Written by: KariGorsuch

The faintest light of dawn filtered through the cracked curtains, painting the room in soft shades of gray and pale blue. I stirred slowly, the warmth of Sam's arm draped across me anchoring me to the present. For a moment, I let myself stay there, tucked against him, his steady breathing against the back of my neck comforting and grounding.

Sam stirred behind me, his breath warm against my neck as he murmured something incoherent. His grip tightened just slightly, pulling me closer as if he wasn't quite ready to let go of the quiet moment. I felt a small smile tug at my lips despite the heaviness settling in my chest. For a fleeting second, it was easy to pretend that nothing else mattered, that we weren't standing on the edge of something unknown and dangerous.

"Morning already?" Sam's voice was rough with sleep, low and gravelly in a way that sent a shiver through me.

"Barely," I whispered, glancing over my shoulder at him. His hair was a mess, his eyes half-lidded as they met mine, but there was something soft and unguarded in his expression that made my chest ache.

Sam's lips curled into a sleepy, lopsided smile as his fingers traced lazy circles on my hip. "We should probably get up," he murmured, though there wasn't even a hint of urgency in his voice. His gaze lingered on mine, and for a moment, I could see the flicker of hesitation behind his soft smile- like he was weighing the weight of the day ahead against the comfort of his fleeting moment.

"Probably," I echoed, my voice low, though I didn't move. The world outside felt so far away, and for once, I wasn't in a rush to meet it.

His thumb brushed over my hip bone, the touch so gentle it sent a ripple of warmth through me. "You okay?" He asked, his tone quiet but steady, like he was afraid to break the fragile peace between us.

I nodded, leaning back into him, letting the solid warmth of his check against my back speak for me. "Yeah," I said softly. "I'm okay."

Sam stayed quiet for a long moment, his breath soft and steady against my skin. I could feel the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers tightened just slightly against my hip as if grounding himself in this moment.

"You're a terrible liar, you know," he murmured, the teasing edge to his voice softened by something gentler, more knowing.

I signed, the weight of his words setting over me like a second skin. I tilted my head back, resting it lightly against his shoulder as I stared up at the ceiling, conflicted. "I wouldn't say terrible liar..."

Sam shifted slightly, propping himself up on his elbow to look at me. His lips quirked into a faint smile as he reached out, his fingers tracing the curve of my face. There was something about the way he looked at me, like I was the answer to a question he hadn't realized he'd been asking.

"You have no idea, do you?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper as his fingers brushed down my cheek, over my neck and paused at my hip bone. "How easily you can make a guy lose his balance?"

"Oh yeah?" I smirked, rolling my eyes at his attempt to make me blush. "Maybe I should start charging for that kind of power..." I turned slightly to face him, ignoring the uncomfortable pinch of my hip. His playful gaze sparkled back at me, "If I'm going to keep up this hunting gig, I might as well start a savings account."

His smile faltered. He pulled his hand back from my hip, his eyes dropping to the sheets.

"What?" I asked, sitting up slightly so that the sheet piled at my waist. "What did I say?"

"You're really planning to stay in this life?" Sam asked, his voice quiet but carrying a weight that hit me square in the chest.

"I told you, Sam," I said, gesturing with my hands. "Once Eve found out this shit was real- there was no going back."

"You could," Sam said carefully, his eys hesitant to meet mine. "You don't have to do what Eve does."

I narrowed my eyes at him, the words settling like a weight in the room. "Why are you bringing this up?" I asked, my voice sharper than I really intended it to be. "After last night- after everything- this is when you decide to question me about staying in this life?"

Sam scoffed at the question, "You brought it up."

I blinked at him, thrown off by the retort. "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, my voice tight as I swung my legs over the side of the bed.

Sam sighed heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face. "It means you're the one talking about piggy banks and sticking around in this life."

I crossed my arms, staring down at the floor for a moment as his words circled in my mind. My heart was pounding, not with anger, but with the unspoken fear that maybe Sam didn't believe that I belonged here- or worse, that he didn't want me here.

I rose from the bed, tugging his shirt down to cover my bare lower body. "Nice to know that after I finally let you in- even just a little- that you don't fucking want me." I stormed over to my bag, snatching it off the small table and closing the bathroom door.

