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Jacob inhaled deeply before speaking.
"When that vampire escaped… the only thing he left behind was his arm."
He adjusted the bag in his hands, as if he could still feel the weight of that memory.
"At first, I didn't think much of it. I was too furious to pay attention. But after a few minutes… the arm started to move. Not a lot, but enough for me to realize it wasn't just a leftover piece. It twisted, like it was trying to return to its owner."
The murmurs among the newborns fell silent at once. Even the Romanians, always so sure of themselves, stopped smiling.
"There's a story in my tribe," Jacob continued, his voice dropping a tone—deeper, older. "One of those tales you hear as a kid that sounds more like a scary story than a warning. It speaks of a pack chief from long ago, one who defeated a Cold One by tearing him apart completely. He thought he'd killed him. But after a few days, he started to notice that the pieces… sought each other out. As if every part knew where the others were."
Alice tightened her grip on Nate's arm, uneasy.
"The chief tore him apart again and again. He separated every fragment. Watched them for days. But it was always the same: no matter how far he scattered them, how well he hid them… sooner or later the pieces tried to reunite. It wasn't until he burned them that he understood what had to be done. He watched the ashes for weeks, making sure they didn't move, making sure nothing was left that could re-form. And when he was finally certain, he gathered the ashes into a small pendant. They say he carried it with him always. Not as a trophy, but as a silent warning. A reminder that if one day that pendant moved, even a little… it would mean the Cold One had returned."
Jacob lowered his gaze to the pendant now resting in Nate's hand.
"When I saw that arm moving, I remembered the story. So I kept it for a while. And just as we suspected… that vampire didn't leave La Push. Not at first. He lingered for some time."
Nate's eyes narrowed, something hard and ancient crossing his expression.
"So he was here all this time…"
"No." Jacob shook his head firmly. "He stayed close. Too close. Sam thought he'd try to retrieve it eventually. So we kept constant watch. Every member of the pack learned to recognize his scent. And for months we tracked every trail, every footprint, every breath of wind that could betray him."
He inhaled deeply, exhaustion from an old memory settling onto his shoulders.
"But one day… his scent disappeared. Completely. Weeks went by. Then months. Not a single clue. Sam said he must've given up. I… wasn't so sure. I had that arm stored away, and every time it moved—even if it was barely noticeable—the story of the tribe's chief came back to me. A warning I couldn't ignore."
Jacob lowered his voice, as if this part was even harder to admit.
"And in the end… anger weighed more than reason. I was upset. Upset for failing. For not chasing him to the ends of the earth. Upset with Sam for not giving the order to follow him. And upset with myself, because that damn arm was a constant reminder that I couldn't even finish what I'd started."
He paused, drew another breath, and continued.
"That same day, I challenged Sam. He never wanted to be Alpha. Always said he was just holding the place until I was ready. But we fought anyway. I beat him… and that's how I became the pack's leader."
His fingers brushed the edge of the pendant in Nate's hand, almost reverently.
"After that, I burned the arm. Not for tradition—or not just for that. I did it as a symbolic act, to mark a before and an after. To remind myself, I'd never hesitate again. I gathered the ashes in this necklace… because I needed a constant reminder of what's at stake when we don't act with enough determination."
Nate remained silent for several seconds, letting every piece of the story settle in his mind. He didn't blink as he carefully opened the pendant. Inside, the compacted ashes rested like a mute reminder of something that, somewhere, was still escaping. Nate didn't need to lift it to his nose to catch the scent—he sensed it immediately: dense, unmistakable, almost like an echo trapped in time. He forced himself to memorize it.
But as that scent etched itself into his memory, a thorn of doubt slowly dug in. A possibility. An uncomfortable idea that had been circling him ever since Jacob described how he'd torn Riley's arm off.
He closed the pendant softly and, without drawing attention, shifted his gaze toward Vladimir.
The Romanian seemed lost in thought as well. He frowned first, as if arranging fragments of an unfinished idea… and then, very slowly, a malicious smile curved his lips. It wasn't mockery—it was the satisfied expression of someone who has just completed a puzzle others have yet to notice.
Nate narrowed his eyes. Vladimir had reached the same conclusion he had.
Still, when he turned back to Jacob, his expression was calm. Controlled. Unshakable.
"I don't blame you, Jacob… not anymore."
Jacob straightened slightly, surprised by the unexpected softness in Nate's tone. Nate continued, his voice turning almost solemn:
"I tried to deny it at first… but in the end, it was always my responsibility to protect the family I had left… and I failed. But with this"—he lifted the pendant just a little—"I can finally let her rest in peace."
