The small-town sheriff’s office was lit up with the dull glow of old fluorescent lights, casting a sickly green tint over the walls. The crime scene had already been secured, but the smell of blood still clung to the air, mixing with the scent of stale coffee and ink from the old printer behind the desk.

Dean Winchester was not in a good mood.

This was supposed to be a simple case—roll into town, flash the fake badges, get the job done, and be back on the road before the local authorities could get too nosy. But, of course, the universe had other plans.

Because there you were.

Standing near the sheriff’s cluttered desk, flipping through the coroner’s report like you owned the damn place. Your leather jacket fit a little too well, your smirk was a little too smug, and Dean hated how effortlessly you carried yourself, like you had this case all figured out before he and Sam even got a foot in the door.

Sam, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat and greeted you with a nod. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You barely glanced up from the file. “Funny. I could say the same.”

Dean crossed his arms, leveling you with a glare. “This is our case.”

You finally looked at him, eyes sharp, a glint of amusement dancing in them. “Didn’t see your name on it.”

Dean clenched his jaw, already feeling that familiar burn of irritation—and something else he really didn’t want to acknowledge. There was something about you that got under his skin in a way that no monster ever could. Maybe it was the way you never backed down, maybe it was the way you were always one step ahead, or maybe it was the way he caught himself looking at your lips when he really should have been focusing on how to get you the hell out of his way..