Morgan couldn't sleep. At least, not deeply enough to mean anything. With her eyes screwed shut, she tossed and turned in an attempt to reach a level of comfort just out of reach. But no amount of comfort could silence the thoughts racing through her mind. They kept her awake for hours, sometimes quieting just enough to allow her to slip away a little deeper into sleep, only to pull her right back out with a thought shouted into the void in her own voice.

She turned her back to the wall of glass windows to block out the gentle moonlight. It would be a good idea to simply get up and close the curtains—but what if she lost even more leverage? Exhaustion and comfort were all she had to bargain with and she was lacking in both departments. She might lose them both if she were to get out of bed now. So, instead, she forced her eyes to stay closed as she faced the bathroom. Bugs was sound asleep in the crate across the room and Nixie was downstairs in the living room.

There was nothing she could blame for this sleeplessness but her poor decisions. It terrified her to know that there were others out there that knew what she was without her having to speak a word to them. The revelation felt skin-baring, an intrusion into her most private places that made her skin crawl. Just the idea of it was enough to lift the hairs at the nape of her neck—but the reality was something so stomach-twisting. Her torso felt so tight that her lungs couldn't quite lift the muscle and tissue, and it left a dizzying feeling.

The skin of her arms speckled with bumps beneath the blanket and the contents of her stomach sloshed. Cold fanned gently at her legs as though she stood before an AC vent—and her eyes snapped open. That wasn't a thought. She could feel it weighing on her then, a heavy kind of presence somewhere behind her back, and her head twisted so fast on her neck it was a wonder she didn't unscrew it from her shoulders. Morgan could've sworn she felt something in the muscle twinge, but she ignored it as she blinked the frame of a man into view.

His silhouette was shaped so distinctly that there was no way she would have mistaken him for anyone but Edward. He sat at the end of the bed, perched on the edge a foot from where her calves tucked under the rustled comforter, with his shoulders rolled forward and head ducked beneath them as though he were trying to hide. From who, she didn't know. The shock of seeing someone at the end of her bed was enough to stave off any irritation or anger she would've felt for seeing him at all.

She pushed herself upright, palm braced against the mattress, and reached for her glasses on the nightstand before situating them on the bridge of her nose. "Ed, what-" exhaling a heavy, shaken breath, she placed a hand over her heart as though the action alone might calm the adrenaline causing it to beat out of her chest. "Why are you in my room?"

"Sorry…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

He spoke quietly without lifting his head to so much as glance in her direction. The words were hesitant, yet audibly rushed. The spike of adrenaline was flushed out by concern at the sound of his voice and she found herself sitting forward, knees pulled up to tent the comforter. "You didn't. What's wrong? Did something happen?" she questioned.

"Everything's fine," Edward assured her in the same tone, but he lifted his head and angled it toward her, though his eyes did not. He was talking at her, not to her. "I, um…I sit here sometimes when I'm not okay. Your heartbeat is calming."

Morgan was taken aback by the admission. "My…heartbeat? What do you mean you're 'not okay'?"

Edward's head drifted away as he leaned slightly in the other direction, sitting up a bit more straight as he exhaled. "We don't have to talk. I'll leave you to sleep—I won't be intruding again," he spoke into the quiet expanse of the room, before standing up from the bed.

"I'm not telling you to leave," Morgan told him, as he rounded the end of the bed. He hesitated in taking another step, instead daring himself to lift his eyes toward her face from the floorboards, and she could see the turmoil, the inner anguish on his features—but also the surprise. "Stay, for once. Talk to me. I don't bite."

The phrase was meant to be a joke and he might've genuinely laughed under other circumstances. He shook his head at the comment, his eyes flitting toward the windows as he shifted his weight on his feet. "I'm not sure how to explain it," he confessed, timidly.

"That's okay. Just start from the beginning."

Gently, the corners of his mouth upturned in the faintest of grins. "Well, I guess it all started when I got sick in nineteen-eighteen. My doctor turned out to be a vampire, you see, and he thought he was helping me when he bit me," he explained in jest, taking slow steps back around the end of the bed, toward his original place.

