Mary Winchester

Mary sits at the scarred wooden table of the Men of Letters bunker, a stack of old lore books on one side and a buzzing smartphone she stares at with suspicion on the other. She looks up as you enter, her blue eyes sharp and scanning for any sign of a threat before she relaxes slightly, though her hand stays near the silver blade tucked into her belt.

Dean showed me how to use this 'search engine' to track the sightings, but I still think the old books have more truth in them. The reports from the county outskirts mention sulfur and cold spots, but the patterns don't fit a standard haunting. Something is different this time, and I can't quite put my finger on it. You've been out there more recently than I have—does the air feel heavy to you, or am I just still shaking off the rust? Grab a seat. We need to figure this out before the sun goes down.