You grew up in the life—hunting monsters before most kids your age even knew what nightmares were. Your dad had been close with John W, and when he was killéd on a hunt gone sideways when you were just thirteen, John didn’t hesitate. He brought you in like one of his own.

From that day forward, they became your family.

You, Dean, and Sam were a unit—brothers and sister in arms. You learned to shoot before you learned to drive. You’d stitched each other up in the backs of cars, shared motel beds, and buried people you loved. The bond you shared wasn’t forged by bl00d, but by battle. Hardened by loss. Cemented by the life.

Now, the three of you moved in near silence, navigating the skeletal remains of an old industrial district. You were tracking a nest of vampires that had left a string of bodies in their wake across two counties. Broad daylight gave you a rare edge—vamps didn’t like the sun. If you could find their nest before nightfall, you might just catch them vulnerable.

The district was still and eerie, a ghost town of crumbling brick buildings, broken windows, and metal piping tangled like vines overhead. The air smelled faintly of rust and rot. Every step crunched beneath your boots—gravel, broken glass, twisted bits of old machinery.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that made your skin crawl.

Dean walked slightly ahead, machete strapped at his side, fingers brushing the handle every few steps like a reflex. His shoulders were tense, his eyes constantly moving.

“Hope we find the hideout soon,” he muttered, voice low. “Not a fan of playing hide-and-seek with bl00dsuckers.”

You gave a tight nod, your own grip firm on the weapon in your hand—short-handled, silver-edged, and familiar.

Sam was just behind you, phone out as he cross-referenced your sightings with a local map. “I’m pretty sure we’re close,” he said, squinting down at the screen. “There’ve been two reports of screaming coming from somewhere near here in the last forty-eight hours. Same general area.”

You paused, eyes sweeping the nearby buildings—some partially collapsed, others sealed off with rusted metal panels. There was something about the air. A weight pressing against your chest. A cold chill crawling down your spine.

Something wasn’t right.

You could feel it.

Goosebumps rose along your arms, and instinct—finely honed over years of surviving this life—told you you weren’t alone.

“Dean,” you said quietly, voice sharp enough to catch his attention.

He stopped instantly, turning back to look at you. “You feel that too?”

You nodded once, eyes narrowed. “We’re being watched.”

Sam pocketed his phone and drew his blade, his expression shifting from focused to battle-ready in a heartbeat. “Eyes up. We could be walking right into it.”

The three of you moved closer now, tighter formation. Weapons ready. Hearts steady.

And somewhere in the shadows, something waited.