"She was willing?" Mame asked, the rage in his chest replaced by a hollow, cold dread. The idea that his sister would choose this life—this frozen, blood-drinking existence—was almost harder to swallow than the idea of her death.
"That is what we must determine," Carlisle replied, his eyes moving to the forest where the shadows seemed to deepen.
Alice stepped forward, her expression uncharacteristically grave. "I didn't see it, Carlisle. I didn't see any of it. He's still a blind spot to me."
"And yet he sees the path we are on," Jasper added quietly, his eyes fixed on Mame as he felt the human's emotions shift from murderous intent to a weary, protective confusion.
Mame looked at Edward, who still hadn't moved, his expression a mix of guilt and longing. "If that vision comes true," Mame said, his voice a low warning, "I don't care about 'bonds' or 'mates.' I'll find a way to stop it."
Carlisle gestured for the family to remain calm as the heavy silence of the forest settled around them. He began to explain the process of transformation with a physician's detachment, noting that the turning of a person into a vampire is, in many ways, indistinguishable from killing them. It involves injecting venom into the person and waiting for the heart to stop and restart.
"If what you saw is true, Mame," Carlisle said gravely, "and if your visions work the same way as Alice's, then they represent a future that has already been decided by the choices made".
"So you're saying it can't be stopped?" Mame asked, his voice low and dangerous.
"Alice's visions are subjective, but once a path is set, they are rarely wrong," Carlisle replied.
Mame's eyes flared with a cold, absolute resolve. "I will stop it," he stated, the words cutting through the air like a blade. "May fate or destiny or anything else be damned. Anyone who tries to stop me will see how creative I can be in making their life hell".
The Cullens fell into a stunned silence. Even Emmett stopped grinning, and Rosalie's sharp gaze wavered at the sheer weight of the human's conviction. They watched him—an anomaly who couldn't be read or predicted—standing against the very concept of inevitability.
Mame rubbed his face, the neurological strain of the vision receding as the cold sensation spread through his skull. "I need some time to process this," he muttered.
He turned his head slowly, locking his reflective, dark eyes onto Edward. "If I catch you near Bella again, I will forget you are Alice's brother," Mame said, his voice a steady, chilling promise. "I will shoot you, or I will find a way to shoot you that will hurt".
The forest remained silent, the Cullens watching the boy who shouldn't have been there, yet somehow, was exactly where he was supposed to be.
Mame stood his ground for a moment longer, his breathing gradually smoothing out as the cold sensation spread through his skull to numb the lingering pain. He looked at the gathered Cullens—at Carlisle's clinical concern, Alice's wide-eyed shock, and Edward's frozen guilt.
"I'll walk back," Mame said, his voice flat and final. "I need the time to process.".
Alice stepped forward, her pixie-like frame tense with worry. "Mame, it's miles back to town in the dark. Let us—".
"No," Mame interrupted, not looking at her. "I need the air. And I need to be away from him." He gestured vaguely toward Edward. "If I'm in a car with any of you right now, I might say or do something we'll all regret tomorrow.".
He turned on his heel, heading toward the long, winding driveway. A soft chime rang inside his head, clean and precise like a bell struck inside his bones. A transparent window attempted to flicker into existence in his peripheral vision, but in his stress and the roar of his pulse, he ignored it entirely. The system was trying to sync, but Mame's mind was a jagged map of defiance that refused to look at anything but the road ahead.
He didn't pick up the hunting knife he had dropped; he left it in the grass as a silent testament to the violence he was capable of when backed into a corner. The Cullens remained silent, watching his retreating form disappear into the mist and the smell of wet earth. Even with their superior hearing, they didn't try to follow. They knew the weight of his words.
Mame reached the main road, the gray light of the moon barely cutting through the thick cloud cover. Every step grounded him, the rough texture of the asphalt beneath his boots a stark contrast to the ethereal, terrifying visions that had just clawed through his mind.
He walked for over an hour, the rain tapping softly against the leaves and the forest listening to his every breath. He thought about the stone towers, the red eyes, and the sight of Bella looking like a pale, sunken shell. Carlisle's explanation of the transformation—of the heart stopping and restarting—offered no comfort. To Mame, it sounded like a different kind of death.
