The rest of that first day, and indeed the entire first week, settled into a bizarre rhythm. Bella, my perpetually bewildered sister, navigated the social minefield of Forks High with all the grace of a startled deer, while I played the role of the aloof, occasionally sarcastic older brother, all while secretly cataloging the supernatural undercurrents of this damp little town. My sunglasses were practically fused to my face, earning me a few curious stares and the nickname "Shades" from Mike Newton, a relentlessly cheerful golden retriever in human form who had, predictably, latched onto Bella.
Edward Cullen remained conspicuously absent from Biology, the one class he shared with Bella. According to the school gossip mill, which I monitored with the detached amusement of a zoologist observing primate behavior, he'd apparently convinced the office to let him switch his schedule around. Bella was a strange mix of disappointed and, I think, slightly relieved. His intense stare in the cafeteria had clearly unnerved her. I, on the other hand, was intrigued. Such a dramatic reaction to her scent spoke volumes about his control, or lack thereof. It made my own carefully managed Thirst feel like a walk in the park.
My attention, however, was increasingly drawn to the enigma that was Astrid Cullen.
She was a creature of quiet observation. Unlike her more flamboyant 'siblings', she rarely engaged in their silent, knowing glances or their subtle displays of unity. She moved with the same impossible grace, her silver-white hair a beacon in the drab school hallways, but there was a solitude about her. She often sat slightly apart, even at their exclusive lunch table, her golden eyes missing nothing, yet revealing little.
I made it a point to subtly observe her. My enhanced senses were a godsend. I could track her scent – that strange, alluring mix of cold stone, winter air, and something ancient – through the crowded corridors. I could hear the whisper-soft sound of her cashmere sweater as she moved, the near-silent padding of her boots. She was, like the others, unnaturally still when she chose to be, but her stillness felt different. Less like a statue, more like a predator conserving energy, waiting.
One afternoon, during the chaotic crush between classes, I found myself walking behind her. The usual cacophony of teenage angst and cheap perfume filled the air, but her unique scent cut through it. She paused by a bank of lockers, seemingly waiting for someone, her silver head tilted slightly as she scanned the crowd. I deliberately slowed my pace, using the throng of students as cover. This close, I could feel the faint chill radiating from her, a common trait among the Cold Ones, I was learning. But there was something else too, a subtle thrum of energy, almost like static electricity, that I hadn't noticed with the others.
And the blood, or lack thereof. I focused, trying to use my hemokinesis in a diagnostic way. With humans, I could sense the ebb and flow of their circulatory system, the warmth and vitality of their blood. With the Cullens, including Astrid, there was… nothing. Or rather, something different. A cool, viscous substance seemed to move through them, but it wasn't blood as I knew it. It was the venom, presumably. It didn't respond to my mental probing in the same way. It was inert to my specific ability, or at least, I hadn't yet figured out how to interact with it. This was both a relief and a slight disappointment. No easy 'off-switch' for the local vampires, then.
Astrid shifted, her head turning almost imperceptibly in my direction. Had she sensed my scrutiny? Her golden eyes, not quite meeting mine but sweeping the area where I stood, were like polished amber, intelligent and unnervingly perceptive. I held my breath, feigning interest in a particularly uninspiring safety poster. After a moment, she turned away as Alice bounced up to her, chattering animatedly. Astrid listened, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching her lips at something Alice said. It was the first genuine, unguarded expression I'd seen from her, and it was… surprisingly soft.
Living with Bella was an ongoing exercise in restraint. Her proximity, especially in the confines of our small house, was a constant test. Her blood sang a siren song that vibrated deep in my bones. I found myself taking more frequent, longer "hikes" in the woods, ensuring the local deer and elk population remained suitably terrified of their new apex predator. Animal blood was still a poor substitute, but it kept the worst of the Thirst at bay, allowing me to maintain a facade of normalcy around my sister and father. Charlie, bless his oblivious soul, just thought I was embracing the outdoor lifestyle.
"You're out in those woods a lot, Al," he commented one evening, peering at me over his newspaper. "Training for a marathon?"
"Something like that, Dad," I replied, toweling dampness from my hair. It had been a particularly rainy hunt. "Just clearing my head. Trying to stay ahead of the Forks gloom."
"Good for you," he grunted, returning to his paper. "Bella, you should get out more too. Get some… uh… air."
Bella, who was attempting to dissect a textbook on the sofa, just mumbled something noncommittal. She was still adjusting, still a creature of the Arizona sun transplanted to this perpetually twilight land.
The Cullens' wealth was another point of observation. The sleek Volvo Edward usually drove (or had driven, before his abrupt departure from Bella's orbit), Rosalie's flashy red convertible, Emmett's monstrous Jeep – they screamed money. Their clothes, though often understated, were clearly expensive. It was a stark contrast to the comfortable, slightly worn atmosphere of the Swan household. It didn't bother me, per se. My previous life had taught me that money didn't equate to happiness, or morality for that matter. But it did set them even further apart from the human population of Forks. They were exotic, untouchable beings, and their wealth only amplified that perception. Astrid, with her simpler, almost minimalist style, was an anomaly even within her own family in that regard.
