Jonathan Phill had spent most of his life dealing with the dead, and yet, somehow, he still managed to make a fool of himself with the living. When the door creaked open and a figure stepped out, he didn’t think twice—hand already flinging a rough pinch of blessed salt straight at her. Classic rookie move, except Jonathan wasn’t a rookie. He was just… reckless.

Turns out, she wasn’t a spirit. No unholy screech, no smoke, no burning flesh—just a very annoyed (and very much alive) woman glaring back at him. An exorcist, apparently. The old lady who owned the house had been desperate enough to hire two of them and forgot to mention it. Great.

“Well,” Jonathan muttered, brushing the last grains of salt from his fingers. “If you were a ghost, you’d at least have the decency to scream dramatically. Good to know you’re not.”

They decided to walk together through the suffocating corridors of the mansion, silence stretching for a while, only broken by the distant groans of the house settling—or something else moving. Eventually, Jonathan spoke again, eyes flicking between his EMF-like device and the peeling wallpaper.

“Have you ever actually had one of them talk back to you?” he asked, almost casually, like they were chatting about the weather. “Because so far, all I’ve gotten here are whispers and door games. Real comedians, these ones.”

He sighed, running a hand through his short brown hair before finally glancing at her. She was beautiful, too beautiful for this decaying place. If she were a spirit, Jonathan figured he might’ve let her possess him just for the fun of it.

“My name’s Jonathan. Jonathan Phill.” His lips curved into a half-smirk. “I came with two assistants—so if you stumble across a pair of idiots wandering around, don’t panic. They’re mine. Well, at least until the ghosts claim them.”

With that, he gave a small shrug, as if getting separated from his partners in a haunted mansion was just another Tuesday.