Coburn is twitchy, today. He keeps glancing over his shoulder like something is about to grab him, and he’s got an old handkerchief - like, an actual handkerchief - gripped in his hand. He keeps lifting his glasses to dab sweat from his face.

He’s on edge, that’s good news. The even better news is that he’s clearly noticed us. Aiden and I have taken this tour three times, now. We won’t take it again after this, but we will come back to linger and lurk in the showroom, as we have been.

I have a small black notepad and a pen. Kasey told me to look like I’m writing important things down.

This tour is boring, I scribble out. You look cute, though. For such a giant, that is. Like, your butt looks great in those jeans.

I nudge Aiden’s arm and show him the notebook, making sure that Coburn sees me do it. Aiden’s blue eyes speedily read what I wrote out, and he’s forced to look solemn, nod silently. He leans over, ostensibly to murmur something very serious in my ear.

“You want to get tacos on the way home?” he whispers.

I cross out the previous line in my notebook, and write: or Indian food? I could go for a samosa.

Aiden pulls out his own notebook, stares pointedly at Coburn for a moment, and writes: tough choice. Are we picking up dinner for Kent and Ellen, too? Should we see what they’re in the mood for?

Coburn, who is watching, has only seen us exchange a few soft-spoken words and jot down a few hasty sentences, looking deadly serious all the while. His eyebrows furrow, like he’s trying to figure us out - good, yes, good - but then his gaze flits away again, and he clears his throat.

“Oh, excuse me,” he tells the group. Everyone’s been waiting awkwardly, made uneasy by his temporary lapse into silence. “I’m just a little…”

“Cold?” Aiden suggests, as if he’s not the one responsible for it. He still has the nib of the pen pressed to the notebook.

“Yes.” Coburn turns to him, his face startled and ashen. “Yes.”

Aiden nods - once, and sharply, like he already knew the answer - then jots something down in the notebook, and closes it with a snap.

~~~~

That night, in the Ghost Office, Kasey watches the live video feed of Coburn, who is pacing in circles around his desk. She’s clearly deep in thought, observing his movements with close attention.

We’ve spent the last week and a half making trips to the Bratton Collection. Dunking Coburn into sudden cold, playing the shuffling footsteps, closing and opening doors. Aiden is getting really good at that. He even closed the door successfully after Coburn tried propping it open with a chair.

As we hoped, Coburn has stopped trying to make other people see or feel what he’s experiencing. He’s made it a secret, presumably so that people don’t think he’s had some kind of stress snap. But it’s obvious from his behavior that he knows he’s not imagining this. He keeps taking out the two notes that we left him. He’ll sit there, staring at them, then shove them into his desk drawer and lock it. As if that might trap whatever’s after him.

He’s jumpy, on edge, peering intently at every shadow he passes. Aiden and I watched him nearly fall over when a gauzy white coverup fluttered in the coat check; we saw him almost scream when Tom tapped his shoulder unexpectedly.

“I think…” Kasey says, her eyes still on the laptop, “That it’s time.”

No one speaks, for a moment.

“And you’re not just saying that because of Will?” Aiden finally asks.

It’s a fair question. Will’s unexplained silence is making all of us anxious, and Kasey most of all. Yes, he’s already dead, but we’re worried about him, anyways. He’s part of this team.

Will’s radio silence makes the pressure on the heist feel even greater. If we get the locket, we can unlock the map, and then... hopefully, the next step will become clear, and we can summon him.

So it’s no surprise that Kasey is vying to get this thing kicked off.

She considers Aiden's question before she answers.

“If we push Coburn much farther, he’s going to think he needs a long vacation, or he might quit, or start trying to get outside help for the problem. Suppose he gets his own hidden camera for his office, hmm? I can’t believe he hasn’t thought of that yet, honestly. We have him exactly where we need him, right now, and delaying only leaves time for problems to come up. It’s not about Will. It’s just - it’s time.”

A beat of silence passes. I lean a hand on the workbench, swallowing hard.

“It’s time,” Aiden repeats, chewing on his lip. He glances up at me, then does a double-take, noticing how pale I’ve gone. He moves to lock his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder. I lean back into him, let his warmth and closeness steady me out.

“You guys will do great.” Kasey speaks firmly, but I can hear the thread of nervousness in her voice. “Everything will be fine. I only wish that I could come, too.”

On the video feed, Coburn suddenly leaps out of his chair as the wind rattles his closed window. He was looking at the notes again: the first, which says GIVE IT BACK, and the second, which says IT’S MINE.

The first is in pieces. Coburn tore it up last week and threw it into the bin under his desk. We saw him do it on the camera feed, so we went on another late-night mission, to retrieve the pieces and reassemble the note, which we then left on the desk for him to find the next morning. The night missions are much easier now that we know the patrol patterns Davis and Michael usually stick to.

On the screen before us, Coburn sweeps both notes into the drawer again, then pauses, thinking.

We all freeze as he swivels and strides directly to the bookshelf where the camera is hidden. My heart plunges, my fingers turning cold.

We watch him examine the bookshelf. He trails his fingers along the dusty spines. Extracts a book, polishes the cover on his sleeve, and holds it up to the light. The gold-stamped title glimmers against the leather binding. Haunting Experiences: Ghosts in Contemporary Folklore. Coburn takes the book to his desk, sits down, and flips it open.

We let out a collective breath.

“Think I agree, Kasey,” Aiden says. “It’s time to do this.”

She looks to me. “Jamie?”

I’d love to put it off, but - it’s inarguable. As always, Kasey is right.

“Yeah.” I nod slowly. “It’s time. Let’s do it.”

