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Recap Chapter 6: Leah is once again at the Cullen house. Seth has survived the first night. Embry and Leah help with the research by giving blood and take advantage of Esme's hospitality.
Chapter 7
he second-hand clothing store in Port Angeles isn't glamorous.
It barely pays.
But it's normal.
No blood. No fangs. No phasing. Just jeans to fold and receipts to print. And cheap shirts I can get for the pack to tear through in record time.
It's the closest thing I have to control.
Still, by the time my shift ends, I can feel the pressure creeping back—the energy twisting under my skin, reminding me what I really am. Reminding me that normal is just an illusion I keep pretending to buy into.
I shove the door open, already set on heading home, when I see her.
Rachel Black.
She's balancing a grocery bag in one arm, a to-go coffee in the other, weaving through the sidewalk traffic like she belongs here. Like she's always belonged here, even though I remember a time when she didn't.
For a second, I hesitate. Rachel might have been older than me, but we used to get along well.
But then she spots me. "Leah! Hey!"
I sigh. Too late to run.
She falls into step beside me, and we make small talk at first. Surface-level, easy.
But Rachel isn't how I remember her.
She's still quick-witted, still sharp, but there's something else now. A settledness. A quiet certainty in the way she carries herself. It's unnerving. Because I don't know what to do with that.
Rachel must notice, because after a few minutes, she smirks. "Let me guess. You're trying to figure out if I'm a mindless imprint zombie."
I snort. "I mean, you're drinking one of those overpriced sugar bombs that's more syrup than coffee, so maybe."
Rachel laughs, unfazed. "Please. I was addicted to these before I even knew Paul existed." She takes another sip, then shrugs. "Look, I know what everyone thinks. That I had all these plans, and then—bam—imprinting, and suddenly I gave it all up for a guy."
I tilt my head. "Didn't you?"
She doesn't get defensive. Just thinks about it. "I don't think of it that way. My priorities changed. But I don't regret it."
I scoff. "That sounds like something an imprint would say."
Rachel stops walking. Turns to look at me fully, expression unreadable. "Leah. Do you regret every choice you've made?"
I stiffen. "That's different."
"Is it?"
The way she says it—it's not condescending, not mocking, just pointed—makes my hands clench.
I start walking again, faster this time. Rachel easily keeps pace.
She exhales, then says, "Look, I get it. From the outside, it seems like I got swept up in this supernatural crap. But here's the thing—I chose this."
I scoff again, sharper. "Did you? You didn't choose for Paul to imprint on you."
"No," Rachel admits. "But I did choose to stay."
She says it like it's that simple.
Like she had options.
"So what, that makes it feminist?" I challenge.
Rachel doesn't blink. "Choice is feminism."
I huff. "Okay, but what about the other half of the equation? Paul didn't choose you, not really. He just imprinted. A switch flipped in his brain and suddenly, you were it for him."
Rachel lifts an eyebrow. "And you think he's unhappy?"
I don't answer.
Because of course he's not. That's not how imprinting works.
Rachel keeps going. "Paul loves me. But that doesn't mean he's mindless. It doesn't mean he'd die without me, or that I could control him if I wanted to. I want him to be able to make his own decisions, so he can. And he'd walk away from the pack, from all of it. He would stop phasing so that we can live like every normal couple."
I frown. "You know that?"
Rachel nods, firm. "We've talked about it."
That throws me. I don't know why—maybe because it's hard to imagine Paul talking through anything—but the fact that they actually discussed it makes me hesitate.
Still.
"So what, you're fine with the chauvinism?" I challenge. "Because let's be real, Paul's an asshole. He flies off the handle constantly. Even after he imprinted on you, he— Rachel, I am worried for you. The stuff he said about what a woman should do and the entitlement. That makes me worried"
Rachel holds up a hand. "I know." She sighs. "And trust me, I don't let him get away with any of that. But I am the imprint. He cannot make me do anything against my will. And changing is hard. Unlearning is hard. The whole pack was raised in this environment. It's systemic. It's not just Paul. It's all of them."
I cross my arms. "Doesn't mean we shouldn't call it out."
"Exactly," Rachel agrees. "But that's the thing—Paul listens when I call him out. He's trying. And yeah, he screws up with some comments. And yeah, sometimes I want to throw things at his head. But at least he's doing the work."
I want to argue. To say that's not enough.
But then Rachel tilts her head, studying me. "You ever wonder why it's just the guys?"
I blink. "What?"
"Why only men phase," she clarifies. "Why you're the only exception."
My jaw tightens. "It's a wolf thing."
Rachel hums. "Maybe. Or maybe it's a genetic thing."
I frown. "What are you saying?"
She hesitates, then says, "I took biology in college. And… look, I'm not a doctor, but it just makes me wonder. Could it be something linked to the Y chromosome? To male hormones? And if so… what does that mean for you?"
The way she says it makes something shift in my chest.
Uncomfortable. Uncertain.
Rachel continues, more careful now. "Ever heard of Turner Syndrome? Or AIS?"
I stare at her. "What?"
She shrugs. "Just a thought."
It's a loaded thought, and she knows it.
I don't know what to do with that.
Because she's asking something I've never let myself consider—not fully, not out loud.
What makes me different? What makes me the only one?
Something uneasy coils in my stomach.
Rachel shifts the grocery bag in her arms. "Look, I don't have all the answers. But if you ever want to talk about it…" She trails off, watching me carefully.
I force my expression blank. "I'm fine."
She doesn't push. Just nods.
We fall into step again, but it's different now. The air between us feels heavier, like she's cracked something open that I wasn't ready for.
Eventually, the conversation circles back to safer things.
But even as we part ways, even as I head home, Rachel's words linger.
I tell myself they don't mean anything. That it's just another useless thought to shove down with all the others.
But deep down, I know the truth.
They're going to haunt me.