It felt like forever and a split second all at once. The sun had all but disappeared behind the clouds that crept across the sky. Jacob's jacket hung from her shoulders, warding off the chilled breeze with ease, and carrying with it the softest waft of his scent toward her nose. It was comforting. Though, she couldn't help but smile sheepishly up at him as the sleeves overtook her arms—she was all but swimming in it. "Are you sure you're not cold?"
Jacob chuckled at the way the sleeve ends bent, deflated where she folded her arms over her chest. "I'm gonna say 'yes' every time you ask," he playfully quipped. "It's not that cold out—it's just the wind."
"Uh-huh. Keep tellin' yourself that, tough guy."
Something shifted. Morgan could feel it on the back of her neck like an exhale, and her spine instinctively straightened. Her eyes darted to the left, to the wall of brown and green, the underbrush swaying gently in the wind. But it wasn't a bush. There was no stereotypical snap of a branch to alert her to someone's presence. No, it was nearly sixteen years of nosey and over-protective vampires thinking they were getting away with spying.
She could feel a pair of eyes—but they weren't hers. It turned her stomach, the realization that, this time, someone really was watching. And it wasn't anyone she trusted. She couldn't ever put it into words how she knew. She just did. It was an instinct that bit down on her arm like a rabid dog, sinking its teeth all the way to the bone, but it was attempting to drag her out of danger. It was unsafe here and it wanted her to listen, and the air she breathed in suddenly felt thicker. Heavier.
"Em, you okay?" Jacob's brow furrowed with a mixture of curiosity and vague concern.
Her pace had slowed absentmindedly, eyes stuck on the woods. When she finally turned her head to glance up at him again, the skin of her face was flushed white, the color drained from her features in an instant. "Yeah," she blinked. "I just thought I heard something."
Another shift. She fought to keep her face from contorting, or arching her back away from the abnormal chill that crawled down her spine. "You look like you've seen a ghost," Jacob teased, only somewhat joking. It was a casual prod for information, she knew. And she was rudely reminded that she hadn't made it to a place of total honesty yet. It would be times like these that what her family was mattered, and would likely be a point of contention.
She would always have to lie about this. And, when the lying no longer worked, she would have to leave with the rest of her family. It slumped her shoulders, stabbing the tip of a blade into the center of her chest as her bubble of excitement and joy imploded. "What, like you've never heard something go bump in the woods?" Morgan playfully retorted, hiding the tremble of her lips with a carefully timed exhale.
"Of course I have, but you're supposed to ignore those. If you think you heard your name, no you didn't—and if you see a figure, don't make eye contact."
"Don't make eye contact," she repeated the phrase as she mulled it over. Jacob gave a firm nod but his features relaxed into something easy-going, with a laid back smile, hanging loose like a grin. As though he were a kind of survival guide, teaching her how not to get snatched in the woods on the first day of camp. But Morgan was thinking of threats much more sinister.
Not making eye contact was probably a good idea. She couldn't let whoever was watching her know that she was onto them. Maybe—just maybe—if she played dumb long enough, she could trick them into giving themself up. Or, at the very least, it would give her time to gather more details. Still, it was too unnerving to truly pretend like she hadn't noticed them. A realization far too big to fit back into its box.
The sensation followed her just as a pair of eyes, a straight line along the road, but Jacob's voice cut through it like a swift blade. "So, is walking everywhere a mermaid thing or a you thing?" he asked, three parts curious and seven parts desperate for some kind of small talk. To fill up the awkward void. To pass the time.
Morgan cleared her throat and gave a shake of her head. "That's just me."
Jacob quipped, "Did a car call your mom ugly or something?"
"Um, no," she wrinkled her nose, a chuckle finding its way up her throat. "I guess I'm just used to needing my siblings for everything, so walking to where I wanna go feels more…independent."
They reached a fork in the road. Absentmindedly, Morgan continued forward, moving to cross the street. But Jacob was quick to wrap his fingers around her hand, tugging her back the other direction as he parted to the right. "This way," he threw his free hand over his shoulder, thumb pointed in a gesture. She was quick to redirect, her lips making a small 'oh' as she realized her mistake, and followed after him.
Though she could feel her hand instinctively contorting in the shape of his, she made no attempt to stop. He carried on as if he didn't notice—and perhaps he didn't? After all, did it really feel foreign enough to notice the difference? Her cheekbones pinched as her lips stabbed up into them, pulled tight in a curve at the idea of holding on, and she found herself mirroring his stride to fall into step. "Okay, enough about me. Let's dissect you for a change," Morgan spoke up, fingernails digging into the extra inches of her sleeve.
