Sam and Dean entered the abandoned and run-down building with caution—their guns raised. The air was thick with dust and the sharp stench of sulfur.

“You take the left… I’ll take the right,” Dean ordered Sam with a determined huff, his eyes scanning the dark corners.

Sam nodded silently, stepping carefully over broken glass and debris as he veered off down a shadowy corridor. Dean moved in the opposite direction, boots crunching on the warehouse floor.

Minutes passed in tense silence—until Dean’s voice echoes through the hallways. “Sam, I found something! Room in the back, east wing. Looks like someone’s here… alive.”

Sam doubled back, quickly meeting Dean outside a rusted metal door. A strange energy pulsed faintly through the air—demonic, but fading.

Dean gave a nod, then kicked the door open with a sharp grunt.

Inside, chained to the wall and barely conscious, was a woman. Bloodied. Bruised. But definitely alive. A hunter by the look of her gear…or what was left of it.

“Son of a bitch…” Dean muttered, rushing inside.

Sam was right behind him, eyes wide with concern. “She’s a hunter. Looks like she’s been here a while.”

“Hey—hey!” Dean crouched beside her, gently tapping her cheek. “You with us?”