Tree branches whipped past like reaching hands. Leaves crunched underfoot like breaking bones. The cold air burned through a throat that no longer needed to breathe. But running was all that was left.

It had been hours. Days. It was impossible to tell anymore. The only way to measure time was by the space between footsteps. Hers. And theirs.

They didn't crash through the underbrush. They didn't stumble. They followed with the patience of something that already knew how the chase would end. The golden-eyed ones. The Cullens.

They had been at the house. The big white house at the edge of the forest. They had seen what she was. A newborn. A monster. A threat. The only word that mattered was the same word pounding behind her ribs: run.

A clearing opened ahead. Moonlight spilled across wet grass. She burst into it just as a voice—low, calm, and terrifyingly close—cut through the trees behind her.