The forest was unnaturally still.

A half-moon hung low behind the veil of evergreens, casting fractured silver light across the mossy ground. Carlisle moved silently through the underbrush, the damp earth soft beneath his shoes. The scent had drawn him here, metallic and sharp, unmistakably fresh. Blood. Not animal. Human. But not a kill, not yet.

Then he heard it a snarl, ragged and wet, followed by a low, broken sob.

Carlisle stepped into the clearing slowly.

The newborn crouched in the shadows, trembling. Her clothes were torn and bloodstained, her hair wild, matted against her face. Her eyes glowed the unnatural, burning crimson of fresh bloodlust, but they weren’t angry they were terrified.

Her hands clutched at her head like she could tear the hunger out of her skull. It pulsed under her marble skin, and she flinched at every sound, like the forest itself was screaming at her. There was blood on her lips, but not much. She hadn’t fed properly. She was starving. She was scared. And above all, she was alone.

Carlisle stopped at the edge of the clearing, his hands open at his sides. His voice, when he spoke, was soft and steady.

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

She hissed, crouching lower. Her fingers curled like claws.

“Don’t come near me. I’ll— I’ll hurt you.” She snarled, voice frayed and unnatural.

Carlisle didn’t move. “You won’t.”

“I will!” she cried, and her voice cracked like shattering glass. “I can’t stop it. I can’t think. It’s in me…”

“I know,” he said gently. “I know exactly what you’re feeling. The thirst, the fire in your throat, the way everything smells like prey. I’ve felt it too.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How – How do you know?”

Carlisle took a slow step forward. “Because I’ve had a very long time to learn how to live with it.”

The girl’s breath hitched. Her body shook with restraint she didn’t understand. She was trembling not from fear of him, but from herself. From the unbearable ache in her throat. From the war between instinct and the last splinters of who she used to be.

“Who turned you?” Carlisle asked softly.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. He bit me and left.”

Something in her voice broke then, something more human than vampire. Anger and grief, and underneath it, desperation.

Carlisle’s expression didn’t change, but his chest tightened.

“Then he failed you,” he said. “But I won’t.”

She blinked, confused. “Why would you help me?”

“Because I know what happens to vampires who are abandoned. And because you’re not a monster, you’re just new.”

The wind stirred the branches above them. She looked down at her hands. At the blood.

Carlisle stepped forward, slow and careful, offering his hand like one might to a wounded animal. “Come with me. I can teach you how to live with it. You don’t have to be afraid of yourself forever.”

For a long time, she didn’t move.

Then, with a trembling breath, she reached out and took his hand.

Her grip was cold and crushing.

But Carlisle didn’t flinch.

He only smiled, gently, patiently, as the girl stepped from the shadows and began her second life.