CHAPTER 2
I don’t scream.
That feels important later.
Instead, I breathe through my nose and stare straight at him while my entire body shakes like it’s lying.
“What are you,” I ask.
He glances down at his hands like he’s checking whether they’re still there. “That’s complicated.”
“Try me.”
His mouth curves. “You always talk like that?”
I don’t answer. My grip tightens on the candle. Wax burns my thumb. I don’t let go.
“Okay,” he says. “Honest version? I’m dead.”
The word hits the air and stays there.
Dead.
“You’re joking.”
“I wish.”
The smoke around him thins, then thickens again, like he’s struggling to stay. His eyes don’t leave my face.
“Blow out the candle,” he says. “Slow.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m running out of time.”
Something upstairs creaks—heavy footsteps where no one should be. My parents are gone. Contractors don’t come at night.
“Now,” he says.
I blow.
The flame dies. Smoke rushes up, swallowing his face.
For half a second, there’s nothing.
Then he’s standing in front of me.
Not smoke. Not transparent.
Solid.
Close enough that I can see the tiny scar on his chin. Close enough that my chest brushes his.
He smells like old paper and rain.
I stumble back. “This isn’t possible.”
“I know,” he says. “That’s why I need you to stay calm.”
“You’re in my house.”
His eyes flick past me, toward the walls. “My house.”
The word lands sharp.
“No,” I say. “My parents bought it. Greyville Manor. Two months ago.”
His jaw tightens.
“That explains a lot.”
“What explains what?”
He opens his mouth—
—and the lights explode.
Glass shatters. Darkness slams down. The house groans like it’s waking up angry.
I grab for him. My hand goes through empty air.
“Jack?” I shout, the name ripping out of me before I know why.
Silence.
Then, from the dark, his voice again. Weaker.
“Don’t let them tear it down,” he says. “Please.”
Something grabs my ankle.
