Forks High, Monday morning.
The snow from last night had melted into slick slush, coating the school parking lot in a lovely shade of dangerous.
Annabelle Swan didn't trust it.
She stepped out of Charlie's cruiser, hood up, fuzzy mittens on, coffee in hand, muttering to herself.
"This is how it happens. This is the scene. Bella almost dies and then Edward shows up like a glittery Marvel character and stops a moving vehicle with his pinky."
She glanced over. Bella was across the lot, distracted by Mike Newton's ongoing campaign to win her love via excessive friendliness.
Annabelle frowned.
"That's not going to work, Mike. You smell like Axe body spray and delusion."
Then she heard it.
The squeal of tires. A scream. Metal skidding across ice.
Her head whipped around just in time to see Tyler's van spinning wildly out of control. And it was coming straight for Bella.
Instinct vs. Sanity
Something primal clicked inside her.
"MOVE."
She dropped her coffee. Tore off in a sprint. Time slowed. She didn't think, didn't scream. Just ran.
And then she did something completely, insanely, undeniably Marcus:
She body-slammed the van.
Impact
The sound was horrifying: a crunch of metal against body—but not the one anyone expected.
The van's front end crumpled inward like a soda can. Not from hitting Bella. But from hitting Annabelle—who had planted her feet, put her arms out, and caught it.
And stopped it.
Dead.
Everyone stared.
Tyler sat behind the wheel, frozen in horror, mouth wide open. Bella was unharmed, blinking rapidly. And Annabelle was standing there like she'd just tackled a linebacker in heels.
Edward Cullen, halfway across the lot, had only just begun to move.
He stopped short when he saw what had happened.
She beat him to it.
Aftermath – Chaos and Charisma
"Are you okay?" Bella gasped.
Annabelle turned slowly, trembling, adrenaline high, and not entirely sure what just happened.
"Y-yeah," she breathed. "I think I—did I—catch a van?"
"Yes!" Tyler wheezed from inside the vehicle. "Oh my God, I was gonna kill you! But you—I think you dented the hood with your arm!"
Paramedics rushed over, followed by curious students and teachers. Edward arrived moments later, staring at Annabelle with his signature haunted vampire intensity, nostrils flaring like a bloodhound trying to locate WTF.
"You moved fast," he said quietly, eyes locked on hers.
Annabelle squinted. "Not as fast as you wanted to, apparently."
He blinked. "What are you?"
She smiled sweetly. "An enigma wrapped in pink lip gloss."
Hospital Scene – Cue the Confrontation
In the ER, Carlisle checked her out personally—because of course he did. He poked at her ribs, asked if she felt pain, and raised a very controlled vampire eyebrow when he saw no bruising whatsoever.
"Remarkable," he said. "You say you caught the van?"
"It wasn't a big deal," Annabelle said. "Just instinct."
"Instinct to shield someone from a moving vehicle using your bare arms?" Carlisle asked politely.
"Yes, Carlisle. It's called being a man. Even if I'm a girl now. You wouldn't get it."
"Guess I drink my milk," she offered.
Edward Is Having a Crisis (Again)
Outside the hospital room, Edward cornered her.
"You're not normal."
"No one who uses three kinds of moisturizer daily is."
"You were going to let me save her."
"You took too long."
His jaw clenched. "I could hear the metal. The scream. The blood."
Annabelle tilted her head. "Yeah? And I could hear you not moving fast enough. So I did what any ex-powerlifter reincarnated into a teenage girl in a paranormal romance would do."
"…What?"
"Nothing. You're imagining things."
She walked away.
Edward stared after her.
And for the first time in a century, he didn't know what the hell he was dealing with.