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The forest blurred around him. Nate ran in silence, just another shadow among the trees, moving so fast he barely left a trace. Each stride carried him farther from the clearing where he had spoken with the Romanians, but not from what they had said.
The conversation remained alive in his mind, an echo that refused to fade.
Vladimir had found werewolves. Children of the Moon.
The very idea irritated him and intrigued him at the same time. It was a risk he hadn't authorized, a decision made behind his back… but also an opportunity. If they managed to subdue them, they could become a valuable resource.
Only the timing could have been worse.
The cold air struck his face as he crossed a clearing washed in pale light. His thoughts grew sharper, clearer.
He had seen enough of Vladimir to understand that this wasn't a simple act of initiative, but a test: he was probing the limits of Nate's authority.
And although his warning had been clear, Nate knew that threats alone were rarely enough for someone like him.
He recalled Vladimir's smile, that almost childlike gleam of satisfaction when talking about the wolves, as if they were trophies rather than a latent threat.
As if he assumed they would be as easy to break as the newborns.
But Nate knew better.
His confidence came from experience—and experience reminded him that the unknown should never be underestimated.
When he faced the newborns in that factory, the terrain was not uncertain. Yes, there were many, but they shared the same limitations. Their movements, their strength, their impulses… he could anticipate them. Match them. Overwhelm them.
The wolves, however, were something else entirely.
His only point of reference was Yamil, the werewolf he had killed… but that encounter had happened before the transformation.
Now he would be facing four.
Four—and he could not kill them.
The idea felt like an unacceptable risk. One misstep, one miscalculated reaction, and everything could collapse.
The ground changed beneath his feet as the forest began to open. He slowed down, letting the world catch up to him, though his mind remained elsewhere.
He did not trust the Romanians. He never would.
As long as their goals aligned, they were useful allies, but this was different. This was a move to shift pieces before the right moment.
First, the wolves…
Then what?
Provoking the Volturi directly?
Forcing him into a war without preparation?
Nate would not allow that.
Even if he wanted to face the Volturi someday, he wouldn't do it blinded by arrogance.
Yes, he was strong—stronger than anyone he had met—but he was not invincible.
The Volturi had maintained their rule for centuries for a reason. Even with the twins' power, such dominance was impossible without a strategy.
And that was something he would never underestimate.
As his thoughts aligned, one thorn kept returning, persistent and quiet:
Alice.
He knew he would have to speak with her soon. Explain the shift in their plans.
But part of him resisted.
He had seen her happy here, surrounded by her family, with him woven into that fragile peace.
And although he knew Alice would follow him anywhere, there was no justification strong enough to drag her back into conflict.
There were things he did not want her to see.
Alice had seen him at his extremes—furious, grieving, vulnerable. She had seen him cold and lethal when necessary.
But nothing compared to the thing he kept buried deeper.
The part Victoria had glimpsed only minutes before dying:
The part of him that not only devised how to destroy, but found a kind of quiet in doing it.
Nate had learned to restrain that version of himself, but whenever the world pushed him to the edge, he could feel it stir.
And the possibility of Alice ever seeing it terrified him.
The possibility that she would understand that, at his core, he could take a certain comfort in the harm he caused.
The murmur of the forest began to shift. The sound of a nearby stream pulled him back from his thoughts.
The Cullen house wasn't far.
He adjusted his pace. His movements flowed lighter, almost like breathing.
The wind carried the familiar scent of wood, home, and recent rain.
For an instant, the world seemed to still.
He knew that the moment he crossed that door, he would have to become Nate again:
Calm.
Measured.
Integrated.
But inside, something remained awake.
Something that breathed slowly.
Fangs held behind quiet patience.
Waiting.
................................................................
The murmur of the stream faded behind him as Nate crossed the edge of the forest. The Cullen house emerged between the trees, bright and serene, its calm seeming to contrast with the chaos approaching.
And there, leaning against the door, was Alice.
She didn't hold her usual posture—confident, light. Her arms were crossed, shoulders tense, her gaze fixed on the path he had come from. When she saw him, something in her expression loosened. There was no theatrics, no dramatics—just relief. Real, intimate relief.
Nate slowed until he stopped in front of her. His breathing was steady, but the tension still lingered behind his eyes.
Alice watched him for a moment longer before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I got a little worried when you left without saying anything."
He held her gaze and let out a small smile. Not fully serene, but honest.
"I had to take care of some things with those guys."
He said it softly, weighed, aware that behind her there were vampires who could hear a thought inside a breath.
Alice understood instantly.
Her expression shifted—not surprise, but acceptance… and something like quiet hurt.
She stepped toward him, slowly. As if each step required confirming he truly was there. Then she wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly—so tightly it felt like, at some point, she had feared he might not return.
"Carlisle mentioned what Alistair said…" she murmured against his chest.
"I understand the shirt got contaminated, and it can't be used to track Riley anymore… I'm sorry, Nate. I really am."
Nate lowered a hand to her back, returning the embrace with calm. No tension. No restraint. Just a silent acknowledgment.
