(Edythe POV)
"And I am not sure you have lost him. What do you know about tigers and their mating habits?"
The question landed like a stone dropped into still water.
Leah's thoughts flared instantly, sharp and defensive.
{"Don't play games with me."}
"I'm not," I said evenly. "I don't have the luxury of, or interest in, games."
Her ears flattened, hackles rising just slightly, not an attack response, but irritation at being cornered into listening.
{"Then say what you mean."}
I met her gaze and did exactly that.
"Tigers," I said calmly, "do not bond the way wolves do. Their connections are not built on hierarchy or exclusion. They are… layered. Earned. Chosen again and again."
Her thoughts stuttered.
{"…So?"}
"So," I continued, "loving Thomas does not narrow him. It does not lock him into a single shape or role. And it does not erase what he sees in others, if they are brave enough to let themselves be seen."
Her mind recoiled, then circled back, wary.
{"You're telling me he could choose more than one."}
"I am telling you," I replied, "that he already chooses with honesty. What remains undecided is whether you will allow yourself to be part of that truth, or keep punishing him for not being something he was never meant to be."
The wolf went still.
Not frozen.
Listening.
{"You're engaged,"} she thought, bitterness bleeding through. {"You've already won."}
I shook my head once, precise.
"This is not a contest," I said. "And if you think of it that way, you will lose, regardless of the outcome."
Her thoughts spiked again, confused, angry, aching.
{"Then what are you saying?"}
I stepped away from the stone just enough to remove any sense of barrier between us.
"I am saying that Thomas does not belong to me the way that the pack taught you that people belong to each other," I said quietly. "And he does not belong to you in the way you have come to believe longing must end, with imprinting or nothing."
Her breath came faster now.
{"You'd just… share him."}
The word carried disbelief. Not accusation. Not hope. Just raw incredulity.
"I would not deny him honesty," I answered. "Or deny you the chance to stand beside us."
The forest seemed to hush entirely.
Leah's thoughts slowed, reorganized, pain no longer lashing outward, but folding inward, becoming something sharper.
{"You're not telling me to stay away."}
"No."
{"You're not telling me he's off-limits."}
"No."
{"You're telling me to decide whether I want him badly enough to face what that means."}
"Yes."
The realization struck her hard.
{"Even if that means I'm not the only one."}
I held her gaze without flinching.
"Especially then."
Her claws sank into the soil unconsciously, tearing moss and earth.
{"And you're fine with that."}
"I am not fine with lies," I corrected. "I am not fine with resentment. And I am not fine with watching someone I have come to care about tear herself apart pretending she feels nothing."
Her thoughts cracked, not shattered, but split open.
{"You're giving me something dangerous."}
"Yes," I said softly.
{"You're giving me something to fight for."}
I inclined my head once.
"That is yours to decide."
The wolf lifted her head then, posture changing, no longer defensive, no longer circling.
Focused.
{"And if I choose to fight."}
"Then do it honestly," I said. "Not with anger. Not with sabotage. Not with silence."
Her thoughts sharpened, resolve beginning to burn through the grief.
{"I make him see me."}
"Yes."
{"Not as a mistake."}
"Yes."
{"Not as something that didn't happen."}
"Yes."
Silence fell between us again, but this time, it was not empty.
It was charged.
Finally, Leah took a step back, eyes never leaving mine.
{"You're terrifying."}
I allowed myself the faintest smile.
"So I've been told."
She turned toward the trees, pausing only once.
{"You didn't take him from me."}
"No," I said.
{"But you didn't give him to me either."}
"That was never mine to do."
She vanished into the forest without another word.
I remained by the stone, listening as the woods gradually resumed their rhythm.
I had not promised her a place.
I had not offered her comfort.
I had done something far more dangerous.
I had given her truth.
And whatever she chose to do with it…
Thomas would feel the consequences.
(Leah POV)
I didn't run.
That was the first thing that surprised me.
I put distance between us, sure…down the slope, through the thickest brush, far enough that the stone and the clearing and Edythe's impossible calm couldn't reach me with one more sentence, but I didn't bolt like my body expected. No blind panic. No frantic flight.
Just… control.
Like if I moved carefully enough, whatever she'd just handed me wouldn't explode in my hands.
I stopped in a hollow where the moss grew fat and dark, where the ground stayed damp even when the rest of the forest dried out. The air smelled like cedar and old rain. My lungs worked too fast anyway.
Edythe's voice kept replaying, clear as if she'd said it right beside my ear.
I am not fine with lies…
I shook my head hard, ears flicking, trying to throw the words off like water.
Because that was what she'd done, she'd taken everything I'd been trying not to name, or even think about, and laid it out like a map.
Not with cruelty.
Not with triumph.
With that terrifying, steady honesty… like she didn't even know how to be petty.
And the worst part was the line that wouldn't let me breathe around it.
Someone I have come to care about.
Care.
Not "Thomas cares."
Not "Thomas asked me to."
Not "it would be inconvenient if you fell apart and caused problems."
Care.
I growled low in my throat, pacing a tight circle until the dirt tore under my claws. The wolf in me wanted action, wanted to chase something, bite something, shred something, anything except sit here and feel.
So I tried to do what I always did.
I tried to make it simple.
She was a Cullen. A leech. A creature that didn't have to fight her own body just to exist. She was engaged to him. She was standing on the winning side of whatever miserable story my life had turned into. And she was… what, granting me permission? Offering me crumbs?
Except that wasn't what it felt like.
She hadn't treated Thomas like property.
She hadn't treated me like a threat.
She'd treated me like a person who could make her own choices…and then dared me to actually do it.
Decide whether I want him badly enough to face what that means.
My head dipped.
Because the question behind the question was worse.
Did I want him?
