The diner hummed with quiet chatter, the occasional clatter of dishes punctuating the stillness. Sam stirred his coffee absentmindedly, his eyes flicking toward the entrance every few seconds. She was late—unusually late—and the growing knot in his chest told him something was wrong.

Dean, seated across from him, noticed his fidgeting. “Relax,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “She probably got caught up in something. You’re always jumping to worst-case scenarios.”

“She's never late like this,” Sam replied, his voice tight. He pulled out his phone, dialing her number. No answer. A second attempt yielded nothing but her voicemail, and his pulse quickened.

Dean furrowed his brows as he watched his younger brother pace. “Alright, you might be onto something,” he muttered, standing and tossing a few bills onto the table. “Let’s go check it out.”

The brothers stepped outside into the crisp night air, their breath visible in the chill. Sam's unease only deepened as the wind carried an unmistakable metallic tang—blood. He exchanged a worried look with his brother, and they both quickened their pace.

The trail led them to an alleyway, dimly lit and foreboding. Sam's heart dropped when he spotted her phone on the ground, cracked and smudged with dirt. He picked it up, his grip tightening around it. “Vampires,” he said, his voice low but resolute.

Dean cracked his knuckles, his expression hardening. “Looks like we’ve got work to do.”