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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ❝ FOUND YOU. ❞ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
DAYS PASSED FAST AND Wednesday evening had already arrived. Talia wiped her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, her sobs quieting as exhaustion settled over her. She didn't know how long she'd been curled up on Bella's bed, but the release of tears left her feeling raw, vulnerable, and strangely a little lighter. She hated crying over a boy but how could she not when it had been days since she had her kiss with Embry and he had yet to call or text.
She was about to grab a tissue when she heard the faint creak of the front door opening. Her body froze. Bella wasn't supposed to be back for hours—she was with Jacob.
"Charlie?" she called out, her voice shaky. She waited, but the house remained eerily silent.
Frowning, she slid off the bed and padded to the door. As she stepped into the hallway, a cold draft swept through the house, making her shiver. She tightened her hoodie around her and called out again. "Charlie? Bella? Is that you?"
No response.
Her stomach knotted with unease. Gripping her phone tightly, she dialed Bella's number. The line rang and rang, each tone echoing in her ears, until it clicked to voicemail.
"Dammit," she whispered. She didn't have Charlie's number and no way to confirm if he'd come home unexpectedly.
"Charlie?" she tried again, her voice faltering. Still nothing.
The quiet was oppressive, and Talia's instinct was to retreat back to Bella's room, where she could lock the door and wait it out. But just as she turned, a soft, almost imperceptible sound stopped her in her tracks.
It was like wind, but... inside the house.
Her breath caught as she turned back toward the stairs. The dim light from the living room cast long shadows across the walls. Slowly, she stepped closer to the banister, peering down, her heart hammering in her chest.
At first, she saw nothing—just the empty living room. But then, movement in the shadows.
A figure emerged.
Talia's blood ran cold as she recognized him. The same man from the bookstore. Laurent.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs, his red eyes gleaming in the low light. His presence was both regal and menacing, as if he had all the time in the world and no intention of rushing.
"Good evening," Laurent said, his voice smooth, almost mocking.
Talia's legs felt like jelly. Her grip on the banister tightened, and her phone almost slipped from her other hand.
