near the back wall.

“That was a nice touch, wasn’t it?”

The voice came from the mirrors.

James stepped into view, smiling.

“I thought it would be fitting,” he said. “A return to where it all began.”

Bella froze.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh,” James said with a soft chuckle, “but I really, really do.”

Bella took a single step back.

James stepped forward.

The mirrors behind him caught his movement and fractured it — dozens of reflections closing in at once, like a predator circling.

“I have to say,” he murmured, “you were easier to manipulate than I expected.”

Bella’s stomach twisted. “Where is she?”

James smiled faintly. “Your mother is safe. For now. But you won’t be.”

He lunged.

Bella spun, too slow — pain exploded across her shoulder as he slammed her into the barre. Her body crumpled to the floor, stars blinding her vision.

She scrambled backward, her palm slipping in the fine dust on the floorboards. Her back hit the mirrored wall.

James stalked closer, the camcorder still blinking red in the corner.

“Do you know what it’s like,” he said, “to feel someone’s life drain out of them? It’s artistry. Every heartbeat a countdown.”

Bella clenched her teeth, fighting to stay upright.

Pain radiated through her ribs — sharp, unrelenting.

Is this what Zoe felt? T he thought hit her sideways — sudden and unshakable. When she was stabbed? When Charlie found her bleeding out on the porch? Had she been scared?

The memory twisted with her pain — Zoe, gasping, pale, in pain.

Bella bit down hard on a scream.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

James moved again — fast, cruel — slamming his foot into her side. Something cracked.

Bella choked.

“You should be honored,” James whispered. “Few get to die in the spotlight.”

He raised the camera again, angling it toward her crumpled form.

Bella's vision blurred. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

But she held on.

She thought of Charlie. Of Edward. Of Zoe, unconscious in a hospital room across the country, still fighting .

She wasn't going to die here. Not like this.

The ventilator hissed in and out, steady and mechanical.

Charlie sat beside the bed, hunched forward in the chair, eyes fixed on Zoe’s pale face. Her chest rose and fell in rhythm with the machine, not on her own — not yet. The tube at her mouth made her look even smaller, even quieter, like she’d vanished inside herself.

Seventeen hours.

He’d been counting every one.

The door creaked open.

A nurse stepped in gently, holding a clear plastic bag. “Chief Swan,” she said softly. “These were her personal items. We didn’t want to lose track of anything.”

Charlie didn’t respond right away. “Just leave it,” he murmured.

She crossed to the counter, setting it down with care. Then paused. “Her phone’s been ringing,” she added quietly. “Since my shift started about an hour ago.”

Charlie finally glanced up.

The nurse offered a faint, sympathetic smile and left without another word, the door clicking softly shut behind her.

Silence again.

Just the steady beep of monitors. The click-hiss of forced air.

Eventually, Charlie stood. The chair creaked beneath him. He moved toward the counter, unzipping the bag with tired fingers.

Her phone was there, screen dim but still alive. Her clothes.

His hand paused over the necklace and bracelet — both tangled slightly together, delicate and familiar. The bracelet was cool to the touch, gold, with a deep green emerald set into its center — unusually cut, antique-looking, like it had been made by hand centuries ago.

He ran his thumb over the stone.

Zoe never took it off.

The necklace was simpler — a small, dainty gold chain, barely visible unless you were looking for it. A subtle charm hung from it — a miniature spiral etched with something too worn to read.

Charlie frowned.

He didn’t remember her getting either piece. Didn’t remember Wilbur ever mentioning them.

Still…

He exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. Maybe something from Wilbur’s side of the family? His brother-in-law had always been proud of his lineage — never shut up about being tied to one of Mystic Falls’ Founding Families.

Charlie stared at the emerald a second longer before setting it down.

Zoe’s phone beeped .

His head jerked up.

It beeped again .

He reached into the bag and pulled out Zoe’s phone. Battery almost dead. 4%.

The screen lit up with a name.

Incoming call: DAMON SALVATORE

Charlie’s brow furrowed. He knew the name.

Zoe’s ex — or something like it. The older guy from Mystic Falls who showed up in Forks in the fall with too much charm and eyes that didn’t blink often enough. The kind of guy who had a story for everything but never offered a real answer.

Charlie hadn’t trusted him. Still didn’t, exactly.

