He grinned, then suddenly turned toward her with bright, eager eyes. “Hey. Cann I see your greenhouse?”

Cinder froze. “Wh-What? Why?”

“Because you mentioned it!” he beamed. “Back in the library. Your garden. It sounded… I dunno, soft. Real. And I kinda wanna see something that’s yours, not covered in skulls or fire or vampire sparkles.”

Her fingers toyed with the hem of her sleeve, cheeks tinting a muted lavender-gray. “It’s… just plants.”

“That you grew,” he countered, floating in a slow loop around her. “Please? I’ll be super careful. I won’t touch anything unless it tries to bite me first. Cross my ghost-heart.”

Cinder glanced away, ears flattening bashfully. “It’s not really a tour stop…”

Miles pressed his hands together in front of his chest like a begging golden retriever. “C’monnnnnn. Pleeeease? Pretty please with a soul-link on top?”

She huffed a tiny laugh, hiding it behind her sleeve.

“…Fine. Just for a minute.”

“Yes!” he fist-pumped. “I promise I won’t knock over any demon tomatoes.”

“There are no demon tomatoes,” she muttered, but she was already leading him down the hall, her steps a bit lighter now.

The halls of the citadel had finally quieted, the echo of lectures and judgmental glares fading into the stone. Cinder paced beside the window, hesitating. “Maybe we should wait for permission…”

Miles floated beside her, arms crossed in midair. “Permission is boring. We’re already dead. What are they gonna do—double kill me?”

Cinder blinked. “…That’s not how that works.”

“Exactly,” Miles grinned. “So? Let’s go see this greenhouse of yours. I’m a ghost—technically this counts as my first haunting.”

Cinder sighed, but her smirk betrayed her reluctance. “Fine. But if my dad finds out—”

“We'll just tell him I got lost.” Miles drifted down the corridor, beckoning like a mischievous balloon.

They slipped past the sleeping halls and down a winding stairwell lit by dim soul-lanterns. The air grew warmer, moister, tinged with the scent of petrichor and iron-rich soil. When they reached the greenhouse doors, Cinder paused and pressed her hand against the black iron vines carved into them. With a creak and a sigh, the doors opened inward.

Miles floated inside and gasped.

It was like walking into an enchanted graveyard disguised as a garden.

Twisting trees with bark like burnished bronze arched above, their leaves in hues of amber, scarlet, and deep plum. Lantern lilies glowed softly from the shadows, and glass spiders spun threads between twisting stems of moonvines. Giant toadstools loomed like forgotten umbrellas, and in the center, surrounded by a bed of blue ash roses, stood a patch of hauntingly beautiful flowers.

“Whoa…” Miles whispered, floating closer. “What are those?”

“Skull roses,” Cinder said, stepping beside him with a quiet pride. “They only bloom for those who’ve known both love and grief. The petals form that shape naturally.” She pointed.

Indeed, the curling petals formed a delicate skull shape in the center—beautiful and eerie, like death in full bloom.

Miles reached out to touch one—then frowned.

His hand passed right through.

He tried again. Still nothing. Then he leaned down to sniff it—only to realize he couldn’t smell anything at all.

“…Oh.”

His expression twisted, and slowly, the awe melted into something smaller. Sadder. “I can’t feel it. I can’t touch it. I can’t even smell it.” His voice cracked comically, but his eyes shimmered. “Cinder. Fix it. Fix me!”

“I can’t!” Cinder flailed slightly, holding her hands up. “I mean—I don’t know how! That’s what I’ve been talking to my dad about!”

Miles floated in a circle like a worried bee. “This sucks! I was promised cool powers, and instead I’m a sad weather balloon!”

Cinder giggled behind her hand, but then—

A low growl rolled from behind the pumpkinberry bushes.

Cinder immediately groaned. “Oh no.”

Before Miles could ask, a blur of striped red and black launched from the underbrush with a howl.

He yelped as something soft yet heavy tackled him midair.

“TOY!!” the girl-werewolf cried, hugging him like a chew toy.

She had shaggy brown fur, messy crimson hair, and bright yellow eyes filled with chaotic joy. She wore a black-and-red striped oversized sweater that almost swallowed her arms, a black tartan skirt over shorts, and thick black leg warmers tucked into combat boots. She looked like a gothic scene kid who got halfway through transforming during a concert mosh pit.

