The rain hadn't stopped since June crossed the Forks city limit. It came down in thin, silver threads, not hard enough to pound the truck's roof, but steady. Patient. The kind of rain that soaked into everything and never quite let go. Charlie's old Chevy smelled like wet wool and stale coffee, and every bump in the road made the heater rattle. June watched the windshield wipers sweep back and forth, their rhythm marking off the miles like a slow, wet clock.

The house on the edge of town looked exactly like the pictures Charlie had sent. Small. Gray. A little tired around the edges, with a front porch that sagged just enough to notice. The lawn had surrendered to moss years ago, and the trees pressed in close on every side, their branches heavy with rain. Charlie grabbed two of the heavier bags without a word and hauled them toward the door, leaving June standing in the driveway under a sky that seemed to have forgotten what the sun looked like.

That night, sleep came in shallow, restless waves. The rain tapped against the bedroom window like it was asking to be let in. When morning came, it brought no break in the clouds. The silver light made the room feel cold and far away, and the unfamiliar sounds of the house—the creak of the stairs, the hum of the old refrigerator, the distant murmur of the TV—only sharpened the sense that this was someone else's life. Not a bad one. Just not quite June's.

The bell rang. Forks High School filled with the sound of lockers slamming and shoes squeaking on wet linoleum. Students moved in clusters, calling to each other across the halls, their voices bright and comfortable. June moved through them with a schedule clutched in one hand and a growing knot in their chest. Every classroom looked the same. Every hallway smelled faintly of damp carpet and floor wax. A few people smiled. A few whispered. Most just stared a beat too long before looking away.

By lunch, the rain had softened to a fine mist. The cafeteria was warm and loud, filled with the clatter of trays and the buzz of overlapping conversations. June sat at the edge of a long table with a tray of food that looked only slightly more appetizing than the tray itself. It was easier to keep eyes down, to focus on the plastic-wrapped sandwich and the carton of milk. But something pulled at the edge of their attention. A stillness in the middle of all the noise.

They sat at a table near the back windows. Five of them. Motionless, like they'd been carved from marble and set down in the middle of a high school cafeteria by mistake. Their skin was pale. The kind of pale that made the gray afternoon look warm. Their trays sat untouched in front of them, and none of them spoke. None of them even seemed to breathe. They just sat, elegant and silent, as if the rest of the room didn't exist.

Then one of them looked up. The one with the bronze hair and the golden eyes. His gaze crossed the room without hesitation, like he'd known exactly where to look. For a single, suspended second, his eyes met June's. The noise of the cafeteria seemed to drop away. The air went still. Then he looked back down, and the moment shattered, swallowed by the clatter of trays and the rise of laughter from a nearby table.

A boy slid into the seat across from June, tray clattering against the table. He had a friendly, open face and dark hair that curled at the edges from the damp.

He leaned forward, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret.