Page 32 of Ghoul Me, Maybe
A rift tears across the clouds like a wound—just for a second. Lightning with no thunder. Every compass needle in Lowtide Bluffs spins. The tide shifts out of rhythm, and the ocean goes utterly still.
I step closer, almost out of instinct. Her breath catches, and when our fingers brush, the worldshifts.
Not just around us.
Insideus.
It’s like falling through light. Like drowning in heat. Like all the times I should’ve died rushing back to claim their toll in a single breath.
A blast of energy rips out from where we stand—wild, hot, ancient. Strong enough to rattle the ground and silence every cricket in the valley.
We collapse back, breathing hard, hearts racing in a sync they shouldn’t have.
She clutches her chest, eyes wide. “What the hell was that?”
I stare at my hands. They’re shimmering faintly, humming with that same charged magic that tore the clouds. “I think we just anchored.”
“To what?”
“To each other.”
She looks shaken. Beautiful. Fierce.
And completely unready for what’s coming.
Neither am I.
But it’s too late now.
The storm’s already here.
She stands five feet away, but it may as well be five inches.
Sienna’s arms are wrapped tight around herself, but I can see the shiver that rides her spine isn’t from the wind. The sky’sstill twitching from what we just did—anchored, connected, whatever the hell you want to call it—and now the world’s waiting to see what comes next.
So are we.
“I can feel you,” she says, voice low and raw. “When you’re close. Not like before. Not like a chill or a breeze. It’s inside my skin.”
I take a cautious step forward. The air between us thickens, like sap stretching between trees.
She gasps, her hand flying to her chest. “That.”
Her skin is glowing faintly, a pulse of blue-white energy along the veins in her wrist, like a phosphorescent tide trapped in flesh.
“I’m not doing this on purpose,” I murmur. “You’re reacting to me.”
She meets my eyes, and there’s a war in hers—curiosity battling fear, stubbornness strangling vulnerability. “It’s not just you. It’s the town. It’s… the tide.”
I raise an eyebrow. “The tide?”
Sienna turns, her gaze sweeping the coast. The sea glimmers oddly under the moon, reflective as glass, still as death.
“I started noticing it this week,” she says. “When you’re nearby… the tide pulls harder. Like it’s being drawn to shore.”
“I’ve always felt something in the water,” I admit. “Even in death. But now? It’s like the ocean’s listening again.”
She steps closer. Sparks pop in the air between us—tiny bursts of silver static.
