The television murmured in the background, filling the quiet kitchen with soft, crackling voices. Morning sunlight filtered through the slats of the blinds, streaking gold across the table where Kal sat, idly stirring a spoon through his oatmeal, long gone cold.
Onscreen, a polished anchor in a navy suit was speaking in a professional tone.
" —multiple witnesses claim the man appeared out of nowhere, subdued the attacker, and vanished before police arrived. So far, authorities haven't identified this so-called 'Seattle Samaritan,' but citizens are calling him a hero."
A clip cut to a police captain at a press conference. His jaw was tight, the badges on his uniform catching the flash of camera lights.
"At this time, we believe this may not be the work of a single individual, but potentially a small group of civilians with military or tactical training. The incidents suggest coordination — sometimes two or three crimes are stopped within minutes of each other, even across different neighborhoods. While their intentions may appear helpful on the surface, let me be clear. They are operating outside the remit of the law. This is not justice. It's vigilantism. And it's dangerous."
The anchor nodded soberly, then offered a practiced pivot.
"But not everyone agrees. For many Seattle residents, the so-called Samaritan has become something of a folk hero."
A rapid cut montage followed — short clips of locals, their faces blurred slightly or caught in poor lighting.
"He saved my cousin from a carjacking. No hesitation. Just stepped in and handled it."
"Honestly? The cops never come fast enough. If someone's out there doing something — good on them."
"He didn't even say anything. Just gave me this look... like I mattered. Like I was safe."
Kal leaned back in his chair, arms folded loosely across his chest, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He didn't need the credit. He didn't want it. But hearing them talk — knowing he'd made a difference, however small — it did something warm to his chest.
There was pride in it. Not ego. Just the quiet kind.
He sipped his coffee slowly, letting the warmth pool against his tongue. Six weeks. It didn't sound like much, but it felt like everything had changed in that time.
Kal reflected on all he had achieved in the six weeks since Taha'Aki had tested him.
Kal leaned back in the chair, letting the quiet settle now that the news segment had ended. The faint, familiar glow of the System shimmered into view, responding to the idle thought.
Level 9 – 584 / 900 XP.
"So close…" he murmured, dragging a hand through his hair. Just a little more. One more mission. One more moment that tipped the scale.
His eyes lost focus as the numbers blurred, replaced by memory. The Trials he'd completed still echoed in his body — lessons etched into bone and breath. Each one had tested him, shaped him, chipped away at what he thought he knew about power.
Be began with the Trials of Strength.
Trial of Strength 3 – The Rescue. The weight hadn't been the challenge. The body pinned beneath the simulated rubble had. Lifting a concrete slab the size of a truck was simple. Doing it without snapping someone's spine beneath it? That had taken control. Precision. Compassion. Every inch of motion mattered. He remembered holding his breath as he eased the rubble aside, feeling the feedback in his fingertips like a surgeon's touch.
Trial of Strength 4 – Strength Without Ruin. A city block, fragile as paper. Punch through a wall, lift a truck, remove an obstacle — but without causing collateral damage. His own strength had become the enemy. One wrong move, and simulated civilians were injured. Structures collapsed. He'd had to think beyond brute force. Reroute, reposition, support weight before shifting it. Power, with purpose.
Trial of Strength 5 – The Battle of Strength. A battlefield of constructs. Giants of stone. Beasts of metal. And — Kal's brow twitched — a mosquito. Tiny, absurdly fast, and strong enough to dent steel. He'd spent minutes trying to clap it between his hands, only for it to dodge every time with smug precision. Eventually, he'd scorched the air itself to catch it. Tad had called it "creatively inefficient," but still logged the win.
He followed the the Trials of Strength with the Trials of Speed.
Trial of Speed 3 – Precision at Speed. A bomb and a puzzle. One mistake meant failure. He'd had to disassemble a volatile device while assembling a delicate crystal structure with the other hand — all in seconds. Each movement demanded perfect timing. Speed was no use without accuracy. He had never felt more like time was hunting him.
