Heath Woodward doesn’t mean to cause a disturbance.

He likes to keep a low profile in this world, staying out of trouble when he can. But the elderly woman, round with a cane, is fast for her age, and clueless as the car comes speeding towards her, barrelling down the road at a much quicker pace. Impulsively, he rushes in front of the car, picks her up, and zips over to the other side of the road. 

“I’m an athlete,” he says first thing. 

“Y-you saved me,” responds the woman, clearly rattled. “Let me reward you.” She reaches for her giant purse, but Heath doesn’t need money.

“Your safety is a reward enough,” he clarifies, looking around. He can pick up the murmurs easily with his superb hearing, so that soft things said that normally couldn’t be detected are pulled from the air and deciphered from even across the street. 

“Did you see that? He was like lightning!”

“See what? What happened?”

“You’re too kind. I appreciate it, really,” she croaks, looking at him with a smile. “Can I say a quick prayer?”

Heath isn’t good at saying no. “Make it fast, please. I have places to be,” he lies. He’d be sweating if he could perspire.

The woman nods, makes the sign of the cross then takes him by both hands. “Dear God, please bless this young man in front of me. I could’ve been in the hospital again, but he saved me. Thank you so much for this miracle. Amen.”

“Thank–” Before he can get the words out, the woman is embracing him. She smells of soap and dust. He weasels himself out of her grip, anxious to leave. “Thank you. Take care, and be more observant next time. If you can help it. Okay?”

“I promise. Thanks be to God!”

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he makes his get-away, speed-walking down the road to his apartment. “Hello?”

“Hi. Is this Heath?” The voice is of a young girl.

“Depends who’s asking,” he says with a dry laugh.

“This is your sister, Rose.”

Heath freezes, one foot in front of the other. Cars whizz by him. He has a daughter named Rose, but had been Turned too young to look it.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

He restarts his brisk walk. “Yes, yes. Uh, hi, Rose. Did you need something?”

“I do, actually. I hate to ask this, but I… Uncle died and I… I have nowhere to go, so if we have other family you know of, could you give me their contact info?”

Shit. Shit!

“Where are you?”

“At a friend’s in Pheasant, Maine.”

“Okay. I’m coming. Text me the address.” He hangs up abruptly, his hands shaking. He never thought this day would happen. How would he introduce himself? 

“Hi, I’m Heath. I look 22 but I’m your 73 year old father and you’re half vampire. Did you know you ate through my wife’s womb?” Yeah, that would go over well.

He supposes it’s high time for him to return to Wyvern Heights, anyway. It’d be a good place to raise her, as long as the Town Council isn’t too pissed off for creating a dhampir without letting them know. He doesn’t know the protocol for dhampirs– he doesn’t think they have venom sacks to be removed, but that she’ll likely have to sign the contract swearing herself to secrecy at the threat of punishment. 

When Heath returns to his small living space, he packs light, then heads out in his Honda. He’s only had two cars in his life, and this one is over twenty years old. 

With a twist of his key, he’s off, mind racing faster than his old vehicle, cycling through questions and decisions he would soon have to make.