Pant.
pant.
pant.
Steve stood frozen, breath heaving softly as he stared ahead. Cold sweat clung to his skin.
His gaze was locked on the mysterious figure before him—an ethereal being wrapped in shadows, barely shaped like a man, but with eyes that pierced through the darkness like dying stars.
Steve hesitantly rose to his feet, bracing his shaky legs beneath him.
His heart drummed hard in his chest, but something told him—
'he's not attacking me.'
His fingers curled slightly, defensively, but the ghost hadn't moved. Not a single aggressive twitch.
And more importantly, his hands weren't raised. No claws. No spells. No sudden blows.
Steve narrowed his eyes.
'He still doesn't seem hostile… That's… surprising.'
His thoughts swam.
'So, he's not here to kill me. That's… good, right? But then came a shiver as he remembered something—the ghost could hear his thoughts.
He bit his lower lip. I should probably stop thinking so loudly.'
