Twilight: The Last Hunter

The second day at school was quieter, but not easier.

The air still carried that underlying pressure—like static before a storm. I couldn't see them, not yet, but I knew they were here. I'd spent years learning to listen to that instinct. It never whispered without reason.

I made it through my classes without incident. Bella sat beside me in English. Her voice stayed low when she spoke—if she spoke at all. Her eyes were thoughtful, watchful. I could tell biology still sat with her. I didn't bring it up.

Neither of us wanted to name the thing that had stared at her like it remembered her from a dream—or a nightmare.

By lunch, the cafeteria buzzed with the same routine as yesterday, but something felt... off. The Cullens were seated again at their usual table, silent, statuesque. Emmett and Jasper flanked Rosalie, who didn't even try to mask her glance in my direction.

Her gaze was cold. Focused. And it lingered.

Edward wasn't watching Bella anymore.

He was watching me.

I met his eyes, calm and direct. I didn't blink.

It was Rosalie who looked away first this time, her jaw tightening.

They'd caught my scent. I could feel it in the way they held themselves—too still, too restrained. Not curious. Not cautious. Alert. Edward didn't show surprise, but he did look... uncertain. Like something about me refused to settle into a shape he could name.

I didn't stick around after lunch, but I didn't skip the rest of the day either. I sat through each class, eyes open but mind elsewhere. Waiting. Listening. Watching the corners of the room when no one else did.

The Cullens never passed me in the halls.

But their presence stayed with me like frost in the lungs.

The rest of the day passed without incident—just a few lingering glances from the Cullens and the usual string of dull lectures. When the final bell rang, I made my way to the parking lot. My car was right where I left it, parked beside Bella's old truck.

She was already there, rummaging through her bag in the passenger seat. Our eyes met briefly.

A small nod. A quiet moment. No words.

Then we each got in and drove off—two strangers heading home through the same rain.

---

That evening, I arrived back at the house with the same steady pace I always kept. No rush. No reason to look suspicious. I locked the door behind me and let the silence settle.

Then I moved to the bedroom closet.

I pulled out the black trunk.

It hit the floor with a soft, solid thud. Inside—wrapped in padded cloth and worn leather—were the tools of my family's real legacy. Some inherited land. Others, money.

I inherited weapons.

I unwrapped each piece slowly. My father's modified bow. Hand-forged knives. Iron stakes, balanced hatchet, silver-threaded garrote wire. Most were worn but maintained. No rust. No dust.

At the bottom was a small case wrapped in oilcloth.

Inside—my mother's field journal.

The pages were filled with crisp, clean writing. Cross-referenced symbols. Territory maps. Creature behavior. I flipped past the sections I knew by heart until a familiar phrase caught my eye:

"Gold-eyed vampires. Rare. Unknown behavioral pattern. Possibly 'vegetarian'—feeding on animal blood instead of human. Dangerous assumption to trust. No confirmed alliances."

I stared at the words.

Gold eyes. Just like the ones I saw at the table. Just like the ones that turned away from me too quickly. They were hiding something. Or pretending something. Either way—it wasn't human.

And I wasn't sure what was worse: a vampire that hunts... or a vampire that pretends not to.

I closed the book and sat in silence for a long time.

---

Later, after the sun dipped below the trees, I picked up the phone.

Charlie answered after two rings.

"Swan."

"Hey. It's Alaric."

He sounded relaxed. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah. Just thinking about working on a photo series. Kind of a moody northwest theme. Wanted to ask—has anything strange happened around here lately? You know, trails, woods, odd stories. Local folklore type stuff."

He gave a low chuckle. "You planning to spook the tourists?"

"Forks already does that on its own," I said.

He considered. "Nothing major lately. Some weird tracks out near the ridge—probably bear. A couple reports of gutted deer, but nothing unusual for the season. Are you looking to go out that way?"

"Eventually."

"Just be careful. Some of those trails are half-swamp this time of year."

"Thanks. I will."

We hung up a few minutes later.

Friendly conversation. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Exactly how I needed it.

---

rewrapped the weapons one by one, careful and deliberate. Each piece returned to its place in the trunk like a ritual—every blade, every coil of wire, every tool designed for one purpose. Not just instruments of violence. Reminders.

Of who I was.

Of who they made me become.

The journal rested on top last. I closed it, letting the worn leather press against my palm a moment longer than necessary. My mother's words, my father's scars, my family's burden—all packed away again. But not forgotten.

Never forgotten.

I slid the trunk back under the bed, hearing the familiar scrape of wood against floorboards. The latch clicked shut—quiet, final.

Then I sat back on my heels and let the silence settle.

The Cullens had noticed me. I'd seen it in their eyes—in Edward's restrained stare, in Rosalie's sharpened suspicion. They hadn't just sensed a stranger.

They'd smelled what I was.

Vampire hunter.

Maybe they didn't know the name. Maybe they couldn't place the lineage. But the scent clung to me—the kind that made their kind uneasy, the kind that reminded them of bloodlines built for killing theirs.

Let them watch.

Let them keep wondering what I know, and how much closer I am to seeing through the quiet lie they've built here.

I wasn't playing along anymore.

If they were preparing for something—I was too.

Because whatever game they were playing in Forks…

They weren't the only ones getting ready for war.