[Third person POV]
Sam and Tucker were walking home together, their steps slow and heavy as they left Danny behind. He had chosen to stay behind and study all the data Tucker had gathered, insisting he didn't want to burden them further or waste their time.
They had both protested, of course. Tucker even offered to pull up more resources, and Sam assured Danny that they'd stay as long as he needed them. But Danny had just smiled—tired and grateful—and told them they'd already done more than enough. Eventually, after exchanging reluctant glances, the two of them relented and left, giving Danny the space he needed.
Now, as they walked in silence beneath the dimming sky, a weight hung in the air between them—thick and stifling.
"This sucks…" Tucker finally muttered, breaking the stillness. His hands were jammed in his pockets, shoulders slumped. "Why do I suddenly feel so powerless?"
Sam's expression mirrored his. Her eyes were downcast, and her voice was low and raw when she spoke. "Tell me about it. Maybe it's because our best friend is facing an impossible choice, and we're completely useless. There's nothing we can do to help him, or ease his pain. Not even a little."
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, unspoken frustration bubbling up. "This is seriously the worst. I hate this—this helpless feeling. I just wish there was something I could do. Anything at all."
Tucker glanced at her, then gently placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice soft but steady. "All we can do is be there for Danny when he needs us. But right now, what he really needs is space—to think, to sort everything out without us hovering. He'll reach out when he's ready."
Sam nodded slowly, biting her bottom lip in reluctant agreement. She hated it—giving him space—but she knew Tucker was right.
Soon, they reached the intersection where they always parted ways. They exchanged a quiet goodbye, no smiles this time, just the silent agreement that they'd check in again tomorrow.
Sam continued walking until the towering gates of her family's mansion came into view. The place felt colder than usual as she stepped through the front door. She paused in the entryway, gripping the strap of her bag tightly as she wiped at the moisture clinging to the corners of her eyes.
"Sammy, dear… what's wrong?"
Sam flinched at the sudden voice and turned to see her grandmother standing near the hallway entrance, slightly hunched but sharp-eyed and watchful. Her expression was filled with concern.
"It's nothing, Nana," Sam replied quickly, forcing a strained smile. "Just got some mascara in my eye, that's all."
Her grandmother didn't push, but Sam could feel her gaze lingering, thoughtful and worried, as she passed by and made her way upstairs.
Once she reached the solitude of her bedroom, Sam let her bag fall to the floor. She flopped down onto her bed and pulled her pillow close, squeezing it tightly. Her heart felt heavy with disappointment.
"Why can't this be one of those problems we can just blast away with a Fenton weapon or
a ghost ray?" she grumbled bitterly, staring up at the ceiling.
Her mind swirled with restless thoughts—scenarios where she could help, where she made a difference. But every plan, every imagined solution fell apart in her head before it even began.
And then, as if summoned by sheer spite, Ember's face crept into her thoughts. Sam's expression soured.
"Of course she gets to be useful," she muttered. "She's a ghost. She understands this stuff. She knows how to handle it all."
The image of Ember smiling smugly, twirling her hair, and sitting beside Danny made Sam bristle.
"She's a much better help to him than I am," she admitted through gritted teeth. "How annoying."
With a growl of frustration, Sam flipped over onto her stomach and started punching her pillow, imagining it was Ember's face.
"Why does she get to have Danny serving her chocolates—and on Valentine's Day, no less?! I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!!"
Each punch grew more frenzied until her energy wore down, leaving her face buried in the pillow, breathing hard, eyes damp. She stayed that way for a long moment—still, tired, and aching in more ways than one.
All she wanted was to help him.
A sharp knock echoed from Sam's bedroom door.
"What?!" she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. Irritation and leftover frustration laced her tone.
"Sammy, it's your Nana," came the gentle voice on the other side. "May I come in? I want to talk."
Sam winced, immediately regretting her outburst. She sat up quickly, brushing her hair back as she softened her tone. "Come in…" she mumbled, almost sheepishly.
The door creaked open, and her grandmother stepped in with a warm, knowing smile.
