The cliff overlooked the forest like a knife jutting into the night. The air was still, almost reverent, the sky stripped of clouds so that the stars burned clear above them.
Moonlight touched the Cullens' pale faces, turning their marble features into something both ethereal and severe.
Edward sat at the very edge, the tips of his shoes just inches from the dark drop below. His shoulders were hunched forward, his expression tight, golden eyes lowered toward the depths as if the shadows below could answer the unease winding inside him. To his right, Rosalie lingered a few steps back.
Her arms were folded, posture a perfect sculpture of pride, her gaze tilted upward toward the white disc of the moon as though it belonged only to her.
Alice perched on a moss-stained stump, her delicate frame unnaturally still, though her eyes flickered with a current that betrayed her restlessness. Emmett stood close by, his large arms wrapped easily around Elise's shoulders.
She leaned against him, her hands folded at her chest, her soft eyes full of worry. Shy, hesitant, but with an empathy that made her fragile aura deceptive.
By the trees at the edge of the gathering stood two figures who held themselves differently than the rest. The man, tall and broad-shouldered, wore his composure like a crown.
His hair was pale blond, neatly combed, and his face carried both gravity and quiet patience. Though his expression was calm, it carried weight, an authority born not of command but of respect.
At his side was the woman. Slender, graceful, her dark hair brushed her shoulders as she stood with her hands gently folded in front of her.
Unlike the others, whose beauty cut sharp and dazzling, hers carried softness, the kind of beauty that soothed instead of intimidated. Her golden eyes were warm, tender even, yet the Cullen's instinctively gave her a reverence no less powerful than the man beside her.
She was the quiet center of them all, the one whose voice rarely needed to rise, whose gentleness could still cause a storm.
The family's silence broke at last when Alice spoke.
"It started in class," she murmured, her voice thin as though already strained by what she had seen. "A boy. Aiden. He offered to draw something for me, and it was Rosalie. Her, exactly as she is. Every detail was so precise it felt alive."
Rosalie's chin tilted higher at that, lips pressed tight though the glimmer in her eyes betrayed the smallest note of interest.
Alice drew in a breath, her hands tightening together in her lap. "That's when it happened. The vision."
Her gaze went blank. The night air stilled around her as if waiting.
The classroom vanished. Alice's body stiffened, but her mind fell through layers of color and sound until fire erupted around her.
A building burned. The screams of twisted metal and cracking glass filled her head as the third floor of an old apartment complex belched out a geyser of flame. Shards of windows rained down like falling stars, spinning in the smoke-choked air. The heat seared her, though she knew she could not truly burn.
Inside, the walls blistered and split. A woman sat in a chair, unmoving. The fire crawled up her dress, curling her hair into embers, devouring her skin.
The smell of scorched flesh overwhelmed Alice's senses, and in the woman's blackening hand glinted a silver locket, its chain melting but clutched tightly to the end. The fire roared around her, a soundless scream trapped in the inferno.
Alice wanted to reach for her, but the vision tore her away
Chains rattled. The world snapped into a dim, concrete room. The stench of blood and iron soaked the air. Aiden hung there, arms spread, wrists locked in blackened cuffs bolted to the wall. His body was carved with wounds old and fresh, blood snaking across the ink of his tattoos until they looked alive, crawling. His head hung low, his chest heaving raggedly.
Alice felt the hopelessness, the claustrophobic weight of it pressing down like a second skin. But then, his eyes lifted. Not dead. Not pleading. Burning. Defiance crackled in them like storm lightning. Even chained, even broken, he was unbroken. His silence screamed louder than any words.
Then darkness again, pulled like a tide into something worse.
The ground was wet, slick. Bodies sprawled everywhere, twisted and lifeless. The stink of blood rose in waves, metallic and choking. Pools of it crept outward, glimmering black in the low light until it looked like the earth itself was bleeding.
And there he stood. Aiden. His bare chest painted with gore, his fists dripping crimson. His breath tore from him in shuddering growls, his eyes wild, unrecognizable. Around him the corpses were countless, a massacre without equal.
Alice's vision faltered as if even she could not bear more.
The forest returned in a rush. Alice blinked sharply, hands trembling in her lap.
Silence followed, heavy and taut, until Edward's voice cut through it like a blade.