Jacob feigned nerves with a raised brow. "What do you wanna know? My favorite color?"
"We can start there."
"I was kidding," he huffed a chuckle, giving her a pointedly humorous glance. Though, he had no intention of not answering. Blue. It would be blue, wouldn't it? That was the color of her eyes. However, the crystal-esque silver they became when she was in the water was almost iridescent. Was there even a name for that color? He settled for second best in favor of a faster reply. Something more normal and unsuspecting. "It's red."
Morgan hummed. "Like a barn red, or an apple red?"
"Definitely more like a barn."
"Okay, noted," Morgan nodded once, and she could feel the vibration of his laughter where their hands met, hiking the corner of her lips up in an instinctive lurch. "What? You don't think I need to know these things? There are birthdays, holidays, things I need to plan for."
Jacob grinned down at her, his jacket on her shoulders scratching at the skin of his bicep as they bumped absentmindedly during their mismatching strides. "Already planning how you're gonna make up for this one, huh?"
She knew immediately what he was referring to. His birthday had come and gone, and she was all the way in Denali for Christmas and winter break. The guilt still nagged at her, harassing her for not being around, not being able to celebrate him the way he'd be able to celebrate her when her own birthday rolled around. It was a blessing and a curse to have been born when school is in session. Morgan's head tilted, shoulders drooping as her face read not fair and seriously? at the same time. "That was so low I can step over it, Jake," she protested the comment, despite a chuckle.
"Too soon?" he squinted at her in jest.
It was instinctual to send the palm of her free hand into the cotton of his t-shirt in a playful swat, but laughter escaped them both. Though, it was then that a third voice joined the conversation, semi-distant when the words rang out like a gunshot. "Looks like you two have had a good day," it was Billy's voice. Morgan knew before her eyes startled forward and landed on his where he sat in his wheelchair in the driveway, at the back of his truck.
Two feet to his left stood Sam Uley. He looked disgruntled still, his features etched deep into the lines of his face with focus and irritation equally, but something about his demeanor was more reserved this time. He eyed her warily, though just casually enough it might be hard to notice for someone unaware of his typical body language. Morgan's shoulders tensed at the sight of him. Her fingers tightened around Jacob's ever-so-slightly as a reflex, drawing his eyes in a brief but cautious glance.
Billy smiled warmly, that signature welcoming look, as they approached. However, Morgan's pace slowed a bit in apprehension, and Jacob was more than happy to slow his own so as not to drag her forward. "Yeah, the weather's been great today," her voice was somewhat timid, but she did her best to be confident, friendly. For Billy. Even if Sam intimidated her or tried to provoke her, Billy deserved nothing but her kindness. It was a thought she repeated to herself to keep from spiraling into the rancid nerves in her gut.
"Find any decent tide pools?" Billy inquired, genuinely curious as he settled back in his chair to look up at her.
"A few," she nodded with a small smile. "Forgot my camera, so I couldn't get pictures."
Billy tsked empathetically. "That's unfortunate. Are you hungry? We were about to head in."
Sam didn't look surprised by the announcement of plans despite having not been told—instead, he used this as an opportunity to watch her a little more closely. To pay attention to the subtle shifts in her demeanor, the extra thumps in her chest as she settled into nervousness. Morgan's eyes darted toward him, but he was unflinching in his stare. It was then that her fingers lost all grip, slipping abruptly from Jacob's hand, and she stuffed both hands into the pockets of the borrowed jacket on her shoulders.
It wasn't a good idea to spend any more time with him than necessary, she knew. But, how could she say no and not look suspicious? After all, if she were truly an ally and not a threat like the rest of her family, why would she avoid him? He was the only wolf present. A shudder slithered down her spine, and she straightened it reflexively as she exhaled a breath. Remember why you came here, she told herself. "Yeah, that sounds great, thank you," she continued to smile at Billy, her gaze landing on him again, and Sam withheld a heavy sigh.
"Of course. It's always a treat to have you around," Billy tipped his head in a gesture, before lifting a hand toward Sam to point. "Have you met Sam, here? We were just catching up."
Morgan bit her tongue. "We've met."
Jacob's eyes couldn't help but shift uncomfortably between the three of them from the unspoken tension that left a stiffness in his muscles. He knew that talking to Sam again would most likely be a bit awkward, maybe even a little confrontational, but this was something else. And what did his father have to do with this? Why was he talking like he was trying to set her up, each question asked with the tone Jacob recognized as testing? The breeze glided through his empty hand and Morgan's missing warmth was already noticeable.
