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Nate held the phone between his fingers, staring at it in silence as if it were a strange object. He turned it once, evaluating it, still undecided on how he felt about it. Beside him, Alice glanced at him and smiled softly—that light smile she used whenever she wanted to ease the tension in the air.
"I think it's for the best," she said in a slightly playful tone. "Besides, I was already planning to buy you a new phone."
Nate nodded slowly. A part of him still felt like he didn't need it. Ever since he'd been with Alice—which was practically always—the idea of having his own phone had never once crossed his mind. If he needed anything, Alice was just a word—or even a gesture—away.
But Edward was right… and the idea of being able to rely on his help, even if Nate didn't want to admit it, wasn't entirely bad. Knowing what the other person is thinking is always useful, Edward had said. And Nate couldn't deny it.
Still, he hoped he wouldn't have to rely on him. Not so soon.
He slipped the phone into his pocket with a calm movement. Alice, without saying anything else, gave him a soft, understanding smile. Then they resumed their pace, moving fast enough that the forest became streaks of green and flickering shadows.
They headed toward the outskirts of Port Angeles, into the surrounding woods. It didn't take Nate more than a few minutes to catch the scent of the newborns: dense, sharp, mixed with that specific kind of rage only a newly created vampire carried. He didn't need anything more to know they were close. And even if his sense of smell had failed him, his hearing would not.
Between the trees, cutting through the silence, came the sounds of struggling—and a choked cry he recognized instantly.
Alistair.
Nate sped up without thinking; as he pushed through the undergrowth, the scene unfolded before him with brutal clarity: Alistair was on his knees, held down by two newborns who wore almost childlike, satisfied smiles. In front of them, Vladimir and Stefan looked like they were savoring every second, as if the entire situation were a game crafted solely for their amusement.
Alice grimaced at the sight.
They arrived just in time to hear Stefan whisper, in an almost gentle tone:
"Nathaniel wants us to treat him delicately… but I think if we tear his throat out for a few hours, he might draw less attention."
Vladimir snickered, playing along, much to Alistair's despair.
"You're right, Stefan. After all, we can't attract too much human attention, can we? And our new friend doesn't seem to know how to behave."
He raised his hand, ready to strike directly at the immobilized vampire's neck. But his hand never completed the motion.
A strong grip stopped him cold.
By the time Vladimir realized it, Nate was already behind him, holding him with a force that left no room for doubt. He had arrived so fast that even Alice hadn't seen his final step.
The Romanians' smiles widened—satisfied, amused. To them, this wasn't an interruption; it was another confirmation of what they were building.
Alistair's expression, however, sharpened. His eyes burned with sudden fire—rage mixed with… recognition.
"You!" he shouted, his voice trembling with contained fury. "You're the one who did all that?!"
Nate held Alistair's gaze. For an instant, a pang of guilt pierced his chest. Alistair had come to Forks at Carlisle's request… and now Nate had him here, restrained, cornered, forced into something he never would've agreed to willingly.
But guilt wouldn't change what needed to happen.
With a curt motion, Nate released Vladimir. Then, without raising his voice, he ordered the newborns to let Alistair go. They obeyed immediately, bowing their heads with a submissiveness that did not go unnoticed by the British vampire.
Alistair leapt to his feet, dusting off his jacket with irritation before fixing his glare back on Nate. The anger in his face was so raw it felt like a whip.
He took half a step forward, ready to lunge, but before he could move another inch, Vladimir and Stefan placed a hand on each of his shoulders. With unsettling synchrony, they forced him back to his knees—with no effort, as if he were merely a stubborn child.
"Does Carlisle know about this?" Alistair spat, seeing himself forced down again, his voice vibrating with both rage and fear. "Did you call me here just to ambush me?"
Nate opened his mouth to answer, but Vladimir spoke first, tightening his grip until Alistair's teeth ground together.
"You see, Nathaniel?" he said with feigned concern. "Our guest is a little… restless. I think it would be wiser to rip off one of his legs. Nothing drastic—just so he learns to stay still. Otherwise, the moment we turn our backs, he'll try to run."
