"So, let me guess: Alice's vision was wrong?"

Edward wore a rueful smile, standing there in front of his car with his arms folded across his chest. His heavy coat shielded the shitty morning drizzle from seeping into his clothes. Behind him, thick ribbons of fog wafted through the pines; a crow cawed in the distance.

"This isn't normally like her, I assure you."

"I hope so," I said, slinging my bag onto the hood of The Thing with a thunk. My left hand fiddled with a set of jangling keys. "Boy, she really does owe you for being the responsible one, huh?"

This time he had a genuine laugh for me. "She may have poor success with you, but she's frighteningly accurate with the rest of us. And since I can read her mind, she knows that her upcoming apology already has my approval."

I grinned. "Lots of soul-bearing going on, I hope? A dozen red roses? Maybe a few tears?"

He untangled his arms and tucked his hands into the pockets of his peacoat. "Much better. A 1901 Steinway Model B." His mouth snapped shut. Twitched. After another beat of silence, it all spilled out: "It's a gorgeous thing, too, truly, the carved trim in the legs, the golden lyre, a fully rebuilt action with new key sticks, and the soundboard is just —" Edward looked like he'd just dazzled himself. "Yes. Alice knows. It's a good apology."

"Pretty good bounty. Now I see what you're really after," I said, grinning.

"Well, the piano is nice, but at the end of the day, she is my sister. I'm happy to do her a favor. This favor, in particular." He caught his smile before it spread and looked down.

There was something to be said about the way Edward and Alice spoke about each other, how they held each other in high regard despite their flaws and mistakes. It boded well for their character, at least.

"Where is Alice, by the way?"

His face flickered. "She's been gone for about a day and a half, now." And since he knew what my next question would be, he added: "In Seattle."

My heart sank. "Oh. So. She doesn't want to hang out anymore, or?"

Now Edward's serious air returned. His eyes followed the blotchy pattern of chipped red paint on The Thing's side mirror. "It's not that. Alice is…. When I say this isn't normal for her, I mean that—" Edward paused, deciding against his original thought. "When Alice gets stressed, she gets lost in the future. She has visions, constantly. In attempting to act out some perfect chain of events, she'll lose her present: her sense of time, place, and self. It can be difficult to reason with her. Difficult to watch."

"Oh." That sounded kinda horrible, actually. "Is she okay? Did something happen?"

Edward frowned. "She will be, I'm sure. It's just that she has a— hmm— understandable vendetta against a particular nomad, and has been getting many visions about him. He and his two mates have been lurking around our territory. And if they attack us or do anything to provoke our allies—" At the sight of my expression, Edward's face smoothed. "Well. Alice is doing her best to follow orders and ensure we avoid confrontation."

"Is she— She's not, like, going to kill them, is she?" I said.

At first, I assumed the silence gave me my answer.

But then Edward said, "I wish I could tell you." For whatever reason, his uncertainty made me more uneasy. "If I read Alice's mind, I see what she sees. And she only sees the future." Before the somberness could swallow us, he said, "Anyway. I apologize for having to be the bearer of bad news."

I shrugged to shake off the residual rejection. "It's whatever. I'm not one to shoot the messenger." But one good thing about Alice ditching I guess: that the bearer of bad news was Edward Cullen. "Are you trying out the new piano today?"

"No. It's not coming for another year."

"A year?"

"A woman in Pennsylvania has to die before I can get my hands on it." And when he saw my eyes widen, he explained: "Cancer. Not us. We'll get it at auction. For cheap, too, if bidder three-oh-four doesn't show up."

"Fingers crossed they get food poisoning."

"A strategy to consider, surely. —And as for your Saturday?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "Ah, or, perhaps you'll be saving Eric Newton a dance later this evening, now that you're free?"

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help a chuckle. Right— Sadie Hawkins. "Har har." Actually, come to think of it, none of my friends from school would be available today. They all had plans to get ready together for the dance. Even Charlie had plans to see Billy. Now what? "I dunno what I'll do. Bum around, I guess. Drive. Maybe go hiking or something. —You wanna come?"

"Hm?"

"Hiking? Or driving? With me?"

Edward arched a brow. "Hiking?"