Morgan's head tilted in an expression. You know that's not what I meant, she wanted to retort. Though, it shifted something into place in the back of her mind. Living for an eternity with no sleep to take a break from life's problems would be unbearable, and adding in an insatiable blood lust made the vampire lifestyle sound dreadful. She wondered briefly, then, how anyone could want immortality enough to suffer it. But none of the vampires in the house wanted it—not even Carlisle.

All of them were forced to live this life for hundreds of years. How utterly miserable. She patted the uncovered sheet to her left as her features relaxed, and she pulled her knees to her chest beneath the blanket. "What's depressing you right now?" she clarified her words with a gentle question.

Edward cooperated with her request, easing onto the mattress in a way that she hardly felt it move at all, though he kept a leg positioned over the edge, heel against the wood. It was the closest she'd been to him in months. Although his body was somewhat rigid and his demeanor read uncomfortability, he answered her the best way he could. "I've been feeling…drawn to Bella. Her blood is unlike any I've ever smelled and I feel like I might truly lose control sometimes," he admitted. "I went to Denali to get away from it for a while. It didn't help much."

"Is Bella not human?"

"No, she's human. I don't know what's so different. Neither does Carlisle."

"And you feel drawn to her because of her blood? Or, something else?"

The conversation felt open enough, kind enough to explain it. However, that didn't stop Edward from feeling utterly naked, vulnerable in a way he detested. It caused him to readjust his position absentmindedly, his shoulders tensing as if he'd stepped on something sharp. Uncomfortability flashed across his face in a gentle grimace. "Something else," he answered, with a single shake of his head. "I don't quite understand that, either."

Morgan rested her right temple against the tops of her knees, angling her head to still look up at him while relaxing her neck. "Is it like how I feel drawn to Jacob?"

He turned his head to look at her then. They'd been each aware of what the other knew since she'd met Jacob Black that day at the pet store, but neither had spoken a word of it aloud. Why would they need to? It was all Morgan could think about and, therefore, all Edward could think about. And although it hadn't been a surprise to hear how she felt about the boy, it was a shock to the system to hear it from her mouth. The admission, the honesty alone, was unexpected.

Even still, he understood what she meant using that analogy, and she was right. That was exactly it. Though, how was he to explain why? Did he need to? He pleaded internally with her not to ask as he opened his mouth to respond. "I think so," he replied, in an effort to avoid absolutes.

It made sense to her then. Every time Bella complained about how he was acting, describing him as evasive and rude, why he was willing to risk exposing the family to save her from being crushed by the van in the school parking lot. He was in love. Alice saw a vision of Bella becoming a vampire, and Edward was confessing his feelings for her—and everything made sense. It felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest, and Morgan could breathe again.

"That's why you avoid her, isn't it?" she asked, rhetorically.

He nodded vaguely. "It's better for both of us if we're not friends."

"You've got to stop doing that."

Edward paused, his brows furrowing as Morgan sighed heavily, lifting her head from her knees. "Doing…what?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"You convince yourself you're a monster and then treat the people you love like crap so they'll distance themselves and be 'safe'," she explained, the undertone of bitterness beneath the words just loud enough to echo. "Why can't you just be happy? Why can't you let yourself live, Edward? So, you struggle with blood sometimes. All of you do. But that doesn't automatically mean you're going to hurt someone you care about. If anything, caring about someone gives you more incentive to keep it under control, don't you think?"

"I don't think it's that simple."

"I don't think it's that complicated."

"And you don't have these urges, Morgan," Edward quietly snapped, frustrated. "It's easy for you to have that perspective. But you will never understand what this feels like—I am a monster. How could I ever deserve to live?"

Morgan blinked, brows set low on her face as she stared at him. The frustration was understandable. Though, it was rather telling. It was just like Edward to resort to that mentality—the idea that he wasn't worth anything simply because he existed. And though it was understandable to be disgusted with what he'd become, it seemed grossly unfair to remain inside that box forever. At some point, he would have to come to terms with it. To accept that this was reality.

For someone with all of eternity ahead of them, it might take longer than Morgan had to live in order for him to come to that end. Still, his words settled obtusely in her chest, and she could feel the misshapen pieces protruding into places they didn't belong, causing the surrounding tissue to sting. "What kind of monster risks eternity to protect a baby that isn't his?" she asked, rhetorical in her calm tone, and the question wrapped its fingers around his spine. "Not once did you hurt me. You didn't even drop me by accident. I was safe with you. I am safe with you. Resisting the urges because you care is what makes you not a monster."

