The forest was thick with fog, the kind that swallowed light and sound.
Charlize moved through it like a sleepwalker, her eyes glassy, her steps uncertain.
"Mirror, mirror on the wall," she murmured, as though she were back in her bathroom, staring into that familiar glass.
"Who is the most famous of them all?"
The mirror answered, voice smooth and coaxing.
"It's you, Charlize. You're the brightest star. Just stay on this path. Everything you've ever wanted is right ahead."
It was the same voice she'd heard in her dreams, whispering promises that always felt just out of reach.
Charlize smiled faintly, as if reassured. "Just keep going…"
But then a new voice broke through the haze—firm, feminine.
"Don't go any further."
The mirror flickered, and another face emerged—blond hair, pale skin, haunting eyes—a woman who looked unsettlingly like Charlize.
"You've rejected me so many times," the woman said.
"Why not this time?"
Charlize blinked, the fog in her mind lifting just enough to recognize the face.
Alexis.
The ghost. The one who had nearly killed her.
She wasn't just a memory—Christian had helped craft a dreamscape where Alexis could live out the life she was denied.
In those dreams, Alexis wasn't just another failed actress; she was a star.
Charlize had watched her live it—starring in blockbusters, gracing magazine covers, holding trophies aloft. And Charlize? She was just the assistant—a silent observer.
A small part of her had admired Alexis and envied her. The raw talent. The ease. The presence.
"If I could act like that," Charlize had once thought, and she'd tried—subtly copying Alexis, letting her style bleed into her performances.
But the magic never quite translated.
Now, the ghost in the mirror—Alexis—spoke again.
"I envy you, Sally."
The name hit Charlize like cold water. Sally.
The name she used when she didn't want to be recognized.
"Envy me?" Charlize snapped, suddenly defensive.
"I claw for every role, fight to be noticed, and get rumors and backroom whispers in return. You're a ghost who won't let go."
"Yes," Alexis said, calm and bitter.
"And that's exactly why I envy you. You're still alive. You still have a chance. I don't."
She hesitated, then added, "But what I envy most is… when you found me, you also found him. And I never—"
The mirror fractured.
A thousand shards exploded outward, vanishing into the fog.
The forest swallowed the light, and the cold pressed in like hands.
Charlize gasped, suddenly aware that she wasn't in her apartment.
She wasn't even in her bed on set. She was somewhere else.
"What—" she started, but a hand clamped over her mouth.
"Don't speak," came a low voice in her ear.
"It's me. Christian."
Her body relaxed instinctively at the name.
Christian Booth had a knack for showing up when things got weird—and this was definitely weird. He had the weariness of someone who'd seen too much and kept going anyway, wrapped in a trench coat that smelled like ash and old rain.
He didn't know every detail of what Charlize had been through, but he'd seen the signs: the disorientation, the spiritual residue. He'd been on a night patrol, following a disturbance, and found her caught in something... old. Something unfinished.
Alexis shouldn't still be here.
He'd tried to exorcise her once already, but it hadn't stuck.
There was something different about her—a tether stronger than most spirits he dealt with. Not rage. Not revenge.
Something more complicated. Dangerous, because it still felt.
Christian's eyes scanned the shadows.
"She's clever. Slipping through cracks between dreams and memory. That kind of ghost doesn't scream or throw things. She whispers."
"She said you were the reason she stayed," Charlize whispered, her voice tight.
"That she never got to meet you. But I did."
Christian frowned slightly, but didn't respond. He was already thinking ahead.
Possibilities, rituals, countermeasures. Whatever this was, it wasn't over.
Charlize looked at him. "So you showed up to shut me up before I screamed and woke the rest of the crew?"
"Something like that," he said.
"And to keep the ghost off your trail—at least for now."
The forest was still. Too still.
Christian exhaled. "This one's not just dead. She's unfinished. We're going to have to dig deeper."
And with that, the fog began to shift again, like something was listening.
"Yes, I was worried your scream would wake Annika… and the ghost riding her shadow," Christian said calmly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"So yeah, I covered your mouth. Hope you'll forgive the theatrics."
The explanation made sense—sort of—but something about it felt like deflection. Charlize raised an eyebrow.
"You could've just stayed with Annika," she said.
"I'd have gone back on my own. Unless you thought something might happen to me?"
Christian shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe I wanted to see what Alexis would do next. Ghosts don't usually stick around after they're forced out."
Charlize studied him. He wasn't denying it. There was something else behind his eyes—professional interest, maybe.
Or concern, he didn't want to show.
"But we're standing pretty close to Annika," she said.
"Why doesn't she notice us?"
"She's sleepwalking, in a sense," Christian replied.
"Spirits like the one haunting her pull people into half-states—caught between the physical and the spectral. She won't see us."
"And the ghost?"
Christian raised two fingers, revealing a withered oak leaf pinched between them.
Its veins glimmered faintly, like threads of starlight.
"Rowan charm," he said.
"Old Celtic warding trick. Not much use against the living, but to the dead? We're practically invisible."
Charlize tilted her head. "Invisible? You seem solid enough to me."
He gave her a faint smirk. "To the living, sure. But Alexis still caught a glimpse. Either she's strong… or stubborn."
"Or both," Charlize muttered.
Then, glancing toward Annika, added, "She's more haunted than I thought."
Christian nodded grimly. "I've dealt with a lot of hauntings, but this one's deeper. I asked about your experiences earlier and what you saw. You couldn't explain. Neither could Annika. That's not a good sign."
She folded her arms, the chill of the forest finally catching up with her.
"And what happens now? Alexis is still out there."
"I'll have to try again," Christian said.
"First exorcism didn't take. That doesn't usually happen."
Charlize gave him a sidelong glance.
"You keep saying Annika's haunted. But I don't see anything. Do ghosts only show themselves to certain people? Like Hamlet's father?"
Christian gave a dark chuckle.
"No royal bloodlines here. Ghosts don't work that way. You see them only if you've got what we call the Sight. Most people don't."
"The Sight?" she asked.
"You mean, like... a third eye?"
"Some call it that," he replied.
"Old mystics talked about the 'veil.' Piercing it lets you see what's usually hidden. Most people never do."
"Can anyone open it?"
Christian hesitated. "Yeah. But it's not a parlor trick. Once you open that door, you don't get to close it."
Charlize fell quiet. The woods seemed to hum with unease.
Christian's expression shifted. His eyes weren't on her anymore.
He was staring into something she couldn't see—beyond the trees, past the edge of reality.
"I don't believe this," he whispered.
"What?"
"I'm seeing... a gathering," he said slowly.
"Like a market, or a crossroads. Hundreds of them. Pale shapes. Lost souls. This shouldn't be here."
Before Charlize could respond, a voice echoed around them—smooth, strange, and inviting.
"Our guest of honor has arrived. Why not stay a while?"
The fog pulled back, revealing a host of spectral figures emerging from the dark.
Their eyes, hollow and glowing faintly, all turned toward them.
Charlize's breath hitched. She could see them now—every one of them. Dozens. Hundreds. Faces blurred by death, but watching her with intent.
Christian gave a wry smile, tinged with resignation.
"Well, there goes my invisibility charm."
Charlize's voice was barely a whisper.
"What is this place?"
Christian stared into the shifting crowd, jaw tight.
"I don't know. But we're standing in something very old. And very wrong."
For the first time, Charlize truly felt it—cold, thick, and ancient. Not just fear, but something deeper.
A sense that she was trespassing where the living weren't welcome.
And the dead had noticed.