Fictional World

The Maze Runner

Newt

See You Again

Minho

Guilty

Twilight

Embry Call

You Promised Me Muse

You Came Back To Me

What Hurt The Most Are The Memories We Never Got To Make

Paul Lahote

Ten Bucks On Her**

Jacob Black

I've Always Been Yours

You Are Exactly Who I Was Looking For

Quil Ateara

He puts his attention back on the road, but not before he studies you for a heartbeat longer : the way your hair falls over your shoulder, the soft reflection of the dash in your eyes, the half-smile you can feel even without seeing. You catch his look and look away, warmed all over again by the steadiness of it. Imprinting, you’ve learned, is not a lightning strike so much as a perpetual sunrise. It keeps growing brighter, changing the way you see everything, especially each other.

Outside, the clouds are ragged and fast, backlit by a swollen, low-hung moon. Forks and La Push have their usual handful of lights, little gold pins stuck into the belly of the dark. You left them behind twenty minutes ago, pointed toward the narrow county road Jacob had said was “nothing special,” which means it’s going to be perfect.

“Still mad at Paul?” he asks after a stretch of easy silence. “For stealing your chips at the bonfire?”

“I’m not mad. I’m… keeping score.”

“Oh no.” He says it like it’s a solemn thing. “How steep is my tab?”

“You’re safe tonight.” You lean your head against the cool window, grin at him. “But if you steal my fries again, I will whisper to Embry that your favorite song is that boy band ballad and he will never let you live it down.”

He’s mock-offended. “Wow. You’re really going straight for the nuclear option.”

“I am ruthless in defense of fries.”

“Noted.” He lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, a quick warm brush that sends something bright rippling through your chest. “I’ll buy you a whole extra order just for insurance.”

“You already did.”

“Then I’ll buy two.”

You ride the curve of a hill, and the trees thin. Jacob flips on the high beams, and the road spills forward, silvered with dew. He takes a turn you would have missed, up a gravel path that crunches under the tires and twists through undergrowth. Ferns sweep the doors. The truck climbs slow and sure.

“You sure this road is real?” you ask, playful.

“Scout’s honor.” His thumb strokes your hand. “Found it on patrol last week. Figured we could use some actual quiet.”

You know what he means by quiet. Not just the absence of laughter and bickering, not the lack of woodsmoke or surf or wolf paws drumming the forest paths. Real quiet, the kind where you don’t have to be anyone else’s anchor, not the pack’s, not friends’ who need you, not the one who keeps a calendar in your head for work, appointments, favors you’ve promised. A pocket of time that belongs to exactly two people.

The truck noses through one more switchback and then the trees fall away altogether. The hilltop is a bald scallop of earth and wild grass. Above you, the sky opens deep and wide and pricked with stars; in front of you, the land relaxes into a dark green quilted valley, the river a pale seam threading through it. Farther beyond, the ocean is a flat inhale of black, the moon painting a path over it like a secret that only you and Jacob share.

He parks at the edge, kills the engine. The sudden quiet is a soft, profound thing. It makes your heart sound too loud in your chest for a moment until you match its rhythm with Jacob’s steady breathing. He doesn’t let go of your hand.

“Well?” he asks, voice low as if the night might echo.

“Nothing special,” you say, and he bumps your shoulder with his, the truck tipping just enough to rock you closer.

The windows fog a little from your combined heat. Jacob leans forward, wipes a clear circle in the glass with the side of his hand, then looks back at you. “Blanket in the back,” he says. “And hot chocolate in the thermos that I absolutely did not make just to show off.”

“Did you add marshmallows?”

He puts a hand to his heart. “Do you even have to ask?”

You laugh quietly. “Show me.”

He slides out first, rounding the truck with that easy grace you know in your bones now, the way he moves like the earth is his, like gravity is a favor he knows how to call in. When he opens your door, the night air curls around your legs, cool and sweet with the scent of wet grass. He offers his hand, palm up again, and you take it because you always will.

The truck bed tarp is already rolled back. Jacob pulls out a bulky, soft blanket, shakes it once so it blooms, and tucks two corners under the toolbox to keep it from slipping. He makes a point of fluffing it like it’s a five-star hotel turn-down, which earns him an exaggeratedly grateful curtsy from you that makes him grin, all teeth and warm eyes.

He helps you climb up and then joins you, shoulders touching as you sit cross-legged. He pulls a thermos from a paper bag, and the moment he twists the top, a rush of chocolatey steam breathes up into the cold air. He closes his eyes for a second, inhaling, then opens them and catches you already looking. You don’t pretend you weren’t.

“Two mugs,” he announces, unnecessarily proud, producing chipped enamel cups in mismatched colors, your favorite blue and his green one that’s dented near the rim.

“You brought the blue.” A small, sappy warmth uncurls in your chest.

“I brought the blue,” he confirms, pouring. “Can’t have you drinking from anything less.”

You take the cup, and he watches as you hold it with both hands, breath fogging the surface, the heat gathering the cold from your fingers. The first sip sears your tongue just a little and tastes like cocoa and cinnamon and the kitchen you share on slow mornings, like hands brushing in the sugar jar, like the soft sizzle of butter in a pan, like Jacob’s laugh when you shake the pan too enthusiastically and send a pancake into an improbable arc.

“Good?” he asks, knees bumped against yours.

“Ridiculously.”

His chest lifts, satisfied. “I accept your praise.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You love me.”

You tilt your head. “I do.”

Just like that, simple. You say it often, and it still plants a flag every time. Jacob’s throat works. He sets his mug down on the folded lip of the tailgate and turns so he can look at you head-on. Night wind ruffles his hair. The moon puts a faint halo on his cheekbone. He reaches, slow enough you could stop him if you want, sure enough that he knows you won’t, and tucks a stray piece of your hair behind your ear.

“I could watch you say that,” he murmurs, “and not get tired of it.”

You tip forward and press your forehead to his. “That’s good,” you whisper. “Because I’m not going to stop.”

He closes his eyes, just breathing with you for a moment, and that is the quiet you came for. The kind that happens when the world stops being something you have to hold up and becomes something that holds you. You feel the imprint like a tide underneath your skin, like the pulse of a drum you both know the rhythm to without talking about it. It isn’t magic you can bottle or explain in neat sentences. It’s Jacob’s warm hand coming to rest on your knee. It’s the easy glide your breath makes when he’s near. It’s the way the whole night feels a half-step closer because he’s here to point it out.

He opens his eyes. “I got you something else,” he says, sudden and a little shy.

You lean back. “You already got me a view and marshmallows.”

“Those were for me.” He reaches behind him and pulls out a small paper bag folded precisely at the top. He hands it to you with the same care he’d use to pass you a newborn kitten.

Inside, cushioned in tissue, is a key ring, hand-worked leather, warm and smooth, the strap stamped with a tiny pattern of waves and, on the reverse, your initials and his, separated by the simplest heart. The metal ring is heavy, solid. The work is meticulous and exactly Jacob. He never gives gifts that are about price. He gives gifts that look like his hands put in time.

“I know you already have keys,” he says, filling the quiet faster than you can stop him. “I just thought… when you go to work early and I’m out late, or when we’re both all over the place, it’d be nice to—”

You lean in and kiss him so he stops explaining.

It’s a soft kiss, almost chaste at first, because the night asks for that kind of reverence. Then his free hand finds your waist, and your fingers curl into the front of his jacket, and the kiss finds a deeper seam. The heat of him is a gentle pressure through the layers of clothes. His mouth is patient, careful, but not uncertain. He kisses like he’s building something, like every brush is a beam holding up something bigger.

When you pull back, you’re smiling, breath shallow in the best way. “I love it,” you say, thumb sweeping the tiny heart on the leather. “I love you.”

He swallows, nods, looking at you like you’re the view he brought you here to see. “Good,” he says, a little hoarse. “I… good.”

You loop the key ring onto your keys, the metal clink bright in the dark. Then you both lie back, shoulders still touching, cups between you, the blanket a small island under the spill of stars. Jacob points with his chin at a cluster above the treeline.

“That one looks like a wrench,” he says.

“It looks like a teapot.”

“A wrench.”

“Teapot.”

“Compromise,” he says. “A wrench pouring tea.”

You snort, which earns you a pleased hum. Your hands find each other again atop the blanket and twine. The breeze combs the grass. Somewhere in the distance, a night bird calls twice. The silence, the kind you wanted, stretches and settles, and you feel yourself exhale into it.

“Tell me a story,” you say, soft.

“About what?”

“About us.”

He’s quiet a moment, tracing circles on your palm. “Okay,” he says. “Once upon a time, there was this girl who never let anyone steal her fries.”

“Good start.”

“And there was this guy who rebuilds engines so he can drive her to the top of the world.”

“Romantic.”

“He’s learning.” Jacob rolls onto his side to face you. “He figures out that quiet isn’t just the absence of noise. It’s something that happens when she lays her head on his shoulder.” He taps your shoulder, a cue, and you scoot closer, fitting your cheek to the warm curve of him. His body is a refuge; it’s always been. “And when the world is loud, he can still hear the quiet as long as he can hear her laugh.”

“Does he get a name?” you ask into his jacket.

“He does,” Jacob says. “But she says it better than anyone, so he makes her promise to say it often.”

“Jacob.” You say it exactly the way he likes, low and sure, the vowels a caress.

He inhales. “Yeah. Like that.”

You fit there for a long while, passing the thermos back and forth, watching the moon climb. The cold brushes your cheeks but never bites, not with Jacob’s heat a steady line touching your side from shoulder to knee. When a stronger gust skims the hilltop, he tucks the edge of the blanket around you and murmurs a small apology to the night for taking some of its air, like he owes it that courtesy.

“Remember the first time we came up somewhere like this?” he asks. “When we were… eighteen? Nineteen?”

You laugh. “We tried to watch a meteor shower and fell asleep after thirty minutes.”

“And woke up at dawn covered in pine needles.”

“And you had one in your hair the whole next day,” you say. “Embry tried to rescue you and almost poked your eye out.”

“True friendship,” Jacob says solemnly. “I keep that pine needle on a shrine.”

“Oh do you?”

“In my heart.”

You look up at him, and he looks back, and a look passes between you that you’ve both learned not to talk through. It’s a look that says: we’ve been building this for years, and every small choice is a brick, and this hill on this night is a roof over our heads we built together.

As if hearing that unspoken thing, Jacob’s voice gentles. “Can I…?” He strokes along your cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Can we make this one of those nights we remember later when work is dumb and the pack is loud and everything is messy?”

You sit up with him, drag the blanket with you so it pools around your hips. “We already did,” you say. “But we can keep going.”

You kiss him again, a little deeper, and this time neither of you rushes or jokes. He holds your face like it’s something to be framed. You slip your hands up into the back of his hair, and he makes a sound in his throat that you feel more than hear. He tastes like chocolate and cold air. His pulse jumps under your fingers where they brush his jaw. When your lips part, his breath fills the space between you.

He pulls back only far enough to search your face, and you see the exact second he finds whatever answer he was looking for. His smile is small and certain. He ducks his head to kiss your jaw, the soft skin beneath your ear, the hollow at the base of your throat where your necklace rests. His mouth is reverent there, and you tip your head to make more room for him, your fingers flexing at his shoulders.

The night moves around you, a slow tide. Somewhere below, the river talks to itself, and the grass whispers. Jacob’s hands are sure where they settle, always patient, always checking in with the tiniest pause that lets you nod or breathe a yes. You let the blanket become a tent against the cool air, a pocket of warmth that’s just you and him and breath and soft sounds. His heat soaks through your layers. Your laugh catches once when he murmurs something half-teasing against your collarbone, and he answers it with a kiss like a vow.

When he finally breaks away, he rests his forehead against yours again. “You okay?” he asks, voice roughened.

“More than okay,” you say, and you mean it in all the ways: I’m safe, I’m warm, I’m full, I’m yours.

He nods, hands flexing gently on your back. “Tell me if you get cold,” he says, which is funny because you don’t, not with him radiating heat like a secret furnace. You say so, and he huffs a quiet laugh against your mouth.

“Come here,” he says, and you do, and the night holds its breath.

Time goes soft around the edges. The moon slides. Your mugs cool and then go forgotten. You kiss until kissing feels like breathing, and when you draw back it’s to look at him, really look, and to laugh quietly when his hair is a little wild from your hands. He looks back at you like you’ve broken a spell and made a better one in its place.

You don’t need words for the rest. The blanket becomes a cocoon, the sky your ceiling. You keep it tender, slow, a chain of yeses. There’s nothing hurried, nothing hidden. The night is your witness. The ocean is your metronome. And when you press your forehead to his shoulder later and the quiet returns, it’s not empty. It’s full of everything you just said without saying.

Eventually, the air cools enough that even Jacob’s warmth is challenged at the edges. He tucks you close and reaches blindly for the thermos. The hot chocolate is lukewarm now and sweet, and he grimaces and then drinks anyway because you laugh at him when he does.

“Heroic,” you say.

He sighs tragically. “The sacrifices I make.”

You sit together, back to the cab, feet dangling over the tailgate. The land below is a dark promise, the river a ribbon of pewter. Stars crowd closer now that your eyes have adjusted again. The moon’s path across the water has moved to a new angle, a silver thoroughfare leading away to somewhere unknown.

“Do you ever think about leaving?” you ask, not sure why the question chooses this moment. Maybe because you’re at a place in the world that shows you how big it is. “Not forever, just… road trip big. That van you keep threatening to build?”

Jacob hums. “All the time.” He nudges your shoulder with his. “Bring you, obviously. Hit the big tree in California, the desert, the city lights that don’t go out.”

“Eat too many roadside peaches.”

“Learn their names,” he says. “Like, all the peaches. They deserve it.”

You laugh, and then softer: “We could actually do it. A week. Two.” The thought unfurls like a map, marked with places you’ve only ever pointed at on your phone. “We can make the pack cover us. We’ll tell Sam it’s for morale.”

“For research,” Jacob adds solemnly. “I need to know how engines sound in every state.”

“And I need to document your boy band karaoke in every state.”

He pretends to consider. “Worth it.” Then he takes your hand again, his thumb finding that same spot at your wrist. “We’ll go,” he says, simple as that. “We’ll come back. We’ll go again. We’ll make this” he nods at the night, the hill, the truck, you and him “bigger by letting it see more.”

Your throat goes tight in the good way. You turn your hand and lace your fingers with his. “Deal.”

He leans down and presses a kiss to your temple, lingering. “Deal.”