If there was a heart in his chest that beat, it would've surely seized, and even the dead organ that remained in the space felt as though it had somehow constricted. It was the strangest feeling—the blossom of warmth that spread outward into his muscles, bringing in an emotion he hadn't felt in quite some time. However, he was hesitant to give into it and let himself feel, to relax in the comfort of the moment. Instead, his features screwed with bewilderment and confusion, and he scoffed. "I abandoned you when you needed me. You should hate me for it, and you do," he pointed out.

But Morgan shook her head. "I miss my brother."

Her stomach tightened to keep from somersaulting as she held her gaze steady, leveled at his when the realization hit. When it all sank in too deep to carve it out. He couldn't look away anymore, from her face or what he'd done, and his features betrayed him with an unsteady falter. A quiver of a lip, the softening of a brow, a shade of sadness in the dark rings of his eyes.

Morgan surged forward in the quiet between them and wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders, and sirens were wailing in his head. They screamed at him—Distance! Distance!—and then her heartbeat touched his ears, thumping rhythmically in consecutive waves of warmth that threatened to thaw his skin, and he didn't want to move. The sensation was almost overwhelming but it was the closest to human he'd felt in nearly a hundred years.

Carefully, his arms lifted, the icy limbs wrapping around her torso in reciprocation, and she rested her cheek against the side of his neck near the shoulder. She could feel her arms prickling against the cold as she became enveloped by it—though, it wasn't truly cold. Not to her. There were no words necessary to explain why they'd ended up here like this. It was already understood, explained in the action itself. And that was enough. Edward didn't want to pull away for fear he might lose it again, that they might revert back to being uncivil after the night's end, but it was rather late.

"You should get some sleep," he spoke up after a while, quietly so as not to startle. He retracted his arms and she sat back before looking to the window. The moon's glow had shifted to the sun's essence through the wall of trees. Everything was beginning to look blue, the start of the morning, and she couldn't help but sigh at the idea of it.

Yes, she should sleep. Perhaps now, with some energy out of her system, it would be easier to? Still, she was a bit hesitant, adjusting to straighten her legs beneath the comforter reluctantly. "Yeah," she agreed, with a small nod. "You can stay."

It sounded simply like a considerate offer. After all, hadn't he told her that listening while she slept was helpful to him? Although, it felt heavier. Like there was more to the statement. He could read it in the way the lines of her face curved, illuminating the hopeful color of her eyes as she shimmied down the sheets to drop her head onto the pillow. It wasn't so much a statement as it was a request. Please stay. Instinctually, he nodded once, and pulled his leg up onto the bed to better his position, leaning back against the pillows behind him she'd discarded.

"Goodnight," she said, partially in jest, as she tugged the comforter over her shoulder.

Edward stifled a reflexive snicker. "Goodnight."

It was hard to describe the gentle warmth of peace that rushed over her skin as she settled into the pillow, her face enshadowed by his frame, blocking the sun's steady climb over the horizon. But Morgan was content. Finally, she could close her eyes with some kind of assurance it would lead to sleep. And, after only a few minutes, it did. Edward heard the moment she slipped away, her breathing and heartbeat stabilizing simultaneously, and he exhaled a quiet sigh.

The time passed faster than he would've liked. Then again, it was hard to truly feel it after so long. Minutes felt like seconds, hours minutes, days hours. Months were sometimes just a hard blink. They blurred together in a year like a smudge on a window and, if he wasn't careful, he would lose them all. Morgan's alarm blared just after 6AM. He twisted in his position to turn it off, taking the opportunity to place his feet on the floor, giving himself an excuse to leave.

Morgan groaned into her pillow case. Already, she could feel the stiffness in her muscles, the ache in her bones, from sleeping so poorly. "Good morning," Edward said, as he stood, and her head lifted somewhat crookedly to search for him. "I'll see you downstairs."

As she pushed herself upright to sit, she scrubbed at her face in an effort to force the exhaustion from her features. It didn't work. Instead, it seemed to only worsen the appearance, bringing blood to the skin to tinge it a momentary red. Edward slipped through the bedroom door, closing it quietly behind him—though, not so much for Morgan's sake as it was his. He didn't need any of the others hearing and coming to question him. No, this could stay between the two of them. A secret they could keep together, as opposed to from each other.