I hated how my brain tried to dodge that word, how it reached for safer ones.
Respect. Gratitude. Curiosity. The fact that he didn't look at me like I was broken glass.
The fact that when he gave me Elaraim Black's journals, he didn't demand I be thankful. He didn't act like a hero swooping in to save the damsel. He just… saw me.
I'd spent so long feeling invisible as a woman, that being seen felt like a bruise.
And I'd barely admitted any of that to myself.
Barely.
And now Edythe Cullen…perfect, controlled, engaged Edythe Cullen…had walked into the woods and said, I have come to care about you, like it was a fact she'd accepted and not a weakness she needed to hide.
It didn't make sense.
It made too much sense.
Thomas talked. Not like most people talked, he wasn't a gossip, but he noticed things. He remembered them. He carried them. He'd probably said my name in that quiet way of his when he thought he was being fair. When he was trying to solve a problem without turning it into a war.
He would've told her about the pack. About me. About how the elders may box me in. About the way anger was the only thing I was allowed to be without someone telling me to calm down.
And Edythe… she listened when Thomas spoke.
That was obvious.
But hearing about me wasn't the same as caring.
Unless she'd already seen it.
Unless she'd already heard it.
Then a memory rose up sharp, unwanted.
The day in the woods. The confrontation. Jacob's fury. Bella's terrified stubbornness. Edward's calm, rigid control…
And me, standing there focusing on Thomas who had just returned from Nepal, with my teeth clenched and my thoughts spilling out because I couldn't stop them.
Please let him be mine. Please. Just once, let something be mine.
I'd been so exposed in that moment I could still taste the shame.
And Edythe had been there.
I hadn't known she'd reached for my mind. Not then.
But now?
Now it clicked into place like a trap snapping shut.
She'd heard me.
She'd heard that.
And she still came to me first.
She still chose honesty instead of letting me get blindsided by whispers and rumors and the inevitable moment someone said congratulations in front of me and waited for me to break.
My chest tightened.
Not pain.
Something worse.
Something like… respect I hadn't asked for.
I stopped my pacing and stared at the ground until my vision blurred around the edges.
This wasn't supposed to be happening.
In my world, if you wanted something you weren't allowed to want, you swallowed it until it turned into poison. You let it rot behind your teeth. You learned to smile like you didn't care.
You didn't get offered a way to be honest without being destroyed for it.
And yet Edythe had looked straight at me and made one thing brutally clear:
If I did this…if I even thought about stepping toward Thomas…I didn't get to do it the way I'd been doing everything else.
No resentment.
No lies.
No pretending I felt nothing and then exploding when someone didn't read my mind.
The wolf in me bristled at that. Wanted to reject it just to prove I could.
But the girl underneath, the one I kept buried, went very still.
Because that girl understood something my wolf didn't want to admit:
Resentment was already eating me alive. Resentment toward Sam, Emily, the whole damn pack. Resenting myself for that resentment. I was a wolf mad at her tail and getting dizzy for chasing it.
I turned, nosing through the brush until I found the little stash I'd left on the way in, old habit, basic survival. A bundle shoved under a fallen log: cutoffs, a hoodie, sneakers. Nothing fancy. Nothing that screamed Leah Clearwater is falling apart in new and exciting ways today.
I hesitated.
Shifting right then meant being human…me, bare-skinned, exposed, no teeth to hide behind.
But staying wolf meant the pack could feel me if any of them made the change right now. Sam could brush my thoughts by accident. Seth could bounce into my head without meaning to. And I wasn't ready for anyone to hear this mess. I had gotten better at directing what thoughts they could see, but this was too much at the forefront to hide right now.
So I shifted.
Bones folded. Heat rolled. The world snapped into different focus.
And then I was crouched in the damp hollow, human again, breath steaming faintly in the cool air, skin prickling as if the forest itself was staring.
I yanked the hoodie on like armor.
Pulled on the shorts, the sneakers, the last pieces of normal I could manage.
When I stood, my reflection caught in a dark slice of puddle-water between roots. Messy hair. Sharp cheekbones. Eyes too bright with anger and something close to panic.
And…annoyingly…Edythe's voice flickered again in my head, not her words this time, but the way she'd looked at me.
Not disgusted.
Not threatened.
Not pitying.
Just… aware.
Like she could see I was hot as hell and miserable about it. Like she could see the way I'd spent years being the pretty girl everyone assumed was fine because pretty girls were always fine, right?
I huffed a laugh that sounded like a choke.
"Great," I muttered to no one. "Add that to the list."
Then I started walking.
Not home yet. Not straight home.
Because if I went home, Mom would look at me the way she'd been looking at me since Dad died, like she was bracing for the next loss, and Seth would ask what happened with the Cullen girl and I'd either snap at him or lie, and both options made me want to scream.
So, I walked the long way. Let the trees do what they always did: absorb. Stay quiet. Judge nothing.
Edythe hadn't promised me a place.
She'd made that clear.
She hadn't offered comfort.
She'd made that clear too.
She'd offered truth, and the possibility that I could choose something other than bitterness.
I make him see me.
That line came back, not in Edythe's voice, but in mine. Like a dare I didn't know I was capable of.
Not as a mistake.
Not as something that didn't happen.
Not as a joke my life played on me.
As… me.
I stopped again, hand braced against a tree trunk, and forced myself to breathe like a person instead of a cornered animal.
Did I want Thomas enough to face what that meant?
I didn't have an answer.
Not yet.
But I had something I hadn't had before Edythe showed up with her ring and her calm and her terrifying honesty.
I had a choice that wasn't a lie.
And that, more than the engagement, more than the ache in my ribs, more than the humiliation of being seen, was what scared me most.
Because choices meant responsibility.
Choices meant consequences.