"Bri-!" Sam's voice echoed after me, but I didn't care. The sharp click of the door sounded more like a finality than I really wanted it to be. Leaning back against the door, I tried to steady my breath. The sharp sting in my chest wasn't from anger- it was from the fear that maybe, just maybe, I had misunderstood him.

The water was cold when I stepped into the shower, a jolt that shocked my system but I welcomed it. It numbed the whirlwind of emotions that had started to churn inside me.

When I finally turned off the water, the sound of Sam's footsteps on the other side of the door made my traitorous heart skip. Dressing quickly, I cracked the door open just enough to peek out.

Sam was pacing, his jaw clenched, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he walked in tight circles. He was dressed again in his jeans, though his shirt was still off, leaving the muscles in his back visible. Faint red lines traced down the muscles of his back from my nails last night. My stomach tightened, warmth pooling.

"Sam," I said quietly, breaking the tense silence. "Do you want me or not?"

The sound of my voice seemed to snap Sam out of his internal turmoil. He stopped pacing, his back to me for a moment, his shoulders stiff. I could see the muscles in his back tense under the faint glow of the morning light. For a long beat, he didn't turn around, his breath coming out in shallow bursts, like he was tryin to gather himself.

I felt the tension between us- thick, almost suffocating. The kind of silence that spoke volumes, louder than any argument we could've had.

Finally, Sam turned, his eyes dark with something unreadable. For a moment, he just looked at me, his jaw still clenched, his expression torn. "After last night, you're really asking me that?"

I stepped out into the room, setting my bag on the bed. "Sam... If I left this life- I'd lose you. Lose the one guy who actually gives a damn to try."

Sam's gaze flickered, and for a moment I thought I saw something shift in his eyes- something deep, raw, like he was wrestling with something he wasn't ready to admit. "You don't get it, Bri," he said, his voice low but steady. "It's not just about the hunting, or the danger, or any of that. It's about-" He cut himself off, shaking his head, as if he couldn't find the right words.

I took a deep breath, pushing down the annoyance and irritation that was rising. "It's about what, Sam?" I asked, my voice softer this time. "Help me to understand."

Sam ran a hand through his hair, the frustration clear in his movements as he turned away again, pacing back to the window. He seemed to be grappling with the weight of whatever was swirling in his mind, and I could literally feel my patience stretching.

"It's not just about us, Bri," he said finally, his voice strained. "It's about you. About your life. You don't owe anyone anything- least of all me."

His words hit harder than I expected. A sharp sting of doubt lanced through me. "I don't owe you anything?" I repeated, my voice quiet, a little incredulous. I could hear the hurt creeping into my tone before I could stop it. "Sam, you've saved my life. Twice. You don't just get to decide that I'm not part of this... this mess."

He spun around quickly, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my heart skip. "I'm not saying that," he shot back, his voice rising slightly. "But I can't be the reason you make decisions you're going to regret. No- I don't regret last night. I can't be the one who holds you here, Bri. I don't care about your damn loyalty or how much you love Eve. You deserve a life that isn't weighed down by the things we do. The things I do."

I took a step closer to him, not fully understanding the tangle of emotions twisting inside me. There was a tightness in my chest, a knot of frustration and confusion that I couldn't unravel. "And what exactly do you think I'm going to do, Sam?" I asked, my voice thick. "Just walk away, and forget about this? Forget about Dean? Forget about you? Forget the best sex of my life just because you want me to?"

Sam's eyes flashed at my words, his jaw tightening as if he'd been struck. "Of course I don't want you to forget about it, Bri." he said, his voice rough. "But this life- It's constant danger, constantly a fight. I don't want you to be in the middle of it just because you think you owe me anything."

I felt my breath catch at his words. They were heavy, but there was a softness hidden behind the sharpness, the desperation. Sam wasn't mad- he was scared. Scared for me.

But I couldn't let it go. Not this time.

"You really think I'm here just because I 'owe you something'?" I shot back, my voice shaking with suppressed rage. "You think I'm in this mess because of some misguided sense of loyalty? I'm here because of Eve, because of you."

I took another step forward, the space between us narrowing while the tension thickened. "What happens when something you're hunting comes after me, just to get at you?"

I held up a finger when he went to reply, grinning slightly. "You can't say it doesn't happen, Sam. I read about Demons."