Oh god, this was quickly devolving into an Eric Newton situation. And I was Eric Newton. "Uh, I mean, I'm sure you'd probably have to, y'know, not do it vampire-style, but. —Er, well, unless you're not into it?"

"No, I— I like hiking." He paused like he was tendering his letter of rejection. Until: "I'd be happy to accompany you. If you wish."

I laughed and said, "How about if you wish?" but slung my bag over my shoulder anyway and went to the driver's side of the truck. The door groaned when I threw it open.

"You're going to drive this?"

I hopped up and spoke to him over the truck's roof. "Actually, it's called The Thing, thank you very much. And I drive it every day." I swung myself inside, unlocked the passenger door, and threw it open. An offer.

"This 'thing' shouldn't even be legal."

I smirked, bouncing back to the driver's side. The engine roared to life. "If you've got concerns with legality, you're welcome to bring it up with the Chief of Police. —Coming?"

"Do you know where you're going?" he said.

"Not entirely," I replied, charcoal-stained nails tapping the wheel. "But getting there is half the fun. Isn't that how the old saying goes?"

Edward inhaled. Held it. Sighed.

"You know, keeping you alive is a lot harder than I thought it was going to be," he said, climbing in after me.

Black roads shimmered with fresh rain, lighting our path out of Forks up like it was a yellow brick road. We rumbled east through the town's main drag into the rising sun, passing a shuttered dry cleaner's, a bank, two restaurants, and a motel.

Edward had mentioned a meadow mottled with vibrant flowers that was only a few miles hike from the one-ten highway. In-between mulling over my music options, he fed me directions.

And even multitasking as he was, he seemed...real. If that makes sense.

Maybe because, for the first time since I met him, he was enveloped in his own world, undistracted by someone else's. What's more, he allowed someone to observe that change in him— an even more shocking notion, considering he'd had built a life of secrets.

Here, stuck in a truck with the only person he couldn't read, he could be himself: Edward without the vampirism. Bobbing his head to the beat, subdividing with his right foot, keeping watch over the stretch of twisting roads ahead of us. Was he humming?

It was cool. Weirdly intimate. Seeing someone for the first time. Really seeing them, I mean. Watching them sit and do nothing while simultaneously giving themselves away. Watching them be relaxed. Funny how people bloomed like flowers when you connected with them just a little. All you had to do was take notice.

"Were you planning to make it out of Forks before nightfall?"

"Ha ha. If I don't stop to dump you off in a ditch somewhere, maybe."

His chuckle was low and slight. "Turn right on one-ten," he said. "Here we are. Now we drive until the pavement ends."

A guitar strummed a rhythm that a violin echoed while we drove in and out of sunlight. Clouds tumbled over a lake-blue sky and swept under the sun. He relaxed into the seat, hummed a harmony to the song while his fingers drifted through the air to the melody— and flashed a smile when he caught me staring. I blushed.

Things had changed so quickly between us. Once upon a time, I'd dreaded even having a conversation with this guy, and now...

"What are you thinking about?" he said.

"I'm—I'm thinking—"

"You're thinking about how you're going to edit."

"Damn." I laughed. "Okay, okay. Fine. Unedit? I guess—I was thinking about you."

"Uh oh."

"No, no, c'mon. Not like that." Giggling, I gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Just that, y'know, compared to the first day we met, you seem so much more—I dunno. Chill."

He guffawed. "Chill?"

"You know what I mean."

"Chilled out, man. Hanging loose. Maxin'."

"Wow. See? You would've never made that dumb joke several weeks ago." We laughed. "Seriously, what's happened to you? Who are you?"

"No one. Nothing. I don't know. Nothing's changed," he mused, drumming his fingers on his crossed leg. "Perhaps it helps to acclimate myself. To your scent. I'm not sure."

While The Thing grumbled over the one-ten, Edward asked me questions. Some about music. Few about my past. A lot about how I viewed the world, and who I wanted to be, and how I wanted the world to be. I told him I was figuring things out. He told me he was, too.

"Why do you think you'll major in Biology?"

So I can get into med school and never be late on rent again. "It's interesting, I guess, knowing what's inside things. As a kid, I used to pick things apart."

"Things?"