You sit until the cold finally tips you back inside. He helps you down, both hands steadying your waist, and you hop to the ground with an exaggerated oof that makes him grin. He stows the blanket, the thermos, checks the corners, then opens your door and waits for you to climb in, like you’re on a date for the first time and he’s determined to do it right. The heater whirs back to life when he turns the key. The cab fills with the soft familiar smells again, now layered with cocoa and him and you.

He rests his hand on the back of your seat as he backs up, eyes flicking between the mirror and you. When the truck dips onto the gravel path, he reaches for your hand without looking, not because he needs to but because he wants to, and you give it.

The drive down feels like rewinding a tape, trees crowding in to hide the sky, the road choosing the path of least resistance, the valley’s dark breath washing up to meet you. You don’t talk much. You don’t need to. The quiet is a companion now, full of everything you just shared.

At the bottom of the hill, the road gathers itself into asphalt again. Jacob glances at you and then at the horizon where the ocean breathes, an idea occurring to him that is plainly written on his face.

“What?” you ask.

He shakes his head, smiling. “Nothing. Just… happy.”

You grin, and your chest feels too full in the best way. “Me too.”

He brings your joined hands to his mouth and kisses the back of yours without taking his eyes off the road. You watch the movement, the way the tendons shift in his forearm, the clean strength in his wrist. You think about all the things those hands have done today : turned a wrench, built a gift, held you like you’re the good thing in the center of everything—and you’re struck with a simple, overwhelming gratitude.

“You know,” you say, “for a guy who claims he rebuilt his truck to show off, you’re actually disgustingly thoughtful.”

He makes a scandalized sound. “Don’t spread that around.”

“Too late.” You squeeze his fingers. “It’s my favorite thing about you.”

He feigns a pout. “Not my incredible hair?”

“That too.” You reach up and ruffle it gently at the nape, earning another quiet sound that you file away for future use. “But mostly the thoughtful.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “My favorite thing about you,” he says finally, “is the way you look at me like I’m exactly who you were looking for. That… it keeps me right.”

You swallow. The road straightens. The ocean throws its steady hush at the cliffs. You look at him and make sure he sees the truth of what you say. “You are exactly who I was looking for.”

The rest of the drive is a warm blur. He takes the long way just because, skirting the edge of the surf so you can roll the window down for a minute and let the salt move through the cab, then up past the quiet houses where porch lights mark where other people’s stories tuck in for the night. By the time you pull into the drive, the moon has shifted and your mugs clink faintly in the bag where you stuffed them under the seat.

He kills the engine and the world holds still. In the sudden quiet, you can hear the faint tick of heat leaving metal. He turns to you, his face open.

“Home?” he asks softly.

“Home,” you echo, and you both know you mean the truck and the place you sleep and each other.

Inside, you move through the easy grammar of a long day’s end : shoes off by the door, keys dropped in the little dish (your new key ring sits on top like a crest), lights fanned on low, the soft burr of the bathroom fan as you brush your teeth side by side, shouldering each other like kids. Jacob hums under his breath while he washes his hands, some aimless little tune that you recognize from earlier that afternoon when he was working at the table.

“Don’t even say it,” he warns when you start to grin around a mouthful of toothpaste.

“Your boy band anthem,” you garble, and he flicks water at you, laughing.

Later, under a heap of blankets, the world narrows to warmth and breath and the cadence of your names. The windows are cracked just enough for the sea to remind you it’s out there. The moon watches the way the two of you say goodnight like a language it doesn’t speak but understands anyway. Your laughter shows up again when his foot finds yours under the blankets and he yelps because even he can be surprised by cold toes. He retaliates by tucking you fully against him, a smug furnace, and you surrender happily.

You talk in the dark about small things. The road trip. Which snacks qualify as non-negotiable. Whether the desert will forgive you if you don’t immediately love it. You tell him it will. He tells you you will. You drift, and the quiet comes back, full again, no edges.

A while later, somewhere in the place between waking and sleep where you both are honest without effort, Jacob kisses your forehead and says, “Thank you for tonight.”

“For the view?” you ask drowsily.

“For the yes,” he says. “For the quiet. For you.”

You lift your face just enough that he finds your lips in the dark. “Always,” you murmur. “Always, always.”

Outside, the ocean breathes. The stars keep their counsel. Inside, the warmth pools and stays. And if tomorrow is loud and messy and real, as it always is, you already have this night tucked into your pocket, a talisman you can touch with a single thought.

When sleep finally takes you both, it does so gently, like a tide coming in around two rocks that have learned, over years, how to be themselves and still lean.

It had snowed the night before.

Thick, downy flakes now clung to the pine trees that lined the Cullen property in the Alaskan woods, blanketing the forest in stillness. A quiet that didn't quite feel peaceful—no, it was the kind of quiet that made even the cold-blooded pause. The kind that whispered something had shifted.

The Cullen home had been quiet for years. Most of them kept to themselves now. Renesmee was a grown woman—by both physical and emotional maturity—and had long since stopped aging. Bella had taken to reading again. Edward played some piano every day. Esme tended her gardens, and Carlisle buried himself in his doctor work.

And Jacob?

Jacob still walked the woods. Still watched over the people he loved, even if those people were no longer quite mortal.

Then there was you.

You stood at the window, still as a painting, arms folded loosely across your chest as your amber-gold eyes stared into the winter beyond. You didn’t flinch when the snow dropped from the roof with a muffled thump. Didn’t react when Renesmee padded barefoot into the room and sat silently by the fire.

You hadn't spoken much in days.

Because sixty years might pass, and bones might turn to ash and memories to smoke, but love—real love—dug deep. Especially the kind that was never allowed to bloom.

They hadn’t heard from La Push in decades.

Until today.

A soft knock at the door broke the tension. Esme, ever the heart of the family, opened it with grace. Outside stood a courier in a wool coat, face pink from cold, boots buried in snow. He didn’t look up. Just handed over a sealed envelope.

Jacob came down the stairs slowly. He could already feel it in his chest—some kind of weight building behind his ribs. He caught the scent of the envelope even before Esme handed it over. Something familiar. Something earthly.

His name was on the front.

Jacob Black & Y/N Y/L/N From Forks.

The sender address was the Clearwater’s.

Jacob’s hand trembled as he opened it, unfolding the heavy parchment slowly, like it might bite him if he moved too fast. You read it with him, your head on his shoulder. The paper smelled like cedar and sea salt. You recognized Seth's handwriting instantly.

He’s gone.

Embry Call passed away peacefully in his sleep last week. He was 77. He never married. Never left La Push. I held his hand when he passed. He wasn’t afraid. He asked me to send this to you—said you’d understand why it took him so long. Said you were the only ones who would know how hard it was to live the life you couldn’t. He made me promise to tell you that he kept it. The promise. That he lived. That he tried. That he loved you until the very last moment, Y/N.

I’m sorry it took me so long to find you.

— Seth

Jacob didn’t look up.

He didn’t have to.

The letter drifted from his fingers, brushing against the floor just before you collapsed to your knees.

No one moved.

Jacob was beside you in an instant, arms wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close as the sob tore through you—not loud, not violent. Just broken. Shattered. Ancient. A pain that had waited sixty years for permission to exist.

“I thought I had more time,” you whispered.

Jacob closed his eyes.

“He lived for you. He never stopped.”

~~~~~~~~~

The sun was setting over the Pacific, painting the cliffs of La Push in molten gold. The wind carried the smell of salt and fir needles, brushing through the tall grass like a whisper of things ending. Somewhere below, the waves crashed in steady rhythm, unaware of the world breaking above them.

Embry was already waiting when you arrived.

He stood on the cliff edge, back to you, arms hanging at his sides. He didn’t move when you approached, but you saw the subtle twitch of his jaw, the way his shoulders tensed just slightly—like he was trying to brace himself for a storm he couldn’t stop.

And in a way, he was.

You stopped a few feet behind him.

The space between you felt like an ocean.

You didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, drinking him in—his scent, his warmth, the way his dark hair lifted in the breeze. Sixty years from now, you would still remember the exact way he looked in that moment. The red in the sky. The shadow of his profile. The unbearable silence.

“I’m leaving,” you said finally, your voice soft, too steady for what you felt.

“I figured.” His voice was rough, low.

“I just wanted… I needed to say goodbye.”

He finally turned.

And it shattered you.

His eyes were bloodshot, like he hadn’t slept. His cheeks were damp, fresh tears already there before you could say anything more. And still, he was beautiful. Earthbound. Real. The last piece of the life you were being forced to let go.

“You could’ve just gone,” Embry whispered. “It might’ve been easier that way.”

“No,” you breathed. “Not for me.”

He laughed bitterly, swiping a hand over his face. “Is this really it, then? No cure, no loophole, no magical reversal?”

“I’m a vampire, Em.” Your voice cracked. “And you’re still… you. You can smell it on me. You know what I’ve become. I can’t stay here. Not on the rez. Not near you. I’m a danger to everyone I love.”

“You’re not dangerous to me,” he said sharply. “You never were.”

“I could be,” you whispered. “You don’t understand how strong the thirst is. The bloodlust. It’s like... like every moment, there’s this instinct screaming at me to rip everything apart. I couldn’t live with myself if I ever hurt you.”

“You already are,” he said, brokenly.

Your breath hitched. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” he choked out. “You get to say all the painful stuff. Why can’t I?”

You took a step closer. Then another. Close enough now that you could see the faint scar on his brow from when he fell off his bike as a kid. Close enough to remember how many times you’d held his hand under the stars and never told him how you felt.

“I was going to tell you,” you whispered. “Before Victoria got to me. I was going to tell you that night, remember? We were supposed to meet at the beach. I had this whole dumb speech planned about how I didn’t want to be just your friend anymore.”

He let out a ragged breath.

“I waited for you for hours,” he whispered. “And when you didn’t show, I thought maybe you changed your mind. Then we found the scent trail. The blood. I thought you were dead.”

“I was,” you said. “Not all the way. But close enough.”

Embry stepped forward, finally closing the gap. “Then let me say it now. Please, Y/N. Just once.”

Your lips parted, trembling. “What?”

He cupped your face in both hands, staring down at you like this was the last sunrise he’d ever see. His eyes were oceans of grief, of love, of every moment they were never given.

“I love you.”

Tears spilled from your eyes—useless now, your body no longer needing such things, and yet still capable of pain so deep it made you choke.

“I love you, too.”

“I wanted it to be you,” he said, voice shaking. “The one I grew old with. The one I built a home with. You were it for me, even before I knew what love was.”

You leaned into his touch. “You were always it for me.”

You kissed, soft and slow and aching.

Your first kiss tasted like goodbye.

When you parted, you pressed your forehead to his.

“I wish we had more time,” you whispered.

“Me too,” he said. “Seventeen years with you will never be enough.”

“I know.”

A silence settled. The last rays of sunlight dipped beneath the waterline.

“I’m going with the Cullens,” you said after a moment. “They can help me learn control.”

He nodded, but said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” you said again. “For everything.”

Embry drew a shaky breath and then stepped back. He pulled something from his jacket pocket—a woven leather bracelet. One you made him years ago for his birthday.

“I kept this,” he said, voice thick. “Even when it fell apart.”

He tied it around you wrist, careful and slow.

“Take it,” he murmured. “So you don’t forget me.”

“I never could.”

Then you turned away, because if you stayed a second longer, you wouldn’t go.

Jacob waited at the bottom of the path.

You didn’t look back.

But Embry stood there until the moon replaced the sun, until the wind stopped carrying your scent, and until the earth beneath him felt empty again.

He lived for sixty more years and never stopped loving you.

~~~~~~~~~

The wind howled across the ridge of the Alaskan peak, biting and sharp, carrying with it the wild scent of pine and silence.

You sat near the edge, knees tucked to your chest, your chin resting on your arms as the horizon stretched infinitely before you. The valley below was a dream of white — a canvas of snow-drenched trees, frozen rivers, and the unreachable solitude that only immortality could offer.

You hadn't spoken since the letter.

Not when Renesmee brought you warm elk blood in a ceramic mug you never touched. Not when Carlisle sat beside you for a full hour and said nothing, waiting for a sign you might want to talk. Not even when Bella, eyes soft with unspoken understanding, offered a quiet, “He really loved you.”

No one could reach you. No one but one.

And so Jacob climbed.

He found you at the top just as the sky was beginning to bleed peach and lavender — twilight on the edge of everything. He didn’t announce himself. Just walked toward you and sat beside you in the snow, his body steaming against the cold, warmth radiating from him like a hearth.

You didn’t turn your head.

“I used to dream about this,” you said finally, your voice distant and hollow. “Not this exact mountain. But something like it. I’d be sitting on a cliff, above the clouds, and I’d feel like I was floating. I’d always wake up peaceful.”

Jacob stared ahead, letting you talk.

“I think that dream was the only time I ever imagined being okay without him.”

A silence passed. The wind filled the gap.

Jacob swallowed. “I should’ve come sooner.”

“No,” you said softly. “I needed to be alone with it. You understand that.”

“I do.”

You glanced sideways at him. “Did you read it again ?”

He nodded. “Seth’s handwriting hasn’t changed in sixty years.”

You exhaled a soft, broken laugh. “Embry never left La Push.”

“No,” Jacob murmured. “He never wanted to. It was probably the only place that still felt like you.”

You looked down at your hands. “He promised me he’d live. And he did. That makes it worse.”

“Why ?”

“Because I didn’t,” you said. “Not really.”

Jacob’s brow furrowed.

“I existed,” you clarified. “I traveled. Fought alongside the Cullens. Drank blood, learned control, helped hide our kind from discovery. But none of it… mattered. It was all filler. Empty. The only moments I ever felt anything—really felt—were the ones I remembered from my human life. With him. With you. With Quil.”

Jacob was quiet for a long time.

“He waited every year for your birthday,” he said at last, remembering the few time he had visited their old friends. “He’d sit on the cliffs and watch the water. Then he’d go home. Sometimes he’d cook that thing you used to like — you remember those terrible sweet potato pancakes ?”

You laughed through a fresh rush of tears. “God, they were awful.”

“He never changed the recipe. He said it wouldn’t be yours if he made it better.”

The laughter faded.

“I miss them,” you said. “I miss you. I miss me. Before all this.”

Jacob hesitated. Then asked, gently, “Did you ever… try with anyone else?”

You blinked slowly. “You mean after Embry?”

He nodded.

She shook her head. “No.”

“You had time.”

“And I spent every second of it loving someone I could never touch again,” you said simply. “You don’t understand, Jake. I never stopped. Not for one second. He wasn’t just a person to me. He was home.”

Jacob looked away.

