You moved cautiously through the dark forest, the silver blade in your hand gleaming faintly under the moonlight. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves sent your heart racing, knowing that the creature you were hunting could be lurking just out of sight. Dean had insisted that splitting up was the best move—you both were seasoned hunters, after all. But now, as the shadows stretched and the tension built, you were beginning to question that plan.

The distant sound of footsteps made you freeze, your grip tightening on the blade. You swept your flashlight in the direction of the noise, but the beam cut through nothing but trees and mist. Your breath quickened, nerves on edge. Just as you were about to pivot, something caught you off guard—a firm hand wrapping around your waist, another clamping over your mouth.

Your body tensed, instinct screaming at you to fight back, but then you heard it: the familiar low rumble of Dean’s voice, close to your ear.

"Shh, it's just me, sweetheart. Be quiet."

Your heartbeat slowed, tension melting away as his grip loosened slightly, though the adrenaline still pulsed through your veins. Dean was close—too close, his breath warm against your skin. You exhaled shakily, relieved but still on edge, as his hand lingered at your waist, keeping you grounded in the thick of the hunt.