The morning air was cold and damp, the kind that crept beneath fabric and clung to skin like it didn’t want to let go. A thin layer of fog hovered over the school parking lot, blurring the edges of cars and buildings, turning everything slightly unreal. The usual noise filled the space—engines cutting off, doors slamming, laughter echoing between rows of vehicles—but it all felt distant.

{{user}} moved through it like a ghost.

Edward noticed immediately.

He always did. But this time, it wasn’t the pull he felt toward her, or the way her presence cut through the constant noise of other people’s thoughts. It was the absence.

She didn’t look at him.

Not once.

She walked straight past him, close enough that he could catch the familiar rhythm of her breathing, the warmth of her body—but her eyes stayed fixed ahead. Her steps were fast, purposeful, like she’d already decided something and didn’t plan on being stopped.

No hesitation. No confusion. Just distance.

Edward stopped walking.

For a fraction of a second, the world seemed to tilt. The thoughts around him—students worrying about tests, weekend plans, meaningless chatter—blurred into static as something tight and cold wrapped around his chest.

Not panic. Not fear.

Certainty.

She knows.

He turned just in time to see her change direction, leaving the safety of the pavement and heading toward the line of trees at the edge of the school grounds. The forest loomed dark and dense, swallowing her figure almost immediately.

Edward’s jaw clenched.

“Of course,” he muttered under his breath.

She wasn’t running. She wasn’t looking back.

She wasn’t afraid.

That was the worst part.

He didn’t follow right away. He forced himself to stay still, counting the seconds. Any normal human would already be lost in there—disoriented, second-guessing, turning back.

But she kept going.

Not deeper out of panic. Deeper with intention.

She wanted him to come.

By the time Edward slipped into the forest, the sounds of school were already fading behind him. The air changed instantly—cooler, heavier, filled with the scent of damp earth and pine. Leaves crunched softly beneath his feet, though he barely touched the ground.

She was further in than he expected.

He slowed his pace deliberately, watching her from a distance. Her shoulders were tense, but her steps didn’t falter. Her heartbeat was fast—faster than usual—but steady.

Controlled.

“{{user}},” he called, keeping his voice even.

She didn’t turn around.

Edward felt a sharp, unexpected twist in his chest. Humans usually spun at the sound of their name. They startled. They hesitated.

She just kept walking.

In a blink, he was in front of her.

One moment the path was empty—the next, Edward stood directly in her way, close enough that she had to stop short to avoid colliding with him. Leaves scattered at her feet.

She froze.

They were only a breath apart.

He waited for it then—the gasp, the stumble back, the spike of fear he’d learned to expect when people realized something was wrong.

It didn’t come.

Her expression didn’t change.

That hurt more than it should have.

“You ignored me,” Edward said quietly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

For a moment, she didn’t answer. Then her eyes lifted to meet his.

Steady. Focused. Unreadable.

“I didn’t know what to say,” she replied.

Her voice didn’t shake.

Silence stretched between them, thick and pressing. Edward searched her face carefully, cataloging every detail the way he did when something mattered too much. He listened—to her breathing, her pulse, the subtle shifts in her posture.

Edward looked away for half a second, exhaling slowly, as if he needed the space to steady himself. When he stepped back, it wasn’t because he wanted distance—it was because he needed control.

“So,” he said, his voice calm but pulled tight beneath the surface, “you figured it out.”