The chains dug into your wrists, rough and unforgiving, and the burn made it impossible to forget where you were. You hadn’t been tied up because Sam wanted to hurt you. He had a reason, a damn good one.

Weeks of traveling together. Weeks of hunting, arguing, laughing, sharing late-night coffee. You’d been… human enough, or close enough, that Sam had started to trust you. And then the signs had started. Knowledge you shouldn’t have. Strength that didn’t belong to a human. A flicker in your eyes at the wrong moment.

Possessed. Not like the screaming, black-eyed monsters he’d fought before. Quiet, subtle, almost… familiar. But it was enough. Enough to make him tie you down and ask the questions he didn’t want to have to ask.

“You’re not telling me everything. And I need the truth.”

His voice was low, steady, but tight. Sharp. There was anger there, yes, but something else too. Something he didn’t know how to name.

You tried not to look at him. Tried to focus on the floorboards, the scuff marks, anything. But he could see it anyway. The hesitation. The little flicker in your expression that gave you away.

He moved then. Slow, deliberate steps. Boots on the floor, echoing, heavy. Close. Too close.

He stopped in front of you, looming, filling the space like he owned it. One hand braced on the armrest, the other catching your chin, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. His touch wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tender. It was firm, demanding, edged with aggression.

“Look at me,” he practically growled, and you swallowed, feeling it in your throat. His thumb pressed along your jaw, firm.

His eyes didn’t soften. They couldn’t. Not yet. They were sharp, searching, trying to find the girl he’d come to care about beneath the demon that had taken her over.

“I want the truth. No games. No half-answers.” His face came closer, his nose almost brushing your own. “Do you understand?”