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I wasn’t sure if the guys were adept at tracking, so I had no choice but to change my escape route. It was only after I had arrived at the bus stop—with my hair tangled and clothes covered in burdocks—that I realized it was obvious I’d come here anyway. So really, my painful trek through the woods had been for nothing.

It was not my brightest moment.

However, no one had come after me. Not even for revenge for Titus’s crushed balls. I could only hope that their lack of initiative didn’t mean they were planning something far more sinister.

I wouldn’t have been terribly concerned if it were only Miles, Julian, Dr. Stephens, or even Damen, seeking revenge. The worst they’d do would be make fun of me—or maybe lock me in an insane asylum. That, I could handle.

No. It was Titus who concerned me the most. There was something unsettling about him, and it scared me witless. It also didn’t help to know that, since he hadn’t lied about his name, maybe he was telling the truth about everything else, too .

He owned a security company . I read things on the internet that made me wonder—colorful stories about corrupt security companies with ties to the Mafia.

It made sense and correlated with my earlier suspicions. Especially given the context of Dr. Stephens’s statement regarding their ritualistic meetings. Heck, they’d even said some pretty weird things while I was there.

Clearly, they thought they were members of some sort of special club and were blinded with delusions of grandeur.

And Titus did seem like the type to belong to the underworld. All he needed to do was switch out the plaid with leather.

I couldn’t trust any of them.

But at least they seemed to be going to let me flee with the remainder of my pride intact.

It was barely an hour after I returned to Professor Hamway’s house before Miles and Titus arrived. How had they even known where she lived? Did professors exchange addresses?

This, of course, reinforced my earlier theory—Titus was dangerous, swift, and resourceful.

Why couldn’t they leave me alone?

Meeting with Damen had been the worst decision of my existance. If this continued, I would have no choice but to call Finn and confess my crimes.

But for now, I hid behind the secured front door—terrified for my life. I was caught between being too curious to slip away entirely and too cowardly to make my presence known.

Should I call the police? But what would I say? That two paranormal investigators with questionable intentions had followed me home, and they now stood on my patio with a large bouquet of hyacinths?

No, they’d never believe me, and it didn’t sound threatening when I put it that way.

However, instead of breaking down the door, the two of them stood outside and argued. It was an interesting, loud conversation, and I finally grew brave enough to watch them through the peephole.

I had to gather more information on my adversaries.

“Just go away,” Miles said, punching Titus’s arm. He’d previously tried to convince Titus to return to the car with no success. “She’s not going to answer with you standing here. You’re scaring her.”

“But I’m not trying to scare her,” Titus said, sounding genuinely confused. He glanced down at the purple flowers. “Do you think she likes chocolate?”

Chocolate?

I stood on tiptoe, trying to check if he’d brought any, but there was none that I could see. Although, as much as I loved chocolate, it probably would have been poisoned anyway. I wasn’t that gullible.

“It’s not about that. You didn’t even try to override your instinct!” Miles pulled out his phone and began to type even as he lectured the other man. “You bombarded her when she was alone, then you basically jumped on her when she was already upset. She’d never trust you if you gave her chocolate now.”

“But why?” Titus argued. “I’m just trying to apologize.”

“Figure it out yourself,” Miles replied, distracted. “Damen says that she has nothing listed in the school’s contact information.”

My heart raced. They were looking for my phone number. Not that they’d ever find it—I only had this phone, thanks to Finn. Nothing was in my name, but it was the principle of the matter— stalkers .

Titus still seemed confused. “But I don’t get it. I just interviewed for Forbes . They don’t have a problem with me. Why would she?”

This… he really looked upset. What if he was just that clueless and well-intentioned?

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I slapped my palms to my cheeks and shook my head.

No, I couldn’t fall for it. I had to trust my instincts—they were the only thing I had left.

“Just remember your true nature; if you really want to apologize, you need to curb your impulses.” Miles put his phone into his back pocket and rang the doorbell again. “Let’s just hope she stops hiding and answers the door. But don’t talk. You’ll scare her again, and we need to get her to let her guard down before we can do anything else.”

I narrowed my eyes as adrenaline kept me upright.

I would never answer this door. Ever. I could stay like this forever.

Get my guard down. They’d have to be insane to believe I would open this door to my death.

They continued to bicker before it soon became boring, and I finally snuck away. Despite their dark intentions, they’d clearly never mastered the art of breaking and entering.

I lounged around the living room, reading on my phone, before I eventually wandered back to the entryway. At some point, they had given up and left.

Still, I was wary when I opened the door.

While no one jumped out from the shadows, the trespassers hadn’t left without leaving their mark. In the center of the welcome mat was the bouquet, along with a note .

Sorry that Titus is an idiot. I’m also sorry we hurt your feelings. We know how you feel and should have known better than to laugh. We’ll help you if you let us. Please think it over and let Damen know your answer.

I frowned at it. Why did it almost feel like they were dangling acceptance in front of me as bait? And how could they have known that this was what I’d wanted more than flowers and chocolate? It was the only trap that had the possibility of capturing me.

And when was I supposed to let Damen know anything? I had no intention of ever seeing him again.

Now I had something else to worry about. Wonderful.

