I woke to the gentle patter of rain against the window near my bed, one of my favorite sounds. It felt soothing and familiar, almost like a lullaby. Still half asleep, I smiled to myself. I wasn't sure how often Mom had checked on me throughout the night, but I had fuzzy memories of her bringing me a homemade bean burrito and my medication. I shifted around, knowing that falling back asleep would be futile.

"Are you awake?" Dad's voice broke the silence as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

"Mhmm," I mumbled, stretching my arms. "What time is it?" I watched Dad as he made Angela's bed, his movements precise and careful. I noticed the medicine bag on my desk with a cup of orange juice beside it.

Dad then sat on the edge of my bed, his gaze full of concern. He had his dark hair effortlessly styled, wearing an old college sweater and sweats. Despite looking like he could have stepped out of one of those cheesy rom-com movies Angela and I used to watch, his kind eyes and laugh lines told a different story.

"It's noon. How are you feeling? Your mom mentioned you might have a concussion," he said, gently patting my knee.

I instinctively touched the tender bump on my head, feeling a twinge of pain but thankfully no headache or sensitivity to light.

'Thank my lucky stars,'I thought, though a bit bitterly.

Dad's eyes softened as he looked at me, the worry etched into his features. It was clear that my parents had been through an emotional wringer since the accident. I was annoyed that I hadn't felt this way yesterday.

"I feel fine, just a little sore around here," I replied, my voice still groggy while using my hand to indicate the back of my head. Dad understood, and after nodding, he grabbed the cup of juice and the medicine.

"Before I forget, you need to take this before eating breakfast. Your mom said it'll help with any pain you might get."

My nose wrinkled in distaste. I hated swallowing pills. I could never fathom how Angela and Isaac could take a handful of pills and swallow them with just water, let alone do it so effortlessly. I stuck my tongue out at the thought of the pills accidentally assaulting my tongue with their bitter taste.

"Do I have to?" I groaned, lying back down.

Dad, accustomed to my theatrics, ushered me to sit up before handing me the cup of orange juice. I took a sip, the tangy sweetness helping to clear some of the lingering fog from my mind.

He then proceeded to focus on sorting the amount of medicine Mom had undoubtedly instructed him to give me and handed them over. "Come on, it's for your head unless you want to be in pain later in the day."

I took the three distinctive pills from him, sipping the orange juice before swallowing one pill at a time, taking two more sips of the drink. I gagged. In turn, Dad gave me a soft smile, kissed my temple, and placed my drink and medicine back on the desk.

I nodded toward his outfit. "No work today?"

Dad blushed bashfully at his attire. "I took a day or two off."

I didn't have to ask why. Mom would take us to the doctor and get us checked, but Dad was the one who looked after us when we were sick. Vomit and all, he never complained and did his best to make us feel better. I got up, helping Dad figure out which top or sweater belonged to whom before hanging them in the closet.

"Are you craving anything?" Dad asked, his eyes narrowing at the many pairs of socks Angela liked to mix and match—a pet peeve he and I shared.

Dad wasn't the best at cooking dinners, but breakfast was a different story.

I nodded. "I'm up for some turkey bacon with eggs?"

Dad gave me his drop-dead smile that showed off the dimples on his cheeks. The same smile that won him many admirers in his life. "Of course, I'll make extra just for you to snack on."

I hugged him quickly, feeling the comfort of his presence, and watched him leave the now semi-clean room. The subtle buzzing sound pulled me out of my musings about whether I wanted to shower before or after lunch. I shuffled my pillows around my bed and pushed my covers to the side, searching for the source of the noise. The persistent buzzing continued to mock me. After a few more seconds of searching, I was about to call out for Dad when I noticed my phone on Angela's nightstand, plugged into her charging cord.

I sighed in relief, grabbed it, and began sifting through the texts I had received. Most of the messages were from Angela, keeping me updated on school happenings and asking if I needed anything before she headed home. A few of her friends had also messaged me, inquiring about my well-being. I rolled my eyes, recognizing that most were merely curious while others were pretending to care.

My attention zeroed in on an unknown number that had left four messages. I was about to delete them when I read the last one.'Bella? Did Angela give her my number?'I couldn't recall ever exchanging numbers with her before.'Angela definitely had to have given it to her,'I thought.

I have to admit, I was flattered that shy, easily embarrassed Bella had gone out of her way to ask for my number. After getting to know the new girl, I realized this must have been difficult for her. It wasn't like Bella to seek the spotlight.

I shot her a quick response, telling her I was fine but resting at home. She replied quickly, asking to meet up after school. I raised an eyebrow at her sudden invitation. As I typed a polite decline and suggestion to reschedule, her next message stopped me in my tracks.

"Edward is hiding something." I tilted my head at the screen as she began to bombard me with more messages about things she had noticed. My heart skipped a beat when she mentioned something familiar.

"Golden eyes that turned black?" I knew I had read about that somewhere. I sprang up and rifled through the books neatly lined up on my desk, each one related to human anatomy but none discussing eye color changes or genetic mutations.

