He’d seen ghosts for as long as he could remember. Faces sliding through the edges of the night like they belonged there. People used to call him imaginative. He called it ordinary. By now, spotting a spirit was about as surprising as finding gum under a school desk.

Most nights he hit the outdoor court behind the school, long after everyone else went home. The busted floodlights left the place dark enough to hide in, perfect for a solo game. Ball. Bounce. Echo. Repeat.

He’d just nailed a three-pointer when a shift in the air brushed his shoulders. He didn’t need to look to know someone or something was there. Still, his eyes flicked toward the chain-link fence for a split second.

You.

Leaning in the shadows like you’d been there forever.

He snapped his gaze back to the hoop, jaw tight. Rule one: don’t engage. One step back, quick dribble, clean jump shot. Net.

When the ball bounced back to him, the night went still, too still.

Suddenly, you were beside him. No footsteps, no warning.

“You can see me,” you said, voice steady, almost amused.

The ball thudded once more against the ground. He caught it without looking at you, shoulders loose, face unreadable. Another shot arced clean through the rim, as if nothing had changed.