January 2005 – Forks, Washington
The sky was the color of wet slate—thick with clouds, soft with mist, and heavy with the kind of cold that clung to skin like breath on glass. It was the sort of weather that seemed to press silence into everything, the trees still, the birds absent, and even the crunch of gravel under tires oddly muffled.
Ren Bai pulled into the parking lot of Forks High School in a car no seventeen-year-old should own.
The 2004 Lamborghini Gallardo was sharp-edged and thunderous when it wanted to be, but today it idled low and quiet, its engine purring like something barely restrained. Its paint shimmered a matte silver in the gray morning light, water rolling off its polished surface like mercury.
He stepped out, movements precise. His black hoodie was plain, layered under a simple gray jacket. Dark jeans, boots. No jewelry. No brand names. He looked, as always, like someone who preferred function over flash.
And yet there was no hiding the car, or the way his eyes moved — unhurried, calculating, cautious. Ren didn't look like a teenager. He looked like something older dressed up in young skin.
Heads turned. Conversations faltered. Someone whispered something about "new money." Someone else asked, "Is that a movie car?" But he didn't react. He barely looked at them.
He just walked.
The administrative office was warm and smelled faintly of old books and laminating plastic. The receptionist, an older woman with graying curls and friendly eyes, gave him the look adults often did — trying to place him.
He handed her his transfer documents in a simple folder and waited as she thumbed through them.
"You're Ren Bai?" she asked.
He nodded once.
"Alright. Welcome to Forks High, Ren. You're a bit of a late start for the semester, but I see you were homeschooled most of your life. That'll make things flexible."
Another nod.
She handed him a schedule and a school map. "Today's just orientation — meet your teachers, walk the halls, get familiar with things. Classes start properly tomorrow."
Her voice was kind. Soft in a way that told him she assumed his quietness came from shyness or nerves.
He offered a polite smile. "Thank you."
It was the only word he said the entire hour.
The halls of Forks High were… unremarkable. Pale green lockers, scuffed tiles, the occasional flicker of fluorescent lights. It reminded him of schools he'd read about in articles and seen in movies — cookie-cutter institutions built not for excellence but for compliance.
But Ren didn't judge. Not outwardly.
Instead, he walked the halls silently, taking in every face, every corner, every rhythm of life here.
Most of the students were average — in the way that was neither good nor bad. Just human. Some were loud. Some moved in packs. A few noticed him walking alone and offered the kind of too-long glances that came with curiosity tinged with envy.
No one approached him.
And then… they passed him.
A group of five students moved down the hallway like a ripple through calm water — tall, statuesque, too perfectly dressed, too composed. Their skin was pale, movements graceful in a way that didn't match the awkward energy of the other teenagers.
And the moment they passed, Ren's head throbbed.
It wasn't a migraine. Not a sharp pain. Just a pressure, like sound that was too high-pitched to hear but still resonated in the bones behind his eyes.
He didn't flinch. Didn't wince. But his hands curled slightly.
And just like that, the moment passed. The group walked on.
He turned his head subtly. One of them — a bronze-haired boy — seemed to pause briefly, as if noticing something… off. But then kept moving.
Ren pressed his thumb against his temple and breathed deeply.
There was something else in this town. Something like him — but not.
He didn't pursue the thought. Not yet.
Later, walking back to his car, he noted the way some students lingered nearby, stealing looks. They were trying to figure him out — his car, his silence, his wealth.
But none came forward.
He slipped back into the driver's seat, the door closing with a soft click.
The engine turned over beneath him, a low mechanical growl that vibrated in his chest like a heartbeat.
He didn't drive off right away. Instead, he stared through the windshield, watching snow melt in slow lines on the glass.
In the stillness, he thought about the faces of the students.
He didn't feel envy. Or loneliness. Not really.
But there was… something.
A sense that he was always watching life from a few steps away. That even when he was surrounded by people, he was separate — like a different frequency.
He'd always told himself that it was better this way. Safer. Quieter. Cleaner.
And yet…
Something inside him whispered, "Is this really all you want?"
He shook it off and put the car in gear.
Back at the mansion, the forest was waiting — dark and alive, surrounding the house like silent sentinels. The construction was fully complete now: sleek, multi-leveled architecture that curved around the natural landscape rather than conquering it. Glass walls faced the lake, and his garage opened directly to a stone path leading into the woods.
Ren pulled into the garage, the Lambo's headlights casting thin shadows across the room. His Dodge Challenger project car sat where it always did — disassembled, wires exposed, engine half-built. It was a living sculpture, and every bolt and weld told a story.
He stepped out of the Lambo, peeled off his jacket, and took a moment just to breathe.
Here, surrounded by tools and silence and steel, he could think clearly.
He held out his hand.
From the far workbench, a small strip of metal floated up into the air — smooth, silent. It hovered, trembling slightly, then twisted in slow, elegant shapes before folding itself like origami into a perfect cube.
He caught it in his palm.
This… was something he never showed anyone. Not even his family. Not even his closest confidants.
It wasn't shame. It was instinct. Protectiveness.
There were things in this world that should remain unseen — at least, for now.
He set the metal cube down and returned to the car, oil-stained hands running over blueprints and schematics.
Still, even with the comfort of routine, his thoughts drifted back to school — to the pale faces, the odd pressure behind his eyes, the bronze-haired boy who seemed to notice.
And then… to something else.
A flicker of green eyes through a garage window. A moment from the forest, weeks ago — a girl in running clothes who stared too long and smiled like she saw through him.
He didn't even know her name.
But he remembered the shape of her curiosity.
And for the first time in a long time, Ren Bai wondered what would happen… if he let someone get close.