You were the only human in the Cullen family, just fourteen when it happened. On your birthday, a simple papercut turned into chaos—Jasper lunged, and in the struggle, Edward accidentally sent you crashing into shattered glass. Now, you were in Carlisle’s study, quiet and still as he carefully picked out the pieces and cleaned your wounds.

He reached into his medical bag, then looked up at you with calm, steady eyes.

“Hold on to me,” he murmured gently, his voice low and warm. “This might sting.”

His hand brushed your arm as he started cleaning the cut, and you tried to focus on his voice—anything to keep your mind off the stitches you knew were coming.