“I know,” you added, your voice quieter. “That it was my choice, in the end. I could’ve tried to forget him. I could’ve closed that chapter. But I didn’t want to. Because no matter how long I’ve lived, no matter how many nights I’ve seen the stars from foreign lands or ancient cities… nothing ever felt like that first night we kissed. Nothing ever felt like being seventeen and in love with Embry Call.”

Jacob rubbed the back of his neck. “God, we were such dumb kids.”

“We were,” you agreed. “But it was real.”

There was a long pause.

Then you asked, “Do you ever wonder what it would’ve been like… if you hadn’t imprinted on Ness ?”

You turned to him slowly.

He didn’t look at you.

“Sometimes I think about it,” he admitted. “What if I stayed ? What if it had just been me, you and the guys on the rez ? No imprinting, no destiny, no Cullen. Just life.”

“Do you regret it ?” you asked.

Jacob was quiet.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But not in a way that changes anything. Ness is… she’s everything. She’s my gravity. But yeah, I do miss who I used to be. Who we all used to be.”

“I miss Quil,” Y/N whispered. “I miss Embry’s laugh. I miss the campfires. The dumb inside jokes. Remember that time you all tried to build that makeshift wrestling ring out of pool noodles ?”

Jacob laughed. “And I broke my wrist trying to suplex Quil ?”

You nodded, smiling weakly. “Embry carried you to the hospital. And you tried to convince the nurse you’d been attacked by a rogue deer.”

“Hey, it sounded better than my friend tackled me into a tree.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

“What hurts the most,” you said softly, “ain’t the memories we made. It’s the ones we never got to. I’ll never know what it feels like to wake up next to him as an old woman. I’ll never know what kind of dad he would’ve been. We never had our stupid little house with the squeaky porch swing and the wolf-print doormat.”

Jacob looked down. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

He looked up then, and saw something shift in your expression — a calm, deep and heavy, like a tide pulling out to sea.

“I’ve made a decision,” you said.

His heart slowed. “Y/N…”

“I’ve carried this love for sixty years,” you said. “I’ve carried his memory like a heartbeat. And now that he’s gone… I don’t want to carry it alone anymore.”

“You don’t have to be alone.”

“Yes, I do.” Your voice cracked. “This isn’t about punishment. It’s about peace. About… going to him. Wherever he is. I want to believe there’s something after this. I want to believe that when I close my eyes… he’ll be there. Waiting.”

Jacob’s throat burned. “You’re not just my friend. You’re my family.”

“And I’ll always be grateful for that.” You reached over, cupping his face. “You saved me when I lost myself. Again and again. But this time… I need to let go.”

His eyes welled with tears.

“Promise me,” You whispered. “Take care of Ness. Live. Don’t carry this grief like I did. Love her the way I never got to love him.”

Jacob nodded, barely able to speak. “I promise.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

Then stood.

And began to walk down the mountain for the last time.

~~~~~~~~~

The house was quiet when you returned.

Not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the hollow kind. The kind that feels like waiting.

Jacob walked behind you in silence. The others were already gathered in the living room — Renesmee, Bella, Edward, Alice, Rosalie, Emmett, Esme, Carlisle. All of them standing like pale statues in the golden wash of sunset through the tall windows.

They knew.

They’d known the moment you left for that mountain.

Renesmee was the first to move. She rushed forward, wrapping her arms tightly around your waist.

“Please don’t do this,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You don’t have to. We’re still here. You’re not alone.”

You held her, burying your face in the girl’s hair.

“I know,” you murmured. “And that’s what makes this so hard. But Nessie… I’ve already stayed too long.”

“But it’s not fair,” Renesmee cried, pulling back, eyes full of tears. “You’re not a danger anymore. You’re in control. You’re stronger than the thirst. You could stay. We could help.”

“I’m not doing this because I’m dangerous,” You said softly. “I’m doing it because my story already ended. I just… didn’t know how to let go.”

Renesmee gripped your hands. “You were supposed to be there when Jake and I got married. You promised to braid my hair.”

Your smile trembled. “And you’ll still be beautiful. You’ll walk down that aisle and he’ll look at you like you hung the stars.”

“I want you there.”

“I’ll be there in spirit,” you whispered. “Always.”

Edward stepped forward then, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “We won’t try to stop you.”

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“You were family,” Esme said through a crack in her voice. “You still are.”

“You gave me a second life,” You said, looking around the room. “You all did. But I wasn’t meant to live forever. Not like this. And now that Embry’s gone… I finally understand that my eyes aren’t meant to be open when his are closed.”

Carlisle moved closer, eyes heavy with sorrow. “Are you sure there’s no way I can convince you otherwise ?”

You took his hand.

“You saved me. I’ll always be grateful for this.”

Alice handed you something then — a small velvet pouch. You opened it, and inside lay a golden ring, its center set with a stone the exact color of Embry’s eyes.

“I saw this,” Alice said quietly. “This is the ring he would have given you would you have married him.”

You blinked hard.

“I don’t have words right now,” you whispered, slipping the ring onto your finger. “I want to believe I’ll see him again.”

You turned to Jacob last.

He hadn’t moved from the doorway. His eyes were red, fists clenched at his sides.

“I don’t want to say goodbye to you again,” he said hoarsely.

“You won’t have to,” You replied. “Because this isn’t goodbye. Not really.”

“You’re going to die.”

“Yes.” Your voice didn’t waver. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop being with you. I’ll still be in the wind, in the trees. You’ll hear me in the waves at La Push. In Renesmee’s laugh. In every memory we made.”

Jacob stepped forward, grabbing your hand and pressing it to his heart.

“It’s not enough.”

“It has to be.”

They stood there like that for a moment — best friends, pack siblings, survivors — until you finally drew back.

“I want to go somewhere quiet,” you said. “Somewhere the wind won’t carry the smoke back to you.”

“We’ll take care of him,” Bella said pointing to Jacob. “ We’ll stay strong. You don’t have to worry about us.”

“I know.”

You hugged them each one last time. Every embrace was another heartbeat closing. Another chapter finished.

When you reached the door, you turned back.

“I loved him,” you said. “More than life. More than death. But I love you all, too. You gave me a home after I lost mine. Thank you for loving me anyway.”

Then you stepped into the forest.

~~~~~~~~~

The forest was quiet.

Far from the Cullen home, past the frozen river, in a dense thicket of black spruce and untouched snow, you found your final place.

You knelt beside a fallen tree, your hair unbound, your eyes fixed on the stars above.

The cold didn’t touch you. The wind didn’t stir you.

You pulled a match from your coat pocket. You had only taken two things with you — the ring Alice gave you and the old woven bracelet Embry had tied on your wrist the day you left La Push.

Now both were pressed to your heart.

“I’m coming,” you whispered.

And then you struck the match. Your cold body drenched in gasoline.

You did not scream. You did not move.

You closed your eyes as the fire climbed your arms, and in your final moment — there was no pain.

Only peace.

Only his memory.

~~~~~~~~~

The new town was dull, small, and rainy — the way most of their favorites were. Carlisle always said low sunlight meant longer stays. Edward had already scoped out the high school and confirmed it was manageable. Alice, of course, had encouraged everyone into new clothes. Life for the Cullens had resumed its familiar, rotating rhythm.

Except for Jacob.

He never fully adjusted to Pennsylvania. Not because of the weather or the people or even the routine — but because Y/N wasn’t in it. Not anymore.

Seventeen years later and her name still echoed in the spaces between his thoughts. He’d held onto her ashes, scattered them in La Push. She had left him with her laughter, her memory… and her absence.

He carried all three like scars.

And then it happened.

It was a Thursday morning. Overcast. Mildly cold. Jacob had parked himself outside the school entrance like a watchful shadow, playing the role of older brother waiting for Renesmee — though everyone knew Renesmee could handle herself better than most armed guards.

He didn’t notice them at first.

But then the girl laughed.

And the world shifted.

It wasn’t just the sound — though that hurt enough. It was the way it felt. A breeze cutting through time. Her laugh was bright, bubbling, unfiltered — a joy too old for a high schooler and too familiar to ignore.

Jacob turned.

Two teens were walking across the school courtyard. The girl had long hair and wore a red hoodie far too big for her frame. Her jeans were ripped, her sneakers untied. She was teasing the boy next to her, poking his ribs, dodging his half-hearted swats.

And the boy — he looked so much like Embry it knocked the air out of Jacob’s lungs.

Same dark brown eyes. Same crooked grin. Same hands in his pockets. Same energy.

Jacob blinked, staggered.

It couldn't be. It shouldn’t be.

The girl noticed him staring.

She tugged her companion’s sleeve and whispered something. The boy looked over. Their eyes locked.

For a fraction of a second, Jacob swore something flickered in the boy’s gaze. Confusion. Recognition. A memory not yet lived.

Then it was gone.

They turned and entered the building, holding hands.

Jacob remained rooted in place, cold sweat beading at the back of his neck.

Later he learned their names.

Embry Connor. Y/N Fitzgerald.

The world tilted.

He had trouble breathing, chest tight, air thin.

They had come back.

Not as wolves. Not as vampires. Not as anything but human.

And Jacob knew then — this was their second chance.

He made a promise to himself right there.

He would not get involved.

No explanations. No legends. No supernatural entanglement. Not this time.

He wouldn’t steal this from them.

He would let them live the life that had been ripped from them before it ever began.

He would stay away.

He would let them fall in love again, naturally — without fate or blood or curses.

They didn’t need to remember.

But he always would.

He looked up at the sky, where gray clouds whispered down memories in the form of rain.

"You can be together now," he whispered. "You’re free, Y/N."

And for the first time in years, something in Jacob’s heart quietly… settled.

You could always tell summer had truly arrived when the bonfire pit in the clearing behind the community center lit up with glowing embers and the kids started asking for marshmallows before noon.

This morning, however, it was the screech of the storage shed door that woke the forest.

"Need some help there, chief?" you called, stepping into the clearing with a water cooler slung over one shoulder and a plastic tub of art supplies in the other. The sun hadn’t even broken through the trees yet, but the smell of pine and saltwater filled the air like it already knew what kind of day it would be.

Quil Ateara, standing halfway inside the crooked shed, turned his head and grinned. “Only if you wanna wrestle this spider the size of my face.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

“Only if you want it to be.”

You walked over, dropped the tub on the bench, and shoved the cooler down onto the ground. “Move over. I’m not afraid of your little woodland roommates.”

The inside of the shed was more cramped than you remembered—partly because Quil took up more space than he used to, and partly because there were at least three summers’ worth of camping gear, rope, boxes, and sports equipment shoved inside without order.

“This place is a disaster,” you muttered, brushing off a sleeping bag with one hand. “Why do we never clean it at the end of the summer?”

“Tradition,” Quil said with a smirk, handing you a half-deflated basketball. “Also, because I’m lazy.”

You snorted. “At least you’re honest about it.”

Truthfully, you didn’t mind the mess. You’d been running the camp with Quil for five summers now, ever since you both graduated high school. It had started off small—just a few kids from the reservation who needed somewhere to go during the day. Now it was a full program: crafts, sports, games, storytelling nights, hikes, and a giant slip-n-slide that Quil insisted on building every year, even though it always tore halfway through.

The best part? You and Quil did it all together.

“I found the kickball,” he called triumphantly. “But it’s covered in glitter. Your fault?”

“Art time got intense last year,” you replied innocently.

By the time you finished hauling the supplies out into the sunlight, the clearing was beginning to warm. You could already hear the first of the kids arriving—small sneakers stomping down the gravel path, the high-pitched chatter of excited voices.

You turned to Quil, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Ready?”

He looked at you for a beat longer than necessary. Then nodded. “Always.”

~~~~~~~~~

You always knew when something was bothering Quil.

Not because he said anything—he never did. He was good at hiding it behind crooked grins and sarcastic remarks. But you’d known him long enough to spot the shift. The way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. The way he suddenly had to "check on something" whenever the group laughter got too loud. Or how he’d go quiet when everyone was packing up, like he didn’t want the day to end because silence meant thinking.

It had been three days since camp started, and he was doing it again.

You noticed it as you sat on a faded picnic blanket with the kids during story time. Embry had volunteered to be the dramatic reader for the day (he was surprisingly good at voices), and the kids were clinging to every word. You laughed with them, leaning back on your hands in the grass, but your eyes kept drifting to the edge of the clearing.

Quil stood just outside the ring of light, arms crossed over his chest, staring into the trees.

You made an excuse to get up and wandered over. “You got beef with that pine tree or something?”

Quil blinked, then glanced down at you with a small smile. “Just thinking.”

“That’s usually my job. You’re the brawn. I’m the brains.”

He chuckled, but it didn’t last. “Sorry. I’m kind of off this week.”

You nudged him with your shoulder. “Wanna talk about it?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “Not really.”

You didn’t push. You knew better than to dig when he shut down like that. Instead, you nodded, then tilted your head toward the campfire pit. “Help me start the fire? The kids are gonna want s’mores soon, and I’m not burning my eyebrows off for their sugar cravings.”

That earned you a real laugh, and you felt something ease between you.

The fire crackled to life, orange flames licking the edge of the kindling as you stepped back, brushing ash from your hands. Quil stood beside you, poking the logs with a long stick like it owed him money.

“You know,” you said casually, “normal people would just talk to someone if something was eating them alive.”

“I’m not normal, remember?” he replied, eyes fixed on the fire. “Big furry secret and all.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’ve been acting weird since Monday. Weirder than usual. That’s saying something.”

He didn’t respond.

The silence stretched between you, filled only by the distant sound of kids chasing each other with marshmallow sticks and the quiet hum of the forest. It was peaceful. Too peaceful.

“It's because you haven't imprinted yet?” you asked, your voice soft, careful.

Quil’s head snapped toward you so fast you thought he might’ve hurt something.

You shrugged, looking at the fire. “You never talked to me about this. I figured… I don’t know—”

“I haven't.”

The words were sweeter than you expected in your ears.

You nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t—” he stopped, jaw tight.

You turned to look at him. “Don’t what?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Don’t love you.”

Your heart stalled.

He said it like it hurt.

Like it was some truth he’d buried a hundred times and just now let surface.

You wanted to say something. Anything. But the words lodged somewhere behind your ribs, tangled in surprise and the way the firelight danced across Quil’s face like it was trying to paint a softer version of the boy you grew up with.

You reached out and took the stick from his hand, tossing it into the fire.

“We should check on the kids,” you said quietly.

He nodded, but neither of you moved.

~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Quil went back to acting normal.

Which, for Quil, meant chasing a ten-year-old across the clearing with a water balloon, pretending to trip into the mud pit someone had accidentally created at the bottom of the hill, and laughing so hard he fell over for real.

