Edward scrolls through his phone, leaning up against one of the many archways in the long gallery hall.

Not a single photo has been posted on Bella's Instagram account since December. Not surprising, seeing as she doesn't tend to post much anyway, but he's still disappointed.

She's been absent from Jessica and Angela's posts as well.

It's the night of Jane and Alec's debut, an event that Aro's been talking about for weeks. Several collectors have expressed interest in their blotchy, paint-strewn canvases. Edward somehow managed to get out of presenting anything himself, but pieces by other artists are also on display. A relatively impressive assortment of sculptures, paintings, and drawings adorn the space.

His social media feed is horribly unfulfilling. He hates himself for falling victim to the endless feed of superficial posts, searching for the smallest morsel of his ex. There's a photo of a nineteenth-century cabinet Esme restored, Alice dancing to a Zella Day remix, Kate with her new boyfriend...

He closes the app.

Standing up straight, he stretches and rolls his neck, his bones popping and creaking. It does nothing to fix the tense, knotted feeling in his spine.

He would trade anything right now to be cramped up on that impossibly small, lumpy, twin-sized bed in Bella's old childhood bedroom. The room encapsulated everything that is Bella, from the printed-out pictures of her high school classmates taped to the wall to all the books she had to leave behind because they wouldn't fit in the cabin of her truck when she moved to Seattle.

They brought back a good chunk of the well-worn novels with them on their way home.

He's certain he'll never find another woman as profoundly interesting or radiantly beautiful as her. For a moment, the happy memories that spill into his thoughts make his heart feel light, but they're immediately quashed when he reminds himself of his current predicament.

She deserves better.

Across the room, he watches people mingling to distract himself.

Edward's never seen Aro's wife Sulpicia in person until today, but she looks exactly like how she's depicted in the large oil portrait in the east wing. Aro leads her around the room as they chat with guests, her face gaunt against her all-black attire and jet black hair.

"Aro says she's still in mourning," a small, high-pitched voice says from under his elbow. Edward looks down and sees Jane, clad in a deep burgundy dress that seems too frilly and princess-y for her personality. "Did you hear her best friend went missing? Aro's sister. They're still looking for her, he told me."

Edward nods. "Didyme. She got married and was about to leave for Barcelona with Marcus for their honeymoon."

He heard about it from Carlisle shortly after it occurred. The story the newspapers put out is bullshit, but he's not going to tell a child that Aro's missing sister is dead and it was likely an inside job. Especially not a child that appears to be waiting for him to screw up so she can run back to Aro and tattle.

"How tragic." The tone of Jane's words comes across as weirdly gleeful. Smug. "She probably just decided she wanted to start over fresh without him. He seems kind of clingy."

She's fishing for information.

"I have to go," he says with a scowl, moving away from her. He overhears Caius talking with a buyer interested in a painting comprised of magenta and orange splatters. The asking price, he says, is thirteen thousand euros.

One of the waitstaff offers him a glass of wine. He declines, not wanting to risk drinking—even if it is legal here—when he's in such a poor mood. It'll mess with his head even more.

In the corner, Corin begins to play a dreamy melody on the harp. She's been a resident musician for the better half of the past decade, but—much like Sulpicia—she's been largely absent from gatherings until now.

Edward feels he's stayed long enough to call it a night. He wants to be alone, and the whir of conversation around him is giving him a headache.

Next weekend he's supposed to be on a flight back to Seattle. It's been too long since he's been home and talked him Carlisle, Esme, Emmett, and Alice in person. It's like it was another lifetime, but he isn't sure he's even living anymore.

Aro and his collection of supposedly like-minded creatives feel anything but welcoming and familiar. He remembers Carlisle recounting his time spent in Europe with them. He described it as uncomfortable. He didn't like the air of duplicity and insincerity that seemed to settle over the group.

The most he's seen or heard in his three months in Volterra has been regurgitated rumors and whispers about past residents. It's nothing that would build any sort of credible case. Plus it would be reckless to try to dig for dirt on someone as respected and influential in the academic and art community as Aro.

He doesn't particularly care for Aro, though, and he needs a distraction.

Irritated and wanting to destroy something other than his sanity, he grabs his laptop, navigates to Didyme's abandoned social media accounts, and sets to work.

...

"Hey, I haven't seen you around before. Are you a freshman here?"

Jasper looks up from his spot seated on the couch and sees a college girl staring down at him from her thick, dark lashes. Flustered, he nods, lying.

The party around them is deafening. People have to shout to hear each other. Squeals and laughter fill the house.

