Chapter 12

The room felt colder than usual when I woke. I checked the window and saw fine flakes blowing sideways, the kind of light snow that looks serious and then melts on contact. I pulled on a grey hoodie, loose grey sweats, and shrugged into a light-beige sherpa jacket. It sat oversized on my shoulders the way I like, soft and warm. I laced up clean white Air Force 1s and raked my fingers through my hair until it behaved.

Bella stepped out of her room at the same time I did, sweater sleeves over her hands, braid a little crooked.

"It's snowing," she said, unimpressed.

"Barely," I said. "It won't last."

Downstairs, Charlie had coffee going and the back door cracked from salting the steps. He shut it, stomped his boots, and set the bag down.

"Watch the side streets," he said, sliding a plate with eggs toward Bella, then one for me. "They'll get slick."

"We got it," I said, and meant it.

Breakfast was quick. Bella drove; I rode shotgun. The truck heater took its time, windows fogging before the glass cleared. Snow traced the edges of the windshield and then vanished into water. We took it easy over the little bridge—no music, just the engine, tires grumbling through slush.

"You're good," I said when she eased out of a slow skid without overcorrecting.

"Practice," she said, eyes on the road.

The school lot had a thin, patchy layer of white. Breath showed in little clouds as kids hurried inside. Bella parked toward the back like always. We climbed out and shut our doors at the same time a silver Jeep rolled into the row ahead and idled down.

Alice hopped out first, hatless, bright as ever. Rosalie took longer. She stepped down in a cream sweater, black jeans, and good boots, hair braided low and neat. She shut her door without a sound and looked our way.

"Morning," Alice said as she reached us, smile easy.

"Morning," I answered. Bella gave a small nod, staying close.

Rosalie came to a stop beside Alice and faced me. "Aspen."

"Rosalie." My breath fogged between us. "You like the cold?"

"I like clean air," she said. "The snow helps with that."

Alice's attention shifted to Bella. "How's the truck in this?"

"It's okay," Bella said, small but steady.

"If Pine gets icy later, text me," Alice said. "I can loop around."

Bella nodded without promising anything.

Rosalie's eyes flicked over my jacket, the hoodie underneath, then my shoes. "New?"

"New to me," I said. "Layers do the heavy lifting."

"It works," she said, tone even. Friendly, nothing more.

"Your car holding up?" I asked.

"She always does," Rosalie said. A hint of approval slid into her voice. "Yours?"

"In the garage," I said. "I'll keep her there until this clears."

"That's smart."

The bell carried across the lot. The four of us started toward the doors. At the steps, Alice looked at Bella again. "You'll be fine," she said, like a fact, and peeled off toward her hallway.

Rosalie paused halfway up, angled back to me. "You have history now?"

"Yeah."

"Jasper's in your section," she said. No explanation offered, none needed. "He'll enjoy the lesson."

"Good to know," I said.

She gave a small, precise nod and headed inside.

Bella breathed out. "They're... nice."

"Some of them," I said. "C'mon."

⸻

First period slid by without getting in my way. English, a quick quiz, a discussion about imagery that tried hard. Snow spattered the windows and melted in slow streaks. Between classes, the halls were louder than usual—cold makes people talk more. I took my time getting to history.

Mr. Devine had already written Cannae and Asymmetric Strategy on the board. Old maps lay draped over the front table like flags. I took my seat near the side and set my notebook out. Jasper slipped in just before the bell, quiet and precise, posture straight as a line. He took the desk a row ahead and one over.

"Morning," he said, voice low.

"Hey," I said.

Devine started with Fabius, the delaying tactic, and why restraint can win when spectacle can't. He moved to Hannibal like he was telling a favorite story. Arrows sketched double envelopment; chalk dust lifted and hung.

"Why does retreat have a reputation problem?" he asked.

Jasper raised his hand. "Because it feels like losing," he said. "Even when it preserves strength."

Devine nodded and drew another line on the map. "And why does preserving strength matter more than pride?"

"Because time is a resource," Jasper said. "And some commanders can spend it."

I lifted my hand a little. "And some commanders force the other side to spend it," I said. "Fabius didn't give the enemy the kind of fight they wanted. That's the point."

Devine wrote as if he didn't want to lose it. "Yes."

We moved into Cannae. The room leaned in. Devine liked the part where the Romans walked into the pocket and didn't realize it until it closed.

He gave us a quick partner exercise—choose a battle and find the decision no one noticed at the time. My partner picked Agincourt because he remembered the name. I told him to write about mud and stakes and how logistics matters more than banners. He looked relieved.

Jasper finished early and set down his pencil cleanly. When Devine circled to collect papers, Jasper turned slightly. "What would you have done in Rome's place?" he asked.

"Not shown up in that formation," I said. "But if I had anyway? Starve the enemy before I leave and make the town too expensive to keep. Grain burned. Gates open. Nothing to prove."

Jasper considered it. "Force him to waste the victory."

"And force the message to cost more than it gives," I said. "He wanted theater; I'd give him silence."

A small, genuine smile. "Fewer people think that way than you'd expect."

"People like spectacle," I said. "Spectacle gets you killed."

He inclined his head a fraction. "You read campaigns like blueprints."