Trial of Speed 4 – The Time Trial. A crumbling city, peppered with objectives: move a collapsing beam, disarm a trap, evacuate civilians. He'd torn through the simulation like lightning — but even speed had limits. His mind had to pace faster than his body. Prioritise, plan, pivot. He'd finished with less than three seconds on the clock.
Trial of Speed 5 – The Mirror. A clone. Identical in every way. Every step, every twitch mirrored perfectly. He'd fought himself — not just in speed, but in instinct. The only way to win had been to break pattern. Do something even he wouldn't predict. At the end, he crossed the finish line first… by diving backward through a window. Tad still wouldn't shut up about it.
Trial of Speed 6 – The Speed of Rescue. A nightmare carousel of emergencies. Fires, crashes, falls, explosions. Dozens of lives in peril, all at once. He'd moved before screams had finished leaving mouths. He hadn't blinked once. The trial had drained him — but it also felt… right. Like this was the sort of chaos he'd been made for.
Then came the Trials of Flight.
Trial of Flight 4 – Airborne Rescue. Figures fell from the sky, real and illusion alike. He had seconds to tell the difference, seconds more to reach them, and a heartbeat to land safely. His eyes had darted like radar, hands shooting through clouds. More than once, he'd caught a phantom and let a real one fall. But by the end, his instincts sharpened. His judgment, too.
Trial of Flight 5 – Silent Wings. Not a single sound. No wake. No disturbance. He flew through webs of sound detectors and glass-thin threads, the whole world listening for a whisper of wind. He'd failed the first three tries. On the fourth, he stopped flying like a jet — and started moving like a ghost.
Trial of Flight 6 – Flight Under Fire. A gauntlet of missiles, energy blasts, and unseen snipers. Speed alone wasn't enough — predictive movement, tactical dodging, sudden halts and feints. He'd been grazed once. The simulation had counted that as death. The next time, he danced through the storm like a leaf in the wind.
Trial of Flight 7 – Zero Visibility. No light. No sight. Fog, EMP static, pitch black silence. He couldn't rely on his eyes — only on the feel of pressure shifts, subtle currents of air, distant sounds. He moved with something deeper than instinct. Something close to faith.
Trial of Flight 8 – Sky Duel. A dogfight, aerial combat against a flying enemy that could match his every maneuver. The rules were simple: don't land, don't get hit, and win. Kal had spun through clouds, feinted into stalls, timed his counters to nanoseconds. He didn't know what it was he faced — but when he finally took it down, the victory felt earned.
Finally, there were the Trials of Senses.
Trial of Senses 1 – The Soundstorm. Sirens. Screams. Explosions. Machinery. The sensory overload was crushing. The Trial's aim was clear: maintain clarity amidst chaos. Kal had to find signals in the noise, thoughts in the storm. At first, it was unbearable. Then, like tuning an inner dial, the storm began to filter. He found silence inside the sound.
Trial of Senses 2 – The Blind Spot. A festival crowd. Thousands of moving bodies, flashing lights, noise and color. Somewhere inside was a target — blending in, hidden. He had to find them without any aid but his own instincts. He'd failed twice before noticing the pattern in how the target shifted. The third time, he saw them before they even knew they'd been seen.
Trial of Senses 3 – The Scent of Truth. A cluttered chamber filled with scent traps, distractions, masked aromas. He had to find one person — one object — by smell alone. It was like searching for a whisper in a thunderstorm. He found her in the end. Not by what she smelled like, but by what she didn't.
Trial of Senses 4 – The Mind's Eye. No sight. No touch. Just a room filled with strangers. One of them had bad intentions. Kal had to find them. No powers — just intuition sharpened by breath changes, heartbeats, muscle tension. In the dark, he closed his eyes. He listened, not with ears, but with something else. When he pointed, the Trial ended in silence. He had been right.
He had spent innumerable hours in the Trial mindscapes failing over and over again.
And again.
And again.
But despite the immense effort — and perhaps more immense suffering — Kal didn't complain. Every time a trial reset, every time he'd blink and find himself back at the start, Kal got better. The next round he was faster, smarter, better.
He learned technique. How to apply force. How to move faster, to hit stronger. He learned how to control his powers — and how to draw the most out of them.
And every day he absorbed the radiation of the yellow sun he felt himself grow stronger.
