PAIN | Jasper Hale [1]

The relentless drumming of rain against the windowpane was the soundtrack to Thea Summers's new life in Forks, a town perpetually shrouded in a misty, melancholic green.

Three years. Three years since the fire. Three years since her world imploded, leaving her with nothing but ghosts and the crushing weight of a grief that felt too heavy to bear. Her bedroom, now a small, redecorated office downstairs in Chief Swan's house, offered a fragile illusion of safety, its backdoor a silent promise of escape.

But even here, the nightmares found her. They always did. The same scene replayed nightly: the roar of flames, the acrid smell of smoke, and her father's face, contorted in terror, before he vanished into the inferno. She would wake, gasping, clawing at her throat, the phantom sensation of suffocation a cruel reminder.

It was four in the morning, the sky still a bruised purple, and Thea was already awake, lost in the pages of a book, the words blurring before her eyes. School. Today was her first day back after years of online classes. The thought alone was enough to twist her stomach into knots.

She looked up, catching her reflection in the darkened window. Pale. Gaunt. The dark circles under her eyes were permanent fixtures now. She ran a hand through her short, red hair, a defiant cut from just two nights ago. She looked, she thought, like a survivor. Or perhaps, just a ghost haunting her own life.