“Miles!” Cinder wheezed through laughter. “That’s Willow! She thinks floating things are fetch balls!”

“I AM NOT A BALL!” Miles shouted as he spun in the air with her still latched onto him.

Willow wagged her tail enthusiastically, her fangs glinting in a wide grin. “You smell like nothing! You feel like a balloon! You’re perfect!”

“CINDER PLEASE!” he wailed.

Cinder doubled over laughing, finally pulling Willow off by the back of her jumper. “Down, girl! He’s a guest! Not a chew toy!”

Willow pouted, ears drooping slightly. “Aw… but he’s so squishy…”

Miles, upside down and panting, groaned. “I miss being alive…”

Cinder grinned, helping him right himself. “Welcome to the Underworld.”

Miles hovered midair, trying to regain his balance as the werewolf girl sniffed at him enthusiastically. She beamed, tail wagging behind her like a blur.

“You smell yummy!” she declared.

“I beg to differ!” Miles yelped, scooting back. “I smell like soap and anxiety!”

Willow tilted her head, sticking out her tongue playfully. “So... ghost candy?”

“Definitely not on the menu,” he muttered, clutching his chest like he had been personally violated by affection.

Cinder giggled, resting a hand on her hip. “Miles, this is Willow Wren—my childhood best friend. She’s... a lot. But in the best way.”

Willow threw up a peace sign. “Heeey! You can just call me Willow or Wren. Unless you’re mad at me, then it’s Wiiillowww,” she drawled dramatically, mimicking Cinder’s scolding tone. “And yeah, yeah—I know. I pounced again. But in my defense, he looked like a floating squeaky toy.”

“I do not squeak!”

Cinder snorted behind her hand.

Willow bounced on the balls of her boots, practically vibrating. “Ohhh my bones, Cinder—did you see what Death Parade posted yesterday? THEY’RE DROPPING A HALLOWEEN SINGLE!”

“No way!” Cinder’s eyes lit up. “Did they release the teaser?”

“Four seconds of pure afterlife magic. Ghoulie still has the black eye patch, and Reap Riff cut his hair. I cried.”

The two of them squealed, launching into a giddy back-and-forth about band lore, outfits, rumors, and a scandal involving one of the backup dancers turning out to be a shapeshifter. Miles blinked, looking between them, completely adrift.

He floated backward slightly, letting their words wash over him like static. His gaze drifted toward the skull roses again. Beautiful. Untouchable.

A familiar feeling crept in—like being at a party where everyone knows the inside jokes but you. Like being back home when Hazel would talk to her friends and forget he was there. He wasn’t mad. Just... left out.

Then, Cinder glanced over.

She noticed.

Mid-conversation, she gently touched Willow’s arm, pausing the chaos. “Hey, Willow—hang on a sec.” She turned to Miles with a soft smile. “What kind of bands do you like, Miles?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

“Yeah,” she said. “You’ve got that cool, neon-video-game-vibe. I bet you listen to, like… glitch-pop, or emo punk, or something wildly over-caffeinated.”

Willow tilted her head, curious now too. “Ooh, like that one group that uses rubber chickens and trap beats?”

Miles laughed nervously. “Okay, maybe not rubber chickens, but—uh… I guess I like synthwave stuff. And some screamo. Mostly video game soundtracks, though. Especially the boss fight ones. Those slap.”

Cinder’s face lit up. “That makes so much sense! You’re totally the final boss kind of guy.”

“Right?!” Miles laughed, color returning to his expression. “And I always imagined if I had a theme, it’d be like—heavy electric guitar with a chiptune drop.”

Willow punched the air. “YES. That’s big ghost energy!”

For the first time since entering the Underworld, Miles felt... noticed. Like maybe he wasn’t just dead weight, floating behind someone brighter. Cinder actually cared to ask.

She looked up at him, eyes soft. “Thanks for sharing.”

Miles rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “Thanks for asking.”

Willow grinned. “Okay, okay—new plan. We’re forming a band. Cinder sings, I drum, you float around and yell dramatic things into the mic.”

Miles raised a hand. “I call pyrotechnics!”

Cinder laughed. “You're hired.”

And for a while, the gloom of the afterlife didn’t feel so heavy.