Arthur held Emelia tightly, the weight of their reunion grounding him in a reality that still felt surreal. The chaos and horror of the past few hours faded into the background for a brief moment. But the calm was shattered when the man Eliza had called a nutcase looked up from his phone, his violet eyes narrowing as he reached for a metal bat lying on the floor.

Without warning, he swung the bat with surprising force—straight at Arthur’s head. Arthur flinched, bracing for the impact that never came. The bat passed harmlessly through his head, leaving him stunned and furious.

“What the hell was that for?!” Arthur yelled, his voice echoing through the small hideout.

The man rested the bat on his shoulder, his expression calm but intense. “Here’s a fun fact,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact but laced with authority. “Nothing can harm you now. Except for the Fallen. So here’s the rule: never go out at night. Night starts at exactly 6:06 PM. After the six seconds pass, if you’re not back here at least thirty minutes before that, you’re on your own. Got it?”

Arthur blinked, still reeling from the unprovoked attack. “That’s your idea of a welcome? A bat to the face?”

Eliza sighed, rolling her eyes. “That’s Hugo for you. Batshit crazy—pun intended. He swung that same bat at all of us when we showed up. Don’t take it personally. He’s also the one who got this place built, so we tolerate his… quirks.”

Hugo shot her a glare. “I’m being serious, Eliza. The Fallen get stronger the more they eat. And if you’re out there after nightfall, you’re as good as dead. You remember what happened to Kyle?”

Eliza grimaced but shrugged. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. It won’t happen again.”

Hugo’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before softening slightly. “Good.”

Meanwhile, Emelia pulled back slightly from Arthur, her expression conflicted. “It’s… good to see you again,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “Though… I wish it hadn’t come to this.”

Arthur didn’t respond with words. Instead, he hugged her tighter, afraid she might vanish if he let go.

The sound of a couch creaking broke the moment. “Hey, boss,” Roxanne called out lazily from her spot. “Are we doing dinner tonight?”

Hugo turned to her with a deadpan expression. “You do realize we’re dead, right? We don’t need to eat.”

Roxanne waved him off, a playful pout on her lips. “Yeah, but food still tastes good. What else are we supposed to do down here? It’s not like we have a ton of options for entertainment.”

Eliza smirked. “That slacker is Roxanne,” she said to Arthur, jerking a thumb toward the lounging woman. “She’s basically a leech. She mooches off Hugo’s connections for luxuries. Not that I’m complaining—the games she got him to bring in are pretty decent.”

Roxanne sat up, her ponytail swishing as she glared at Eliza. “Oh, shut up. I’m not a slacker! I was very productive in my life, thank you very much.”

“Oh, really? You never tell us what you did when you were alive,” Eliza teased.

Roxanne opened her mouth to retort, but Hugo cut in sharply. “You two, knock it off. Lovebirds”—he pointed the bat at Arthur and Emelia—“come help me cook dinner.”

Emelia’s face brightened instantly, her earlier sorrow replaced with a cheerful smile. “Alright, boss! It’s been a while since I got to cook with Arthur.”

Arthur hesitated, glancing at her before nodding slowly. Despite everything, the idea of doing something normal—even in the most abnormal of circumstances—felt like a small comfort.

Arthur felt the barest flicker of something he couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was hope. Or maybe it was just the absurdity of the dead trying to live.

“Listen up,” Hugo said, pulling a chef’s knife from a drawer and testing its edge with his thumb. “If there’s anything you want down here, let me know. I’ve got a few connections from my old job—people who can see the dead. They’ll bring us supplies if we need them.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter as he watched Hugo with mild disbelief. “This whole situation is too absurd. Just too much has happened in the last hour.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Emelia said softly, nudging him with her shoulder. Her smile was gentle, warm—a flicker of comfort in the chaos. “And I’ll be with you the whole way.”

Arthur let out a breath, the tension in his chest loosening slightly. “Thanks,” he murmured.

“Hey, slacker,” Hugo called over his shoulder to Roxanne, who was sprawled on the couch. “We’ve got leftover rice. You good with stir-fry?”

Roxanne sat up, her freckled face lighting up. “Perfect! Everything you make tastes amazing, boss.”

Eliza chimed in from across the room. “Hey, boss, since we’ve got a new friend, how about we bring out the alcohol?”

