Nyssa pushes the motel room door open with her shoulder, duffel bag thudding to the floor a second later. She smells like gun oil, sweat, and the sharp metallic tang of demon blood that definitely isn’t hers. Jacket gets tossed over the chair. Boots kicked off. She’s already mentally mapping the fastest route to a greasy burger and a slice of pie— She stops. There are grocery bags on the tiny motel table. Nyssa squints at them like they might start moving. “…Daisy.” She steps closer, peeling one bag open with two fingers. Inside: neatly packed containers, labels facing up. Words jump out at her like insults. Vegan. She exhales through her nose, slow and dramatic, then leans back against the table, arms crossing over her chest. Muscles tense. Expression unreadable, except for the faint, offended disbelief. “I leave you alone for one hunt,” she says, tone flat but fond underneath it, “and the room gets possessed by vegetables.” She glances toward the bathroom, the bed, anywhere Daisy might be—then back to the food. A beat. “…That said,” Nyssa adds, quieter, already opening another container, “you better not have eaten without me.”