You played along. You smiled. You ran the craft table like usual and helped patch up skinned knees, but the conversation from last night clung to your thoughts like pine sap.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

It wasn’t the imprint. It wasn’t fate or destiny or cosmic magic.

It was real. Chosen. Painfully human.

And that made it worse somehow.

You hadn’t expected it—not really. Quil was your person, sure, but you thought that was just childhood friendship turned into adult loyalty. You’d been there when he first phased, when he first told you what he was. You were the one who found him behind the gym, shaking and steaming and terrified, the day he changed. You hadn’t flinched. You stayed. Of course you did.

But maybe he thought that meant something else.

Maybe you wanted it to.

You were still thinking about it that afternoon while watching Quil and Embry drag out the plastic tarp for the infamous slip-n-slide. It was a mess of duct tape and garden hose contraptions, and it never lasted more than a day, but it always brought the kids joy.

Quil caught you watching him and grinned, flashing his teeth. “What?” he called.

You shook your head. “You’re doing it wrong.”

He squinted. “You wanna come show me how it’s done?”

“Absolutely not.”

He looked mock-offended. “Coward.”

You smirked. “I just don’t feel like breaking my tailbone today.”

He paused. “I’ll catch you.”

It came out quieter, like it meant more than it should.

You looked away. “I’ll hold you to that.”

~~~~~~~~~

The last kid drifted off to sleep around 9:30, bundled in a sleeping bag under the stars. Some parents would pick them up by midnight; others let their kids stay for the full overnight camp-out. You stayed behind to help Quil clean up marshmallow sticks and rogue flip-flops, your hoodie pulled tight around your shoulders against the night air.

The fire had burned low, but still glowed orange, little sparks fluttering upward like fireflies.

Quil dropped onto the log beside you with a dramatic sigh. “I smell like smoke and sweat and whatever’s stuck in the mud pit.”

You didn’t look at him. “So, same as usual.”

He nudged you with his knee. “You’re mean when you’re tired.”

You smiled faintly, watching the fire crackle. “I’m always mean to you. That’s our thing.”

A pause.

Then, softer: “Is it?”

You turned your head, startled by the shift in tone.

He wasn’t looking at you—he was staring into the fire again, jaw tense, like the words were scraping against something raw.

“Is that really all we are?” he asked. “Just… kids who grew up together and roast each other and run camp?”

You swallowed. “You said it yourself. I’m not your imprint.”

“I know. But—” he broke off, frustrated. “That doesn’t cancel out everything else. I’m still me. I still feel things. Want things.”

Your heart beat louder than the fire. “You want me?”

His laugh was soft, almost sad. “I’ve always wanted you.”

He finally turned to look at you, and there was something in his expression that made your breath catch. Not desperation. Not pleading. Just truth. Quiet, steady, undeniable.

You’d seen that face a thousand times, across playgrounds and porches and summer bonfires. You never realized what it meant until now.

“I didn’t know,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t want to mess anything up,” he replied. “You’re not my imprint. I thought… maybe it wasn’t enough.”

You looked at him fully now, heart thudding in your chest. “But what if it is?”

You weren’t sure who moved first.

Maybe it was you, leaning slightly forward, just to see if he would lean back. Maybe it was Quil, shifting closer, drawn like a moth to the flame he’d carried for so long. Either way, when your knees touched, neither of you moved away.

The fire’s glow lit the underside of his jaw, casting warm shadows across his cheek. You noticed the little things you’d never let yourself dwell on before—how his lashes curled just slightly at the tips, how the slope of his nose dipped near the bridge, how his lips parted when he looked at you like this.

“You’ve really felt like this all this time?” you asked.

Quil nodded, quiet. “At first I thought it’d pass. That it was just… some mix of habit and hormones and loyalty, you know? You were always there. You saw me at my worst—hell, you saw me turn.”

You gave a small, breathless laugh. “Yeah, that was a fun day.”

He smiled, but it faded quickly. “But then it didn’t pass. I started noticing things I shouldn’t. Like how your laugh changes when you’re trying to hold it in, or how you tuck your left foot under your right leg when you’re sitting in the grass.”

You blinked. “You notice that?”

“Every time.”

You looked down, and yeah—your foot was tucked under, exactly like he said.

“I didn’t say anything,” he continued, voice rough, “because I didn’t want to make it weird. Because I thought maybe I was being selfish. Hoping for something that wasn’t meant to happen.”

“But you did tell me,” you whispered. “Last night.”

He nodded. “Because I couldn’t not anymore. It was driving me insane.”

The fire cracked again, louder this time, but neither of you flinched. You were still watching him. Really watching him. Seeing everything that had been there all along.

“I don’t know what this means,” you said honestly. “I don’t know what happens next.”

His eyes met yours. “It doesn’t have to mean anything yet. We don’t have to figure it out tonight.”

“But we do have time?”

He smiled, soft and tired and filled with hope. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

And for once, you believed him

The last of the embers cast flickering shadows over the grass as you and Quil sat shoulder to shoulder, the air between you warm from more than just the flames. The kids were asleep. Embry and the others had gone home. It was just you two now, tucked into a sliver of the world where nothing else mattered.

You didn’t speak for a long time.

It wasn’t awkward. It felt like the kind of silence people wrote poems about—shared, intentional, heavy in the best way. You could feel his heartbeat even without touching him. You swore it matched yours.

Eventually, he shifted, just enough for your arms to brush.

“I don’t want you to feel pressure,” he said. “About any of this.”

“I don’t,” you replied quickly. “I mean—I don’t feel bad. I’m just… surprised.”

He gave a soft huff. “Twelve years of friendship and I still manage to catch you off guard.”

You smiled. “Only because you’re sneakier than you look.”

He turned his head toward you, and your noses were nearly touching now. “So where does this leave us?”

You thought about it. Really thought. About the years of inside jokes and late-night text messages and how every person you dated never quite felt like home. About how Quil had always been there—steady, ridiculous, loyal to a fault. How this didn’t feel like a beginning so much as a realization.

“It leaves us here,” you said finally, lifting your eyes to meet his. “In this moment. With maybe more than what we thought we had… and nowhere to be but next to each other.”

His smile bloomed like sunrise.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Here’s good.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, your hand finding his in the dark, fingers tangling like they’d been waiting to. He didn’t pull away. Of course he didn’t.

For now, it didn’t need to be more than that.

~~~~~~~~~

You woke up with your head on Quil’s shoulder and the sound of birdsong in your ears.

The fire had long since died, reduced to cool ash and half-burnt logs. Dew clung to the grass, glinting like glass under the pale morning light. Somewhere in the distance, a raven called once and then fell silent.

Quil was still asleep.

His arm had settled around your waist sometime in the night, loose but certain. He breathed slowly, chest rising and falling beneath your cheek, his warmth a barrier against the early chill.

You stayed there for a minute, just breathing with him.

It would’ve been so easy to overthink it. To unravel every thread, pick apart every second—What did last night mean? What happens now? What if things change?

But then Quil stirred.

His eyes blinked open, hazy and golden in the morning light. For a second, he looked confused—then he saw you, and his whole face softened.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and sleep-rough.

“Hey.”

A pause.

“I didn’t dream it, did I?”

You smiled. “Not unless we had the same one.”

His grin was slow and sleepy. “Good.”

He didn’t move, and neither did you.

“I like waking up like this,” he said eventually, voice barely above a whisper.

“You say that now,” you teased, “wait until my arm falls asleep and I start drooling.”

He laughed. “Still worth it.”

You looked up at him. “I meant what I said. Last night.”

“Me too.”

“I don’t know where this goes, Quil.”

“Then we’ll figure it out. One day at a time.”

You breathed in slowly, taking him in—the easy smile, the sincerity behind it, the quiet strength he always carried like it weighed nothing.

Then you nodded. “Okay. One day at a time.”

~~~~~~~~~

The final day of camp always hit a little harder than you expected.

The slip-n-slide was rolled up and retired, the craft table cleared of glitter glue and half-dried paintbrushes. Kids clung to each other, trading numbers and promises to “totally hang out again” that everyone knew might fade by fall.

You stood at the edge of the clearing, watching it all happen like a movie you’d seen before. Same end, different year.

But this time, something felt different.

This time, Quil stood beside you—not just your co-leader, not just your best friend, but something new. Something unspoken, still unlabelled, but warm and grounding and real.

He was laughing with a little boy who wouldn’t stop re-enacting a water balloon ambush from three days ago. You smiled, watching him crouch to high-five the kid, his dimples deepening, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

And your chest ached in the best way.

He caught your gaze and straightened up, jogging over to you. “We survived another year.”

“Barely. I think we lost at least three water bottles and maybe one child.”

He smirked. “We found the kid.”

“Still can’t find the water bottles.”

He leaned his shoulder against yours. “We’ll put out a missing persons report.”

You laughed, then glanced sideways at him. “Quil?”

“Yeah?”

You hesitated. “Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if you had imprinted on me?”

He went quiet.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But not in the way you think. Not like I missed out.”

You frowned. “No?”

He turned to face you fully. “Imprinting doesn’t guarantee love. It guarantees connection. A pull. But love? Real love—you choose that. You show up for it. You build it.”

He paused, voice softening. “And I’d choose you. Over and over. Even if fate didn’t write it that way.”

Your throat tightened.

“I don’t want what’s written in stone,” you whispered. “I want what’s real.”

He reached for your hand.

“Then take it.”

~~~~~~~~~

The sun dipped below the tree line, casting the sky in gold and rose. The last of the kids had been picked up. The camp was quiet now, filled only with the rustle of wind through leaves and the distant crash of waves against the rocks below.

You sat on the wooden bench at the edge of the clearing, legs tucked under you, watching the horizon melt into dusk.

Quil joined you a moment later, arms bare, hoodie tied around his waist, carrying two plastic cups of lemonade.

He handed one to you without a word.

You sipped in silence.

This was your tradition—watching the final sunset of camp together, side by side, not quite ready to let it end.

“Do you remember,” he said eventually, “the first summer we did this? Just the two of us and like five kids?”

You snorted. “Yeah. You got heatstroke and threw up behind the shed.”

He grinned. “Legendary.”

You leaned into him. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“How we didn’t see it before. You and me.”

He looked down at you, eyes soft. “I think part of me always saw it. I just didn’t want to risk losing you.”

“But you didn’t,” you whispered.

He shook his head. “No. I think I finally found you.”

You sat there as the light faded, your head resting against his shoulder, your fingers tangled between his. You could feel his pulse, steady and real, a quiet beat to match your own.

The world felt simple in that moment. Honest.

You weren’t imprinted. You weren’t pulled by some invisible string. You weren’t swept into a fairytale you didn’t ask for.

You were here. With him.

By choice.

“I used to think we were just best friends” you murmured.

Quil squeezed your hand. “Maybe we were.”

“And now?”

He looked out at the horizon, at the fire-colored sky and the future behind it.

You used to be able to tell what Jacob Black was thinking just by looking at him.

A raised brow, a crooked grin, the twitch in his jaw when he tried not to laugh—those small things used to be yours to read, to know, to love. But that was before she came back from Phoenix and turned your best friend into someone you could no longer reach.

Bella Swan.

Even her name felt bitter on your tongue.

You had never liked her. Not from the moment you saw the way Jacob’s gaze shifted when she was around—soft, yearning, that kind of look people wrote bad love poetry about. And you? You had been there all along. Just the girl next door. Just the best friend. Just you.

It wasn’t fair.

You tried to ignore it at first. You swallowed the jealousy like glass and smiled through the pain, laughing with Jacob and Embry and Quil like nothing had changed. But everything had. Especially the day Edward Cullen broke Bella’s heart and she came crawling to Jacob for comfort. That was the day you snapped.

You still remembered the way your voice shook when you confronted him.

"She’s using you, Jake!" "You don’t know what you’re talking about." "I do. She doesn’t love you. You’re just… convenient!" "Shut up, Y/N." "You think she sees you? Like really sees you? She’ll run the second he comes back." "Get out."

And that was it.

No more backyard talks. No more engine grease under your nails from helping him with the Rabbit. No more laughter echoing down the street as you raced to the beach. You lost him—and not just to Bella, but to whatever secret darkness swallowed him whole after that. He vanished from your life like a ghost. Even Embry and Quil stopped talking to you, and that silence was almost worse.

You told yourself you were done. That you didn’t care. But you never stopped looking at his house when you passed by. Never stopped hoping you’d catch a glimpse of him, even if it broke your heart all over again.

Then came the forest.

You only meant to clear your head. A walk, nothing more. Something about the quiet of the trees always settled your thoughts. But that day, the air felt… wrong. Heavy. Charged. Like the woods themselves were holding their breath.

You heard the growl before you saw her.

A flash of red hair. A snarl that didn’t belong to anything human. Blood pounding in your ears. Your feet moved before your brain did, stumbling over roots and stones as your lungs burned. But she was faster—inhumanly so. She toyed with you, like a cat playing with a mouse.

You screamed. It didn’t matter. No one would hear you out there.

And then everything changed.

A blur of russet fur. More snarling—deeper, louder. A giant wolf slammed into the red-haired creature with bone-shaking force, sending them both tumbling through the underbrush. More wolves followed. You collapsed behind a tree, gasping, heart racing.

And then he was there.

Not a wolf—him.

Jacob.

He stood at the edge of the clearing, chest heaving, his dark eyes wide and locked on yours.

Your breath caught.

Something shifted in that moment—something deeper than fear or shock or even relief. It was as if the world narrowed to just the two of you. Everything else fell away. Time stopped. The pain, the fight, the silence… it all vanished when his eyes met yours.

And you saw it.

You felt it.

