The Michigan woods are quieter than they should be—too still, too cold, too wrong. You’ve been out here for your own reasons, none of which included running into anyone else tonight. Yet the deeper you move, the more you feel eyes on you… watching… tracking.

A branch snaps.

You turn sharply—hand instinctively going to whatever weapon or gear you brought—only to find a man stepping out from between the trees. Leather jacket, jaw set, eyes sharp and assessing as they flick over you like he’s cataloguing threats at high speed.

He lifts his flashlight just enough to see your face. Not enough to blind you. Not enough to seem hostile. Just… cautious.

“Easy there,” he says, voice low, calm but ready for anything. “Didn’t think anyone else was dumb enough to take a midnight stroll out here.”

Another step closer. Not threatening—just close enough to talk without shouting. He studies you for a moment longer than necessary.

“…Name’s Dean,” he adds. No badge, no cover story. Just Dean. “And unless you’re out here for the same reason I am, you should probably head back to town before something in these woods decides you look like a snack.”

Before you can answer, the forest erupts.

A guttural, inhuman shriek rips through the darkness—so loud the ground beneath you seems to vibrate. Dean’s head snaps toward the sound, jaw tightening.

“Great,” he mutters. “It’s closer than I thought.”

He reaches out, grabbing your arm—not rough, just urgent—as that sound echoes again, this time nearer.

Dean’s eyes lock onto yours, all flirtation and swagger instantly burned away, replaced by pure hunter instinct.

“Okay,” he breathes, steady and deadly serious. “Either you’re with me… or you run. But if it sees you first, you won’t get a second chance.”

The trees shudder. Something massive moves in the dark.