She takes a seat next to him. "I don't go here, I'm just visiting. What's your name?" she asks, brushing her long, brunette waves over her shoulder and cocking her head to the side. The heady scent of vodka intermingles with her cloyingly sweet, fruity perfume.

"Jasper."

"Jasper, hm...It's nice to meet you." Her voice is mellow and smooth. She sips the half-empty bottle of clear alcohol in her hand and offers it to him.

His stomach does an anxious flip, but he can't bring himself to say no. She's very pretty and she's talking to him of all people at this party. He should be polite.

He wants her to like him.

He takes a drink and the alcohol burns his throat. Fighting off the urge to grimace, he starts to hand it back to her, but she doesn't take it. She nods toward the bottle encouragingly and he swallows another gulp.

It's not as bad the second time. He goes for a third.

"I'm Maria," she says her name with a smile. "Are you here with anyone?"

"Yeah, my roommate..." He looks around, searching and not finding him. "Peter."

Click.

The sound of a door opening and footsteps padding across the floor wake Jasper from his light slumber.

Peter's voice—the present-day Peter who he still lives with—cuts through the living room loudly. "Your girlfriend won't be happy if she sees you with that."

Alice. He's supposed to be staying clean for Alice. She'll worry if she finds out.

Jasper sets down the glass of whisky he's working through and lets the book he was unsuccessfully attempting to read fall shut.

The cyclical memories won't stop.

A stressful nightmare-filled five hours of sleep, unfortunately, turned into a stressful two hours of trying to fall back asleep, followed by giving up and giving into what he knows will calm his mind: a drink.

Only it didn't.

He must have dozed off again.

"What are you still doing here?" Jasper asks. He thought Peter went to work already. Based on the time and the business casual button-down and slacks he's wearing, he's running late.

"I overslept. I would have kept sleeping, but one of my regulars decided to call me eight times. He needs to chill out. I told him before that I'm not available during the day. I have shit to do," Peter says exasperatedly. "I can't wait until I'm done with this. Just a few more months and I'll have my savings back up to a healthy amount. Then I retire to corporate America."

"Once I get a job, I'll pay you back for rent," Jasper says, reminding him for the dozenth time that he's not intending on freeloading. "I had a phone interview yesterday."

"Cool. How did it go?"

"I'm getting called back for an in-person the week after next. Seems promising."

"You'll get it. You're good at talking the talk." Peter grabs his keys off the kitchen counter. "Alright, I'm heading out. Stop drinking my Jack Daniel's. Go outside or something."

...

Bella trudges over the dirt path, slowly crossing over the uneven terrain with a careful step.

"I was surprised when you said you wanted to go hiking," Jacob says from behind her. "It doesn't seem like your thing."

"Yeah, well, I kind of want to find something. It's a clearing I used to go to sometimes with a friend..." she replies vaguely, the image of the flower-filled field she and Edward often went to coming to mind.

"Sweet. Okay."

She changes the subject before he can ask for details. "How are things with Embry?"

Jacob huffs, annoyed. "Now Seth's hanging out with them, too. I told them they're stupid and wished them a happy life together with Sam since they don't care about anything else. Quil mentioned something about how he isn't even going off to college anymore because Sam offered him a job if he sticks around home. It's beyond dumb."

"He was so excited about campus tours though..."

"I know. That's what I'm saying. It's like he's been brainwashed." Jacob sighs and runs his hands through his hair.

Bella picks at a split end in her hair and chews her lip as she ponders this information. "A lot of my high school friends started acting weird right around graduation, too. I think it's because people start realizing they don't have to see each other ever again if they don't want to. It's kind of liberating to get to move away from your parents and make all of your own decisions."

He shakes his head. "But they're deciding to stay home to do the same crap they've always done. I thought we would be going on an adventure together."

"Yeah. I get it," Bella replies in a low voice. "You think you can depend on someone, then they change their mind and leave."

"You mean your mom?"

This catches her off guard. "What? No, my mom's fine. I...I had a falling out with a...really good friend not too long ago. A new college friend."

"That sucks. The friend you would go hiking with?"

"Yeah. Oh. This is it." Distracted by the conversation, she didn't even notice they somehow found their way to her and Edward's clearing.

Jacob looks at her with an inquisitive look for a moment before dropping the topic. "Hey, I think I saw a restroom not too far back. If you think you'll be able to not trip and fall down the side of the park, I'm gonna go use it," he says, pointing back toward the main trail where they came from.

"Hm? Oh, sure. I'll be here."

