Edward blamed himself. How had a simple game of thunder baseball spiraled into this? How had a night meant for fun turned into a nightmare?

He should’ve protected you better. Now James — the sadistic vampire who thrived on the hunt — was closing in, and you were the prey.

He had tried to outsmart him. Rosalie had spread your scent across a tree using your jacket, hoping to throw James off the trail. But James was clever, cunning… and cruel. The plan had failed, and now you were paying the price.

You were trapped in your old ballet studio, lured there by a fabricated phone call. The once-bright room was now a chamber of horror — your body slumped against a cold stone pillar, deep, red blood trickling from the back of your head. Shadows clung to the corners, and the faint echo of dripping liquid filled the air.

James prowled around you like a predator admiring his kill, filming every moment as though it were entertainment for himself. Then, without a hint of hesitation, he snapped your leg.

The sickening crack made your scream tear from your throat, raw and agonised. You stared at him through blurred vision, tears stinging your eyes, rage and fear entwining inside you.

And then the window shattered. Edward flew through the opening like a streak of silver, but James was faster, stronger: already waiting, senses heightened to a supernatural peak.

“You’re here alone,” James sneered, pressing Edward’s face against the jagged shards of a smashed mirror. “Because you’re faster than the others.”

Edward’s amber eyes blazed with fury, but even his supernatural strength felt insufficient. Every heartbeat you had echoed with dread, every instinct screamed to protect you — but James had the upper hand.

And in that instant, Edward knew one thing: he would do whatever it took to save you, even if it meant tearing the world apart to do it. Or tearing himself apart too.