"I build things and break things," I said. "It's the same brain."

Devine handed back the exercise sheets, satisfied with the room's noise level. The talk moved on to supply lines and why maps lie. Jasper made one note the whole period and remembered the rest anyway.

When the bell rang, he stood with the same economical movements. "Good answer," he said, not smiling this time, just honest.

"You too," I said.

We left at the same pace and split without needing to say anything.

⸻

Next period was filler—projector trouble, a worksheet, a teacher with a sore throat. I did what was in front of me and saved my energy for shop. By the time I pushed through the garage door, the smell of warm metal and solvent felt clean. Mr. Harland had the little heater rattling; it still took the edge off.

We were back on the small block: heads on, timing light ready. I worked and could've done it blind, torque clicks landing exactly where I wanted them. A kid across the way stripped a bolt. I passed Harland the tap set before he asked. He grunted something that meant thanks.

When the bell let us go, I wiped my hands clean and headed toward the main building again. Snow had thinned to little drifting flecks. Alice breezed past on the landing and kept walking backward just to prove she could.

"Art later?" she said.

"Wouldn't miss it."

"Good," she said, and ducked around a corner.

⸻

Lunch brought the usual heat and noise. I grabbed a water, sat at the end of our table. Bella wrapped her hands around a cup and stared at the steam like it could explain anything. She was calmer than last week. That was new.

"You okay?" I asked.

She nodded. "Alice said to text if the hill gets bad."

"Do you want to?"

"I don't know."

"Decide when you're there," I said. "No reason to owe the weather anything early."

She smirked. "You and your riddles."

Across the room, the Cullens sat like normal students and like something else at the same time. I didn't stare. Rosalie's attention passed over the room, clipped mine for a second, and moved on. Edward kept his eyes to himself and didn't. Emmett joked; Jasper watched the air move and kept it smooth. I could hear every word if I felt like it. I didn't, mostly. It's loud enough being me.

Mike bragged about how the snow made him faster because "ice skates." I made a face until he updated his theory. Jessica cackled. Angela told a quiet story about a kid in the library who mis-shelved every book by color and somehow made it make sense. The bell cut through and the room started packing itself up.

Bella fell in beside me in the hall. "You're not weirded out by them," she said carefully.

"I don't spend my weird on people who don't ask for it," I said. "They keep to themselves. I respect that."

She tucked that away and didn't argue.

⸻

Chemistry crawled. Outside, the flakes slowed to almost nothing. I copied what the teacher needed to see and wrote what I wanted in the margin. When the bell finally handed me the rest of the day, I headed to art.

The room was warm, lights bright over paint-splattered tables. Alice was already seated, looking at a charcoal hand study like she could hear it speak. She turned as I set my sketchbook down.

"Hi," she said, softer than in the hall.

"Hey."

Mr. Clark announced gesture drawing—thirty-second poses, fast lines. Alice passed me a stick of vine charcoal. We didn't touch fingers; it felt intentional.

She drew with light, quick confidence, eyes up more than down. My lines were heavier, planned. Different approaches, same attention. We didn't talk for the first few poses. When Clark switched angles, Alice leaned a little closer.

"Jasper liked your answers," she said. "He said you think beyond the board."

I let a breath out through my nose. "He asks the kind of questions that make that easy."

"He'll take that as a compliment."

"It is."

We worked again. Charcoal squeaked, paper smudged. Alice glanced at my jacket on the back of the chair. "You really do dress like you mean it," she said. "Rosalie noticed."

"She notices engines," I said.

"She notices a lot," Alice said, tone neutral and a little amused.

Friendly. No pressure. Lines we were all letting stay lines for now.

When the bell rang, she stacked her papers and slid them into a portfolio. "Drive safe," she said to me. Then, as Bella passed the door, "You too, Bella."

Bella blinked, surprised she'd been included. "Thanks."

Alice's smile held. "Anytime."

⸻

Outside, the sky had brightened a little. The snow lost interest and left behind wet pavement and cold air. Bella and I crossed to the truck; the soles of my Air Force 1s squeaked once on the tile in the entry and then behaved on concrete. We climbed in, cranked the heater, and pulled out.

In the next row, the silver Jeep idled. Rosalie sat behind the wheel, looking straight ahead. As we passed, she glanced over. A small nod. I returned it. No smile, no wave. Just that precise acknowledgment that means: noted.

The hill on Pine had a thin sheen in the shade. Bella downshifted and let the truck do the work. We rolled the last couple blocks without fuss. At home, Charlie's cruiser was already parked. The front steps had a fresh scatter of salt.

Inside, the house was warm and smelled like coffee again. Boots off, jackets hung, the day slid into its evening routine without needing to be told how. Charlie looked up from the kitchen table.

"How was it?" he asked.

"Good," Bella said.

"Fine," I said.

He nodded once, satisfied, and went back to his notes.

Later, when everything was quiet, I stood at my window and watched the last few flakes disappear into wet. The jacket hung over my chair; my shoes were lined up by the door. I thought about the parking lot, the easy brightness of Alice, the measured focus of Rosalie, Jasper's steady mind. Friendly for now. We could let it build on its own time.

I turned off the light and let the day end, simple as that.