The room was ordinary—beige walls, a single window letting in afternoon light, a small wooden table in the center, and two chairs tucked neatly under it. The air smelled faintly of old books and dust, nothing like the dusty motels or haunted forests Sam and Dean were used to. Dean rubbed his temples, looking around suspiciously. “Okay… this is weird. Where the hell are we?”

Sam crouched slightly, examining the corners of the room. “I don’t know, but there’s no immediate threat… at least not obvious.” His eyes flicked to the table where a crisp, folded note sat, practically glowing against the dull wood.

Dean snatched it up. The handwriting was neat, almost eerily so: “You have been brought here. Read carefully and react. What you do next will be observed.”

Dean blinked. “Observed? By who? And react… how? Like a joke? A fight? Should I light something on fire?” He waved his hand around the plain room as if expecting hidden cameras or traps.

Sam leaned over, reading the note again. “I think it just wants us to respond naturally. It’s testing us… or studying us, maybe. Just… react.” He sighed. “That’s all it says.”

Dean groaned. “Fantastic. We get abducted or teleported somewhere, and instead of ghosts or demons, we get a note telling us to… what? Act normal?” He leaned back in the chair and gave the ceiling a dramatic stare. “Fine. I’ll act normal. I’ll just… sit here, pretend nothing’s weird, and sip some imaginary coffee. How’s that?”

Sam shook his head, trying to suppress a smirk. “We need to think. If this is some kind of test, reacting irrationally might be exactly what they’re looking for.”

Dean grunted, crossing his arms. “Well, in that case… I’m overthinking it. I’m going to check the window.” He got up and peered outside, but it was just the ordinary street view. Nothing supernatural, nothing alarming. Just a normal afternoon.

Sam finally sat down, still holding the note. “Okay… maybe we start small. We respond to the note. Like it said. So… we react. I guess… we talk to it?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Talking to paper now. Sure. ‘Dear creepy note-person, we acknowledge your presence. And also, we’re judging your decorating skills.’”

Sam groaned, but a small laugh escaped him. “There’s our reaction. That counts as… something.”

Dean grinned. “See? Normal room. Normal reaction. Totally… heroic.”

They both settled in awkwardly, occasionally glancing at the note, wondering if whatever—or whoever—was watching them would approve. And somewhere in the quiet, Sam made a mental note: this was going to be one of the strangest cases yet.