One evening, I was in my room, supposedly doing homework, but actually trying to subtly expand the range of my hemokinesis. I could now manipulate the water in a glass across the room, making it ripple and swirl without touching it. Blood was still my specialty, but the fine control was improving. I wondered if I could affect smaller, more intricate systems. Could I, for example, stop a nosebleed without anyone noticing? Or, more morbidly, induce one? My "twisted but not cruel" morals were having a field day with the possibilities.
A light tap on my door startled me. It was Bella.
"Hey," she said, hesitating in the doorway. "Can I ask you something?"
"Shoot," I said, leaning back in my chair, sunglasses still on despite the dim light. Old habits, or new necessities.
"It's about… Edward Cullen." She twisted a strand of her hair. "He was really weird in the cafeteria that first day. And then he just… disappeared from Biology. Did I… do something?"
I considered my response. I could tell her the truth – that he was a vampire, and her blood smelled like a seven-course meal to him. But that would open a Pandora's box I wasn't ready to deal with, and frankly, it wasn't my story to tell. Yet.
"Bella," I said, my voice softer than usual, "guys are idiots. Especially high school guys. And the Cullens? They're in their own little world. He probably just had a bad day, or realized he forgot to brood in a different classroom. Don't take it personally."
"But he looked… angry. And sick."
"Maybe he's allergic to cafeteria food," I offered with a shrug. "Some people have very delicate constitutions." I was treading a fine line between reassuring her and not outright lying about the supernatural elements I knew to be true. "Honestly, Bells, don't waste your brainpower on him. He's probably not worth the effort."
She sighed, still looking unconvinced. "Yeah, maybe." She paused. "What about the other one? The girl with the silver hair? Astrid?"
My attention sharpened. "What about her?"
"She's… different. I see her looking sometimes. Not in a mean way, just… watching. Mostly at Edward, when he was around. Or at Alice and Jasper. It's like she's trying to figure them out too."
"An observer, huh?" I kept my tone light. "Maybe she's the sane one in that family."
"Maybe," Bella conceded. She lingered for a moment longer, then said, "Well, thanks. Goodnight, Alex."
"Night, Bells."
After she left, I stared at my closed door, a thoughtful expression on my face. So, Bella had noticed Astrid's observational nature too. Interesting. Astrid wasn't just an enigma to me; she seemed to be one to those around her as well, perhaps even within her own family.
The following Monday, Edward Cullen returned.
He walked into Biology class just as the bell rang, his golden eyes carefully avoiding Bella's side of the room. He looked… strained. Paler than usual, if that was even possible, with dark circles under his eyes that hadn't been there before. He sat as far away from Bella as the classroom configuration allowed.
The tension in the room was palpable, at least to my heightened senses. Bella was a bundle of nerves, her heartbeat a frantic rhythm. Edward was a coiled spring, his jaw tight, his scent sharp with suppressed thirst and something else… frustration?
I, seated a few tables away, observed them both with a clinical detachment that was only slightly feigned. The drama was classic teenage angst, amplified to a supernatural degree. Part of me, the sarcastic Alex Evans part, found it vaguely amusing. The Alex Swan part, the protective older brother, felt a twinge of annoyance at the emotional turmoil Edward was clearly putting Bella through, however unintentionally.
During a lull in the teacher's lecture about mitosis, Edward's head snapped up. His gaze, intense and burning, fixed on Bella. She, sensing the scrutiny, looked up and met his eyes. The air crackled. I saw Edward's hand clench on his desk, his knuckles white. He looked like he was in physical pain.
Then, Astrid was there.
She hadn't been in this class before. She stood in the doorway, a silent, silver-haired sentinel. She wasn't looking at Bella or Edward. Her golden eyes were fixed on me.
It wasn't a hostile stare, nor was it openly curious. It was… assessing. Direct. As if she'd finally decided to acknowledge my presence, my own subtle observations of her and her family. The faint, almost imperceptible hum of energy I'd sensed around her before was stronger now, a subtle pressure in the air.
I met her gaze, my own crimson eyes shielded by the dark lenses, but I knew she could probably sense something was off, even if she couldn't see their color. For a long moment, we just looked at each other, two predators in a room full of oblivious prey, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. The teacher droned on, Bella and Edward were locked in their own dramatic standoff, and the rest of the class was oblivious. But in that moment, Astrid Cullen and I were the only two beings in that room truly aware of each other on a fundamental level.
Then, she gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod, a gesture so slight I might have imagined it. Her gaze flicked to Edward, then to Bella, and then she was gone, disappearing as silently as she had arrived.
My heart, which beat with a slow, powerful rhythm, gave an almost human-like thump. What the hell was that? Had she been warning me? Acknowledging me? Or was she just as curious about the strange, sunglasses-wearing human who seemed to be watching her family as I was about her?
The air in the classroom slowly returned to normal, though Edward still looked like he was wrestling with his inner demons, and Bella looked thoroughly bewildered.
My thoughts, however, were no longer solely on Edward and Bella's burgeoning, angsty romance. Astrid Cullen had just become a much more significant piece of the puzzle. She knew I was watching. And now, it seemed, she was watching me.
The world of Forks, Washington, had just gotten a shade more complex, a shade more intriguing, and perhaps, a shade more dangerous. But the sarcastic, thrill-seeking part of Alex Evans, buried deep within Alex Swan, couldn't help but feel a spark of anticipation. This was definitely better than an engineering desk job. Far, far better.