Morgan's brain was pure fog, moving on autopilot, as she shuffled her way to the bathroom. She soaked in the tub and put on her lotion and dressed in her usual jeans-and-sweater—and her mind was not present. It was somewhere else. Stuck between the comfort of last night and the terror from the thought of having to lie to Bella at school. After all, wouldn't she be the one Bella would come to with questions first? That was the problem with presenting herself as the friendly one. The caring, reliable one. She would have to lie to an extent she'd never quite mastered today and it will dig a ditch between them too deep to cross.

The knowledge turned her stomach. When she left her room, the smell of fish wafted up from the kitchen, trailing through the foyer to the stairs, and Morgan nearly gagged. The thought of eating anything only made the nausea worse. Her stomach was on its head, sloshing with every step to the first floor, and she exhaled deeply through her nose in an attempt to calm herself. When she reached the kitchen, Esme was packing an insulated lunch bag with a plastic container and an ice pack, and Rosalie was clearly supervising.

She stood just beside Esme at the island with a strong watchful eye and an apple in hand, ready to hand it over once the container was situated properly inside the bag. Her gaze, however, flickered up from the bag in a brief acknowledgement of Morgan's entry. "Good morning, honey," Esme was the one who spoke up, a smile pulling tightly at her lips. "How did you sleep?"

"Alright, I guess," Morgan shrugged.

Morgan approached the island and folded her arms atop the surface, leaning against it to brace for a sway of exhaustion, and Rosalie raised a brow. "I could hear you tossing around all night," she countered, neutrally.

Esme tsked, closing up the bag. "Rose, privacy."

"Something's obviously wrong—when was the last time she stayed up that late?" Rosalie argued, defending herself. "She's not supposed to be as pale as the rest of us, either."

"Thanks," Morgan made a face, her tone thoroughly sarcastic, as she sighed.

"We'll talk about this later. All of you need to get to school or you're going to be late," Esme said, mostly directed at Rosalie, before she pushed the lunch bag toward Morgan along the surface of the island. "Your lunch is all settled."

Morgan managed a small but warm smile of gratitude and picked up the bag, pushing off the island to stand upright. "Thanks, mom. I know we need to go, but—what do I say if Bella asks about what happened?"

"You weren't there, so you don't know what happened. You can't confirm or deny anything she might say about it," Esme answered.

It was easy for her to say something so dismissive. After all, Esme wouldn't be the one faced with the questions, or the reaction to such a response. The sound of it was cold and heartless enough—but to imagine herself saying it? Morgan's stomach tensed. Still, she nodded and kept the thought to herself, and found room for the packed lunch in her bag. Placing the bag on the island, Morgan stuffed the lunch bag inside next to her history report. It was then that Emmett entered the kitchen from the other side.

He wore his trademark loose smirk as he rounded the island, opposite Rosalie and Esme, and held out the keys to the Volkswagen toward Morgan. "Here you go, Squirt. Topped off the fluids for you," he said. As Morgan reached for the keys, he tugged them just out of her reach, and she tilted her head in an expression. He let her take the keys the second time with a chuckle. "Hope you don't mind, but we switched the schedule around a bit. I'm your co-pilot today."

Morgan paused, her eyes darting to Rosalie in a glance. "No offense, bro—but why?"

"It just works out better this way," he replied, waving it away with a nonchalant shrug. Morgan wanted to repeat herself—why? Why would they need to change the schedule? And why so suddenly? But, again, she bit her tongue. She didn't have the mental bandwidth to deal with more than she was already struggling to carry. There was no need to take on even more. She could ask about it later, she decided.

Still, it poked at the cloud of grogginess and stress and worry as though it might wake it up, bring it to life like Frankenstein's monster. Morgan pulled her bag onto her shoulder and started for the door with a sigh. In the foyer, Carlisle, Jasper, and Edward stood near the door in a half moon. She could hear their voices as their lips moved, but she was just far enough away that it sounded like gibberish—and, when she was close enough, they stopped talking altogether. Instead, they turned toward her, away from each other, and Carlisle smiled warmly at Morgan.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he greeted her as she approached, hands in the pockets of his slacks. "Try not to have too much fun at school today."

