By the time the black car pulled to a stop, the sky had already darkened.
The house stood quietly at the edge of the road—a wooden, four-room structure with peeling paint and a porch that creaked under the lightest step. It wasn't theirs. Just another temporary shelter.
A friend of Dad's, Sun noted.
A place to stay. Nothing more.
They stepped inside.
The air smelled faintly of dust and old wood. The living room was simple: a worn sofa, a low table, and a few mismatched chairs. It felt empty, but not abandoned—like a place that had learned not to expect anyone to stay long.
Dean dropped onto the sofa immediately, stretching his arms behind his head.
"Man, I missed real furniture," he said with a grin.
Sam sat down more carefully, adjusting his glasses. "It's not bad," he said, always trying to sound optimistic.
John Winchester remained standing.
"This is where we'll be staying," he said. "Keep your bags close. No one goes wandering around at night."
"Yes, sir," Sam replied.
Dean smirked. "Relax, Dad. I'm not twelve."
Sun said nothing.
He sat quietly at the edge of the sofa, feet barely touching the floor, red eyes drifting across the room—measuring exits, blind spots, angles.
John glanced at him briefly. Sun met his gaze with the same calm, unreadable expression he always wore.
After a short while, John nodded toward the hallway.
"Get some rest. We've got an early morning."
Sun stood, picked up his bag, and walked to the smallest room at the end of the hall.
The room was bare.
A single bed. A narrow window. A small desk pushed against the wall.
Perfect.
Sun lay down, folded his hands over his chest, and closed his eyes.
But sleep didn't come.
Emma Grossman's face surfaced in his thoughts—not smiling, not angry, just watching. Calculating. The way her eyes lingered on him that morning.
felt it again—the quiet thrill. Not lust. Not affection.
Recognition.
Tomorrow, he thought.
Tomorrow will be interesting.
Morning came quickly.
Sun ate breakfast faster than usual. Eggs, toast, coffee he didn't touch. He was already standing when John spoke.
"I'm heading out," John said. "Dean's coming with me."
Dean straightened instantly. "Finally."
"You're seventeen," John continued. "Old enough for the family business."
Dean grinned.
John turned to Sam. "You stay here. Watch the house."
Sam hesitated. "For how long?"
"A few weeks," John replied.
Sun looked up.
John met his eyes. "You too. Stay with Sam."
"Yes, Dad," Sun said calmly.
Minutes later, the sound of the car engine faded into the distance.
The house fell silent again.
Sun didn't linger.
He wheeled his bike out back, mounted it, and pedaled toward the school without wasting a second. The morning air was cool, the streets quiet.
When he reached the school grounds, the bell hadn't rung yet.
He entered the classroom.
Emma was already there.
She sat alone at her desk, hands neatly folded, posture straight. No books open. Just waiting.
No one else had arrived.
Sun walked over and sat beside her.
"Hi," he said softly.
Emma turned her head slowly. Her dark eyes locked onto his.
"…Hi."
Sun glanced at her for a moment longer than necessary—not staring, not avoiding. Just enough to make her aware of herself.
Early morning light filtered through the window, catching in her hair.
She noticed.
"So," she said after a pause, "you come early too."
"Yes," Sun replied. "It's quiet."
Emma studied him, then looked back toward the empty classroom.
"…I like quiet," she said.
Sun smiled faintly.
So did he.
Outside, footsteps began to approach.
A few days passed.
Patterns settled in.
Sun entered the classroom and immediately heard excited chatter. A small group of girls crowded around Lucy Harlan again.
"Look," Lucy said proudly, lifting her wrist. "It's real silver. My dad bought it overseas."
The watch caught the light.
Sun didn't look at Lucy.
He looked at Emma.
She sat perfectly still at her desk, back straight, hands folded. Her expression didn't change—but Sun noticed the minute shift in her gaze. The way her eyes followed the watch. The way her jaw tightened just slightly.
Jealousy had taken root.
The Bad Seed, Sun thought calmly.
Right on time.
Recess came.
The playground was loud and chaotic—perfect cover.
Sun stood near the fence, watching without participating. He already knew how this would go.
Emma moved with purpose.
She didn't rush. She didn't stalk. She blended.
Lucy was laughing, distracted, walking near the steps by the slide. Emma approached from behind, her face carefully neutral.
At the last moment—
Emma's foot slid forward.
Just enough.
Lucy stumbled.
Her arms flailed as she fell hard onto the ground, crying out as skin scraped against concrete.
The playground erupted.
"Oh my gosh—are you okay?"
"I saw her trip!"
Emma gasped and rushed forward, kneeling beside her.
"I'm so sorry!" she said, voice trembling perfectly. "I didn't see you there—are you hurt?"
Teachers hurried over. Kids crowded around.
No one noticed Emma's hand.
As Lucy cried, clutching her knee, Emma's fingers slipped effortlessly around her wrist. The watch unclasped with a soft click, hidden by bodies and noise.
By the time Lucy was helped up, the watch was gone.
Emma stood, eyes wide with concern, dusting off her skirt.
"I'll walk you to the nurse," she offered sweetly.
Sun watched it all.
Every step.
Every angle.
Every second.
Not impulsive, he noted.
Calculated.
Later, back in class, Lucy finally realized it.
"My watch—!" she cried. "It's gone!"
Panic. Accusations. Confusion.
Emma sat quietly at her desk, hands folded, eyes lowered.
Sun leaned back in his chair, watching her from the corner of his eye.
When Emma finally looked at him, their gazes met.
No fear.
No guilt.
Only a faint, dangerous glow of triumph.
Sun leaned closer, voice barely audible.
"You planned that," he murmured. "The fall. The timing."
Emma's fingers tightened around her pencil.
"…You shouldn't say things like that," she whispered, not denying it.
Sun smiled—slow and dark.
Emma's breath caught.
For the first time, she didn't look away.
And Sun knew, with absolute certainty—
She wasn't afraid of him.
She was curious.
And curiosity, he knew well, was how monsters were born.