When Arthur opened his eyes, he found himself standing upright. For a fleeting moment, he thought he'd fallen asleep on his feet. But that was impossible. This place was unlike anywhere he had ever been. A cold dread unlike anything he'd felt before crept over him as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. His gaze darted around: yellowed walls, sterile lighting, rows of metal doors stacked along the wall like miniature refrigerators. A morgue. It had to be a morgue. But why was he here? A glint in the corner caught his attention.
A mirror, just a few feet away. As he stepped closer, his stomach dropped. His reflection was gone. His brow furrowed, and panic clawed its way up his throat. Something was terribly wrong. He began to shout, to cry out for help, but no one responded. His voice echoed into nothingness. Only then did he understand he wasn't just unseen. He was invisible.
Deborah waited outside the morgue's only window, at the end of the long corridor. She watched Arthur running around in terror. She sighed and watched him shout at the people around him. The exhausted woman was clearly not happy to be here. She didn't want to see a dead person running around in panic. She turned her gaze from the morgue window to the sky. She ignored the poor man's desperate struggles for a moment longer.
Deborah hated morgues. She despised the damned cold that seeped into her bones the moment she stepped inside. She loathed how her lungs filled with that antiseptic air. Thick, metallic and suffocating. The yellowed walls, once white, seemed to fade from grief, silently screaming of all the deaths they had witnessed. Stainless steel counters and covered gurneys lined the room in solemn order. Beneath the white sheets, the whispers of lives that had ended here never truly stopped. And, as always, only Deborah could hear them.
Ironic, she thought, that the place she despised most in the world was also the one she had to visit the most. Life had a twisted sense of humor. It all felt like a bad play.
She could enter places no ordinary person ever could, places the living only saw when death had touched someone they loved. That was the most frustrating part of her job. As she stood by the morgue door, her gaze drifted between the Medical Examiner and his assistant, waiting for them to finish. Then her attention shifted to the real reason she was there: the bewildered ghost of the man whose mutilated body had just been placed inside the refrigerated cabinet.
Deborah knew the sequence all too well. The ghost would always begin the same way; panicking, trying desperately to reach the living, just as this one was now. She supposed this young man was fortunate not to have seen his own lifeless body. Next, the memories would start to blur. He would begin to question who he was, where he was, even whether he existed at all. Eventually, the truth would come, often through the pursuit of a hunter. And in the final stage came denial. He would refuse to accept his death until the very end… when the hunter finally put him to rest.
Deborah, who had witnessed this cycle countless times, felt trapped within it. People often called ghosts the unlucky ones, but to her, the real misfortune was having to watch a life fade away. As she watched the man wander in helpless confusion, the knowledge that he could never return tore at something deep inside her.
She had known Arthur for a long time. They'd gone to the same high school and even shared a few classes. His wheat-blond hair and sky-blue eyes made his Scottish roots unmistakable. With his broad build, he'd become a natural choice for coaching at the school and a favorite among the girls. Arthur was witty and full of energy, but he also had a habit of belittling those he thought beneath him. He flirted shamelessly and drove Deborah mad with his dark sense of humor. After he left for college, they'd hardly seen each other again. In truth, Deborah was grateful for that. She'd always known Arthur had a certain interest in her, something he'd made clear through mutual friends. The proud Scot had asked to meet her several times, but Deborah always refused. She had no desire to deal with a man who seemed to take pleasure in irritating her.
Still… it was hard for Deborah to see him like this. The despair radiating from his ghost made it impossible to look away. And the tragedy of his death was another matter entirely. That was the real reason she stood outside the morgue room she so despised.
The doctor and his assistant leaving the morgue signaled that Deborah's wait was finally over. She kept her eyes on the two men as they stepped into the corridor. When the assistant walked away, the doctor turned and approached her.
Deborah called out, "Göktürk."
He was a highly successful doctor of Turkish descent. A strikingly handsome man with slanted eyes, wheat-colored skin, and auburn hair. But appearance wasn't his only defining trait. Like Deborah, Göktürk was also a hunter. Unlike her, however, he didn't limit himself to monsters. Their organization had grown into a vast, globally specialized network, its reach extending from healthcare to political structures. Göktürk served as a doctor within that intricate infrastructure of hunters.