But Zoe had.

And whatever they were now — friends, soulmates, or something messier — Charlie knew they still talked almost every day.

The phone chimed again.

Charlie hesitated, thumb hovering over the green icon. His gut twisted.

If Damon was calling this much…

He answered.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “It’s Charlie.”

There was a sharp beat of silence on the line — static, breath, nothing else — and then, finally, Damon’s question, “Where is she?” Damon’s voice was even, clipped, but underneath it there was something else — something coiled too tight.

Charlie glanced at the bed, at the tubing, the machines. “She’s here. In Forks.”

Another pause.

“Why do you have her phone?”

“She’s not exactly picking it up right now.”

“I’ve been calling her all night.”

Charlie’s jaw clenched. “She… can’t answer.”

The silence shifted — not surprised, not confused.

Just… stilled.

“What happened?” Damon asked, carefully.

Charlie turned away from the bed, running a hand down his face. “She got hurt. Last night.”

“How bad?” Damon’s voice was tense. Angry. Worried.

Charlie didn’t answer right away.

“She’s stable,” he said finally. “There’s a doctor here — he’s supposed to be a good one. They’re doing everything they can.”

Damon exhaled through his nose — slow, shaky, barely audible through the speaker.

Charlie didn’t know how, but somehow he felt it — the shift. Like something behind the voice had changed.

“You’re not saying what happened.”

Charlie bristled. “And I’m not going to, not over the phone. She’s not a kid, Damon. But this—this was bad.”

“I know.”

Charlie blinked. “What?”

There was a pause on the other end.

Damon’s voice dropped, just slightly. “You think I wouldn’t know if something was wrong with her?”

Charlie frowned, unsure what to do with that. “Then why are you calling?”

“Because I needed to hear it. From you.”

Something about that made Charlie go still.

Charlie didn’t respond. The silence stretched again — brittle, heavy.

Then — quietly, but without hesitation — Damon finally asked the question everyone else had been circling all night.  “…Is she going to die?”

The question landed like a weight in the center of the room.

Charlie’s eyes went to Zoe, pale and still in the bed. The ventilator breathed for her. Machines tracked her heart, her blood pressure, everything her body couldn’t do on its own.

He looked away. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.

Neither of them spoke for several seconds.

Then Damon’s voice, low and flat: “Tell her I called.”

Charlie’s throat tightened. “She can’t hear anything right now.”

“Tell her anyway.”

The call ended.

The late morning sun was climbing higher, casting a low golden glare across the ocean-facing side of the reservation.

Mina Ateara pulled her aging sedan into the gravel strip beside Billy Black’s house, cutting the engine with a sigh. Her scrub top was wrinkled, her hair twisted into a loose braid, and the coffee in her travel mug had gone cold hours ago.

She shouldn't be here.

What she was about to do could absolutely get her fired.

But the image of Charlie Swan sitting motionless in that waiting room — dried blood on his sleeves, coffee long gone cold beside him, at least seventeen hours without rest — was burned into her head.

She climbed the steps and knocked twice, then again.

A moment passed, then the door creaked open.

Billy Black blinked against the morning light. “Mina?”

“Hey,” she said gently. “Sorry to drop by.”

Billy leaned back in his chair to let her inside. “You okay?”

Mina stepped in, the familiar scent of cedar and black coffee grounding her. She hesitated.

“I just finished my shift at Forks General,” she said. “Night rolled straight into morning. I… saw your friend. Chief Swan.”

Billy’s expression tightened.

“He’s still at the hospital,” she continued. “He hasn’t left since his niece — Zoe — was brought in.”

His eyes sharpened. “What happened?”

“I can’t say more than that,” she said quickly, guilt lacing her voice. “I could lose my license just for this. But he’s not okay. And I know you two are close.”

Billy nodded once, slowly.

Mina swallowed. “He looked like someone should be sitting with him.”

Billy didn’t say thank you. He didn’t need to.

She turned toward the door, hand on the knob, then hesitated.

“Oh — and Billy?” she added softly, glancing back over her shoulder.

He looked up.

“You might want to bring him a change of clothes.” A pause. “He’s still wearing what he had on when she was brought in. Blood and all.”

Billy’s jaw tightened — not at her, but at the image that conjured.