The pull.

~~~~~~~~~

The air smelled like pine and ash and something else—something wild. You didn’t know where you were walking, only that you were moving because Jacob was there, and he wasn’t letting you out of his sight.

You stumbled over roots and uneven ground, still trying to make sense of what had happened. Of what you saw. Wolves—huge wolves. The redhead. Jacob—somehow—appearing seconds later. And the way his eyes hadn’t left yours since.

He didn’t touch you. Not yet. But he hovered close, protective in a way that felt so different than before. Not just friendly. Not just familiar.

Something else.

You recognized the other wolves too. You weren’t stupid. Even through the fur and size and the inhuman growls, you knew. One had those same playful eyes as Quil. The other moved like Embry—calculated, fast, always two steps ahead.

They didn’t speak until you reached the edge of a clearing.

A small house sat tucked between the trees, warm light glowing from inside. It looked… peaceful. Cozy. Not the kind of place where your entire worldview would be shattered.

But that’s exactly what happened.

Emily opened the door. You remembered her vaguely from school—older, quiet. Her face was scarred on one side, but her smile was kind, steady. She stepped aside to let you in without a word.

The pack followed. Five boys, towering and barefoot and radiating heat like suns. Sam Uley nodded toward you. “She needs to know.”

So they told you.

Everything.

Wolves. Cold ones. Legends. The supernatural war happening in your backyard while you were worried about algebra and college applications. How the redhead—Victoria—was hunting Bella. How the pack had formed to protect the tribe. How Jacob had phased after your fight.

You listened. Silent. Stiff.

But your eyes kept drifting back to him.

He hadn’t said a word. He stood in the corner like a statue, arms folded tight across his chest, jaw clenched like he was in pain. His eyes never left you—not once. And every time you looked at him, that same… pull stirred in your chest. Gentle. Magnetic. Unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.

You didn’t understand it.

But you felt it.

Eventually, the room quieted. Sam looked at Jacob. “You should talk to her.”

Jacob hesitated. Then nodded once.

You followed him out without speaking, your footsteps crunching softly on the dirt path back to your yard. The air had cooled, but you didn’t notice. Not with Jacob so close, his warmth like a second sun beside you.

You stopped beneath the old tree near your porch. Familiar. Safe. The spot where you used to sit for hours, telling him everything. The spot where your heart had broken a hundred silent times.

You turned to face him.

“Start talking,” you said.

Jacob took a deep breath, eyes lowered. “That day in the forest… when I saw you… something changed.”

You waited.

“I imprinted on you,” he said, finally meeting your gaze. “It’s… it’s a wolf thing. A soul bond. You become the center of their world. Nothing else matters. Your happiness, your safety—it becomes everything.”

You blinked. “So what? You’re saying the universe just decided you love me now?”

“It’s not like that—”

“Isn’t it?” Your voice cracked. “You didn’t choose this, Jake. You chose her. For months, you wanted Bella. I was just your backup plan. Your best friend.”

His expression twisted. “Y/N—”

“No. You don’t get to look at me like that now, like I’m everything, when I spent years being invisible to you. I loved you, Jacob. I’ve always loved you. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.”

The words hit like a storm. They had waited so long to be said, they nearly choked you on the way out.

Jacob stepped closer, his voice quiet. “You were never invisible to me.”

You shook your head. “Then why didn’t you choose me?”

“Because I was stupid,” he said, raw and honest. “Because I was hurting and confused and trying to fix someone who never really saw me either. But you—you were always there. Making me laugh. Challenging me. Knowing me better than I knew myself. I didn’t see it then, and I hate that.”

His hand brushed yours—tentative, warm, real.

“But this imprint thing,” he whispered, “it didn’t make me love you. It just… woke me up. It showed me what I already knew deep down.”

You looked up at him, tears burning your eyes.

“And what’s that?”

“That I’ve always been yours,” he said. “I just didn’t realize it until I almost lost you.”

You stood there in the dark, your heart cracking open in ways it never had before. The ache, the anger, the fear—all of it still lived inside you. But so did something else.

Hope.

You took a slow breath. “I don’t want to be a choice you regret.”

“You never were,” he said. “You were the right choice all along. I just needed the universe to slap me in the face to see it.”

You let him take your hand then.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, it didn’t feel like pretending.

His fingers brushed against yours, slowly, like he was memorizing the shape of your hand. You looked up, your gaze catching his. The moonlight made his eyes glow gold, soft and open in a way you hadn’t seen in so long.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

Jacob exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for months. “I missed us.”

Then, slowly—so slowly you could have stopped it, should you have wanted to—he leaned in.

You didn’t.

Your nose brushed his. His breath mingled with yours. And when his lips finally touched yours, it wasn’t desperate or rushed. It was soft. Steady. Full of everything he hadn’t known how to say until now.

Warmth bloomed in your chest, unfurling like a long-lost memory. Your hand found the side of his face, fingertips grazing his cheek. He smiled faintly against your lips like he couldn’t believe this was real.

Neither could you.

But it was.

When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. He didn’t let go of your hand.

“You’re not my second choice,” he whispered. “You’re my imprint. My beginning. My always.”

You closed your eyes.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed him.

~~~~~~~~~

The scent of motor oil and sun-warmed concrete was weirdly comforting.

It had been days since the attack in the forest—days since you learned the truth, since Jacob imprinted, since that kiss beneath the tree that changed everything. But today… today felt different. Familiar in a way that made your chest ache with something sweeter than nostalgia.

Jacob had texted that morning: Rabbit’s being stubborn. Come supervise. Bring sarcasm.

You showed up with a cold drink, a hair tie, and a smirk.

By the time you got there, Jacob was already under the hood, shirt grease-streaked and golden in the sun, Embry perched on the tool bench, and Quil fiddling with a socket wrench like it might transform into a lightsaber.

It felt like coming home.

You dropped your bag with a thud and leaned against the wall. “So… who insulted the Rabbit and made her mad this time?”

Quil raised a hand. “I might have called her a rusty tin can.”

Jacob’s voice came from under the hood. “And now she’s not speaking to us.”

“You act like it’s sentient,” you laughed.

Jacob’s head popped out. “She is. You just don’t understand her soul.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart warmed at how natural it all felt again—like the lost time had folded itself away.

Embry tossed you a clean rag. “So… does this mean things are officially back to normal?”

“Better than normal,” Quil added with a sly grin.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like you’re both about to say something extremely embarrassing?”

“Oh no, not embarrassing for us,” Embry said, grinning wide. “Just for Jake.”

Jacob groaned. “Do not start.”

But it was too late.

Embry leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I swear to you, I would have bet everything I had that Jacob would imprint on you and not Bella. I mean, you should’ve heard his thoughts when we were patrolling.”

Quil jumped in, voice high and dramatic. “‘Our last conversation was a fight. She hates me, I’m sure. And how do I tell her that I was only mad because she was telling the truth?’” He clutched his chest in mock despair. “‘She probably thinks I’m the one who hates her, since I can’t talk to her anymore.’”

Jacob threw a wrench at them. They ducked, laughing.

Embry cackled. “Dude, you never stopped thinking about her. Not one thought about Bella. It was all ‘Y/N this, Y/N that…’ like clockwork.”

Quil snorted. “Every patrol. Every night. Brooding and heart-eyes and ‘what if she moves on and forgets me?’”

You blinked, caught off guard by how casually they said it. How easy it was for them to toss open the door to Jacob’s soul like it wasn’t something sacred.

You looked at Jacob. His cheeks were flushed. His smile was sheepish, but it didn’t waver.

“They’re not wrong,” he said, shrugging. “I was… kind of a wreck.”

Your voice softened. “You could’ve just come back.”

“I wanted to,” he admitted. “Every day. But I thought… maybe you didn’t want me anymore.”

You stepped closer and bumped his shoulder gently. “Idiot.”

He grinned.

You looked around—Embry still smirking, Quil whistling something off-key—and your heart swelled. The garage. The boys. Jacob beside you, dirt-smudged and beautiful.

You slid onto the bench next to him and took his hand.

“Okay,” you said, “then let’s finish what we started.”

“Fixing the Rabbit?” Jacob asked.

The forest was eerily quiet.

Fog rolled low between the trees, curling around moss-covered trunks and damp ferns like breath held too long. The sun had not yet risen, but the sky above the canopy had lightened to a pale, ash gray. You stood at the edge of the clearing, barefoot in the cold soil, trembling—not from fear, but from the restless, buzzing energy under your skin.

The shift had become second nature now. You could call the wolf to the surface in a blink. You were stronger than you had ever imagined, and yet… right now, you felt fragile. Human.

Behind you, soft footsteps crunched leaves.

"You always do this," Embry said, his voice low and scratchy from sleep—or maybe nerves.

You smiled, not turning around. "Do what?"

"Wander off alone to brood like you're in a dramatic indie film."

You laughed softly and finally looked back at him. He was shirtless, as usual, jeans slung low on his hips, his hair still tousled from the night before. There were shadows under his eyes. You knew he hadn’t slept.

He stopped beside you, close enough that your arm brushed his. He didn’t say anything for a moment. You both just stared into the trees.

"I hate this," he finally said. "I hate that you’re going out there. That we all are. But especially you."

You nudged him with your shoulder. "You know I can handle myself."

"I know," he said, almost bitterly. "That’s what scares me. You’ll throw yourself into the middle of it just to protect someone else."

You tilted your head and looked at him, smiling gently. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

Embry looked at you then—really looked. And for a moment, the whole world narrowed down to his dark eyes and the tension in his jaw.

"I can’t lose you."

Your heart stuttered.

You reached for his hand, fingers curling between his. "You won’t. I’ll come back to you. I promise."

He hesitated, then pressed his forehead to yours. You felt his breath catch. "You better. Or I’ll come find you myself."

You could’ve kissed him. You almost did. But someone howled in the distance—Sam’s signal. It was time.

The pack was already waiting when you both arrived at the edge of the ridge. Sam stood at the front, his arms crossed, expression grave. Jared and Paul were arguing over something stupid—likely trying to distract themselves from the weight of what was coming. Quil bounced nervously on his feet. Leah stood off to the side, silent, arms folded tightly.

Jacob walked over to you, offering a small, crooked smile. "Nervous?"

"Not really," you lied. He raised a brow, but didn’t call you out. Instead, he bumped your shoulder with his own.

"Watch my six, okay?"

"Always."

Seth gave you a quick, boyish grin. "We’re gonna be awesome out there."

"We’re gonna be alive," Leah muttered from the sidelines.

The tension was razor-sharp. And then Sam gave the nod.

You shifted.

~~~~~~~~~

It was chaos.

The newborns burst through the trees like shadows made of flesh, fast and feral. You didn’t have time to think—only to move, to dodge, to lunge. The battlefield was a blur of snarls and snapping jaws, limbs clashing, trees splintering under the force of impact.

You were locked in combat with a vampire, your claws raking its side as it tried to twist free. It was strong—too strong. Its fist connected with your ribs and sent you flying through a fallen log.

You scrambled up, blood in your mouth, vision spinning. Seth darted past you, pinning one of the newborns to the ground while Jacob ripped through another’s neck.

Where was Embry?

You caught a flash of gray fur through the trees. He was fighting two at once.

Another scream—Leah. You turned your head, saw her limping, and without a second thought, you ran to her.

You lunged at the newborn bearing down on her, knocking it off its feet. It was a brutal fight—your muscles screamed with effort, your body battered and bleeding—but you didn’t stop until its body went limp.

And then pain—searing, blinding pain in your side.

Another newborn had grabbed you from behind. Its claws tore into your stomach. You yelped, twisting, trying to shake it off. It bit down on your shoulder, and the world went red.

Embry’s howl ripped through the air.

Suddenly he was there, fury in his every motion, tearing into the newborn like a storm unleashed. You collapsed onto the ground, shifting back as your strength left you.

You were vaguely aware of the rest of the pack pushing forward, mopping up the last of the enemy. The Cullens moved in as well—Alice twirling like a dancer with a blade, Jasper cold and efficient.

Your blood soaked the earth. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Embry shifted back, his hands shaking as he pressed them against your wounds. "Stay with me. Baby, look at me. Stay awake."

"It hurts," you whispered.

"I know. I know. Just hold on. Carlisle! CARLISLE!"

The last thing you saw was Embry’s face, eyes wild with fear.

You smiled faintly. "I love you."

He smiled back through the tears. "I love you too. So much."

And then everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~

Darkness folded around you, thick and warm, like the tide pulling you under.

There was no pain here. No sound. Just memory.

You were thirteen again, sitting on the beach in La Push, feet buried in the sand. The sun was setting, casting a peachy glow across the water. You watched the waves roll in. In the distance, Embry Call kicked a soccer ball with Jacob, laughing. He looked your way once.

You’d never noticed how long he looked at you that day until now.

Then—another memory.

You were in wolf form for the first time. Confused, scared, surrounded by voices that weren’t your own. But one mind stood out. Steady. Familiar. Embry. He hadn’t spoken then—just sent warmth and calm through the link until your breathing evened out.

Another flash.

Him sitting next to you during a late patrol, legs bumping yours. "You're funny," he’d said. "Like, dangerous funny. Like, I'd-fall-in-love-with-you-if-I'm-not-careful kind of funny."

You hadn’t known what to say then.

You did now.

~~~~~~~~~

Carlisle worked fast. The bleeding had slowed by the time they reached the Cullen house. Embry refused to leave your side as they operated, stitching torn muscle and broken skin. Esme brought him water. Rosalie hovered at the edge of the room, uncharacteristically quiet. Even Paul stopped pacing long enough to whisper, "She’s a fighter. She’ll make it."

Jacob sat beside Embry and gripped his shoulder. "She’s gonna be okay. She has to be."

And when the night finally gave way to morning, your eyes fluttered open.

You turned your head—slowly—and saw Embry slumped over the hospital bed, asleep in a chair, his fingers interlaced with yours like he hadn’t let go since the second they got you out.

You squeezed.

His eyes flew open.

"Hey," you rasped.

He stared at you for a second—then buried his face in your hand, shoulders shaking.

"You came back to me," he whispered.

You smiled, weak but real. "Told you I would."

He lifted his head, eyes rimmed red. "Never again. You hear me? Never. You don’t ever get to leave me like that."

