Bella tried—really tried—to be careful. But even with all that caution, she still didn't make her flight on time.
The plane was delayed. Perfectly, stupidly, normally delayed.
"Oh, come on." She slumped into a chair, completely done with the universe.
She didn't want to just sit there stewing, but she didn't know the airport well enough to wander far without getting lost. After thinking it over, she decided to browse the terminal shops. Maybe pick up a small gift for her father—the man she'd never actually met.
Sure, Forks was a tiny three-thousand-person town, microscopic by American standards. Her dad might just be a big fish in a very small pond, but a police chief was still a police chief. That wasn't nothing.
The previous Bella hadn't known how to leverage that. She, however, absolutely did. Worst case scenario? Getting on his good side couldn't hurt.
"Fifty... a hundred and five... a hundred sixty..." She counted the bills in her wallet as she walked.
March 2000. No mobile payments, no credit cards—her predecessor hadn't even opened a bank account. Just a thick stack of cash stuffed into a worn leather wallet.
She walked while counting, distracted. Someone else walked toward her, head down, headphones on. Neither looked up. Both moved fast.
They collided.
A solid thump echoed through the terminal. Bella was taller, and her chin slammed straight into the girl's forehead.
"Ah—!" Bella staggered back two steps, chin numb, ears ringing. She grabbed the wall before her legs could give out.
The other girl didn't fare much better. She dropped into a crouch, both hands covering her forehead, looking pained and completely unconcerned about dignity. The soft lavender sweater made her look even younger.
"Sorry, sorry!"
"I'm so sorry!"
They spoke at the same time.
Bella really hadn't been watching where she was going. Out alone in a strange airport, the last thing she wanted was trouble, so her apology was completely sincere.
The collision had knocked Bella's wallet clean out of her hands. A flurry of small bills—fives, tens, lots of them—scattered across the polished floor. It looked like "a lot of money" if you didn't know American denominations. The sight made the girl blush with guilt.
Her family hurried over to help gather the cash.
A middle-aged man even asked if Bella needed medical attention.
Unlike Bella, who was an only child, this was a full American nuclear family: a couple with three kids—two boys and a girl. The one Bella had collided with was the daughter. The tall young man beside her was likely the older brother. The little boy clutching a toy car, eyes big and mischievous, was clearly the baby of the family.
And the girl... well. She was beautiful.
Even Bella had to admit it.
Her eyes had a natural, effortless allure. Her lips curved just slightly at the corners even in repose. Smooth, luminous skin with that soft glow of youth. A lithe, graceful figure. She looked younger than Bella—maybe fourteen or fifteen—but already stunning in a way that would only sharpen with age.
The girl rubbed her forehead discreetly, then froze when she looked up and really saw Bella.
Bella's face—pale, delicate, smooth as porcelain—was the kind that made people do double-takes. Naturally tinted lips, features soft but defined in all the right places. The kind of beauty that didn't need makeup, only made more striking by the faint frustration creasing her brow and that lingering sickly pallor.
Two natural beauties colliding in a random airport terminal? Statistically improbable. Yet here they were.
"I'm really sorry," Bella said again, accepting the last of her scattered bills from the father.
"No, it's my fault. I wasn't watching where I was going."
Total strangers. No reason to bond over a minor collision. Bella had enough on her mind. She thanked the family politely and prepared to leave.
"Over there! I see them—grab them!"
A harsh shout cut through the terminal noise.
Bella and the family turned in unison.
Three men and one woman—big, aggressive, moving fast—charged toward them from two different corridors, converging like they'd planned it.
The family froze. Bella froze for half a second.
What the hell?
Robbers? In an airport? In broad daylight? In the year 2000, post-9/11 security wasn't a thing yet, but this was still insane.
Was this the American tradition of "crime but make it dramatic"?
The father instinctively reached for his phone, but the attackers closed the distance in seconds.
The lead guy—a black-haired brute with a face like a brick wall—swung a massive hand toward Bella's shoulder.
They're coming for me?
Absolutely not.
Bella had prepared for life in the Marvel world. Defense spray: ready.
She emptied half the canister straight into the man's eyes, then followed up with the universal weapon of women everywhere—
—the devastating, no-mercy groin kick.
She had long legs, good aim, and lots of pent-up frustration.
The man folded like a cheap lawn chair, rolling on the floor, clutching himself, eyes streaming, dignity obliterated.
Bella barely had time to catch her breath before a second man rushed her.
Without the element of surprise, she was just a normal eighteen-year-old girl—no martial arts training, no mystical power-up, no sudden superhero transformation. Thankfully, the mother of the family stepped in smoothly—and she clearly had trained.
She caught the man's punch mid-swing, pivoted on her heel, braced her back against his center of gravity—and executed a clean, textbook-perfect shoulder throw.
The attacker hit the floor hard enough to knock the wind out of him.
Two attackers down in the span of a few heartbeats.
Given how dangerous this world was, Bella had mentally prepared herself for anything. A robbery? Sure. Aliens bursting through the ceiling? Honestly wouldn't shock her at this point.
The family reacted very differently.
The father hovered nervously, clearly wanting to intervene but not daring to step into his wife's space.
The daughter looked thrilled—biting her lip, eyes sparkling, practically vibrating with the urge to jump in.
The older brother looked dazed, like his brain was still processing what just happened.
The little brother was definitely dazed, mouth hanging open.
With numbers on their side and an airport full of witnesses, things should've been fine.
But the remaining pair—a wiry man and a sharp-faced woman—hesitated only a fraction of a second. The woman shot the man a meaningful look, then circled wide, moving fast—
—not toward Bella.
Toward the little boy.
"I got it! Split up!" she barked. She snatched the toy car straight from the kid's hands and bolted down the corridor.
Bella: Σ(⊙▽⊙)!!
You people caused this much chaos... to steal a TOY CAR?
What is WRONG with Americans?!
Never mind that the guy she'd kicked had a concealed handgun tucked into his waistband—she'd felt it when her knee connected.
Even by America's lax standards, this was bizarre.
Something was seriously, seriously off.