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The morning light timidly filtered through the second-floor windows, diffused by the dense, persistent fog that covered Forks like a damp veil. The rays barely managed to slip between the heavy curtains, drawing pale lines across the wooden floor and illuminating particles of dust floating in the still air. The atmosphere held that thick stillness that seemed to turn every second into a suspended moment.
Nate and Edward remained there, motionless, suppressing even the slightest movement. They could have been mistaken for figures carved in stone if not for the intermittent blink in Edward's eyes and the barely perceptible tension in Nate's jaw. Silence clung to the walls, broken only by sporadic creaks of the house, as if the wood itself were breathing.
Downstairs, Charlie Swan stood in front of the shelf that held Nate's grandmother's urn. His posture spoke louder than any gesture: heavy shoulders, nervous hands, uneven breathing rising and falling like waves. Edward turned his head toward Nate, his eyes glinting with a hint of warning. With a slight nod, he indicated the window, suggesting they leave while they still had the chance. But Nate merely shook his head, with that serene obstinacy so characteristic of him.
There was no need to get closer; no need to see with their eyes what they already perceived with their sharp senses. Charlie's confused heartbeat, the metallic clink of his rings brushing together, the bitter scent of doubt in the air… all narrated the scene with relentless precision.
Charlie examined the rings with a deeply furrowed brow, as if a truth eluded him in this discovery. His pupils roamed the room with restrained anxiety, searching for an invisible presence, a sign that he was not alone. Finally, almost against his own will, he let out a low, uncertain voice:
"Is… anyone there?"
The sound hung in the air, devoured by the silence.
Edward pressed his lips together and glanced at Nate out of the corner of his eye. The other vampire's impassive expression could be both a promise of patience and a prelude to unexpected action. Edward knew him well enough to fear both possibilities. But Nate did not move; he remained rooted in the shadows, watching with unwavering attention.
A different sound broke the tension. Soft, mundane. The light tapping of claws against the wood. The grandmother's old tabby cat descended the stairs with a surprisingly agile step for its age, tail held high and eyes gleaming with familiarity. It passed by the two vampires as if they were mere shadows, as if their supernatural nature did not exist in its feline world. They followed it with reverent silence, and the animal, oblivious to the tension, disappeared toward the first floor.
Charlie received it with a faint smile, genuine in its simplicity:
"I don't think even my daughter greets me with this much joy, you furball…"
He picked it up with affectionate clumsiness, and the cat, resigned and tired, allowed itself to be held without resistance. That contact seemed to soften the hard lines of Charlie's face. Slowly, he placed the rings next to the urn, and the metallic sound against the wood was almost a relief. He let out a long sigh, as if exhaling the air could also release some of the weight pressing on his chest.
"I'll work on those wobbly chairs today…" he murmured, stroking the cat's back, "…and then I'll feed you."
He set it carefully on the floor, as if afraid of breaking something fragile, and walked toward the door. His stride was no longer that of the upset man who had burst in minutes before; he seemed a little lighter, although the shadow of sadness still accompanied him.
Upstairs, Nate tracked every gesture, every pause, with attention that went beyond mere curiosity. When Charlie went out to the patrol car to retrieve what he had forgotten, Nate finally leaned toward the staircase, allowing the pale light to just brush his face. The hardness of his expression contrasted with the contradiction beneath: a mix of contained melancholy and inner conflict, as if the scene had stirred something deep within him, something he could not—or would not—explain.
Edward, a few steps behind, watched silently. He knew Nate would not ask—at least not yet—but he could not ignore the unease building in his chest. Nate had that charged look, that complicated expression, as if he saw in Charlie something more than Edward could comprehend.
Without turning to look at him, Nate whispered. It was so low that to a human ear it would have sounded like the rustle of a breeze through the curtains, but Edward heard it with perfect clarity, each word vibrating in the silence of the second floor:
"What was Charlie thinking?"
Edward remained silent for a moment, trying to organize his thoughts before responding. His gaze hardened, and the muscles of his jaw tensed as if each word bore its own weight.
"His thoughts are always short phrases. I can't read his mind clearly; it never flows like others'. But…" he lowered his gaze slightly, inhaling the air thick with dust and old wood, "…I think things are worse than we thought. Charlie is beginning to remember what happened the night your grandmother died."
Nate barely turned his head, his red eyes fixed on Edward, shining with an intensity that seemed to pierce the darkness of his sunglasses.
"Be more precise," he demanded, in a tone that left no room for doubt.
Edward frowned, uncomfortable, as if the words he had to speak carried an edge.
"When he saw you for a second from his patrol car… he mistook you for Riley. He thought it immediately. He's very nervous. And if he follows that thread, if he keeps exploring that idea, he'll end up convinced that what he saw that night was real. We'll need to find a way soon to make sure none of that stays in his mind."
Nate remained still for a few seconds, taking a deep breath, each inhalation infused with the scent of old wood, worn furniture, and curtain fabric. Beneath it all, he still sensed Charlie's trace, his fear and confusion hanging in the air like a persistent echo.
When he exhaled, his gaze had sharpened, knife-like. His shoulders straightened, tense, and without a word, he raised his hand in a brief signal to Edward. In the blink of an eye, both vanished from the room.
