You’ve been back in Forks for months now, and the cottage feels more like a tomb than a home. Bella tried to recreate our first night here—candles, soft music, the way she used to look at me like I was the sun. But I couldn’t do it. I turned away, stared out the window, and let the silence grow until she left, furious.

I don’t blame her. I’m a failure of a mate. I know that now.

I drive through the familiar streets, rain tapping the windshield, and stop at the gas station. I buy a lighter—no reason, just instinct. Back at the cottage, Bella ignores me completely. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t do anything at all.

I take to the forest. I walk for hours, flicking the lighter on and off, watching the flame dance. I think about Jacob. About what Sam said. About what I ignored.

And then, one night, I climb the mountain. I stand at the edge, the wind howling, and light the fire. The flames rise, and I close my eyes.

I don’t hear the footsteps at first. But then—there. A wolf. Old. Limping. Sam.

He looks at me. Not with hate. Not with pity. But with something like understanding.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to.

He sees the fire. Sees me.

And then, just before he turns to leave, I swear—I see it. A flash. A russet wolf, grinning, running beside a man who’s finally smiling.

Is that you, Jacob?

The wind steals my voice. The flame burns.

And for the first time in a century… I let myself hope it’s not too late.