You reached out, touched his face. "I promise."

~~~~~~~~~

The following days were slow.

Every movement was pain. Every hour passed in a haze of medicine and whispers. But you were alive. And Embry was there. Always there.

He fed you soup, changed your bandages with trembling hands, read your favorite book aloud in a voice that cracked whenever you flinched. He only left your side to phase—and even then, he returned faster than you could blink.

You woke up one evening to find him asleep in the chair again. Sunlight filtered through the window, catching on the light stubble across his jaw.

"You look like hell," you croaked.

He startled awake. "You sound like it."

You laughed, weakly. "Come here."

He crawled onto the bed carefully, lying beside you on top of the blanket. His fingers traced circles on your wrist.

"I meant what I said," he murmured. "I love you. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it from happening."

You turned to face him, brushing your nose against his. "You don’t have to say it again to make it true. I know. I’ve always known. And I love you, too."

You both stared at the ceiling.

"I was so scared," he whispered. "When I felt your pain—when you didn’t answer—I thought… I thought that was it. That I’d lost you before I ever really had you."

You shook your head gently. "You’ve had me since the start."

He let out a watery laugh, burying his face in your shoulder. "Marry me."

You blinked. "What?"

He pulled back, eyes wide. "Crap—I didn’t mean—wait. I mean, I do mean it, I just… not right now. That came out wrong. I—"

You grinned through your pain. "Ask me again when I don’t look like Frankenstein’s cousin."

He kissed your forehead. "Deal."

And as the moon rose high above your house, you finally slept—not because you were exhausted, but because, for the first time in days, you felt safe.

With him.

Bella’s voice cracked through the air like a whip. You watched her stalk across the yard like a woman possessed, wild with confusion, anger, desperation — a cocktail of emotions that set every nerve in your body on alert. That's when she shoved Sam directly in the chest.

Paul shifted beside you, just barely. His jaw tensed. You could sense the flicker of heat beneath his skin. Sam could sense it too

"Hey, easy !" He warned.

“He didn't want this !”

You nearly rolled your eyes. Because you wanted this ?

You couldn’t help but glance at Paul, who was ready to snap at any given moment.

“But we do." He bit out, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. "What did he do ? What did he tell you ?”

Bella’s eyes scanned the group and locked on Paul, her face tightening. "Nothing ! He told me nothing, because he's scared of you !"

Jared and Paul burst into laughter. You couldn't help but smirk at the very idea of your brother being scared of anyone. Then Bella raised her hand. The slap landed with a sharp crack that echoed across the yard. Paul’s head barely turned from the impact, but your heart stopped.

Silence.

Paul inhaled slowly, still controlled. Still calm. Still holding back the burn under his skin because he knew one wrong breath could set him off.

But he didn’t need to shift.

Because you did.

It was instant — reflexive, primal. You didn't hear Jared saying it was too late for Bella. You didn't register Sam yelling at her to get back. You didn’t even process anything. The surge of heat roared up your spine, and then it was like your body exploded from the inside out. Bones snapped, muscles tore, the scream caught in your throat never made it out. One second you were standing beside Paul, and the next, the world tilted, twisted, and turned into instinct.

You shifted.

The grass tore beneath your weight as your wolf form burst forward in a blur of brown and muscle, claws scraping the dirt, a deep growl vibrating your ribs.

Bella screamed.

From inside the house, the door banged open.

“BELLA !”

Jacob’s voice, hoarse and horrified.

He ran into the yard just as you bounded toward her — not because she was annoying, but because she had touched your imprint. No one touched what was yours. No one hurt Paul.

Not even Jacob’s precious little human.

Jacob threw himself in front of her, arms wide. “Don’t!”

Your snarl deepened. A warning.

Your paws dug into the dirt, muscles taut and shaking with fury. You didn’t want to hurt him — but the sound of her hand against your mate's jaw was too fresh in your head. You couldn’t think. You could only protect.

Paul moved beside you — a streak of fur, fast and silent. His wolf form stood at your side in seconds, shoulder brushing yours, not growling, not stopping — just there. His eyes were on Jacob, his stance firm.

She’s mine, you growled through the link.

I know, Paul replied, his mind brushing yours with the same heat he always carried. I’ve got your back.

Jacob stepped forward, eyes wide and furious. “Back off, both of you!”

And that was it.

You lunged.

Jacob met you mid-air with a snarl of his own. The two of you crashed together like a natural disaster — claws, fur, snarls, fury. You tore into his shoulder. He knocked you into a tree. Paul leapt into the fray, snapping at Jacob’s flank, never turning on you — only shielding, protecting, pushing back.

The three of you were a whirlwind of snapping jaws and colliding bodies, tearing up the forest floor. The link crackled with static as Sam tried to reach you all.

Then his Alpha voice dropped like thunder.

ENOUGH.

The word burned through your skull. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order.

You froze, panting, blood rushing in your ears. Paul stopped beside you. Jacob stumbled back.

Shift, Sam commanded.

~~~~~~~~~

The walk to Emily’s house was quiet. Tense. No one said a word as you pulled on the spare shirt Paul had handed you and slipped your arm through the sleeve. He stayed close, brushing against you with every step. You were still fuming. He was still seething.

But together, you were grounded.

While waiting for you all to return, Jared and Embry had already started eating muffins in the kitchen. Bella stood stiffly against the wall, pale as paper. Emily had offered her something warm to drink, and Bella’s hands had shaken as she wrapped them around the mug.

“They’ve been gone a while,” she murmured.

Embry smiled, stuffing the last bite of his muffin into his mouth.

“Bet it’s Jake who wins,” he muttered.

Jared raised an eyebrow. “Ten bucks says (Y/N) made him eat dirt.”

Embry snorted. “No way.”

They shook on it.

The door opened.

Sam walked in first, face like stone. Jacob followed behind, shirt torn, lip split, bruises already fading. Paul came next — smirking, calm, his steps loose and easy.

And then there was you.

Not a scratch on you. Not a bruise, not a smear of dirt. You were clean, composed — and you were smiling.

Jared didn’t even wait. He held out his hand. Embry groaned and slapped a ten-dollar bill into his palm.

You laughed and high-fived Jared, then beelined for the muffins like nothing had happened.

Bella stared at you, silent. Wide-eyed.

Paul caught her gaze. “Sorry about that.”

Everyone turned to you.

Waiting.

You took a slow bite of muffin. Chewed. Swallowed. Then looked up, unbothered.

“I’m not gonna say sorry,” you said evenly. “Because I’m not.”

Bella’s jaw tightened.

You went on. “You slapped my mate. Maybe next time, think twice before putting your hands on people and sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

She opened her mouth to speak.

You raised your eyebrows. “And maybe, just maybe, one day you’ll stop treating my brother like he’s some backup plan.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Paul hid a smile behind his hand.

Sam closed his eyes.

Jacob muttered, “Damn…”

You shrugged, grabbed another muffin, and flopped into the chair beside Paul like nothing had happened.

Because it hadn’t been nothing.

It had been everything.

You had protected your own.

And you’d do it again.

Bella didn’t leave right away.

She lingered near the corner of the kitchen, eyes fixed on you as if she wanted to say something — maybe to defend herself, maybe to apologize.

You didn’t make it easy for her.

You stayed beside Paul, your body angled away, your posture calm but firm. You didn’t glare. You didn’t scowl. You simply made it clear she no longer had your attention.

But Bella couldn’t let it go.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” she said finally, her voice small.

Paul laughed a bit. As if she could hurt him.

You didn’t look at her. “Didn’t mean to slap him either?”

Silence again. She fidgeted. Paul leaned against the counter beside you, arms crossed, eyes on Bella — but it was your tension he felt more than hers.

“I was scared,” Bella said. “Everything’s so...”

“Confusing ?” You cut in, finally meeting her gaze. “Yeah. Welcome to our life.”

She didn’t reply.

After a beat, she stepped back, clutching her mug. “I should go.”

No one stopped her. But Jake followed her probably to comfort her.

The door closed quietly behind them, and the sound was followed by a long breath from Sam, as if the entire room had been holding itself still.

Emily gave you a look — not judgmental, not disapproving. Just... knowing. She’d been there before. You wondered what she had said, once upon a time, after Leah had shifted. You wondered if she had ever slapped Sam.

But your thoughts didn’t linger there long.

Because beside you, Paul’s hand found your thigh under the table, warm and grounding. His fingers curled gently, thumb brushing slow circles.

The pack resumed their conversations — something about the next patrol shift, and whether or not Embry owed Jared double next time.

~~~~~~~~~

That night, the forest was quiet.

The sky above La Push lay deep and thick with stars, the moon heavy and swollen behind drifting clouds. The surf crashed just below the cliffs near your house, steady and soothing, like a heartbeat outside your window.

Your room was dim — just a lamp flickering low — when Paul let himself in without knocking.

He never knocked.

He didn’t have to.

You were sitting cross-legged on your bed in nothing but a sleep shirt and boyshorts, half-reading, half-listening to the waves, when the door opened.

Your eyes flicked up. “Took you long enough.”

Paul stepped inside, bare-chested, grey sweatpants riding low on his hips. His skin still smelled like pine and adrenaline. His eyes dragged slowly across your body, hungry and heated.

“You threatening Swan turned me on,” he said casually, voice low and rough.

You snorted, flipping a page. “Not surprised. You get turned on when I yell at anyone.”

He shrugged, crossing the room in a few steps. “Yeah, but when you’re in full feral-protective-wolfmate mode?” He leaned down, one hand braced on either side of you, crowding your space. “That’s a different kind of hot.”

Your book lowered an inch. His face was so close now — his breath brushing your lips. His gaze burned.

“You weren’t half-bad yourself,” you said, voice quiet but laced with amusement. “Didn’t even hesitate.”

He dipped his head, lips barely grazing your jaw. “I never do. Not when it comes to you.”

The room thickened with heat. His hand slid down, fingers brushing the top of your thigh, slow and lazy, deliberately light.

“You’re still mad,” he murmured, voice dark.

“Always am.”

He smiled. “You want to let off some steam ?”

You leaned back slightly, just enough to make him chase the space. “That depends.”

“On what ?”

Your eyes flicked down to his lips. Then back up. “On whether you can actually keep up with me this time.”

His eyes sparked — challenge accepted.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he growled, “I’m not the one who tapped out last week.”

You scoffed. “I was distracted.”

“Yeah? Still distracted ?”

You grinned, slow and wicked. “Not anymore.”

His mouth was on you before you could make another smartass comment.

Rough lips. Hot breath. The unmistakable burn of Paul’s body against yours.

He kissed like he shifted — wild, overwhelming, dominant — all teeth and tongue and no hesitation. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wide as he climbed onto the bed, covering your body with his. The mattress dipped under his weight, caging you in.

And God, you loved it.

You moaned into his mouth as he ground down, the hard bulge of him pressing against your center through the thin fabric of your panties and his sweats. You arched into him instinctively, your body already humming with the familiar pull — like your bones remembered what it was like to be filled by him.

“You gonna talk shit again ?” Paul rasped into your throat, nipping just under your jaw, “or are you gonna let me remind you who you belong to ?”

You gasped as his teeth scraped your pulse point.

“Who says I forgot ?” you whispered, voice breathy.

He growled — low, animal — and suddenly yanked your panties down your legs and off in one swift, aggressive motion. He threw them somewhere across the room. You didn’t care. You were already wet, and he knew it.

One hand slipped between your legs, fingers gliding through your slick folds. He hummed in approval as he circled your clit with the perfect pressure — slow, confident, possessive.

“I can smell how bad you want me,” he murmured against your collarbone, dragging his tongue along your skin. “Don’t act like you’re not soaked just from fighting next to me.”

You moaned, shivering under his touch.

His fingers slipped lower, one pushing inside you with ease. Then two. Curling deep, slow and rough, fucking you with his hand like he knew your body better than you did.

And maybe he did.

“Paul,” you panted, nails digging into his shoulder. “Stop teasing.”

“You first,” he growled, biting your ear. “Say it.”

You knew what he wanted.

“Yours,” you whispered, hips grinding into his hand. “I’m yours, Paul.”

His eyes flashed — wolf, gold and burning.

He kissed you again, more desperate this time, groaning into your mouth as he pulled his hand away. You whimpered at the loss — but then he was pushing his sweatpants down and there was no more patience.

He lined himself up, head dragging against your soaked entrance, teasing just for a breath—

And then he thrust in, hard and deep.

You cried out, back arching off the bed as he filled you in one stroke. No one else could ever fit like he did — no one else could ever feel like this. Like being split open and worshipped at the same time.

Paul pressed his forehead to yours, eyes locked on yours as he started to move.

“Mine,” he gritted, every thrust heavy, relentless. “Say it again.”

You clung to him, legs wrapped tight around his waist. “Yours,” you moaned. “Yours, Paul, fuck—”

He fucked you like he was claiming territory. Like the fight earlier hadn’t been enough. Like the only way to prove how much he needed you was to bury himself inside you, again and again, until you forgot your own name.

The bed creaked. Your breath broke. The whole world narrowed to the sound of skin on skin, his name on your tongue, the way his fingers tangled in your hair as he drove into you harder.

You lost yourself.

Your orgasm slammed into you without warning — legs shaking, body trembling around him, nails dragging across his back. You bit his shoulder as you came, and it only spurred him on.

“Fuck, baby—” he groaned, hips stuttering, thrusts turning messy. “So tight — fuck — I’m gonna—”

He buried himself deep and spilled inside you with a growl that sounded more beast than man, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.

He stayed like that for a moment — chest heaving, face buried in your neck, your bodies locked together and pulsing with heat.

Then he finally exhaled, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “You always gonna shift for me like that ?”

You laughed, breathless, heart still pounding. “Only if someone’s dumb enough to slap you again.”

Paul grinned against your skin.

“I love you,” he murmured. “So fuckin’ much it hurts.”

You threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled him closer.

“I know,” you whispered. “I feel it every time you touch me.”

~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~

Embry had never known a pain like this.

He’d felt the bone-splitting agony of his first shift. He’d endured sleepless nights with fur under his skin and rage in his throat. He had survived the guilt of leaving you behind, had convinced himself, night after night, that he was doing the right thing.

But nothing compared to sitting outside your hospital room, not knowing if you would wake up and knowing he wasn’t allowed to hold you. Not even once.

The moment he heard what happened, he phased mid-sentence.

Sam had to drag him back, shaking and growling, before he tore through the ER in wolf form.

He waited every second of every day in that room. Never left. Not even to eat, not really. Your mom had stopped asking questions after the second day. She let him stay. She brought him coffee. She even hugged him once, after they told her you might not wake up.

And then, a week after the crash, you opened your eyes.

~~~~~~~~~

At first, you thought you were dead.

The ceiling above you was so bright. Your whole body ached. You got a deep, stabbing throb in your ribs, your shoulder, your skull. The world felt too sharp and too slow at once. Your mouth was dry. Your chest burned with every breath.

But a warm hand was wrapped around yours.

You turned your head as much as you could and this is when you saw him.

Embry.

He looked like a ghost. Pale, hollowed out, like he hadn’t slept in weeks. His hair was messy. His hoodie was stained. His hand trembled where it clutched yours.

Then he looked up.

And the world shifted.

Embry stared at you like he was seeing you for the first time.

He gasped — a real, ragged sound — and his eyes flooded with tears. His chest heaved once, then again, like he’d been drowning and only now came up for air.

“[Y/N],” he whispered. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Your mom sat up sharply, joy and shock blooming on her face. “You're awake ! I’m going to call the nurse !”

Embry didn't look away once. Like he was afraid you might disappear.

He leaned in close, his warm hand brushing your face as gently as he could, tears running silently down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked. “I didn’t know what I was doing. I thought if I pushed you away, you’d be safe, but all I did was break us. You were everything, and I... God, I didn’t protect you. I should have been there.”

