The plane descended through gray clouds onto a secondary runway in North Carolina, the hum of the engines barely disturbing Cassian's unwavering serenity. He had taken the flight to retrieve an urgent dossier from Daniel Hargrove, a thick file filled with clippings about unsolved murders in the region: mutilated bodies found in forests, inexplicable disappearances on the eve of the Fourth of July, and a pattern of violence that echoed the massacres of Haddonfield decades ago. Cassian, seated in the back of a rented car, flipped through the pages with precise fingers, his mind analyzing every detail: deep stab wounds, witnesses speaking of a masked figure, and an air of chaos that didn't quite fit the supernatural he usually faced.
He drove along a lonely road flanked by tall pines, the setting sun painting the sky a muted orange. His destination was a town near the events described in the dossier, but the road led him to an unexpected detour. Off to the side, a broken-down car rested with its hazard lights blinking, and beside it stood Julie James, a young woman with dark hair and an anxious expression, kicking a flat tire in frustration. Cassian stopped his car a few meters away, his instincts alert but his face serene, and stepped out with silent steps.
Julie saw him approach and took a step back, her voice trembling slightly.
"Who are you? I haven't seen you around here before. Are you going somewhere, or are you just lost?"
Cassian inclined his head, his tone deep and calm as he knelt beside the tire.
"I'm Cassian. I'm not lost, but it seems you might be. What happened to your car? I can help if you let me."
Julie looked at him distrustfully, crossing her arms.
"I got a flat tire a kilometer back. I've been trying to change it for half an hour, but I don't have the strength to loosen the lug nuts. Do you really know how to do it? I don't want to be stranded here all night, especially not with… well, never mind. Where are you coming from?"
Cassian pulled a lug wrench from his bag, his hands moving with expert precision as he loosened the nuts.
"I come from far away. I investigate… complicated things. I was heading to a town near here, but I can take a detour. Where are you headed?"
Julie relaxed a little, watching him work.
"I'm going back to my hometown, Southport. I've been at university all year, and now it's vacation. I thought it would be nice to go home, see my mom, my friends. But I don't know, something feels off. Maybe I'm just tired. What kind of complicated things do you investigate? Are you a cop or something?"
Cassian turned the wrench with a firm motion, removing the damaged tire and replacing it with the spare.
"I'm not a cop. Let's say I look for answers where others don't. Murders, disappearances, things that don't always have easy explanations. What feels strange about going back?"
Julie hesitated, biting her lip before answering.
"I'm not sure exactly. It's just a feeling, like something's wrong. Maybe it's because last summer… well, never mind. Thank you for this, really. I don't know what I would've done without you. How do I repay you?"
Cassian finished tightening the lug nuts and stood up, wiping his hands with a cloth from his bag.
"You don't need to repay me. But if you feel something strange, don't ignore it. Sometimes instinct sees what the eyes can't. Do you want me to follow you to the town? I'm not in a hurry."
Julie smiled weakly, nodding.
"Alright, yes, I'd feel better. I don't know why, but you give me a good vibe. Let's go, then."
They drove in a caravan to Southport, the town emerging through the evening mist with quiet streets and flickering lights. That night, at Julie's house, she checked her mail and found an anonymous letter, her hands trembling as she read the words: "I know what you did last summer." She rushed to the phone and called Helen Shivers, her best friend, while Cassian observed silently from the living room, his presence quiet but reassuring.
"Helen, you have to come now," Julie said, her voice on the verge of panic. "I got a letter; it says… it says they know what we did. I don't know who sent it, but I'm losing my mind. Please, come."
Helen, on the other end of the line, sounded incredulous but concerned.
"A letter? Julie, calm down. Are you sure it's not a joke? It's been months; no one saw us that night. Where are you? Who's with you?"
Julie glanced at Cassian, hesitating before responding.
"I'm at home. There's a guy here, Cassian. He helped me with the car on the road. He seems… trustworthy. But I need to see you, Helen. Bring Barry and Ray if you can. I don't like this at all."
Helen sighed, her tone firm.
"Alright, I'm coming over. I'll call Barry, and he can let Ray know. But Julie, don't do anything crazy until we get there. If this Cassian is a stranger, be careful. See you in half an hour."
When she hung up, Julie turned to Cassian, showing him the letter with trembling hands.
"Look at this. I don't know what it means, but a year ago… my friends and I had an accident. We hit someone on the road, thought he was dead, and dumped him in the sea. We swore never to tell anyone. Do you think someone knows? Is this real?"
Cassian read the note, his face impassive but his senses alert.
"It's real. Whoever wrote this isn't playing. I don't smell sulfur or sense what I usually feel with the supernatural. This is human—someone who saw you or survived. Who else was with you that night?"
Julie swallowed, her voice barely a whisper.
"Helen, Barry, Ray, and me. No one else knew, or so we thought. Max saw us on the road, but we didn't tell him anything. Oh God, what are we going to do?"
Cassian looked at her with cold but steady eyes.
"We'll wait for your friends. Then we'll investigate who sent this. You're not alone, Julie. Whoever's behind this, I'll face them with you. I don't promise easy answers, but I do promise protection."
Half an hour later, Helen, Barry, and Ray arrived, their faces tense as they saw the letter. Barry, a muscular and arrogant young man, snatched it from Julie's hands and read it aloud.
"'I know what you did last summer.' What the hell is this? Is someone messing with us? Who's this guy, Julie? Why is he here?"
Helen, calmer, placed a hand on Barry's arm.
"Stop, Barry. It's Cassian; he helped Julie on the road. If he knows something about this, we need to hear him out. What do you think, Cassian? Is this a real threat?"
Cassian crossed his arms, his tone calm but sharp.
"It's a threat, and it's not a game. Someone saw you that night, or survived the accident. It's not a spirit or a demon—it's flesh and blood. I've seen patterns like this before: revenge, not magic. Who else could know?"
Ray, silent until now, spoke from a corner, his voice low.
"Max. He saw us on the road, but we didn't tell him anything. I thought he didn't suspect. Do you think he wrote this?"
Cassian shook his head, his instincts sharp.
"He didn't write it. But he could be involved. We need to know where he is. Anyone else?"
Barry growled, running a hand through his hair.
"No one. It was just the four of us and the guy we hit. He was dead, I swear. I threw him into the water myself. This is insane, Julie. Why now?"
Julie looked at him, her eyes filled with tears.
"I don't know, Barry. But I feel like we're being watched. Cassian, what do we do? I can't handle this alone."
Cassian looked at her firmly.
"You're not alone. I'll protect you while we figure out who this is. But you need to tell me everything, every detail from that night. If you lie, I won't be able to stop it."
As they discussed, at the docks, Max worked in the fog, boiling crustaceans in a metal container. A figure emerged behind him: Ben Willis, the fisherman, with a hook in his hand. Max barely had time to turn before the hook sank into his jaw, dragging him into the water silently. That same night, Barry left the gym and found his car stolen. As he chased after it, he was run over by the vehicle, and Willis stepped out, threatening him with the hook before disappearing into the darkness.
Unaware of this, Cassian reviewed his bag in Julie's living room, pulling out his dagger and a hidden gun, his fingers brushing the metal with lethal calm. The dossier on Haddonfield could wait; something in the air of Southport told him danger was here, now, and he was ready to face it.