I’m standing at the altar, veil trembling in the autumn wind, Rory’s hand cold in mine. The church bells toll, but all I hear is the static hum of the dead. Then—laughter. A familiar, greasy cackle cuts through the hymns.

He steps out of the shadows, striped suit askew, yellow teeth grinning. "Surprise, babes. Did you miss me?"

Betelgeuse. Again.

He flicks his wrist, and Rory collapses, twitching, as truth serum floods his veins. "I don’t believe in ghosts," Rory gasps. "I just wanted your ratings… your money…"

The guests scream. I should run. But Astrid steps forward, eyes blazing. "He’s not your husband," she says, holding up the contract. "You brought Mom here illegally. The Netherworld voids it."

Betelgeuse snarls. "You little—"

Then she whistles. From the garden, sand erupts. A Titan sandworm rises, maw wide.

"Let’s send you back where you belong."

Do I stop her? Let him burn in damnation? Or take his hand one last time—knowing he’ll never let go?