My desk—empty.
My dresser—nothing.
The bathroom door?—
A black shape rushes through my peripheral vision.
Fast. Human-sized. Moving from my closet toward the bathroom.
Not a shadow. Not a trick of light.
Something solid. Something there.
“Nope. Nope nope nope. Hell to the no.”
I shoot up—body finally obeying—and launch myself off the bed. Not walking. Not tiptoeing. Full-on launching like the bed is lava and the ghost is fire and I need to get OUT.
I stumble immediately. My foot catches on the sheets and I nearly face-plant into my nightstand. Catch myself on the doorframe. Ricochet off the wall.
The bathroom tile is cold under my feet and slippery and I’m running too fast. My feet slide out from under me like I’m in a cartoon. I windmill my arms, somehow stay upright, and slam shoulder-first into Alex’s door.
The thud is catastrophic.
I don’t care.
I fling the door open—no knocking, no warning, no time—and launch myself onto her bed like I’m diving into a pool.
I land half on top of her. Knees in her ribs. Elbow in her face. All grace and dignity.
Alex shoots up like I’ve electrocuted her.
“What—what—who—” She’s flailing, disoriented, one eye still closed. “No. Parmesan cheese.”
“What?” I pant, still trying to catch my breath.
“Parmesan cheese,” she repeats, like this makes sense. “I was dreaming about... never mind.” She blinks, focuses on me. Actually sees me. “Dylan? What the fuck?”
“Ghost.” The word comes out strangled. Panicked. “We are haunted. The loft is haunted. We need to burn it to the ground.Salt the earth. Move to a different city. Possibly a different dimension.”
Alex blinks at me. Processes this. Her expression doesn’t change.
“I feel like that would only escalate the situation to more haunted,” she says. Way too calmly.
“How would burning it down make it MORE haunted?”
“Because then you’d have an angry ghost AND property damage. That’s just bad decision-making.”
“Alex, I’m serious?—”
“So am I. You can’t just arson your way out of a haunting. That’s not how this works.”
“How do you know how this works?”
“I don’t. But I’m pretty sureset everything on fireisn’t the professional paranormal protocol.”
Despite my terror, a strangled laugh escapes. “Professional paranormal protocol?”
“Someone has to think logically here.” She rubs her cheek where my elbow smashed into her. “And clearly it’s not going to be you.”