Hugo shot her a sharp look. “I don’t care that we’re dead—I’m not serving drinks to minors. And Roxanne gets way too flirty when she’s drunk. I’m not dealing with that mess tonight.”

Roxanne huffed in mock indignation. “I’m perfectly charming when I’ve had a few,” she said with a smirk.

“Yeah, sure,” Eliza teased, grinning. “Charming like a hurricane.”

Arthur chuckled, the absurdity of the situation easing some of the weight in his chest. For the first time since he’d become a ghost, he felt a flicker of normalcy—or at least, something close to it.

“Alright, Arthur, you’re on vegetable duty,” Hugo said, tossing him a cutting board and a handful of bell peppers, onions, and carrots. “Emelia, you’re on protein. We’ve got some chicken in the fridge—cut it into bite-sized pieces.”

Arthur caught the board, fumbling slightly before setting it on the counter. “Got it. Anything special with these?” he asked, picking up a bell pepper.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Julienne them,” Hugo replied. “Thin strips. And don’t butcher it—clean cuts.”

Arthur gave him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

The kitchen quickly filled with the rhythmic sound of knives chopping against wooden boards. Emelia worked deftly, slicing the chicken into uniform pieces while humming a soft tune. Arthur, though slower, found the repetitive motion soothing. For a moment, he forgot about the Fallen, Veritas, and even the blood-red sky outside.

Hugo moved with practiced efficiency, his knife gliding effortlessly through a bunch of scallions. He grabbed a wok and set it on the stovetop, flicking on the flame. The faint sizzle of oil followed as he tilted the pan to coat the surface evenly.

“Alright, Arthur, veggies over here,” Hugo said, motioning with a spatula. Arthur carried the cutting board over, carefully sliding the colorful array of peppers, onions, and carrots into the wok. The vegetables hit the oil with a loud sizzle, releasing a savory aroma that filled the small hideout.

“Smells amazing already,” Roxanne said, leaning over the back of the couch to sniff the air.

Hugo added the chicken, stirring it with quick, precise movements. “Don’t just stand there gawking, Eliza. Grab the soy sauce and oyster sauce from the pantry. And some garlic while you’re at it.”

Eliza rolled her eyes but complied, tossing the bottles onto the counter. Hugo added them with a flourish, the sauces bubbling and coating the ingredients in a rich glaze. The steam rose, carrying a mouthwatering scent that made Arthur’s stomach growl—even though he wasn’t sure ghosts could get hungry.

“Alright, we’re almost done,” Hugo said, tossing in the leftover rice. He stirred it vigorously, each grain soaking up the savory mix of flavors. “Arthur, grab the plates. Emelia, help him serve.”

Within minutes, the stir-fry was portioned onto five plates, the vibrant colors of the dish making it look almost too good to eat. The group gathered around a small, makeshift dining table, each person taking their usual seat.

Arthur glanced at the scene, the absurdity of it making him laugh softly. Here they were—ghosts, dead and forgotten—sitting together for a family-style meal in the depths of a sewer.

“What’s so funny?” Emelia asked, her blue eyes curious.

Arthur shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “Nothing. Just… this is the weirdest dinner I’ve ever had. But also, maybe the best.”

As the group dug into their plates, laughter and light conversation filled the room. The horrors of the outside world—the blood rain, the monstrous Fallen, the manipulative angels—felt distant, replaced by the simple joy of sharing a meal. For a moment, they weren’t ghosts navigating a nightmarish afterlife; they were just people, enjoying each other’s company.

Arthur looked down at his plate, frowning slightly as a thought crossed his mind. “If we don’t need to eat, where does the food go?”

Eliza shrugged, spearing a piece of chicken with her fork. “No clue. We don’t need to go to the bathroom either, which is a blessing, I guess. But somehow, we can still get drunk.” She paused, smirking as she twirled her fork. “Ghost logic is weird.”

Hugo leaned back in his chair, swirling a glass of what he had emphatically claimed was grape juice. “Well,” he said, raising his glass, “let’s get to the fun part. Since we’ve got a newcomer, how about we all share how we died?”

The room fell into an awkward silence as the group exchanged uneasy glances. Nobody seemed eager to go first.

