Page 15 of Wraith

He stood, moving toward the chair with the cautious precision of someone who didn’t trust what he was seeing. He crouched, brushing his fingers over the edge of the seat before setting it upright.

I backed away, my energy drained to the point where I felt like I might dissolve entirely. My legs—or whatever I had now—wavered beneath me as I pressed myself against the far wall.

Thorne lingered near the chair, his hand still resting on it. His brows furrowed, a flicker of something uncertain crossing his face.

“Great,” he muttered, standing abruptly. “Now I’m hearing things.” He tossed back the rest of his whiskey and retreated to the couch, shaking his head like he could dismiss the disturbance.

I stared at the chair, my mind spinning. I’d touched it. I’d felt it. I’d moved it.

But it had cost me.

Every second my hands had been on the wood, I’d felt the life drain out of me—or whatever was left of me. The effort had been exhilarating and terrifying, a reminder that I was still tied to the physical world, even if I didn’t belong to it anymore.

“Is this normal?” I whispered, my voice shaking as I slid to the floor.

Thorne’s breathing steadied, his posture sinking back into lazy indifference as he lounged on the couch. For him, the moment was over. A random noise, nothing more.

For me, it was everything.

Thorne’s apartment faded into the background as the exhaustion from toppling the chair settled deep into my core. My form felt thinner, lighter, as though I’d burned through what little energy I had left just to prove I still existed. But the flicker of triumph at finally making contact with the physical world lingered, cutting through the weight of despair like a sliver of light.

I could do this again. I had to.

Hovering near the edge of the kitchen, I focused on the half-empty glass of water sitting on the counter. Thorne had left it there earlier, abandoned in favor of a stronger drink. My gaze locked onto it, my thoughts narrowing to a single point of focus.

Move.

I poured everything I had into the command, willing the glass to shift even slightly. The apartment grew colder, the lights dimming just enough to notice. I watched my form flicker,strained and weak, but I didn’t stop. The bond pulsed faintly, stirring with an energy that wasn’t mine, and I seized it.

A faint tremor ran through the counter, barely noticeable, but enough to send a ripple through the water in the glass. My chest tightened with an emotion I couldn’t name—elation, maybe, or fear.

The glass didn’t topple. It didn’t shatter. But the ripple was enough.

I staggered back—or at least, the ghostly equivalent of staggering. My energy waned again, my form flickering like a dying light bulb. I slumped against the wall, clutching at nothing, my breaths phantom gasps that never seemed to reach my lungs.

“It’s... possible,” I murmured, the words trembling on my lips. “I can still touch this world.”

The realization sent a shiver through me, excitement and dread intertwining in equal measure. I wasn’t entirely powerless. But whatever I’d just done had taken more out of me than I expected. The bond throbbed faintly, like a heartbeat just out of reach, and for the first time, I felt something other than hatred for it.

Maybe this wasn’t just a chain keeping me tethered. Maybe it was fuel.

Thorne’s footsteps echoed in the distance, pulling me from my thoughts. He was in the living room now, sprawled on the couch with his phone in hand, completely unaware of the flicker of energy I’d unleashed in his space. His indifference sparked a sharp ache in my chest, but I shoved it aside.

I drifted toward the nearest lamp, my eyes narrowing at the bulb. The light seemed to hum faintly, its glow steady and unchanging. Could I touch it? Could I dim it, just for a moment?

The bond stirred again, feeding me just enough strength to try. I reached out, my hand trembling as I focused onthe filament inside. The air around me grew colder, the light flickering once, then twice. Thorne glanced up from his phone, his brow furrowing as he scanned the room.

The flickering stopped, and I stumbled back, drained but triumphant. My form wavered, threatening to dissolve entirely, but I clung to the remnants of my strength.

It was working. Slowly, painfully, but it was working.

I spent what felt like hours testing my limits, pushing the boundaries of what I could do. A chair slid an inch across the floor. A door creaked open just enough to catch the air. The flicker of lights became more consistent, each pulse of energy dragging me closer to the edge of exhaustion.

And yet, with every attempt, I felt the faintest sliver of growth. The bond’s energy wasn’t infinite, but it responded to proximity. The closer I was to Thorne, the stronger I felt, even if the strength was fleeting.

It wasn’t fair. The bond that had tethered me to this hollow existence was now my only source of power. The same bond that had let them reject me, break me, destroy me.

My gaze drifted to Thorne, still lounging on the couch as though nothing had happened. He scrolled through his phone with casual indifference, his lips twitching into a faint smirk at something he read. The urge to shatter the glass beside him, to force him to see me, surged through me like fire.

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