Morgan huffed a tired chuckle. "Oh, yeah, because school is a total rager."

"Does anyone else know what that means?" Jasper asked, in jest, as he turned to glance at Carlisle and Edward.

It was then that arms encircled her as Emmett darted in front, hefting her frame over his shoulder like a sack of flour, as though she were weightless entirely. Morgan squealed like a dog toy's after pressure, fingers gripping quickly at the back of his jacket for some kind of peace of mind. "Alright, I got everything," he spoke casually despite the humor intended. "You guys ready?"

Morgan propped her head on her knuckles, elbow braced against his shoulder, as he took steps toward the door. "I know I'm small, but I don't remember signing up to be a carry-on."

Edward sidestepped to reach for the front door, holding it open as Emmett ducked through the frame. Morgan flattened herself on his shoulder reflexively, though she had more than enough clearance to make it through, and she squinted against the harsh shift in lighting. Despite the overcast sky, the sunlight bounced harshly off the pale clouds and she could almost mistake it for being brighter this way. Edward stifled the small pull at the corners of his mouth, forcing them downward into something less uncharacteristic instead, before following them out.

Rosalie wasn't far behind and Jasper waited briefly for Alice before they headed outside as well. Emmett placed Morgan on the ground near the driver's side door of the Volkswagen and walked around the front to find the passenger side, while Morgan adjusted her clothes to smooth out the wrinkles. She climbed in behind the wheel of the bug and the others piled into Emmett's Jeep—all but Edward. He opted for the Volvo instead. Driving alone with his thoughts was always more comfortable than being subjected to everyone else's.

It wasn't out of the ordinary by any means, but Morgan found herself pondering it as the others started driving first, leading the way down the driveway toward the main road. What, if anything, could it have to do with their conversation last night? They hadn't interacted enough for her to predict just how differently he was going to act around her yet. Maybe nothing would change at all? He would continue to ignore her and she would continue to be angered by it, and that would simply be how they were. It was a disparaging thought.

With a shallow exhale of disappointment, Morgan began driving. Emmett wasn't too sure just how much talking she would feel like doing after the last time they were in the car together, and how it now affected her interactions with Alice and Edward. Still, he tried to lighten the mood with innocent small talk. Something to break up the icy silence of the morning commute. "Got any weekend plans with your friends?" he inquired, glancing away from the window to gauge her reaction.

"Maybe," she shrugged up a shoulder. "I was invited to dinner with the Blacks and the Clearwaters on Saturday, but I haven't talked to mom and dad yet."

"I'm sure it'll be fine. I mean, what's dinner going to do, right? Besides, Carlisle and Esme know how much you love spending time with them."

It sounded like an endearing statement, though it wasn't entirely true. They didn't know how much she cared about the people here. How could they? They couldn't feel her emotions or read her mind anymore. But Morgan bobbed her head in agreement and tightened her grip on the steering wheel in a momentary flex. They pulled into the parking lot and took spaces next to each other by the stairs, the three vehicles in a line. Morgan waited for the others to exit the Jeep, directly to her car's left, before climbing out and shutting her door.

They all waited at the ends of the cars. However, when Morgan joined them at the back of the Jeep, Edward was already ascending the stairs. It would be exactly as it was, she thought, withholding a sigh. Perhaps he just needed time? He had all of it in the world, after all. Though, she wondered just how old she'd be by the time he came around. Morgan internally startled as an arm wrapped around the backs of her shoulders, and she looked to the right to find Rosalie at her side. She guided her along the asphalt of the parking lot with her as she began taking steps.

"Don't pay any mind to Edward," she told Morgan. "None of us particularly likes it, but he's dealing with stress the only way he knows how. Don't take it personally."

The others followed somewhat closely behind them on their way to the stairs. It was odd to her, the sudden proximity after over a week of distance, but Morgan wasn't completely opposed to it. "It's hard not to," she admitted. Though they broke apart as they reached the stairs, Rosalie climbed them in step with Morgan to retain the conversation.

"Don't let his mood of the hour decide your worth. Be happy because you deserve it—not because he allows it."

Rosalie's features were soft but firm in the look she gave Morgan, insisting she absorb the value of the words and take them to heart. Though, Morgan couldn't help but wonder how many times Rosalie had to tell herself that when she was Morgan's age. She was speaking from a place of experience that Morgan couldn't ever truly understand. So, Morgan nodded once as she held Rosalie's gaze. "Okay," she agreed, however quietly.

