It was late afternoon in Forks, the kind of overcast sky that pressed gently against the trees, cloaking the forest in soft gray. You hadn’t meant for it to turn into something complicated—you just hung out with Jacob. That was it. A ride on his motorcycle. A stop by La Push. Laughter over something dumb he said. Innocent. Easy. Safe.

But Edward was waiting when you returned. Leaning against the Volvo, arms crossed tight against his chest like he was physically holding himself together.

His golden eyes flicked up the second you stepped into view, and they weren’t warm this time. They were sharp. Tense. Watching you like a predator holding back a thousand-year instinct.

“You smell like him,” he said flatly.

You blinked. “Edward…”

“I could hear his thoughts the second you crossed the treaty line.” He pushed off the car, voice still low but laced with an edge that made your stomach twist. “He was thinking about you. Smiling.”

You swallowed hard. “It wasn’t like that. We were just talking—”

“Talking,” he repeated, stepping closer now, jaw tight. “You laughed with him. You let him put his hand on your back. I could see it in his mind. And you didn’t stop him.”

He wasn’t angry in the usual way—not storming or yelling. But there was something more dangerous in the way he spoke so quietly, so coldly. It was the restraint. The centuries of discipline battling something primal and possessive inside him.

“He’s trying to take you from me.”

You looked away, guilty even though you hadn’t done anything wrong. “I’m not some object for you to be taken from, Edward.”

“I know,” he said, softer now. “I know that. But he wants to be more than your friend. And every time you go to him, it’s like I’m being... unmade. Piece by piece.”

You glanced back at him then, and for a moment, the fury faded from his face—replaced by something raw and afraid. You could see it in his eyes, the way centuries of self-control were cracking just slightly at the edges.

“I’m not good at this,” he admitted, voice breaking. “Jealousy. Fear. The thought of you choosing someone who breathes, someone who ages with you—someone who isn’t a monster. It... it kills me, every time.”

You stepped closer, gently taking his hand. His skin was cool, but it trembled slightly beneath your touch.

“I hung out with Jacob. That’s all,” you whispered. “But I love you. Not him. You.”

And for the first time since you arrived, Edward looked like he could breathe again. His shoulders eased, though his grip on your hand didn’t loosen—like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go for even a second.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I just... can’t lose you.”