Jacob nodded slowly, accepting the words with a rare show of respect.
"Now you'll be able to kill him."
Nate shook his head without hesitation.
"That was never in doubt. Even without traces, without a scent… that's the advantage of immortality. Even if it took me an eternity, Riley sealed his fate the moment he killed my grandmother."
His gaze turned icy—deep and sharp. The Romanians smirked, savoring the dark determination radiating from him. Alice, however, stood quietly at his side, almost restrained, as if that resolution ignited something inside her that was difficult to decipher.
Silence fell over the group like a weight.
Until Alistair—clearly desperate to regain his freedom—broke it with a low, urgent voice:
"So… do you want me to start tracking?"
He extended his open hand, unable to hide the anxiety of someone who finally sees a way out and wants to cross it as soon as possible.
Nate considered him for a moment. Then, with an almost casual gesture, he tossed the pendant toward Alistair. The tracker caught it with both hands as if holding something alive, and the instant it touched his skin, he brought it to his nose. He closed his eyes, letting the scent envelop him; his expression tightened little by little as he sank all his senses into it.
While he worked, Nate turned his gaze back to Jacob.
"I think you've said everything you needed to say, right?" he murmured in a serene, almost conciliatory tone. "Hopefully, if we meet again in a few years, it'll be under better circumstances."
Jacob, who had also been watching Alistair's movements, took a few seconds to react. He looked at him closely, as if searching for something in his expression. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh—exhausted, the kind only someone who has carried too much for far too long could release.
"The treaty will stand. I hope you have good luck… Nate."
He cast a fleeting glance at the rest of the group, then began to step back, ready to leave.
He didn't get two steps away before Vladimir spoke—his voice soft and venomous, like torn silk:
"Why the rush? Aren't you curious to know where that vampire is?"
Nate's reaction was immediate: narrowed eyes, deadly stillness, that icy edge that warned of danger. He didn't need words to make it clear he understood the Romanian's intentions. He already had a painfully realistic suspicion about Riley's whereabouts… and Vladimir, judging by the almost anxious smile he was suppressing, seemed determined to make everyone hear Alistair's answer.
Nate could only hope that, by some miracle, Alistair would dismiss his doubts and give any other direction.
Jacob caught that brief shift in Nate's expression and frowned. Something was off. Something hidden. Something that didn't quite fit. He opened his mouth to ask, but Nate cut him off firmly:
"That won't be necessary, Jacob. Your pack is waiting. You should return to them."
Vladimir inhaled, ready to insist, but Nate shot him a dry, razor-sharp look that forced him to clamp his mouth shut without a sound. Stefan, beside him, went from confusion to understanding in seconds; first his eyes widened, startled, then his expression lit up with a blend of triumph and morbid delight. He stared at Alistair with electric anticipation, eager to confirm whether his theory was right.
Jacob watched all of it with growing unease: the exchanged glances, the sudden tension, the weighted silences. He was about to ask what the hell was going on when Alistair stopped smelling the pendant.
He froze. Then began shaking his head—sharp, frantic.
"…No. No, no, no…" he muttered, his voice strangled by alarm.
That reaction alone pulled everyone in. The newborns stepped forward as if drawn by instinct; even the Romanians cut their smiles short.
Jacob, without realizing it, had also moved a step closer. He looked from one face to the next, trying to read them. Something huge was happening, and no one was explaining anything to him.
Instinctively, he searched for Nate… but Nate was entirely focused on Alistair, motionless like a predator on the verge of attack.
Disoriented, Jacob turned to the only other person there—besides Nate—whom he knew well enough to ask for an answer.
"What's wrong with him…?" he whispered toward Alice.
But nothing came.
When he turned to look at her, his stomach sank. Alice's eyes were glassy—lost, fixed on a point no one else could see. Something inside her had shifted or awakened… something deep, unspoken, impossible to understand at a glance.
She didn't blink.
A spike of concern hit Jacob. "Are you okay…?" he managed to ask.
The words dissolved in the air as Alistair's desperate motion snapped everyone's attention back to him.
With trembling hands, the tracker rummaged through his jacket pockets until he pulled out a small red handkerchief. He brought it to his nose immediately and inhaled—fast—like he desperately needed to confirm the unthinkable.
Alistair inhaled so hard he seemed about to come apart. Each breath was more frantic, almost convulsive, as if he were trying to rip more information from the air than it could possibly give him. Then suddenly, something in his expression shattered: first pure terror… then fury—fury that ignited like sudden fire beneath his skin.
