“Say something! Do something! Please…”

  Ariel sank back into her mind, but this time she was ready for the fall. The drop into the void did not steal her breath as before; she held steady, her thoughts anchored on Holly. Darkness swallowed her, weightless and endless, until at last her feet touched gently down on a surface she could not see but felt beneath her like stone.

  She looked around into the fathomless black and called out softly, “Holly?” Her voice echoed, stretching and folding back upon itself. With each repetition, the void began to ripple. Shapes stirred. Color seeped in like smoke.

  The apartment took form around her, slowly solidifying: the couch, the table, the kitchen, the warmth of lived-in space. It was as it had been the last time, except this time there was no urn on the mantle. Ariel’s breath caught as the scene sharpened further. Lila, Marissa, and Maddy sat at the kitchen table, their voices soft but steady as they spoke.

  “Do you think Holly will even come out of her room today?” Lila asked gently, worry threading her words.

  “She hasn’t eaten much since yesterday,” Marissa replied, her voice hushed. “I’m making soup, just in case she feels up to it.”

  Maddy fidgeted with a napkin, her usually boundless energy muted. “I just… I don’t know what to say to her right now. Every time I try, I feel like I’m failing her.”

  Ariel froze where she stood, heart pounding. Tears pricked her eyes as she looked upon them; her friends, faces dear and achingly familiar. Each word they spoke cut and comforted her in equal measure: grief at hearing Holly’s pain, but a fragile warmth at knowing these three still stood watch over her. She said nothing, only stood still, drinking in the sound of their voices, letting it wash over her like a balm she had been starved of.

  Ariel pulled her gaze away from the kitchen table and turned toward the bedroom door. Her steps were slow, hesitant, her chest tightening at the thought of seeing Holly in grief. She reached the doorframe and peeked in.

  Holly sat on the bed, a bag open in front of her. Her face was raw with sorrow, her hands trembling as she sifted through its contents. Ariel’s breath hitched. Inside the bag were her things, the belongings she’d carried the night she died. Holly lifted Ariel’s wedding ring, tracing a finger along its edges, tears falling freely.

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  Ariel moved closer, her knees weak, and lowered herself onto the bed beside her. She stared, helpless, drinking in Holly’s every detail: the set of her mouth, the slump of her shoulders, the way grief clung to her like a shroud.

  “Can you hear me?” Ariel whispered, her voice fragile with hope.

  No response. Holly didn’t stir.

  Ariel sighed, lowering her gaze. Her mind raced, searching for some way to bridge the void between them. The Wisp’s words echoed: Not corporeal, not wholly ghost. If she was able to sit here, then surely...surely she could do more.

  Her eyes swept the room until they landed on the dresser. Her phone sat there, still and familiar, its shape etched into her memory. Ariel stood, moving toward it, her heart pounding. She reached out, hesitating, then let her hand fall upon it.

  Contact. The cool, familiar edges pressed into her palm. She tried to lift it, but it would not move. She tried again, straining, but it remained stubborn. Frustration tightened her jaw until instinct drove her to tap the screen.

  It lit up.

  Her breath caught. She couldn’t move it, but she could interact with it. She swiped, navigating shakily through the menus until her messages opened. Her thumb hovered. A text message… no. Her chest clenched. Holly receiving a message from her dead wife, now of all times, could shatter her.

  Ariel pulled back, scrolling instead. Her eyes landed on an app. Voice Memos. Her heart skipped.

  She stared at it for a long moment, her hand trembling. Memories surfaced: late-night reminders, silly notes, words she’d sent her team. Her voice, captured and stored. Holly had always teased her about how often she used it, but Holly listened too. Holly laughed at them. Loved them.

  Ariel opened the app and started a new recording. She held her breath, steadying herself, and then poured everything into her words: “Holly! Violet! I will find you again! I promise! I love you!”

  As the last word left her, the apartment began to warp. The air shimmered, bending, colors twisting. Ariel’s pulse quickened. She stopped the recording and swiftly typed a name for the file: Violet!

  The world shook harder. Ariel’s eyes locked on her wife one last time as the scene broke apart. The last thing she saw before everything exploded into light was Holly’s fingers stretching toward the device.