I couldn't breathe in the house. I felt like an idiot. How many times had my father called on me to be a scapegoat if the need arose? Memories of every guard mission flooded my mind. I imagined countless times when it could have been me that burned on a pyre. Esme called after me as I burst through the living and out the front door, but I ignored her.

I grabbed onto the front porch railing; my knuckles turned white as I held on for dear life like I might fall to the ground or be swallowed by the earth without the support of the old wooden rung. When I couldn't hold my breath any longer, I gasped for air, squeezing my eyes shut. I counted the heartbeats that pounded in my ears for several seconds.

Or was it minutes? It could have been years. Time seemed to spin around me. I couldn't be sure how long I stood there, frozen in place like my semi-immortal body stayed frozen in time.

At some point, I became aware that my breathing had regulated. The throbbing pulse in my head subsided. Now I could hear the wisps of snow drifting across the lawn, dry flakes displaced into new piles with every gentle breeze. I finally relaxed the muscles around my eyes, daring to open them slowly.

Still gripping the railing, I took a step backward and bent forward slightly at my waist, tucking my chin against my chest so I could only look down at the ground. I stared down at my own shoes, afraid to face the rest of the world now that my reality had imploded. I didn't hear the footsteps, but suddenly I could see another pair of shoes beside my own.

"I was going to ask if you were all right." The owner of the shoes spoke with a deep voice. The shoes turned, facing toward the house now, and I could feel a slight shift of the railing. "But that seems like an absurdly stupid question."

The voice seemed oddly familiar, and not just because I heard it moments ago inside the house. A tiny fragment of recollection sparked somewhere in the depths of my memory; buried too deeply for my frazzled mind to pull to the front. Curiosity proved to be an effective distraction. My grip on the railing loosened, my fingertips only resting on the top of it now. I stood up straight and looked to my right. Christopher watched me. I realized his face easily betrayed nearly anything he was feeling - the intense determination I'd seen in the kitchen was still there. But I could see patience and concern and…something else I couldn't quite figure out.

"I heard a bit of all of that." He nodded toward the house.

"You must think I'm completely stupid." I shook my head, turning my body to face his and leaning my hip against the railing. "All of you."

His brow furrowed. "Why?'

"Because all this time I thought I was somehow valued by my father. Because even knowing exactly who he is and what he is capable of, I never would have thought he would…" I pushed my hair back away from my face, holding it in a tight ponytail. I shook my head, letting go of my hair so it tumbled down in knotted curls across my back. I pressed the heels of my hands against my forehead, hissing a long, frustrated sigh. Crossing my arms over my chest, I made a half-hearted attempt at an apologetic smile. Christopher's gaze hadn't left my face, but now it looked as if he was watching me with wariness instead of curiosity; as if he might suddenly need to stop me from doing something rash.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm not usually like this. Ranting to a stranger…"

His lips twitched like he was fighting a smile. I imagined him thinking it best not to laugh at the crazy woman. Just then I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window. My hair was wild from spending hours in the field and the trees. And here I was, ingloriously disheveled, oscillating between catatonic silence and trauma-dumping verbal diarrhea, and standing in front of a man who - to my horror - was possibly the most attractive man I'd ever met.

He was tall, with a well-built frame - not over-muscled, but with definition to his shape that I knew was not merely a side effect of immortality. Dark brown curls framed his face, and I wondered what his natural eye color would have been when he was still human. Being around full-fledged vampires was hardly unusual for me, but some seemed more distinctly inhuman than others. Christopher, on the other hand, exuded a comfortable, relaxed aura. Even standing outside, with the wintry breeze chilling the air, a sense of warmth filled the space between us. The inexplicable urge to touch his face hit me and I dug my fingernails into my arms, which were still crossed over my chest. It wasn't until he softly cleared his throat that the spell was - if not broken entirely - mildly disrupted to the point that I realized how long I must have been staring at him. My eyes shifted downward so I was once again staring at our shoes.

"Sorry."

He chuckled as my cheeks burned. When I dared to look up again, he had kindly turned to face away from the house, looking out toward the vast copse of trees at the edge of the Cullen's property.

"As it happens," he said. "I don't think we're strangers, exactly."

I frowned, opening my mouth to disagree; we hadn't been introduced when he was hauled out of the kitchen before.

He shook his head, holding a finger to my mouth. It was just for a second that his skin brushed my lips, but I felt like my face was immediately set on fire.

"Not the kitchen," he said. He chuckled again and let his hand drop to his side. "Before that. You and I met a long time ago."