Just like her, the beautiful, flower-filled clearing is now just a plain, boring void in the forestry. Soggy plants and gloomy scenery.

After a while of sulking and finally accepting that her surroundings aren't going to magically burst into a rainbow of orange, yellow, and purple—because she's stuck with this disappointing sea of Pacific Northwest green—she hears footsteps and rustling. Jacob must be back.

"Hey, Jake, let's go check out the waterfront like you were wanting to do." She turns and recoils when she sees the person who just walked into the clearing with her is not Jacob.

He's not as tall, and definitely not as happy and cheerful—or muscular—but he does have dark hair and dark eyes. And she recognizes him.

"Laurent," she says..

"Oh, hello, Bella. I wasn't expecting to see you here." He smiles. "Are you out here hiking all by yourself?"

She feels her nerves start to rise. He was James' friend, but is he angry with her? She's the reason why his friend ended up being caught. Or is he relieved? Grateful?

"Oh, yeah, I'm...with a friend. He's just over there." She points in the general direction where she thinks Jacob went.

"Not Edward? I noticed his podcast hasn't been airing since December. Did something happen?" Laurent's thick French accent permeates through the brisk air, sending her mind in a thousand directions as she's reminded anew how impossibly alone she is.

She shouldn't trust him.

"Lie," she can hear Edward's voice say softly in her head.

"No, no, nothing happened. He's focusing on school. He's graduating soon, so there's a lot going on."

She glances over and for a moment she does see Edward standing there in the clearing, looking just as she saw him last. "You don't sound very convincing," the image of Edward says.

"I'm going to go see him after this. He's meeting me...at a restaurant downtown...for dinner."

"Oh. Strange, I thought he was really into the outdoors. He must be very concerned about passing his exams," Laurent says. "Although I haven't seen him on campus recently. About James, though, I had—"

"Hey," Jacob calls out, interrupting their conversation.

Bella exhales in relief at her friend's voice. "Jake, this is Laurent. Laurent, Jake."

"It's nice to meet you. I was just about to leave, but I recognized a familiar face," Laurent says with a strangely polite tone. "I'll see you around campus."

"Okay. Bye..."

As his figure disappears back through the trees, Jacob gives her a curious look. "A classmate?"

"He was...friends with one of my professors. The one that was on the news that Charlie freaked out over."

"Oh, what!? He's not still friends with him right? Is he a creep too?" Jacob spins around, his muscles tensed. "I'll fight him if he is."

"I don't know. Don't fight him. Um. Do you want to head back? It's kind of cold out here."

Jacob grabs her hands and his palms are practically searing with warmth. She feels like an icicle even though she's wearing her warmest sweater—an itchy, somewhat lopsided creation of Renées in a dull, forest green.

"You're freezing, huh?" he says with a laugh.

She starts to feel weird when he continues holding her hands. She can't decide if she likes it or if it feels completely and totally wrong. An awkward atmosphere surrounds them.

He leans down like he's going to kiss her, and she pulls back instinctively. "Um, Jake, we should go."

"Right, sure. I'm feeling chowder-y. Wanna hit up that restaurant up the street from your place?" he suggests. "It looks good. The parking lot is always full."

"The parking lot is always full everywhere. We're in Seattle."

"Yeah, true." He beams his warm, sunny, Jacob smile at her. "Man, college applications are going to start showing up soon. I hope I get in."

"What's your backup?"

"Wazu! We might be rivals." He laughs again, teasingly pokes her in the ribs.

...

Jasper sees Esme's Tesla pull up to the campus roundabout as he stands waiting on the sidewalk. Alice is in the driver's seat, bundled up in a fuzzy beige coat. She unlocks the doors, grinning excitedly and waving.

"How was your morning?" she chimes as he gets in the vehicle. "Good? Good. I have errands today. I need to go to the fabric store in Fremont to pick up some more things."

She doesn't take a moment to breathe as she relays to him the daily itinerary.

"Then maybe we can stop by the bakery near there. They have really good green tea tiramisu. Do you like green tea? Do you like tiramisu?"

"Okay, sure. Yeah."

"And after that, we need to go by the grocery store to get things Esme asked for in exchange for me borrowing her car. She made me a list. It's like laundry soap and oat milk and...I don't know. Some other stuff."

Jasper nods and pushes his hair back from his face with a sigh, sinking into his seat.

Alice gives him a once-over, seemingly appraising his appearance.

He might have blown it already.