In fact, he'd even unlocked another power — X-ray Vision.
It had come without warning.
One afternoon, walking home under the fading sun, Kal glanced toward a house on the corner—and saw through it. The walls faded like mist, revealing rooms, wiring, people. A man in the kitchen, humming. A sleeping cat. The very bones of the home laid bare.
He'd frozen mid-step, overwhelmed as his vision tunneled deeper—through furniture, through people, through the earth itself. It took hours to wrestle it back under control.
[X-Ray Vision I Unlocked]
No evil can hide, no coward can run, no enemy can escape your sight. Your vision will stop at nothing to find those worthy of punishment — not even solid matter. (Exceptions apply).
[+15XP]
At first, everything was translucent. Walls shimmered. People became anatomical diagrams. The world looked flayed. He wore sunglasses indoors and kept his eyes to the ground, afraid of accidentally seeing something sacred—or something scarring. It wasn't just sight. It was exposure. And it made him feel like a violator, not a hero.
But in time, with focus and trial, he learned to tune it like a lens—layer by layer, dialing through density. Wood. Metal. Skin. Bone. He taught himself how to see less, not more. To respect the limits others didn't know they had.
He hadn't completed any of the Trials for it. Not yet. But when he did… he'd be standing on the edge of something greater.
Level 10 was within reach.
(A/N: From now on, I'm going to put his system page in an auxiliary chapter, which I'll update from time to time, as I don't want to waste space in chapters with it. You can find it there now.)
He closed the status screen with a quiet breath, letting the afterglow of his progress fade. Still not ten. Not yet.
But if the System taught him anything, it was patience. Discipline. Observation.
And lately, all his attention had turned toward the Cullens.
It had started with curiosity. Then coincidence. Now it was part of his daily routine—intentional, practiced. He watched them in class, tracking the subtle glances between them, the way they spoke in low tones with words too fast to hear, even for him. Sometimes, they didn't speak at all. Sometimes, they didn't need to.
Once, he'd tried to follow them home.
He'd kept a safe distance, trailing them through the trees after school, flitting from cover to cover like a shadow—until Rosalie had turned. Just her eyes. A glance sharp enough to cut through the woods and nearly catch him in place. Kal had vanished upward into the branches before she could look again, heart steady, mind racing.
Since then, he'd been more careful. More patient.
He studied their habits. Checked local records online for missing persons. Kept an ear out for attacks or mauled bodies. Nothing. Not even a whisper out of place.
And that made it worse.
They were too perfect. Too composed. Too careful.
Kal didn't trust perfect. People could lie with a smile and hide blood beneath clean fingernails. Patterns weren't enough. He needed more than habits and hunches.
He needed truth.
And yet, whenever he thought about the Cullens, one face always came to mind.
Alice.
It wasn't just her energy — though it was impossible to ignore. The lightness in her step, the way she moved like she already knew what would happen next. It was the way her eyes lingered on him, soft and searching, like she was trying to solve a puzzle only she could see.
And yet, whenever he thought about the Cullens, one face always came to mind.
But there had been a time when that gaze had been distant, unreadable. A time when her silence had felt like a wall between them. She hadn't spoken to him for a full day after what he had said. The weight of that absence had pressed on him harder than he cared to admit. He knew he'd messed up, knew he'd broken something between them — and he was the one who had to fix it.
It had taken some time, but when he'd finally spoken the words she needed to hear, there was no hesitation in her. Her icy front melted almost immediately. The silence was gone, replaced by something lighter, easier. She didn't hold it against him — as long as he could keep his word.
The silence between them had stretched on far too long.
Kal had never been good at waiting.
The space between them felt as heavy as it had ever been. Kal could feel her energy, like something was hanging between them, pressing down on him. Her silence was suffocating, and yet, it was the quiet he had expected. The quiet after he'd let his fear control his words.
She didn't look at him. Didn't even acknowledge him when he walked in. Not a glance. Not a smirk. Just the same focused gaze she always had when she was concentrating on something. But the distance was real now.
