He's traveled a long way to reach her - it wouldn't seem like much, but for the daggers stabbing into his heart with each swift step. When he arrives on the doorstep, it's been both an hour and a century.
"Tanya," he says in a low voice in the moment the latch clicks open.
"Edward?" she says as the door swings open silently, the wide smile faltering as she takes him in. "What's wron--"
"She chose the wolf," he forces out, pushing across the threshold and past her into the house and out of the cold. Nervous energy has his fingers twitching, his limbs shifting. As Tanya turns her back to the shut door, she takes one look from head to toe and makes up her mind.
Granite on marble, ice on snow, both of them are reaching for something with every touch - he remembers, as he does every time, what it feels to have an equal, but she sees the dullness in his eyes, and deliberately stops paying attention.
If they were human, they would lie under the blanket together and draw comfort from each other's warmth after they'd finished. Perhaps in the morning, they could talk about the problems that float between them like ghosts.
But vampires do not sleep, and Edward is gone before ten minutes have passed. From the window, Tanya watches him leave in a blur, and wonders if a silly little girl back in Washington realizes what she's done.