He hopes she doesn't smell the alcohol on him. He's since showered and had a cup of coffee, but he still feels the lingering buzz and lightness in his body that comes immediately following several drinks.

She smiles. His heart flutters. His stomach sinks.

Should he tell her?

Alice frowns, tilting her head to the side a little. "Did I miss something?"

He shakes his head.

"I'm glad that we're almost done with winter quarter," she continues. "I've been worried about Edward being away at that fine arts program."

She hasn't noticed. Relief and guilt wash over him. "Because it's so far away?" he asks, happy to keep the conversation topic away from himself as much as possible.

"No, that particular atelier has a reputation for being kind of...controversial. It's home to a highly prestigious group called the Volturi. They sponsor a lot of really talented artists, but they're also tied to a lot of accidents." She starts to pull out of campus and onto the street, heading south. "Carlisle grew up with the program director there, and they were friends for a while, but he said they aren't the kind of people he wants to continue associating with."

"Are they pretentious?"

"Yeah, I guess you can call it that. It's rumored that the Volturi are linked to organized crime, but they're also wildly acclaimed in the industry, so it's hard to say," she answers. "Their biggest and most recent scandal involved the disappearance of one of the program director's wives."

He's struggling to follow what she's saying.

This morning was a mistake. One of several hiccups in his attempted recovery. If he keeps trying, he can do better. He just needed one last taste before starting over.

Or he's one step away from setting off an avalanche that buries him back in the worst of it.

He might be so climatized to his old lifestyle that he's not meant to come back from it.

Alice is still talking. "Edward has a very strong sense of judgment, so I don't think he'd get involved, but it's still less than ideal. I can't very well pop in with a vision to save the day when he's a few thousand miles away."

Jasper could cut out the pills, limit his drinking to a couple of drinks here and there, and still be functioning. Plenty of people have wine with dinner or drinks on the weekends. He can make an effort to drink more water and not stay up so late, so that should balance it out. He wonders if that will give him the effect he's after.

"At least with Bella, she's close. Honestly, I'm more worried about her than Edward. She's like a danger magnet. I don't think I've ever met someone so accident-prone in my life. I wonder what that's like." Alice flicks on the turn signal and steers them into the right-hand lane.

How long will he be able to keep that a secret? If they're spending every day together, she'll know right away. She's been inviting him over a lot more often lately.

He likes being invited over more, too. That's not the problem. He wants to be with her always.

"What's wrong?" she asks, cutting through his internal debate.

He looks over at her with a feigned expression of confusion. "Nothing's wrong."

"You're being quiet, and I've barely seen you this week." She slows at a stop sign and takes a moment to search his expression. He tries to look as unperturbed as possible.

"Finals are coming up," he offers as an excuse.

"I don't think you have to worry. You've been studying all quarter."

"And I've been preparing my internship application. I'm waiting to hear back from them to schedule an interview."

"You're good at interviewing. You said so yourself. I'm sure you'll get it," she counters cheerfully.

She's going to find out.

Heat rises in his chest. He feels cornered. The words come out of his mouth sounding sharp without trying. "I don't know, Alice. You asked what's bothering me, and I told you."

She focuses her eyes back on the road, her shoulders rigid. He hurt her feelings. He feels like shit.

When they get to the fabric store, she manages to find a few dozen different out-of-print bolts that she has Jasper carry over to the counter so the shop attendant can measure and ring them up.

It takes him three trips to get it all into the trunk once she's finished buying up what seems like the entirety of the store, humming all the while.

By the time they get to the bakery, she's still matching his reserved mood with an unprecedented level of blithe untalkativeness. She chats with the barista in a superficially cheery voice before having him order for himself—"I'll have the same"—and he decides he can't handle it anymore.

"I'm sorry," he says, slumped over their small table of tea and tiramisu.

He peeks up at her and she's eating her dessert with wide eyes, nodding. "For what?"

"I lied earlier. Something is bothering me."

"Are you drinking still?" she asks.

He sets his head down on the cool, wood tabletop. "Yeah. I haven't been coming over because I didn't want you to find out. I promise it's not as bad as before."

"Oh. I'm glad you're telling me now." She pats him on top of the head in a reassuring manner. "It takes time. You'll be okay. You have whip cream in your hair, but you'll be okay. And...hm...you told me to tell you if something is going on in my life, but you know you can talk to me about stuff, too, right?."

"Yeah."

"I'm trying to help. You can trust me."

And because she's what he's most afraid of losing at this point—the one person pulling him up from his seemingly inescapable pit of depression—he does trust her. More than anyone else, he trusts her.