Chapter One: The Girl Who Woke Up Dead
Luna Sky opened her eyes to the sound of crying.
It took her a moment to place it. The raw, ragged sobs didn't echo from within her mind, but from somewhere outside her room. Real. Human. Her mother.
She blinked slowly. Her skull throbbed like it had been cracked in two, and every breath felt like breathing through broken glass.
The room looked wrong.
Her little space, usually cluttered with half-written notebooks and thrifted scarves, was spotless. Her blue hoodie—the one she always tossed over her chair—was folded and tucked into the closet. The water bottle on her nightstand was still there, but the water was cloudy and unmoving, as though it had been untouched for days.
She sat up. The bedsheets made no sound.
From the living room came the hush of voices. Then one broke through like a blade:
> "We're sorry, Mrs. Sky… The damage to her head was extensive. An open casket just wouldn't…"
Luna's breath hitched.
Her feet hit the floor. Cold. Too cold. She ran to the door, her fingers trembling as they closed around the knob—
And passed right through.
"No," she breathed. "No, no—"
She tried again. Nothing. Her reflection in the mirror was gone. Her bed, her desk—empty. Like she never existed.
Panic closed in on her like a vice. She stumbled forward, through the door. Through the hallway.
The living room was draped in shadows and funeral black. People she didn't recognize murmured empty words. A photo of her sat on the mantle surrounded by flickering candles and white roses.
Her mother was hunched on the couch, eyes hollow, clinging to a scarf Luna used to wear. Her father stood by the window, face pale, fingers twitching with helplessness.
Luna screamed.
No one turned.
She reached out to touch her mother's shoulder—her hand passed through like smoke.
The sob that escaped her this time wasn't just pain. It was terror.
Then came the whispers.
> "She jumped, they said. Down the stairwell."
"No… I heard she was pushed."
"Always so quiet, that one. Lived like a shadow. Died like one too."
Luna clutched her head. Flashes hit her like broken glass:
Hands. Not hers. Shoving.
The crack of concrete.
Her skull. Her scream.
A face. Leaning down.
Whispering—
> "Should've just stayed invisible."
She collapsed.
---
The supermarket was her third stop as a ghost.
She wasn't sure why she ended up there—maybe it was habit. Maybe it was because it was the only place she ever felt seen.
Daniel was there. The cashier. Same soft eyes. Same crooked smile. He was stacking gum packets like he always did.
Luna lingered near the candy aisle.
"I liked you," she whispered, her voice nothing but air. "I don't think you knew… but your smile made me feel like I existed."
A voice behind her answered.
> "Guess it's too late for that."
She spun.
A man leaned against the freezer aisle. Tall. Pale. Black coat. His hair was damp from the rain outside, and piercing blue eyes locked directly on her.
He saw her.
Not past her. Not through her. At her.
Her breath caught. "You… can see me?"
He nodded, slow and calm. "Yeah. And you're not dead."
"What—"
"You're warm." He stepped forward. "Ghosts don't have pulses. But I felt yours. Right here."
He raised his hand. Paused just short of touching her chest. She didn't flinch.
"You're caught in between," he said. "Which means someone wants the world to think you're dead."
A chill crawled up Luna's spine.Eyes widening
"Follow me if you want answers,I can't be seen talking to nobody"
He gave her a striking smirk
---
His place looked like madness. Or obsession.
Maps and documents covered every inch of wall space. Her face, printed and pinned, was at the center of a massive board strung with red thread.
The name "LUNA SKY" was written in bold black marker. Underneath, the words:
> CASE CLOSED – SUICIDE – NO INVESTIGATION REQUESTED
John tossed his keys onto the desk. "They said you jumped. I called it a lie. I was told to drop it. I didn't."
"You're a detective?"
"I was. Suspended. Officially." He shrugged. "Unofficially, I don't like loose ends."
Luna reached for one of the photos on the wall. Her hand passed through it.
Frustration welled up in her. "I don't know what happened to me."
John's voice softened. "What do you remember?"
She closed her eyes.
The stairwell.
Voices.
A hand on her back.
Pain.
Then—
A dark room. A faint, antiseptic scent. Someone whispering:
> "We can't let her wake up."
Luna gasped.
John was in front of her in a heartbeat, hands hovering. "What did you see?"
"I think… I think someone wanted me dead."
He didn't look surprised. Just angry.
"We'll find out who," he said, voice low. "I promise you that."
---
It happened later.
She was tracing her fingers over one of the files—her file—when another memory hit her like a train.
A hand around her throat.
The words—
> "Stay invisible, Luna. That's what you're good at."
She choked, stumbling. Her knees buckled.
John caught her before she hit the floor.
"Breathe. Just breathe."
"I can't—"
His thumb brushed against her cheek—
And she felt it.
Warm. Solid. Real.
They both froze.
His voice dropped to a whisper. "You're not gone. Not yet."
And for the first time since waking up in silence and death, Luna leaned into the touch.
Into the one person who saw her.
Who felt her.
And she knew—whoever did this to her was still out there. Watching. Waiting.
But so was John.
And maybe… just maybe… she wasn't alone anymore.
---