The next morning, Sion made two cups of tea.
One for himself.
And one he left across the table.
"You probably hate this stuff," he muttered, "but… if you're listening, I just thought you deserved something warm."
He didn't expect a response.
But the next night, the cup had moved.
And she appeared again.
"You're strange," she said softly. "You speak to me like I'm still human."
He smiled weakly. "Aren't you?"
There was silence between them. For once, not a haunting one.
"My name is Elaira," she finally said, her voice like fading wind.
"I was murdered in this room. They called it suicide. I screamed… but no one heard me."
"I'm listening now," Sion whispered.
Elaira faded again. But not out of hate.
Out of fear.
Fear of feeling something again.