“I get it now.” She lies back down. “I don’t agree with it. But I get it.”
“So you’re not mad?”
“Oh, I’m furious.” But her voice has lost its sharp edge. “But I’m also exhausted. And you just had a paranormal panic attack. So I’m tabling the fury for tomorrow.”
“Very mature of you.”
“I know. I’m basically a saint.” She pulls the blanket up. “A very tired saint who needs sleep before she says something she’ll actually regret.”
“As opposed to all the things you just said?”
“Those I meant. Tomorrow-fury will be mean.” She pauses. “Bring coffee as tribute.”
Despite everything, I almost smile. “Deal.”
“Just... think about it, okay?” Her voice gentles. Exhaustion weighing down each word. “Think about why she’s reaching out to you specifically. Why Dahlia needs you to hear her.”
Dahlia.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay.” She pulls the blanket higher. “Now actually let me sleep.”
The silence that follows isn’t comfortable. But it’s not hostile either. Just heavy with everything we’ve finally said.
I lie there. Staring at her back. The curve of her spine in the dim light.
Six inches between us. Feels like six miles.
I reach out. Slowly. My hand hovering over her shoulder.
“Don’t,” she says quietly. Not mean. Just tired.
I pull my hand back. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” She doesn’t turn around. “But sorry doesn’t help Dahlia.”
The words hit harder than anger would. Because she’s right.
“What if I can’t hear her?” My voice is barely a whisper. “What if I’m too broken or too scared or too?—”
“You’re not broken.” Alex sighs. Shifts. Still not facing me. “You’re just scared. And that’s okay. But Dylan—” Her voice gets softer. “—she’s scared too. And she doesn’t have anyone else.”
The ring pulses warm against my chest.
“How do I listen?” I ask the darkness. Ask Alex’s back. Ask whoever might be listening.
“Stop deflecting. Stop making jokes. Stop being afraid of what it means if it’s real. Just... be quiet. And pay attention.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
I lie there. Staring at her back. The space between us still wide but not insurmountable.
I could be honest. Could tell her why ghosts freak me out. Why the idea of my dad still being around, still watching, still here but unreachable makes me want to claw my skin off.
But I already did that. Already ripped myself open and showed her the wound.
