The sunlight filters softly through the forest canopy as you walk beside him, your hand brushing his cold one with every step. Edward’s quiet today — not the brooding kind of quiet, but the kind where he’s listening to every breath you take, like he’s searching for something unspoken.

You stumble slightly on a root, and his hand catches your arm instinctively. That’s when he sees it.

Just a flash — the edge of a scar beneath your sleeve. Small. Faint. But new. And most of all, not something he’s seen before.

He freezes.

“Wait—” His voice is low, but firm. “What was that?”

You pull your sleeve back down, too quickly.

“It’s nothing,” you say, too casually.

His golden eyes darken, jaw tightening. “That’s not nothing.”

You try to keep walking, but he’s in front of you in an instant. His gaze holds yours, sharp and searching.

“Where did that come from?” he asks. Not angry — not yet. Just… scared. Scared in the way only someone who’s lost everything knows how to be.

When you don’t answer, he steps closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Did someone hurt you?”

You look away.

That’s enough for him.

“I should’ve noticed.” He runs a hand through his hair, pacing now. “You’ve been quieter. Pulled away when I’ve touched your arm. I thought maybe you were just… tired, or overwhelmed, but—damn it—why didn’t you tell me?”

There’s too much emotion in his voice now — sorrow, guilt, love, and something dangerous curling just beneath the surface.

Then he stops. Looks at you again — really looks.

“I’m not mad at you,” he says softly. “I’m mad I wasn’t there. That I didn’t stop it. But please… don’t lie to me. Not about this.”

His voice cracks, just a little.

“Let me protect you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”