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References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

Author's Note:
I started posting this story years ago , but life threw me a few 'wicked curveballs'—broken laptops, lost account info, issues in my personal life and stuff like that. I ended up taking a long break from the story, and of course, writer's block showed up, so the chapters just... stopped.
But recently, my social media feed started throwing Twilight analysis at me, and suddenly I remembered this story I'd first outlined 15 years ago but never finished. So, I decided to take it off the shelf, polish it up, and finally finish it. Honestly, I feel like it's hitting the pulse of our times pretty well, especially considering when I first started outlining it, but we'll see what you think, when we come to that part. I just finished writing Chapter 23, and I'm feeling ridiculously motivated to keep going.
I really hope my writing has improved over the years, but for full transparency, I want to mention that this story's being beta-read by AI. It's been a great help, especially since I'm not a native speaker, and it's catching all the little things I might've missed. But I would be very happy, if any real person wants to betaread.

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Chapter 1
The first thing I'm aware of is the light. It stabs through my eyelids like a hot knife, and I groan, dragging my pillow over my face. Who the hell decided morning was a thing? I swear, if Mom's on another one of her let's start the day early kicks, I'm moving out for real this time.
The second thing I notice is the voice—frantic, insistent. Seth.
"Leah, wake up!"
The bed shifts as he climbs over me like a damn golden retriever, yanking the curtains open with the subtlety of an earthquake.
"Leah—please!"
I know that tone. It's the one he used when he broke Mom's favorite lamp and tried to convince me to take the fall. The one he had when he was eight and accidentally got his hand stuck in a Pringles can. The one that means he won't shut up until I acknowledge him.
"Can't it wait?" My voice is muffled against the pillow. "I got in late from Port Angeles. I need sleep."
"It can't." There's a pause, a tremor in his voice. "I… I imprinted."
That wakes me up. The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
I shove myself up on my elbows, blinking at him. "Imprinted?"
"Anna Mae Banks." His voice wavers between awe and something darker, like fear. "Half an hour ago."
Annie Mae. The name alone makes my teeth clench. I don't have to dig deep for the memories—hushed warnings from the elders, knowing glances at bonfires, the things people never quite dared to say outright.
Every town has a few people like her. The ones everyone tolerates because they have to. Because of family ties or because they're just this side of useful. Annie Mae is the kind of woman who's never seen a problem that wasn't someone else's fault, never met a handout she didn't take. Her reputation in La Push is as tangled as her finances, and I can already hear Mom's reaction when she finds out her baby boy is tied to that mess.
"Leah, get up. You have to take me to the Cullens right now!"
Did he hurt Anna Mae? Like Sam hurt Emily? Is that why he wants to go to the Cullens? Is the doc treating her? Turning her? Oh God—Anna Mae as a human is bad enough. Having her as a vampire would be a nightmare.
I swing my legs out of bed, reaching for the window, because if Seth just mauled Annie Mae, we have bigger problems than my sleep deprivation. But then something soft smacks me in the face.
"Don't," Seth says, shoving a pair of shorts and a T-shirt at me. "We need to drive. I'll explain on the way."
Oh. So she's not bleeding out on Dr. Fang's operating table. That rules out one possibility. But it doesn't answer the million-dollar question: why the hell is my brother acting like he's running for his life?
I catch sight of the sleeping mask dangling from his fingers before he pulls it over his eyes.
"What the hell is going on?"
Seth winces. "I'll tell you in the car."
His scent tells me more than his words. It's sharp with fear. And fear isn't something you can fake.
So I don't argue. I grab Mom's old Corolla keys and haul him after me. As soon as we're on the road, Seth exhales, hands clenched in his lap. "Whatever you do, don't let Anna Mae get near me."
That… is not the kind of thing you say after meeting your supposed soul mate.
The imprint should be pulling him toward her like a leash. Instead, he's bolting in the opposite direction.
I grip the steering wheel. His behavior is setting my nerves on edge.
And then the universe decides to mess with us. First, there's a garbage truck blocking the main road. Then a logging truck cuts off my shortcut. And it's only thanks to my superhuman reflexes that we don't get rammed by some idiot who doesn't yield.
It's like something is physically forcing Seth toward her trailer. Like the imprint is pissed we're resisting and throwing a supernatural tantrum.
His whole body is tense, drawn tight, like he's being stretched between two opposing forces.
Love is supposed to be a choice. Not this. Not a leash.
As we put more distance between us and La Push, something strange happens—I start to relax. We're running toward vampires, and somehow, that feels safer than what we're running from.
I glance at Seth. His breath is shallow. His hands tremble where they rest against his jeans. "Why do you need to go to the Cullens?"
He swallows. "Because I want to break the imprint."
I jerk the wheel. The car veers, and I quickly correct it.
"What?"
The words feel wrong as soon as I say them. You can't break an imprint. Everyone knows that. It's not something you fight. It's not something you can fight.
Seth's jaw tightens. "I talked to Edward about it a while ago. He said Jasper's been researching imprinting—behavioral biology, psychobiology—whatever that means. He thinks there might be a way. Maybe if I stay human, away from her… for long enough… like how baby birds only imprint within a certain window. If I wait it out, I might snap out of it."
I stare at him. "You want to lock yourself up?"
His fingers dig into his thighs. "Exactly. And there's this British guy who says attachment exists for two reasons: One, to protect vulnerable individuals from threats or harm. Two, to regulate negative emotions after something bad happens."
I feel the vibrations of his bouncing foot through the whole car, but he keeps explaining.
"Think about a toddler. They need someone to take care of them because they can't even wipe their own ass. If they're abandoned, they cry, because crying means someone might come back. But if no one comes, eventually, they stop. They detach. They figure out how to function on their own."
His hand grips the door handle. I hear the plastic groaning.
"I have to try, Leah. I can't—I won't—be trapped."
He's breathing fast now, like just saying the words is a battle. I see it in the way his shoulders hunch, the way he presses himself against the seat like he's fighting an invisible tide pulling him backward.
I don't know what to say.
He lets out a rough laugh. "You know Annie Mae. Is she really the sister-in-law you want?"
I don't answer right away. "But… don't you have this insane connection with her? Don't you want to feel all that love and stuff?"
"Of course I feel it," he admits. "And I'm doing everything I can not to jump out of this car and run to her. But let's be real—I'm in love, not stupid. Anna Mae is 37. She's manipulative, egocentric, and has never taken responsibility for a single thing in her life. She needs to fix her own mess before dragging anyone else into it—especially someone half her age. And what do I have to lose? Either I can fight off the imprint, or we'll end up together anyway. That's why we're going to the Cullens. They have a vampire-grade vault, and they've offered it to me until I get her out of my system."
I'm not sure if I'm impressed or horrified.
"But Seth, you've heard the stories. You can't fight an imprint. And you could die!" My throat tightens at the thought.
"Exactly! They're stories. Who knows how much of it is real? Don't worry, Leah. Carlisle, Rosalie, and Edward will monitor me the whole time. It's like a fancy, high-tech imprint detox."
"And how will you know if it worked?"
"Edward can read my mind. Jasper can feel what I'm feeling. And Nessie can put images in my head to test me."
I think it's a stupid plan. I know it won't work.
But Seth is determined.