It was more than a little understandable that she would pull away, and he knew he would have himself if she didn't—but it was aggravating. Why couldn't the moment last a bit longer? Another reminder of how fundamentally unfair life was. "I should be going. Emily will be expecting me," Sam looked to Billy, his expression unreadable. But Billy's was knowing, understanding.
"Alright. It was good seeing you. Give her my best."
Sam simply nodded before striding past him, walking along the street toward Morgan and Jacob, and Jacob's eyes followed him as he passed. There was something odd in every look Sam gave him. He all but stared the expression at him as he walked by, but Jacob couldn't quite decipher its purpose. "Come on in," Billy addressed Morgan then, turning his chair toward the house. "Have you tried the local trout?"
"Uh…I don't think so," Morgan shook her head. She took steps to follow him toward the house as she unearthed her hands, only to wring them nervously in front of her torso. The mention of fish was like a pin prick to the ear. Hairs at the nape of her neck stood tall with caution, worry, suspicion.
Billy continued on to the front door without missing a beat, and continued, "Well, you're in luck, then. Harry Clearwater brought some over and I've got it in the oven right now. Should be done in a few minutes."
Morgan glanced over her shoulder at Jacob as he trailed behind them, beginning to follow himself, but her features contorted into a pointed expression of apprehension. Jacob shuffled a little faster into the house at that. A little closer to her. "Harry came by today?" he asked his father, putting some of the social pressure onto himself.
"Sure did," Billy replied. "Say, Morgan—we're having dinner with the Clearwaters on Saturday. We'd love to set an extra plate for you. If it's alright with your folks, of course."
The soft thud of the front door closing caused Morgan to blink hard. Billy still wasn't looking—he was disappearing into the kitchen without a care. He knew what he'd said, what he'd offered, and just how he phrased it. It felt like another test. And, maybe it was? Maybe that's what all of this was, one big test? Though, there was no way she could've studied, and he was counting on it. "That sounds fun. I'll ask my parents," Morgan said, lingering in the living room. As Jacob approached with the intent to pass her, she leaned toward him and lowered her voice, stopping him completely, "Why do I feel like I've been invited to an intervention?"
Jacob snickered quietly. "We have dinner with the Clearwaters at least once a week."
"Oh. Good. Am I reading it wrong or was I being baited back there?"
"No, it definitely felt a little weird."
"What did Sam say to him? I mean, was he at the beach today? Did he hear us? There's no way he could know, right-?"
"Jacob," Billy called from the kitchen then. "Why don't you go ahead and set the table?"
Morgan deflated with a sigh, but Jacob patted the back of her shoulder with a palm in a brief gesture. "He doesn't know anything, and I won't tell him. We're in the clear, okay? Just breathe," he whispered a final bit of encouragement before hurrying to the kitchen. Though, it did nothing to truly help. It dawned on Morgan in a flash of realization, a sudden jolt of terror—if even just one of the wolves had been at the beach, then the secret was absolutely out. It was being spread around like a kind of virus, infecting each one with knowledge they shouldn't have, and it turned her stomach on its head.
They knew. They all knew. They had to. One told another, and another, and Sam, and Sam told Billy, and Billy was testing her now. He knew and he was testing her—but why? Did he not believe it? Was he trying to see if she would crack and tell him herself? Or, was he testing her resolve for something else? Perhaps he wanted to know what she would do, how she would react, if she found out someone else knew who wasn't supposed to? Maybe he wanted to find out if she would do what he assumed the other members of her family might?
The thought was jarring but, above all, guilt-ridden. She'd simply assumed he saw her as human and therefore safe, non-threatening. Now she watched Jacob place plates and silverware on the kitchen table and she wondered how much longer Billy would allow him to speak to her. Surely he planned to buckle down, tighten the leash, forbid him from venturing out if necessary. That's what Morgan would do. Without hesitation. No child of hers would ever near a vampire, much less be in a house with several at once.
However, Billy invited her inside. He offered her food. He treated her kindly still. Whatever he knew about fish-peoples, he must've known enough to not see her as the same kind of threat. That was a good sign for everyone. And yet her hands trembled vaguely at her sides. She tucked them up into her sleeves, gripping the loose fabric of the hems at her fingertips, and walked to the kitchen. It almost felt as though the house was swaying like a rope bridge and she was in the center of it, white-knuckled as she gripped desperately to the rope on either side.