"Yeah. I dunno. Like plants and bugs and dead animals with a stick." At that, Edward crinkled his nose. "What? Don't act like you didn't do the same thing."

Then he wanted to know what I missed about Phoenix. My mom, I replied. Empanadas at La Casa. Renée's favorite dive bar downtown that let me read books on its empty stage.

Questions about Phoenix prompted requests for me to describe things. Impossible things, like the scent of creosote — bitter, resinous, calming. How cicadas sound humming in July. What the feathery barrenness of the trees look like in the morning. I told him about how beautiful cacti look when they're holding a setting sun.

"It was such a relief," I said, "to find home. A home. No matter how brief it was."

"Do you think you could think of Forks as your home?"

"Maybe. I'm starting to love how green and beautiful this place is. But who knows, y'know. Something about Forks weirds me out."

"Could the vampires have something to do with it?"

I laughed. "I think I'm just not getting enough sleep."

Ahead, the road petered out to a small, dirt path. I parked the truck against the shoulder, threw on the emergency brake, and killed the engine. A thick band of trees climbed up the mountainous terrain. Crisp, wet air chilled my skin.

Honestly, hiking an unfamiliar path made me nervous that I would fall and break my neck. But Edward knew where he was going, and moved with a sort of confidence that rubbed off on me. Or maybe I was actually getting strong enough to move with purpose. Maybe lifting weights had its benefits besides defending my virginity, escaping the law, and victory in a rematch with toxic frenemies.

Our shoes squeaked over crushed ferns and decomposing twigs. Over fallen trees and slippery boulders, he held out his hand for me. Truthfully, I never needed it. I just liked it because I was touching him. I think he had noticed that my heart beat erratically with each wave of energy that passed between us. If anything, he was a good sport about it.

For the most part, we walked in silence. Listening to the crunch of dead pine needles underneath our shoes. Listening to leaves shushing each other in the wind. Maybe he liked hearing all of it: everything down to an animal's steps, a bird's fluttering wings, my own stuttering heartbeat. What I knew he liked was watching my face examine the labyrinth of ancient trees, the ferns, the leaves, the dew-soaked spiderwebs. I was mesmerized by the shapes and colors of the forest, and he knew it. He kept glancing at me, smiling. Once in a while, he'd throw out a question: how I felt, what I saw, what I thought.

Light trickled through a small opening a hundred yards ahead. Eager, my pace picked up. We climbed up two more clusters of rocks, and then there, at the mouth of the meadow, light splashed across our shoes. I burst from the thicket into the warmth of the sun.

It's places like this that remind you how gorgeous and breathtaking the planet can be.

Wildflowers littered the meadow—buttery yellow, violet, and eggshell white, petals bobbing under the weight of bees and butterflies. Warm air combed through the overgrown grass, carrying with it the chorus of chirping birds and bugs. Near the middle-left of the opening stood a cluster of stooping willows, protecting sprouts of lush baby grass from the beating sun.

"Wow, can you believe that places like this actually exist on earth?" I said, sucking in the air and laughing at how sweet and fresh it smelled. I whipped around to face him with a grin on my face.

But Edward hadn't moved from the shadows; from where he stood, only broken bits of sunlight hit his torso and shoes. He wasn't smiling.

"I guess I didn't realize it would be sunny," he said. "It's usually not."

"Why, what's—oh. Wait. Is it a vampire thing? Are you gonna burst into flames if you come out?"

That slid some of the unease from his face and shoulders. "We're not that flammable, no. I just don't want to frighten you."

"Frighten me? How come? —Can you join me? Even for a minute? C'mon, please?"

He grimaced but trailed behind me into the sunlight.

As we strolled to one of the only trees standing in the meadow, the willow on the left, he kept his eyes trained ahead. Shadows carved the curves of his neck, the muscles of his jaw, his forearms, and sliced the skin of his dewy face. His cheeks flushed. He looked sunken and sickly and more alive than he had ever been, all at once. How the hell did he even do that?

When he glanced at me to catch my expression, I could see pink bleeding into the edges of his glassy, golden irises.

"Your eyes," I murmured, brow crinkling. Did they get bigger? "How?"

