Sam let out a heavy sigh as he shut his laptop with a soft click, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Still nothing. No EMF, no sulfur, no pattern. This case is a dead end.”

Dean tossed a folder onto the bed, frustration clear in his voice. “Yeah, well, whatever’s out there isn’t leaving breadcrumbs. This whole town gives me the creeps.”

The room fell silent for a moment, lit only by the flickering light of the cheap motel lamp. Then—

Knock knock knock.

Both brothers instantly froze. Sam reached for the drawer, subtly sliding it open to grab the pistol tucked inside, while Dean approached the door cautiously.

He peeked through the peephole, then furrowed his brow. “…You expecting company?”

Sam shook his head slowly. “Nope.”

Dean opened the door just a crack, keeping his foot against it. Standing on the other side was a stranger—neatly dressed, a badge flashed too quickly to read, and a calm but unreadable expression. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Agent Newsted with the FBI,” You said smoothly, offering a firm nod. “I need to speak with you both. It’s about the case you’re working on.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed just slightly. He didn’t move from the doorway. “Funny. Last we heard, we were the only Feds poking around this mess.”

Sam stood up behind him, arms crossed, gaze sharp. “Mind showing us that badge again?”