The walls of the car feel too close. "What?"

"We packed all your clothes and your bag, with all your files," Jacob says. "You'll be staying with Quil in Seattle for a few days."

"No," I answer, quickly. The car is rolling away, driving towards the reservation. We cannot be going to Seattle. I said no big cities. It's the first place my convent will look for me. I purposefully made it seem like I longed for a big city. They'll find me. It's what they are good at doing.

"It's not safe here," Jacob points out.

"Oh really?" I snap. "I think I can quite manage to take care of myself."

"Let's calm down," Quil's voice is soft and smooth.

He puts a hand on my good shoulder, but I shrug him off. I feel anger boiling inside me. My inner beast bubbling to the surface. I never have thought of myself as a monster before, just the people around me. Here I am though, raging in a car with people who have done nothing but help me.

"You all know something and aren't telling me," I look around at them all. "Is this a cult? What's going on?"

Silence follows me in the car.

"Well?" I ask, looking around at them.

"We aren't a cult," Jacob says.

"It's funny," Quil almost laughs. "You used to call Sam and company a cult."

I wish I could catch Jacob's eye. He is stoic behind his glasses. Impossible to read. I never realized how much is said by the eyes. They tell everything.

"We aren't a cult," Jacob says again. "We just run competing businesses, Sam and me. That's why we are so close."

They're both fishers. It explains why Jacob says that Sam is no longer his boss. Maybe Sam only employs teenagers during the summer, which is why his bonfire only consisted of young people. It must have been a send-off since school has just started. They just must be close friends with the Cullens.

"Why aren't the Cullens welcome on your land?" I ask. "And what happened to Alice?"

"What do you mean about Alice?" Jacob asks.

I take in a deep breath. "Alice, like, passed out while driving."

"She has narcolepsy," Quil jumps in, his voice racing. "Also, the Cullens aren't welcome on our land because their ancestors were pretty racists. We're waiting for a formal apology."

I mean, that at least makes some sense. I guess I did hear Rosalie say something decently racist. I wasn't sure then, but I am sure now. No use bringing that up with them though.

"Why was Alice driving if she has narcolepsy?" I ask.

Quil shrugs. "She's pretty well medicated. Episodes rarely happen."

"She still shouldn't have been driving," Jacob agrees. "Alice put Fawn at risk. She could have died."

That's a bit of an exaggeration, given that he didn't see the crash, but I'm not entirely sure. The head is a fragile thing. So are hearing aids, and the impact of the crash broke one. Our accident could've cracked my skull. I'm lucky I'm out with minimal injuries.

I look over at Quil. He's facing ahead, one hand playing with a curl in his hair. His eyes flicker over to me, and he offers me a weak smile. His nose wrinkles, like he smells something awful and turns to face the front.

It's crazy to me that the Cullens and the boys from the reservation seem to hate each other yet rely on each other at the same time. With Rosalie hurling racist remarks yet allowing Jacob to stay with them for a few days. From being banned from the reservation to Jacob and Bella's friendship. It all seems a bit bizarre.

When I look over, I realize we are passing La Push. "Where are we going?"

"Uhm," Embry stumbles over what to say, only daring to glance over at Jacob.

"Pull over," I say. "Now."

"Don't listen to her," Jacob commands.

Embry's grip on the wheel tightens.

That's when I realize what must be going on. They aren't a cult. They're a gang. Sam is a rival gang or an allied gang, but they are separate. One of their ties is targeting me, for some crazy reason.

Wait, am I being racist? I shouldn't assume that they are all in a gang. It's pretty fucked for me to even think that. Then again, my intuition is something that rarely proves wrong. The only explanation I can think of is that they are a gang, and that is why I am in danger.

"I can keep myself safe," I say. I reach into the pocket that doesn't contain my flip phone and pull out the switchblade.

Quil squirms backwards, pushing himself up against the window. "What the fuck, Fawn? Where'd you get a knife?"

"It's a switchblade," I say, skirting around his question. "I'm just saying, I can protect myself. I'm more powerful than you think."

"Put that away," Jacob says. "You do not know what you are going up against."

