Jasper's POV
The air in the house was sharp with emotion. Most people wouldn't notice it—couldn't. But I could feel it like needles under my skin. Pain. Regret. Guilt. And her anger... it still clung to the walls like smoke after a fire.
Renesmee's emotions had always been bright to me. Softer than most. Nuanced. She didn't flare up easily, not like Rosalie or Jacob. But when she did… it was pure combustion.
Tonight, she burned the house down—emotionally speaking—and we all watched it happen, helpless.
I hated helpless.
I walked slowly through the halls, trying to calm the storm. Pushing calm through the air like a tide, gentle but constant. It didn't stick. Not tonight. Everyone was too raw.
Bella's pain was acidic—deep and twisting, like a mother grieving a daughter who was still breathing. Edward's was heavier. Quieter. Shame laced with old ghosts. And Alice—my Alice—was the most fragile of all, even if she wouldn't admit it.
I pushed calm toward her again from the next room. She took it like air, held it for a second, then let it go. She couldn't hold onto peace if Renesmee was out there and she couldn't see her.
And Renesmee… oh God.
The last emotions I felt from her before she crossed the tree line were like a blade to the gut—betrayal, heartbreak, disbelief, grief, fury. It hit me so hard I nearly collapsed against the wall.
I didn't blame her. Not at all.
We'd made a choice—for her. And in doing so, we turned her into the very thing we'd tried to protect her from: a girl born into a cage.
She didn't want Jacob. Not like that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
We'd taken that question away from her by never speaking it out loud.
I stood at the glass doors at the back of the house, staring out into the woods. I could still feel a trace of her. Like a heat signature fading in the dark. That emotion—her emotion—was imprinted on the air itself.
She had meant every word she said.
I'm leaving. And I don't know when I'll be back.
I pressed my palms against the glass. I wasn't like Edward—I couldn't hear her thoughts. I wasn't like Alice—I couldn't see her future. But I could feel her.
And I knew this wasn't a tantrum.
This was transformation.
She was becoming something else—someone else—and when she returned, if she returned, we'd have to face the girl we created.
And the woman she decided to be.