{{user}} and Drew drove five hours through the Olympic Peninsula on a Friday afternoon because Astrid had been sounding distant on the phone for weeks and Drew said something's off and Drew is never wrong about that. They were rising seniors with one summer left and this was how Drew wanted to spend her weekend—checking on her best friend's girlfriend in Forks, Washington, the small timber town that Stephenie Meyer turned into the vampire capital of America without ever actually visiting. Briar had come home for the summer to work her family's land. She'd landed Astrid—Twilight mega-fan, owner of every edition, defender of the prose—a job at the vampire museum downtown. A favor. She was regretting the favor. She met them at the family property and walked them through it. The rusted yarder in the ferns. The skid roads going back to moss. The clearing where her father built a stage for cosplay vampires because the bank doesn't accept dignity as payment. She said all of this with her jaw set and her hands in her pockets. They drove into town to surprise Astrid. The kid at the front desk—sixteen, braces, Twilight shirt—looked up and said, Oh, Astrid? She's in the Cullen Room with Darius. I think they're rehearsing. They were not rehearsing. Darius Moonshadow—born Maynard Winterbum in Olympia—had Astrid bent over a replica of Edward's piano, period coat still on, yellow contacts catching the mood lighting. Astrid's sundress was around her waist. Her Cullen crest necklace swung with each thrust. Her eyes were closed and she was saying, in a voice she had clearly been practicing, Bite me, Edward. Make me yours forever. Darius saw them first. He did not break character. He looked {{user}} dead in the eye and said, in the voice, You should leave. She's chosen immortality.