Chapter Text
Carine
Somewhere in Canada
There’s something people call parental instinct.
It isn’t magic. It isn’t infallible. And it’s different for everyone. But it grows—slowly, steadily—each year you spend loving a child. It becomes a kind of internal compass, a quiet sense of when a child is drifting, hurting, or stepping toward danger. No explanation. No evidence. Just certainty.
I’ve been a mother—and a matriarch—for over a century now. One hundred and eleven years of learning the subtle languages of my children: their moods, their silences, their little tells. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve learned from each one. And through all of it, I’ve had my beloved Earnest at my side, helping me shepherd these eternal teenagers who never stop surprising us.
A few years ago, Beau Swan joined our family. It didn’t take long to learn his rhythms. Raised as an only child with separate parents, one of whom was absent for the majority of his human life, he was suddenly thrust into immortality and a house full of siblings—his world flipped overnight. Beau is independent, smart, and self-contained. He dislikes the attention and prefers to pass unseen. He rarely asks for anything. He behaves with more maturity than some of his older siblings, and I learned early on that he wasn’t the sort to seek trouble.
Until now.
After he and Edythe ended their relationship, Beau moved to Europe to pursue his first degree—his "nomad phase," as he called it. We respected his space, checked in a few times a month, and let him navigate his new life as a young vampire on his own terms. At the time, it felt right. His control, his temperament, and his thoughtful nature—they all made him seem older than his years.
But over time, the calls became sporadic.
His voice grew colder. Then shorter. Then absent entirely.
Earnest suggested Beau was moving through a delayed teenage rebellion of sorts, and that we should be grateful it manifested as silence rather than the far more dangerous path Edythe once took. So we stepped back. We let him be. We told ourselves he would reach out when he was ready.
He hasn’t called in over a year. And that’s when my parental instinct began to press, then tighten, then roar.
Something is wrong with him.
I'm constantly checking on Archie, but Beau's future is still the same, blurry—which isn't surprising. Beau has kept himself in a constant state of indecision ever since he left, partly to make it harder for Archie to look in on him. But the future isn’t black. That means he’s alive. For now, that is the only good news I have.
I stare down at my phone, my thumb hovering over his name. I need to hear his voice. Just to know. I call.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
The automated voice answers me.
“The person you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message after the tone. ”
He always answers.
The phone is still in my hand when I hear a knock.
“Dr. Cullen? ” My receptionist, Monica Martinez, calls from outside my office. She peeks in. “I’ve been paging you. They need you in the emergency room. ”
“I’m on my way. ” I’m already standing.
But before she leaves, something in me cracks open.
“Monica,” I say abruptly, “if your child stopped answering your calls…what would you do? ”
She blinks, startled, but recovers quickly. “My Reymundo? ” She folds her arms. “If he doesn’t answer the first call, I think he didn’t hear it. Second call, maybe he’s busy. But the third? I assume something’s wrong. At that point, I’m calling the FBI, the Marines, my primos, or whoever I need. A mom does whatever it takes. You don’t wait. You go. ”
That is the only answer I need.
“Please inform administration I’ll be taking some days off. ” I grab my briefcase, slide past her, and head for the exit.
The cold afternoon air hits me as I step outside. I exhale, dial a familiar number, and lift the phone to my ear.
It rings once.
“Hello? ” Earnest’s warm voice answers.
I cross the parking lot with purpose, unlocking the car.
“Earnest,” I say quietly but firmly. “I’m going to find Beau. ”