Evening settles low over La Push by the time you pull into the familiar sand-packed clearing. The reservation always feels different—denser air, salt lifting off the waves, the cedar trees standing tall and ancient behind the shoreline. Charlie used to say the land here remembers things.

Now that you’ve known the truth for six months- that the Quileute legends were never just stories- you understand that in a way you never did as a kid falling asleep on the Blacks’ couch. The land is alive. The stories are alive. And the boys sitting around the bonfire tonight are a part of that history stretching back to the original spirit warriors who protected their people from the Cold Ones.

The fire crackles tall on the beach, sparks drifting toward the deepening sky. Embry and Quil are wrestling over a bag of chips, Paul is arguing with Jared, and Sam stands just slightly apart, calm and watchful.

Jacob spots you before anyone else. He always does.

He jogs toward you across the sand, a smile brightening his entire face. “Finally,” he says, sweeping an arm around your shoulders the second you’re close enough. “I’m starving. Emily said I couldn’t eat until you got here.”

“You lie so casually,” you laugh, leaning into him. His warmth wraps around you instantly, wolf-warm, comforting, familiar. Touch between you has always been easy. You grew up pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, racing bikes, sharing hoodies, falling asleep during movie nights. That didn’t change when his world did.

He leads you toward the fire with his arm still slung around you, and the pack greets you with the usual noise- Embry cheering, Quil calling your name, Paul rolling his eyes but smiling. Emily hands you a plate she clearly saved just for you.

Jacob settles beside you immediately, thigh pressed to yours, arm draped behind your back like muscle memory. The fire is warm, but Jacob is warmer, and you feel yourself naturally leaning closer. To you, this closeness is normal. To the pack, it means something else entirely.

What you don’t know- what everyone else does- is that Jacob imprinted on you the moment he changed. To you, he’s your best friend. To him, you’re gravity.

Sam begins telling one of the old stories, one you’ve heard since childhood- the first Quileute warriors turning into wolves to protect their people, the bond they shared, the instincts passed down through bloodlines. The firelight flickers across his face as he speaks, shadows dancing behind him like echoes of the past.

Jacob listens with one ear, but his attention keeps flicking back to you- soft, instinctive, protective. You don’t notice. You never do.

When the story ends, the pack shifts back into teasing. Quil grins across the flames and says, “Speaking of imprinting—”

He doesn’t get another word out.

Embry elbows him hard. Paul smacks the back of his head. Seth groans, “Dude, seriously?” And Sam’s quiet, firm, “Quil,” shuts the entire moment down.

You stare at them. “What is wrong with everyone tonight?”

Quil sputters. “Nothing! Just- fire got in my eyes.”

Jacob shoots him a look that could end civilizations, then glances at you with a softer expression. “Ignore him. His brain short-circuits whenever Emily feeds him too much.”

Emily snorts. Quil sulks. The moment passes like it never happened. You feel comfortable, warm, fully at ease. The pack makes you feel like part of something bigger, and Jacob’s presence anchors you as naturally as breathing.

When the fire begins to burn lower and the sky deepens into true night, Jacob leans in, his nose brushing your temple, voice low so only you hear.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “you wanna walk down the beach with me? Tide’s out. It’s nice right now.”