He stopped. Mid-step. His voice died.

The pack piled in behind him—Jared, Embry, Jacob, Quil, and Leah—all soaked, all loud, all radiating that strange, electric energy that made the hairs on your arms stand up.

Until they saw her.

The noise cut out like someone flipped a switch.

Silence.

Y/N didn't turn around. She just kept rinsing the mixing bowl, her hands steady, her breathing even.

But the front of the group had frozen.

A boy—broad-shouldered, dark-haired, with a jaw so tight it looked carved from stone—stood at the threshold, water dripping from his chin. His eyes locked onto the curve of her spine, the slope of her shoulder, the way her fingers moved without feeling.

The world didn't just tilt.

It shattered.

The gravity that had held him to the earth for eighteen years snapped, re-centering itself entirely on the girl by the sink. On her tired, hollow eyes. On the way she moved like a ghost in her own skin.

Y/N set down the bowl. Turned. Wiped her hands on her jeans.

She didn't smile. She didn't say hello.

She just gave the group a slow, numb nod—once—before brushing past them and heading for the stairs, the wooden steps creaking under her weight.

The only sound was the rain against the windows and the timer ticking in the kitchen.