(Mike)
The fire crackled softly as the last remnants of the Volturi burned.
Ash drifted upward in slow spirals, carried by a faint breeze that still smelled of ozone and rain. I stood a few steps back from the pyre, watching the flames consume what remained of Jane, Alec, Felix, and Demetri. There was no satisfaction in it. No triumph. Just a heavy, lingering awareness of what had been done and what it would cost.
When the fire finally settled into glowing embers, I turned toward Carlisle.
"What are you going to do now?" I asked. "The Volturi won't let this go."
Carlisle didn't answer right away. He looked at the flames, then slowly at his family. At Esme, who stood close to him, her hand resting lightly against his arm. At Alice, silent and distant, her gaze unfocused. At Emmett and Rosalie, standing shoulder to shoulder like they were ready for another fight at any second. At Jasper, tense but controlled, and Edward's absence felt louder than all of them combined.
Finally, Carlisle straightened, resolve settling into his expression.
"We'll go into hiding for a while," he said. "They've lost their tracker. That gives us an advantage, at least for now. They won't be able to find us easily."
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
"They may come looking. Sniffing around, testing waters. But as long as you don't reveal yourself, they shouldn't cause trouble for you."
I nodded once. "I won't bother them. I'll keep to myself." Then I added, my voice hardening despite my attempt to keep it neutral, "But if I see them trying to feed on humans here, I won't let it stand."
Carlisle turned fully toward me, his gaze sharp and unyielding.
"That would be dangerous," he said. "If another member of their coven disappears after coming to investigate this region, they won't dismiss it. The loss of these four can be blamed on the newborn army. But another death would confirm there's something else at play."
I didn't look away. "Then let them come."
For a moment, no one spoke. The fire popped quietly behind us.
Alice broke the silence, her voice calm but distant. "I'll keep an eye on the leaders. Aro, Caius, and Marcus. If they make a decision, if they shift their focus, I'll know. And I'll tell you."
I met her eyes. "Thank you," I said, meaning it more than she probably realized.
Then my attention shifted.
Bree stood a little apart from the others, her posture stiff, arms drawn close to her body as if she were trying to take up less space. The firelight caught in her red eyes, making her look even younger than she was. Smaller. Fragile in a way no newborn vampire ever truly was.
"And the girl?" I asked. "What are you going to do with her?"
Esme answered immediately, stepping forward with a gentle smile.
"It isn't her fault," she said. "She didn't choose to be turned, and she didn't participate in the fighting. We won't abandon her."
She looked at Bree directly, her voice warm and certain. "We'll take you with us. Teach you control. Teach you how to live the way we do."
Under my gaze, Bree trembled slightly. I saw her brace herself, like she expected rejection or worse. But as Esme spoke, something in her loosened. Her shoulders dropped a fraction.
"Thank you," Bree said quietly. "I promise I'll try my best. I won't be a burden."
"You'd never be a burden, sweetie." Rosalie's voice cut in, sharp but sincere.
Everyone turned to look at her.
She immediately crossed her arms, her posture defensive. "What?" she demanded. "You think I can't be nice?"
Kate tilted her head, clearly amused. "To be fair," she said, "I've never seen you be nice to anyone."
Emmett laughed, loud and unrestrained. "She's got a point, babe."
"Ouch."
Rosalie's fist connected with his ribs hard enough to make the sound echo. Emmett winced dramatically, though the grin never left his face.
The tension broke.
Not completely. It never really would. But for a moment, standing among ashes and smoke and people who had just survived something that should have killed them all, there was laughter. There was warmth.
I looked at Leah. She stood close now, leaning slightly into my side, her hand brushing against mine like she needed the contact as much as I did. I curled my fingers around hers, grounding myself in the simple reality that she was here. Alive.
Whatever came next, we would face it together.
The fire burned lower, and the quiet began to reclaim the clearing.
…
(Edward)
My crimson eyes never blinked.
I watched from the shadowed edge of the warehouse roof, perfectly still, as the man dragged the girl inside. She stumbled, drugged and barely conscious, her thoughts sluggish and terrified. The metal door slammed shut behind them with a hollow echo that carried far too much finality.
I followed him here without effort, tracing his thoughts like a thread pulled tight. The warehouse squatted at the outskirts of the city, forgotten by anyone who wasn't looking for something they didn't want found. Rusted metal walls. Boarded windows. A place where screams would vanish into concrete and distance.
From where I crouched, I listened.
Eight girls.
Their thoughts were a low, constant hum of despair. Fear layered over exhaustion. Some were crying quietly in their own minds. Others had gone numb, retreating inward because feeling hurt too much. They wondered if their families were looking for them. If anyone noticed they were gone. If this was how they were going to die.
Three men stood guard, bored and alert in equal measure. Their minds were sharp, disciplined. Professionals. From their thoughts, I understood this was routine. They rotated shifts. Checked locks. Counted inventory.
Inventory.
More girls were inside, asleep. Drugged heavily enough that even nightmares came slowly. Too many heartbeats packed into one place, hidden behind concrete and indifference.
I listened longer, piecing fragments together.
This was a small spoke in a much larger wheel. Temporary storage. Processing. Transport. This group was bound for New York first. From there, they were going to be redistributed. Shipped overseas.
Where exactly?
That, I would learn.
I waited.
Thirty minutes passed. The man who had brought the girl emerged alone, adjusting his jacket, already thinking about money and his next fix. Relief flickered briefly through his mind. Job done. No complications.
He walked to his car and drove away.
My lips curved slightly.
Maybe a snack was in order.
I followed him back toward the city, keeping to rooftops and shadows until he parked in the same familiar alley. The smell of stale urine, damp brick, and desperation clung to the narrow space. He leaned against the wall, relaxed, convinced the night was his ally.
I dropped down silently behind him, then staggered forward, letting my posture sag, my steps uneven. I slurred my words deliberately, letting my thoughts blur just enough to sell the act.
"I heard from Molly you sold her the Lisa," I said, squinting at him as if struggling to focus. "Wait… no. It's the other way around."
He smirked, amused, eyes flicking over me dismissively.
"The blonde with the nice ass?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied, nodding too eagerly. "The same one."
He chuckled and reached into his pocket. "Alright. How much you want?"
That was when I lifted my head.
My crimson eyes caught the alley light and reflected it back, bright and unmistakable.
The smirk in his lips died instantly.
Before he could react, I was on him.
I slammed him against the brick wall, my hand closing around his throat with effortless force. His feet barely touched the ground as I leaned in close, my voice calm and razor sharp.
"How about everything?" I asked softly. "And I don't mean the drugs."
Panic exploded in his mind.
He tried to scream. Tried to beg. Tried to suck in air that would not come. His hands clawed uselessly at my wrist, his thoughts dissolving into raw terror as he realized my grip did not move. Did not yield. It was like struggling against steel.
"Now," I continued, unhurried, "tell me everything you know about the human trafficking operation you're part of."
He kicked, weakly. His thoughts spiraled, grasping at scraps of information. Names he barely knew. Faces he wasn't allowed to ask about. Orders followed without question. Fear of people far worse than himself.
I didn't need his voice.
I read his thoughts easily, but what I found disappointed me.
I sighed quietly.
"Such a shame," I murmured. "You don't know anything important, do you?"
His eyes widened further, if that were even possible.
"Then," I said, almost regretfully, "you don't need to live anymore."
He thrashed harder, a final, futile effort, but it was like kicking a wall. I lowered my head, my resolve absolute.
"For your crimes," I said, voice devoid of emotion, "I sentence you to death."
My teeth pierced his neck.
The blood was hot, bitter, tainted by drugs and fear. I drank with my eyes closed, not out of pleasure, but necessity. His struggles weakened quickly, thoughts fragmenting into incoherent flashes before fading altogether.
When his body finally went limp, his arms falling uselessly to his sides, I let him drop.
The alley was silent again.
I wiped my mouth, already turning my attention back toward the warehouse.
It was time to finish this.
…
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