You tried to speak, but your throat was raw. Only a croak came out. Still, your fingers curled around his.

His whole body shook.

“I’ll explain everything,” he whispered. “Everything. Just... when you get out, please, come to the bonfire. Let me fix this. Please.”

You didn’t have the strength to answer. But you didn’t pull your hand away either.

And for now, that was enough.

~~~~~~~~~

You weren’t sure what felt more surreal, the fact that you’d survived, or the fact that Embry Call was back in your life like he had never left. He had been there every day after you woke up. Not hovering. Not pitying. Just... there. Reading beside your hospital bed, quietly handing you water when your throat was too sore to speak, helping you sit up when the weight of your bandaged shoulder was too much to manage.

You still remembered the raw way he looked at you that first morning. Like you were something holy. Like just breathing was a miracle. Like he was terrified to blink in case you disappeared again.

Your body ached — the sharp pull of stitches across your temple, the tightness of bruised ribs and the bulky sling holding your dislocated shoulder still — but none of it hurt as much as the look in his eyes when he whispered:

“It’s always been you.”

Something had changed.

The way he looked at you — steady, reverent, afraid — told you there was a story you hadn’t heard.

That’s why you said yes to the bonfire.

~~~~~~~~~

The sky above the reservation was stained in fading pink and smoky blue, the sun slipping low behind the dark pines. The air smelled like salt and woodsmoke and damp earth. The fire crackled in the center of the beach, embers rising like stars. You sat on a driftwood log with a blanket over your knees, still not strong enough to walk far. Embry sat beside you, careful not to touch you unless you gave him permission.

You watched the flames lick the sky for a long time before speaking.

"Why did you leave me?"

The question fell soft, but it sliced through the quiet like a knife. You heard the stories tonight and understood that they were not just fairy tales. You were still processing the existence of vampires and shapeshifters but more than everything you were kind of happy to have your other half back. You just couldn't understand why he had to leave you alone.

Embry’s jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists.

“I didn’t want to,” he said hoarsely. “Not ever.”

“You stopped calling. You stopped showing up. I thought you hated me. I thought..." your voice cracked, and you looked down at your lap. “I thought I lost you.”

His breath hitched, and he shifted closer.

“I changed, [Y/N]. Not just emotionally. Physically. In every way.” He exhaled slowly, trying to stay grounded.

You turned toward him slowly, hesitantly. “Would you show me ?"

He looked at you for a long moment, then stood, stepped a few paces back toward the shadows, and pulled off his hoodie. You blushed and drifted your eyes towards the trees behind him.

Suddenly there was a blur of motion.

Where Embry had stood, there was now a massive wolf — thick gray and black fur, golden eyes shining in the firelight. He stood still, almost frozen, his body radiating power and a kind of trembling fear.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He stepped forward slowly, cautiously, lowering his head until his snout almost brushed your knees.

Your fingers twitched.

Every inch of you screamed this is not real, this is not possible, but your body knew him. Your soul knew him. Even like this, even in this impossible shape — it was Embry.

You reached out.

Touched the soft fur between his eyes.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

The silence.

The distance.

The pain behind Quil’s and Jacob’s eyes.

Embry backed up again and shifted — it was fast, violent, like air snapping around him — and then he was human again, shirtless and shaking, dragging the hoodie back on.

You stared at him, hands trembling but not from fear, more from realisation. Everything felt too real.

He sank back down beside you, chest still rising and falling hard.

“That’s why you all pulled away?” you whispered. “Why I felt like I was being abandoned by everyone at once?”

“I was afraid,” Embry said, voice cracking. “I didn’t know how to control it. The anger, the shift... it all came so fast. And when it happened, the first thing they told me was to stay away from people I couldn’t protect.”

He looked at you, pain in every line of his face.

“You were the first person I thought of. And that scared the hell out of me.”

You were quiet.

“So why come back?”

Your voice was so softer. His eyes shimmered in the firelight.

“You almost died.”

He paused and swallowed.

“You were in that hospital bed, and I sat there for days, and I couldn’t feel anything but guilt. Until... the second your eyes opened.”

Your breath hitched.

He inhaled shakily. “That was the moment I imprinted.”

The fire cracked behind you, distant and slow, but all you could hear was your heartbeat.

“What does it mean?” you asked.

“It means...” He looked at you like you were the center of the universe. “That I’m yours. Forever. Whatever you need me to be — friend, protector, more. It’s not just love. It’s deeper. It’s... a soul connection.”

You looked down at your lap. Your fingers twisted in the blanket.

“That sounds like a lot.”

“It is.”

You bit your lip. “In a way i think I've always known.”

Embry didn’t even blink.

“Me too,” he said, without hesitation. “Since the day I met you.”

You looked up. His eyes — gods, his eyes — were soft and full of something so fierce, so quiet, so true.

“I’m still angry,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“I still feel like I lost something.”

“You did,” he said gently. “And I’ll spend as long as it takes giving it back.”

You were silent again. Then you leaned your head on his shoulder and whispered, “You still owe me a Muse concert.”

He laughed, voice thick with emotion. “I’ll drive you anywhere you want. Just... maybe not in the rain.”

You smiled, a real smile.