Sam looked down at her lap in embarrassment. "Sorry about that… I didn't mean to yell."
"It's alright, dear," Nana said, walking over and sitting beside her on the bed. "I can tell something's weighing heavily on your heart and mind."
Sam blinked. "How did you—?"
Nana chuckled softly and lifted her chin in mock pride. "I'm your Nana, remember? I know everything."
A faint smile tugged at Sam's lips despite herself, which only deepened the fondness in her grandmother's eyes.
"Now," Nana continued, reaching out to gently pat Sam's knee, "why don't you tell your dear old grandmother what's bothering you? I may be old, but these ears still work just fine. And don't worry—I won't breathe a word to your mother or father. Whatever you say stays between us." She winked.
Sam hesitated, then gave an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Nana… but it's not really something I can talk about. You… wouldn't understand."
Her grandmother didn't look hurt—just calm. Steady. Like she had been waiting for that answer. She studied Sam's face for a long moment, then said quietly, "Samantha… I understand more than you could possibly imagine."
The full name made Sam flinch, blinking in surprise. "Wha—?"
But before she could finish the question, her Nana raised a single finger to her lips.
"I can see it in your eyes," she said softly. "You're carrying a heavy burden. You feel powerless… trapped in a situation that's out of your control. And worst of all, someone you care about—deeply—is hurting. You want to help. But you don't know how."
Sam's mouth fell open slightly, her heart skipping a beat. "I… How did you know? How can you tell?"
Her grandmother smiled mysteriously. "Let's just say I've lived a very long life. You learn to see patterns, truths that others overlook."
She stood suddenly, moving with more grace than Sam expected. "Come. Follow me."
Still processing everything, Sam blinked, but stood quickly. "Wait—where are we going?"
"To my room," Nana said with a sly grin. "There's something I want to show you. Something that's long overdue."
They walked down the hallway together, past portraits and relics from generations gone by. When they reached her Nana's room, the elder woman knelt by her bed with a small grunt and motioned for Sam.
"It's been a while since I opened it, so I'll need your help. Be a dear and reach under the bed, would you? You should find a chest. Heavy thing."
Sam knelt beside her and peeked beneath the bed. Sure enough, she spotted the dusty outline of an old wooden chest. She reached in and gave it a tug—and immediately groaned.
"What do you have in here? Rocks? It's like a hundred pounds!" Sam grunted as she dragged it out with effort.
Her Nana chuckled and reached into the neckline of her blouse, pulling out a delicate chain with an old-fashioned key dangling at the end. She handed it to Sam.
"Although you're young, I believe you're ready to finally learn the truth about our family… and the legacy we've kept hidden."
Sam took the key with wide eyes, her mind racing with questions. Her fingers trembled slightly as she slid it into the lock and twisted. A soft click echoed, followed by the creaking of aged hinges.
As the lid opened, Sam's eyes widened. Inside were rows of ancient, leather-bound books—many marked with unfamiliar symbols and bold pentagrams on their covers. Pouches of crystals shimmered in the corners, nestled beside neatly coiled candles and old scrolls.
She reached in and lifted a heavy book, staring at the title embossed in faded silver. She glanced back at her grandmother in disbelief. "Is this… magic?"
Nana smiled warmly. Without answering, she extended her hand and traced a few symbols in the air. A glowing magic circle suddenly appeared, illuminating the room in soft gold. From its center burst a quiet display of sparkling lights—like magical fireworks—dancing gently before fading into the air.
"Yes, my dear. Magic. The arcane. The occult. Call it what you like."
Sam stood rooted in place, mouth slightly agape. "But… I thought that stuff was just fiction. Rituals, symbols—it's not supposed to work."
"Most people think that," her grandmother said knowingly. "But our family has always known better. And you… you, Samantha, have a gift. A powerful one. I've seen it since you were little. You carry within you the strongest potential for magic this bloodline has ever seen."
Sam looked down at the chest, at the glowing embers of the fading circle in the air. A million thoughts swirled through her mind.
"Maybe," Nana continued gently, "this is the path you've been looking for. Maybe this is how you help the person you care about so much."
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