He threw a look over his shoulder. “Not wanderin’. Searchin’. There’s a difference.”
“Right,” I said dryly. “And how many ghosts have you actually found?”
“Two,” he said without hesitation. “Maybe three.”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed. “You believe that?”
“Believe what I’ve seen,” he said simply. “You ever see somethin’ you couldn’t explain?”
My smile faltered. “Yeah. Once.”
He felt the shift immediately, but didn’t push. He just nodded, slow, respectful, like a man who knew how to leave wounds alone.
We reached the edge of the trees, the ground uneven, roots twisting beneath fallen leaves. Chain stopped, crouching near a patch of earth.
“Here,” he murmured.
I stepped closer before I realized I had. “What?”
He angled the light over a stone half-buried in the dirt, worn smooth, edges chewed by time, a faint cross carved into its surface.
“Old graves,” he said softly. “This land used to be part of a plantation. Half the cemetery got swallowed up when the club bought the place. Devil won’t build over it.”
Goosebumps rose along my arms despite the warm air. “You’re serious?”
“Told you,” he said with a hint of a smile. “Ghosts.” Then, gentler, “You okay?”
“Fine,” I lied.
His smile widened just barely. “You don’t scare easy, do you?”
“No. Just because I believe in evil doesn’t mean I believe in the dead.”
He tilted his head, voice dropping low. “Evil’s just another kind of ghost, darlin’. It hangs around ’til you deal with it.”
That hit too close, threading cold through bone. I turned away, pretending to study the shadows, letting the night catch the tremor in my breath instead of him.
He didn’t call me on it. Just swept the flashlight ahead and walked, giving me space to follow —or leave— on my own terms.
We fell into step, quiet settling over us like a blanket rather than a weight. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t fragile. It was the kind of silence two people share when they both know what it feels like to carry something that never stops haunting them.
When the clubhouse came back into view, its windows glowed warm, music spilling soft and distant into the yard.
Chain stopped before the porch, staring out over the property like he was seeing something I couldn’t. “Pretty at night, huh?”
“Yeah,” I said, surprised by how much I meant it. “It is.”
He looked at me then, steady, unreadable, but something new flickered in his gaze. Longing. Interest. Maybe even a shard of understanding.
For one dizzy second, the world felt too still.
Then he looked away, giving me back my breath. “You should get some sleep.”
“I’m not ready.”
He lifted a brow. “No?”
“I lived too long having every minute of my day accounted for,” I said. “I’ll go to bed when I’m tired.”