"I just don't want you to regret it," he said, his voice lower now, the edge of frustration gone, replaced by something closer to vulnerability. "I can't... beat the thought of losing you to this life. To the things we have to do, the things that eat us alive. Bri- I'm not strong enough to watch that happen. I-"

"You think I am?" I interrupted, my voice cracking. "I'm not strong enough for this either." I gestured between us, "Not without you."

Sam's gaze softened, a flicker of something deeper passing through his eyes. For a moment, it seemed like the weight of his words was sinking in, his chest rising and falling as if he was trying to find the right thing to say. But the words never came- at latest, not right away. Instead, he closed the distance between us, his expression a mixture of frustration and something gentler, something unspoken.

"I've seen what this life does to people. To families. To us," Sam said, reaching up to gently cup my cheek. "I can't stand the thought of it breaking you, Bri."

I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch. "I understand, Sam. But this is my choice. I choose this life- even if I know nothing about it."

Sam sighed, pressing his forehead to mine. "Okay."

The word hung between us, simple, but heavy, as Sam's breath warmed my skin. The tension from moments before seemed to melt, the air thick with the quiet understanding that passed between us.

Sam closed his eyes, his jaw tightening briefly before he exhaled, letting go of a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He leaned in, pressing his lips to mine softly at first, like a silent promise. The kiss deepened quickly, his hands moving to my waist, pulling me closer.

When we broke apart, the tension seemed to have evaporated from the room. Sam's hands rested on my waist, his thumbs tracing circles on my skin as if grounding both of us in the moment. "You're sure about this?" he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, tracing a hand up the muscles in his back. "I'm sure." I smiled softly, tracing my fingers over his hips and up his abs, watching the muscles flex. "Not that I'm complaining about the view... but you need a shirt, and we need to go."

Sam let out a small chuckle, his lips curling into a grin, though there was still a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. "You're right," he said, reluctantly stepping back, though his hands lingered on my waist for a moment longer. His eyes roamed over me for just a second, a mix of affection and something deeper behind his gaze.

"Guess I can't go around like this, huh?" Sam teased, his voice playful as he pulled a shirt out of his duffle bag, shoving the one he had worn yesterday, and the one I wore to bed, into his bag. As he pulled it over his head, I couldn't help but notice the way his muscles flexed- the movement natural but still making my pulse race.

"You go out without a shirt, we're gonna have more bodies to dispose of..." I muttered, shaking my head.

Sam shot me a look, a half-smile tugging at his lips, but there was something sharp in his eyes, a hint of the weight of the day ahead of us. "Noted," he said, settling the shirt with a casual ease that somehow only made it hotter.

I grabbed my jacket from where it hung on the back of the chair, adjusting it to comfortably cover my 1911. After a quick glance to ensure everything was in place, I slipped my jacket over top, the leather creaking softly as I moved. The weight of the gun felt familiar, grounding, even as my mind drifted back to the task ahead.

Sam opened the door, holding it wide, his silent gesture clear. I stepped out first, the cool air from the early morning hitting me like a breath of ice, sharp and clear. I pulled the collar of my jacket up against the chill, my footsteps light but deliberate as I walked toward the Mustang.

The silence between us lingered, the only sound was the soft tap of our boots against the pavement, the world still too quiet to be anything but unsettling. The hotel parking lot stretched out before us, empty and still, much like the thoughts swirling around in my head. Sam followed close behind, the weight of everything that had happened settling between us without the need for words.

We reached the Mustang without a word, the car gleaming under the faint light of the breaking dawn. I slid into the driver's seat, digging the keys out of my pocket, the familiar weight of them a small comfort in the otherwise tense morning. Sam slid in beside me, settling in next to me without a word.

I fired the Mustang up, the engine's deep purr vibrating through the seat, offering a moment of solace in the otherwise quiet and heavy air. I let myself get lost in the sound for a beat before shifting into gear and pulling out of the lot. The hum of the road beneath us became a background to my thoughts as we headed back toward Uncle Brad's house.

The drive was mostly silent, the occasional flicker of a streetlight passing by, the darkened roads stretching ahead of us in that gray space between night and day. The world outside was waking up slowly, but inside the car, it felt like we were still stuck in the quiet aftermath of everything that had happened.

Sam kept his eyes on the road, his hand gripping the armrest, a sign he was still tense, still thinking. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me every now and then, but I didn't acknowledge it. My hands tightened on the wheel, keeping my eyes ahead, trying not to let my mind wander too far.