The man held out a thin file. "I've seen a lot in my career, but this…" He gestured uneasily toward the ghost drifting through the morgue. "It's hard to ignore. Especially seeing it deteriorate like this… Looks like it's going to be a difficult one."
Deborah sighed, as if it might ease the tightness in her chest. "You speak as though it's ever been easy. Now tell me, what are the details?"
"I spoke with Lucas. He and his team kept the case file. We couldn't let people see it."
"I won't ask how you handled it."
Deborah didn't want to know how they'd gotten away with this. Randell Fox, the head of the Hunters, had no place in this galaxy beyond his reach. He was the heir to centuries of ancestors. Manipulating a forensic report was nothing to him.
Göktürk handed Deborah the file. "The photos are in here."
Dark circles under his brown eyes had deepened, making him look even more worn. "You won't believe it, but there were no signs of a weapon on the body. Not a knife… not anything."
"What do you mean?" Deborah asked, her gaze flicking between the doctor and the photos, which looked like they'd been ripped from a Saw movie. "The body is completely dismembered… and you're telling me this was done by human hands?"
"I'm not saying it was human… but if you ask me what kind of creature could have done this, I don't have an answer," he admitted. "Vampires suck blood and leave the body alone. Wolves tear it apart, yes, but I'd recognize their marks. Shapeshifters dispose of the body directly, so they're out of the question, too." He spread his hands in frustration. "I've been thinking, but I just can't figure out what could have done this. I don't have anything that can help you."
"Remnant of magic?"
"I don't think so."
The man's thoughtful expression caught her attention. He seemed to be piecing something together but couldn't bring himself to say it aloud. Already exhausted, she frowned. His voice came just above a whisper.
"Give me your personal opinion, Göktürk. Just between us."
The doctor glanced around nervously and bit his lip. "I don't want to get in trouble with the witches… or with Randell, but… from what I can tell, this looks like the work of a witch."
A fragile pact had existed between witches and hunters for centuries. Any event that disturbed this balance could have dire consequences for both races. The thought that it might escalate into a crisis affecting the innocent caught in the middle was terrifying. That was why Göktürk hesitated to speak. If the witches broke the pact, the repercussions would extend far beyond either side.
Deborah closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"Are you sure? We can't share this with anyone until we're absolutely sure."
"I love my life, Deborah. That's why I filed it as a death by animal attack. If anyone asks about the possibility of a witch, I say, 'I don't know anything.' I suggest you do the same."
Göktürk didn't want to get involved in this matter any further. "If you'll excuse me, I have work to do." The doctor gave the hunter a nod and walked away briskly.
"Stupid bastard," Deborah muttered. Even if he heard her, he kept walking without so much as a glance back.
Deborah, who remained behind, took deep breaths to control her anger. She hated cowardly creatures. But most of all, cowardly men...
After the doctor had completely disappeared, Deborah glanced down at the papers in her hand. She pulled out the autopsy report from the file, and with each detail she read, the horror only deepened.
The report detailed the victim's body, mangled beyond recognition, with parts found in multiple orientations. His skull bore depressed fractures, his right temporal bone was massively crushed, and an open fracture marred his head. The thorax had been completely torn open, and his heart was missing from the chest cavity. His upper limbs were severed at the shoulders, while his lower limbs were cut below the knees, the left leg even severed at the hip. The fractures on his left femur resembled those caused by an animal attack. An internal examination revealed that most of his organs had been removed. The doctor concluded it was the result of a bear attack.
Deborah laughed bitterly. If any fool believed the report in her hand, they would drown in their own blood.
She angrily put the paper in the file and closed the cover. She would deal with who did this later. For now, she had to get back to her real problem: Arthur's ghost, fluttering about in panic.
When she turned her head, the room was empty except for the corpses. The hunter muttered a curse under her breath. She had been so focused on speaking with Göktürk that she hadn't even noticed the ghost vanish. Arthur, who had been pacing the morgue in frantic circles moments before, was nowhere to be seen.
"Good for you!" she snapped at herself. She couldn't believe she'd missed the ghost right under her nose. Now she had to chase phantom through the chaos of the city.
***
When she arrived at the hospital parking lot, a notification on her phone made her reach into her jacket pocket. As she answered, she slid into her Polo, turning the air conditioner on high to let the cool air seep into her tense muscles. Settling behind the wheel, she glanced at the message in her notifications.
