Morning in Forks arrived the way it always did...quiet, grey, and slightly damp… like the sky itself had woken up, looked around, and decided, "Absolutely not. No energy today."
The clouds hung low, thick and unmoving.
No sunlight. No enthusiasm. Just a soft, silvery glow slipping through the curtains like it didn't want to disturb anyone.
It was the weekend.
Even the world felt slower.
Outside, faint birdsong drifted through the mist—soft, scattered chirps, like even the birds were only doing the bare minimum today. Somewhere in the distance, leaves rustled gently, the forest breathing in slow, sleepy rhythm.
Inside the Swan house—
everything was still.
Too still.
Comfortably still.
Amara noticed it the moment her eyes fluttered open.
She didn't move.
Didn't blink much.
Just lay there, wrapped in her blanket like a very determined burrito, staring at the ceiling with deep, personal suspicion.
"…Why am I awake?" she whispered.
A pause.
"…Who approved this?"
She turned her face slightly, squinting at the dull grey light slipping through the curtains like it had personally betrayed her.
The bed was warm.
Perfect.
Dangerously perfect.
The blanket was soft and heavy in the right way, her pillow molded exactly to her head like it understood her emotional needs, and the faint chill in the air only made staying inside the covers feel even more illegal to leave.
Sleep… was sacred.
Sleep was peace.
Sleep was the only thing in her life that never caused emotional damage.
And yet—
here she was.
Awake.
Early.
On a weekend.
"…Unacceptable."
She dragged the blanket higher, covering half her face like she was hiding from responsibility itself.
Maybe if she didn't move—
maybe if she just stayed very still—
maybe sleep would reconsider and come back.
She closed her eyes.
Waited.
Listened.
Birds.
Wind.
Silence.
No sleep.
Her brain, unfortunately, had already clocked in for duty.
"…This is a scam," she muttered.
She rolled onto her side, hugging her pillow tighter, sinking deeper into the mattress like she was trying to merge with it on a spiritual level.
"…I could stay here forever," she whispered.
And honestly?
She meant it.
For a long moment, Amara considered all her life choices.
Getting up? Optional.
Responsibilities? Highly questionable.
Existing? Debatable.
She sighed softly, nose squished into the pillow, completely at peace with doing absolutely nothing.
Then—
a small, lazy thought drifted through her mind.
"…Maybe I should check out that new shop Jessica was yapping about."
A pause.
"…Or not."
The thought floated for half a second.
Then dissolved.
Not important.
Not urgent.
Definitely not enough to leave the bed for.
Her gaze drifted lazily down toward the blanket still wrapped around her.
Warm.
Safe.
Convincing.
"…But this bed is also very convincing."
Internal conflict.
Serious.
Deep.
Life-altering.
After a long, dramatic sigh, she threw the blanket off herself like she was sacrificing something precious.
Cold air hit her skin.
Immediate regret.
She froze.
"…I made a mistake."
But it was too late now.
"Fine," she muttered. "I'll participate in life."
Bare minimum.
She sat up slowly, stretching like a reluctant cat, arms lifting lazily above her head before dropping again. Her hair fell around her shoulders in soft, effortless waves—slightly messy, but in that annoyingly perfect way that looked intentional.
She didn't question it anymore.
Life had bigger problems.
Like being awake.
She swung her legs off the bed—
Paused.
The floor was cold.
Her soul briefly exited her body.
"…Rude."
Still—
she survived.
Barely.
She shuffled toward the bathroom, half-asleep, brushing her teeth like someone being forced into a contract they did not agree to.
Slow.
Unmotivated.
Judging everything.
Her reflection stared back at her—
hair somehow flawless, soft and falling perfectly like she had a personal stylist while she slept, eyes heavy with sleep, expression neutral but deeply unimpressed with existence.
"…We look good," she admitted.
Then narrowed her eyes slightly.
"…Too good for this situation."
Cold water hit her face.
She flinched.
"…Okay. We're awake. Unfortunately."
After a quick wash, she leaned against the sink for a moment, staring at herself like she was deciding whether today deserved her effort.
"…We exist," she confirmed.