"I will stop it," he whispered to the empty road, his jaw set with an absolute resolve.
By the time the familiar white siding of the Swan house appeared through the trees, his clothes were soaked through. He saw the light in the living room was still on. Bella was waiting.
He paused at the edge of the driveway, the internal chime ringing once more, unheeded. He wiped the rain from his face, squared his shoulders, and walked toward the porch.
Back on the Cullen lawn, the silence was heavy, broken only by the fading sound of Mame's footsteps against the damp pavement of the long driveway. The Cullens stood like statues, their various expressions illuminated by the porch light and the pale, filtered moonlight.
Rosalie was the first to break the stillness. She uncrossed her arms, her eyes flashing with a mixture of agitation and genuine concern. "And what are we going to do about this?" she demanded, gesturing toward the road where Mame had disappeared. "He's an anomaly, Carlisle. Edward can't read him, Alice can't see him, and he just threatened us with a level of conviction I haven't seen in a human in decades. Not to mention he's carrying around a hunting knife and seeing the future."
Emmett shifted his weight, his usual jovial expression gone. "The kid's got heart, I'll give him that. But Rosalie's right. He's a wild card."
Carlisle looked toward the dark tree line, his expression thoughtful and clinical, yet tinged with the compassion that defined him. "We will do nothing," he stated firmly. "At least, nothing proactive."
"Nothing?" Rosalie echoed, her voice rising. "He knows what we are. He's seen a version of the future that puts us in the crosshairs of his 'creativity.'"
"We observe him," Carlisle corrected, turning his gaze back to his family. "Mame is reacting out of love for his sister. That is a language we all understand. If he truly has a gift like Alice's—or something entirely new—interfering now would only solidify the dark future he's glimpsed. We must see if his presence is what causes the vision or what prevents it."
He then turned his attention to Edward, who looked more shattered than any of them had ever seen him. The weight of Mame's "vision" of him repeatedly biting Bella seemed to have aged him.
"Edward," Carlisle said, his voice dropping to a tone of absolute command. "For now, you must keep your distance. From Bella, and especially from Mame. The boy is on high alert, and he is right to be protective. If you are near the Swans, you are the catalyst for his rage."
Edward didn't argue. He looked down at the grass, specifically at the spot where Mame's knife had lay only moments ago. "I know," he whispered. "I can't... I can't even tell him I won't hurt her, because in his head, he's already seen me do it."
Alice placed a small, cold hand on Edward's arm, her pixie-like face clouded. "I'll watch what I can, Edward. But remember... Mame is the one variable I can't account for. He's the only one who can change the ending."
The walk back to the Swan residence was a blur of drizzle and the smell of damp earth. By the time Mame reached the porch, his clothes were heavy with rainwater, and his expression was as dark as the storm clouds overhead.
He pushed the door open, the floorboards creaking under his boots.
Bella was sitting at the kitchen table, a textbook open in front of her, but her eyes were fixed on the door. She looked up, her expression shifting from worry to a playful, observant curiosity.
"You're back late," she said, leaning her chin on her hand. "And you look like you crawled out of a river. What happened? Did Alice's sister reject your invitation to hang out? Is that why you're sulking?"
Mame didn't even stop to look at her. He kicked off his boots, his movements jerky and sharp. "Not now, Isabella," he snapped, his voice cold and distant.
Bella flinched slightly at the use of her full name—a clear sign that the line had been drawn. She opened her mouth to retort, but Charlie, who had been watching the exchange from the living room with a man of action's silent intuition, held up a hand.
"Leave him be, Bells," Charlie said quietly. "He's got a lot on his mind. He'll come around."
Mame ignored them both, heading straight for the garage they had converted into a makeshift gym. He needed to move. He needed to drown out the sound of the soft chime that kept ringing in his head and the memory of the red eyes from his vision.
Inside the gym, the air was cold. Mame didn't bother warming up. He went straight for the heavy rack.
