"I don't know what makes you say that," Bela replied smoothly, the earlier shift in her expression already buried again beneath practiced composure. "Demons aren't exactly something people run into every day."
"Yeah," Henry said quietly as he wrung water from his shirt sleeve, "they really aren't."
He swept wet hair back from his face before looking at her again.
"But people still go looking for them," he continued. "Especially when they want something badly enough."
Bela stayed silent.
Henry's tone remained calm, almost casual, which somehow made it worse.
"You know how their deals work, right?" he asked. "Demons grant the wish, give people what they want, make them think it was worth it."
The wind shifted across the dock, carrying the smell of seawater between them.
"Then ten years pass," Henry said, "and hellhounds show up."
Bela's fingers tightened slightly against her own arm.
Henry noticed.
"They tear the poor bastard apart," he continued evenly. "And that's just the beginning. After that the soul gets dragged to Hell."
His eyes stayed on hers now.
"Where it spends eternity getting tortured."
"Trust me," Henry said quietly, the humor gone from his voice now, "from what I know, that's not something a human soul can handle."
For the first time since they started talking, the mask slipped completely. Not much, just enough—a flicker of real fear crossing her face before she forced it back down again.
Henry noticed it immediately.
"Of course," he continued after a moment, casually squeezing seawater from his sleeve, "there are exceptions. Some contracts can be broken."
That changed everything.
Bela's attention snapped fully onto him, her heartbeat kicking harder despite how calm she looked on the outside.
Because she was running out of time.
Months.
That was all she had left before the hellhounds came for her.
"When," Bela asked carefully, keeping her tone controlled, "did I ever say I made a deal?"
Henry looked at her for a second like he already knew the answer.
Then his expression shifted suddenly as he looked past her shoulder.
"…oh, for fuck's sake."
Bela turned slightly.
A towing truck had backed up near the Impala, the hook already attached as the driver prepared to pull away.
Henry immediately started moving. "Hey! Wait!" he shouted while jogging down the dock road toward it. "The owner's here! Don't tow the damn car!"
The sudden change was so ridiculous it almost gave Bela whiplash.
One second they were talking about eternal damnation.
The next he was chasing a tow truck over a car.
Bela stayed where she was, watching him argue with the driver in the distance while the sea wind moved through her still-damp hair.
But her thoughts weren't on the Impala anymore.
There were ways to break demon deals.
Henry had said it so casually, like it was common knowledge.
For years she had believed the contr was absolute. Once signed, the ending was fixed. Ten years, then hellhounds, then Hell.
No escape.
And now someone had just casually implied otherwise.
For the first time in years, real hope slipped into her chest.
***
"For fuck's sake," Henry said as he caught up to the towing truck. "Can't you see the owner's right here? Do you really need to tow it?"
The driver leaned halfway out the window, already annoyed. "Out-of-state plates," he said. "Got reported sitting too long. Not my problem."
Henry glanced at the hook attached to the Impala and immediately looked offended. "Yeah, no. You are absolutely not towing this car."
The driver snorted. "And who the hell are you?"
Henry reached into his coat and pulled out an FBI badge.
Fake.
And currently slightly bent from seawater.
"This vehicle belongs to an active federal investigation," Henry said smoothly while holding the badge up. "Interfering with it would count as obstruction."
The driver squinted at the badge. "Why's it all wobbly?"
"Water accident," Henry replied instantly.
The man stared at him suspiciously.
Henry stepped closer before the guy could think too hard about it. "Or," he continued calmly, "you can keep arguing and explain to a very angry federal officer why you interfered with an active investigation."
That made the driver hesitate.
Henry pressed immediately while the doubt was there. "And trust me," he added with a tired sigh, "the paperwork alone will ruin your entire damn week."
The driver looked between Henry, the badge, and the Impala.
Then he muttered, "Fine, man. Jesus."
He climbed out and started removing the hook.
Henry relaxed slightly and slipped the fake badge back into his coat like nothing about the conversation had been suspicious.
The driver finished removing the hook while muttering under his breath about "crazy federal people," then climbed back into the truck and pulled away.
Henry watched until the tow truck disappeared down the road before turning back toward the dock.
Bela was gone.
That didn't surprise him.
Henry leaned lightly against the Impala, looking out toward the water for a moment.
He already knew she'd come back eventually.
That was the entire reason he'd mentioned the contracts in the first place.
Because for someone like Bela Talbot, hope was more addictive than money.
And beneath everything else—the scams, the manipulation, the lies—there was still something genuinely ugly in her past.
Not monster ugly.
Human ugly.
The kind of childhood that left scars people spent the rest of their lives trying to bury under expensive clothes and sharp smiles.
Henry exhaled quietly.
"Yeah," he muttered to himself, "life really screwed you over, didn't it?"
*****
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