"I already have an idea to fix it," he said, his voice gentle.
"But we'll need to talk in private. I have to catch you up."
Alice pulled back just enough to look at him.
Her eyes studied him—not searching for answers, but for the truth beneath them.
And she saw it.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Doubt.
Small.
Controlled.
But present.
Alice didn't ask. She didn't insist.
She just took his hand, with the same care one uses to hold something precious.
"We can talk in our room," she said.
"If we keep our voices low, no one will hear."
Nate nodded, letting her guide him.
The feeling of her hand in his grounded something inside him, something that had been restless since the moment he left the Romanians.
When they crossed the threshold, the living room was lively.
The family surrounded Carlisle; their voices were soft but warm, as if everything—just for a moment—was balanced.
But the instant Carlisle noticed Nate, that warmth vanished from his expression.
He stepped forward, raising a hand gently to move the others aside, making space.
His eyes were filled with steady concern—not reproach, not anger.
Concern. Real concern.
"What is this about you going alone to speak with the Quileutes?"
The atmosphere shifted.
Calm tightened, taut and nearly audible.
Alice squeezed Nate's hand just slightly.
Nate didn't flinch.
He had spent days measuring his words, managing silences, shaping his presence. He had softened the sharper edges of his temper, not just to fit in, but to make Alice's time with her family as peaceful as possible for as long as it could last.
But in that moment, all of that fell away.
It was time for things to move forward.
He answered Carlisle with a steady calm.
"That was the agreement. When I spoke with Jacob, that was the most I could get. They're willing to talk… but only as a favor to the friendship he and I had."
He lied with unsettling ease.
His tone was sincere, his expression smooth, his cadence precise.
For the family, it was almost impossible to detect anything beneath it.
Almost.
Edward's brow tightened slightly, clearly debating whether to say something… but he remained silent.
Carlisle, however, frowned with concern.
"Nate… I appreciate that you did what you could to convince them to speak. I truly do. But that doesn't mean I'm going to send you alone." His voice was firm, paternal, protective. "Even if the Quileutes are noble, we don't know how they'll react. It isn't worth risking your safety just for our stay here."
Nate shook his head with the same serenity one uses to dismiss a needless worry.
"I'm sure all of this is because of what happened with Riley. As the injured party, they'll hear me out. They won't harm me."
His tone was logical, convincing.
"From what I talked about with Jacob, they're reconsidering things. After I lay out my points, I'm certain they'll stay in their territory and avoid further conflict. They may even wait a few years until you leave Forks before passing through again… After all, even if the Quileutes are built to kill vampires… they're good people. They just want to protect their land. You aren't a threat, and they know that."
Truths wrapped in lies, mixed with surgical precision by someone who had mastered that craft long ago.
And none of them noticed.
Carlisle clenched his jaw, caught between reason and instinct.
"Even so… talking with Jacob isn't the same as talking to their leader." He paused briefly. "We don't know how many will be present. Let me go with you—or at least let Emmett accompany you. You'll need support if things escalate."
Nate breathed out softly, like someone tired of explaining.
But he didn't have to say another word.
Alice spoke first.
"Please don't underestimate Nate."
Her voice was gentle, but firm.
Not defiant.
Certain.
"Even if every wolf came after him, I'm sure he could get away unharmed. You all know he's, by far, the best fighter in this house. And even if he had to run, I don't think any wolf could catch him… But I can't say the same for you or Emmett."
There was no cruelty in her reasoning. Her tone remained soft, like she handled the matter carefully so as not to wound pride.
"I'll go with him," Alice continued calmly. "I trust my agility if things go wrong. Besides, Jacob knows me. He won't see it as a provocation—just… what it is. It's not unusual for Nate to be accompanied by his partner."
Her words fell into the room like a precise gear piece.
They fit.
They locked.
They convinced.
Silence followed.
Nate felt everyone thinking. Even Alistair in the attic, who had been pacing just moments before, now stood still, waiting for Carlisle's response.
But Nate couldn't let them keep searching for reasons to interfere.
With a light, almost conciliatory smile, he spoke:
"It's already too late to change things. Any adjustment now would only make matters worse. The plan is solid, and I know Jacob well enough to know he'll stop any fight if Alice and I are involved… After all, up until a few months ago, we were good friends…"
He said it without pressure, without challenge.
Just a plain truth.
Though the last part carried a tone of unintentional melancholy.
Then he lifted his gaze, meeting Carlisle's directly.
"You'll have to trust us, Carlisle."
He didn't wait for a response.
He took Alice's hand and started toward the stairs, leading her with the same ease as breathing.
The family remained silent behind them.
Worried looks.
Tight jaws.
Understanding laced with fear.
But no one stopped them.
The Cullen living room became quieter than it had ever been.
No one spoke.
The minutes stretched, lengthening until they felt like hours.
Time slipped between them like water escaping through fingers,
while each tried to steady their anxiety by clinging to routine—
to anything that could keep their thoughts in place.
By the time someone took a deeper breath,
Nightfall was only minutes away.