Alice hadn't made it easy. She had given him nothing but silence in return, sitting beside him like a statue, her gaze straight ahead, her posture pristine as always, but with a sharpness to it that hadn't been there before. It was like she was waiting for something — anything — that could break the tension, but she wasn't going to make it easy for him.
Kal couldn't just sit there anymore. He couldn't let this fester.
"Alice," he said, his voice quieter than he intended, but she heard it.
She didn't turn toward him, but there was a slight shift in her posture. Just a small acknowledgment that she was listening.
She stayed silent, but there was a flicker in her expression that made his chest tighten. He couldn't read it. Was she hurt? Disappointed? Angry?
"I'm sorry," Kal said. The words hung in the air between them.
"I was trying to protect myself, but I hurt you. That wasn't fair. You didn't deserve that."
That cracked the armor. Just a bit.
Alice turned her head, met his gaze fully for the first time since before La Push. There was still steel in her stare — but the chill had begun to thaw.
"…You really mean that?" she asked, voice barely audible. Kal nodded once. "I do."
"I was wrong," he added quietly, leaning in slightly, his voice low and sincere. "And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."
For a long moment, the only sound was the faint murmur of the class around them. Kal couldn't bear to look at her, not yet. But then, he felt her gaze shift toward him, and against his better judgment, he glanced over.
Her eyes were softer now. The coolness had faded, replaced with something more — something that almost felt like understanding.
"You're really sorry?" she asked, her voice quiet, but not unkind.
Kal nodded. "I am. I don't want to keep doing this. I don't want to keep pushing you away, but I... I don't know how else to handle all of this. All of you."
Alice's gaze softened further, and for the first time since that awful exchange, she offered him the faintest of smiles. It wasn't wide or playful, but it was there — small, gentle, and knowing.
Alice's eyes searched his face for a moment, her expression unreadable. The weight of the question hung in the air between them.
"And how do I know you won't just switch up on me again?" she asked, her voice soft but with an edge of suspicion that wasn't entirely gone.
Kal's chest tightened again, but this time, he met her gaze directly, his resolve clear. "You don't. Not yet." He paused, his voice firm but sincere. "But if I do... if I ever do that again, you don't have to talk to me again. You won't owe me another word."
Alice tilted her head slightly, considering his words. There was a flicker of something in her eyes — uncertainty, maybe — but it quickly shifted to something lighter, something mischievous.
"Well," she began, leaning in just a little, eyes dancing, "how could I say no to that face?"
The words hit him like a wave of warmth, and a breath he didn't realise he was holding finally escaped him. The tension that had gripped them both seemed to vanish in an instant. The distance his careless words had driven between them, the awkward silence that had followed, began to slowly fade away. The space between them didn't feel so cold anymore.
And, for the first time since that awful exchange, Kal felt a genuine, unburdened smile tug at the corner of his lips.
Since that moment, it had become a routine. Every biology lesson, Alice was there beside him. And every time, Kal found himself unable to resist her energy, the effortless way she spoke to him, the easy way she laughed. He'd told himself he wouldn't get close, but each day, every conversation, every lingering glance she sent his way made it harder to keep his distance.
It started off small. A smile in the hallways between classes, a joke shared during lab time, the way Alice always seemed to find some way to insert herself into his world, like she knew exactly when he needed her. Sometimes they worked in silence, but even that felt comfortable. There was something about her presence, the way she was always so in tune with the world around her, that made Kal feel... lighter.
But then, little moments turned into full-blown exchanges. It was when they were dissecting frogs one day that it really clicked. Kal had been trying to focus on the task at hand, but Alice's eyes kept darting to him, a mischievous glint in them that he couldn't ignore.
"Kal," she said, her voice light but teasing, "are you sure you know what you're doing with that scalpel?" She was watching him, the corner of her lips quirking up as if she knew he was just pretending to be grossed out by the frog's insides.
He glanced at her, frowning in mock seriousness. "I'll have you know I'm an expert at dissecting things. I could do this with my eyes closed."
She raised an eyebrow. "Prove it," she dared, holding her hands up in mock surrender. "But you better not mess up. I don't want to deal with your science failure today."
Kal chuckled, shaking his head. "You know, you're really cruel, Alice."