"My body heats up in the sun," he said. "I process more energy at a quicker rate. But the excess metabolism of energy tricks my body into thinking I've had a large quantity of human blood. My features get sharper, my senses get sharper. In the sun I look—more alive. More appealing. At a cost." As he crept into the shade of the willow tree, Edward's muscles smoothed into something less sharp and intimidating. His eyes remained rose-gold and the faint blush never left his cheekbones or lips. "It's a temporary advantage. You gain power and leverage, but an insatiable thirst. Vampires avoid the sun not because they'll burst into flames, but because we lose our sensibilities and risk exposing our existence to humans. We're quick to lose control and hard to tame."

I sat across from him, hugging my knees to my chest. My bag fell in the open spot between my legs; I rummaged for a water bottle and a granola bar. "So what's the big deal if you expose your existence to humans? Like if you kill someone, couldn't you hypothetically just kill everyone, the whole town, everyone that person ever knew?"

I couldn't tell if his hmph was supposed to be a chuckle. "We could. If we were so inclined to die. The universal taboo in our world is allowing humans to discover our existence, and this rule is enforced by an authoritative body of vampires. No human can know, and no vampire can tell—or demonstrate. Or hint. There should be no, er, continuity errors, shall we say. No contradiction. And if there is, if there are unexplainable mishaps, human witnesses, newborn frenzies, not-so-hidden clues, then the authoritative body—the Volturi—are summoned. And they are rarely, if ever, merciful."

"So if they knew that I knew, or if they knew that you told me about...y'know. All this. That'd be it for us? We'd die?"

"You would die. I would die. My family would die, since it would be a politically convenient excuse to destroy us. Our allies, if discovered, would surely be killed as well."

Oh. "So no pressure."

"Bells," he murmured in a low voice, "This is the price you pay for my honesty. I am happy not to tell you more if you wish. I told you in Port Angeles that if you didn't comply with our pact of silence, I would have to make you comply." Chills shot down my spine. "These are not my wishes, as I've said. But they are law. I must obey, and by extension, so must you."

"Y-yeah, no, of course. You don't have to worry about me talking. I won't, I swear."

Edward's chuckle bordered on a hum. "I believe you. I'm not asking you to reaffirm your allegiance to secrecy. But my honesty is just as necessary as your consent. I cannot sugarcoat these consequences for you. That wouldn't be fair for either of us."

"Yeah. Right. No, well, I mean I, y'know, sorta walked into this whole thing knowing something was up. I could've just accepted you and your family were—odd. But I didn't. And I'm aware of that choice. Honest, though, I haven't said anything; I wouldn't give away your secret like that."

Edward remained serene. "Please. You giving away our secret is the least of my concern. You didn't even capitalize on the opportunity to brag to Jess about our date." A beat of silence passed between us. Edward smiled with sharp teeth that startled me. "You're blushing."

Dammit. "See? This is proof that you know you dazzle people. No, I'm serious. Like being on a date with you is bragging?" Edward couldn't stop laughing; I blushed harder. "And I don't care what Jess and Ang have to say. It was never decidedly a date." God Bells, get it together—

"Unedit for me. For my sake. You're blushing."

"Well, yeah! Only because, I mean, well, I'd be lying if I didn't say I've always found you—" cough cough the most attractive person I've ever seen in my life with the sole exception of Rosalie Hale— "Sorry. I don't know where my head's at, I guess. Just, seeing you here, in the sun…" What's a word to describe someone who looks horrifically beautiful, the most gorgeous parody of a human ever known? "Uh. You're a real Dorian Gray type."

Edward threw his head back and laughed, a lilting song so gorgeous I was worried he'd pull a Snow White on me and summon all the forest's woodland creatures to our meadow. On the other side, near the underbrush, leaves sprung and bounced; a deer had darted away. Close enough, I guess.

"Would that make you my Basil?"

"You can make me" whatever you want.

As soon as the words left my mouth, my brain panicked: lights, sirens, shouted curse words, the whole shebang.

But Edward took it with grace, as per usual. "The sunlight, it clouds your judgement too. It's all predatory. You see? Everything is supposed to draw you in: my voice, my face, my smell, my touch. Not that I would need any of that, if it came down to it."

