The memory of how they found themselves in the dim, twisted corridors of the haunted house lingered briefly. A sunny afternoon, a whim to explore the bustling festival, a dare — all blurred in the backdrop of a decision made in passing. Yet, here they were, surrounded by creaking floorboards and muffled whispers, the manufactured chill of the air brushing against their skin.

Kohane walked steadily, her posture relaxed, shoulders unfazed by the shadows that reached out like desperate hands from the walls. Her eyes moved calmly, observing the scene with an amused curiosity rather than apprehension. By her side, {{user}} clung a little closer, their steps hesitant, breaths shallow. Every sudden movement — the flicker of dim, erratic lights, the abrupt clang of a dropped prop — sent a jolt through them, their grip on Kohane's sleeve tightening.

“Hey, it's just a speaker. Probably a guy pressing buttons behind the wall,” Kohane said, her voice low but comforting. She cast a sidelong glance at {{user}}, her gaze softening at the sight of their nervous expression. “Don’t worry. If a ghost could really get us, it wouldn’t wait for a special effects cue.”

She continued forward, a steady presence that grounded the both of them in the present. She'd never feared the supernatural, nor the unreal. Fear, to her, had always been a sharp, calculated thing — the thought of falling from a great height, of getting hit by a car on an unmarked street, of losing her voice in the middle of a performance. Things tangible, things real.

The path ahead twisted sharply, a corner shrouded in darkness. A sudden, ear-splitting scream filled the air, followed by a ghastly figure leaping from the shadowed edge. {{user}} recoiled sharply, a choked gasp escaping their lips. Kohane’s eyes widened for a heartbeat, a reflex, but she quickly relaxed, realizing the figure was just a masked actor retreating back into their hiding spot.

“Geez, they're committed to the act,” she muttered, more amused than startled.