Her grin widened. "And you love it."
The rest of the class went on, but he found himself laughing more than he should have, even forgetting about his usual guarded nature. Alice had a way of making everything seem a little lighter, a little less heavy. Even when he was worried about what he couldn't see, what he couldn't understand, being with her made it all fade into the background.
After that, their interactions only grew easier. Every time they worked together in biology, Alice would lean a little closer, brushing against his arm occasionally or giving him little nudges when she thought he needed encouragement. He'd start to feel his heartbeat race when their hands almost touched, or when she would catch his eye with that knowing look.
And then there was the day when the teasing turned into something a little more.
One day, they were discussing a new topic — something about genetics, but neither of them was really paying attention to the textbook in front of them. The air between them seemed to hum with a new energy, one that neither of them could ignore.
"Do you ever get tired of being so perfect?" Kal asked, half-joking, half-serious. Alice was leaning over her notebook, her pencil tapping rhythmically against the page as she sketched something—probably one of her weird visions. He couldn't help but notice how effortlessly she moved, how natural it seemed for her to be so graceful, even while she was bent over a desk.
She looked up at him with a smile so sweet it almost made his breath catch. "Perfect?" she asked, amused. "Hardly. But I'm glad you think so."
Kal flushed, realising he'd spoken more honestly than he meant to. He cleared his throat and tried to cover it with a shrug, leaning back in his chair. "I'm just saying... You're always so composed. Never a hair out of place. It's not normal."
Alice laughed, her eyes sparkling as she leaned closer, her voice lowering slightly. "Well, Kal, I can't help it if I'm naturally wonderful."
Kal couldn't resist smiling. "Naturally, huh?"
"Mm-hmm," she hummed, leaning in even closer, until their faces were just a little too close. "Are you jealous?"
His pulse quickened, and he had to fight to keep his focus. "Maybe," he said, his voice a little lower than usual. "But I'm pretty sure you have a little bit of jealousy in you too, Alice."
She tilted her head, studying him with that curious gaze of hers, her lips pulling into a playful grin. "Jealous of what?" she asked, a teasing edge to her voice. "You, Kal? That's adorable."
Kal's heart gave a little jolt, and he leaned in, matching her playful tone. "You'd be surprised."
He was so close to saying something more, something about how he couldn't stop thinking about her, how she made everything feel a little brighter, but he stopped himself. His mind flashed to the warning signals, the instinct that told him not to get too close, but even so, his body leaned toward hers, drawn by that inexplicable force.
Alice noticed the shift in his demeanor, and for a moment, she softened, her teasing smirk fading into something gentler. "You know," she murmured, her voice quieter now, "it's okay to let someone get close to you, Kal. You don't have to keep everyone at arm's length."
Kal froze for a second, his breath caught in his chest. The words were simple, but they carried weight. Too much weight. But before he could respond, Alice stood up suddenly, brushing off her jeans.
"You ready to go?"
He nodded, standing up and grabbing his things, his heart still pounding a little faster than normal. "Yeah. Let's go."
And just like that, they fell back into their comfortable rhythm. The jokes, the smiles, the little nudges — they all continued, and somehow, with each passing day, it felt like the space between them was shrinking. He couldn't explain why, but there was something in her presence that made it impossible to stay away.
He should've resisted. He knew he should've. But every time he tried to push her away — every time he tried to remind himself that she wasn't human, that he couldn't trust her, that she was dangerous — he found himself pulled back by her laughter, by her bright eyes, by the way she seemed to understand him in a way no one else could. She had an effortless way of making him forget everything that worried him.
And the worst part? Kal didn't want to resist anymore.
Since that moment in biology, the distance between them had slowly closed, piece by piece. Every biology lesson, Alice made sure to talk to him. Her voice, soft and light, always seemed to find its way to him, no matter what. And Kal — he never resisted. There were moments when he told himself he should. He should keep his distance. She wasn't human. She was dangerous.
But he couldn't stop himself. Every smile, every look, every word—it was like she was drawing him in. He felt like he was getting closer to something he shouldn't want, something he was afraid of, but that only made him want it more.
And then, there was his birthday.