'I swear I read it in one of these books... but which?'I chewed on the inside of my cheek, the answer lingering on the tip of my tongue but refusing to surface. Sighing in frustration, I replied with a quick acceptance of Bella's invitation. She responded almost instantly with her address and the information that her dad wouldn't be home until late.

My curiosity was piqued, and despite the throbbing in my head, I couldn't shake the feeling that what she mentioned was too familiar. I tried my best not to dwell too much on the idea of Edward being something other than human, despite Bella's incessant messages filled with strange observations.

Settling on a kitchen stool, I munched on the extra turkey bacon Dad had made, pondering whether I should delve deeper into the scant information Bella provided about Edward. It felt a bit ridiculous.

'There's no way he's something else... right?'As soon as the thought appeared, it was replaced by the chilling image of the red-headed beauty who haunted my every moment.

I shuddered, "There's no way," I mumbled, shaking my head.'

Edward and his family?'I chuckled to myself, cleaning up and washing the dishes Dad used for breakfast.

I couldn't picture Mrs. Cullen, with her long caramel hair perfectly styled to frame her heart-shaped face, looking anything but nurturing. Her dimples added to her motherly aura, making it hard to see the Cullens as anything other than a kind, if enigmatic, family.

'Let alone rip throats ou—'I cut off the thought, feeling my stomach churn.

I set the plates on the drying rack and headed to my room. Dad was busy in his office on the third floor, working on arrangements for the church, which meant he would be occupied for a few hours.

Smiling to myself, I relished the idea of having some time to go over one of Nana's journals—or what seemed to be hers. The erratic writing had given me a headache the last time I stayed up reading through them.

I pulled out a few things from my desk drawer before finding the dark leather-bound journals hidden beneath my notes and school supplies.

I knew Dad had a habit of snooping around occasionally, and I didn't want to risk him finding them and getting me into trouble with Mom later. I crinkled my nose at the thought of Mom's infamous rants.

I sat down at my desk, running my fingers over the worn leather cover of the journal. The smell of old paper and ink filled my nostrils, bringing a sense of nostalgia and mystery. I carefully opened the journal, flipping through the pages filled with Nana's messy, hurried handwriting.

Each page was a puzzle piece, a fragment of a larger story that I was determined to uncover. I made sure the door was locked before settling on my bed with a notebook. This time, I was determined to organize the contents of the books and their entries.

The thought that Nana's neat cursive handwriting could transform into the chaotic scribbles I found in these journals struck me as both odd and peculiar. It didn't make sense to me how someone's writing could change so drastically. This led me to believe that some of these journals didn't belong to Nana, but to someone else.

'But who?'The thought of who these books belonged to had crossed my mind multiple times, but there was no name that I could see written on them. The unanswered question gnawed at the back of my mind.'If these journals weren't hers, then they must belong to someone important to her or our family. It wouldn't make sense to keep these for so long otherwise.'That was the only answer I could come up with.

Nothing else made sense nor seemed plausible. Nana definitely wasn't a hoarder; she loved traveling, which often irked Mom when she was growing up. With all her traveling, she had to have close to nothing to move as freely as she did. So these books being kept and well-kept at that must have meant something to her.I made sure the door was locked before settling on my bed with a notebook.

I began scribbling the first journal entry in my notebook, doing my best to form actual sentences from the words that were horribly jotted down. I believed they were attempting to write an entry, or maybe not. From what I could decipher, the first entry had something to do with our family's rights.

'Did we own some old ancestral home?'I wondered as I continued my deciphering. The more I unraveled the meaning behind the scribbles, the easier it became to understand what was written.

'Our family has the right to rule those lesser and those that defy nature itself. However, some members of our sacred line have no knowledge of our truth. This is why I call upon them through our ancestral line. One cannot escape the line of linkage that a family such as ours has. Once born to our bloodline, you shall forever belong to our bloodline.'

I made a face as I read the passage. It was the first entry in the book—or what I thought it was. However, I had a prickling feeling deep down that this was it. There was no denying it, as much as I wished otherwise. It felt surreal that this writing was important to my grandma.

To say I was horrified at the idea that my grandmother wasn't who I thought she was would be an understatement. I wasn't sure if I wanted to decipher the rest of the books, but I knew I'd regret not trying. I pursed my lips in distaste as I continued to the next page. I drew a line under the first message and pressed on.

This time, it wasn't as difficult to figure out, as I had become more accustomed to the unreadable letters. The room was quiet except for the sound of rain gently tapping against the window, creating a serene atmosphere. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. The further I delved into the journal, the more unsettling the entries became.

They spoke of ancient rituals and rites, of a lineage bound by unbreakable ties and secret knowledge passed down through generations. The language was archaic, filled with references to things I didn't understand, but there was a dark allure to it that kept me turning the pages.

'The bloodline must be protected at all costs. Betrayal from within is the greatest threat. Those who seek to abandon their heritage will face consequences beyond mortal comprehension. Our ancestors watch over us, their wisdom and power flowing through our veins. To defy them is to defy nature itself.'

