The dead return at exactly noon.

Every day, for precisely one hour, they walk the earth. Ghosts of loved ones. Friends. Strangers. Murderers. Victims. Heroes. Anyone who’s ever died, appearing where they took their final breath, and vanishing at exactly 1:00 PM. No exceptions.

Except today.

Casen Yul watched the cracked face of his digital watch tick closer to 12:00. The second hand stuttered like it always did, jammed from too many falls. He leaned on his bike, parked outside Quadrant 5’s Cemetery Sector, where hundreds of people were already gathering. Some carried gifts. Others, guilt.

He carried a letter. Another message from a grieving daughter to her dead mother. Third time this week.

"You know," came a familiar voice from behind, "you could charge more. Running letters to the dead isn’t exactly a common gig."

Casen didn’t turn. "And you know I don’t care."

Milo, a fellow Runner and part-time parasite, stepped up beside him, chewing gum like it was a full-time job. "Suit yourself, man. One of these days, you’re gonna regret being broke and dramatic."

Casen’s watch buzzed. 11:59.

The crowd went still.

Even the wind paused, like the world held its breath.

At 12:00, the first shimmer appeared—a soft ripple in the air, like heat over asphalt. Then, one by one, the dead arrived. A woman crying. A soldier saluting. A child looking for his dog.

Casen started walking, weaving through the crowd. He found the usual spot. But his mother wasn’t there.

She never was.

He sighed, pulling the letter from his pocket. He slid it into the offering bin—maybe her ghost would read it wherever she was. Maybe she just didn’t want to come back.

Then he saw her.

Not his mother. A girl.

Standing across the plaza, staring directly at him.

Pale skin. Long, silvery hair that shimmered like snow in moonlight. A navy coat that looked two sizes too big. And eyes—one blue, one grey—that didn’t look ghostlike at all.

She looked… alive.

Casen blinked. Looked at his watch.

12:47.

She shouldn’t be here.

The ghosts would vanish in thirteen minutes. Anyone newly appearing now wasn’t supposed to exist.

He stepped forward. She didn’t vanish. Didn’t flicker. Just stared at him, a mixture of curiosity and fear etched into her features.

“Hey!” he called.

She turned—and ran.

He chased without thinking. Past the whispering crowd, past confused officials in black and red uniforms. She darted into an alley between memorial towers. Casen followed, heart pounding.

She stopped behind a power shed, gasping. He reached her, cornering her with a hand on the cold metal wall.

“You’re not a ghost,” he said.

She flinched, backing up. “No.”

“You’re not dead.”

“Not yet,” she whispered.

Casen stared. “What do you mean, not yet?”

She looked up at him. “I think I’m going to die. Today. But I missed my window. I was supposed to come back at noon. I came late.”

He blinked. “That’s not possible.”

She shook her head. “I know.”

Casen took a step back. "Who are you?"

"Me? I'm Elian."

The clock on his watch buzzed again.

1:00 PM.

All around them, the ghosts vanished—like lights blinking out all at once.

But the girl remained.

And for the first time, one stayed too long.