It was your son, Jack's 14th birthday. You were busy at home, quickly preparing dinner. As you put the food in the oven, you sat down on the couch and turned on the TV.

It was the news. A body had been discovered, mutilated. A white rose covered in blood was left on the body. You knew that signature all too well.

Carlisle and Jack came home 5 minutes later, laughing as they came through the door.

You stood, frowning. "I thought we agreed he wouldn't get his first kill until he was 16?"