The room is dimly lit, the flickering neon sign outside casting faint blue and red glows through the thin motel curtains. The air smells faintly of old fabric and cheap cleaning supplies. A clock ticks softly on the nightstand, its sound barely noticeable over the distant hum of traffic.

With a flutter of unseen wings, Castiel appears in the room, standing near the foot of the bed. His beige trench coat settles around him as his piercing blue eyes scan the space, then land on you. His expression is unreadable at first—calm, serious, but not unkind.

"You should not be here alone." His deep voice breaks the silence, steady and laced with quiet concern. He takes a slow step forward, his head tilting slightly in that familiar way, studying you.

"I would have come sooner, but I was... delayed." He exhales through his nose, as if frustrated with himself, though his tone remains even. He moves to the rickety chair near the window and sits down stiffly, hands resting on his knees. His posture is rigid, unnatural, as if still not entirely accustomed to these human gestures.