Edward arrived at my house unannounced. He didn't knock. He simply appeared on the porch like a particularly handsome omen of death. When I opened the door, the outside air shifted—colder, sharper, aware.
"Good morning." he said, voice low, smooth, and too confident for someone trespassing on a weekday.
"You're early." I replied.
"You didn't give me a time."
"I didn't give you an invitation either."
He smiled—slow, deliberate, unreasonably pretty. "If I waited for you to invite me, I'd be outside for centuries."
"That sounds preferable."
He stepped inside anyway.
Edward moved through the living room with the curiosity of a predator inspecting new territory. His eyes lingered on the fireplace, the bookshelves, the family photos—calculating, cataloging, claiming without touching.
"You look different in this environment." he said quietly. "Less… guarded."
"I assure you, the grimness is consistent."
He hummed thoughtfully. "I'm starting to enjoy it."
"A concerning declaration."
He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, expression strangely soft. "If it concerns you, then I must be doing something right."
"That sounded suspiciously like you were hitting on me." I noted.
"What if I was?" he replied, utterly unapologetic.
Before I could respond, headlights swept across the wall. A car rolled up the driveway. Edward's posture stiffened immediately.
Jacob got out first, all warmth and open expression. Billy followed, eyes sharp beneath the dusky evening light.
Jacob's gaze landed on Edward—and froze.
Billy's narrowed a beat later, like an instinct surfacing from somewhere old and territorial.
Edward didn't hide his reaction either. His eyes darkened. His shoulders tensed minutely. The air between them thickened, electric and wrong.
"Interesting." I murmured.
Edward's voice was quiet but clipped. "I'll pick you up at twelve." A beat. "Don't make me wait."
Then he was gone—fast, silent, a shadow retreating from the headlights. But his expression as he passed Jacob and Billy was ice-hard, unblinking.
Jacob clenched his jaw. Billy gripped the armrest of his wheelchair as if grounding himself. Neither looked away.
They watched Edward. Edward watched them.
Something ancient and unpleasant crackled between them—like two storms recognizing each other.
I stepped outside. "Fascinating display. Should I install bleachers?"
Jacob exhaled sharply and looked at me. His expression softened, but tension still hung around him like steam.
"Hey, Wednesday." he said. "Sorry, didn't know you had company."
"He wasn't company." I said. "More like a biological anomaly."
Billy snorted. "That boy is no good." he muttered, wheeling toward the door. "Charlie's inside?"
"He's emotionally clumsy and drinking coffee." I said. "Yes."
Charlie came outside. "I heard that."
He helped Billy up the stairs, taking him in, leaving Jacob and me alone on the porch.
I folded my arms. "What's your problem with Edward?"
Jacob stiffened. "My problem?"
"You stared at him like he stole your ancestral burial ground."
He hesitated. "My family just… doesn't like the Cullens."
"Why? Did they offend your truck?"
He cracked a tense smile but didn't answer.
"Jacob," I said flatly, "what is it? You don't like rich, cold people? Don't lie to me."
His reaction was immediate—shoulders jerking, breath catching, pupils dilating like I'd jabbed him with a truth-serum-coated needle.
"What? No." he laughed quickly—too quickly. "Just… just old family stuff."
"You're lying." I said.
He coughed, then changed subjects so abruptly it was almost suspicious. "Uh—dinner. We should go inside."
I let the evasion slide for now. My father would become emotional if we let the food get cold.
Dinner was noisy in a way that would have given me a migraine if I believed in those. Charlie and Billy talked loudly. Jacob laughed politely. I observed, mentally dissecting everyone at the table.
Afterward, Jacob lingered in the kitchen while Billy and Charlie debated fishing tactics with all the passion of men discussing war strategy.
Jacob was leaning on the counter when I approached. His shoulders tensed instantly.
"You're hiding something." I said.
His eyes widened. "From you? No way."
"Jacob," I said calmly, "you're about as subtle as a haunted chainsaw. Tell me the truth."
"There's nothing to tell." His smile was strained. "We just don't like the Cullens."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "Old stories."
"Which are?"
"Just stories."
"Jacob."
He sighed, flicking a nervous glance toward the living room. "Look, my family is… descended from werewolves or something." He laughed awkwardly. "Scary, right?"
"That depends." I said. "Do you burst into fur during emotional distress or only during lunar cycles?"
Jacob froze for half a second too long. Then he laughed again—loud, forced, painfully human. "No. No. It's just a joke. My dad likes traditions. Old legends. Stuff to scare tourists."
"You're lying again."
"Wednesday…"
He grabbed his jacket. "I gotta get my dad home. See you around?"
Before I could analyze him further, he ducked into the living room, called Billy, and they left in a hurry that screamed avoidance.
The door shut behind them with a finality I wasn't finished with.
I watched the empty space they'd occupied and wrote one sentence in my mind: "Edward isn't the only creature in this town pretending to be normal."
And beneath that, another truth began whispering, "Whatever Jacob is hiding… it's shaking him more than he wants me to notice."
That night, I decided to check on Enid. The only person I could tolerate at that school. I let her know their might be werewolves here too. It would be interesting to see the two meet if Jacob really is a werewolf.