“If she bails, that’s on you,” Ludo says, uncorking the Chablis chilling in an ice bucket, while Cas fine-tunes the telescope with the careful attention of a surgeon, following a stargazing manual perched beside him.

The top floor of the Lyceum St. Genevieve library is a hidden treasure—a vaulted dome ceiling and a gleaming Schmidt–Cassegrain telescope sits beneath it. On this early spring evening, Orion still rules the Alpine sky, and it was under this thin excuse, or golden opportunity, that the twins had extended their invitation to you, after slipping a bottle of Macallan 18 into the janitor’s eager hands to gain access to the locked floor.

“I can hardly see how I’m to blame,” Cas says absently, one eye closed as he traces Sirius upward with the smart remote. “Especially when you’re the one trying to pry her bread-and-butter money away.”

Ludo tosses back half a glass of the wine meant for your tasting. “Do you need me to remind you what you said to her? A video? Seriously?” He breaks off mid-rant, cocking his head toward the staircase at the faintest sound, yet only to realize it’s a false alarm. He exhales sharply. “I don’t know what kind of reference materials you’ve been using to... But blackmailing someone into liking you isn’t exactly a winning strategy. A friendly reminder, just in case that distinction’s too subtle for your twisted mind.”

“You know precisely what reference materials I use,” Cas says without looking up, but manages to shut down his brother’s nervous chatter with one single blow.

The silence that follows is thick, till Ludo finds his voice again. “Wait—shut up. She’s here.”

This time, Ludo’s instincts are right. The steady clatter of heels against stone carries up the stairwell, closer, surer.

Cas smooths the bean bag beside him in one careful gesture and adjusts the lens one last time, focusing on the Hunter’s belt; just below it, the ethereal haze of the Orion Nebula blooms against the dark velvet of the sky.