While I sipped my water, he picked up a charcoal-colored rock the size of his palm and held it out in the light, where it glimmered. He closed his hand and crunched it down in his fingers until sand slipped from the cracks in his fist. I nearly choked.

"What? How?" Pale skin speckled with glittering flakes of crushed rock. "Can I?" I asked, gesturing to his open hand. His brows twitched into a frown but he didn't move a muscle. When I cupped his hand, the shock of our discrepancy in temperature made us both shudder. The sun beating down hadn't warmed him.

But as the shock subsided, as our temperatures evened out, what remained were billions of electrified atoms that made the back of my brain tingle. A shot of serotonin straight up the spine.

I ran a fingernail across the grooves of his palm, wiping away streaks of sediment, lost in the shape of it all. If I were to draw his hands, I'd accent the shadows pooling in its contours. How the graphite made his skin glitter. But how would I capture the feel of him? Marble-smooth flesh, icy and sturdy and velvety and invigorating — I could draw it, but would a human understand?

"Do I not scare you as I am?"

I looked up at him but didn't drop his hand. Without a second thought, my thumbs trailed down the sloping lines of his palm and pressed into his wrists, where his veins are. Were. Would be? He shuddered.

"I don't know. Sometimes I am scared. But it's different. I dunno. Chemical fear. Natural fear. You're supposed to make me afraid, and I'm aware of that. But I've never been afraid of you. As a person. If that makes sense." I couldn't stop touching his hand, couldn't get enough of that static. "Hey. Can I ask you something?"

"Hm?"

I brushed my thumb over his palm, generating sparks. With every moment that passed, I grew shier, more embarrassed. If I brought it up, would he pull away? "Can you—feel that?"

"I can."

"Not the pressure of my fingers," I said. "Or the heat. Or how it feels. But can you—do you notice—there's, like— electricity ? Wh-when I—"

"All the time, yes."

"What is that?"

Edward shrugged, shaking his head. "You?"

My mind flashed back to the science class when we watched that movie. How it felt between us. How this energy, now, was stronger. Getting stronger.

"Me? If anything it's—" Although, now that I thought about it, it might make sense. Another thing wrong with my head. If it was me causing it, could it be something I could control? "You can't hear my thoughts right now, can you?"

"No. Why?"

"Well," I said in an exhale, toying with the idea in my head. "Remember how you mentioned that when you're close to people, you can read their thoughts easier? Maybe this is a 'me' thing too. And if the—I don't know, energy—gets stronger when we're—" Don't look at him don't look at him— "Maybe it's a distance thing. Maybe you just need to get closer to me than you do with other people, y'know? Maybe I'm quiet."

Who the hell knows how I managed to muster up the courage to look up at his shadowed face from my place in the sun, inches from mine. Edward was thinking, brow furrowed. Eyes pinned to my face. My lips. Wind surged; I lost my breath in the vacuum of it all.

"I never thought of it," he murmured, cool breath washed over my face. Luring me. If I got close enough, would he be able to read my thoughts? Would he know I was thinking of kissing him? Would I care if I found out? Didn't I want him to find out?

I leaned in.

He disappeared in a swipe of wind, hand ripping from my grasp, almost knocking me forward. Only after I squinted to scan the edge of the meadow did I see that he had zipped twenty feet back, crouched at the back of a tree's long shadow.

He crept back to me in a quick trail of movement that stunned me.

And he said, looking everywhere but my eyes, "That's—I— can't. Being this close to humans, being so close to, to you…"

"I'm sorry."

"No. Please. Don't apologize. I'm sorry. It's—preternatural reactions at work."

"Were you going to kill me?"

Edward looked like he was watching himself drown somewhere in the middle distance. "Well, I, I wouldn't say that, er, that it was your blood, specifically, just then, I just, I— I don't think it appropriate of me to...act...human. To—take advantage."

"Take advantage?"

"Of the power dynamic. Of the—situation. Between us. And with it being sunny, I. I don't think it's best." He squeezed his eyes shut like he was trying to repeat the mantra over and over in his head.

I softened. "Oh." Was that all? "It's okay. Wasn't I technically the one taking advantage? Since I, uh." Edward said nothing. So instead I picked at the edges. "If. Uh. If there wasn't a, uh, dynamic. Do you think, maybe, you..."

