The elevator rose silently, each floor a step deeper into a life I didn’t belong to. My fingers trembled around the strap of my bag—old habit, nerves from the inside. Then the doors opened, and there she was: Lily, barefoot, holding a crayon drawing of a woman with flames in her hair.

"You’re the one from the picture," she said. "Mommy drew you before she died."

My breath stopped. I’d never met his wife. But clearly, someone had.

Before I could respond, a voice cut from the shadows: "You’ve got five minutes to explain why my daughter just called you a ghost."

Alex Hill stepped into the light, eyes sharp as broken glass. The job, the fresh start, the promise of peace—it all balanced on a single lie about to unravel.