Page 26 of Ghoul Me, Maybe
So, I say the only thing that won’t unravel us right here on the floor.
“We need to formalize the truce.”
She raises an eyebrow. “What are we, a fantasy alliance?”
“You want to stop the relic?”
“Yes.”
“You want to break the curse?”
“Obviously.”
“You want me to stop waking up on your floor?”
“I’d prefer it.”
“Then we’re partners. We share what we know. We work the map. We dig up the relic and we end it.”
Her jaw tightens. “And then?”
I hold her gaze. “Then I go. Wherever ghosts go. Wherever cursed sailors are supposed to vanish.”
Her throat bobs. “Right.”
“Do we have a deal?”
She hesitates. Then she pulls something from her pocket. The silver coin.
She presses it into my hand—and this time, itstays.
“For now,” she says, voice low. “We’re in this together.”
The coin pulses.
The room goes quiet.
We’ve made a pact.
And the tide is watching.
Later that night, after the pact’s been sealed with an antique coin and more unresolved feelings than either of us can comfortably process, I find myself sitting on her roof.
Technically, I’m floating just a couple inches above the shingles, but the effect is the same.
Sienna climbs out through the window like she’s done it a hundred times—barefoot, shivering, mug of cheap wine in hand.
She doesn’t look at me right away.
Just plops down beside me and hands me the mug like I’m capable of drinking it.
“Here,” she says. “For the vibe.”
“I can’t drink.”
“Didn’t ask you to.”
I take it anyway. Hold it between my hands. It’s warm. And that’s something.
