The morning light filtered through the clouds, casting a muted glow across the town of Forks. Desmond sat at his desk in his room, staring at the window, but his mind wasn't on the rain-tipped trees or the soft patter of droplets on glass. It was on the man from the alley. The encounter had shaken something loose in him—something ancient, like a memory he didn't fully understand.
"We've all been watching you."
Those words hadn't left his mind.
He knew now—he was being hunted. Studied. Possibly even marked. Not just by the vampires or the werewolves, but by something even more cryptic. He had no name for it yet, but the pieces were slowly clicking into place.
He reached for the notebook under his bed—a journal he had kept since childhood. In it were sketches, fragments, and theories about what he remembered from the original Twilight story. Names, events, connections. Some things had faded, but others burned brightly. He turned to a page where he had scribbled: "Volturi – Watchers. Rulers. Dangerous." He underlined it twice.
But it wasn't time for them yet. No… this was something else.
He flipped a few pages forward and found the note he had written after his encounter with the werewolves: They saved me for a reason. But what was it?
As if on cue, his phone buzzed. A blocked number.
He hesitated, then answered. "Hello?"
"Desmond." The voice was low, familiar. It was Elias.
"What's going on?" Desmond asked, standing now, heart racing.
"There's been a shift. Someone entered our territory last night. You weren't the only one followed."
Desmond felt a chill run down his spine. "You think it's connected to that man I met?"
"Highly likely," Elias replied. "They're probing. Stirring the hornet's nest. You need to be ready. And you need to move. I'm sending someone to pick you up."
Before Desmond could respond, the call ended.
Within minutes, he was downstairs, telling Charlie he was going to spend the weekend out camping with some guys from school. Charlie, half-distracted by a coffee and a football game, just nodded.
By the time Desmond got outside, a black SUV was already waiting. A girl stepped out—a striking young woman with dark braids, piercing hazel eyes, and a confident stance. She looked around his age, but there was something unnaturally graceful about the way she moved.
"You're Desmond," she said flatly. "Get in."
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Leona," she replied. "Elias sent me. I'm… one of the wolves."
Desmond raised a brow. She didn't look like one. She smelled like a mix of earth and wildflowers. Not animal. Not human either. But something… between.
As they drove deeper into the woods, Leona glanced at him sideways. "You've been asking questions. That's dangerous."
"I've always been a little curious," Desmond said, voice calm.
"No," she said. "It's more than that. You're not just some anomaly. You're a crack in the wall."
Desmond turned to face her. "What wall?"
"The one keeping balance in this world. Wolves, vampires, witches—we all play our roles. You? You don't fit. And the world knows it."
Desmond remained silent, letting her words sink in.
The vehicle stopped in a forest clearing. Elias was already waiting with two others—both looked powerful, one shirtless despite the cold, his muscles coiled like a predator.
Elias stepped forward. "It's time we stop treating you like a bystander, Desmond. You want answers? Then prove you can handle them."
Leona tossed him a wooden staff. "Let's see what you've learned."
Desmond stepped into the clearing, gripping the staff tightly. His instincts hummed. His mind recalled every technique, every motion he'd learned during training. But now, it was real.
The wolf charged.
Desmond blocked, countered, spun—and for a moment, everything was a blur of movement and speed. His shield flickered, almost glowing as it deflected a strike that should've shattered bone.
Elias watched carefully.
The spar ended with Desmond on one knee, panting, bruised but unbroken.
"You've improved," Elias said. "But there's more coming. And if we don't prepare you fast enough… this world might break before it bends."
Desmond nodded. He was done waiting. Done playing passive. The hornet's nest had been stirred—and now, it was time to fight back.