The road stretches endlessly before us, winding through the dense forest, the towering pines casting long shadows in the moonlight. The mist clings to the treetops, swirling in the headlights like ghosts reluctant to leave. Every mile brings us closer to Forks, and yet, the closer we get, the heavier the weight in my chest becomes.

I grip the edges of my seat tighter, my fingers pressing into the worn leather. I tell myself to focus on the road, to keep my thoughts from spiraling, but they don't listen. They never do.

It has been a long time since I let myself think about that day. The memory is a wound that never properly healed, a dull ache that sharpens when I least expect it. If I had done something—anything—differently, would I be in this car now, retracing the steps that led me here? Would I still be buried beneath the avalanche that started the moment I met Carlisle Cullen?

Shaking my head quickly, I turn toward Luka. "What did you all think when I called and said I found my mate?"

My voice is quieter than I intended, and I know he hears the weight behind it. I try not to think about that moment, about the breathless excitement that had flooded my voice when I told them the news. Before everything fell apart. Before I realized I was the only one celebrating.

Luka studies me, his brow furrowing slightly. We've never spoken about this part of the story. By the time I saw my brothers again, I was anything but happy, and revisiting that moment had seemed pointless.

"You were so excited, so of course we were, too." He hesitates, searching my face. "Clara, you were…" He exhales, as if trying to find the right words. "I don't think I've ever heard you sound like that before. Like the world had finally given you something back after taking so much."

The words hit harder than I expect. I swallow against the tightness in my throat, my nails digging into the leather seat.

For a moment, I let myself remember—not just the pain that followed, but the feeling before it. The way the world tilted on its axis when our eyes met. The magnetic pull, undeniable and absolute. The way every instinct in me screamed, mine.

I had taken a step forward, and so had he.

For a single heartbeat, I thought I had found where I belonged.

And then, I saw her.

Carlisle's fingers laced with Esme's. The hesitation in his eyes, the war in his expression. The weight of a choice he wasn't willing to make.

I rip myself from the memory before it consumes me.

"You all must have thought I'd lost my mind," I murmur, forcing a dry, humorless laugh.

Luka's expression softens. "No. We thought you'd finally found happiness." His voice drops slightly. "We knew there were complications, but… we never thought he wouldn't pick you."

A sharp, bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "Guess we were all wrong."

Silence settles between us, stretching long and heavy. The road winds ahead, disappearing into the misty night, but I barely see it. Then, Luka clears his throat—a purely human gesture, one that makes my lips twitch despite everything. He's nervous.

"Clara…" he starts, voice hesitant.

I glance at him. "Just say it."

He shifts in his seat, exhaling. "If you could go back… would you still have run toward the clearing?"

The question lands between us, heavy and unshakable.

Would I?

Would I still have went to them, knowing how it would end? Knowing the ache that would carve itself into my bones, the wound that would never fully heal?

I grip my chest, where my nonexistent heart lays, my knuckles turning white.

"Yes."

The word leaves me before I can think about it, but I don't take it back. Because the truth is, even with all the pain, all the heartbreak… I don't think I could have resisted.

Carlisle was never a choice.

He was a force.

And some things are impossible to fight.

~ ~

The sky is still dark when we pass the infamous Welcome to Forks sign, its faded lettering standing stark against the misty backdrop of the forest. A strange sensation coils in my chest—something between dread and familiarity.

Home.

The thought unsettles me. Forks was never my home, and yet, I feel it in my bones.

I reach for Luka's hand, squeezing it briefly. He gives me a knowing look but says nothing. He doesn't have to.

We pull into the driveway of our new rental, a modest house tucked into the trees, the scent of pine and damp earth heavy in the air. Mags parks the Dodge Ram behind us, cutting the engine. In the silence that follows, I hear the distant rustling of wildlife, the steady patter of light rain against the leaves.

I step out of the car, taking in my surroundings before gathering my bags. Luka is already unlocking the door, pushing it open to reveal the empty space inside.

It's small. Unassuming. But that's the point.

As I step inside, Luka pauses in the doorway, watching me carefully. "Are you sure about this?"

I set my bag down and turn to face him fully. "Would it matter if I wasn't?"

He exhales through his nose, shutting the door behind him. "Probably not."

I huff a quiet laugh, but the weight in my chest doesn't ease.

Luka moves to flick on the lights, but I stop him. "Leave them off."

He studies me for a moment before nodding, stepping back. The house is cloaked in shadows, the only light spilling in from the streetlamp outside.

I walk to the window, pressing my fingertips against the cold glass. The trees sway in the wind, the mist curling at their edges like something alive.

This town holds ghosts. Old wounds waiting to be reopened.