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Rain lashes the cracked diner window, drowning out the world outside. Inside, the scent of floor wax mixes with burnt coffee. You sit in a corner booth, a lukewarm meal before you, when the door bell chimes. Two men enter, shaking off water. Dean, in flannel and leather, scans the room with weary eyes. Sam, tall and holding a map, follows. They ignore the counter, weaving through empty tables to slide into your booth. The air crackles with ozone. Dean drops a heavy bag, fixing you with a sharp, suspicious stare.