(Thomas POV)
For a moment, I couldn't move. The words 'he's asking them to end his life' echoed in my head—not in fear, or sorrow, but in disbelief. Edward was doing it again. Running from the wreckage he'd made and leaving everyone else to bleed in the fallout.
The fire inside me surged, not from grief but from anger. He'd walked away from Bella to 'protect' her, shattering her instead. And now, knowing what that had done to her, he was trying to erase himself—to make his absence permanent. What would that do to her? To Edythe? To the rest of them?
{Selfish prick.}
I clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms. If he wanted to die, fine—but he didn't get to drag them down with him.
The airport around me blurred into white noise—voices, engines, footsteps—all fading under a single pounding thought: I have to stop him.
The fire inside me roared, surging against my skull like it wanted out. People turned when my chair scraped across the floor, but I didn't care. The bolt that should've held it down snapped free with a metallic pop I barely registered. I reached over, unplugged the phone charger, and slung my pack over one shoulder.
Rome. Flight QR 649—boarding in less than forty-five minutes through Doha.
Perfect.
I forced my breathing steady enough to speak and bought the ticket on the spot, half the airport crowding around the counter behind me. The woman at the desk kept glancing up at me—probably not used to men who looked like they could lift the plane themselves—but she processed the booking without a word.
First-class ticket in hand, I stepped aside and dug out the satellite phone. The battery had crept up another bar before I'd unplugged it—good enough for now. I started toward the gate as I dialed Edythe's number.
The line connected.
"Edythe?"
"Thomas—thank God. Did you get a flight?"
"I'm booked," I said, checking the paper again. "Kathmandu to Doha, then Doha to Rome. I'll be in Italy by morning."
A muffled exchange on her end—Alice's voice in the background, rapid and controlled.
"Our route's set," Edythe said. "Seattle to New York, then Florence. Bella's with us. She's shaken, but she knows she's the only one who can reach him."
"Good," I said. "That'll keep her steady. She'll hold herself together for him."
"She's the only one he'll listen to," Edythe admitted. "Alice says he'll petition the Volturi tonight—but he has plans if they turn him down."
My jaw tightened. "Then we move faster. I know he's your brother, Edythe, but if he survives this, he and I are going to have a talk."
There was a pause, soft static breathing between us.
"Thomas—don't do anything reckless. The Volturi—"
"Edythe," I cut in. "Reckless is what's left. I'll call when I land."
I could hear her start to protest, but the boarding chime echoed across the terminal, sharp as a bell. I ended the call before she could say another word and slipped the satellite phone back into its case. My pulse still hammered in my ears, but the decision was made—no turning back now.
By the time I reached my seat, the cabin lights were dimming. First class—extra legroom, but still too tight for someone my size. My knees brushed the bulkhead, shoulders edging into the aisle. I settled in anyway, eyes fixed on the window as the tarmac began to roll past.
The plane lifted into the dark, the city lights shrinking below. My breathing steadied. This would be the hard part. Waiting and sitting still while I was in a hurry. Logically, I knew that I was on the fastest possible route, but not moving myself made me feel like I was not accomplishing anything.
I tried to rest, but my mind kept circling back to Forks—Bella's face, Edythe's voice. The choices Edward had made, and the ones they all had to live with. For all his talk about loving and protecting her, he never trusted Bella to choose for herself.
Hours slipped by in silence until the cabin lights shifted to a pale dawn glow. I stretched, bones popping, and checked the flight map on the screen in front of me. Doha—thirty minutes out.
The terminal in Doha was polished stone and soft light, a quiet hum beneath the announcements echoing through the air. I stretched the stiffness from my legs and followed the flow of passengers into the main concourse. Everything gleamed — glass, chrome, marble. It reminded me of the Cullen's home: precise, ordered, efficient.
I found an empty corner near a charging station and pulled out the satellite phone. The screen blinked to life. Edythe answered on the first ring, her voice sharper than before.
"Thomas?"
"Made it to Doha. The next flight's boarding in minutes. I'll be in Rome before sunrise."
Relief edged her voice. "Good. We have already boarded in New York for Florence. Alice says we should reach Volterra around noon local time."
I adjusted the strap on my pack, pacing slowly to keep my body moving. "And Edward?"
"He's still in the city," she said. I could hear muffled voices behind her — Alice, calm and clinical; Bella, quieter, heartbeats of panic hidden under control. "He's changed locations twice. Alice thinks he's scouting the area. She can't see clearly anymore but thinks he settled on the town square clock tower. Something's interfering."
"It's because I'm involved now isn't it," I said. "It blurs her sight."
"Exactly."
There was a pause. I could almost hear her hesitation through the static. "Thomas… we don't know what we're walking into. The Volturi aren't like other covens. They have rules. If they see you as a threat—"
"They won't," I said flatly. "Not unless they give me a reason."
"You can't face them alone."
"I won't have to," I said. "You'll be there soon enough."
Her voice softened. "Please. Promise me you'll wait outside the city."
"I'll stay close enough to watch," I said, side-stepping the promise.
Edythe sighed, quiet resignation carrying across the line. "You always do what you think you must."
"Only when it matters," I said.
Over the line, I caught the faint sound of Bella's voice — asking something I couldn't make out. Edythe murmured a reply too low to hear, then came back to me.
"She says thank you," she told me.
"For what?"
"For coming."
I exhaled slowly, looking out through the wide glass windows. The edge of dawn had touched the horizon, soft gold against the black. "Tell her to keep that feeling in mind when me and Edward have our discussion about his actions that caused this mess."
The boarding call for my flight broke through the background noise. Flight QR 115 to Rome now boarding.
"That's me," I said.
"Thomas—"
"I'll see you in Italy," I cut in, and hung up. I was so going to get in trouble for all this hanging up on Edythe I was doing.
As I walked toward the gate, a few travelers stepped aside without realizing it. Maybe it was my size, maybe the look in my eyes. Either way, the crowd parted easily. I took my seat as the first hints of morning spilled across the sky.
Rome. Then Volterra.
The plane rolled to a stop, and the engines wound down into a low, steady thrum. Dawn had stolen the night; Rome lay pale and wide beneath us, cathedral domes and terracotta roofs catching the first thin light. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else as I moved through the aisle—stiff, efficient. There was no time to waste, it was just after 8am.
Customs was a blur: a quick line, the indifferent nods of officers more bored than threatening, my pack slung over one shoulder. The terminal emptied into the morning air and the taxi rank, where a line of yellow cars waited in the filtered light. Men in dark jackets argued quietly with one another, cigarette smoke curling in the cold.
I walked straight to the group, shoulders broad in the open space, and there was no mistaking how I looked—impossible to ignore. They glanced up, naturally stepping a half-beat away. I pulled out my travel wallet and flashed the stack of American bills.
"I've got one thousand in cash for anyone who can get me to Volterra before noon. Once we leave the city, I'll add a hundred dollars for every car you pass—but every car that passes you costs you five hundred. Any takers?"
"A thousand for Volterra," one of them said, half-laughing to cover a flicker of interest. "You know that's a long drive, amico. And regulations—" He jerked his chin toward the airport authority in the distance.
"Regulations don't pay your rent," I said flatly. "You want the money, or you want to stand here counting the hours?"