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"You don't have to walk me," Isabella says. "You've spent too much time in the rain tonight, and it's late."
Edward nods and stands from the table. "Precisely the reason I'm walking you home."
She knows better than to challenge him, and based on the kind of night she assumes he's had, she follows Edward without argument. She watches as he swiftly locks the doors and turns to begin walking. She notices the way he makes sure she is the one walking on the inside of the street; his tall frame takes the brunt of the rain splashing into the puddles.
"Thank you, Edward. I know this is out of your way."
She isn't sure if this is accurate; however, she would have to think that walking her home at this time of night is an inconvenience, regardless of where he lives.
He lets out a low laugh, and Isabella is sure pure exhaustion, borderline delirium, has taken over him at this point. "Is this where you remind me about being able to see the good in everyone?"
"I didn't say that," Isabella corrects him with a laugh of her own. "I asked if you believed there to be some type of goodness in everyone. There's a difference."
He sighs as they continue walking. "Let me guess. You think there is."
She pauses, wrapping her sweater around her to keep out the rain. She is grateful she had the foresight to bring a scarf to cover her head. "I used to," she admits. She wonders if he thinks her childish for thinking it. "But I wouldn't be here in Port Angeles if it were true."
James' death had changed everything she knew about life, including the good she once believed everyone possessed in one way or another. Now she isn't sure one depth of good lives inside the person who killed him—the person who still walks this earth without thought or consequence to what he stole from her family.
Edward nods in understanding. "Are you any closer to finding any information about your brother?"
"No," Isabella answers, "but I haven't stopped trying. I won't stop until I know what happened to him."
Edward is silent for the next few minutes as they turn onto Hooper Street, thinking of all the times he had seen James at The Lost Key. He wonders if there is a piece to his puzzle he has overlooked.
They stop in front of the steps to Rose's boarding house, the rain slowing to a comfortable drizzle. The streetlight casts Isabella's face in a pale yellow glow, and for a moment, it catches him off guard. He clears his throat. "I know you won't give up; I can see that about you now." He pauses. "I didn't want to take a chance on you at The Lost Key. Ask Emmett – I told him you were too much of a risk."
"I understand why you would think that. It was a big risk hiring me. But I knew I could do the job if you gave me the opportunity."
"And you like working with us?"
"Yes. And Port Angeles in general, despite what my mother thinks." He raises an eyebrow at her words. "She's worried about me."
He nods, his eyes shifting to the ground as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. "As a mother should. Especially yours, having just lost her son."
"That was her main concern in her latest letter," Isabella shares, and she isn't sure why. "I know she had written it with pure intentions, but it just left me feeling guilty and misplaced."
"She'll feel better once you're home."
Their eyes meet before she nods and turns to head inside. "Thank you again."
The rain has scared off most of the men at the boarding house tonight, but he nods and doesn't turn to walk away until he knows she has made it inside safely. "Goodnight, Isabella."
She closes the door behind her, locking it as Rosalie has instructed her to do at this hour. It's far later than she has ever been awake here in Port Angeles, but there is an unknown feeling settling into her stomach. She feels almost nervous – but she welcomes this new feeling as it tingles throughout her body. Leaning against the door, she closes her eyes as rain drips off her clothes and onto the floor beneath her.
"Have you eaten?" Rosalie asks, startling her as she drifts inside her own mind. Isabella's eyes fly open at the sound of her voice, and she shakes her damp hair as she releases it from her scarf.
"Not really," she admits. Rosalie nods and tells her she'll make them a plate of food while Isabella changes into dry clothes. When she returns downstairs not long later, she joins Rosalie at the small table in the kitchen.
"It's quiet here tonight," Isabella remarks as she takes a bite.
"It's late," Rosalie replies, exhaling the smoke from her cigarette away from the table where they sit. "The rain doesn't help much, either."
The rain has dissipated significantly from earlier, but she can still close her eyes and hear it against their building.
"I like it like this," Isabella admits softly. Her unexpected evening with Edward has apparently left her thoughts unfiltered.
"So do I. All of us do." Rosalie answers. "But if it's quiet, it only means we'll have to work that much harder the next day."
Isabella shakes her head at the thought of strangers being in control of her body. "How do you do it?"
"Because we don't have a choice," Rosalie says. She takes a small bite off the plate, but Isabella isn't sure Rosalie is all that hungry.
"Is that why that man comes here?"
"Marcus?" Rosalie asks but eventually nods. "You've seen him?"
"A few times, yes."
"Stay away from him, Isabella. Whatever you do. You see him; you go."
Later, before she falls asleep, she lets both Rosalie and Edward's words regarding Marcus simmer in her head. If anything, their words should be absolute.
Binding.
But instead, they do the opposite.
Suddenly she suspects Marcus Volturi holds more answers for her than Edward.
See you soon!