But the subject line had carved itself into my thoughts like a splinter. I spent the next two days convincing myself it was nothing. A prank. A weird digital hallucination. But on the third night, I found myself walking the old service path behind the abandoned textile mill on the edge of town. I hadn't been there since I was seventeen, the summer before my father left. Back then, we used to dare each other to climb the rusted water tower. Now, the path was choked with milkweed and shattered glass.
I opened it.
I walked home in the dark, my shoes soaked, my chest light. I didn't sleep. I didn't need to. For the first time in years, I wasn't searching for something. Searching for- spiraling spirit in-
I was already inside it.
The spirit in the spiral wasn't a ghost. It was the part of me I'd locked away when I decided to be practical. But the subject line had carved itself into