"Take a break. There's no rush—Bella said they won't be back for half a month."
The Winchester father and son, both panting from exhaustion, lifted their heads at the same time.
Sitting on the windowsill was a delicate, brown-eyed girl—Violet Harmon—quietly watching them.
Beauty came in many forms.
Some pursued absolute perfection, like Bella. She demanded flawlessness, and if you dared suggest otherwise, she'd beat you up on the spot.
Others carried irresistible allure in every glance, like Natasha. Even knowing a trap lay beneath that beauty, people still fell in without realizing it.
Violet Harmon was different.
Her beauty wasn't aggressive. It wasn't dazzling or flamboyant. It was gentle. When she noticed the Winchesters looking at her, the corners of her mouth tightened slightly. Her temperament was calm—like the scent of pine, like honey left in the sun.
Father and son exchanged a glance. Neither spoke.
There was still a trace of childishness between the girl's brows. She should have been at the peak of her youth, yet the weight of world-weariness—and her parents' broken marriage—had already dragged her onto a road with no return.
Bella had gone on a rampage with Shaw, slaughtering ghosts without mercy, yet she had spared this girl.
There had been hesitation. Reluctance. But above all—sympathy.
Violet Harmon hadn't been killed by vengeful spirits. She had taken her own life.
Her parents' collapsing marriage had poisoned her view of the world, filling her with revulsion and despair.
Bella had even seen a shadow of her former self in this girl.
The original Bella had once thought the same way: Don't stop me. I don't want to be normal. I don't want to live.
Given the nature of the Murder House, Bella ultimately chose to leave Violet behind—to watch over the place.
The ghosts there could interact with the physical world. If someone tried to break in or steal, the girl could even call the police.
The Winchesters had flipped through the Harmon family's files countless times. They recognized her identity immediately.
Father and son shared the same unspoken thought:
This girl had died too easily.
No coercion. No possession. No threat. The ghosts had even tried to save her.
She simply chose to end her life.
Whose fault was it?
Her parents'? The house's? Or her own?
John Winchester was practical to the bone. He didn't bother with philosophical questions.
"Where's your body?" he asked flatly. "I'll burn it too."
Violet's gaze went unfocused for a moment before she realized he was speaking to her.
"No need," she replied softly. "It looked ugly. Sister Shaw already burned it for me."
Dean had a vivid memory of Shaw choking him. He frowned. "That white-dress ghost is still around?"
"No. Sister Shaw went to San Francisco," Violet said. "Bella's going to school there."
The Winchesters tried chatting with her a bit longer, hoping to glean more information about Bella, but Violet was often absent-minded. Her answers didn't always match the questions.
After three nights of relentless work, the father and son finally cleared out all the bodies—those buried beneath the basement, tangled in pipes, hidden in the front and back yards.
It was horrifying to think so many corpses had once been concealed here.
Bella's approach had been absolutely correct. If dozens of bodies from different eras had been dug up all at once, the scene would've been nightmarish.
If Charlie and Samantha had uncovered this as detectives, they wouldn't have been praised—they'd have been crushed under scrutiny, suspicion, and political pressure.
The Winchesters, handling it quietly, faced no such problem. Through hunter channels, the ashes were transferred and buried in a public cemetery without raising any alarms.
Old lady Constance was officially listed as a fugitive suspect through certain... unconventional connections.
Then the Winchesters left California.
John Winchester's age was catching up to him. The intense labor had triggered his lumbar disc herniation again. What he needed most now was a good chiropractor—and a very long rest.
While the Winchesters were leaving California, Charlie and Samantha were getting married in Forks.
Charlie had deliberately invited his ex-wife—Bella's biological mother.
The meaning was obvious.
At the wedding, Natasha wore a beige long dress. Bella chose a champagne-colored gown.
Both were very self-aware and kept a low profile.
They weren't the protagonists today. Dressing too beautifully would steal the bride's spotlight.
"...I really didn't expect this!" Natasha whispered as she looked around, genuinely startled. "Why are there so many good-looking people in this town? And the skin—why is everyone so pale?!"
"Ah—haha..." Bella wiped imaginary sweat from her forehead. "Cullen family genetics. They're just... particularly fair-skinned."
Today, the entire Cullen family was present.
Since they were preparing to move to Canada, several distant relatives from that side had been staying in Forks as well. Charlie, unaware of the truth, had simply invited them all.
Seven Cullens, plus two extended families—over ten vampires standing together.
One glance was enough to noticeably raise the average attractiveness of the venue.
"Hi, Bella. Long time no see. You're getting prettier."
With a compliment that sincere, Bella didn't even need to turn around.
Jacob.
As Charlie's old friend, the Quileute tribe was naturally present. The wheelchair-bound chief had brought nearly half the tribe.
In Bella's perception, the life force of over a dozen young men and women burned like small furnaces.
Werewolves. All of them.
"Wow..." Natasha whispered after Jacob led his people away. "Are those your friends? Their bodies are incredible."
Men looked at women—but women looked at men too.
In human form, the werewolves were all solid, powerful builds with clean muscle lines. Their faces might lose slightly to vampires, but a 100-point body plus an 80-point face still averaged out to a terrifying 90.
Add Charlie, Samantha, Bella's mother, and a handful of above-average classmates from town, and the number of handsome men and beautiful women at the wedding was downright absurd.
For the first time, the always-confident Natasha felt genuine pressure.
Did I... lower the town's average attractiveness?
Bella, on the other hand, felt quietly proud.
Even though she hadn't lived in Forks for long, this place was where everything had started. When she'd been at her weakest, it had sheltered her.
Forks had scenery, nature, and people worth remembering.
Everyone who visited said the same thing—
It was good here.
Much better than any damn bustling city.