Panic flickered across Alistair's face, a fleeting, almost invisible flash. But Nate reacted instantly—to his relief.
"That won't be necessary," Nate cut in—firm, sharp.
The resulting silence was abrupt.
Nate stepped forward without a trace of hesitation.
"To answer your question," he continued, "Carlisle has nothing to do with this. All of this was because of me."
Alistair held his gaze with pure hatred; even if Carlisle had nothing to do with it, he couldn't keep from feeling betrayed.
"What do you want from me, boy?" he growled. "I already told you everything I could sense from that shirt. Let me go! If the Volturi find out I spoke to these two…" He pointed at the Romanians with a horrified grimace. "Even if it was against my will, I'm done for."
The Romanians frowned at the mention of the Volturi, as if the word itself were blasphemy.
Nate paid it no mind and continued speaking as though Alistair's words had passed unheard.
"I'm sorry things turned out this way," he said with cold sincerity. "And I promise to guarantee your safety… as long as you don't try to escape."
For an instant, his eyes hardened, shining with a sharpness that made it clear his words were no empty threat.
"I need to catch a vampire," Nate continued. "No matter the cost. And even though I wish I had another option, your ability is the only real lead I have."
Alistair opened his mouth to protest again, but Stefan tightened his grip, demanding silence without needing to speak.
Nate went on, unwavering:
"You have two options."
The forest seemed to hold its breath as everyone waited for Nate to finish speaking.
"First option: you come with us to Phoenix. There are more traces there of the vampire we're looking for. You'll help me find him and, when everything is over, I'll let you go. We'll pretend none of this ever happened. And the newborns and I will be obligated to help you if you ever need it." He paused, as if considering the words. "Think of it as me owing you a favor."
The second option came in a lower tone, almost a whisper that carried more weight than any shout.
"Or you can scream, kick, and try to escape… and I'll drag you to Phoenix myself. And you'll lose a limb for every detour you force me to take."
A shiver tightened Alistair's back.
The vampire was strong. Old. Experienced. And against any ordinary newborn, he would never have doubted his chances of fighting or fleeing. But Nate wasn't an ordinary newborn… and the more than twenty vampires around them didn't behave like ordinary newborns either. There was no chaos in them, no wild hunger, no impulsiveness.
There was obedience.
Absolute obedience.
And the Romanians… the satisfied smiles on both their faces… Why were they submitting to this boy? What kind of newborn could turn proud leaders into docile accomplices?
His eyes shifted to Alice. He expected support, some sign of hope. But she lowered her gaze uncomfortably, as if afraid of what would happen if Alistair gave the wrong answer.
That alone was enough for his instinct—the same one that had kept him alive for centuries—to scream a single truth:
The vampire before him was dangerous… perhaps even more dangerous than the Romanians if he could make them bow their heads to his decisions.
Finally, with a resigned huff, Alistair lowered his head.
"It seems… I don't have another choice."
Alice let out a soft breath, as if she had been holding it for far too long. The Romanians exchanged a satisfied look, and Vladimir didn't miss the chance to drop a cutting remark.
"We could've spared ourselves this whole unpleasant moment if you'd been so understanding from the beginning."
Alistair glared at him as if he could throw daggers with his eyes. In his mind, possibilities knotted and unknotted rapidly: escape the moment someone lowered their guard, run back to Carlisle—he suspected he would be safe with him. After all, Nate had hidden his intentions from Carlisle. Maybe that was his best chance to slip out of this situation…
His mental plan had barely begun to take shape when Nate's voice cut through his thoughts like a blade.
"You heard him. None of you will lay a hand on him. Even if he tries to escape, you won't do anything. I'll bring him back myself."
The words fell on the group with solid weight. The newborns bowed their heads in unison—silent, obedient, almost reverent. The automatic submission of more than twenty vampires left Alistair breathless, if he had still been capable of losing his breath.
Stefan let out a low, dry laugh and gave him a light push between the shoulder blades—just enough to force him to take a step forward.
"I would've preferred being chased by the newborns…" he muttered, half amused, half dangerously sincere.
Vladimir laughed too—that dark, pleased sound that always seemed to herald trouble. For Alistair, it was an unmistakable sign that the time for talking was over.