I shivered at the ominous tone of the words. What kind of legacy was this? What had Nana been involved in? The more I read, the more questions arose. There were mentions of gatherings, of places hidden from the prying eyes of the outside world, and of a council that oversaw the family's affairs.

It felt like I was reading the script of some dark fantasy novel, yet the weight of reality pressed upon me. I decided to take a break, my head throbbing slightly from the effort of deciphering the difficult handwriting. I leaned back against my pillows, staring at the ceiling as thoughts raced through my mind.

Who owned these journals? What role did mom's side of the family play into this? And most importantly, what did it mean for me, for any of us? I sighed deeply, knowing that I couldn't stop now.

There was too much at stake, too many unanswered questions. Resolving to uncover the truth, I picked up the next journal and opened it to the first page. The more I unraveled the meaning behind the scribbles, the easier it became to understand what was written.

'Many practices and sources for power lay wake to be discovered and I have found the unfathomable knowledge on how to achieve it. Future generations from our lineage -my lineage- will uncover the unfathomable and become so. Patria nexus nostra semper fortis fuit et tantum plus valebit sicut in binis congredientes. Non negabis sanguinem tuum, quia consumet te. Sic erit verum.'

I wasn't too sure what the ending of the writing suggested, but I didn't dwell on it as I cozied myself in bed and continued. I cozied myself in bed and continued on. After a few hours of decoding, eating, decoding, and doing my best to fend off Dad and the medicine I had to take, I began to realize each entry was a non-stop rambling about family legacy and the 'almighty power.' The journal seemed to be less interesting than I had hoped, which motivated me to take a break.

'There's only so much a person can read about family this and family that.'It was worse than I had originally thought. The owner of this journal—and no doubt the others jammed in the boxes stacked in the garage—was obsessed with family. Family itself wasn't upsetting, to say the least, but the endless writing about it without ever getting to the reason for it left me close to insanity. I couldn't fathom how any sane person could write like this and think it was okay.

'Yep,'I snorted as I stretched out my neck and back.'They definitely weren't sane.'

I shoved the useless journal in my drawer under everything as it was before. I then placed my notebook on top of a few textbooks I had at home. I wasn't going to use them, but if I wanted to look like I was going to be studying at Bella's, I needed to look the part.

I groaned looking at the time; I knew Dad was still in his office working, but I wouldn't be able to drive myself due to the medicine. I felt my face flush red at the thought of having my Dad drive me to Bella's, but I knew if I waited any longer, Angela would sniff out my lie like no other, and then I'd be stuck at home.

I checked the time once more, deciding right then and there that it was better to feel humiliation than have the whole family looming over my every move where I couldn't lie, let alone do anything in comfort. I stuffed the books in a random bag and shoved in a few pens and highlighters before heading out.

"Dad," I called out, my footsteps echoing on the stairs as I lugged my books with me.

The office, bathed in the soothing scent of light sandalwood, greeted me with its double doors always open, inviting and warm. The light gray carpet, chosen by our parents, still looked plush and new, despite the frequent use of the room for both work and relaxation. Mom and Dad often spent time together here, amidst shelves lined with a diverse collection of books ranging from their professional reads to the newer, well-loved Dr. Seuss editions that Angela and I had adored.

I couldn't help but smile fondly at the memory of Dad setting up a makeshift reading spot for us when we were sick with the flu, unwilling to leave us alone in our rooms as he managed his work from home.

The dark walnut desk, a permanent fixture in the center of the room, commanded attention, while the floor-to-ceiling window offered a serene view of the forest behind our home.

"What's wrong?" Dad was out of his recliner in an instant, his eyes brimming with concern.

I could tell he was winding down from work, a new book Mom had purchased resting beside him. I met his gaze. "I need a ride to Bella's. She said she'd help me catch up on some materials."

Dad raised an eyebrow at my request. "Bella?" His tone held a hint of suspicion that seemed unnecessary to me.

"Yeah...?" I replied, expecting him to be enthusiastic about me making new friends or spending time with someone other than Angela. Instead, his persistent stare made me uneasy.

"Who's Bella?" He crossed his arms, shifting his weight to one foot.

I blinked, taken aback.'Doesn't he know Bella?'I wondered, studying his serious expression to see if he was teasing me. He wasn't; if anything, he seemed genuinely perplexed and on the verge of refusal. "She's the Sheriff's daughter. You know, Sheriff Swan?" I explained.

His stern demeanor softened slightly, though not entirely. "You mean Isabella?" I nodded, placing Angela's tote bag on one of the dark leather couches.

Dad sighed, patting his pockets for the car keys. "Fine, I'll drop you off. It'll give me a reason to deliver some things your mom forgot," he muttered, heading for the door. I smiled to myself, quickly sending a text to Bella to let her know I was on my way.

𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐘𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀

𝘗𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘮 𝘱𝘭𝘶𝘴 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘴. 𝘕𝘰𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘶𝘶𝘮, 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘦. 𝘚𝘪𝘤 𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘵 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘶𝘮.

𝘖𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘚𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦.