The morning started with the soft sound of rain tapping against the window and the smell of pancakes filling the air. Forks might have been gloomy, but Amara Swan's kitchen was pure sunshine that day — mostly because she was stress-cooking.
A neat stack of golden pancakes sat beside crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, and a jug of orange juice. The coffee machine hummed comfortingly as Amara poured herself a cup, leaning against the counter with a sigh.
Her reflection in the kitchen window looked calm — far calmer than the tornado swirling in her chest.
Today's the day, she thought grimly, taking a sip. Port Angeles. Prom dress shopping. Girls' day out. Totally harmless. Except for the part where Bella might wander into a dark alley, meet creeps, and need Edward Cullen to play knight in Volvo armor.
Her grip tightened on the mug.
Except this isn't a movie anymore. These are real people. Creeps don't vanish when credits roll.
She rubbed her temple. "Nope. Not happening. Not on my watch."
If Edward didn't show up, she would. Preferably with a well-aimed kick and pepper spray.
Amara exhaled, staring into her coffee like it could give her life advice. "You're being dramatic," she muttered to herself. "She's fine. Everything's fine."
Pause.
"Actually, no. She's Bella. Nothing is fine."
The thought almost made her laugh — until the sound of heavy footsteps thudded down the stairs, making the floor creak like it was groaning in protest.
Here comes trouble.
Bella entered the kitchen looking half-awake, half-grumpy, and fully unaware of Amara's inner panic. Her hair was a storm of brown waves, her sweater slightly wrinkled, her face blank — except for the zombie-like determination in her eyes as she sniffed the air.
"Coffee," she said like it was a prayer.
Amara made a disgusted face as Bella started eating immediately, stuffing pancake and bacon together like it was a competition.
"Morning," Amara said dryly. "Wow, I didn't realize I lived with a lumberjack."
Bella glanced up mid-bite, blinking. "Whuh?"
"I said," Amara gave a tight, exaggerated smile, "I thought I lived with my cousin. Turns out, I live with a dog. For the love of all things civilized, Bella — close your mouth while eating."
Bella chewed, unfazed, and mumbled through food, "Sorry."
Amara rolled her eyes. She's not sorry. She's proud.
Here she was — worrying about Bella's safety, and the girl was one step away from snorting syrup. God, please give me patience. Or pepper spray with holy water.
After breakfast, the two of them settled in the living room. The house was quiet except for the faint tick of the wall clock. Bella was lost in her own cloudy thoughts — no doubt dreaming of a certain pale, mysterious boy.
Meanwhile, Amara sat by the window, arms crossed, tapping her foot. Every car that passed made her tense.
"She's thinking about Edward," Amara muttered under her breath. "I'm thinking about her not getting murdered. Balance, right?"
Then a car honked twice outside, breaking the silence.
"That's them," Bella said, jumping up.
"Go open the door," Amara told her. "I'll grab my bag."
She dashed upstairs, her heart still heavy with that uneasy feeling. Her room smelled faintly of lavender and coconut oil — her little bubble of calm. On instinct, she opened her drawer and grabbed the two small pepper sprays Charlie had given her months ago. One went in her bag. The other, in her coat pocket.
"You never know," she muttered, catching her reflection in the mirror.
Dark, warm clothes — a cozy black turtleneck tucked into a charcoal skirt, layered with a sleek trench coat and heeled boots. Her hair was soft, her lip tint subtle, her aura pure "fashionably alert."
She looked at herself and smiled faintly. "You can do this, Amara. It's just a trip. You've survived worse."
Then she added with a dry laugh, "And if not, maybe third life's the charm. Maybe next time I'll ask Rob for actual powers."
She winked at her reflection for courage and headed downstairs.
Jessica's voice floated in from the driveway, laughing. "Amara! Hurry up, slowpoke!"
"Coming!" she called back, locking the front door behind her.
The car waited gleaming wet under the morning drizzle — Jessica in the driver's seat, Angela in front, Bella already seated beside the window, smiling faintly.
"Finally!" Jessica teased as Amara climbed in. "Were you picking an outfit or saving the world?"
"Multitasking," Amara replied smoothly, buckling her seatbelt. "Had to make sure I looked good while saving it."
Jessica and Angela burst out laughing, and even Bella cracked a reluctant smile.
"Fair," Jessica grinned. "You do look like someone who just stepped out of a magazine."
Amara flipped her hair dramatically. "Why thank you. I try."
The car rolled out, music humming softly through the speakers. The road shimmered with puddles and pine reflections. Angela turned halfway to chat, her gentle voice matching her kind smile.
They talked about everything — school, prom plans, who might wear what. Jessica launched into wild gossip about Mike Newton's latest "heroic" attempt to impress someone by slipping in gym class.
Amara nearly choked laughing. "He fell again?"
"Face-first," Jessica said between giggles. "And then tried to blame the floor for 'being slippery on purpose.'"
Angela was wiping tears of laughter. Even Bella was quietly giggling, shaking her head.
Amara leaned her chin on her hand, smiling. "Boys in Forks are walking sitcoms."
"Exactly!" Jessica said. "You should write that down somewhere."
"I would," Amara replied. "If I wasn't too busy saving my cousin from her boyfriend trouble ."
Bella shot her a glare. "Amara—!"
"Relax," Amara said with mock innocence. "I didn't say which boy."
Jessica and Angela laughed again, assuming it was just a joke. Bella, meanwhile, looked ready to bonk her cousin with a shoe.
The mood stayed bright and silly — soft music, laughter, the girls passing snacks and teasing each other. For a while, Amara forgot the anxiety curling in her stomach. Bella was laughing too, her face lighter, freer.
Maybe it would be fine. Maybe this was just another normal day after all.
Amara rested her head against the window, watching the trees blur past. The rain outside shimmered like silver threads against the car glass, and she felt something gentle in her chest — warmth, safety, belonging.
Still, a quiet voice whispered in her mind:
Stay close. Don't let her wander.
She exhaled softly and glanced at Bella, who was humming along to the song on the radio.
Amara smiled faintly. "You're a headache, Swan," she thought, "but you're my headache."
The car drove on through the mist, laughter floating behind them like perfume.
Today had only just begun.
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