Twilight The Stranger's Gaze

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FORKS, WASHINGTON

Jessica twirled the pen Riley had handed her, feeling the slight tremor in her fingers as a playful smile curved on her lips, that mix of nerves and teenage flirting she so enjoyed experiencing. She leaned over the counter, letting a strand of hair fall over her shoulder as she carefully wrote Bella's address on the napkin, marking each letter with a firm stroke so it wouldn't smudge with the coffee's moisture.

When she finished, she paused for a moment, biting her lip softly as a small smile formed. Without overthinking, she lowered her hand again and, at the bottom of the napkin, wrote her phone number, adding a small heart at the end.

With a glint of excitement in her eyes, she handed the napkin to Riley, brushing her fingers against his in a brief contact that left a tingling on her skin, while a nervous giggle escaped her lips.

"In case… after seeing Bella… you have time to, you know, do something," she murmured, her voice breaking into a laugh as she lowered her gaze, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Riley took the napkin calmly, pausing for a second to look at it before folding it precisely and slipping it into the pocket of his hoodie. His lips curved into a cryptic, barely perceptible smile, as if he was holding a secret she wouldn't understand.

"When I finish my business with the Cullens… I'll come back to you," he said softly, letting the words hang in the air with an ambiguous echo.

Jessica laughed, feeling the blush rise from her neck to her cheeks, like a wave of heat that made her turn around, trying to hide the rapid beat of her heart.

"Jessica?" Mike called from the table, his tone heavy with jealousy and insecurity.

Jessica rolled her eyes, shooting him an annoyed look before turning back to Riley, opening her mouth to say something else.

But the stool where he had been sitting was empty.

She blinked, confused, searching the café with her gaze, scanning each table and every corner with an anxious thump in her ears. But Riley was already gone. Only the echo of her breathing and the lingering aroma of coffee mixing with the drizzle tapping against the fogged-up windows remained.

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The drizzle fell steadily over Forks, forming streams of water that slid down the eaves of the houses and puddles that reflected a heavy, gray sky. Riley walked slowly through the damp streets, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, the hood partially covering his face, while his eyes, hidden behind dark glasses, scanned each house number, each rusty mailbox, each empty porch.

He didn't need to look at the napkin. The address was etched into his mind.

When he arrived in front of the Swan house, he stopped under the rain, letting the water soak his shoulders as he observed every detail: the white paint peeling from the moisture, the empty chair on the porch, the unkempt yard, and the vacant driveway.

The street was silent, except for the patter of raindrops and the distant creak of branches swayed by the wind.

With fluid movements, Riley circled the house, ensuring there were no curious eyes. When he reached beneath the second-floor window, he bent his knees and propelled himself with a precise jump, placing a hand on the windowsill as the window yielded with a slight creak.

He slipped inside like a shadow, landing in a crouch on the carpet.

The scent enveloped him immediately: warm, human, sweet, saturating every corner with an intensity that made his throat burn. He advanced silently, observing the messy desk with scattered notebooks and pencils, the small details of a human life woven with routines.

His gaze stopped on the wall where several photos taped up showed Bella in different moments. In one of them, Bella was smiling with her dark hair falling in waves over her shoulders, while a pale arm circled her in protective closeness. Next to her, a young man with coppery hair and intense eyes smiled with the calm of someone who feels untouchable.

Edward Cullen.

Riley felt his jaw tighten as a pulse of cold irritation rose to his temples, his hands clenching at his sides. He stared at that image of happiness with a latent fury, that brazen tranquility of those who could smile while Victoria was being hunted, while she was forced to run because of those faces that looked so satisfied.

How could they smile like that, so calmly, while they were planning to kill her?

A flash of fury crossed his eyes as he felt the impulse to rip that photo down and tear it apart. His hands lifted, trembling, but he stopped, breathing slowly as the air, heavy with Bella's perfume and Edward's icy trace, filled his lungs.

He turned, giving his back to the photo, feeling a lash of unease in his chest. He was far from her, and although he had promised to fulfill his part of the plan, for a moment, the distance felt like a fracture.

Just a few days, he reminded himself firmly, clenching his fists as determination anchored in his mind.

A few more days and he would return to Victoria. Only he could keep her safe; she herself had told him so. All those newborns were expendable. He was not.

With that certainty burning in his chest, he left Bella's room with quick but silent steps, closing the door carefully so as not to leave any trace.

He advanced down the hallway, brushing against the walls adorned with photos of Bella at different ages: with friends, at birthdays, in parks, and finally with a man with a mustache, a kind smile, both looking happy in front of a patrol car.

He gently pushed open the next door and entered a different room. The air here was different, filled with the scents of gunpowder, beer, and damp earth.

On a chair rested a perfectly folded jacket, with some areas worn from use. Next to it, on the nightstand, there was a small plaque of recognition and a photograph of the man with the mustache, with a plate on the bottom that read: CHARLIE SWAN.

Riley paused, letting the name imprint in his mind before picking up the jacket carefully, bringing it close to his face to inhale slowly, absorbing the scent that would serve as his trail.

He folded the jacket precisely and held it under his arm as he observed the photos and the details of a human life that meant nothing to him.

He stayed just a few minutes more before turning around and continuing with his purpose.

With a silent leap, he slipped out the window, landing on the wet grass. The scent of Charlie clinging to the jacket mixed with the Forks mist as he walked through the quiet streets, where even the birds seemed to hold their breath at his passing.

The trail led him to the small Forks police station, with white lights illuminating the weathered wooden sign. He entered with a steady step, the rain dripping from his hood and the dark glasses reflecting the cold interior lights.

The murmur of a radio blended with the slow typing as a gray-haired receptionist looked up, her smile freezing when she didn't recognize him. Her gaze settled on the jacket Riley held draped over his arm, on the serene bearing of the young man, and on the glasses covering his eyes.

"Can I help you, young man?" she asked with forced kindness.

Riley tilted his head slightly, letting a polite smile form on his lips.

"I'm looking for Charlie Swan," he said in a low, firm voice, filling the small space with an imperceptible tension.

The woman blinked, shuffling some papers as she tried to remember if she knew the young man standing before her.

"Charlie… finished his shift a little while ago," she finally replied, almost without realizing, adding in a murmur, "he left early because he wanted to visit a friend."

Riley nodded calmly, his smile remaining as his gaze, behind the glasses, analyzed every door, every hallway, every exit, letting Charlie's scent etch itself into the humid air of the place.

"Would you like me to leave him a message when he returns?" the receptionist offered cautiously.

"That won't be necessary," Riley replied.

He turned calmly and headed for the door, the light from the station reflecting in the puddles as the rain continued to patter against his hood.

Once outside, he inhaled deeply, letting Charlie's scent fix itself in his mind like a taut hunting thread, ready to guide him. His lips curved slightly as he murmured in a voice lost beneath the drumming rain:

"Let them suffer… as much as she did."

He adjusted the hood over his head and, with the gray sky as his only witness, began to follow the trail that would lead him to his target, his red eyes glowing behind the dark glasses as determination pulsed, dark and silent, beneath the drizzle.