Billy was bringing the baking dish of fish to the table in his lap with potholders between the hot surface and his knees, and Jacob chided him as he approached the table in his chair, as if he were the adult in the situation. "I'm right here, I could've gotten that, dad," Jacob sighed, half-glaring at his father. "You're gonna burn yourself."
But Billy lifted the dish onto the table and sat back in his chair with an exhale, a job well done. "There, see? No casualties."
"This time," Jacob rolled his eyes, though he fought an amused smile.
Billy noticed Morgan in the doorway then and gestured to the table with a raised hand. "Come, have a seat," he urged politely.
When Jacob's eyes swept up and back in a glance, something pulled them up again rather quickly. Nothing about her looked right. Her nod was stiff, the barely noticeable smile curved in the wrong places, and her skin had flushed pale. Even as she lowered herself into a chair on the other side of the table, it was as if she were trying to avoid inflaming an injury. Jacob took a seat beside his father but his eyes didn't move much. He waited for her gaze to lift, to catch his, so he could make a questioning expression or mouth some words. But they never did.
They stayed low and shifted quickly even while accepting a glass of water or taking a portion of fish on her plate. In truth, her appetite had all but disappeared. After all, how could she fill her stomach when it felt like it was still upside down? But she couldn't refuse it. She couldn't make it so obvious that she knew he'd been told. "So, Jacob here tells me you're taking an art class," Billy began a conversation, tugging her eyes up for a few seconds in acknowledgement. "How did you get into painting?"
It was a question straight from left field—however, it was one she could answer honestly. "Um, yeah I am. My dad's always collected whatever work he could get his hands on. I guess the love rubbed off. But I just started with a pencil. Unless you count my toddler fingers paintings, and you're my mother," she explained, settling for a small chuckle at the end.
Billy smiled across the table. "Sounds like you're very close with them."
"I am."
Morgan didn't blink and neither did Billy. Her voice was a little less mild-mannered, a little more firm. She was sure. With a tone that let him know that her parents were off limits. No amount of support for anyone or anything else could change that, and she was sure of it. But Billy didn't challenge or push it. "That's good. You've got quite the large family. Here on the reservation, we all consider ourselves family, as well. We take care of each other. Community is very important," he said, calmly.
"It's a beautiful way to live," Morgan nodded a little, poking at a strip of trout with her fork. "Actually…would you mind if I asked a couple questions?"
Billy's features brightened a shade with intrigue as he shook his head. "Not at all."
"Do you know of any native legends about mermaids? I read the story about the Whale and the Thunderbird, and it got me thinking about other sea creature-related myths. Jacob said you're the guy to ask."
"Well…there are a few native beliefs around half-fish or water spirits. The Micmac tribe of Nova Scotia has the Sabawaelnu—meaning 'water people'. Sometimes they were called 'the halfway people'," Billy answered her, a kind of in-thought seriousness in the lines of his face. "They were half-human, half-fish water spirits that possessed power over storms, and Micmac people who learn to interpret their songs correctly can predict the weather."
Morgan swallowed. "Were they nice?"
"They were said to only harm those who were disrespectful."
"And the Micmac people live in Nova Scotia?"
"Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Quebec, and even some in Maine," Billy nodded once, slowly, in confirmation.
Jacob stared at his plate quietly as the locations added up in his mind. Hadn't she said that she was born in Canada? That couldn't have been a lie, too, could it? No—why would it be? It didn't give her real identity away. Or, did it? It wouldn't be entirely too shocking if the place she was born was also the place of mermaid myths and legends. Perhaps the legends weren't legends at all, but merely stories and descriptions of real people, of creatures like Morgan that existed a long time ago?
"That's really cool," Morgan put a fork-full of fish in her mouth to appear unbothered, at ease with the startling information she'd been given. When she'd swallowed, she added, "The stories, I mean. I really like native culture. Jake told me about the 'Quileutes are descended from wolves' story? Is it true? I mean- do you believe that's what happened, with Q'waeti'?"
Billy smiled warmly. "Yes, I do. Our youth tend to see it as only a creative explanation these days. But it's an important part of our history."
Morgan could listen to him talk about this for days and not get bored—or run out of questions, curiosity, intrigue. There was something so wise and gentle to the way he answered each question posed, a tone or a choice of words that warmed the listening ear. Maybe it was simply what the words meant to him that shone through? The genuine care and love for the culture. It made it all the more exciting to hear.
Jacob huffed a scoffing chuckle then, breaking the seriousness of the conversation with a sarcastic comment, "Gee, thanks, dad."
