The apartment was cheap, forgotten, and broken like her — a fifth-floor walk-up in a building that had stopped caring about being alive years ago. The walls peeled like shedding skin. The air always smelled like something had died just out of reach.
Selene dropped her duffel by the door and stood in silence. The city noise below was muffled up here, almost respectful. Or maybe afraid.
She wasn't afraid.
Not anymore.
The landlord had called it a "quiet place with character."
What he didn't say was that it breathed. At night.
She turned slowly toward the long hallway, lit only by flickering amber from a broken overhead bulb. It pulsed like a heartbeat. The temperature dropped. Again.
Selene knew cold. The kind that crawled under skin, burrowed in your gut, curled up next to your regrets and fed on them. But this wasn't cold from a broken radiator. This was presence.
Something watched her.
She turned toward the bedroom. The door creaked open on its own. Not slowly — not the horror movie cliché — just opened. Assertive. Malevolent. Inviting.
"I don't scare easy," she whispered. Her voice came out low and hoarse.
The lights cut out completely.
And then she heard it — the voice.
"Finally… you let me in."
She spun around. No one. Nothing.
But something was there. Thick in the air. Him.
Her breath hitched. A rush of heat spread through her chest, down her spine. She shouldn't feel arousal. But it clawed through her like fire.
"You carry more ghosts than I do, Selene."
He knew her name.
And then she saw him. For a second.
Tall. Shadowed. Eyes like ash and coals. Lips that didn't need to move to speak.
"You think you've lost everything. But I'll show you what it really means to be haunted."
She didn't scream. She smirked.
"Then come haunt me."