By day two, the second branch had achieved a very specific kind of stability.

Not the good kind.

Not the calm kind.

Not the kind normal businesses put in advertisements with smiling employees and tasteful background music.

No, this was Winchester stability, which meant the building was still standing, the tills were still balancing, the coffee was still hot, the lifts still worked, the shelves had only almost fallen twice, and no customer had yet gone home with the wrong brake pads and a blueberry scone in the same bag.

So obviously everyone called that progress.

The town called it drama.

The gossip board called it “Second Branch Day Two: They’re Sweating But Thriving.”

Nina called it “manageable.”

Marco called it “an active insult.”

Marta called it “Tuesday.”

And the eight new employees—who had survived day one and had therefore become overconfident for nearly thirteen minutes—learned by ten in the morning that surviving once did not mean the branch had accepted them as worthy.

It only meant the branch had chosen to test them harder.

And then Castiel arrived.

But before that, there was the chaos.

The breakfast rush came in angry, curious, under-caffeinated, and armed with questions no one was authorized to answer.

Where were the Winchesters?

Was the grand opening still delayed?

Was Colorado supernatural or legal?