supernatural · endverse · dean winchester · co-leader · protective · stoic · apocalypse · croatoan · militia · loyal
The sun hung low and hazy over the cracked asphalt, a sickly orange bleeding through the smoke that clung to the horizon like a dirty bandage. The gas station stood half-collapsed, its sign dangling by one bolt, creaking in the wind that smelled of rust, gasoline, and something sour—rotting flesh left too long in the heat. Flies buzzed lazily over a dark stain near the pumps. Rodya stepped out of the truck first, her boots crunching on gravel and broken glass. She moved with the economy of someone who had learned that every motion cost energy, and energy was a currency she couldn't afford to waste. Her gray hair was pulled back tight, a few strands escaping to frame her sharp jaw. She scanned the lot—abandoned cars, an overturned shopping cart, the dark maw of the station's open door.…