"He's a danger. That much is clear. You saw it, the destruction, the blood. It follows him." His voice was edged, sharp with a fear he masked as anger. His golden eyes flicked toward Alice, then narrowed. "If we let him linger near us, he becomes our problem."
Rosalie's head snapped toward him, her arms unfolding. "You're twisting it. He wasn't the cause of the fire, Edward, he was chained in that room. Someone did that to him. He survived it. He fought it. Did you even listen?"
Edward rose from the cliff's edge, his face set in stone. "I saw what she saw. He stood in blood, Rosalie. Surrounded by it. Don't pretend that doesn't matter."
Her eyes flashed. "And I suppose Bella doesn't matter either? You circle her like a moth to a flame, but you want to lecture me about danger? Don't be a hypocrite, Edward."
The snarl in his throat was barely restrained. "Bella is different."
Rosalie stepped closer, voice dropping into a sharp hiss. "She's human. And if Aiden is guilty for visions, then you're guilty for choices you're already making."
Their standoff burned hot, nearly sparking into violence.
And then—
"Enough."
The soft voice cut through sharper than a scream.
Esme stepped forward, her golden eyes glimmering with warmth, her tone calm, maternal. Yet in the silence that followed, every one of them yielded as if to law.
"We don't turn on one another," she said softly. "Not for fear. Not for what might come." Her gaze lingered on Edward until his jaw eased, then on Rosalie, whose hands curled but who finally turned her face back to the moon.
"Thank you, Alice," Esme added gently, her voice carrying to the seer like a hand smoothing over a wound. "We needed to hear this, even if it hurt you."
Alice lowered her gaze, shoulders loosening.
At last, the blond man beside Esme, Carlisle lifted his chin, his voice measured, deliberate.
"We do nothing. Not yet. A vision is only possibility, not truth. Until it comes to us, we observe. Nothing more."
One by one, the family dispersed, the tension unraveling in fragments. Emmett led Elise down the slope, Edward vanished swiftly into the trees, Alice retreated in silence. Carlisle and Esme left together, a steady pair, his composure balanced by her tender gravity.
Only Rosalie remained behind. Her perfect face angled toward the moon again, though her eyes were still sharp, her body tight. Her pride held her still, but the war inside her burned bright as the fire Alice had seen.
Rosalie remained, her gaze still fixed on the moon, yet her mind had drifted into the shadows Alice's vision had revealed. She felt it before she could name it, a pull, subtle and deep, an undercurrent she had fought for years to keep suppressed.
Aiden. His scent lingered in her thoughts, layered and intoxicating: raw, commanding, with an almost magnetic depth that set her senses alight. Her body responded before her mind could intervene. A shiver traced her spine; her mouth watered, her pulse thrummed beneath her skin.
Yet the fire of desire was tempered by curiosity, and caution. What had he endured to bear the scars Alice had shown? The chains, the blood, the massacre, each image pressed against her heart, igniting empathy she rarely allowed herself to feel.
He was danger incarnate, yet something unspoken whispered through her blood: there was more to him, something fierce, untamed, and achingly human beneath the chaos.
Edward's words from moments ago hovered in her ears, a provocation she could not dismiss.
"He's dangerous," he had said. His voice carried the same sharpness she had long learned to respect, and fear. The tension between them pulled at her, twisting in her chest, igniting a hunger not only for the threat but for the man behind it.
She closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, tasting the pull in her body, grounding herself in the control she had perfected in front of humans.
Years of restraint, of keeping every flicker of desire, every thrill of predation hidden behind a flawless mask, coiled in her muscles. Her hands clenched, teeth pressing against the inside of her cheek, and slowly, deliberately, she drew a long, measured breath.
When she opened her eyes again, the forest seemed alive in ways only her enhanced vision could reveal.
She traced the contours of the mountains, spotting deer grazing silently, an owl perched on a distant pine, a fox darting through the shadows, all framed in silver moonlight. Even as her body shook with restrained tension, her eyes took in everything, cataloging, weighing, considering.
Her mind settled, clarity slicing through the tumult. If Aiden was a danger, if the visions, the blood, the chaos could manifest into reality, then she would act. Swiftly. Without hesitation. He would not linger to threaten anyone, not while she drew breath.
She shifted to the cliff's edge, the cool rock pressing against her palms. Darkness yawned beneath her, inviting and absolute. She drew a deep breath, senses flaring, muscles coiling. In one fluid motion, she leapt.
Into the night. Into shadow. Into the unknown.