In an instant, without a single additional word, Nate launched himself forward and began to run. His figure blurred between the trees with precise, controlled speed. The newborns reacted immediately, moving after him as a single creature—no disorder, none of the usual chaos of their kind.
The Romanians exchanged one last amused smile and joined the run.
And Alistair was left alone.
One second. Two. Enough for the solitude to feel like an abyss.
He could leave. He could turn and run toward Forks before the group noticed he wasn't with them. He could find Carlisle, explain the situation, ask for protection… hide under his shadow until all this passed.
But logic spoke louder than instinct.
If Nate had the power to control over twenty newborns without raising his voice…
if he could make the Romanians behave like satisfied guard dogs…
Then he could also catch him, even if Alistair fled now, even if he ran in the opposite direction with all the speed he possessed.
And Nate had said he would bring him back.
Whole or in pieces.
A shiver—not caused by cold—ran down the Briton's spine.
With more fear than frustration, Alistair finally took a step forward. Then another. And with a resigned growl, he began to run after the group, driven by the certainty that he had no other choice.
But what he saw when he caught up to them froze his mind more than any threat.
Nate was not running at the front, leading the formation with youthful confidence.
No.
Nate was at the back. Deliberately at the back, a few meters behind the last newborn in the formation. Moving with unsettling calm, not losing speed… and never taking his eyes off him.
Like a hunter keeping close to its prey.
As if he had already calculated everything.
And as if, in truth, it had never been safe to even consider escaping.
.......................................................
They had been running for several kilometers. Even though it was still daytime, the density of the forest wrapped around them like a protective cloak—enough shadows, enough tangled branches and massive trunks to let a procession of more than twenty vampires go unnoticed. The air vibrated with the friction of bodies moving at unnatural speed; branches shook, leaves crackled, and the ground trembled with a steady, almost rhythmic cadence.
Nate ran at the back of the formation, with Alice on his right and Alistair on his left. Every few seconds, he cast a quick glance at the Briton, measuring his breathing, his posture, the movement of his hands—any gesture that might betray an attempt to flee. He had spoken to him with complete honesty…, and for that reason, he hoped Alistair would be sensible enough not to test him. Especially with Alice so close. The last thing he wanted was to be forced to react violently in front of someone who, despite everything, was still innocent in this conflict.
The forest began to open up as they advanced; the shadows stretched and withdrew, allowing light to spill through the high canopy as if the path were gradually revealing itself. That was when Nate noticed something out of place. Alistair kept looking back. It wasn't a casual glance, but a repetitive, nervous, almost compulsive gesture, as if he feared something—or someone—was about to catch up to him.
Without slowing his pace, Nate turned his head discreetly, alert for the faintest unfamiliar scent, the wrong kind of branch snapping, a heartbeat or breath that didn't belong to his group. But he sensed nothing. And that was even more unsettling. His senses had always surpassed those of the average vampire. For Alistair to detect something, he couldn't…
Alarm sparked in his mind.
Without altering his pace, he asked with apparent indifference:
"What is it?"
Alistair took a moment to answer. He clenched his jaw, as if the words he was about to say might worsen his own situation.
"Are those things under your command too?" he muttered with clear disgust. "Is that why you were so sure I couldn't escape?"
Nate frowned. There was no trace of deceit or dramatics in his expression—only pure confusion.
"Things?" he repeated, his voice lower than usual.
Alistair nodded without breaking his pace.
"Those native creatures… the ones who said they weren't Children of the Moon."
Nate's confusion deepened. He glanced back again, this time making no effort to hide it. Seeing the gesture, Alistair added in a tense voice:
"He's still far… but there's one following us."
That was all Nate needed.
He stopped cold.
The halt was so abrupt that the entire formation was forced to stop as well, a heavy silence spreading through the trees like a new shadow.
Alice was beside him in the blink of an eye, her face full of worry.
"What is it? Is something wrong?"
Nate offered her a calm smile, a soft gesture that contrasted sharply with the sudden tension that had gripped the group.
He shook his head and, with a brief sigh, replied with a calm that bordered on ironic:
"It will just be one last farewell."