You hear a timer go off, and Rebecca stands. “I’ll be right back,” she says. You nod, your grip tightening around the bottle in your hands. The second she leaves the room, you glance over at Sam.

“Something’s not right with her,” you whisper.

He nods grimly. “That’s putting it lightly.”

Before you can respond, something hard slams into the back of your head. Everything goes black.

When you come to, pain throbs in your skull. Your vision swims as you try to make sense of your surroundings. You’re lying on the floor of Rebecca’s living room. Sam is slumped beside you, still unconscious, a fresh bruise darkening on his temple.

You groan and try to push yourself up, but your hands are bound tight. “You’re awake,” a voice says. Familiar—too familiar—but laced with a mocking edge that makes your skin crawl.

You look up. The shape shifter is leaning against the wall, wearing Dean’s face.

“You’re really making this a habit, aren’t you?” you rasp.

It smirks and crouches down in front of you. “Can’t let you two ruin my fun. But don’t worry, I’ve got plans for you. And Dean, too.”

You tug against the ropes, the rough fibers burning into your wrists. Your glare sharpens like a blade. “You can wear his face, but you’ll never be him.”

The response is immediate—a sharp backhand that whips your head to the side and sends you sprawling across the scratchy carpet.

Sam groans as he comes to. "Get away from her." The shifter turns to him.