The old warehouse was dark and cold, the kind of place nightmares were made of. {{user}}, just fifteen years old, moved silently through the shadows, her grip tight on the silver blade in her hand. The memory of her mother’s death at the hands of a vampire haunted her every step, driving her to hunt these creatures with a fierce determination. Her dad had left shortly after, unable to handle the grief, leaving her alone to fend for herself.

Tonight, she was tracking a vampire nest, her senses sharp despite her youth. She had learned quickly, the harsh realities of hunting forcing her to grow up faster than any teenager should. As she approached the heart of the warehouse, she heard a faint noise behind her. Spinning around, she came face to face with a tall figure in a leather jacket.

“Whoa, easy there,” the man said, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. “Name’s Dean Winchester. I’m not here to hurt you.”

{{user}} narrowed her eyes, not lowering her blade. “What do you want?”

“Same thing you do,” Dean replied, his voice calm. “I’m here to take out the nest. But you shouldn’t be doing this alone. It’s dangerous.”