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The house was in shadows when Nate opened the front door. He didn't turn on any lights. He closed it carefully and remained still in the entryway, listening.
The evening rain had eased, but the humidity still hung in the air like an invisible skin.
Something was off. He couldn't name it yet, but he felt it.
He climbed the stairs slowly, each step placed with precision. At the top, he turned toward his grandmother's room. The door was slightly ajar. He peeked inside.
She was sleeping peacefully. Steady breathing, a faint snore. The cat slept at her feet, curled in a ball, its back slightly arched from the warmth of the blanket. Nate felt a flicker of relief. At least she was okay.
But something… didn't fit.
His gaze shifted to the room's window.
It was open. Just a crack.
He frowned.
His grandmother always closed it. Not out of habit, but necessity: the cold made her sick. Nate had seen her do it every night, religiously, like a ritual designed to keep the rain out or trap the warmth inside.
Did she forget this time? He thought. But he didn't believe it. She might be carefree, yes, but she wasn't careless about that.
He closed the window in silence, and the feeling of intrusion grew like a seed finding fertile soil. He walked to his bedroom and opened the door slowly.
The smell hit him first.
It was subtle. Sweet. Fairly pleasant, but foreign. It wasn't a cleaning product, nor his clothes, nor any scent native to the house. It wasn't perfume—it was presence.
This wasn't here before, he thought.
He stepped inside.
At a glance, everything seemed in place. The desk was tidy. The lamp was off. The bed was unmade, just as he'd left it. But his eyes weren't ordinary. He had memorized every inch of this room.
He noticed a slight shift in the box he'd left open: the photos were a bit more scattered. The notebook that used to lie horizontally was now slightly turned, as if someone had closed and reopened it. The chair was pushed a little further from the desk than usual.
I don't think my grandma came in here, he thought.
Maybe I moved it myself when I left in a rush—he inhaled slowly—
But after everything that happened today… I don't think so.
He moved closer, inspecting things in detail. He ran a finger across the desk's surface. Nothing was dirty. Nothing was broken. But everything screamed one thing: You were watched.
He sat on the bed, releasing a long, steady breath.
"Must've been one of the Cullens."
It was the most logical answer. He'd cornered Edward today—and if Nate knew one thing, it was that a cornered animal becomes more dangerous. It wouldn't surprise him if someone in that family came to investigate. He would've done the same in their place.
He wasn't entirely sure, but the faint sweetness still hanging in the air made him bet it had been Alice. Nate could recognize that scent easily—it was the one he had to resist every time they shared a class.
Too bad for the Cullens: now that Nate knew their secret, they wouldn't be able to catch him off guard.
If they'd been smarter and searched his room before he knew the truth, maybe he wouldn't have noticed. But now that he knew what to look for, there was no way he'd miss the signs.
One thing was clear. He wasn't safe here. Neither was his grandmother.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Jacob without hesitation.
The call took a moment to connect. When the tone finally rang, Nate felt something stir in his stomach. Not fear—something closer to urgency.
Jacob's voice answered on the second ring.
"Nate? Everything okay?"
"Sorry for calling so late," Nate said, voice low and tense. "I need to speak with your dad."
"My dad? Uh… sure, give me a second."
There was background noise, maybe a door opening. Then came the familiar, rough voice of Billy Black, full of warmth.
"What's going on, son? Want to give us another fishing lesson?"
Nate didn't smile. He couldn't.
"What stops them from attacking humans?"
A heavy silence followed.
"Excuse me…?" Billy replied, confused.
"The Cullens," Nate said firmly. "I've been in Forks for over a month. No deaths. No disappearances. But I know what they are. And they know that I know."
Billy inhaled deeply as if holding something he'd been chewing on for years.
"I think you're making dangerous assumptions, Nate."
"I'm not assuming anything," Nate replied. "Someone was in my room tonight. No tracks. No fingerprints. But I know someone was here. The way the air moved. The smell. The shift in my things… was one of them. Just be straight with me. How dangerous are they?"
There was a long silence. Then Billy sighed.
"I told you to stay away, kid. To not get too close."
"It's too late for that," Nate said sharply.
"They… they're not like the others," Billy finally admitted. "They're different. They've made a deal with us. With the Quileute tribe. And they've kept it. So far."
"What kind of deal?" Nate asked impatiently.
"I can't talk about that over the phone. Not at this hour. Not like this."
"Then give me the basics. Have they ever killed anyone?"
Billy hesitated. Then answered, voice lowered:
"As far as we know… no. At least not on our lands."
Nate looked down, watching his shadow stretch across the wooden floor.
"What if they change their minds? What if they decide to start?"
"Then the tribe will respond," Billy said gravely. "Believe me, we're not defenseless. We're not ignorant. If they harmed you, if they crossed a line, we wouldn't hesitate."
"One of them came into my house, Billy. They didn't hurt anyone, but they were near my grandmother. That already crosses a line."
A harsh sigh came from the other side of the line.
"I get it. And I don't blame you for being nervous. But listen: they won't touch you. Not unless they want to start something much bigger."
"If I survive the night… I'll be at your house tomorrow," Nate said, tone signaling the end of the conversation.
"You'll survive," Billy said, and though his voice was steady, there was a thread of concern in it. "I promise. And we'll talk. I'll tell you what I can. But you've stepped into something you shouldn't have, son. This is bigger than you think."
"I know," Nate murmured. "And I want to understand it before it consumes me."
Billy didn't say anything else, but his silence was heavy—like someone who's said all he can say. The call ended.
Nate sat in silence. Staring at his bedroom door. He knew no one was on the other side… for now.
But he also knew the calm was only a pause.