And Embry wrapped his arm around you and you felt like he’d never let go again.

~~~~~~~~~

No one answered him. The only sound that reached his ears was that of the trees moving in the wind. He then cautiously continued his walk towards the huts. The sight of his old "home" gave him a warm feeling, as if they had never left. The wood that made up the buildings was still as brown and looked as fragile as ever, the hammocks were in exactly the same place as he remembered and the fire still seemed to crackle where the parties were held. He stopped almost instantly at this last observation. The fire was crackling while the glade was supposed to be abandoned ? He began to look around more carefully and the place seemed more and more bizarre. When he looked to his left he saw vegetables that were still eatable and the axe that Fry was using to chop them up. Yet by now the vegetables should be more than rotten. Minho's anguish was coming back quickly ? What was going on ? Suddenly, as he turned around to check the state of the block to his right, he saw a figure running towards the old runners' hut. He followed him hoping to get all the answers to his many questions but when he passed the creaky wooden door he found himself in the Maze. He turned around to where the wooden door should have been, but it had disappeared to make way for a cold gray wall filled with ivy. Sweat began to trickle down his back. How had he gotten into the Maze and where had the person he was following gone? The asian tried to calm his breathing but it was a waste. He would have liked to be strong, but being in that place where he was a prisoner and where so many of his friends were murdered was too much for him. He felt his tears welling up, but before they could run down his pale cheeks a griever appeared at the end of the hallway, forcing him to run to the opposite side. Minho watched for the slightest detail during his run that would tell him how to get out of this mess. But as he tried to locate himself he saw the griever gaining ground, his giant claws scratching the floor and his tail pounding the walls as if to announce his death. The asian didn't want to die, not until he saw his friends again, not after he promised to stay alive.

-Please, I don't want to die, he whispered as he ran, not now.

After five minutes of frantic running he arrived at the entrance of a section he recognized before he even saw the number written in blood red ink. Section number 2. He hadn't been there since her death. He had always sent one of his runners to go there, refusing to face reality. He turned around and saw that the griever had stopped as if waiting for him to enter this cursed part of the Maze. Yet the asian hesitated, he was almost as afraid to return to the place of her death as he was to face the griever. However this last one emitted a cry before making a step forward forcing Minho to enter the section. The former runner's keeper advanced little by little, feeling his heart tighten as he went on. Each stone, each branch of ivy, each crack was exactly as it had been the last day he had set foot there, as it had been the day she had died.

-Y/N, he murmured in a trembling voice.

He clenched his fists at the memory. He didn't want to think about it, but the place he was in and the cold atmosphere didn't help. He had never recovered from her death. He had wanted everyone to believe that it was done, that he had moved on, but that was the biggest lie of all. He was in love with her, with all his being, she was beautiful, kind, strong and courageous with a touch of humor that was perfectly combined with the sarcasm of the asian. But unfortunately runner is a risky job and she had not survived. The day after her death he told everyone that he didn't want to hear about her anymore, he didn't say why but the gladers knew: it was too painful for the runners' keeper. So they obeyed him and never spoke of her again, it was as if she had never existed. The only trace of her passage in the Glade was her name crossed out on the wall of the Maze, which the asian had never dared to look at again. He had been a coward and finding himself today in the section where she left him made him realize his mistake. She deserved to be honored. He was selfish.

-Minho...

He raised immediately his head believing he was hallucinating when he saw her a few meters in front of him, he was paralyzed and his heart missed a beat. Her Y/H/L hair tied in a high ponytail, her thin and round shoulders, her long and athletic legs as well as her runner's outfit could not deceive him.

-Y/N, he whispered with tears in his eyes.

He reached out to her in hopes of touching her again after two long years. He even made a step to approach a little more the person who haunted all his nights. However she stopped him with her suddenly cold voice.

-It's your fault Minho.

She turned over towards him and he could then see her dead look, her eyes empty of expression and especially her belly from where blood escaped from a gaping hole. He barely held back a gag and tears came to join the sweat on his cheeks.

-I died because of you Minho.

He shook his head in all directions not wanting to believe her, refuting her words. She couldn't tell the truth. He was there, it was the fault of a griever, of the WICKED, but not his own. He clenched his fists, bit the inside of his cheeks and cried harder. She was lying, that's the only explanation.

-It is the truth Minho, she finished by looking at him with her eyes empty of feelings. Whether you like it or not, you abandoned me while I was facing the griever. You killed me Minho. You killed the girl you loved Minho. You are nothing but a murderer.

The last thing the asian remembered was screaming before he felt like he was being dragged away and passed out.

When the man emerged, the first thing he saw was a blinding white light that made him close his eyes. He tried to open them a second time and gradually came to realize his surroundings. The gray steel walls, the white urinal in the corner of the square room, the single bed he was on. WICKED. He was in his cell. He slowly sat up, taking care not to aggravate his headache. And as he took his head in his hands he noticed that his cheeks were still streaked with tears. The last thing he remembered was the doctors coming to take him to see Ava Paige and Teresa in order to repeat the experiment once again. At the word "experiment" Minho tensed and looked at the bandage on his left arm. They had used it again. And as he thought about it he remembered. The Glade, the silhouette, the Maze, the griever and Y/N... It had been like that for days and days. He had stopped counting, anyway, whether it was from his cell or from the laboratory he could never tell night from day. He was slowly losing hope of being saved from this hell. He couldn't stand these experiments anymore. They were more and more frequent and all looked the same. Always the same illusion. It was torturing him in the worst way. He had loved Y/N so much, he still loved her today, and even though the mere memory of her was painful, seeing her corpse accusing him of her death was like being stabbed in the heart. The worst part was that it wasn't totally untrue, if he wasn't so stubborn and she wasn't so fearless then maybe she would still be here today.

-Minho I'm not sure it's a good idea for us to venture deeper into section 2 knowing that the doors close in an hour.

Y/N looked at him holding her bottle half filled with water and taking advantage of the break to talk to him a little. The asian looked at her with a smirk on his face, loving to tease her and knowing that his next reply would not please her.

-You wouldn't still be freaking out there ?

Before he could add anything he took the bottle of the lady in the head and when he raised the eyes towards her he was surprised to see her with a serious look he who thought to make her laugh a little.

-I'm not laughing, Min, she admitted with a wise tone, smiling a little so as not to show her stress to the keeper. It is late, we are more or less far from the doors, in a corner of the section that we do not know especially by heart. And for my part I don't want to die in this fucking Maze tonight so we move our asses and turn around.

The asian approached her and after a moment of hesitation put his hands on her shoulders and caressed them gently to reassure her. He looked into her eyes and gave her his special Minho smile.

-Don't worry, Y/N, he said in a tone of voice that he wanted to be reassuring and confident. We've been running together for two years and nothing has ever happened to us. I know that the Maze is not the most reassuring place even for someone as brave as you, but we have a duty to the other gladers to find a damn exit. From here we're forty minutes from the glade running at an average pace so if we patrol for a few more minutes towards the back of the section we're safe. Are you with me?

After a few seconds of reflection, the girl raised her eyes towards her keeper and smiled at him as if she was back to her old self, the Y/N teasing and fearless.

-Always and I have to go with you to save your little ass from the potential dangers of the maze.

-I'm sure you look at my little ass when we run, miss.

-Maybe, she laughed while collecting her bottle and starting to walk.

-Pervert, he shouted to her before joining her.

They ran five minutes hardly before arriving in much narrower corridors. Some branches of ivy even brushed their shoulders as they went along. And as one of them cracked under Minho's foot, a creaking noise was heard. The two runners stopped to watch for any suspicious movement as the source of their concern seemed to be getting closer and closer. By the time they recognized the significant sound of a piece of metal being rubbed on asphalt it was too late. The griever came rushing to the end of the driveway, forcing them to turn around.

-Run !

Y/N didn't have to be told twice and turned back as fast as she could. Minho stayed behind her to cover her back and make sure she was there with him. He could feel his heart pounding from the effort and adrenaline. Of course in all his years as a runner he had seen griever before, but never this close. This combination of robot and beast was frightening and he didn't want it to be his last sight before he died. However, as he slowly began to slow down with fatigue he felt something cold and slimy grab his leg and throw him against one of the walls of the Maze. The asian screamed in pain and fear. He felt numb from the shock, his ears were ringing, his head was spinning and his eyes were blurry. Yet he heard Y/N crying out his name in a heartbreaking way, surely praying for him to get up. He would have liked to, but as he tried to get up his eyes caught the tail of the griever heading straight for him. The runner's keeper petrified, widening his eyes, becoming a spectator of his own death. He believed it until the end, during those few seconds he really thought that his existence was over, that he would never see his friends in the glade again, that he would never know if there was really a way out, that he would never be able to tell Y/N that he loved her. This was without counting on this last one which interposed herself between the asian and the griever, facing the young man. Minho saw the tail of the beast pierce the belly of the girl, he felt her blood spurting on his face, he saw her open her mouth to scream in pain. The keeper didn't know who had screamed louder : her or him. He had screamed as loud as he could when he realized that she had sacrificed herself for him. He got up as best he could, hoping to save her again, but he saw her shaking her head from side to side, blood pouring from her mouth.

-Go away, she ordered him with difficulty while the griever tried to withdraw his tail from her belly. It is too late ! Save yourself, return to the Glade and live for both of us.

He was about to retort but she decided otherwise. In her eyes he could see pain and determination. He knew it was over, but he didn't want to give in.

-I love you, she admitted to him as soon as the griever managed to free himself. So go away !

Feeling his heart break Minho could only obey her and started to run away from her, towards the glade. He didn't want to turn around knowing that if he did he wouldn't be able to leave her and he would go to her breaking her last wish. He struggled to keep a good pace as his breathing was disturbed by his tears and sobs. He was a coward, he hated himself, he hated this place and he loved her.

-I love you too, he whispered under his breath, knowing that she could no longer hear him. And I promise to live. My heart will beat until the end, for me and especially for you.

When he reached the Glade he collapsed to his knees and shouted his sorrow to all the gladers. Minho didn't even notice them, his mind filled with images of him and Y/N living a future that was now beyond his reach. He began to hit the ground as if he was responsible for her death when Newt stopped him, put a hand on his shoulder and asked him what had happened. The asian could only answer one thing:

-She died.

The opening of the reinforced door that was the entrance to his cell brought the asian back to earth. He quickly dried his tears, refusing to let the WICKED bastards see what state they were putting him in. He threw them a dark glare that the guard made him swallow quickly with a right hook in the face.

-Save this glare for Teresa, said to him the second guard by raising him abruptly and by pushing him savagely out of the cell. She asks to see you. Apparently the experiments on the death of your girlfriend are successful.

And as the guards laughed, the asian tried to concentrate on canalizing his rage. The traitor wants to see him? Well then, she's the one who's going to take all of his anger in her ugly face because he was sure of one thing : if he was here it was her fault.

-Better you throw up on me than on your loser boyfriend's mouth, said the asian boy proud of him. Don't you think ?

-Her loser boyfriend fucks you.

Newt had wanted to take a stern voice but he failed miserably far too happy to see his girlfriend and his best friend playing like children and laughing so lightly. It reminded him of the happy times he had spent on the Glade away from the horror of the outside world. Frypan must have been thinking the same thing because while the two of them were still running around behind each other the former Galder's cook approached the blond.

-I miss the Glade.

-Me too, Newt admitted. But now that it's all over I'm happy.

-Yes, it's all over, Fry murmured with a smile.

As the two troublemakers returned to sit with them breathless from their childishness Thomas arrived to join them, Chuck's statuette clutched in his fingers. There was a sudden silence as nostalgic thoughts undoubtedly resurfaced.

-If only Chuck could have seen this.

It was the brown man's voice, full of immeasurable sadness. Slowly Y/N put his hand on his shoulder in compassion as Newt cleared his throat.

-He would be so proud of you, Tommy.

The nickname made Thomas smile softly as he murmured a "yeah" in response. He missed little Chuck terribly, but was grateful to have Newt, Minho, Y/N, Frypan and Teresa by his side. He wondered where Teresa could be. He felt the need to see her and to hold her in his arms as the blond did with his friend. He was going to ask where she was but he was cut by Frypan who greeted Aris by shouting.

-l kinda like that kid.

Minho gave a septic look to Fry showing his disagreement with him.

-Yeah. I still don't trust him, though.

His remark made the blockards laugh, recognizing the typical suspicious behavior of the Asian.

-Minho in all his splendor, ladies and gentlemen.

The former keeper of the runners looked at the only girl of the group by raising his eyebrows then he smirked which never announces anything good.

-You, he began, pointing at her. Believe me I smell you ! You smell like klunk !

Suddenly a mini scream was heard coming out of his mouth as Y/N had just hit him in the shoulder.

-I call mistreatment of Asians racism, Frypan said.

-Thank you bro, Minho thanked him, pretending to cry. We understand each other !

After a new laugh from the blockards, Thomas remembered the question he wanted to ask before they debated Aris. He then turned his jet-black eyes towards his comrades.

-Hey, where's Teresa ?

Y/N frowned a little at the name. From the moment this girl arrived, she had found her strange and her doubts had been reinforced during their crossing of the Scorched Earth, but except for Minho and Newt, whenever she talked about it with someone, they told her that her suspicions were simply based on a feeling of jealousy because she was no longer the only girl in the group. Nonsense! The proof was that she got along very well with Brenda. But the girl with Y/H/C hair preferred to keep quiet and ignore the question unlike her boyfriend.

-Yeah, the blonde answered, pointing to a sharp rock in the distance behind them. She went up there.

The brunet thanked him with a nod before leaving hurriedly to meet her. They were all aware of Thomas' feelings towards his blue-eyed goddess and although the others didn't care -except maybe Minho who didn't hold Teresa in his heart- Y/N had a bad feeling.

This was confirmed when shortly afterwards bergs belonging to the WICKED began to arrive in the distance. The girl's heart began to pound ferociously as adrenaline and fear mingled within her. They had only just regained their fucking freedom!

The gladers only reacted when the first bombs hit the camp floor.

-Let's get moving, Minho yelled at them as he got up and headed downhill right into the action.

Y/N followed him after a last loving and fearful glance at Newt. Screams, blood and fire surrounded them now as they made their way to Harriet and Vince in search of weapons to fight with. Vince handed the gladers guns.

-Can you use these ?

They nodded and prepared to fire.

-Cover me, shouted the leader of the Right Arm.

So it was with fear but adrenaline that they stood around the van containing the machine gun and began firing at the WICKED soldiers. The rage of life they felt left little room for guilt, even though they would have deaths on their conscience.

-There are too many of them, Minho despaired.

They were running out of munitions and the asian's realization gave them an extra wave of fear... This was the end, WICKED was winning. As Y/N searched her pockets for ammunition she heard Vince's deep voice ringing in her ears just before she felt a wave of electricity run through every inch of her body and then she fell into unconsciousness.

When they woke up, the gladers were in a line, among the other WICKED subjects, kneeling and weakened. Y/N stood between Minho and Newt and looked at Rat Man with all the rage she felt. She had to look away, however, when a soldier came up behind her, scanned her neck and announced.

-A3.

This is what she was reduced to. A fucking number, like an animal. They were dehumanizing them as if they were nothing more than livestock. WICKED was intentionally forgetting that they were just teenagers. This realization made her clench her fists and teeth. Her impulsiveness was getting the better of her.

-Where's Thomas, she heard Rat Man ask.

And before she could stop herself, her rebellious and impulsive side surfaced.

-Up your ass, you rat-faced bastard !

A silence was created on the battlefield. Newt looked at her reproachfully as Janson turned red with anger. He approached the girl and before the gladers could react Rat Man took her by the arm and threw her into the middle of them all. And as she tried to get up from the ground, she was kicked in the abdomen, making her regret her stupid behavior.

-You want to play it smart ? Well you're going to regret it kid, he then turned to one of his colleagues. Did you say that we had almost all of them ?

Y/N saw the guard nod as she began to get really scared.

-Good, Janson seemed to be pleased as he loaded his gun and pointed it at her. I guess no one will mind if I kill one of them then ?

The salt-and-pepper haired man was preparing to shoot under the incessant shouting of the gladers and the threats of Newt when Thomas appeared.

-I'm here.

Janson then diverted his attention from the young girl who went to snuggle in the arms of her boyfriend. The latter held her against him as if his life depended on it.

-Everything's fine, he whispered in her ear, trying to reassure himself. I am there.

During this time the brown one also took a blow of the part of the Rat Man then was placed at the sides of Minho who looked at him dazed.

-Why didn't you run ?

-I'm tired of running.

His statement seemed to cast a sort of veil of hope over the blockards and Y/N lifted herself a little from the blond to give Thomas a discreet smile. He was right, they should stop running. However, her smile quickly faded when another berg appeared and landed a few meters away from their position, bringing a sense of fear back to the group.

Ava Paige. The woman with platinum blonde hair who was supposedly dead and was the head of the WICKED. Their worst enemy was standing in front of them, staring at them like the test subjects they were in her eyes. She ordered Janson to start the boarding and that's how the different teenagers were dragged towards the berg. So far, none of the gladers had been taken. However, Ava stopped in front of them and made Thomas stand up.

-Good evening, Thomas.

Was she making fun of him? She put him in a damn Maze, sent him to a city full of cranks and hunted him down to say a simple good evening ? The only thing the brunette could think at that moment was "go to hell" but he preferred to keep quiet and look at her, a defiant glare stuck to his face. However all trace of insolence flew away when Teresa appeared at the side of this woman.

-I don't believe it, said Minho, standing up.

-Teresa, Frypan murmured in astonishment.

-But what's going on here ? asked Newt lost.

-She's with the enemy, Thomas suddenly said in a voice devoid of emotion.

Y/N couldn't stop a nervous laugh from coming out of her lips as a huge hatred took place in her heart.

-I knew it, she whispered, realizing she was right all along. You are a fucking traitor !

The blond realizing that his girlfriend was once again going to put herself in a sensitive situation placed his arm in front of her as if to protect her and prevent anyone from hurting her. He would not allow it.

That was the moment Janson chose to intervene.

-Teresa's always had an evolved appreciation of the greater good. Once we restored her memories, it was only a matter of time.

-I'm sorry, she began as the gladers looked at her accusingly. I had no choice. This is the only way. We have to find a cure.

Thomas lowered his head feeling his heart tear as the girl he was in love with drove the stake of betrayal deeper into his heart. He wanted so badly for this to be just a nightmare yet he knew it was real.

-And a cure for your bullshit ? Minho interjected with his usual sarcasm. Didn't you find it ?

-Drop it, Minho, added Y/N. All it would take is a little loyalty and humanity.

The dark-haired girl looked down but ignored them royally as Ava confirmed her words. The latter was trying to convince them that she was not a monster and that she just needed more time. But Marie, the camp doctor, spoke up.

-And more blood !

-Hello, Marie, said the blonde woman as the female doctor approached. I hoped we'd meet again. I'm sorry it had to be under these circumstances.

-I'm sorry about a lot of things too, Marie cut her off. But not this. At least my conscience is clear.

Unlike Teresa, Y/N thought furtively before concentrating on Ava's answer.

-So is mine.

A shot rang out, cutting short the exchange between the two women. And the said Mary collapsed on the ground under the desperate cries of Vince and the murderous glance of Janson. While looking at this scene with teary eyes, Thomas understood what he had to do. At this thought his breathing became more panting and the tension in his muscles more oppressive. He waited for the WICKED to begin boarding them before pulling out a bomb and threatening to detonate it.

-Everyone stand back, Janson ordered his soldiers, his stress mounting. Hold your fire !

-Let them all go, Thomas shouted as Rat Man tried to talk him down.

Janson, Ava, and even Teresa all began to talk to him to make him listen to reason, not realizing that they were only reassuring him of his decision. Moreover, the gladers, at first overwhelmed by the events, began to understand why their friend was doing this and it was resigned that Minho came to Thomas' side and nodded to show his support. He was followed closely by Frypan, Newt and Y/N who hold hands with the blond man.

-We're with you, Thomas, said the latter, taking his girlfriend in his arms for a last embrace.

-Do it Thomas, added the asian to cover the protests of Teresa and Ava.

-We are ready, made Fry by holding the shoulder of the brown.

-It's the end, finished Y/N by pressing a little more strongly the blond in her arms.

After a last glance towards his friends Thomas turned to Teresa.

-We're not going back there, he declared while shaking before preparing to release the bomb. It's the only way.

Suddenly, as Ava Paige's scream resonated as if to prevent the explosion, a horn went off, stopping Thomas in his tracks. It was Jorge who drove like a madman into one of the WICKED helicopters, leaving the members of the Right Arm the opportunity to disperse and defend themselves.

-Are you all right ? asked Newt, concerned about the well-being of his beloved.

For all answer Y/N nodded her head before joining the others and suddenly getting down on the ground while Thomas had just thrown the bomb on the members of the inter-governmental organization. As they got up, they went in search of weapons to fight with. Brenda was defending them from the top of the cliffs like a sniper. She had managed to hit Janson in the shoulder, which made Y/N smile and find a gun. Hope made her heart beat again and gave her enough adrenaline to fight.

As for Vince, he went back to his machine gun, shooting at the WICKED soldiers and at the same time quenching his thirst for revenge for Marie's death. It was total chaos. The gladers were running for cover, covered by Minho and Y/N who were the only two of the group to have acquired weapons. They found some debris to hide behind about hundred meters away.

-Keep going, the asian shouted. We got you !

-Be careful ! Newt asked worriedly as they ran to their hiding place.

-Don't worry about us, the girl tried to reassure him.

Thomas suddenly arrived running, he passed behind his two friends to join the others. It was the last one they could retreat. Y/N then began to run towards her friends when she realized that the asian did not follow her.

-Minho, what are you doing ? she shouted to him already six meters away from him.

-Go ahead, go ahead, he replied, shooting at a soldier. I'll catch up with you !

She continued her race trusting her best friend when she saw him taking an electrifying ball of the WICKED and falling on the ground shaking of spasms. She shouted his name and asked him to get up and join her. She heard her friends in the distance doing the same but the former keeper of the runners was close to sink in the unconsciousness. She then turned her gaze to her friends in the distance and then to Mihno who was beginning to be carried away. One last time she looked into Newt's chocolate eyes and mouthed a final "I love you" as he understood her intention and shouted at her to stop. It was too late, she had made her decision, we don't abandon our friends. She then faced the asian and started to run towards him as fast as she could. She could feel her heart racing as she shot at the two guards holding her friend. Once she reached him she let out a sigh of relief and with great effort and a few more drops of sweat she managed to lift Minho off the ground. She then looked up at her friends' hiding place and began to sprint. However, as she saw the hopeful looks on her friends' and Newt's faces, she felt an excruciating sting in her back and electricity paralyzing her. She then fell on the sand and dust while letting out a cry of agony which was replaced very quickly by the cry of despair of her favorite blond boy.

The latter seeing the girl he loved being taken away by the WICKED wanted to intervene but his friends understanding that it was over held him back with tears in their eyes and their hearts in pieces. And it was under their desperate looks that the berg enclosing their friends started to fly away while Janson threw them a last triumphant smile while holding firmly the unconscious body of Y/N in his arms.

-Bastards, Newt shouted, on the verge of a nervous breakdown. You bastards ! Bring them back ! Come back ! Give her back to me !

Thomas went over to him to put his hand on his shoulder, but as surprising as it may seem, the blond threw himself into his arms and cried against his shoulder. Usually the second in command kept everything to himself and did not share his sorrows. He never expressed his sadness, but this was too much for him to bear. When Y/N had arrived in the block just after his suicide attempt, she had been a breath of fresh air for him. She had been his little dose of hope and he needed her. He couldn't lose her.

-Tommy, he said in a firm voice, looking into Thomas' wet eyes. Promise me we'll get them back.

-I promise, Newt.