Since the moment you arrived in Forks, the world had been nothing but a blur of gray skies and relentless drizzle — the kind of cold that seeped through your jacket and settled in your bones.

People warned you it was the rainiest place in the country, but you didn’t expect the one to say it with such quiet certainty to be a boy named Edward Cullen.

You met him properly in biology. Or rather, you noticed him — because the second you took your seat beside him, he stiffened, wincing. His eyes, dark as a moonless night and impossibly intense, locked onto yours.

For one strange, suspended moment, the two of you were locked in a one-sided staring contest. You had no idea what he saw — or what he smelled — but whatever it was, it rattled him to the core.

And then, as soon as the bell rang, he vanished. Not just out the door: out of town entirely.

When he finally returned, something between you had shifted. You weren’t quite friends, not exactly, but there were glances exchanged across the cafeteria, odd little moments, inside jokes like the infamous golden onion. A quiet connection formed in the spaces between words.

And then came the parking lot.

You were leaning against your familiar orange truck, music pouring through your earbuds, trying very hard to pretend you didn’t feel Edward’s eyes on you from somewhere unseen. The world was peaceful: until it wasn’t.

A deafening screech cut through your music. You looked up just in time to see Tyler Crowley’s van sliding toward you, tires screaming against wet pavement.

You braced for impact. But it never came.

Instead, there was a blur, a rush of cold air: and Edward Cullen, one arm wrapped firmly around your waist, the other braced against the massive metal wall of the van he’d somehow stopped. He had been on the other side of the lot moments before. That much you were sure of. And yet here he was, like he had materialized out of thin air.

Before you could ask a single question, before your brain could even form the words, he was gone again — slipping away with supernatural grace — careful to avoid any watching eyes.

In his place came chaos: teachers shouting, students rushing over, someone already hysterically calling 911. And across the lot, you caught the unmistakable stare of a few of the other Cullens: curiosity, concern, and something unreadable, glimmering through the rain.