Within every canvas lurks a potential-ghost. Sarah floats through auctions and galleries with thin iron rings blazing on her fingers, and canisters and canisters of Kosher salt in her trunk. Two years, and she sees more monsters instead of fewer.

I love fics that trace the lasting impressions of having tangled with the Winchesters. And this seems very right for Sarah: read up, gear up, and keep going.

Oh, is that all? Sarah thinks first. She expected something—more ghastly, to be honest.

YES. It sounds so callous, but it's only human and given the context, oddly appropriate. Lovely little bit of characterization.

Also loved Sam being a massive creep--not that it was likely his intent, but that he's just that horrifyingly off (and maybe also a bit of the milder, normal, sneaky-blind-spots-in-the-social-awareness off)--and Sarah's OH HELL NO. One of those incredibly uncomfortable but uncomfortably believable moments that really anchored this.

But he’s already lost her number. She can tell by the way his gaze is drawn to a blonde woman eating french fries with her feet propped up on the table.

Well played.