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Nate made himself look at the cracked tile.

Don’t acknowledge the dead.

“Yeah,” he said. “Lovely.”

The temperature dropped.

Sandra rubbed her arms. “Goodness. It is a little chilly in here, isn’t it?”

The ghost moved.

Nate did not look, but he felt the shift in the room like a change in air pressure. One second, the entity was near the corner. The next, it crossed the room in a rush and stopped directly in front of Sandra.

“Get out,” the ghost snarled.

From the corner of his eye, Nate saw Sandra take a step back.

Her smile stayed fixed, but her shoulders lifted toward her ears, and her gaze slid toward the windows as if she expected to find one open.

They were all shut.

So this ghost was strong enough to make regular people uncomfortable.

Interesting.

But Nate kept his attention on the outlet.

He refused to reward the dead for getting loud.

Ghosts pushed and crowded you and whispered cruel things in your ears. They dragged cold fingers down your neck and waited for the flinch.

Nate never flinched.

Sandra moved toward the built-in shelves, putting several feet between herself and the cold spot. “The original shelving is a real feature. Buyers love built-ins.”

The ghost stayed still for a moment.

Then the cold turned toward Nate.

Here it comes.

Nate crouched lower and pretended to inspect the hearth.

The ghost crossed the room.

This time, Nate let himself see him properly in the edge of his vision.

He looked almost alive.

Solid enough you’d expect him to cast a shadow. But there was no shadow. Only the image of a young man, less than two feet away from Nate. His jaw was tight and ginger hair was falling over his forehead. His eyes were narrowed with fury and very, very bright.

Nate’s fingers tightened around his pen.

The ghost stepped closer.

Too close.

If he had been alive, Nate would have felt his breath.