~~~~

Aiden’s backpack sits by mine at the door. We’re all packed, the car is gassed up, and Destinee is going to cover my shifts this weekend. Everything is ready to go for tomorrow.

I think I’d be spiraling into a nervous meltdown, but it’s hard to do so with Aiden’s body wrapped around mine. What we’ve been doing for the past hour has definitely helped take my mind off of things, but now that we’ve gotten our breaths back and cuddled up, everything I’m worried about is trying to fight its way back into my head.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Aiden murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. I close my eyes, try to focus on the feeling of his skin pressed to mine. It always calms me down, I’m finding, just like the rumble of his deep voice, or the steady beating of his heart.

“As long as we’re together,” I tell him.

Aiden twirls a strand of my hair between his fingers, then pushes a soft kiss into my neck, holding me tight in his arms.

Thank god he’s here, or I probably wouldn’t get more than five minutes of sleep tonight.

Thank god he’s here for a billion reasons, including that one I can’t bring myself to tell him about.

Not quite yet.

~~~~

We leave when Aiden is done with work on Friday. Night has already fallen by the time we set out.

My car makes a sad little coughing noise as we head for the highway.

I smooth my fingers over the fraying steering wheel, wincing. “Hang in there, buddy.”

“Honestly, how is this thing still running?” Aiden asks.

“I told you before! It runs on love, and I love it! Don’t be mean to my car.”

“Nah, I love it, too. I just can’t believe it even turns on, that’s all.”

The nighttime darkness wraps around us when we pull onto a narrow, tree-lined road. There are no streetlights, and my headlights can only cut so far ahead, so I drive slowly. This is an unfamiliar route.

We won’t be visiting Coburn tonight. We’re heading to a town near the Bratton Collection - the only town near the Bratton Collection - to check into a little hotel, where we’ll be staying for a few days.

“Is the hotel nice?” I ask Aiden, who was in charge of booking it.

“There’s nowhere else to stay for like, miles and miles around, so. Let’s hope so.”

“You don’t know?”

“The website didn’t have pictures. But it said - a cozy, sweet, countryside retreat.”

“Oh.” I flash a quick smile at Aiden. “Sounds like - maybe it’ll be kinda romantic.”

He matches my smile. “Yeah, maybe.”

By the time we pull into the town, it’s too dark to see much, but we know what’s here, from our research: a coffee place, a few shops, a cluster of houses, and the inn. On the far side of the lake that hugs the town: huge, expensive houses. Summer homes, or those occupied by the more highly-paid staff at the Bratton Collection.

I know that there’s no real ghost here - I mean, I’m the one who would know, if there was - but goosebumps prickle my skin as we roll through the empty streets. It’s so ridiculously dark, and this place is so silent and still. The radio keeps turning to static, and my phone loses service one or two times, briefly sending me into a panic when the maps app freezes.

It’s a relief when we pull up to the inn, until I get a good look at it.

“Um,” I say, but Aiden is already out of the car, busy retrieving our bags.

It’s a two-story house, with a sagging roof. The white paint is split and peeling, and all the windows are covered with lace curtains that look like they’ve been there since Will was alive. The vacancy sign in the front window is switched on, and buzzing loudly.

Aiden returns from the trunk, his backpack slung over his shoulder, and offers me mine. I take it, then follow him up the creaking steps to the door.

It’s dim inside. A fireplace is lit, but burning low. The reception desk is a wooden counter, with a very bored-looking woman sitting behind it. She’s reading a tattered book, and she doesn’t look up when we step inside.

Aiden approaches the counter and gives it a soft rap with his knuckles. “Hello.”

The woman breaks her gaze away from her book, tips her head back, and sighs deeply.

“We’ve got a room booked,” Aiden continues, “Under-”

“Yes, yes.” She swats a hand at him, getting to her feet. “Only check-in of the night, I know who you are. I’m Maud. Welcome to the Historic Three Pines Inn.”

