"So, what brings you to breaking into my house?" Lex queries, pushing half a turkey-lettuce sandwich across the table.

It's cold and stale and a little too greasy, but it's down his gullet in the blink of an eye.

It's been a whole forty minutes, and he's starving.

"Sorry about the window," Quil mutters around a mouthful of sandwich, eyeing the crooked frame. "I can probably fix that. Maybe." He swallows, weighing his words. "So, where's Embry fled to? I hope it's somewhere warm. I could use a tan."

Kim makes a face over her cooling coffee. "Quil, it's not the time-"

Lex scoffs. "May as well let him finish. Not like we have anyone else around here to complain to." She turns to face Quil, offering him a half-hearted shrug. "I have no idea where he is. It's better I don't know. Probably better you don't know either."

His hands shake under the table, so blurry that Lex can't quite tell where Quil ends and space begins.

"You don't get it, do you? I don't get anything to myself. Not even my own fucking brain," he hisses, pressing deep imprints of his fingers into the melamine table.

Lex scoots her chair back, eyeing him cautiously. Kim's already excused herself to the kitchen in a silent display of fear.

"Please don't break my table. I have like, no money for a new one."

He calms slightly, trembling only at a stuttering pace. "No shifts lately?"

"They fired me. Between the fight in the forecourt and the shit with my dad, they decided I was too much work."

Quil's face darkens, though the shaking remains at bay. She has to strain her ears to discern his words. "It's over, then."

"Huh?"

His face is all pinched and weird and, for a moment, Lex is sure he's about to give up on having a normal human conversation entirely. She's torn between begging him to stay - God knows she needs intel from the outside world - and watching him go, just like always.

She's always being left. Never leaving.

"Don't make me explain it."

"Please?"

He sighs, looking significantly more pained than usual. Seeing Quil all tied up in knots is a strange sight - she's used to seeing him as the joker, permanently jocular and unruffled. Quil all angsty and tormented is an especially unsettling sight.

"Embry's gone, you got fired, and the restraining order's sorted. This'll be the last time I see you, and I can't even get the whole story without everyone else finding out. You don't see how shitty that is?"

She blinks hard. "You...want me to stay?"

"Duh," he utters, staring at her as if she's grown a third head. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"Friends," she echoes, testing the word in her mouth. Unfamiliar as the concept has been, having company has really grown on her in the preceding months. Leaving it all behind just because of some stupidly complicated supernatural politics seems like a waste of time and energy and happiness.

Before she can say otherwise, Kim slides into the chair beside her, seemingly satisfied with Quil's newfound calmness. "Friends, obviously. Can't get rid of us this easily."

They're looking at her expectantly, hopefully, and all she can see is Embry's beaming smile when she'd finally called him her friend.

Embry, Embry, Embry.

It starts and ends with him.

"Friends," she says finally, though her mind remains elsewhere.

Her mind, just like her heart, is with Embry, and that's the problem.

Embry's shaky sense of calm lasts a pleasant forty minutes, spanning the length of three games and countless gutter balls. Jake, irritating as always, bowls two perfect games (asshole). It's not until after they turn in their sweaty shoes, trading laughter and rowdiness for a comfortable silence, that everything falls apart in the cool evening air.

There, oh-so casually poised against Jacob's gleaming truck, is the blonde bitch, looking as haughty as ever. Her tiny smirk quirks just the tiniest bit higher as they approach, seeming equal parts intrigued and disdainful. Embry chances a sidelong glance at Jake, but his gaze is fixed firmly ahead, staring at Rosalie with the kind of seriousness that has his skin prickling.

"Call," she greets coldly, her eyes only briefly leaving Jacob.

He can't help but feel silently pleased at her acknowledgement. Across the many years he's known her (far too many for his liking), he's never heard his name leave her undead lips. A simple acknowledgement. It's a start.

Jacob's smooth brow betrays no emotions, but his low tone is enough of a warning. "Didn't pick you for the bowling type, Blondie."

It's a statement, sure, but it's also a challenge - why are you following me? - in fewer words.

She cocks her head slightly, but there's no malice in the gesture. "I noticed you had company. It's...unusual."

Jacob nods stiffly, crossing his arms against his chest. "Yes. He's only passing through."

"I see. Well, Jacob, if you just so happened to go with him...I would convey nothing. I hardly expect Edward would go searching."

Jacob tips his chin marginally, giving the smallest indication of assent.

Rosalie pauses for a moment, seemingly contemplating something further. She opens her mouth as if to speak, before snapping it shut with finality. She turns with a swish of her flowing, golden hair, melting away into the dreary surroundings as if a mirage.

Jacob exhales noisily once he's sure she's left, roughly raking his fingers through his hair. It's a gesture that transports him to another time - a simpler one, surely - but he can't be upset with the nostalgia. It's comforting, soothing; a reminder of when things were better.

"Well," Embry says, clearing his throat, "that was weird. Are you heading back to the Cullens'?"

He nods stiffly. "Yes. I have to. I'm used to Edward - I can keep this out of my head - but I need you to stay away. If he reads your mind…"

Instant death, probably.

