Bella had been careful. Extremely careful. And she still missed her flight.
The plane was delayed, just as casually as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Are you serious?" she muttered, collapsing into one of the stiff airport chairs, momentarily speechless.
She hated waiting. Hated the feeling of time slipping uselessly through her fingers. But stranded in an unfamiliar city, she had nowhere else to go.
After some thought, she decided to wander into one of the airport shops. If nothing else, she could buy a small gift for the father she had never truly known.
Forks had a population of barely three thousand. By any standard, it was a small town. Still, a sheriff was a sheriff. That title carried weight, especially in a place where everyone knew everyone else.
The girl who once owned this body had never understood how to make use of that connection.
Bella did.
Even if the worst happened, closer ties to the local sheriff could only help.
Fifty. One hundred fifty. One hundred sixty.
She counted the bills in her wallet as she walked.
It was March of 2000. No mobile payments. No swiping credit cards for a teenager like her. Just cash, folded and slightly worn.
Distracted by her mental arithmetic, she failed to notice another girl swaying lightly to music through her headphones.
They collided head-on.
The dull thud echoed in Bella's ears. Taller than the other girl, she felt her chin slam into the girl's forehead.
"Ow!"
Bella staggered back, her jaw going numb, a sharp ringing filling her ears. She steadied herself against the wall.
The other girl, dressed in a pale lavender cardigan, crouched down and rubbed her head, dignity forgotten.
"I'm so sorry!"
"No, it was my fault!"
They spoke at the same time, each rushing to apologize.
Bella meant it. The last thing she wanted was trouble during a trip like this.
The impact had sent several smaller bills fluttering out of her wallet. They scattered across the floor in humiliating disarray.
The girl's family hurried over at once.
A middle-aged man anxiously asked whether Bella needed to go to the hospital.
Unlike Bella, an only child, they were the picture of a typical American family of five. Two parents, two sons, one daughter. The girl she had bumped into stood between them. A young man who looked like her older brother hovered protectively nearby, while a mischievous-looking younger boy clutched a toy box.
Bella could not help staring.
The girl was stunning.
Her eyes carried a natural magnetism. Her brows were delicately shaped, as though brushed in ink. Her lips curved softly, her skin luminous and clear. She looked one or two years younger than Bella.
Still dazed from the collision, the girl rubbed her head one last time, then lifted her gaze and met Bella's eyes directly.
Bella was no less striking. Her features were refined, her skin dewy and pale, her lips vivid without effort. Only exhaustion and faint pallor dulled the brilliance of her beauty.
Natural beauties were rare.
Two of them running into each other by accident felt almost absurdly improbable.
"I'm really sorry," Bella said again.
"I wasn't watching where I was going either," the girl replied.
There was no reason to linger. Bella gathered her money, offered a polite farewell, and prepared to leave.
"Get them!"
The shout split the air.
From both ends of the corridor, four rough-looking men rushed forward.
The family froze.
So did Bella.
Robbers? In an airport? In broad daylight?
The father fumbled for his phone. The leader, a burly man with dark hair, lunged forward and grabbed Bella's shoulder.
They are targeting me?
Her reaction was instinctive. She yanked a can of pepper spray from her bag and discharged a full blast straight into his eyes. Before he could recover, she drove her knee upward with ruthless precision.
Long legs. Clean aim. No hesitation.
The man crumpled, collapsing to the floor and clutching himself in agony.
Before she could catch her breath, a thinner attacker rushed at her.
Without the element of surprise, Bella was only an ordinary girl. No martial arts training. No superpowers.
But she was not the only one who moved.
The mother stepped forward.
With startling speed, she caught the thug's incoming fist, pivoted smoothly, and executed a clean shoulder throw that slammed him onto the ground.
Within seconds, two attackers were down.
Bella had long since accepted the dangers of living in a world where Stark Industries existed. The appearance of aliens one day would not shock her. Compared to that, a few criminals in an airport barely registered.
The family's reactions varied wildly. The father hesitated, torn between fear and action. The beautiful daughter bit her lip, eyes gleaming with excitement. The older brother looked utterly confused. The younger one stared in stunned silence.
Outnumbered, exposed in a public airport, the remaining two attackers faltered.
One of them, a woman, shot a quick signal to her companion. Then she darted toward the younger boy and snatched the toy car from his stunned hands.
"Got it! Run!" she shouted.
They fled.
Bella stared after them, incredulous.
All that chaos. For a toy car?
But as the man she had kneed writhed on the floor, she noticed something tucked at his waist.
A gun.
Even in America, people did not casually stroll through airports armed.
Something about this reeked of trouble.