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The moment the engine cuts, they feel it. The sharp, grating caw of crows tears through the silence like an omen. But this isn’t the bone-deep chill of a spirit, or the sulphur stench of a demon. No—this is different. Heavy. Ancient. The air crackles with static, like the world itself is holding its breath.
The brothers share a look before climbing out of the Impala.
“That tree wasn’t here a minute ago,” Sam mutters, walking up to the trunk blocking the road.