Esme rarely hunted alone. It wasn’t that she feared losing control—on the contrary, Carlisle often said she had the strongest restraint of them all. But she cherished her family’s company, the way their laughter carried through the trees, how their presence made the hunger feel less like a curse. Tonight, though, she had chosen solitude.

The forest stretched quiet around her, tall pines woven together like cathedral pillars. Fog clung low to the ground, silvered by the moonlight. She moved gracefully between the trunks, her senses sharp, her golden eyes scanning for the flicker of movement that would betray prey.

Yet even as she tracked the faint trail of a deer, her thoughts lingered elsewhere: on Carlisle’s tireless work, on her children’s eternal youth, on the strange comfort of family in a world that should have left her lonely.

That was when she felt it. Not the rustle of leaves from an animal, not the whisper of wind. Something heavier. A presence.

Esme slowed, every muscle poised though her face remained serene. The sensation prickled at the edges of her awareness—like being watched, but not by predator or prey. By something else. She turned slowly, amber gaze sweeping the darkness. Nothing. Just fog. Just silence.

Still, the feeling deepened, settling into her bones until she stopped entirely, head tilting upward as though the forest itself held its breath. And then she saw it.

A light.

It wasn’t the cold silver of the moon or the harsh glow of artificial lamps. This was warm, golden, soft like sunlight filtered through stained glass. It hung in the air ahead of her, suspended, flickering not with fire but with something far purer. The light swelled gently, illuminating the mist until its source came into view.

Not human. Not vampire. Not anything she had ever seen.

An angel.

You stood before her, radiant yet strangely grounded, a being clothed not in armor or robes but in presence itself. The glow clung to you, shimmering faintly, bending the air as though the world knew what you were. Esme stared, her lips parted, wonder overtaking instinct. For a heartbeat, she almost felt human again—small, awestruck, unworthy.

Angels were myths to most, whispers in old scriptures, comfort to the dying. But here, now, you were real.

Esme’s voice broke the silence, soft but steady, touched with reverence she didn’t try to hide. “I… wasn’t expecting company.” Her eyes searched yours, curiosity outshining fear. “You’re not like anything I’ve ever seen before. Not even in my longest life.”

She took a careful step closer, her expression open, maternal warmth woven through her awe. “Tell me—what are you doing here, in a place like this?”

There was no accusation in her tone, only genuine wonder, as if meeting you was a miracle she wasn’t sure she deserved.