"You don't believe it?" Morgan asked him then, disregarding her prior assumption of it.
"Do you?" he countered her sarcastically, eyebrows lifted on his forehead, and she shrugged.
"I mean, it's not my history, so it doesn't really matter what I believe," she placed a hand near her collar bones in a humorously dramatic gesture. "But if it was, I would make fun of everyone that didn't, because I would be a badass. I'm sorry, but that jab was completely warranted."
Jacob's eyes narrowed at her from across the table in an in-jest expression of betrayal as he chewed a mouthful of trout, agonizingly slow. "I feel insulted and complimented at the same time."
Billy huffed a chuckle at the interaction. Though, he couldn't help but wonder what her family had told her about the Quileute wolves, if anything at all—and how it influenced how she interacted with him and his son. There was no doubt in his mind that she'd probably heard plenty of negatives. However, how negative could it be if Carlisle was allowing her to visit so often? Knowing what she was now did complicate things.
He'd never met someone like her who wasn't fiercely docile, but there was no telling how her upbringing could change that. So, he kept an observant eye out for signs, changes in behavior, despite letting her stay. It would break Jacob's heart if Billy were to separate them now, and he placed blame for it solely on himself. They would cross that bridge if and when they came to it, he told himself, as he lifted his mug to take a drink. "I think my mom would call it a special skill," Morgan smiled, a small but genuine upturn of her lips.
"How is your family?" Billy inquired.
Her eyes darted toward him, and the smile faltered. "They're doing alright," she bobbed her head as her lips pulled thin, a casual but polite acknowledgement to hide the slip. "Grades are good, everyone's healthy, all that."
"That's good to hear. Will you be pursuing art after high school or continuing your career in the pet care industry?"
"Well, actually, I've always wanted to be a veterinarian," Morgan explained.
Billy's brow lifted in intrigue. "That's a very selfless career choice. That reminds me—how's that kitten doing?"
"Oh, he's great. He's still just kind of toddling around and he sleeps most of the day, but he's healthy and happy."
The conversation was beginning to wind down after its tense and uneasy start—and so was the meal. Morgan helped Jacob clear the dishes and put away the remaining trout in the baking dish. It was startling just how normal it was. All day had been a non-stop adrenaline rush of confessing the truth, discussions of mermaids and wolf ancestors, the feeling of being followed—no, hunted—by an unfamiliar vampire, and hiding the truth from Billy despite knowing he'd already been told. To then stand at the sink and wash plates before handing them to Jacob to dry felt like a kind of shell shock.
Of course, these kinds of household activities took place in her own home. Though, it felt like she was participating in them with aliens still learning to be human. They were stiff, their smiles like carved expressions on store mannequins, and followed the rules of the activity a little too closely. Morgan understood why. But you never truly know what you don't have quite like seeing it outside your reach.
Her coat fit into its place on the hook inside the coat closet as it always had, her hands moving to hang it independently of her mind—there were too many other places for it to be. Almost as many people outside her family knew what she was as the number of people in it. Who was it that followed her and why would they risk being on the reservation to get to her? What was Sam going to do with the information that she really wasn't human?
The coat closet door clicked as the latch sprung into place and it was then that air fanned at her face. "How did it go?" Alice's visage appeared in her peripheral, and Morgan startled.
"Oh, god-" she sidestepped to miss her frame, shuffling to a stop in her stride toward the stairs. "What…how did what go?"
"Sorry. Esme said you were going to hang out with Jacob," Alice took a half-step backward, her arms behind her back where they hung somewhat stiffly.
Morgan blinked, but her brows lowered. They hadn't properly talked since Emmett finally told her what Alice had seen, what she had been desperately trying to wave in front of her face, and the tension between her and her sisters was beginning to stack like a wall of bricks—yet Morgan couldn't bring herself to talk to either of them. To sort it out.
To truly settle the conflicts would be to accept apologies, maybe even give one of her own, and forgive the offenses. With how she'd been feeling recently, she wasn't sure she was ready to do that just yet. "You didn't see?" Morgan questioned, lifting a brow with a vague kind of sass. A sarcasm-laced bitterness.
Alice shook her head, chin tilting upward a fraction in projected indifference. "I still can't see your future. But that's good, isn't it? You don't have to worry that I'll tell you something you don't want to know."
"Oh," Morgan scoffed instinctively, shuffling back a step as she adjusted her position, and her eyes narrowed at Alice. "You're gonna play victim? Is that the story you're going with? I just blew up for no reason, because poor little Alice always has good intentions. Alice would never do something mean, hurtful, selfish, or vindictive—because she's perfect Alice. Silly me!"