Embry winces, all too aware of the consequences of flying too close to the sun. "I get it. I won't phase, either. I'll be the sneakiest guest you've ever had."

At that, Jake lets out a real laugh, one of those throaty guffaws that attest to the real him. "Em, you're the only guest I've had here. No competition."

"Lucky for them, huh," Embry teases, winking at Jake. "Not even Quil could rate above me."

"Sure, sure," he smiles, shaking his head slightly. "Look, hang around for the time being. I'll work something out...somehow."

There's no point assenting to this - when it comes to Jake, even a simple suggestion conveys the surety of an Alpha order, but Embry nods regardless, watching Jake climb into his truck. He peels out of the lot just as hastily as he'd arrived, leaving Embry alone and deflated. It's not the first time he feels the call of the Rez, but the longer he resists, the stronger the pull becomes. Part of it is Lex's iron-clad connection to his psyche, beckoning him to return to the comfort of her arms, but he's acutely aware of Sam's summons stretching across time and space.

If he closes his eyes, focusing on the pressure in his temples, the voices become clearer, like an AM transmitter being tuned. The pull is a constant, unspoken thing, but Sam's voice eventually comes into clarity - maybe an attempt at an Alpha order, though Lord knows those things no longer work on Embry.

Em..bry… Phase...Return to...the Rez…

Whether it's the physical distance or his refusal to bow to Sam's authority that interrupts the transmission, the implications are clear: Sam has no knowledge of his actual location. For the most part, he can tune it out, even if it results in a throbbing headache.

Some pains are worth it.

Embry contemplates his odd predicament as he cruises through the town in his own truck, rolling his windows down to be awash with the icy air.

It has to be done, he tells himself, if only to stymie the growing anxiety blooming after the run-in with Rosalie. One fight with Edward would leave him as lupine mincemeat, probably with little effort invested on the vampire's part. Knowing this mortal end doesn't do much to dissuade him from the plan, but it sure sends his stomach into cartwheeling knots. Above all, he's following his fated path - the imprint is no good for him, no good for Lex, and staying idle in La Push is a non-starter.

Still, the thought of pushing towards some sort of final separation is terrifying. He wants Lex more than he wants air, craving her with every heartbeat, and it ruins him. Losing her for real will destroy him beyond what Sam or even Jacob are capable of through their orders, and there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.

He wants sleepy mornings with her legs tangled around his, her hot breath awash against the shell of his ear.

He wants those late nights, cramming for some test that's far too easy for her, and all too challenging for him; he can see her patient expression in his mind's eye, coaxing him towards understanding.

Her, arms thrown around his middle in an unexpected embrace.

Lex.

He's in love with her, and he's all too aware that she'd never accept his love with the weight of the imprint lingering behind his words. It makes sense, sure, but it doesn't stop him from gripping the steering wheel in a vice grip.

Embry pulls off into the lot of some diner, more focused on keeping his skin intact than watching the road.

"It's not fair," he whispers, letting out a pathetic whine that echoes in his ears.

He loves her, and he knows - knows, without a single doubt in his mind - that she loves him, too. They love each other, despite their flaws and fucked-up histories and supernatural inheritances, and that should be enough. Loving her should give him all the confidence in the world that the perfect little future he falls asleep imagining will come true. He wants her at midnight and in the early mornings, her sleeping face lit with the neon glow of the alarm clock. He sees her, swallowed up in his sweater, glowing with the excitement of shared secrets and hopeful futures. Above all, he sees her beside him, his mother's ring on her finger, in the house they both call home.

In every incarnation, he sees her beside him, grinning widely, openly loving him.

Embry cracks the truck door, sliding to his knees on the pavement as he retches. His wolf simmers just below the surface of his human consciousness, calling for him to phase, for him to return to his brothers. Just as his skin prickles with anticipation, so does the wolf call, coaxing him towards the four-legged form he's so intimately familiar with.

He's hunched over, shaking like a goddamn leaf, and all he can feel is disgust and disappointment and pure fury at this stupid situation he's been cursed with.

"Uh, sir?" a tiny voice calls, uncertain and mousy.

He lifts his head wearily, trying his hardest to suppress the menacing gleam of the wolf's eyes.

She's a small thing, barely sixteen if he had to guess, and she's shaking like a leaf, too. "Are you okay? I think they have Narcan inside if you need it."

"Narcan? What - oh, God, no, I'm not on drugs. I'm just having a, uh, personal crisis. It's okay," he stutters, feeling his cheeks flush with the displeasure of humiliation.

He rocks back onto his haunches, trying to contain the bile lingering in his throat. The shaking has subsided, at least, though he can feel his wolf is mighty pissed.

"Oh," she murmurs, immediately brightening. "Well, we have plenty of coffee inside if you'd like some. I can probably sneak you a cup without my boss seeing."

Embry squints at her, wondering what exactly compels her kindness, but she doesn't waver in her broad grin.

"C'mon. It'll probably rain again soon," she says, beckoning him towards the diner.

