Grave Discoveries
So I Did Some Digging
Get it? Digging?
No? Tough crowd.
Alright, how about this—what do you call a ghost that investigates things?
An invilghoulator.
…Okay, also not funny.
Look, it’s hard to be spectacularly witty when you’re dead, alright?
Or not-dead. Or whatever this is.
The point is—I’ve been doing some research.
---
Billionaire by Day, Something Else by Night
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Aaron Blackwood.
Big name. Big money. Bigger mystery.
And apparently, Forbes loves him.
Like, a lot.
The man has been on their richest under 30 list, their "most eligible bachelor" list, and even their "most philanthropic billionaires" list.
It’s like he treats the magazine as his own personal hype machine.
Funding orphanages, rebuilding schools, feeding the hungry—if I didn’t know him, I’d say he was the second coming of Mother Teresa.
But see, the people singing his praises?
Yeah, they’ve clearly never haunted him before.
Because angel is not the word I’d use.
And the more I dig, the less I buy the whole act.
You don’t accumulate that much wealth by being a saint.
And you sure as hell don’t fight like that without some skeletons in the closet.
Which brings me to my next discovery—
Aaron’s not just famous for his money.
---
The Phantom in the Headlines
There are two news segments on him.
One about his latest charity work—something about a hospital donation, blah blah, not important.
And the other?
Well.
That one’s about his shadowy, masked, crime-fighting alter ego.
Because yeah—Aaron Blackwood is the Phantom.
I mean, come on.
I might be crazy, but I’m not dumb.
I know what I saw.
The knives. The way he moves. The eerily calculated way he speaks, like every word is measured down to the decimal.
And the moment I made the connection?
It just clicked.
Suddenly, every weird little detail about him made perfect sense.
And I’d be enjoying this revelation—really, I would—if it weren’t for the very concerning fact that…
It seems he’s found out something about me, too.
---
Checkmate
I hear my name before I even see him.
> "Allison Crowley."
I freeze.
Slowly, I turn.
Aaron stands in the doorway, arms crossed, gaze sharp and unreadable.
> "Or should I say…"
"Lady Karma."
…Oh.
Well.
Shit.
For a moment, we just stare at each other.
The room feels too still, the air thick with something dangerous.
I should probably feel scared.
I don’t.
Instead, I sigh.
Roll my eyes.
Then, casually,
> "Oh, come on."
"You know I hate that name."