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𝗠𝗔𝗬 𝟱, 𝟮𝟬𝟬𝟲 𝖭𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖺'𝗌 𝖯𝖮𝖵
𝐀𝐒 𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐀𝐘, I let out an exasperated huff, stepping out of the Impala and fussing with my white sheer jacket, trying to rid it of any lingering lint. My black dress pants, reluctantly thrown back on, also required a quick adjustment. The discomfort of these formal attires was hard to ignore, and I couldn't help but wonder if Dean and Sam felt the same way. But I had to push those thoughts aside and focus on our mission — to save the Miller family from the horrors that plagued them. I was determined to prevent any more tragedy from befalling their family, especially if we had the knowledge to stop it.
Max led the three of us through the familiar halls of the Miller residence, his steps cautious yet determined. We walked through the lounge area, memories of our initial meeting with Mrs. Miller flooding back. The room seemed unchanged, but there was an eerie sense of foreboding in the air.
"My mom's resting, she's pretty wrecked," Max informed us.
"Of course," Dean replied, nodding in understanding.