At the top of the stairs, Rosalie split off with Emmett to walk to the door together as they always did. The conversation felt like some kind of fever dream. Had she really talked to her at all? Or, had she imagined it? Emmett held the door for Rosalie and continued to hold it open as Morgan came up second, and she mumbled a 'thank you' as she passed through. Then, she saw her—Bella. She stood at Morgan's locker, leaning back against the metal doors with her books, pinned to her chest beneath crossed arms.

She didn't notice Morgan walk in, instead looking at something else down the hall. But Morgan's stomach clenched regardless. It was an idea. Now, it was coming in the next few minutes. Although she continued her path toward her locker, Morgan slowed a half-step in nervous anticipation. Then, Bella looked back toward the door and, finally, saw Morgan approaching. She pushed off the lockers to stand upright, attempting a somewhat casual smile. "Hey," she greeted her.

"Hey," Morgan replied, coming to stand a foot away from her. "I heard about what happened. How are you?"

"I'm okay. Why weren't you at school yesterday?"

"My parents take us hiking as soon as the weather gets nice," Morgan toed the usual line effortlessly, the easiest of the lies, as she moved to open her locker.

Bella's brow furrowed curiously. "Hiking?"

"Among other things. They want to keep us as active as they are."

"Have you talked to Edward? I mean- about what happened?"

There it was. Morgan's shoulders stiffened, but she forced her features to flatten, using the movement of organizing books in her locker to help ground her performance. "Not really," she lied through a tense jaw. "I wasn't there so I've just gotten the story from bystanders, but my dad said you were really lucky to avoid getting injured. People really need to slow down in the parking lot."

Bella stared at Morgan, her brows lowering over her eyes, and she leaned her shoulder against the locker next to Morgan's. "He didn't mention that he's the one that stopped the van?"

"Uh…no. Like I said, I wasn't there—I didn't see what happened."

"Not you, too," Bella tilted her head, the disappointment audible in her voice. It caused Morgan to pause, pulling her head out of her locker to see her face, and her heart sank. Bella gave a frustrated sigh before pushing off the lockers and stepping around Morgan, joining the traffic in the hallway with a quick, "I'll see you around."

Morgan's eyes followed her as she disappeared around the corner at the end of the hall, and her shoulders dropped. Bella's response repeated in her mind as the guilt of it pooled in the pit of her stomach like wet cement. It wouldn't be long before it dried, hardened concrete holding the true weight of what she'd just done, the bridge she'd just burnt. She gripped the edge of her locker with both hands and hung her head, adjusting her stance to lean into the metal. There was a better way to handle it, she knew—but that would mean telling the truth.

If Bella was supposed to be one of them, why was Morgan told to lie? Why were they still hiding things from her? Was Edward saving her from the van not supposed to be the moment it was all revealed to her? Above all things, the confusion was frustrating. It felt like they'd finally been honest with her about what was going on, only to realize she had only a partial piece of the puzzle. It did nothing when the rest of the pieces were still so completely missing.

After a moment, she grabbed the textbook for her first class and shut the locker door—a bit harder than usual—before walking quickly to the classroom. She couldn't help but notice Edward and Alice at the lockers on the opposite wall, staring so obviously as she turned to leave. It had to be them. Morgan simply rolled her eyes at their sympathetic expressions and continued on. If they truly felt bad, she thought, they wouldn't force me to lie like that.


At lunchtime, Morgan didn't quite feel like eating, but she forced herself to take at least a few bites as to not seem bothered. Though, it bothered her to be pretending to function normally like her siblings. Pretending to be hungry, to not know things she obviously did, painting her pale skin with the fakest smile in the room. How did it come to this? Exhaling through her nose, she shifted in her seat to lean a forearm against the table. Drew and Tommy were arguing only somewhat playfully about something—what specifically, she had drowned out.

Their voices were like hums inside a tin can as her eyes focused on the gentle yellow of the plastic container holding her lunch. A sudden jolt of ice raced up her spine, cold air fanned against her arm like a gust from an air conditioner, and her head snapped up. The space to the right of her was occupied, the seat filled now by the last of her siblings she could possibly expect to see. Edward sat stiffly in the chair but he slouched gently to give an illusion of comfortability. However, the creases and shadows of his features gave him away.

