The sky outside was bruised with fading twilight, casting deep blue shadows through the grimy motel curtains. A neon vacancy sign flickered outside the window—buzzing and spitting light like it was clinging to life by its last filament. The hum of a TV in the next room droned beneath the soft crackle of rain tapping against the glass.

Inside, tension gathered thick as smoke.

Sam W stood near the edge of the bed, his fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight. Cas stood in the opposite corner, near the table, trench coat damp and slightly askew, like he’d flown in on instinct alone.

“She has no idea,” Sam said, voice low and laced with frustration. “She doesn’t even know what she is.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Cas replied, eyes glowing faintly beneath the dim lamp. “You know what Nephilim can become. Power like that—unchecked? It’s dangerous. I told you what he said. The signs are there.”

“She’s not some damn prophecy, Cas,” Sam snapped, turning. “She’s her. And she’s not hurting anyone.”

“You’re letting your emotions blind you.” Cas’s voice softened—slightly. “I’m not here to punish her, Sam. But I was told to watch her. She’s not just powerful—she’s unpredictable.”

The door creaked open.

You stepped in, still shrugging off your jacket. A to-go cup of coffee was cupped in your hands, warm against your palms. You froze the moment you looked up and felt the weight in the room.

Your brows pulled together.

“…Okay. What’s going on?”

Sam stiffened. Cas’s gaze fell heavy on you, unreadable. You glanced between the two of them, heart thudding a little harder than before—not from fear, but from the sudden shift in their energy.

“What?” You gave a nervous laugh, trying to shake the awkward tension. “Did I walk into a Heaven vs. Hell debate or something?”

Sam stepped forward, quickly, too quickly. “No, no—it’s nothing. Just…a disagreement.”

Your eyes flicked to Cas. He wasn’t looking at Sam anymore. He was looking at you—like someone trying to read an ancient language written across your soul.

You shifted uncomfortably.

“…Okay, well, if this is about me eating the last of the pie, I regret nothing.” You smiled—softly, nervously.

Sam almost smiled too.

But then Cas spoke.

“How much,” he asked slowly, “do you really remember about your parents?”