They leapt from the second-floor window like projectiles, their bodies merging with the wind. They cared nothing for remaining unseen; the only drive was the need to put distance between themselves and the house. They ran with ferocious speed, so extreme that the garden and yard trees seemed to open before them and close again in a blink, leaving a trail of disturbed leaves and soil. The ground creaked beneath their light feet, and the shadows of the trees stretched and contorted around them, as if trying to trap them.
They pressed deeper into the forest, moving further from the house and any human sound, until only tall, dense trunks remained, surrounding them like pillars of an ancient natural temple. Moisture clung to their clothes and skin, filling each breath with an earthy scent that reminded them they were far from the human world.
Finally, when the thicket had completely engulfed them, Nate stopped abruptly. Branches creaked under his boots, and the forest seemed to close in around them, trapping them in expectant silence. His rigid body, eyes burning with dark determination, reflected an internal conflict on the verge of overflowing. The stillness around them was not merely an absence of sound, but an intense presence, as if nature itself held its breath, waiting for the decision he was about to make.
Edward halted barely a meter behind him, turning with a furrowed brow, feeling the tension radiating from Nate like a pulse vibrating in the forest's damp air.
Though his body was immortal, Nate felt the weight of fatigue that went beyond the physical. Every step, every breath, seemed to drag echoes of the past. Speaking with his grandmother's urn had been complicated, confronting memories that refused to stay buried and shadows that crept into the corners of his mind. Now, seeing Charlie so clearly exhausted, shoulders slumped under the weight of guilt and eyes heavy with concern, added another layer of tension to his heart. Nate had never blamed Charlie; he was only a human trapped in a world he could not understand, another victim of circumstances beyond his control, just as Nate's own grandmother had been.
The scene before him became increasingly complex and oppressive. Not only did he need to address the matter with the Quiuletes and ensure Charlie understood that what he had seen that night had not happened, but he also felt compelled to alleviate the guilt consuming the man. Perhaps it was not an immediate priority, but Nate could not bear to leave Charlie trapped in torment. In his mind, a plan began to form: to invent an explanation convincing enough for Charlie to understand that none of what had happened was his fault, knowing that any conversation would have to be direct, clear, and face-to-face. This certainty added complexity to the plan, but there was no alternative.
The only obstacle was something Nate did not want to admit. When he came within a few steps of Charlie, the man's scent sharpened his self-control to a dangerous limit. For a moment, he was tempted to approach, to give in to the primitive urge he usually repressed effortlessly. But this time, his unruly emotions, the same ones that almost always kept him angry, worked in his favor; they offered him more precise, firmer control than he would have had in a normal situation.
Yet Nate knew this advantage was temporary. Every breath of Charlie's, every small gesture, seemed to bring him closer to a threshold he was not sure he could hold for long. The confidence to face him without succumbing to the thirst he provoked had not yet developed. He was not ready to confront him directly without his vampiric nature threatening to break the delicate restraint he had managed to maintain so far.
He lifted his gaze, meeting Edward's eyes. A fleeting, ironic thought crossed his mind: if he had felt that kind of thirst being so close to Charlie, what would happen near Bella? According to other vampires' stories, her scent could endanger any of their species' self-control. Nate decided not to explore that idea. He had more immediate and urgent problems to attend to: first, dealing with the Quiuletes; later, once the treaty was restored, he would decide how to handle the situation with Charlie and alleviate the guilt consuming him.
He made a silent vow: before leaving Forks again to pursue Riley, he would do everything in his power to protect Charlie and ensure he was not trapped in guilt or fear. It was the least he could offer. Nate took a deep breath, letting the forest's humidity and the mixed scents of earth, leaves, and bark settle around him, reinforcing his resolve. For now, the priority was the present: first, find Jacob and restore the treaty… then see how to resolve the rest.
Nate looked at Edward with contained intensity, his tone low but loaded with reproach: "All this matter with the Quiuletes and Charlie… It's your fault, Edward. If you had kept your promise, none of this would have happened. Nothing would have threatened your family, nothing would have pulled you away from Bella, and nothing would endanger her father."
Edward remained silent, unable to offer excuses. After witnessing Nate's fury minutes earlier, when he had grabbed him by the neck in his grandmother's house, he knew any explanation would sound hollow. There were no arguments that could dismantle Nate's determination.
Nate continued, his voice sharper, letting each word sink in: "How willing are you to fix everything?"
Edward did not hesitate. Urgency and responsibility pushed him to speak quickly, almost tripping over his own words: "Of course I am. I'll do anything to fix this problem."
Nate nodded slowly, though his eyes seemed lost in deeper thoughts. His tone, calm but icy, made it clear he was serious: "I have a method to solve everything quickly… but you'll have to do exactly as I say and tell Carlisle or the rest of your family nothing. If I find out you spoke, it won't matter that you're Alice's brother; that won't save you from what I'll do."
He paused, letting the silence fill the space between them, heavy like the fog enveloping the forest. Then his final words cut the air like a blade: "What's your decision? Do you want to keep everyone safe? Are you going to fix the problem you've gotten everyone into?"
Edward felt the pressure of Nate's gaze pinned on him. Each passing second without a response seemed to stretch the tension to the breaking point. He knew there was no turning back: his next actions would define the safety of those he loved, and any mistake would have irreversible consequences.
Finally, he took a deep breath and, with the firmness the situation demanded, replied: "I'll do whatever is necessary. I'm listening, Nate. Tell me what I must do."