The night in the heart of Texas was so empty it made one's heart quail.
The SUV jolted along a seemingly endless highway through the barren land, its headlights slicing through the heavy darkness and illuminating the occasional dead grass, tumbleweeds, and blurred shadows of mile markers ahead.
Outside lay a silent black night, with only the wind sweeping across the land, kicking up dust and letting out a low, mournful howl.
Castiel sat in the passenger seat, gazing into the bottomless darkness beyond the window, feeling nothing but a heavy, ever-accumulating weariness.
And a vague unease that even he could not clearly put into words.
The dagger lay quietly in the inner pocket of his trench coat, pressed against his chest, cold as ice.
Metatron drove with focused attention. In the faint glow of the dashboard, his profile looked exceptionally calm—perhaps too calm.
Ever since leaving Houston and finding this old car that had been prepared in advance, he had barely spoken. He only turned the wheel occasionally at the navigation's prompts, or answered one or two of Castiel's brief questions.
"Where are we going?" Castiel asked, his voice sounding somewhat dry within the cramped cabin.
"Somewhere suitable." Metatron's answer remained vague. "Quiet enough, undisturbed, with an energy field that also... meets the requirements. An ideal place to complete the final preparations."
"Final preparations?" Castiel turned toward him. "For the third trial?"
"You could say that." The corner of Metatron's mouth seemed to twitch ever so slightly, though it was impossible to make out in the dim light. "It is also where everything... will be laid to rest."
Castiel did not press further.
He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes, trying to regulate the scant angelic power remaining in his body, which had never flowed smoothly.