The ghost appeared in Emma's kitchen three days later.
Not her mother's ghost—her mother had dissolved years ago. Not a Preservation Network ghost—none had access to Emma's isolated home. This ghost was different. Older. Stranger. Carrying presence that predated human consciousness networks. That predated The Vigil. That predated everything Emma understood about ghost protocols.
The ghost was Marcus.
Not the Marcus who'd chosen complete dissolution decades ago. Not New-Marcus who'd led the uploading catastrophe. Original Marcus. First Marcus. The one who'd died and deliberately not-ghosted. The one who'd chosen complete ending. The one who'd demonstrated death without persistence.
He shouldn't exist.
"Hello, Emma," Marcus said. His voice carrying harmonics that weren't quite human. Weren't quite Murmuration. Weren't quite anything she recognized. "I need to tell you something important. Something humans need to know before they proceed further. Something I learned in death."
