Edythe Cullen tenses as only the dead can tense. Iron-cable limbs, ears hearing bulkheads behind bulkheads, a battleship interior, or a submarine, or who knows where. But no threats immediately at hand. She relaxes, playing human. Her true state, she tells herself. She didn't expect the Stone Passage to really work - the last mystical cave did not! But did clearly definitely step from cave to ... here.

A few passers by give startled or curious looks. Most people keep walking; someone appearing out of thin air is unusual, but none of their business. A couple curious youths wearing colorful mismatched clothes have nothing better to do, and stay to watch this suddenly-appearing-person. 

Also watching, cameras placed along the corridors and at the intersections. 

She feels their attention play over her. One step out of character is not breaking Volturi law. Panicking would be. Quick lie: Pretend she just ran in from out of sight.

'Ha, sorry, I'm having one of those days. Can you point me to the way back to the...?' They will surely fill in the battleship-jargon for 'exit'. 

“Elevator plaza?” They don’t even wait for an answer, new people are always looking for the elevator. “Keep going thataway until you hit the red corridor, then follow the arrows.”

'Thanks!' She shakes her head at herself, giving her third-most winsome smile. Those two aren't military. Not a battleship. Airport. Hitherto unknown government bunker complex. Something. Focus on looking human. She follows their directions, matching the gait of others her apparent age. 

The station seems much more airportlike than bunkerlike, especially after reaching the plaza. Displays on the walls list destinations, vessel names, and cycles until departure. The plaza is filled with shops, bars, canteens, and recruiting or travel agencies. The centerpiece is a set of elevators, some person size and others much larger. 

The crowds here are louder and more dense. Most are waiting in line for one of the elevators. Officials in grey uniforms keep order, directing people to the right lines. 

In the first moment that no eyeballs are on her, she allows herself to care about that which she has been ignoring: Two people standing alone in corners, easy to grab & eat.

This place is not free of cameras on the ceiling. Acting & a smile won't be enough to keep up the act here long-term. She needs to get out of sight, learn more, gain leverage on the police. 

There's tech here she doesn't know. The human world is hard to keep up with these days.

She has no idea how big this building/structure is, but she's glad to be so far from home. Some time away from that boy will be good for her.

The closest officer looks bland, but the second-closest one looks delicious. Thus, she strolls toward the officer furthest from the one she wants. 

The officers look bored, but are at least pretending at a helpful attitude. The one approached will give a basic, “Hello, what aid do you need?”

She'd hoped for more intel from her. Okay, let's fly blind.

'I'm also going to P-----.' She repeated the place-name the couple in front of her had just mentioned, without paying attention to the word itself. Something was wrong with the word - think about that shortly. But she should leave an escape hatch in the conversation. 'Is this the right elevator?'

They pay no mind to the different pronunciation of the place, nearly everyone here has a different accent. 

“Yes. Here, if you would.” A gesture to the end of the correct line. “This elevator’s a free one, so you don’t need a pass.”

The official gives an interested look, and waits in case there’s any more questions. 

'Thank you.' She dons her most boring face & steps onwards.

The elevator's steel floor beneath her boots feels almost as durable as her. The woman brushing against her shoulder without a smidge of caution seems incredibly fragile by contrast. 

Closing her eyes & pretending to forget the warmth of that contact, she reviews the background details of her recent memory. She turns to stone. The dread she's been feeling from her hunt-mind is vindicated. Not one of the place names on the signs in this place is familiar. She's far from Forks. And not the usual kind of far, either. Furthermore, the flight times for each journey are out of control. Some will last three days, one is sixty-eight days! The part of her that's always thinking about the horizon reels. The long arm of Volterra ... does it stretch out here also? Is this what that foolish hiker meant about the Stone Passage?