Pulling into the driveway, I let out a sigh as I put the Mustang in neutral and pushed the parking brake. The house sat quietly in front of us, its windows dark and still, almost as if it was waiting- waiting for us to finish what we'd started. The air felt thick now, heavy with the unspoken things hanging between us.

I took a moment to just sit there, hands still on the wheel, my gaze fixed on the house ahead. I finally exhaled, breaking the silence that had settled in the car. "Ready?"

Sam didn't answer immediately, his eyes tracing the outline of the house as if he was looking for some sign of life. His jaw tightened, a muscle in his neck flexing as he took in the scene. "I'll never be ready for this," he muttered, voice low but steady.

I nodded, opening my door and stepping out of the car, shutting the door with a soft click. My boots hit the pavement with a quiet thud, the sound oddly loud in the stillness of the morning.

Sam met me at the front of the Mustang, his expression grim but resolute. Neither of us spoke, but we didn't need to- the weight of what we were about to do hung heavy between us. He gave me a brief nod, and I returned it before turning toward the house.

The front door creaked as we stepped inside, the silence of the house oppressive. I swallowed hard as the eerie feeling I'd noticed the day before crept over me again, prickling the back of my neck. The air felt heavier, like the house itself was holding its breath.

Sam noticed my hesitation and stepped closer, his hand brushing against my lower back in silent reassurance. "You okay?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded quickly, not trusting my voice to come out steady. "Yeah. Just... feels off."

The living room was just as we'd left it- Uncle Brad's body carefully laid on the couch, wrapped in a sheet, ready for the funeral. But now- something felt different.

The eerie feeling deepened as my eyes landed on the body. There was something resting on Uncle Brad's chest, just barely visible beneath the fold of the sheet. I froze mid-step, my heart leaping into my throat.

"Sam," I said, my voice sharper than I intended.

He followed my gaze, his brow furrowing as he stepped forward to get a closer look. "What the hell?" he muttered, reaching out cautiously. His hand hovered for a moment before he gently picked up the object- a leather-bound journal, worn and scuffed with age.

"That wasn't there yesterday," I said, my voice low and wary. I could feel the hair on my arms standing on end.

Sam flipped the journal open, his eyes scanning the first few pages. His face hardened, his grip tightening on the leather. "This is Brad's handwriting," he said. "But... there's no way he wrote this recently."

I stepped closer, peering around his arm. The writing was neat but hurried, the ink faded in places as if it had been written years ago. Symbols and hastily scrawled notes filled the pages, some of them familiar, others completely foreign. It looked like a hunter's journal, but it was... off.

I glanced at the body, my stomach twisting. "Sam, if we didn't put that there... who did?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered, as the silence in the house seemed to grow louder. Sam closed the journal, his jaw tightening. "We need to burn the body now," he said firmly. "Whatever's going on here, I don't want to give it any more time."

Sam handed me the journal, his expression dark and focused. The weight of it felt heavier than it should, like the words written inside carried more than just ink and paper. I didn't dare open it again, though curiosity clawed at me. Instead, I shoved it into the inner pocket of my jacket, the leather cool through my shirt.

Sam moved back to the couch, gently lifting Uncle Brad's body, his arms steady despite the strain. I quickly opened the door for him, stepping aside as he carried the weight of our grim task.

We loaded Uncle Brad into the trunk of the Mustang with as much care as we could muster. I glanced back at the house as I shut the trunk, the sense of unease lingering. Something wasn't right. Something was watching. But I shoved that thought away.

The drive out to the woods was quiet, saving for Sam's directions. I kept my eyes on the road, knuckles white on the wheel. Sam held onto the journal, flicking quickly through the pages as if he was looking for something.

The sun was barely peeking over the trees by the time we pulled into a secluded clearing, far enough away from the public that we could safely have a fire. Parking the Mustang, I stepped out into air that smelled of damp earth and pine, a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere.

Sam stepped out, moving to the trunk of the Mustang, pulling Brad's body out. I joined him, grabbing a few logs and kindling we'd brought for the pyre. Together, we worked in silence, building the structure with precision. The act was almost ritualistic, each movement deliberate and almost reverent.