Morgan's arms lifted, thrusting out at her sides in a gesture as her features contorted to a faux humored expression. Feigning self-reflection and realization of her own perceived stupidity. Jasper's appearance flitted to the empty space at Alice's left but Morgan didn't jolt this time. She expected that the others would hear. They would come to defend Alice and reiterate that it was all a misunderstanding, as they always had.
"What's going on?" Jasper asked, to no one in particular—though his gaze lingered heavily on Morgan. An unexpected but welcomed acknowledgement.
Morgan's features were alight with a kind of angered and flippant color, a dark kind of fake happiness, as she addressed him. "I'm justifiably angry because Alice decided what she wanted was more important than what I needed-" she spoke the first half to Jasper, before turning to Alice with a steely glare to continue. "-and now I know what I shouldn't know yet, and apparently Alice thinks I'm just making a big deal out of nothing."
"That's not what I said, Morgan," Alice defended herself, tilting her head. Though she'd genuinely not meant to imply it, she knew she'd misspoke. Those were the wrong words in that tone. How else was she to take it? However, Alice didn't care much for the sudden hostility. She wanted to talk through the problem and explain it rationally.
"You said you would never tell me something I didn't want to know. And then you waved it in front of my face for weeks! What, because I'm friends with Bella, that's some sign that it's okay to break your promise?" Morgan questioned her with genuine hurt. It shadowed her face, accentuated her words. It would've been impossible for even a human to miss.
Jasper sympathized with the sentiment. After all, of everyone in the household, he was the most likely to understand that feeling of utter betrayal. "Okay. Let's take a deep breath for a moment, alright?" he spoke to them before, glancing between them as he raised a hand. "This is somethin' important we need to talk about and sort out. Mistakes were made and lines were crossed. Why don't we make a date to sit down and have that conversation, when we're not already fired up?"
"That's a good idea," Alice nodded.
Morgan exhaled a short but sharp breath as she leaned back on her heels. "Fine."
"How about this weekend?" Jasper suggested. Both Alice and Morgan nodded, though Alice's eyes remained angled down or on Jasper—they didn't dare cross Morgan's frame. "Alright. Now, just remember until then that we're all still family. We're all here for each other. Somethin' like this doesn't mean you stopped lovin' each other."
He looked pointedly at Morgan, and she returned his stare with an easily read expression—that was subtle. She had nothing to say, nothing to add or take away, so she simply turned on her heel and continued to the stairs. Though, a little faster this time. Two at a time, she climbed them to the top and turned left, following the hall toward her bedroom. A voice called out to her, then. It only barely touched her ears, her name timid and quiet in a bitterly familiar tone.
Dread pooled in her stomach but, as she turned to face Edward at the mouth of his open bedroom, anger and annoyance swirled through the pit. He stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, a hip leaned into the wood frame. His eyes flickered between her face, the floor, the wall, bouncing around like a mother trapped in a lampshade. "Are you proud of what you did yesterday? What it's going to do?" she asked, rhetorically cynical.
"I'm proud she didn't die, if that's what you're asking," he made a face.
"Why you? Why did you stick around long enough for her to see you? That wasn't avoidable at all? God, Edward, how do you not understand what this means for the rest of us?!"
Edward's head tilted as his brows furrowed. "Would you rather I had just let her die? Isn't she your friend? I have one better—what would you have done if it was Jacob?"
Morgan's demeanor shifted. Her head recoiled reflexively on her shoulders as the answer came to mind just a little too quickly. Anything. She would have risked anything. She wouldn't think about it, or ask someone for advice—she would simply do whatever was necessary to protect him. Though, what was more digestible and easier to grasp onto amongst the sudden mental instability, was Edward's choice of comparison. How was Bella at all comparable to Jacob?
There were a few possible explanations and she didn't like any of them. Edward eyed her, flippantly smug from across the hall, and he nodded once. "That's what I thought."
"Jacob is my best friend. You barely know Bella and every time you talk to her, you're an asshole—I know, because she asks me what your problem is every day you're at school," Morgan fired back a solid point, regaining some of her voice. "Figure your shit out and stop letting it impact other people. Then maybe grand gestures will mean something."
Edward watched her silently as she disappeared into the confines of her bedroom, the door closing with a hollow thud behind her. It smarted to have the conversation—no, duel—end with such an abrupt loss, but there was plenty of truth in it to keep him awake for a century even without immortality.
