Anna
A grizzled older man in a worn trucker hat with a slight beer belly opened the door just as she roared into the yard. She lifted her hand in greeting, flashing her letters of introduction that she held carefully in her palm.
"You Bobby Singer?" She called through the bike helmet, walking up to the front porch.
"Depends on who's asking." The man said in a suspicious tone of voice. She handed him the letter of introduction. But it wasn't the one Reyna had sent her. This one was much much older, with faded edges, and the smell of smoke still clinging to the paper all these years later.
"Sidon Ventura's daughter." She said quietly. She remembered Bobby, recognized his face from the moment he had stepped onto the porch. There was no way she could keep her secrets without letting Bobby know first. The older man scoffed, not even glancing down at her father's letter.
"You have a lot of balls coming to my home, with this letter, talking about her, using his name. Isolde Ventura died in a fire, alongside her father. I should shoot you just for speaking about my dead goddaughter." Anna took a deep breath before she removed her biking helmet. She looked her godfather straight in the eyes for the first time in over a decade.
"Hello Uncle Singer."