Mina held his gaze for a moment longer, then slipped outside, the screen door creaking quietly shut behind her.

Billy was already dialing.

The phone rang twice before Harry Clearwater answered, sounding more alert than expected.

“Billy?”

“Mina Ateara stopped by. She told me Zoe Clark’s in the hospital,” Billy said. “Charlie’s been there all night. Alone.”

Silence. Then Harry asked quietly, “How bad?”

Billy’s voice was gravel. “Bad.”

A beat.

“You want me to drive?”

“I’ll be waiting outside.”

The hallway had quieted since the early morning shuffle. The scent of antiseptic still clung to the walls, but the hum of activity had dulled — replaced by the steady, mechanical rhythm behind Zoe’s door.

Charlie sat slumped in the chair outside her room, elbows on his knees, hands hanging loosely between them. He hadn’t spoken since the call. Hadn’t moved much either.

They’d asked him to step out nearly twenty minutes ago so the doctors could work on her. Adjust something with the ventilator. Clear fluid from her lungs. He hadn’t asked for details.

He didn’t want them.

Zoe’s phone had died not long after.

He hadn’t plugged it in. He couldn’t because he didn’t have a charger.

Every voice in the hospital was muffled. Every footstep that passed too quickly made him lift his head. But it was always a nurse, a tech, someone else’s family.

He was alone again.

And as the minutes stretched into hours, it settled into him — that Bella hadn’t come. That she wasn’t coming. She hadn’t even called again.

A knot twisted hard in his chest. Not just grief — not just fear. But a quiet ache of disappointment.

The minutes dragged. Every step that passed behind him sounded too quick, too purposeful — and none of them stopped.

Until they did.

He looked up.

Billy Black was already wheeling down the hallway, Harry Clearwater beside him, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a cup of gas station coffee in the other.

They didn’t say anything right away.

Charlie stood slowly. His throat barely worked. “Hey.”

Billy gave a quiet nod. “You look like hell.”

Charlie huffed — a dry, tired sound that didn’t quite make it to a laugh. “That’s generous.”

Harry stepped forward and clapped a hand gently on his shoulder. “We came to sit with you. You shouldn’t be doing this alone.” He hesitated. “Sue’s making some food if you don’t mind some more company. It’s alright if you turn it down.”

Charlie hesitated — not out of pride, but because the offer scraped too close to something raw. “She’s still unconscious. They… won’t let me in right now.” He admitted.

“We’ll wait for her,” Billy offered, wheeling closer to the room. “You go clean up. Mina said you’ve been in those clothes since last night.”

Harry lifted the duffel slightly. “Figured you wouldn’t leave her unless someone made you.”

Charlie swallowed hard, his throat dry. He nodded once, voice rough.

“I’ll just be a few minutes.”

“We’ve got her,” Harry said simply, already taking the seat Charlie had warmed all night.

Charlie glanced toward the closed door of Zoe’s room, then back at them — these two men he trusted more than most.

He took the bag and turned away, shoulders heavy, boots scuffing the tile.

For the first time in seventeen hours, he stepped away.

The front door slammed hard enough to rattle the windows.

Damon stormed into the parlor, tossing his phone onto the table like it had burned him. His jacket was already half off, flung onto the arm of the couch as he paced, hands dragging through his hair.

Stefan appeared in the doorway seconds later, tense. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

“No,” Damon snapped, turning on him. “I’m thinking perfectly clearly. Zoe’s dying, and I have the one thing that can fix it.”

“You can’t just get on a plane with a blood bag and a bad attitude—”

“I’ve done more reckless things for less,” Damon shot back. “Don’t pretend this is where you draw the line.”

Stefan took a breath, trying to stay calm. “Damon, Elena just transitioned. She needs you.”

Damon stilled.

For a heartbeat, he said nothing. “She has you.”

“That’s not the same and you know it.”

Damon’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, well—maybe someone needs to put Zoe first for once.”

The words hit the air like a challenge.

Stefan stared at him. “That’s not fair.”

Damon turned away, pacing again, chest tight. “She’s alone. She’s in some hospital bed God-knows-how-many miles from here, hooked up to a machine. And I can feel her slipping. Do you know what that’s like? Feeling it?”

“No,” Stefan said gently. “But I know what it’s like to lose someone and be too far away to stop it.”

Damon didn’t answer.