It had been the last day of February, February 28th, and the cafeteria was buzzing with the usual noise of lunchtime. Kal had barely thought about it—his birthday. He didn't like to make a big deal of it. He knew it wasn't technically his birthday anyway. He was born on the 29th, a leap year baby, and he didn't expect anyone to remember or celebrate it. It was just one of those things.
But Alice... Alice had remembered.
It had been the last day of February, February 28th, and the cafeteria was buzzing with the usual lunchtime noise. Kal was halfway through a bland sandwich when Alice appeared in front of him, her presence like a burst of light in the otherwise dreary space. She was holding a small box in both hands, her eyes dancing with excitement but also a slight nervousness that Kal hadn't seen before.
He blinked, caught off guard by her sudden appearance. "What's this?"
She grinned, her lips curling up in that playful way that always seemed to make his heart skip. "I know it's not technically your birthday," she said with a wink, setting the box on the table in front of him, "since you were born on the 29th, but I couldn't let it go by without celebrating. You can't only have a birthday every four years, right?"
Kal raised an eyebrow but didn't have time to say anything before Alice lifted the lid of the box. There, nestled inside, was a birthday cake — a little lopsided, uneven in some places, but undeniably sweet. It wasn't perfect, but it was real, and that made it more than enough.
Kal's heart nearly burst. No one had ever made him a birthday cake. Not like this. He stared at it for a moment, then at Alice, the weight of the gesture hitting him harder than expected. He cleared his throat. "This is… I don't even know what to say."
Alice beamed, clearly pleased by his reaction. "Well, you don't have to say anything. I just thought you'd like it."
Kal chuckled, the warmth of her attention wrapping around him like a blanket. He picked up the fork she'd placed beside the cake and took a tentative bite. The cake was far from perfect — it was a little uneven, a little too sweet — but it tasted better than anything he could have imagined.
"Okay, I'm impressed," he said, his voice low and teasing. "I think you might have just earned a spot as the best baker in Forks."
Alice laughed, a soft, melodic sound that always seemed to lighten the air. "I'm glad you like it." She leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on the table. "I'm just happy it didn't turn into one of those Pinterest disasters."
Kal's eyes softened as he watched her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Don't worry, it's perfect. And it's… it's really sweet of you. Thank you, Alice." The words were simple, but they carried more meaning than he thought they would.
Alice's expression softened too, but then she raised an eyebrow mischievously. "Well, I guess that means I get to ask for a favor, then."
Kal leaned back in his chair, giving her a mock-guarded look. "A favor? What kind of favor?"
Alice tapped her fingers lightly on the table, pretending to deliberate. "Hmm... maybe just a promise to let me bake for you again. But only if you don't mind getting cake on your shirt. I have a tendency to be a little… messy in the kitchen."
Kal smirked, meeting her teasing gaze. "That sounds like a pretty risky deal," he said, leaning in slightly. "Are you sure you're willing to take that chance?"
"Oh, I'm willing," Alice replied with a grin that could've melted stone. "Besides, you're a good sport. You can handle a little flour on your shirt, right?"
Kal laughed, shaking his head. "I think I can manage." The words felt light, playful—nothing like the tension that had been hanging between them in the past few days.
Alice's eyes flickered with something else, though — something softer. She didn't take her gaze away from him as she spoke again, her tone quiet but sure. "You know, I'm really glad you're here. I know things are… weird sometimes, but I like spending time with you. Even when you're being all moody and mysterious."
Kal couldn't help but chuckle at the playful jab. "I'm not that mysterious," he replied, though he knew better than anyone how much he hid.
"You are," Alice countered, her smile turning into something more knowing. "But I don't mind. It's... part of the charm."
Kal's heart skipped a beat, and he couldn't help but smile back at her, a real smile this time — not the guarded, cautious ones he often wore. It was warm, easy, and he didn't have to think about it. It just... felt right.
The conversation drifted for a while, small talk about school, about their plans for the weekend, about the weather (because that's what people did in Forks, apparently). But in between the words, there was this sense of familiarity, of ease. They talked like old friends. And with every laugh, every joke, every shared look, Kal found himself drawn closer to her.
