The ferry glided into Lyric Bay
a picturesque yet mysterious coastal town where the air glimmers faintly at dusk and the sea "whispers" to those who listen.
The ocean shimmered faintly, calm but not quiet. To some, the waves whispered. To Serene Caelis, they said too much.
She stepped onto the private pier of Ethereal Shore Resort, suitcase in hand, crisp uniform pressed to perfection. The salty air carried jasmine and wealth.
For a long moment, she simply stood there composed, observant, reminding herself that this time, she'd be normal.
"You'll love it here," a faint male voice said somewhere near her left ear. "Though the check-in line never ends."
Serene didn't even blink.
Her grip on the suitcase tightened slightly, and she replied in her mind, Not today.
Inside the resort, everything gleamed. Marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and a sea view so wide it could swallow the horizon. Guests walked with the ease of people who had never checked their bank balance in their lives.
Serene took a deep breath, exhaled, and put on her most professional smile.
And then she saw them.
Faint silhouettes drifting along the periphery of the lobby. A bellboy adjusting nonexistent luggage. A woman in pearls fanning herself by a wall that no longer had windows.
Serene's expression didn't falter. She simply adjusted her blazer and focused on the living. She had promised herself. No talking, no reacting, no eye contact. It was day one, and she was determined to blend in like a respectable intern.
"Miss Caelis"
The cheerful voice belonged to Clara, the resort's internship coordinator, bright smile, sharp eyes, tablet in hand.
"You're the last one to arrive," Clara said, walking briskly toward her. "Welcome to Ethereal Shore. We expect excellence, but we also believe in opportunity. You'll start in the guest relations department."
Serene nodded calmly. "Understood, ma'am."
Behind Clara, a translucent man in a waiter's jacket floated by, muttering about the "good old days when guests tipped in gold." Serene didn't flinch. She simply adjusted her posture and followed Clara toward the elevator.
"Excellent composure," Clara said approvingly. "You'll do fine here."
If only you knew, Serene thought.
Later that morning, a dozen interns sat neatly in a training hall, listening as Clara presented slides about the resort's history and reputation.
Serene listened intently, jotting notes in her elegant, precise handwriting.
She was the picture of professionalism. Straight-backed, focused, polite. Except for the occasional whisper only she could hear.
"You! Second row! Tell her we still use the ballroom on full moons."
Serene continued taking notes without glancing up.
"At least nod if you can hear me."
Her pen didn't pause.
"Oh, fine, ignore an old man. Everyone does."
Her fingers twitched slightly.
Meanwhile, on the mezzanine level, Lucien Vale observed through the glass.
He wasn't supposed to be there as CEOs didn't usually attend intern orientations.
But Lucien liked order and lately, the resort had felt off-balance. Strange reports, odd accidents, whispers among the staff.
He stood quietly, all tailored composure and authority, as his assistant Rowan scrolled through a tablet beside him.
"Hospitality interns," Rowan said. "Mostly local university candidates. Grades, clean records, good references."
Lucien's gaze moved slowly across the group below… and stopped.
"Her," he said.
Rowan followed his eyes. "Serene Caelis? Top of her class. Quiet. Disciplined."
Lucien didn't respond. He just watched.
Because at that exact moment, the young woman in question smiled faintly at empty air.
In the afternoon, the first day's tasks for the interns were simple: tour the property, observe operations, and greet staff politely.
Serene excelled. She addressed everyone with respect, handled guests smoothly, and carried herself like she'd been trained in diplomacy.
Until the ghosts decided to test her patience.
In the garden:
"Excuse me, miss! Could you tell the gardener I detest roses? Lilies, please!"
In the corridor:
"We're missing a painting here. The old one with the shipwreck, find it!"
In the elevator:
"Floor seven's haunted, dear. Don't go there after dark."
Serene ignored every one of them, she keeps on being serene, composed, and unreadable.
But by late afternoon, her restraint began to crack.
At the lobby's edge, she was checking the daily guest schedule when a familiar ghost, an old gentleman in a gray suit hovered behind her, muttering complaints.
"Young lady! You're standing exactly where the newspaper stand used to be. Move a little to the left, won't you? Horrible draft here."
Serene's pen froze midair.
"I said left! Left! No respect for elders these days—"
Her jaw tightened.
"Fine, ignore me. But don't blame me when you catch a cold."
Finally, she turned slightly, her voice soft and measured.
"Sir, with all due respect… you've been dead for seventy years. You don't catch colds."
There was a startled pause. The ghost blinked and laughed.
"Touché."
And just like that, he vanished.
Serene sighed quietly, tucked her pen into her pocket, and moved on. Unaware that someone had seen the entire exchange.
Lucien Vale stood a few meters away, arms folded loosely, watching her.
He'd seen her whisper to walls, bow slightly to thin air, and now… respond to it. Calmly. As if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
His jaw flexed. "Rowan," he said quietly.
"Yes, sir?"
"Schedule a private evaluation for Miss Caelis tomorrow. Noon."
Rowan blinked. "Is there an issue?"
Lucien's expression didn't change. "I'd like to understand whether our newest intern is distracted… or delusional."
That evening, as the sun set over the sea, Serene stood by her dorm window, watching the waves glow faintly under the twilight.
The whispers had quieted for now.
She didn't know that her calm facade had already unsettled the resort's most powerful man.
And by tomorrow, Lucien Vale would summon her to his office, not to fire her, but to begin a story that neither of them could have ever explained with logic alone.