He lifted his face and locked eyes with Nate, filled with searing accusation.
"I knew it! You've just doomed me!" he shouted, his voice shaking with outrage. "When they catch you, all they'll need is to read the thoughts of any one of you… And they'll put a target on me! This is all your fault!"
The warning turned into a roar as he lunged at Nate.
But he never got close.
The Romanians moved as one—fast, precise, merciless. Stefan struck the back of his legs with brutal efficiency, forcing him to collapse to his knees. Vladimir, just as timely as he was cruel, grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back, exposing his face with an almost elegant gesture.
A dangerous smile spread across the Romanian's lips as he projected his voice like a performer on stage.
"Enough stalling… and tell everyone where that vampire is."
Nate wasn't looking at the scene anymore. His body remained still, but his mind had gone elsewhere—calculating, rearranging, anticipating. He didn't need to hear anything else. Alistair's reaction had been enough.
The tracker, defeated, let his shoulders slump, as if his immortal body had been drained of strength. His voice came out rough, poisonous.
"I hope Carlisle regrets bringing me here someday… though I doubt it'll take long. If that vampire you're hunting has even a shred of sense, it won't be hard to make the Volturi notice the Cullens."
A tense murmur rippled through the group.
The newborns glanced at each other with mounting anxiety.
Jacob, confused, frowned and repeated the unfamiliar name cautiously, as if testing a foreign word.
"Volturi?"
He turned to Nate, expecting an explanation. But Nate was still distant, gaze fixed on an invisible point, as if hearing something no one else had said.
The Romanians, on the other hand, seemed to feed on the tension. Their smiles grew wider—dark, alive, ravenous.
"How sure are you of that?" Stefan asked, eyes gleaming with hungry excitement.
Alistair clenched his jaw, resigned.
"The handkerchief…" he muttered bitterly. "I got it decades ago, pure luck. It belonged to the Volturi's tracker… the best tracker in the world. Dimitri. And the vampire you're looking for… is with him."
A collective gasp cracked through the air.
And right after, the Romanians' euphoric laughter exploded through the trees.
Stefan rested a hand on Vladimir's shoulder, exhilarated.
"It seems luck is finally back on our side. War calls us once again… and this time it will be different."
Vladimir shook his head, though his smile was just as feral.
"It's not luck, Stefan. It's destiny. Destiny is finally ready to put those Italian rats in their place."
The words burned in the air.
The newborns, tense and uneasy, looked at Nate as if he were the only compass they had left. And Nate, as though waking from a trance, lifted his gaze. His expression hardened, snuffing out the Romanians' excitement in an instant.
"This changes some things," he said with a steady calm. "But we can't rush. Riley being with them doesn't mean they'll act immediately against the Cullens or against us. They don't know me. And Alice's absence shouldn't raise suspicions."
He looked over the group again—measured, in control.
"They might just ignore anything Riley says and simply… watch the Cullens. They don't know the Romanians are with me. Or that you are."
He paused, just long enough for his voice to gain weight.
"It's best if we put some distance between ourselves and Forks and wait for the Volturi to lose interest. Once they drift away from Riley, we can—"
But the sentence died mid-air.
Nate's gaze snapped aside. Alice wasn't listening to him. Her body had gone rigid, frozen in what looked like a vision tearing through her from the inside.
Everyone noticed.
The group fell silent at once, the air tightening like a rope about to snap.
When Alice finally moved, her face was a map of pure anguish. She threw herself at Nate, wrapping her arms around him as if trying to anchor herself to something solid before collapsing.
Nate held her carefully, took her face in his hands, lifting it so he could see her.
"Alice… what did you see?" he asked in a soft whisper, as if afraid speaking too loudly might break her further.
She took a long breath, struggling to arrange what she had witnessed. Her voice came out cracked, solemn.
"They haven't decided which one yet… but I saw it. One of the twins will come to Forks soon."
Her lips trembled.
"Nate… you have to do something."
He tightened his hold on her cheeks slightly, trying to reassure her.
"Don't worry. No matter who comes… I'll keep you safe."
But Alice shook her head violently, desperate. Her eyes shone with a panic she couldn't contain.
"You don't understand!" she cried, her voice breaking. "We're not the ones in danger…"
And then she said it.
The vision that had made her tremble.
"One of the twins will come… and kill Charlie."
A deathly silence fell over the group.
She sucked in a breath, her voice collapsing into a shattered whisper.
"…and Edward with him."