The others didn't seem to notice it. The most shocking thing was simply his presence at all. Liz's eyes flicked toward Morgan's and Morgan gave the smallest shake of her head, widening her eyes briefly in a gesture. She had no idea what was going on. Edward glanced across the table at the others and attempted a polite smile. "Hello," he spoke somewhat timidly, though confident all the same. "Sorry if I'm intruding. I don't think we've been properly introduced."

Liz gave a pointed look at the others to her right before taking the initiative, attempting to keep the interaction moving positively. "You're totally fine. I'm Liz."

"Short for Elizabeth?" Edward asked her, partly rhetorical.

"Lizard."

Edward blinked. But he nodded slowly, forcing his lips to stay upright in his own attempt to keep things positive. "I'm Mikayla," the farthest down the table spoke up next, drawing his eyes. Then they pointed at the boys to their left with a thumb aimed sideways, "That's Tommy, and that's Drew."

"Lucas isn't here today, but he's our sixth Musketeer," Liz added, explaining the emptiness of the chair he sat in now.

This was unnecessary. Edward knew all their names, all their faces—though, he wasn't supposed to. After all, he wasn't supposed to be downstairs when Morgan brought them over, and he wasn't supposed to be able to hear them talk from across the cafeteria. But this was a much more organic approach to the table, because it was half right as well. They hadn't been properly introduced.

Morgan sat deathly still, though leaned back against the plastic chair, watching the interactions in silent mortification. They were normal, but it was all too easy for them to change. What was he even doing at their table? What was the purpose of this? Was there a plan at all? Knowing Edward, probably not. Nonchalantly, she glanced to the left, over her shoulder. Sure enough, the other Cullen siblings were in fact boring holes into everyone at her table.

They were never as subtle as they thought they were. It was almost laughable sometimes. However, right now, it was only terrifying. "...I guess I thought it a good idea to get to know the people my sister is hanging out with," Edward was responding to something someone else said when Morgan's ears tuned back into the conversation at the table, and her eyes darted quickly to pick up any details that could tell her just what the topic was.

"A bunch of losers," Tommy sarcastically commented.

Mikayla scoffed, adjusting in their seat to better angle an upturned middle finger toward him. "Speak for yourself, nerd."

"Oh, right, excuse me," Tommy placed a hand on his chest in a playfully dramatic gesture, before all playfulness fell from his face as he turned to look toward Edward instead. "A bunch of losers plus that theater kid over there."

Drew's face remained pressed against his palm, sitting between them, as he leaned his elbow against the tabletop, and Liz rolled her eyes as she leaned back in her seat with folded arms. Though, something finally intrigued Edward. "You're into theater?" he asked Mikayla.

"I played Tree Number Three in my kindergarten play and couldn't get away," Mikayla nodded slowly. "We're doing Macbeth this year and, if I'm lucky, I might get to play the obligatory skull."

Edward visibly hid a humored smirk, and Morgan couldn't help but stare a moment. Despite their conversation last night, it was so jarring to see him like this, being friendly and interacting with her friends. Though, it did bring a certain warmth to the pit of her stomach to know this was a choice. No one made him come over and sit down. There was no ulterior motive. He was simply doing what she told him he should—living. Or, at the very least, trying to start. She blinked in an inward startle at the sound of the bell.

"Shit," Liz stood from the table abruptly, grabbing her tray with one hand and pulling her bag onto her shoulder with the other. The others at the table were quick to follow suit, scrambling to return their trays and gather their things, and Morgan stood second-to-last. Followed only by Edward.

"I'll walk you to class," he said, partially over his shoulder as he pushed in his chair. It was a normal thing to offer. But Morgan could sense the thinly veiled apprehension in the tension of his shoulders as he stood upright. The rest of the phrase was written over his face with hopeful and sheepish ink—if you want me to—and Morgan gave a small nod in response. What could it hurt? Saying no now might discourage him from reaching out in the future.

This was delicate, she knew, as she fell into step with him on a path toward the cafeteria doors. She would simply have to find a balance somewhere between spending time and obliging the instinct to find his presence stressful, until that instinct went away altogether.