Her monotone is so flat and disinterested that it’s actually almost funny. Aiden must think so, too, because we exchange a quick glance, and the corners of his mouth quirk up.

“Three pines?” I ask. “Where are the three pines?”

Maud’s frown deepens; she even manages to look offended.

“I don't know? Do I look like a tour guide? Oh, although - I’m supposed to tour you ‘round the place.” She turns to unhook a key from the wall. There are hooks for five keys, and four keys remain after Maud takes ours down. “Follow me.”

She steps out from behind the counter and leads us deeper into the ground floor of the house. It’s barely lit, shadowy to the point that it’s hard to see. We walk into a room crowded with rickety tables and chairs. A very bleak-looking buffet table on one side, and a completely dark, open doorway on the other.

“Breakfast room,” Maud says, with all the enthusiasm of someone reading out loud from a car manual. “We do continental breakfast. You want something else, you’ll have to ask the chef, Garrett. Kitchen’s down there-” She points to the pitch-black doorway, which I can now see has a staircase leading to a basement level. “You can just go down there and ask him, if you need something special.”

I look over at Aiden, and my expression must be something, because he throws his hands over his mouth to stifle a laugh, then pretends to cough.

Something catches my eye, and I let out a startled yelp, jerking away. Maud follows my line of sight.

“Oh, those are the owner’s,” she says, nodding at the terrifying dolls perched on a shelf by the doorway. “Antiques.”

“They’re - nice,” I stammer, as Aiden’s shoulders heave with silent laughter behind Maud’s back.

“Good thing you like them, there’s a few in your room, too,” Maud says. “I'll show you.”

She leads us to the carpeted staircase that goes up to the second floor, then bounds up the steps with surprising speed, leaving Aiden and me to rush after her. I don’t know about him, but I don’t particularly feel like getting left behind in the breakfast room.

There are faded paintings on the walls, too shrouded in shadow to make out. Are there no actual lights in this place? The stairs are just as dark as the rest, and I get the feeling that the paintings are watching us. Hidden eyes everywhere.

Maud unlocks our room, then has to force the door with her shoulder when it sticks.

We step inside to find a tiny, cramped space. She flips on the lights, and everything hidden in the darkness seems to leap out at us at once: two twin beds, with brown comforters. The dolls that Maud mentioned, propped on a dresser next to a cluster of chipped angel figurines. The window is shaded by more of those faded lace curtains. I’d guess that they used to be white, once, but now they’ve turned a dull yellow.

“Hope you enjoy your stay,” Maud says, tossing Aiden the key. He catches it, still biting his lip. “Let me see, did I forget to tell you anything? Oh - the owner’s got some ducks, and they like to explore, so if you leave your car doors open, even for a few minutes, make sure to check your car before you go. We’ve had people drive off with a duck before, have to come all the way back to return it.” She nods crisply. “Right. Think that’s it. If you need anything, call the manager.”

“What’s the manager’s phone num-?” I begin, but Maud has already shut the door after herself.

I turn slowly to Aiden, who is battling a huge grin. One look at my face sends him over the edge. He absolutely loses it, bursting into laughter, so hard that his eyes tear up.

“Sorry,” he gasps. “It’s just - so romantic - it’s overwhelming-”

“It’s not fucking funny!” I glare at him, but he won’t stop laughing, and it’s very contagious, and…

“Oh, Jamie, I’m sorry, but the look on your face-”

The absurdity of the situation hits me all at once, right down to the very real possibility of us accidentally stealing a duck.

“Stop it!” I try to sound angry, but it comes out as a laugh, followed by a bigger one, and then Aiden and I are both laughing so hard that we collapse into each other.

It’s a long time before we’re calmed down enough to speak again.

“I can’t believe I’m gonna say this,” I tell Aiden, “But I think I’d rather camp.”

This sets off a whole new round of laughter between us, and I have to smile to myself. I’m not sure anyone else could make me laugh in a situation like this. In a place like this, on the night before we kick off a heist.

Just him.

Just my companion plant.