"I think it would be dangerous to pretend it doesn't exist," he said.

"But, but would you? Would you—get closer? If you could?"

"I don't know."

"Is that a nice way of saying no? Because you can just say no. I don't mind." Actually, I would mind, but for the sake of spilling his guts, I wouldn't mind taking one for the team. My team.

He still wouldn't look at me, but his expression grew more pained. "I am having a difficult time reconciling my preternatural needs with my human—" he struggled for a word "—ness. It's not something that's ever— I don't know what to do. I don't know how to interact. This isn't me, I assure you."

That might be the closest I would ever get to a confession. Although I still had no idea what the hell he was trying to get at. "Do you think it's been getting better, maybe? Your—thirst?" I blushed at the word and tried covering up my embarrassment. "What's it like for you? Being here with me? Is there something I can do to make it easier?"

"Oh, I'm not sure that's possible." Moments passed, and he turned his palm to cup my hand, light as air. Pulled away. "Every human smells different," he explained. "Some smell more delicious than others. All of them are appetizing to a degree—even the most delicately scented humans offer temptation—but it's the level of gravitational pull that makes all the difference.

"And then there are some humans that—sing. I never thought it would be such an apt description but, truly, there's no better word. Their blood calls to you. It sucks you in like the gravitational pull of a black hole. Or like sensing water when you're about to die of thirst. Or like a song that hits all your favorite chords. Their heartbeat is all you can hear. Their scent is all you can smell. You can practically taste them on your lips." And he glanced again at mine. "We call them your singer, la tua cantante. And—and that is what you are." Beat. "To me."

"And without the, uh, singing? What am I to you?"

Edward stayed silent. As in, we sat in silence for almost a full minute. He never answered.

Fine. We'll try this again: "Does that happen often? The singing thing?"

His brows furrowed. "La cantante is rare, but singers do exist. I suppose everyone is a singer, to some extent. To Jasper, for example, every one of you is much the same. He's the most recent to join our family. It's a struggle for him to abstain at all. He hasn't had time to grow sensitive to the differences in smell. Even still, he struggled to recall a human who smelled as appealing as, as you do to me.

"Using that as a point of reference, there are, I suppose, two members of the coven who've faced similar challenges. Emmett has been on the wagon longer, so to speak, and he understood what I meant. He says twice, for him, once stronger than the other."

"Who else had it?"

"Rose did," said Edward, not looking at me.

"And did any of the singers survive?" The guilt on his face said no.

Edward took a long pause. "Rose's singer was Emmett." Beat.

"So you haven't had it? Before?"

"Never. No singers, no cantante. If I did, it wasn't like this. Not by a million miles. Based on my family's memories, no one else has experienced anything this intense either. I envy them."

Is this another line, already passed? I pulled away. "Am—am I here to die, then?"

"No. No. Those people were strangers at the time, even Emmett didn't know Rose before they—before she— And it was a long time ago. They're more careful, more practiced. As am I. I wouldn't kill you. I couldn't kill you." He rose. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have— Perhaps we should get going, hm?"

He offered a hand to me, the one that had crushed the rock earlier. I chewed the inside of my lip.

"Don't be sorry," I told him. I took his hand and pulled myself up. "I want to know these things. It's important, y'know. Information."

But he didn't address that either. "I know this takes a lot of trust on your end. Thank you." We walked to the edge of the forest, where the sunlight beams spattered the forest floor. Silent. "You want to learn more about us, hm? After all this?" I nodded. "Would you like to see something fun?"

"Will it involve me getting back home safely?"

"Always."

I lit up. "Okay. Sure, yeah. What're we doing?"

"I'll show you how I travel in the forest."

"Cool, what? No way. Are you gonna turn into a bat or something?"

He laughed, louder than I'd ever heard. "I'm not a shapeshifter. Hop on."

At his insistence, I clambered onto his back, wrapped my legs around his waist and crossed my arms around him as tight as I could, soaking up the oxytocin between us. Before he took off, I murmured in his ear, "Wait, wait, hang on. Whaddya think. Can you hear me now?"

His response came delayed.

"All I can hear is your heartbeat."

He let it sink in, and then he took off.