Mallory was one of the weirdest people he knew, but in a way that was much preferable to the other weird people that Luke had in his life. He was content to let her talk, jumping in with nods and small comments as necessary, and it was only when he finally opened his mouth to speak that he heard the commotion on the rink. The girl rising in the air, the weird echo to her words. Nothing important, nothing unusual for Lethe, even as his grip tightened on Malloryâs hand and his eyes flickered to the figures. They moved across the ice, not solid, not real, not until they crossed the threshold of the rink and their features sharpened. A man stood in front of Mallory, and her words cut off abruptly. Almost. The figure reached a hand out, as if to touch her cheek, and Luke yanked her back several steps out of its reach. âThis is your dad?â he asked, narrow-eyed, and then caught sight of a familiar figure over the manâs shoulders. Someone who was most certainly dead, given Luke had killed him several weeks ago. A traitor, or so his mother had told him. âFuck. Your dad is dead, too, isnât he?â he murmured, and his grip tightened on Malloryâs. âMal, we canât stay here.â The figure of her father was still staring at her, expression icy, and Luke gave her a tiny shake. âHey, that isnât your dad.â Or, maybe it was, but Luke didnât know and didnât care. âAnd if he is, he isnât real. He canât hurt us.â Or, so he thought, until her father reached out and touched someone running by them. The person froze in place, eyes wild, and then they collapsed into a heap on the ground, whimpering, and Malloryâs father looked⌠a little more solid. A little less like a shitty ghost on a shitty television show. âFuck.â
Mal nodded, the movement shaky and unnerved. She slowly followed Lukeâs gaze to a stranger and then back to her father. âY-yeah, no, letâs go.â She looked back up at Luke, her own eyes wild and frightened as she tried to pull herself together. Where was Eden? Had she made it to bed? God she hoped so. She didnât want her dad, or whatever that was if Luke was right, anywhere near her. âOkay,â she whispered, trying to believe him, trying to get her brain to not feel threatened. But her fight or flight was kicking in, the PTSD was triggered and she could feel her muscles tightening. The feeling only got worse when she saw him grab someone, watched them fall, watched him seem to be strengthened. âLuke,â she whispered. âOh my god, Luke, we need to go. He is a- Heâs a really bad guy, Luke.â How do you fight a ghost? she wanted to ask.