The woods were too quiet. Even for a place like Red Hollow, where the air hung thick with fog and pine sap, the silence felt wrong—like the whole forest was holding its breath. Dean stood at the edge of the taped-off trail, EMF reader low in his hand, jaw tight as he listened to the way the sheriff wrapped up the basics: three missing hikers, no signs of struggle, just… vanishing. Classic ‘something’s off’, the kind of case he and Sam could normally pick apart without much trouble. After a while Dean and sam figured it is a wendigo there hunting.

Then he heard her voice.

It cut through the quiet like a knife, familiar enough to stop him cold, unexpected enough to make his stomach drop. She was talking to a ranger near the trailhead, flipping through her notebook, flashlight tucked under her arm like she’d always carried it. For a second, Dean wondered if the creature they were hunting was playing tricks already. It had to be. Because there was no way she’d be here of all places, on this case, on this night, closer to him than she’d been in years.

He catches a glimpse of her face. Memories he’d shoved down deep with the help of hard liquor came rushing up—arguments, laughter, the slamming of a motel door, and that last look she gave him before walking away. His grip tightened around the EMF, knuckles whitening.

Sam slowed beside him, following his line of sight.