By the time they were finished with the cake, and the bell signaling the end of lunch rang through the cafeteria, Kal didn't want to leave. He didn't want the moment to end.
As they stood up, Alice handed him the fork, her fingers brushing his once more. "Thank you again, Kal. I'm glad you liked it," she said, her voice light and genuine.
Kal met her gaze, the warmth from their earlier exchange still filling his chest. He couldn't stop himself from saying it: "I really did. You've got talent, Alice."
She smiled, the same mischievous grin that made his heart race. "I'll take that as a compliment." She paused, then added, almost shyly, "Maybe next time we can make it together."
Kal's heart did something funny, a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. But he wasn't about to back away. Not from this.
"Maybe," he said, his voice low but sincere. "I think I'd like that."
Kal's thoughts lingered on Alice as he sipped his coffee, her smile still vivid in his mind. Every glance, every word exchanged in the quiet of biology class replayed like a song on repeat, tugging at him.
The voice of the newscaster suddenly roused him from his thoughts, sharp and insistent, dragging his attention back to the screen.
"…Waylon Forge, a resident of Forks, was found dead last night, the result of what authorities are calling an animal attack…"
Kal froze, his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. His fingers tightened around it, the warmth of the mug suddenly feeling foreign against his skin.
The details spilled out from the television, every word feeling like a punch to his chest.
"…The body was discovered near the outskirts of town, and was described by officers as having been completely mauled. Investigators are aware of a similar case that occurred two weeks ago, when a security guard was found dead with claw marks and drained blood…"
Kal's throat went dry as the news anchor continued to talk, but the words were no longer registering fully. His mind raced, scrambling to make sense of it all.
'No. Please, not her.'
The quiet moments with Alice — her laugh, the spark in her eyes, the way she made him feel — all those soft memories suddenly dissolved into a cold, heavy dread. The pieces were too easy to ignore now, too easy to connect. Mauled bodies. Blood drained.
He'd tried to tell himself it was nothing. But deep down, the truth had always lingered just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.
Kal's eyes narrowed, his expression hardening with a quiet, icy resolve. There was no denying it anymore. The facts were laid bare — as much as he wanted to avoid them, as much as he wanted to keep the world he'd been building in his head intact, he couldn't.
A part of him, deep down, had known. And now, it was all but confirmed.
The air in the room felt colder now, the weight of what he had to do settling in. He couldn't keep pretending. He couldn't let himself be blindsided by this anymore.
Kal took a slow breath, pushing the thoughts of Alice to the back of his mind, where they could no longer cloud his focus.
He had been living in a fairytale. And now somebody had lost their life. That ended now.
He needed to know. And he needed to know today.
Kal set the coffee cup down with a quiet thud, his decision made. It wasn't a choice anymore. It was a necessity.
"Today," he muttered under his breath, the words as much for himself as anyone else. "I'll find out the truth."
With one last look at the TV, Kal grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, his movements quick and sure, the weight of the news pressing in on him with every step.
The entire morning had passed in a blur of muted sounds and tension. Kal's mind was racing, his thoughts constantly circling back to the broadcast. The quiet weight of what he'd learned clung to him like a second skin, making every interaction feel like it was happening through a fog. He tried to focus in class, tried to act normal, but his mind wouldn't settle. The images of Waylon Forge's body — mauled, blood drained — replayed in his head every few seconds.
His hands were clenched under the desk, his jaw tight. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong — and that it was tied to Alice and her family.
By lunchtime, he had a decision to make. Kal knew he couldn't keep avoiding the truth, couldn't keep pretending everything was fine. He had to know for sure.
He'd been using his X-ray vision off and on all morning, discretely scanning through walls to track the Cullens as they moved through the school. He had to stay out of sight, remain unnoticed — but the closer he got, the more his suspicions grew.
And when lunch rolled around, he knew what he had to do. Kal found an empty seat at the back of the cafeteria, near the Cullens, but not too close. The table buzzed with chatter, the clatter of trays and the hum of voices filling the air. But Kal was barely aware of the noise. He focused, narrowing his attention to them — his heart pounding in his chest as he listened in on their conversation.