I’d hoped that the ghost had given up, as it never appeared when my visitors were on the front patio. But as the night grew later, I began to sense its presence—hovering somewhere I couldn’t pinpoint.

But I tried my best to ignore it as I reflected on the events of the afternoon.

And my conclusion? I might have overreacted a tiny bit. Probably.

But it didn’t matter. Even if they had good intentions, it would be too embarrassing to work with them. Besides, they obviously took issue with my relationship with Finn, which in itself was offensive.

There was nothing else I could do. I had to end this haunting on my own. The internet was never helpful in situations like this, though. So I had no choice but to plan for an extended library session tomorrow.

With that in mind, I finally was able to fall asleep.

Something brushed my awareness, and I jerked awake, disoriented. I didn’t know what time it was or how long it’d been, but the house was eerily quiet.

The chilling darkness, broken only by shimmering moonlight, sent a shiver down my spine.

I hated the dark in my best moments, and especially on days like these. I wanted to shut my eyes, to go back to my dreams.

But my skin was prickling.

Everything seemed normal, so why was—

Tap. Tap.

I could barely hear the sharp, forceful noise as it echoed throughout the otherwise silent room—the sound a knife would make when tapped against a glass. While it wasn’t the most frightening thing the residential ghost had subjected me to, something was different this time.

The head of my twin-sized bed rested under the solitary window, and at the foot of it, an old vanity was set low on the floor. The surface of the dresser was covered in dark, chipping stains. But the most distinguishable characteristic of the piece was the large, oval mirror affixed to the wall.

Professor Hamway collected antiques, including small knickknacks. In this room, she displayed her tiny perfume bottles, and they were meticulously lined on a glass tray placed upon the chipping surface.

Other than these items, a hanging houseplant near the door, a bedside table, and my duffle bag, there were no other large pieces in the room. There was nowhere for anything to hide, and—thanks to the moonlight—it was clear that I was alone .

The air grew colder as I pressed back against the headboard, and another tap sounded throughout the area.

I’d never heard anything like it before. But then again, it’d never been so quiet.

My breathing caught, and my fear escalated with every passing second. Was I stupid for being afraid? I’d decided that I could handle this on my own. I wouldn’t be able to accomplish anything while acting like this.

I pulled the quilted sheet more tightly around myself.

Tap.

This time, I was watching very closely, so I didn’t miss the movement from the top of the vanity.

One of the bottles had been raised into the air and then set back into its previous position atop the glass tray. This time, without pause, another bottle followed—another tap.

I had no idea what to do. I wanted to run away, but this was the first time I had not felt a sense of hostility from the presence. That, however, didn’t make the situation any less hair-raising.

As the scene repeated itself again—this time with a larger bottle—something new caught my attention. There was a shape, a shadowed figure hovering in the corner, that began to appear in the mirror.

The bottles weren’t touched again. But as seconds passed, the form grew in both size and visibility. It continued until a blurry, but obvious, reflection of a human figure was present.

Nope .

It didn’t seem to be looking at me, so I slid to the side of the bed. I tried not to draw attention to myself as I touched my toes to the wood floor. I was able to find my slippers in the dark and pushed my feet into them before—just as silently—I began to inch my way toward freedom .

Sleeping outside was an excellent idea! I just needed to escape without being noticed.

But I only made it three steps before a floorboard creaked beneath my foot. The figure, which had been swaying contentedly back and forth, froze.

I couldn’t breathe from fear.

A long moment passed, and then another. The air became tangible as the atmosphere shifted. While I hadn’t been the focus of the ghost’s attention before, I certainly was now.

Everything inside of me screamed to run—to hide.

This was going against everything I’d ever been taught: never let them know you can see them.

Ignore, ignore.

But… I’d decided that things had to change, too.

I've been able to do many things outside of my comfort zone lately, so why not this? Just so long as I didn’t touch it, it wouldn’t hurt.

I sucked in a deep breath and forced my pounding heart to calm. My nerves steadied, and I straightened into a more confident stance. Sometimes faking it could give you courage.

“Hello.” I faced the mirror. Trepidation and curiosity thickened the air, but I didn’t feel anything hostile.

Was it my imagination, or was this something new?

“Do you need help?” I asked.

The room grew impossibly colder, and I shuddered as my breath frosted the air. Yet, since the shape didn’t move, I didn’t either.

I had no idea what to expect next—this was a new experience.

I remained still beside my shallow breaths and shivers, before a translucent outline finally formed in the space around the shadow. Still, it was difficult to discern more than the fact that the shape was female .

And she was looking right back at me, just as scared as I was.

Fear retreated as sorrow and grief touched my senses—the emotions a mixture of us both.

“It’s all right,” I told her, sympathy driving me forward. It looked like I’d made the right decision. This spirit, at least, didn’t mean any harm. “Why are you here?”

She wanted help. I could feel it.

And I wanted to help.

She was watching me—curious. However, she still made no move to respond. What if she couldn’t communicate? That would make solving things a bit more difficult.

But then the wind shifted, and a shadow passed across the room. A spike of fear staked my chest as her wide, blue eyes briefly flashed.

“Run away,” she spoke. The warning was whispered in the wind.

And then she was gone. There was nothing left in her place.

No shadow. No shape.

Just me, watching my own frazzled reflection in the mirror.