Once the pyre was ready, Sam carefully placed Uncle Brad's body on top, his expression unreadable but heavy with emotion. He stepped back, his hands resting on his hips as he surveyed our work.

Pulling a matchbook out of his pocket, Sam hesitated for a moment before striking them. He held it for a moment, staring into the fire as if searching for something, before tossing it onto the pyre.

The flames caught quickly, licking up the dry kindling and engulfing the body. The heat hit us almost instantly, the crackle of burning wood breaking the silence. We stood side by side, watching as the fire consumed what was left of Uncle Brad.

I crossed my arms over my chest, tugging my jacket closer. My gaze was fixed on the flames, but my mind churned, replaying the eerie sensation from the house, the mysterious journal, and the unshakable feeling that we weren't alone.

Sam stood stiff beside me, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, his shoulders quared against the weight of the moment. I glanced at him, his expression illuminated by the firelight. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were also locked onto the pyre, a mixture of grief and grim determiniation etched into his features.

"What do you think this means?" I finally asked, my voice barely louder than a whisper. The crackling fire almost swallowed my words, but I knew Sam had heard me.

He didn't answer right away, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice hoarse. "But it feels like Brad was trying to tell us something. Like he knew... something was coming."

I tightened my arms around myself, the weight of his words settling over me like a shroud. "Do you think it was... him?" I hesitated, glancing at the flames. "Brad, I mean. Do you think he left the journal?"

Sam finally tore his gaze away from the fire to look at me. His eyes were shadowed, his usal certainty dimmed by the unknown. "If he did, it raises more questions than answers. But if it wasn't him..." He trailed off, his lips pressing into a grim line.

"Then we've got something else to worry about," I finished for him, my voice soft.

He nodded, his brow furrowed. "Either way, we need to read that journal. Figure out what he was working on, what he knew." His gaze drifted back to the flames, his expression dark. "Because if someone else put it there... we're already playing catch-up."

The fire had almost burned itself out by the time we moved. Sam bent down to kick at the ashes with the toe of his boot, ensuring the embers wouldn't reignite. The smoky scent clung to the air, mingling with the crispness of the forest around us.

Sam straightened, brushing his hands on his jeans. "Let's get out of here," He said, his voice low, gravelly from the cold and the weight of everything that had transpired. He glanced at me, his eyes lingering on mine for a moment longer than necessary, as if silently asking if I was okay.

I nodded, jerking my head toward the Mustang a few feet away. "Yeah. Back to his house?"

Sam's eyes flickered toward the car, then back to me, his face hardening with determination. "Yeah, back to his house. We need to look through everything." His voice was steady, but there was a layer of tension in it.

The Mustang purred to life when I turned the key, the purr echoing back off the trees as I shifted into gear. The tires crunched on the gravel rocks as we left the ashes behind.

The now familiar silhouette of the house loomed ahead of us when we finally arrived. The mid-day sun did nothing to lighten the mood of the house, instead casting dark shadows in the entryway. I could feel the weight of Sam's gaze on me as I parked the Mustang, but I didn't meet his eyes. Instead, I watched the house, trying to convince myself that the eerie feeling from earlier was gone.

"We'll start in the study. Box up as much as we can. Who knows what he's got buried in there." Sam said, his voice barely audible.

I nodded again, reaching for the door handle, the cold metal squeaking slightly as it opened. We made our way back into the house, the smell of old wood and stale air surrounding us once more. Our boots thudded softly on the hardwood floors as we moved through the foyer, heading upstairs.

The study was at the end of the hallway, the door hanging slightly off kilter due to the hinge that was broken at the bottom.

I pulled the door open and stepped inside. The study smelled like dust and old leather. Books lined the shelves, their spines yellowed with age, and the desk was cluttered with papers that Brad had never quite finished. I ran my fingers over the surface of the desk, brushing away years of dust, my heart pounding in my ears.

But there was nothing.

I opened the drawers one by one, searching through stacks of old bills, maps, and random notes, none of which seemed to have any connection to the strange journal we'd found. My stomach twisted with frustration. What was I missing? Where was he hiding whatever it was he knew?

I almost didn't hear Sam's footsteps behind me, but his voice, low and tense, brought me back to the moment.

"Bri," he called. "Come look at this."

I turned toward him, my stomach sinking. He was standing in the corner of the room, a small, almost hidden shelf behind a stack of books. It was too easy to miss—if you weren't looking for it.

