Page 57 of Wraith

Of course not.

I turned the screen off, tossing my phone onto the table, leaning back into the couch. It didn’t matter.

Because I had moved on.

And if the nightmares came? If I woke up gasping for breath, a whisper curling in my ear that wasn’t really there? If I stared at my reflection in the mirror some mornings and half-expected to see something standing behind me?

That was my problem.

And I’d deal with it.

Because I had to.

Thirty-Six

The theater had been abandonedfor months, left to rot just like they had left her. Just like I had left her.

I ran my fingers over the cracked wooden floors, trailing through the grime and filth that had settled over time. It was wrong. She deserved better.

A bucket of soapy water sat next to me, already murky from the filth I had scrubbed away. The sponge in my hand was ruined, torn and darkened by the grime, but I kept working, pressing down, pushing against the floorboards like if I scrubbed hard enough, I could erase the past.

But there was one thing I couldn’t erase.

The stain. Her stain.

I had tried everything. Bleach, industrial cleaner, even my own nails, scraping against the wood until my fingertips ached. But it wouldn’t leave. Her blood had seeped too deep into the stage.

A sharp exhale left my lungs as I sat back on my heels, staring at the dark mark. It had faded some, but it was still there, embedded into the wood like a scar that refused to heal.

A scar. A reminder. A gift.

My fingers trembled as I reached out, pressing my palm against the stain. The wood was colder there, as if it still held the memory of her last breath. She was still here.

I swallowed hard, curling forward, letting my weight settle over the spot. The dampness seeped into my shirt, the outline of her death soaking into my skin. If I closed my eyes, I could almost feel her beneath me.

“I tried, Lilith,” I whispered, pressing my forehead against the floor. “I tried to clean it, but you won’t let me, will you?”

Silence.

A stillness in the air that hadn’t been there before.

A breath left my lips, shaky and uneven, but my chest swelled with something deep and warm. She wanted me to see it. To feel it.

My body relaxed against the floor as I let the truth settle into my bones. This was where she had fallen. This was where she had left us. This was where she had stayed.

A laugh bubbled up in my throat—soft, breathless. I should have known she would never leave me.

“You belonged with us,” I murmured, my fingers tracing lazy patterns over the bloodstain. “I just didn’t see it soon enough.”

Another silence. Another breath of cold air against my skin.

She was listening.

I rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling where the broken stage lights hung in rusted fixtures. My arms stretchedout over the floor, as if I could hold the stain, hold her. Maybe if I stayed here long enough, she would finally reach back.

The old chandelier swayed slightly, though there was no breeze, no open doors or windows. Just the theater and the darkness and the stain that refused to fade.

My pulse thrummed beneath my skin. She was waiting for me.

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