A few minutes later, Charlie walked in. He didn't say anything; he just grabbed a pair of lighter dumbbells and started a slow set of curls, keeping an eye on his son. He wanted to offer support the only way he knew how—by just being there.
But as Charlie watched, his movements slowed, then stopped.
He watched Mame slide plate after plate onto the bar. 225 lbs. 315 lbs. 405 lbs.
Charlie's eyes widened. He knew Mame had been training, but this was different. Mame moved the weight with a raw, explosive power that seemed impossible for his frame. Each rep was fueled by a silent, focused rage. The bar bent under the load, the metal groaning, but Mame's form was like iron.
Charlie stood there, a dumbbell forgotten in his hand, genuinely stunned. He had seen professional athletes in the city, but the sheer Strength Mame was displaying—and the darkness behind his eyes—made the Chief of Police feel like he was looking at a stranger.
"Mame..." Charlie started, his voice trailing off.
Mame didn't respond. He just gripped the bar harder, his knuckles white, as the Soft Chime rang out again, ignored in the heat of the effort.
The heavy weights finally hit the rack with a resounding metallic clang that echoed through the garage. Mame was drenched, his heart hammering against his ribs, but the physical exhaustion was the only thing keeping the dark thoughts at bay.
Charlie watched him for a long moment, his own dumbbells forgotten. "Get some sleep, kid," he said, his voice unusually soft. "Whatever it is... it'll look different in the morning."
Mame didn't answer. He just nodded curtly and walked past his father, climbing the stairs in a daze. He bypassed Bella's room, ignoring the sliver of light beneath her door and the heavy silence of the house. He collapsed onto his bed, not even bother to change out of his damp clothes.
Sleep didn't come gently. It hit him like a physical blow, dragging him down into a cold, dark abyss.
Then, the floodgates opened.
It wasn't just a vision—it was a deluge. He saw a wedding in a forest, white petals stained with red. He saw a jagged coastline in Italy and ancient, marble-skinned men with eyes the color of dried blood. He saw a massive, copper-furred wolf howling in agony, and a pale girl with gold-flecked eyes holding a child that shouldn't exist. The entire "Twilight Saga" played out behind his eyelids in fractured, high-speed flashes.
But through the chaos of the vampires and wolves, something else began to stitch together. Fragments of a life that wasn't "Mame Swan."
He remembered sitting in a dark room, the glow of a laptop screen reflecting in his eyes. He saw rows of manga on a shelf, the spine of a novel he'd read a dozen times, and the flickering animation of a battle-heavy anime. He remembered the feeling of a controller in his hand and the knowledge that the world he was currently living in... was a story. A movie. A book.
He was an outsider. A spectator who had been dropped into the middle of the board.
In the dream, the Soft Chime didn't just ring; it resonated like a cathedral bell, shattering the nightmares. The red eyes and the marble towers dissolved into white light.
Just as the sun began to peek through the gray light of the Forks drizzle outside his window, a Transparent Window snapped into focus in the center of his mind.
[CONGRATULATIONS: PARTIAL BREAKING OF THE FIRST BARRIER AHEAD OF TIME]
[NARRATIVE RECOGNITION ACHIEVED]
[NEW FUNCTION UNLOCKED: FULL STATUS ACCESS]
[The host may now access the Status Window and Inventory while awake.]
Mame's eyes snapped open. He was gasping for air, his skin clammy with sweat. He sat up abruptly, his heart racing. Usually, the "system" felt like a hallucination or a dream, but as he stared at the familiar posters on his wall, he thought the command.
Status.
A Transparent Window shimmered into existence, hovering in the air before him, clear and undeniable.
Name: Mame Swan
Title: The Anomaly / Fate-Breaker
Rank: D
Strength: C- (Exceeding human limits)
Agility: D+
Endurance: C
Willpower: A
Special Skills: Anomaly, Synchronized Foresight (Fragmented), Vindictive Strike.
Mame stared at the glowing blue text. He wasn't just Bella's brother anymore. He was the only person in this world who knew how the story ended—and he was the only one strong enough to rewrite it.
He looked out at the rain, his expression turning cold.
"Fate be damned," he whispered.