"What did you find?" I asked, moving toward him quickly.

He glanced at me before reaching for a book on the top shelf. "Look at this." He pulled it free, revealing a small, hidden compartment in the back of the shelf. Inside, there was another journal—identical to the one we'd found on Brad's body. My breath caught in my throat.

I reached for it, my hands trembling. Sam's gaze flickered between the journal and me.

"Do you think this is... it?" I asked, swallowing hard.

Sam didn't answer at first, his eyes scanning the room as though he expected something else to jump out at him. Finally, he nodded. "I don't know yet. But whatever's in there... we need to figure it out. Fast."

I opened the journal to the first page. The familiar handwriting of Brad greeted me—neat, deliberate, as if every word had been weighed carefully. But then I saw something that made my blood run cold.

A date. And a name. The Eve.

The same name from the first journal.

I turned the pages quickly, trying to make sense of what Brad had written. It was the same cryptic entries—disjointed, strange, with mentions of things that didn't make sense. But this journal was different. It was more frantic, more urgent.

I scanned through the pages until I stopped at one, my breath hitching in my chest.

"They know. They're coming. I can't trust anyone anymore."

The words were scrawled out hastily, as if Brad had been in a hurry, almost desperate. I glanced up at Sam. His face was unreadable, but I could see the tension in his jaw.

"They?" I whispered. "Who is he talking about?"

Sam's eyes narrowed as he scanned the page, his brow furrowing deeper with each word.

"I think we're about to find out," he said quietly.

I slipped the second journal into my coat pocket with the first, ziping it back up afterwards.

Sam and I worked quickly, the silence between us broken only by the occasional scrape of books against the wooden shelves and the rustle of papers. The weight of the journal's ominous message loomed over us, driving us to move faster. There was no time to process the fear that clawed at the edges of my mind; every second felt like it could be the difference between safety and disaster.

I reached for another book, my fingers brushing against its spine as I hesitated. "Do you think we should take everything?" I asked, glancing at Sam.

He nodded without looking up, already shoving another stack of books into one of the duffle bags we'd grabbed from Brad's study. "Anything that looks remotely useful. Brad hid that journal for a reason. Who knows what else he didn't want anyone to find?"

I nodded, pulling down another row of books. Most of them looked ordinary—weathered tomes on botany, geography, and old history—but every now and then, I'd spot a title that made me pause. One book was marked with strange symbols along its spine, another had no title at all. I shoved them into the bag without a second thought.

The uneasy silence stretched between us, thick and heavy, until it shattered with the sharp trill of Sam's phone. The sudden noise startled me, and I fumbled the book in my hands, nearly dropping it.

Sam muttered a curse under his breath, pulling the phone from his pocket. He glanced at the screen, his brows knitting together. "It's Dean," he said grimly before answering. "Yeah?"

I couldn't hear what Dean was saying, but the tension in Sam's posture was all I needed to see. His shoulders stiffened, his jaw tightened, and his hand gripped the phone like a lifeline. Slowly, he started pacing toward the window.

"What do you mean Eve's gone?" Sam's voice dropped into something low and sharp, cutting through the room like a blade. His words made me freeze, the book I was holding suddenly feeling heavy in my hands.

He paused, listening intently as Dean's voice crackled faintly through the receiver. Sam's free hand raked through his hair in frustration, his movements jerky and restless.

"Gone?" I echoed, my voice coming out quieter than I intended, the word catching in my throat. "What do you mean gone?"

The word hung between us, thick with dread. My stomach twisted into knots as I waited for Sam's response. He didn't look at me, his attention fixed on whatever Dean was saying, but the way his lips pressed into a tight, thin line told me it wasn't good.

I felt a chill creep up my spine, the weight of the unknown pressing down on me. My grip tightened around the book as my mind raced with possibilities—none of them comforting.

Sam finally spoke again, his voice clipped. "What was the last thing she said?"

Another pause, and this time, the silence felt like it was closing in on me. My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to piece together the fragments of the conversation I couldn't hear.

"Dean, stay where you are," Sam said, his tone firm. "I'll call you back."

He ended the call abruptly, turning to face me with a grim expression. For a moment, he didn't say anything, and the weight of his silence was unbearable.

"Sam," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "What happened? Where's Eve?"