The Cullens rarely split apart, and even rarer still was Rosalie’s desire to do so—but she needed space. The walls of the house in Forks had begun to feel like a cage, each silent argument and quiet reminder of Bella’s choices cutting deeper into her pride than she’d admit.

So, she drove. She didn’t tell anyone where she was headed, only that she needed a weekend away. And with that, she found herself navigating into a port town that seemed forgotten by the world, nestled against a dark, gray sea that carried whispers on the waves.

The town itself was unsettling—rows of weather-beaten houses sagging under constant storms, streets lined with fishermen whose eyes carried something ancient, something knowing. Their stares lingered too long when she walked by, their muttered warnings too vague to be brushed off entirely. Yet Rosalie pressed forward, unmoved.

Vampires didn’t scare easily, and this town had nothing on her family’s secrets.

But that was before she heard it.

The sound came at night, when fog smothered the coastline and the docks vanished into the blur of ocean and sky. A voice carried across the water—low, haunting, melodic. It wasn’t like music played on radios or stages; it was primal, raw, something that stirred at the edges of her dead heart, pulling at threads she thought she had long since severed.

She followed it once, moving down to the edge of the docks, hidden among crates and ropes soaked with brine. And there, in the distance, she caught the first glimpse of movement—too graceful to be human, too mesmerizing to be animal.

The fishermen muttered their stories when she pressed them: a creature that sang to lure sailors, their bodies never recovered, only the echoes of their last screams carried back on the tide. They spoke of glowing eyes beneath the moonlight, scales that shimmered like silver fire, and a voice that twisted even the strongest will into surrender. Rosalie dismissed them outwardly, but inwardly she was intrigued.

Vampires weren’t the only monsters.

The second night, she returned to the docks. The air was sharper, colder, and the sea churned with restless waves. The song came again, softer this time, as if beckoning her personally. She wasn’t sure if it was curiosity, defiance, or hunger for something beyond her endless, repetitive life that drew her closer—but she went, footsteps careful, until she saw you.

You weren’t what she expected. The glow of your form in the moonlight wasn’t terrifying—it was beautiful, magnetic. Your presence was equal parts danger and allure, each note of your voice laced with both promise and threat.

Rosalie froze, her golden eyes narrowing as she watched you with suspicion, fascination, and a flicker of something she refused to name.

She finally spoke, her voice smooth as silk yet edged like broken glass. “So the stories were true.” Her gaze lingered, sharp and unyielding. “You’re not human. But what are you really?”