She fumbled her keys into the lock and stepped inside, slamming the door behind her and sliding down to the floor, her chest heaving.
The apartment was quiet eerily quiet.
And then
"…Loud as ever," a flat voice commented.
Cassie startled violently. "AHHH!"
Adrian was standing by the windowsill, holding her dead cactus plant upside down. Dirt sprinkled onto the floor.
"What the hell!" she yelled. "You can't just materialize into people's homes without knocking!"
"I don't knock," he said, dropping the pot onto the table. "Doors are a human concept."
"Then respect the concept!" she snapped, standing up shakily.
He glanced at her face and frowned. "You saw another one."
Cassie scoffed and dragged her fingers through her hair. "Of course I did. They're everywhere now! Lurking in mirrors, sitting next to me on buses, following me home like clingy exes!"
"Marcuk?"
She froze.
"You know him?"
"I know of him," Adrian replied coolly, strolling past her and inspecting the ghost-painting she'd done on the wall last week. "Seventeen. Aspiring dancer. Cardiac arrest. Body buried in Forest Edge Cemetery. Death was officially declared 'sudden natural causes.'"
"But it wasn't natural, was it?" she asked, her voice a whisper.
Adrian turned, meeting her eyes.
"No."
Cassie sat on the couch, burying her face in her hands. "God. I'm losing it."
"You're adapting."
"To seeing ghosts? To hearing death stories? To being asked to take down a supernatural pop star?" She looked up, her voice thick. "I'm not you, okay? You're… death personified or whatever. I'm just a girl with a haunted sketchbook!"
He tilted his head. "You think I don't know that?"
Cassie sniffled, wiping at her eyes. "Why me?"
Adrian crossed his arms. "You opened your third eye when you touched the relic. You became attuned to souls that can't pass on. They see you now."
"Well, I don't want to see them!" she exploded, jumping to her feet. "I don't want to wake up to ghosts floating over my bed! I don't want to investigate freaky celebrity scandals or spirit murders! I want to go back to normal!"
"You were never normal," he said flatly.
"Gee, thanks."
He watched her with unreadable eyes for a long moment before he finally spoke again.
"Marcuk isn't the only one. There have been others."
Cassie stared. "Others…?"
Adrian nodded.
"But how?"
"Destiny Swapping". He said coldly, his eyes narrowed.
Cassie felt her blood chill.
She swallowed. "Is that why she's famous? Why she's… perfect?"
He nodded once.
"Great," Cassie muttered, collapsing onto the couch again. "So, the people at the top of society are literally stealing our destinies."
Adrian raised a brow. "Was that sarcasm or an epiphany?"
"Both," she muttered. "What am I supposed to do with this, Mr Death?"
"You've already done the hardest part," he said, surprisingly gently.
She looked up.
"You listened to a ghost."
Cassie exhaled slowly.
Marcuk hadn't begged to be seen. He had pleaded to be heard.
And she had.
Even if she was scared. Even if she wanted to scream and run.
She had stayed.
She met Adrian's gaze. "If I look into this, will you help me?"
He gave a short nod. "You'll need protection."
"Figures." Cassie sighed. "Pretty, powerful, and possessed. And I'm just the underpaid cake girl."
Adrian quirked a brow. "Your cake collapsed in the middle today."
"I know," she groaned. "Don't remind me."
Cassie had always considered herself a magnet for bad luck, but this week was testing new limits. Not only was she being followed by ghosts, but now she was unraveling a mystery that pointed to a national sweetheart, a goddess of screens and skincare - Liya.
The woman on every billboard. The muse in every ad. The girl Cassie used to adore.
It was strange how admiration curdled into dread once the truth crept in like fog under a locked door.
Earlier that morning, Cassie had found herself pacing her small living room, hair a frizzy mess, eyes shadowed from yet another sleepless night. Adrian no, Yama, she corrected with a mental groan was perched coolly on her windowsill as though he owned the breeze.
"You look like death warmed over," he commented flatly, sipping tea she definitely did not brew for him.
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Grim Reaper. You always know just how to make a girl feel radiant."
"Stop pacing," he said, not even blinking. "It's irritating."
Cassie pointed a finger at him. "You're irritating. And your tea-drinking habit is suspiciously human for someone who claims to be the lord of the underworld."
"Some rituals cross realms."