The whispers started low, but Kal's hearing — enhanced by the powers he was only beginning to grasp — picked them up immediately. His gaze flicked toward the Cullens, where they sat together, eyes scanning the room, but their words were only for each other.
Emmett's voice broke through first. "Too messy. We've seen this before."
Edward's voice, cool and smooth, came next. "A newborn?"
Jasper responded, his voice thoughtful but edged with concern. "No. There's too few victims. A newborn would've gone on a frenzy in Port Angeles. This is a rogue. Maybe more than one. We'll patrol tonight."
Kal's breath caught in his throat, his focus sharpening. His mind raced to keep up with the conversation, trying to piece together the implications of what they were saying.
Rosalie's voice followed, biting with frustration. "As if we didn't have enough to worry about…"
Jasper's voice came again, calm but filled with a subtle urgency. "We need to make them leave. Or we're risking exposure. There's a reason we only drink animal blood."
Then Edward's voice came. It was low, a hint of a warning in it.
"It's not about our diet. It's about control. We're not monsters. We only drink animal blood, and we don't hunt people."
Kal's stomach twisted. He could feel the weight of the conversation sinking into his bones. His eyes darted around the room, scanning their faces for any signs of guilt, any hints of truth they might not be saying.
And then it hit him. The relief that followed was almost overwhelming, but it was tinged with a shock that slammed through him like an electric current.
Kal's heart skipped a beat.
They weren't the killers.
They weren't involved in the attacks. They didn't drink human blood.
He let out a slow breath, the tension in his chest easing just a fraction. His hands shook beneath the table as relief flooded through him. They had been talking about something entirely different — another rogue. A real threat, not them.
Kal's heart pounded faster, and his hands tightened into fists beneath the table as he strained to hear more. His breath caught in his chest as his mind tried to wrap itself around what he was hearing.
They only drank animal blood.
Relief flooded through him like a tidal wave. His hands shook, his grip loosening from the edge of the table.
Kal's eyes flickered toward Alice, his stomach flipping at the sight of her. She was speaking now, her voice low and calm, but her gaze was distant, like she was lost in thought. Her family — they weren't monsters.
'It's not them. Not her.' he thought to himself.
The sudden pressure in his chest began to ease. His shoulders loosened, the tension from the past hours slowly draining away. He wanted to believe them, wanted to trust them. But the questions still loomed — who were the real threats? What did they know that they weren't saying?
But for now, Kal let himself believe. They weren't the ones responsible for the deaths.
His hands still trembled, but this time, it was from the weight of relief.
Kal glanced across the cafeteria, his gaze drawn to Alice, even though his mind was still reeling from everything he'd just learned. She sat near her family, but when his eyes landed on her, she looked up. The moment their gazes met, something in the air shifted, a magnetic pull drawing him in. She tilted her head slightly, her smile warm and knowing, like only she could smile.
It was a simple thing — that smile. But in that moment, it felt like the universe had quieted for just a breath. Kal couldn't look away. He didn't want to. The world around him faded, everything else a distant hum.
Then, the words echoed in his mind: 'Only animal blood.'
His heart skipped a beat as the realisation hit him. He'd heard the conversation. He'd overheard their plan, their discussions about control, the way they spoke about hunting only animals, never humans. It all clicked into place.
'That means... Alice.'
The thought made his chest tighten in a way he couldn't fully describe, but it was different now. His pulse didn't race with the panic or fear he had felt before. No. This time, there was clarity.
His heart was no longer in chains.
For the first time, he understood. There was nothing stopping him anymore. Not fear. Not the weight of morality he'd placed on his shoulders. Nothing could stand in his way. Not anymore.
From the first moment he'd met her, he'd felt the pull, the magnetic force that called to him, deeper than anything he could explain. He'd tried to fight it, tried to hold back, but now, in the face of truth, there was no denying it.
She wasn't the danger he'd feared. She wasn't like the monsters in his mind. She was... Alice.
Kal swallowed the lump in his throat, the world around him continuing as it always had. But in his chest, something had shifted. Something irreversible.
He wasn't running anymore. He was free to want what he'd been avoiding wanting all along.
He was free to want Alice.