General POV
Location: Old sawmill, Aberdeen, Washington State. 100 miles south of Forks.
By five in the afternoon, the light was already thinning, the sky growing darker by the minute. Inside the sawmill, Matthew fed a plank through the cutting machine, waited for the noise to subside, and switched it off as the two halves separated. He lifted his protective mask and wiped his forehead with his forearm. It had been a long day. The equipment was old and stubborn, the sawmill barely staying afloat, and today it was just him and old Bill, the same Bill who had worked here for over thirty years and knew every fault of the place better than anyone.
Matthew glanced toward the far end of the building. No sign of Bill. He pulled a chair over, sat down, and took out a cigarette and a lighter. He lit the cigarette, drew a slow breath, and let the quiet settle around him for a moment.
He hadn't quite finished when Bill's voice echoed from somewhere deeper within the building.
"Ahhh!"
Matthew froze. He shot to his feet, instinctively hiding the cigarette and turning as if to get back to work, but Bill didn't appear. The shouting continued, more desperate now.
"Stop, please, stop! Why are you doing this?!"
Bill was not a man who frightened easily. Thirty years in a place like this had seen to that. But what was in his voice now was fear, and there was no mistaking it. Then, clearly:
"Matthew! Help!"
His eyes landed on an axe mounted near the workbench. He grabbed it, and whatever hesitation he had dissolved in a surge of adrenaline. He turned toward Bill's voice and had already taken a step when a voice came from directly behind him.
"Aw... a boy trying to play the hero. How interesting."
He spun around. A woman was standing maybe ten feet away, and for a moment Matthew forgot entirely what he'd been about to do. Red hair, a face that was almost unsettlingly beautiful, and a faint, cold smile. Her eyes were a deep, vivid red, a colour he had never seen in a person's eyes before.
Before he could process that, another voice came from behind him.
"I see you found us another snack, dear."
Matthew turned again, axe raised. A shirtless man stood a short distance away, dirty blond hair falling loosely around his face, head tilted slightly as if mildly entertained. He had the same red eyes.
"Yeah," the redhead said, stepping closer. "Found a little hero all ready to save the old man." Her smile widened, a coldness lurking beneath it. "Almost sweet."
The shirtless man looked at Matthew. "Think that thing's going to help you?" He took a slow, unhurried step forward.
"Don't come any closer!" Matthew tightened his grip on the axe, his voice steadier than he felt. He had a weapon, they were empty-handed, and there were only two of them—none of which diminished the cold, deep fear gripping him. Something screamed in the back of his mind. He didn't know why.
A third voice, flat and unhurried, came from Matthew's right. "James. Victoria. Stop playing with our food."
Matthew turned. A black man with long dreadlocks stood at the edge of the room, watching them with mild disinterest.
James glanced over with a half-smile. "You always ruin the fun, Laurent."
What happened next was too fast to follow. One moment Matthew had the axe, the next it was gone. Victoria stood beside James, holding it briefly before letting it drop to the floor with a dull thud. "We won't be needing that," she said.
Then James was directly in front of him. A hand closed around his throat, lifting him off the ground. Matthew swung, tried to pry the grip loose, it was like hitting stone. James watched him with interest. "Still trying," he murmured. "I like that." Then he caught Matthew's arm and broke his wrist with seemingly no effort, like snapping a dry branch. Matthew couldn't even scream properly with the grip on his throat. Then Victoria and Laurent moved in, and the three of them descended on him. Matthew's struggles lasted just a little longer, but not long enough to mean anything to them. When they finally stepped back, Matthew was on the floor, drained dry and left in a state that would raise no difficult questions. An animal attack, most would conclude. Tragic, but not unusual in these parts.
...
Twenty minutes later, the three of them stood in the forest, roughly fifteen miles north of the sawmill. The last traces of daylight faded between the trees, leaving everything dim and colourless.
"We're drawing too much attention," Laurent said. "We should move north to Seattle, a city large enough that a missing person or two won't raise suspicion."
James didn't answer, standing still, his gaze drifting unfocused through the trees as if following a private thought. He seemed distant, slightly removed.
Laurent watched him for a moment, then added, "We should also be more selective next time. No family, no friends, so no one will care if they're gone."
That seemed to register, eliciting a slight turn of James's head. He looked at Laurent, his expression one of mild acknowledgement, as if he had heard the words but hadn't yet decided if they mattered. Whatever Laurent said, James would do as he pleased when the time came, and they both knew it.
After a moment, he spoke, "We'll go north."
Laurent gave a small nod.
Victoria, who rarely hesitated, remained silent. Standing slightly apart, she listened to Laurent lay out their course and felt something unnameable settle uncomfortably in her chest. It wasn't quite a thought, nor was it fear, but closer to the unsettling sensation of a foot finding no ground. North. Seattle. The words were ordinary, the logic sound, and yet something within her quietly resisted.
She didn't speak, unsure if she could even explain the feeling.
In truth, Victoria had never fully understood her own gift, never even considered it as such. She operated on instinct, a subtle internal current that had guided her decisions for years, presenting itself as mere preference. She had simply learned, unconsciously, to trust it. And now, without any identifiable reason, it was telling her that going north was a mistake.
She kept that to herself, for the moment, and watched James and Laurent talk.
Samael – POV
School had finished a couple of hours ago. I stepped out of the bathroom with a towel around my waist, the last of the steam still drifting behind me. My body doesn't need showers as often as I take them, but old habits die hard, and there's something about flowing water that settles my mind like little else.
I dressed simply, a white t-shirt, black jeans, white shoes, then opened the top drawer of the dresser, where a flat box sat. Inside were several of my watches. I glanced over them before selecting the Patek Philippe Calatrava, fastened it to my wrist, and reached for the cologne.
Then I headed down to the garage.
As I drove, my thoughts circled a problem I hadn't been able to set aside since earlier in the week. My original plans regarding Forks had been built on a specific assumption: that I would keep a comfortable distance from the Cullens, close enough to stay informed, yet far enough to act without complication. That assumption no longer holds. I was as close to them now as possible, which changed everything.
Then a sharper thought surfaced, one I kept returning to despite myself: James. Specifically, the fact that James had hunted Alice when she was still human, and that he was, directly or indirectly, the reason she was forced to turn at all.
My grip on the wheel tightened slightly. Something dangerous stirred within whenever I let that thought linger. I spent the rest of the drive reworking my plans around the new reality, but the anger didn't leave.
But then I turned onto the Cullens' road, and I saw Alice standing on the stone porch.
She wore a beautiful dress and was turning slightly from side to side, as she sometimes did when she was pleased with something and couldn't quite contain it. The moment she spotted my car, a wide, entirely unguarded smile spread across her face.
The anger didn't disappear; that would be the wrong word. It was simply put away. Whatever needed to be dealt with could wait a little longer. I couldn't allow that part of my thinking to exist in the same space as her.
I parked and stepped out. She descended a few of the porch steps as I came up the path, closing the distance between us, and stopped on the last one to wait. I reached her and kissed her, and she brought both hands up to my face with gentleness. I rested my hands at her waist and held her there for a moment before we pulled back.
"Are you sure you don't want to eat anything?" she asked.
"It would be too strange," I said, "eating while everyone watches."
She giggled and nodded. "True," she agreed.
She leaned in, placing a quick, playful kiss on my lips before pulling back and slipping her fingers into mine. "Come on," she said, her voice hushed with excitement. "They're waiting."
Without giving me a chance to respond, she tugged me gently toward the door and led me inside.