Hair? Flawless.
Face? Suspiciously perfect.
Mood? Lazy… with strong baby pig energy.
She nodded once.
"Good enough."
She changed into something comfortable but effortlessly stylish—soft fitted top, relaxed jeans, a light jacket.
The kind of outfit that said I didn't try… while very obviously trying just enough.
She loosely tied her hair, letting a few strands fall around her face.
Effortless.
Annoying.
Effective.
"Acceptable," she decided.
Humming softly under her breath—some random tune her brain picked without permission—she made her way downstairs.
The house remained quiet.
Peaceful.
Suspiciously calm.
The moment Amara stepped into the living room—
She stopped.
There he was.
Charlie Swan.
Awake.
Early.
Sitting with a cup of coffee and a newspaper like a responsible adult.
But—
Amara narrowed her eyes.
Something was wrong.
If you looked closely…
He was excited.
Not obvious.
Not loud.
But there.
Subtle.
Contained.
Like a kid pretending he didn't care about a festival while secretly counting minutes.
"…Oh no," Amara thought. "He's happy."
That was dangerous.
"Morning," Charlie said, glancing up from his newspaper.
He tried to sound normal.
He failed.
Just slightly.
Amara's lips curved into a small smile.
"Good morning, Charlie," she said warmly.
Then, tilting her head, she added casually,
"You look… good."
Charlie blinked.
Then immediately tried to act like that meant nothing.
"Oh. Yeah. Just—normal."
But his shoulders straightened.
Just a little.
Amara almost laughed.
"…This is adorable," she thought. "All this excitement—for a game."
Men were simple creatures.
Endearingly simple.
Charlie cleared his throat.
"I got breakfast from the diner," he said casually. "It's in the kitchen."
Amara raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
She nodded. "Thank you."
Then as she walked away, she muttered under her breath—
"…He bought breakfast. This is serious."
The kitchen was—
beautiful.
Bacon. Eggs. Pancakes. Sausages.
A full spread.
Amara stood there for a moment, genuinely impressed.
"…Wow."
Then—
her eyes landed on the coffee.
"…He made coffee?"
She stared at it like it might attack.
"…Bold."
Carefully—very carefully—she poured a cup.
Smelled it.
Paused.
"…Acceptable."
Victory.
She grabbed a plate and started assembling breakfast like it was a life mission.
Pancakes first.
Then eggs.
Then bacon.
Then sausages.
Balance.
Nutrition.
Emotional healing.
Plate full. Coffee secured.
She walked back into the living room and dropped onto the couch beside Charlie.
For a moment—
peace.
Just quiet morning sounds.
Newspaper pages turning.
Fork clinking lightly.
The world behaving.
Amara took a bite.
Paused.
"…Okay," she admitted internally. "This is really good."
She leaned back slightly, finally relaxing.
"Hey," she said between bites, "when are Billy and the others coming?"
Charlie didn't look up immediately.
"Around eleven."
Amara nodded.
"Hm. That's good."
Time to prepare.
Or escape.
Still undecided.
Charlie lowered the paper slightly.
"You settling in okay?"
Amara looked at him, expression softening.
"Yeah," she said. "I'm good."
"School okay?"
"Survivable."
"People?"
"…Complicated."
Charlie huffed quietly.
That counted as emotional bonding.
Then—
It happened.
Footsteps.
From upstairs.
Heavy.
Slow.
Unnecessarily aggressive.
THOMP.
Amara froze mid-bite.
Fork hovering in the air.
Her eyes slowly lifted toward the ceiling.
"…No."
THOMP.
THOMP.
"…It's too early for this."
She stared upward like she could feel the disturbance in the air.
"…Bella has a nice face," she thought calmly.
THOMP.
"…Average body. Decent hair."
THOMP.
Her eye twitched.
"…But why does she walk like a creature that just escaped captivity?"
THOMP.
Amara slowly lowered her fork.
"…Grace," she decided, "was not included in her character design."
She took another bite.
Completely unbothered.
Emotionally prepared.
Because one thing was certain—
The peaceful morning?
Was over.
And chaos?
Had officially woken up.