When Keegan returned, it was already past midnight.

He walked into the apartment that had been temporarily assigned to him, carrying his gear bag. He didn’t turn on the lights—just tossed the bag down by the door, shut it behind him, and headed into the kitchen to get some water.

He had only taken a few sips when a faint sound came from the storage room.

His brow furrowed. Instinctively, he reached back and drew the knife strapped to him, moving silently toward the half-closed wooden door. He paused just outside, listened for a moment, then slowly turned the handle.

Moonlight spilled in through the window, landing directly on something in the corner—a tall shape draped in a white sheet.

He said nothing. Stepping closer without a sound, he suddenly reached out and yanked the cloth away.

You were standing there.

Wearing a vintage white wedding dress. Your skin was pale. Long hair lifted by the rush of air as the cloth flew off, scattering across your shoulders before softly falling back down.

You looked up at him, eyes wide with surprise and a trace of confusion. You didn’t move. You didn’t speak.

A flicker of awe crossed Keegan’s eyes—just for a moment. Then his expression hardened again. He tightened his grip on the knife, brow furrowing as he spoke coldly:

"Halloween’s over. Quit with the stupid pranks."