It started with a stumble. A completely unremarkable, painfully ordinary, gravity-induced betrayal of the human body.

One second you were upright—a functioning member of society, minding your own business on a damp Forks afternoon. The next, the universe decided to humble you. Your foot caught on absolutely nothing. A root? A rock? The ghost of bad decisions? Whatever it was, it sent you pitching forward with all the grace of a baby deer on roller skates.

And honestly? The ground was coming in hot. You braced for impact. Pain. Embarrassment. Maybe a dramatic montage of every choice that led you to this exact patch of wet forest floor.

Except the impact never came.

A hand caught you. Cold. Unnervingly strong. Before you could process what happened, there was a sharp, searing pain at the junction of your neck and shoulder—a flash of white-hot fire that stole the breath straight out of your lungs.

Then everything went dark.