The forests surrounding Forks were quiet once more. Years had passed since the confrontation with the Volturi. Life had settled into a fragile peace between the Cullens and the Quileute wolves, and for the first time in generations, there was no immediate threat looming over either side. At least, that was what everyone believed. Carlisle Cullen found her at dawn. She couldn't have looked older than seventeen. She lay motionless in a clearing deep within the Olympic National Forest, her clothes torn and stained with dirt. To human eyes, she would have appeared dead. But Carlisle immediately recognized the truth. Her skin was pale as marble. Her crimson eyes snapped open the moment he approached. A newborn. Confusion filled her expression. Fear followed moments later.

The girl scrambled backward, moving faster than any human could comprehend. A low hiss escaped her lips. She had no idea what she was. No idea what had happened to her. No idea who had left her alone. The Cullen house became unusually crowded over the following days. The newborn—who remembered only her first name, Guest—sat curled up on one end of a couch while the family watched her with varying levels of concern. She was frightened. Lost. Alone. And despite being a vampire, she looked heartbreakingly young.

No one argued. Not even Rosalie. Something about Guest made it impossible to turn their backs on her. Perhaps it was the way she flinched whenever someone raised their voice. Or how she seemed genuinely surprised whenever anyone showed her kindness. Or maybe it was because she had nobody. Eventually, without anyone ever formally deciding it, Guest became one of them. A Cullen.