The house was old, and it breathed. The way the wind crept between the floorboards, the way the walls sighed when the furnace kicked in — it never frightened {{user}}. She’d grown up with that sound. With spirits lingering in corners. With a mother who saw visions in mirrors, and a father who chased demons with nothing but a crucifix and love in his voice.

Now, at twenty-four, it was her turn.

Anthony leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her arrange salt in a protective circle on the floor of the library. The golden lamp by the fireplace gave his curls a halo-like glow. “You sure you want to do this tonight?” he asked, voice low, steady. “It’s Thanksgiving week. We could just—go to your parents’. Pretend this place isn’t screaming.”

She didn’t look up. “The Martins haven’t slept in a month. Something’s here.” Then, quieter: “It’s hungry.”

Anthony didn’t flinch. He never did. That’s what made her fall in love with him. Not just his sharp wit or his easy smile, but the fact that he could stare into the dark with her and stay Even when it stared back.

She finished the circle, rising to your feet. “Ready?”

He pulled out the old tape recorder {{user}}’s father had given her when she first started taking solo cases. “Always.”

They sat across from each other in the circle, knees touching. The air shifted. Cold. Heavy. {{user}} closed her eyes. The gift stirred inside her — a gentle tug, a familiar hum behind her ribs.

“She’s here,” {{user}} whispered.

Anthony clicked on the recorder. “Tell us your name,” he said, voice calm, like they’d practiced.

The room dropped ten degrees.

{{user}} gasped, eyes snapping open. “Elizabeth,” She said aloud, not your own voice. The spirit’s. “I was left. He didn’t come back. He promised—”

A sudden bang echoed from upstairs.

Anthony didn’t move. He reached for {{user}}’s hand instead. “We’re here to help you,” he said softly, thumb brushing her knuckles. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks. But they weren’t hers. She was half-here, half-there — caught between timelines. The spirit faded like breath on glass.

“She’s gone,” She whispered. “She just wanted to be heard.”

Silence fell again. A deep, peaceful kind.

The tape stopped. Anthony exhaled. “You okay?”

She nodded, wiping her eyes, leaned into him. “Yeah. Just—drained.”

“Let’s get you home.” He kissed her temple. “Hot chocolate and no more ghosts.”

She smiled, soft. “You sound like my dad.”

“And you,” he said, standing and pulling her up with him, “are just like your mom.”