Hugo sighed dramatically, setting his glass down with a thud. “Fine, fine. I’ll start—for the newcomer’s sake.” He leaned forward, his tone taking on the air of a storyteller. “It’s an interesting tale, really. There I was, deep in a forest in Guyana, facing down a horrid monster. Its body was made entirely of maggots, squirming and writhing with every movement. My team—good people, every one of them—had already been slaughtered. That thing, the Boogeyman, loved filling us with fear. It thrived on it.”

The group leaned in slightly, intrigued despite themselves. Arthur could feel the tension in the room rising.

Hugo continued, his voice lowering. “I knew I couldn’t escape. So, I thought, if I had to die, I’d do it on my own terms. I put my gun to my head and pulled the trigger. Only…” He gestured dramatically. “My soul left my body, and that angelic bastard swooped in and stole it. His name was Adoriel, the Archangel of Reverence. A pompous name for a pompous thief.”

Hugo took a long sip of his drink before finishing. “At least I got to see the Boogeyman tear Adoriel’s arm clean off. Shame he managed to survive, though.”

Arthur blinked, processing the wild tale. “How much of that is actually true?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Besides the angel stealing his body? Probably not an ounce,” Eliza deadpanned, her tone dripping with skepticism.

Roxanne tilted her head, looking thoughtful. “I think he’s telling the truth. Why would he lie about something like that?”

Eliza giggled. “Maybe he’s hiding some super sketchy secret. For all we know, he wasn’t even in Guyana.”

Emelia stifled a laugh, joining in. “Yeah, Hugo. Admit it—you’re covering up an embarrassing death.”

Hugo placed a hand dramatically over his heart, as if deeply offended. “I swear on my life—well, my afterlife—that I’m telling the truth. I was a government agent, part of a classified organization that hunted supernatural threats. I wouldn’t lie about this!”

Eliza smirked, leaning back in her chair with a lazy grin. “Sure, boss. Whatever you say.”

“You’re all so mean,” Hugo grumbled, dramatically crossing his arms before pointing at Roxanne with his fork. “Whatever. Roxanne, you’re up next.”

Roxanne rolled her eyes but set her plate down, leaning forward with a sly grin. “Fine, fine, I’ll go. But I’m warning you—my death is super embarrassing.”

Eliza raised an eyebrow. “Can’t wait to hear this train wreck.”

Roxanne ignored her, diving into her story with gusto. “So, one night I got really drunk—like, completely wasted. I was stumbling back to my apartment when I ran into this guy. Super hot. Was his name Markus? Or maybe Miles? Doesn’t matter. Anyway, I decided to shoot my shot and asked him out.”

Arthur blinked. “You asked out a random guy on the street?”

“Obviously,” Roxanne said with a smirk. “But he turned me down! Said something about being too busy with work for a relationship. So, naturally, I asked out his brother standing next to him.”

“His brother?” Emelia said, stifling a laugh. “You just… moved on to the brother?”

“Of course,” Roxanne replied without hesitation. “And let me tell you, the brother was even hotter. His name was Warren. Or maybe Wallace? Ugh, names are so hard to remember. Anyway, he turned me down too.”

Eliza rubbed her temples. “Where is this story going, exactly?”

“Right, right,” Roxanne said, waving her hand. “So, after getting rejected by both hot brothers, I stumbled my way back to my apartment. But… well, I was still very drunk and completely misjudged the stairs. I tripped, fell down the whole flight, and boom, instant death.”

Arthur couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “You seem way more interested in the two guys you met than the fact you, y’know, died.”

Roxanne leaned back with a laugh, shrugging. “If you’d seen them, you’d understand. They were gorgeous. Anyway, that was a year ago. Been dead ever since.”

Eliza snorted, shaking her head. “You’re something else.”

Roxanne grinned, clearly unbothered. “Thanks, I try.”

Hugo drained the last of his drink and set the glass down with a sigh. “Alright, who’s next?” His gaze swept over the table, but the remaining three fell silent, their expressions hesitant and guarded.

Arthur shifted in his seat, glancing at Emelia, who avoided his gaze. Eliza fiddled with her fork, her usual smirk replaced by a distant look. The moment hung heavy, the air thick with unspoken stories.

“Guess not everyone’s ready yet,” Hugo muttered, his tone softer than usual. “Fair enough. Take your time.”

The room fell quiet, save for the faint hum of the TV in the background. Despite the lingering silence, the bonds between them felt a little stronger, the weight of their shared afterlife a little lighter. For Arthur, it was enough to make the strange, surreal world feel just a bit more bearable.