Julian Rane knew the signs by now. The sudden drop in temperature. The way the shadows seemed to shift just a fraction too slow. The prickle on the back of his neck, like an uninvited hand was reaching for him.

She was here. Again.

He didn’t bother to look up from the file spread across his desk. “Don’t,” he muttered.

The faintest scoff curled through the room, and the corner of his vision caught movement—subtle, deliberate. She drifted into view, arms folded, gaze locked on him like he was the most irritating thing she’d ever been cursed with.

Julian ignored her, flipping another page, though the hair-raising chill told him she’d moved closer. Too close. Her eyes skimmed the mess of notes and photographs on his desk, and even without words, he could feel the disdain radiating off her.

A grainy traffic cam photo caught his attention. He plucked it from the pile, holding it up toward her. The woman in the picture was mid-run, rain blurring the edges, but the face—her face—was clear enough to strip the air from the room.

Julian studied her reaction. No sharp retort this time. No smug little quip. Just stillness. A flicker in her expression, quickly masked, but not quick enough for him to miss.

“You were there,” he said, his voice low.

She tilted her head slightly, a ghost of a smile twitching at her mouth—one of those infuriating not-quite-smiles that said she’d never confirm it, even if he already knew the truth.

Julian set the photo down slowly. “You’re not just some random spirit. You’re the thread holding this case together.”

Her brow arched, the movement almost imperceptible, but sharp as a blade. She floated backwards, deliberately breaking the taut line of tension between them.

He followed her with his eyes, jaw tight. “And until I figure out what happened, you’re stuck here. With me.”