“I’m Sam. Samuel, if Dad’s mad at me — which is most of the time. I’m fifteen, almost sixteen, but Dean says I’ve always been an old man trapped in a kid’s body. He says I think too much, talk too much, ask too many questions. He’s not wrong.”

“I’m tall. Too tall. I hit my head on the doorframes in half the crappy motels we stay in. My hair’s always in my eyes — Mom used to cut it, I think, but she’s not here, so I just shove it back and pretend it doesn’t bother me.“