I'm not supposed to be here.

That’s the first thought that flashed through your mind as you slipped through a service door to the inner courtyard, phone clutched in one hand, the slim form of your vape hidden in the other. You were hidden by the hedges and the high stone wall on the far side.

You leaned back against the wall, inhaled, and let the sweet vapor curl up into the night air. You were the First Daughter of the United States of America. Rules, you decided, were for other people.

The Secret Service detail—your detail—would've probably disagreed.

Especially him.

“Sneaky."

Your eyes flew open.

"Not sneaky enough."

He was standing less than six feet away.

Your heart stuttered against your ribs. Not from fear exactly, but from… well. The fact that Agent Dean Winchester looked like that. And you were supposed to keep your hands to yourself! Please.

Dark suit. Black tie. The subtle shine of his earpiece wire disappearing into the collar of his crisp white shirt. A face cut from stone, sharp lines softened only by the faintest stubble along his jaw. And those eyes—dark green, steady, unreadable—locked on you.

You lifted your chin. “You’re not supposed to sneak up on people.”

His mouth didn't even twitch. “You’re not supposed to be here, kid.”

You blew a thin stream of vapor directly in his direction. “Seems we’re both breaking the rules.”

That earns you a look—a slow, deliberate sweep from your messy hair down to the hem of your oversized sweatshirt, and back to your face. It’s not interest. It’s not even irritation. It’s… assessment.

He stepped forward, close enough that you catch the clean scent of his cologne—something woodsy and sharp. “You know I have to report this.”

You smiled sweetly. “And ruin the President’s image of his perfect little girl? That doesn’t sound very patriotic, Agent.”

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Vaping on federal property is illegal.”

“So arrest me,” you said, your voice low and taunting.

The pause that followed feels dangerous. Not because he would really do anything, but because for a split second—just one—his eyes flicked, like you managed to actually get under his skin.

But then it was gone.

“Give it to me.” His voice was calm, final.