Michael's POV
The soft sound of water was like music, and it pulled me out of sleep.
I opened my eyes; the ground was damp, the air smelled of fresh rain, and the river's roar echoed loudly through the woods.
Still groggy, I pushed myself up, my hands sinking into the cold earth. A thin layer of mist had drifted down from the sky, and the moonlight filtered through it, faintly lighting the forest around me.
And then I heard it again…
That same voice that whispered in my mind every night before I woke up.
"Michael…"
I turned.
She was there. Just like always. Across the river.
Sitting on a rock, her legs dipped into the water while droplets slid down her pale skin. Her long brown hair fell over her shoulders, and in the moon's reflection her eyes shimmered somewhere between brown and gold.
Her smile… that cursed smile stopped my heart every single time.
A warmth lived in it—warmth that made me believe, for a moment, that what I saw was real.
But the river was always between us.
I stepped toward her. The sounds of rushing water and wind mixed together, but none of it was louder than my heartbeat.
She spoke softly.
"Come…"
She raised her hand.
Her fingers were delicate, trembling slightly—yet her eyes held no hesitation.
And I didn't hesitate either. No matter the distance between us, I felt close to her. As if I'd known her forever.
I stepped into the water. The cold wrapped around my feet, but I didn't care. I only wanted to reach her.
One step… two… until I stood right in front of her.
Her gaze cut through my darkness like a beam of light.
I didn't want that moment to end.
Something inside me whispered: If you touch her, you won't be able to turn back…
But I ignored it.
I reached out my hand.
She smiled and extended hers too. Our fingers touched.
And in that instant, my breath caught. A wave of warmth shot through me—from skin to blood, from blood to heart.
But it lasted only a moment.
Before I could ask her name, before I could even blink, her image faded away.
Her voice echoed in my mind:
"Find me…"
"Ah—hah… hah." I gasped for air.
A sharp bang against glass snapped me awake.
A flashlight shone into my car. A police officer in a dark uniform was knocking on the window.
I rolled it down.
"ID, please."
I handed it over.
He scanned it and raised a brow.
"Michael Kent? From Romania?"
I nodded.
He smiled. "Charlie Swan. Police chief here in Forks. Small town, but the weather's nice. Welcome, Mr. Kent."
When he walked away, the feeling of her hand still lingered on my fingers.
I thought about the river in my dream. Her smile.
Half an hour later, I was still driving. The headlights rolled over the wet asphalt. The wipers moved with a slow, steady rhythm, pushing the rain off the glass. Cold air brushed across my face, and my breaths came out uneven from the chill. But my mind wasn't on the road.
That girl… the dreams… those strange images.
For a month now, I'd been seeing a school, a small town, streets that felt too real to be dreams. And then… her. Every night. Her look, her smile—pulling me toward her like a magnet.
But who was she?
Why did she feel so familiar?
Why did it feel like I already knew her?
Those questions circled in my head, refusing to let me rest.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter.
"I want to find her… I have to find her."
I'd left without wanting to upset my uncle, but a part of me still felt uneasy. Yet something deep inside insisted that I needed to do this.
For a moment, my mind drifted to my father. We had… a strange relationship. He didn't care about me—saw me as nothing but a burden to his life.
When the road finally ended, I stopped beside a small hotel. The faint glow of Forks peeked through the fog behind me. I carried my suitcase inside.
The woman at the front desk smiled softly. Her black hair was tied in a ponytail.
"You must be Mr. Kent?"
I froze for a moment, eyebrows raised. "Yeah… how did you know?"
She smiled again. "Small town. Not many guests. When you made the reservation, I figured it was you."
She handed me the key. Room 23.
The hotel was small. A few steps through the hallway brought me to my door.
I stepped inside, set my suitcase down, and kicked off my shoes. Pulling off my shirt, I headed for the bathroom.
The mirror—clear and fogless—reflected my image back at me.
My skin was lined with scars. Scars that never faded, scars that brought the memories back every time I looked at them.
I ran my hands over them.
Even after all these years of being a vampire, they remained—etched into me like a curse.
My mind drifted to that girl.
If I find her…
If she sees me like this… will she be afraid? Will she run?
Humans have fragile minds.
But no—no, Michael, stop. Focus… Even if she sees a monster, I need to know why she appears in my dreams. What ties me to her?
It took a few seconds before I dared look back into the mirror.
The problem wasn't the mirror.
The problem was me—looking at myself was torture.
I hadn't truly looked at my reflection in centuries.
Every time I saw these scars, I relived everything again.
Under my breath, I whispered,
"The past is always with me."
My gaze slipped to my face—
And that's when my uncle's voice echoed in my mind:
"Your eyes are dark blue like your mother's… but everything else? No. That's all your father. Every time I see you, it's like he's standing in front of me."
My jaw tightened. Something inside my chest twisted painfully.
My hair—the same brown curls.
My skin—the same bronze undertone that never faded.
My face—the same, damn the same.
"No… not now…"
My breath quickened. The mirror felt like it was closing in, or maybe I was sinking into it.
The more I stared, the more it felt like my father was staring back from the glass.
And worse than anything—his eyes. The way he looked at me like I was a curse, nothing but hatred.
"Get out of my sight."
His sneer followed:
"You're just like me."
No. I wasn't like him.
I couldn't be.
If I ever became like him, I'd rather kill myself.
These thoughts spiraled—faster, harsher—
And then:
My fist slammed into the mirror.
The sharp crack of shattering glass exploded through the bathroom.
Shards scattered across the floor, over my skin, across the sink…
But I felt no pain.
Only my broken reflection staring back from a thousand pieces.
Breathing hard, I kept my fist clenched.
"I'm not him… I'm not him… get a grip, Michael."
It took several deep breaths to calm myself.
I turned on the cold shower.
The icy water hit my skin, easing the tension slowly.
I sucked in a deep breath and closed my eyes.
"What's the worst thing in this world?" my own voice whispered in my head. "Pain? Death? Torture? Being a vampire? Or realizing the person you hate most is your father?"
The water poured over me, but my mind wandered elsewhere.
Being a vampire felt like a gift compared to everything else—yet it tortured me…
Not because I needed blood, but because I still wasn't strong enough. I was immortal, but still too weak to kill the man who caused all my scars.
What good was my power if I couldn't avenge myself?
I held my hands under the water. The cold slid over my skin, slowing my heartbeat.
The past weighed heavy on my shoulders—every scar, every memory, every hateful look from my father and everything he'd done.
"After I kill him… will I finally feel free?" I whispered again, my voice drowning under the sound of running water.
I shut off the shower and pushed my wet hair back. After wrapping a towel around myself, I lay on the bed. The white ceiling stared back at me, but my mind was filled with her—the girl from my dreams.
"If I sleep now… will I see her again?"
I exhaled slowly, closing my eyes. Even if she existed only in dreams, her warmth felt real.
And then—
Darkness.