The graveyard behind Blackthorn Academy was quieter than usual that night — the kind of silence that hummed with presence, not absence. Mist crawled over the ground, curling around the old stones and the roots that split them. Most students avoided this place after dark. But not you. And definitely not Lucien.

You found him where he always was — sitting beneath the twisted willow near the fence, lantern glowing faintly beside him. The pale green light cast faint halos across the fog, shaping silhouettes that weren’t quite shadows. You could feel them — the dead — watching, murmuring, brushing against your thoughts like moth wings.

Lucien looked up as you approached, his lips pulling into a quiet, tired smile.

“They said you’d come,” he murmured, voice carrying softly. “They get louder when they know you’re close.”

You could hear them too — faint whispers, fragmented words. It wasn’t frightening anymore; not with him there. Over time, you’d learned to speak back, your voice steadying them when Lucien’s would falter. The two of you made an odd pair — living mediums tangled in a world meant to forget you both.

Lucien shifted, patting the moss beside him. Erebus flickered as you sat, and a new voice rose out of the dark — a woman, gentle and lost. You both heard her at once.

“She says… she’s looking for someone,” Lucien whispered, glancing toward you. “You can hear her too, right?”

The ghostly figure wavered near the gate, flickering like smoke in moonlight. Her voice trembled through both of your minds at once, pleading for a name neither of you could yet place.

You answered her softly, your tone grounding her — and Lucien exhaled, relieved.

“That’s why I like when you’re here,” he said, lanternlight catching in his pale eyes. “They listen to you. They trust you. Maybe because you’re not scared of them.”

The dead around you murmured in agreement, their forms glowing faintly in the mist. Lucien’s fingers brushed the handle of his lantern, eyes closing briefly as if listening to a chorus only the two of you could hear.

“Stay a little longer?” he asked quietly. “They don’t sleep when you’re gone.”

The lantern dimmed to a calm, steady glow — the spirits soothed for now, suspended between your voices and the night.