I oblige him, pocketing the switchblade. I think he underestimates me. Maybe it's because I can only hear out of one ear at the moment, or perhaps it's because I am a girl, but regardless, he thinks I am inferior to them. I'm not. I mean, maybe. These guys are built like bodybuilders. While it is possible that they could take me, at least I have a fighting chance.

"Pull over," I command.

"No," Jacob says, his head turning to face Embry.

We're in Forks now. We pull up to an intersection at a red light. If I wanted to, I could pop the door open and run. I'd have to abandon my papers, and any prospect of getting another hearing aid though. Maybe I could live without all of my documents, but not the hearing aid. I am stuck.

"Listen, I will get out of the car and scream that I am being kidnapped," I say, turning to face them. "You can explain to me what exactly is so dangerous, or you can turn us around and go to La Push. These are your options."

Quil sighs. I can hear his breath, thick and jagged from next to me in the car. "Jake, just tell her."

From here, I can't see Jacob's face. I wish I knew if he was biting his lip, or smiling, or scowling. I imagine, though, he'd be just as straight-faced as ever.

"Embry, turn us around," Jacob finally says.

Quil and Embry look at each other through the rear-view mirror. At the next light, Embry makes a U-turn and begins to drive us back to La Push.

Quil leans forward and whispers something to Jacob. Jacob nods back. I could probably hear if I had my other hearing aid. Everything is disorienting.

Otherwise, the ride back is silent. The radio is turned off, and so the only sound is eventually the sound of light rain hitting the windshield. I stare out at the streets around us, watching as the buildings pass us by. The rain begins to come down harder and harder. It gets to the point that I consider taking out my hearing aids when we arrive back at the house. They are water-resistant after all, but not waterproof.

When we pull into the driveway, I all but leap out of the car. I run around to the trunk and grab my backpack filled with things and then run to the front door. There, I wait for the others. Quil helps Jacob towards the house on the muddy path while Embry runs to the door with the keys. He's surprisingly quick.

With the door unlocked, we take off our shoes in the entryway. Inside the front door alcove, I check my papers, to make sure they are all safe from the rain. I wonder if they went through the papers and discovered my real last name.

It occurs to me that it probably doesn't matter. If the people who raised me reported me missing, the others would easily be able to look up my first name and try to find me. There aren't many Fawns who live in the USA.

Once Jacob and the others are in the house, we pile around the kitchen table. It's raining, so hotdogs are out of the question. We end up making sandwiches, with the boys deciding to eat several. We eat in the quiet, with the rain beating against the roof of the house.

I feel no closer to answers than I did earlier this morning. It surely must be a gang. I have no proof, but it's the only explanation that feels right. Something sinister is afoot.

"Why am I a target?" I ask, breaking the silence.

Quil looks over at Jacob, while Embry chokes a bit on the water he's drinking.

"What?" Jacob asks.

"If I'm in danger, it means somebody is coming after me," I point out. "Who? And why?"

"I don't know, and I don't know," Jacob grumbles. He tears a bite out of his sandwich again.

"Then how do you know I'm in danger?" I ask. "Was it a threatening letter?"

"Since when have you asked questions?" Jacob counters, putting down the sandwich.

"Embry told me if I had questions, to ask you guys, not the Cullens," I say, shrugging.

It's probably not in my best interest to pester, but I'm at my tipping point. What am I supposed to do without answers? Just sit on my thumbs waiting to be attacked? It's not in my nature to be idle. Maybe I know better than to bite the hand that feeds me, but the hand is dangerously close to my throat.

"Tell you what, you tell us your real name, where you're really from, and why you ran away from home, and we will consider telling you what's going on," Jacob says.

He stands up and grabs his cane. Fumbling, he makes his way up to his room and slams the door.

I cross my non-injured arm over my chest. This is absolutely miserable. While I might have been grateful for him letting me stay here, I most decidedly do not like Jacob Black.

~~~~~

Fawn, Fawn, Fawn. Tsk tsk. So many secrets abound. So few answers. Would you trust Jacob in Fawn's place? Let me know in the comments.