Palo Alto — Sam's Apartment
The apartment was quiet when Sam slipped back inside. Jess had left the lamp on beside the bed, casting a warm pool of light onto the floor. He moved carefully, trying not to wake her as he crossed to the dresser.
But she was already awake.
"You're taking off?" Jess asked, her voice small and edged with concern.
Sam froze, then turned. "It's just a quick trip. Family thing."
She sat up, pulling the sheet with her. "Is your dad okay? Dean made it sound like he's off on some hunting trip."
Sam tried to smile, but it didn't quite land. "Yeah, he's probably fine. Just... needs to be dragged back."
He rummaged through a drawer, stuffing clothes into his duffel. He avoided looking at the top one—where the knives and old tools lived.
Jess stood, crossing the room. "What about the interview?"
Sam zipped the bag halfway. "I'll be back before Monday. Promise."
She touched his arm. "Sam, please. This is kind of a huge deal. You won't even talk about your family, and now you're vanishing into the night with them?"
Sam met her gaze, the lie ready. "It's just a weekend. Everything's going to be okay."
He kissed her cheek.
"At least tell me where you're going."
He didn't answer.
Centennial Highway — Later That Night
The Impala barreled down the empty road, headlights slicing through mist. Knox followed in his Mercedes, the two vehicles streaking westward like ink across parchment.
Knox drove one-handed, the other tracing a rune over the steering wheel. Soft blue glyphs glowed and then faded. The air inside the car shimmered faintly.
"Anything?" Dean's voice came through the comm rune embedded in the dashboard.
"Residual energy," Knox replied. "Female, intense. Not demonic, but tied to grief. Strong enough to make electronics malfunction."
"That matches the sightings."
Knox hummed. "I'll need a better reading from the bridge."
Sylvania Bridge — Midnight
They stood in a tight triangle: Sam examining the local reports, Dean scanning the roadside with a flashlight, and Knox crouched by the guardrail with one hand pressed to the concrete.
The air buzzed around his palm.
"So... how do you do that?" Sam asked, watching from a cautious distance.
Knox didn't look up. "Field resonance tracing. Picks up residuals. Not unlike EVP, just... older."
He drew a sigil in the air. It lingered faintly.
"Here," he muttered. "She jumped from this spot."
Dean tilted his head. "You get all that from squiggly air lines?"
"Ancient Carthaginian construct. Very squiggly," Knox deadpanned.
Sam rolled his eyes. Dean grinned.
Knox walked further down the bridge, whispering something. A pulse of magic washed over the concrete.
Footprints appeared. Bare feet. Damp. Wrong.
"Hell of a trick," Dean said.
"A little something I picked up in Cairo. The locals call it the Whispering Step."
"That supposed to sound that creepy?"
Knox gave a mild shrug.
Motel Room — Jericho
The room was wallpapered with newspaper clippings, yarn-threaded maps, and hand-scrawled notes. Sam moved through the chaos with a sense of familiarity.
"Dad was here," he muttered.
Knox stood by the salt-lined window. "He knew what he was hunting."
Sam pulled down an old article.
"Woman drowned her kids, threw herself off a bridge. Constance Welch."
"A classic Woman in White," Dean said.
"I thought that was just a story," Sam muttered.
"Aren't they all?" Knox offered. He held up a tattered binding. "This came from a cursed archive in Mumbai. Matches the profile. Vengeful spirit, bound to her last sin."
Sam eyed him. "You carry cursed books around?"
Knox gave a faint smile. "Well-warded. Mostly."
Dean winced. "Mostly?"
Welch House — Just Before Dawn
They approached the crumbling wreck that was once Constance Welch's home. Sam and Dean flanked the front steps. Knox took the rear.
Sam knocked.
Joseph Welch opened the door, blinking blearily.
The exchange was terse, bitter, broken with grief. Sam handled it carefully. Dean watched the shadows.
And Knox stood to one side, fingers brushing against the siding.
A pulse of dark energy ran through the house. He tasted the sadness in the wood, like rot.
He whispered a spell beneath his breath. Veritorem.
Faint images flashed behind his eyes. Children. Water. Guilt.
He blinked them away.
When the man slammed the door, Knox turned.
"She couldn't bear what she did. She's tied to this place. But it's more than that. There's an anchor buried nearby."
"Her grave," Sam said.
Knox nodded. "Or what passes for it."
Bridge — Later That Night
They returned to the site, armed and ready. Dean carried salt rounds. Sam had a plan. Knox had a spell already humming in the back of his throat.
And then she appeared.
White dress. Wet hair. Hollow eyes.
"You think salt is going to stop her?" Knox said calmly.
Dean pumped the shotgun. "It usually helps."
Sam revved the engine. "I'm taking her home."
The Impala tore through the barricade. Knox raised his hand as magic flared behind the car, shielding it from the backlash.
In the house, it ended as it always had to—with grief. With the children. With a scream swallowed by final peace.
Motel Room — Jericho
It was done. The local case closed. Constance Welch, laid to rest.
Sam slumped onto the bed. Dean showered off mud and bad dreams.
The night air was calm.
Knox jolted upright, breath caught halfway between sleep and scream.
A pulse, sudden and strange, ran up his spine.
A faint shimmer glowed beneath his shirt—low on the collarbone, just above the heart.
One of the angelic sigils.
He pulled the collar back.
The Enochian rune flared gold. Not searing. Not burning.
Just... urgent.
His vision blurred—and then it wasn't vision anymore.
He saw flames.
Jess, pinned to the ceiling, bleeding. Screaming, silently.
Fire bursting from the walls. Sam shouting her name. The apartment ablaze. The same death Mary Winchester met, twenty-two years ago.
Then darkness.
A soft tone chimed across his mind like a bell struck far away.
Knox's pulse hammered.
He turned away from the window.
"Dean," he said. "We need to go. Now."
Dean stepped out of the bathroom, towel slung over one shoulder. "What?"
Knox's voice was sharper this time. "It's Jess."
Sam was already halfway upright. "What's going on?"
Knox looked him dead in the eye. "There's no time."
Dean didn't hesitate.
He grabbed the keys, running outside, already sprinting to the Impala.
Knox didn't wait. He followed them out. He whispered an incantation and flung his hand toward his car. Runes across the Mercedes lit like a cockpit at liftoff.
The engine roared awake.
Knox leapt inside.
As the Mercedes peeled out, he made a sharp sigil in the air and thrust it behind him.
From the rear of his car, a braided tether of pure magical energy—like golden chain wrapped in starlight—unfurled and latched onto the Impala's front bumper with a thunderous crack.
Dean's eyes went wide.
"What the—"
"Sympathetic tether!" Knox's voice echoed through the dashboard rune. "You're riding my wards now!"
The Impala lurched forward, pulled into Knox's magically-generated slipstream. The tether shimmered and flexed, transferring kinetic momentum and magical shielding like an arcane tow cable.
Knox's Mercedes surged ahead, cloaked in layered wards—against wind, friction, G-force.
The Impala followed, tethered to a comet of will and spellwork.
Mach 0.8.
Mach 0.9.
Then—
Mach 1.
Trees blurred into lines. The road became a memory.
Inside both cars, the air was still and cool. Protected.
Dean grinned despite himself.
Sam gripped the dash. "This your idea of subtle?!"
Behind them, reality struggled to keep up.
Ahead of them, Jess's clock was ticking.