Page 119 of Specters & Spotlights

“She says it’s not him, not exactly, but something’s tied to him. Feeding on him. And leaving something behind.”

Graham’s eyes widened. “The Specter?”

“That’s our guess,” Elise said. “He must’ve hitched a ride when Kevin grappled him. Or maybe earlier. We don’t know how long it’s been.”

Kevin exhaled shakily and raised a hand. “Actually…”

They both turned toward him. His usual levity had faded, replaced with something tight and uncertain.

“She’s right,” he said quietly. “I didn’t notice at first. It’s subtle. But now that I’ve been fully materialized for a while…” He frowned, flexing his fingers like he was testing the air. “I feel… thinner. Like there’s less of me in the room than there should be.”

The ghost woman nodded, solemn and sharp. “Yes. The more you fade, the stronger the presence will grow. It’s using you as a foothold. A tether.”

Kevin glanced at Elise, and for a moment he looked almost—fragile. Transparent in more ways than one.

“I don’t know how long I can hold my shape,” he said, softly.

Elise’s stomach dropped.

“How… how fast are you fading?” Elise asked.

Kevin shrugged—but it wasn’t his usual breezy deflection. It was smaller. Quieter. Tired.

“I don’t think it’s hours,” he said. “At least, I hope not. But it’s probably not weeks either.” He tilted his head, as if listening inward. “Maybe days? I might be able to tell more once I’ve… felt it a little longer.”

Elise crossed her arms, shoulders drawn tight. Absorbing that.

“He’s guessing he’s got days left,” she said to Graham, her voice clipped at the edges. Controlled—but only just. “But it’s not a sure thing.”

Graham looked at her, really looked—at the set of her jaw, the too-still way she was standing. She wasn’t trembling, but she was bracing like she might start.

He stepped closer.

Both hands on her shoulders. Firm. Grounding. Present.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I might not understand all of this. I don’t know how to fix it. But you are not alone in this. Not for a second.”

Elise met his eyes. She didn’t speak. But she didn’t look away.

The old woman’s voice cut through the silence like a conductor’s cue.

“This is all our problem now,” she said crisply.

She turned her gaze back to Kevin, nose wrinkling like she smelled something rotting. “You’ve infected our opera house with the stench of this evil. Whether you meant to or not.”

Her tone was flinty. Final.

“This thing won’t take root here. If it already has, we’ll tear it out—even if it means cutting loose whatever’s already been claimed.”

Her eyes lingered on Kevin—not cold, exactly, but calculating. Measuring him again. Weighing what he might cost.

The intent was clear: if it came down to saving him or saving the theatre, she’d choose the building. Without hesitation.

Elise stepped forward, her tone sharp. “Who’s we? Who else is around here?”

The woman looked at her, slightly surprised by the interruption, before turning on her heel and striding back toward the worn wooden chair. She moved like she still had bones, every step precise and full of purpose. Reaching down, she picked up the cane propped against the wall, its weight somehow real in her ghostly grip.

Then, without warning, she rapped it sharply on the floor. Twice. The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.