She rolled her eyes but gave in and slumped onto her couch. "So, Marcuk. The ghost kid. You're not going to help me figure out how this mega-star is connected to his death?"
"This is your mess."
She stared at him, mouth open. "So… that's it? I'm just supposed to go Sherlock Holmes on this celebrity ghost-murder case by myself?"
Yama sipped his tea again. "You've done well so far. Besides, this Liya person is… intriguing. I'm curious how deep her darkness runs."
"Of course you are. You're like a raccoon for misery."
"You're the one chasing ghosts."
Cassie groaned and grabbed her phone. "Fine. I'll investigate. But if I die, I'm haunting you."
Yama gave the faintest smirk. "You wouldn't be the first."
Cassie's first stop was the public library.
Armed with an ancient desktop and patience that was already fraying, she began pulling up every news article and gossip blog she could find about Liya.
The rabbit hole was deeper than expected.
Five years ago, Liya had been an unknown. A pretty girl from a poor district with no known connections in the entertainment industry. Then, out of nowhere, she became a nationwide sensation. One role led to another, each bigger than the last. Brand endorsements flooded in, and soon, she was hailed as the "fairy of fortune." Everything she touched turned to gold.
Too fast. Too clean.
Cassie narrowed her eyes as she read about the first manager Liya had, an older woman named Vicki who abruptly retired due to "personal reasons" just before Liya's breakthrough. Another article mentioned a scandal involving a co-star who mysteriously dropped out of a high-profile film. He died two months later in a tragic car accident.
The coincidences began piling up like corpses in a murder mystery.
Cassie leaned back, whispering to herself, "It's like… the more she shines, the more people around her fade."
She pulled out her notebook and jotted down a few key names. Vicki. The co-star, Jamie. And the one Marcuk saw the night of his death.
Dark eyes. Pink heels. Silky voice.
It could've been any woman. But the ghost boy's desperation echoed in her ears. Help me, please.
If Liya was tied to this...no, if she was really absorbing people's fortunes, then Marcuk might've been her most recent victim.
Cassie's blood ran cold.
That evening, she walked out of the library just as the city's lights began to bloom. Giant screens played Liya's latest perfume ad. Billboards flashed her signature smile.
Cassie glared up at the perfect image. "You're hiding something, aren't you?"
A passing couple gave her a strange look, and she quickly walked away, cheeks warm.
As she waited for the bus, a cold wave prickled down her spine. She didn't turn. Didn't blink. Just stiffened as the familiar chill pressed against her neck.
He's here again.
She boarded the bus with a stony face, choosing the window seat farthest back. The teenage ghost appeared beside her.
Marcuk's eyes were wide, desperate. "She took it. She...my future, I saw it...she stole it!"
Cassie didn't look at him. She whispered, "Stop. Not here. People will think I'm crazy."
"No one else sees me."
"I know!" she hissed, fighting tears. "That's the problem!"
The woman next to her raised an eyebrow. Cassie smiled nervously and turned to the window. The rest of the ride was silent except for Marcuk's low, sorrowful presence.
When she reached her stop and stepped out into the humid night, the ghost was waiting on the sidewalk.
"No one believes me," he whispered.
"I'm not surprised!" she snapped. "You keep showing up like a horror movie extra. I'm not a psychic! I paint sad ghosts and barely make rent. What do you want from me?"
"I want peace."
Cassie inhaled sharply.
Harin's voice trembled. "I didn't want to die. I had dreams. I was going to be an artist. I had a scholarship offer. She… she touched my hand. That night. I felt it drain. I couldn't breathe after."
Cassie's fury melted. She knelt in front of him, her eyes wet.
"I'll help you," she whispered. "But you need to give me everything. Names. Details. Anything you remember."
The ghost nodded slowly, the streetlight flickering overhead.
Back in her apartment, Cassie jotted Marcuk's fragmented memories into a new page of her notebook.
Liya. Pink heels. White perfume. Smile like a blade.
Her gut twisted. She remembered how Liya had smiled in every video, every commercial. Sweet. Pure. The nation's darling.
But behind that smile, there was something unnatural.
That night, Adrian appeared again, this time without warning sitting on her bed as if he'd been waiting, startling Cassie. She scrowled at the sight of him.
"You're close," he said quietly.
Cassie blinked. "Close to what?"
"To her truth. Be careful."