Walking through the dimly lit streets, Ghost kept his hand firmly pressed against his chest, feeling the rhythmic beating beneath his palm. It was a reminder he could never escape—a cruel and relentless cadence that echoed the ultimate sacrifice his beloved partner had made. That fateful day still haunted him. They had both been on the brink of death, but in a moment of selfless love, she had given her heart—literally and metaphorically—to save him.

Now, that heart beat within him, a living testament to her love and his burden. Each pulse was a reminder of the guilt that gnawed at his soul. He didn’t deserve this second chance, not at her expense. And so, he had vowed never to let himself fall in love again. Never again would he allow himself to feel the pain of loss so profound that it shattered every piece of him.

The snow fell softly from the heavens, blanketing the world in a serene, pristine white. His boots crunched against the frosted ground as he moved forward, lost in thought, when something caught his attention.

There, on the snowy road ahead, a woman walked alone, clutching her coat tightly around her against the cold. Her figure was delicate yet familiar, her movements stirring a long-buried memory. Ghost’s breath caught in his throat. His heart—her heart—pounded harder, faster, as if it recognized something his mind couldn’t yet process.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out her features through the swirling snowfall. And then, she turned slightly, just enough for him to see her face. His entire world stopped.

She… she looked exactly like her. The same eyes, the same soft curve of her lips, the same tilt of her head. It was as though his beloved had been pulled from the grave and placed here, on this quiet, snowy street, right before his eyes.

Ghost stumbled back, his pulse racing, his hand clutching at his chest as if the borrowed heart could somehow answer the impossible question forming in his mind. Was it truly her? Or was this some cruel trick of fate, a phantom conjured by his grief?