It does rain that evening, and late into the night, too, washing the pain of the day away into the inky night.

He drinks four cups, five, and is working towards a sixth, when the kind girl from the afternoon - Sarah, he learns - is replaced by an older woman, harsher, grittier, with that no bullshit air that he admires.

She doesn't say a word until she approaches with the coffee pot for his seventh refill, her scowl slowly morphing into something softer.

"Look, I don't getcha deal, and I ain't chasing your story," she says, pursing her lips, "but you best not be bringing no trouble around Sarah. She's a good young thing, and I'm damned if I don't warn you away."

He looks up from the grits in his cup, meeting her harsh stare for the first time all evening. "I'm only passing through," he says, offering his mug for a refill. "Sarah was kind to me. That's all."

His answer placates her, and she permits herself to smile for a brief moment. "Sarah's like that. Nicer than most, I bet."

Embry nods, remembering how she'd slipped him a flaky croissant concealed in a crumpled napkin, refusing to take his change. He'd done nothing to deserve her compassion - hell, he was moments away from puking all over their pavement - and still she'd welcomed him in without hesitation.

"If you're runnin' from somethin', you'd better know you ain't gonna escape it. Your troubles ain't here, but they'll always be out there," she mutters, jerking her head towards the door. "Even the smart ones forget that."

He says nothing, training his eyes onto the grooves on the table until she leaves.

Embry follows the two deepest lines with his fingers, studying their trajectory. He thinks of angles and curves, remembering the hours spent on the phone with Lex, listening to her read his textbooks aloud into all hours of the night.

The lines in the pine wobble and turn, moving from distance to closeness, eventually converging into one thick groove. It's stronger, deeper, than the other etchings in the surface, though the lines soon diverge. The curves resume, and though the beauty of their path is not lost on him, he can't help but trace over their join again and again.

The symbolism is not lost on him.

Quil would call him sappy.

Lex would grin, pleased at his eventual comprehension of the million and one things she'd been burdened with teaching him.

It's then, mid-sip of his bitter coffee that the idea strikes him, burrowing into his brain like a bot fly. For all the scheming and planning and plotting he's been doing, he's neglected to approach the most obvious solution of all.

When Embry was a boy, bundled up snug and tight in a ratty sleeping bag by the bonfire, he'd listen to all sorts of stories told by the Elders. Old Quil always had the spookiest ones, the kind that would keep his eyes glued to the window of his bedroom as he tried to settle down for sleep, dreading the appearance of a Cold One slipping through the cracks. Those stories were the fodder of nightmares, of half-baked torchlight tales told at the countless sleepovers he had with Jake and Quil. Old Quil's stories never failed to entertain. The most important stories came from Billy Black; Embry could never have known at the time, but the stories told so casually in his childhood had become the pivotal reference point in his crisis of faith.

Billy had told the boys of spirit quests the moment the summer before they hit puberty in some kind of traditional coming of age talk. They'd cringed through it at the time - still blushing from the awkward girl talk that had preceded it - but the knowledge was slowly trickling into the forefront of his mind.

Billy ran a hand across his forehead, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Embry looked at Jacob, but the boy had his eyes set on his shoes. Quil was of no help, either; his eyes were trained on his fidgeting fingers.

"I know you've already heard many of the legends - and you will hear them again, I'm sure - but this one is a special one. It's a tradition for our boys, a special path that will take you into adulthood, surer and wiser.

There will come a point in your adolescence where you are unsure of the right way forward. You may ask advice, thinking seriously of your actions, though this will be fruitless. The only way into experience is through the vision quest."

Jacob leaned forwards, wrinkling his nose. "Vision quest? I don't think anyone goes questing these days, Dad."

Billy shot him a sharp look, quietening him immediately. "Not all men will; the men who do will learn their higher purpose."

Embry nodded slowly, mulling it over. "What happens on the quest?"

"You commune with the spirits, my boy," he said, looking seriously at each in turn. "You let go of your ego, releasing everything but your soul. When you have fully delivered yourself to the spirits, only then will you understand what it is you are to do."

Embry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drown out the pull and Sam's prodding and his swimming thoughts. If he could separate everything but his core being from the chaff, petitioning to the spirits for wisdom, perhaps there might just be a chance for him to sever the strings.

He slid his phone out of his pocket - miraculously charged, somehow - to type a short, vague text to Lex. Knowing his plan would be dangerous for her, especially if her phone ended up sighted by the wrong person. Ambiguous would be his best bet.

If my plan works, this will all disappear. Stay with Kim. You can trust Quil.

He powered the phone off before he could think twice, knowing that she would likely prod for an explanation, a rationalisation that would make some sense of the mystery. She didn't need to know that the quest may kill him.

If it even worked.

A/N: Hi friends! Apologies for disappearing for an unexpectedly long while. I'm anticipating 4 more chapters (and maybe an epilogue) before DN is finished. Thank you to Writhing, for helping me to get this one out, and to everyone who has followed, favourited, reviewed, and in general, stuck around. I appreciate y'all so much. Aiming to get another chapter out next week - stay tuned!