A message from Anna:
-Hey, baby. Do you remember Arthur? What happened to him… it's terrible. They're saying it was an animal attack. I didn't believe it at first, because you're my friend. What's the truth?
New words appeared on the screen with the second message sound:
-We're planning to go to the funeral home with a few friends from high school. Would you like to come too?
She'd shared her location below. Deborah paused for a moment as she read the message. A funeral home was one of the best places to start looking for a lost ghost.
Deborah replied to the messages with one word: "Coming."
With one hand, she slid her car keys into the ignition, and with the other, she placed her phone in the holder to check the location. The app opened, highlighting the Redwick district, home to the city's only hospital. That's where Deborah was right now.
The Redwick neighborhood was an upper-class enclave, isolated from the rest of the city. It looked like a page torn from an American dream brochure: two-story houses with manicured gardens and sparkling pools, late-model cars parked in gleaming garages. Children played safely in the streets, the municipality meticulously tended the landscaping, and the complaints of the wealthy were treated as law.
But the city wasn't all Redwick.
The farther she drove from Redwick, the worse the roads became. With every turn of the steering wheel, the city revealed a different face. Deborah's eyes wandered over the streets she loved. Shops and markets lined both sides, while red-brick buildings with iron-railed balconies seemed to whisper the city's old stories. Secrets hid beneath every rain-washed stone.
As evening fell, laughter spilled from the bars, tumbling onto the pavement. Young people wandered the streets with drinks in hand, and on the corners, groups hoisted cassette players on their shoulders, treating passersby to impromptu dance performances. Deborah loved this chaos, this city, rough and real, pulsing with life in every corner.
She crossed the stone bridge spanning the Valmora River, the river that split the city in two. A little farther on, past the Street of the Magicians — where fortune-tellers and sorcerers of every kind plied their trade — she finally arrived at the McCain house.
When she reached the quiet street, she parked in a convenient spot and stepped out of her car. She'd left all her belongings behind except for her phone. A typical hunter might need a full set of ghost-hunting equipment, but for Deborah, all she needed was herself. Just being there was enough to guide them where they needed to go.
She lifted her head and looked at the funeral house. The McCains lived in a middle-class neighborhood, where colorful houses, broken paving stones, and haphazardly planted trees greeted every visitor. She crossed the street and made her way toward the house at the end of the block. As she had expected, the funeral home was crowded.
Deborah peered through the crowd. Anna, the friend who had texted her, stood beside Mrs. McCain. Spotting her, Deborah made her way forward. A sudden chill ran through her as she moved, just as she had expected, Arthur was there too.
When Anna spotted Deborah, she waved her hand over to her. Deborah, never taking her eyes off the ghost, moved toward the two women standing at the other end of the room.
After offering a brief condolence to Mrs. McCain, who was devastated by the loss of her son, Deborah guided Anna forward and approached the ghost, who seemed lost in thought. Anna remained oblivious to the spirit haunting the funeral home, offering her condolences to everyone she knew. Deborah leaned close and whispered in Anna's ear, unaware that Arthur lingered nearby.
"We have work to do, keep up."
Anna stared at her friend, wide-eyed and stunned. As the realization hit, a surge of exasperation and helplessness welled up inside her. She pressed her hands together and silently prayed for patience, willing herself not to lose control.
"Ghost? Arthur?"
"Yeah. Keep up with me when I'm talking to him, so we don't draw attention."
Anna sighed and followed Deborah. Luckily, they were in a quieter corner of the room. But Anna didn't like this. She loved her friend dearly and wanted to help, yet sometimes the strain left her unable to sleep for days. Unlike Deborah, Anna couldn't see ghosts, but she could sense them. Most people never notice the invisible presences around them. Hunters were naturally gifted with the ability to see these supernatural beings, and only rarely did sensitive individuals like Anna feel them. That sensation—the weight of a ghost's presence—made her stomach churn and her hair stand on end. Often, a buzzing would begin in her head, lasting until the entity moved away.
"Are you alright?"
Deborah's voice briefly pulled Anna out of her uneasy haze. She forced a smile at her concerned friend. "You start, love. I'll keep up with you."