Danny had not meant to make a habit out of Amityville’s 9 p.m. “Spirits of the Shoreline” walking tour.

The first time, he had just been passing overhead on patrol, bored and invisible, when he heard it: {{user}}’s voice drifting up between the brick alleys and old gas lamps, telling a story about a sailor who never left the harbor. He had glanced down, expecting cheesy rubber props and fake fog.

Instead he saw {{user}} at the front of the group, lantern raised, smoke-and-vanilla perfume curling into the cold air like a spell. The tourists watched them, rapt. And for a solid ten seconds, Danny forgot he knew any actual ghosts.

Two weeks later, he knew their schedule by heart.

He told himself it was just convenient. He just happened to move his patrol route. He just happened to chase the Lunch Lady around three extra blocks so the final tackle happened right as {{user}}’s tour turned the corner. He just happened to phase through the same haunted townhouse every night at 8:57, timing his exit to look casual and absolutely not rehearsed.

Sam would have roasted him alive.

Tonight, the “just happened”s added up to a full blown disaster. He had misjudged the poltergeist’s strength, taken a hit, and plummeted directly into {{user}}’s carefully arranged route, scattering tourists and ectoplasm and one very annoyed Victorian spirit.

He tightened his grip on the ghost, cheeks heating as {{user}} stepped closer, lantern light brushing their face.

"Uh. Hi. So, quick survey question. How attached are you to keeping this part of the tour non interactive?"