Morning came dressed in gold and glass.
The sea outside Ethereal Shore Resort shimmered like poured sunlight, and every corridor smelled faintly of coffee, citrus polish, and money.
For Serene Caelis, it also smelled faintly of nerves.
Today was her first real shift in Guest Relations. Uniform pressed, tablet charged, hair immaculate, she was determined to be the sort of intern whose calm inspired confidence.
Her pep talk was going beautifully until Leo, the ghost bellboy, drifted through her locker door holding an invisible clipboard.
"You look ready to conquer capitalism," he announced.
"I look ready to work," she said, closing her locker.
"Same thing. Just smile less, it confuses management."
Serene straightened her blazer. "I'll risk it."
"Big day. Guest Relations means face-to-face with the living. Try not to —"
" — talk to you in public. I know."
Leo grinned. "You're learning."
By eight-thirty she met Ms. Vierra, Head of Guest Relations, a woman carved from poise and caffeine.
"Observation first," Vierra said crisply. "You'll shadow me two hours. Speak only when asked."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Three rules," Vierra continued as they walked "Smile, empathize, solve. Guests want miracles, but they'll settle for sincerity."
Serene nodded, absorbing every word.
For the next hour she watched Vierra diffuse miniature disasters. A guest unhappy with pillow firmness, another fretting about towel shade, a toddler performing interpretive dance on the marble floor.
Vierra glided through it all like a diplomat in heels. Serene thought, that's the kind of grace I want someday.
Then her tablet buzzed.
INTERNAL ALERT: Guest Complaint — Suite 704 — "Strange noises and temperature fluctuations."
Vierra peeked at the screen and sighed. "That room again. The legendary 704. It cries for attention every quarter."
"Electrical?"
"Superstitious," Vierra corrected. "Go handle it. Consider it your first solo exercise. If you solve it quietly, I'll count it as a win."
Serene bowed. "Understood."
The older wing of the resort hummed with air-conditioning and old memories. Serene stopped before the door marked 704, smoothed her skirt, and knocked.
"Guest Relations, Miss Caelis speaking."
No answer. Only a faint scent of powdery perfume and dust.
She unlocked the panel, stepped inside, and froze.
The suite was pristine with pale marble, white orchids, and sea view. A woman at the vanity, brushing glossy curls that shimmered like smoke.
"Finally!" the woman said without turning. "Room service takes forever here."
Serene recovered in half a breath. "Good morning, ma'am. I'm here about a temperature complaint."
The woman glanced at her through the mirror, lovely, faintly translucent, wearing an ivory dress straight out of an '80s fashion spread.
"It's freezing. I could see my breath earlier."
Serene checked the thermostat. 23 degrees. Normal.
"I'll have maintenance recalibrate the system," she said politely.
"Thank you. And while you're at it, tell them my breakfast never arrived."
"Breakfast?"
"Two poached eggs, toast, black coffee."
Serene scrolled through the digital log. No order.
"I wrote it down," the woman said, producing a yellowed card. "See? Room 704, Mrs. Vivian Hartley."
The paper bore the resort's logo but an outdated one.
Serene's pulse skipped.
"Mrs. Hartley," she said softly, "when did you check in?"
"March 1983. Why?"
Serene exhaled through her nose. "No reason, ma'am. I'll be sure your order is — reconsidered."
"You're polite," Vivian said approvingly. "The new girls usually shriek."
"I prefer not to disturb other guests."
"You'll go far." Vivian smiled wistfully. "Runny eggs, dear. Not hard."
"I'll remember."
The woman vanished like perfume dissolving in air.
The temperature normalized.
Leo materialized near the curtains, eyes wide.
"She's still here? Thought she crossed over when MTV launched."
"She's waiting for breakfast."
"Classic Vivian."
Serene straightened her blazer. "Let's keep that between us."
"Who would I tell?" Leo said innocently, and zipped straight through the wall.
Serene logged the incident:
Suite 704 — False alarm. Guest appeased. No maintenance required.
By noon she returned to the lobby, where Ms. Vierra stood beside none other than Lucien Vale himself.
He wore black like an effortless equation with tailored suit, open collar, authority polished to quiet perfection.
"Miss Caelis," Vierra called. "Status report."
Serene bowed lightly. "Issue resolved, ma'am. False alarm."
Lucien's gaze slid to her. "False?"
"Yes, sir. No technical fault. Occupant satisfied."
"Which occupant?"
"Mrs. Vivian Hartley."
Lucien's brow knit, faint but precise. "There's no guest by that name."
"There was," Serene said smoothly. "Old record, possibly a data echo after system migration. I've cleared it."
Vierra blinked. "Data echo?"
"Sometimes archives loop in digital refits," Serene said, calm as math.
Lucien studied her a moment longer, searching for cracks. There were none.
Finally he said, "Efficient containment. Good work."
Vierra beamed. "Excellent, Miss Caelis."
"Thank you, sir," Serene said, bowing again.
Lucien didn't smile, but something in his eyes softened by a degree. Professional approval could almost pass for warmth.
After lunch came the flood of ordinary requests which is extra pillows, taxi bookings, and restaurant tips.
Serene handled them with unhurried grace, her tone so gentle that even impatient guests calmed without knowing why.
The diva ghost from the elevator drifted by the front desk, watching like a critic.
"Lovely voice projection," she mused. "Professional melancholy with a touch of hope. If you ever die, audition for the afterlife concierge."
"Not planning on it," Serene said under her breath.
"Pity. You'd be a star."
A passing guest looked around, confused. Serene smiled brightly and handed him a brochure. "Welcome to Ethereal Shore, sir."
Crisis averted.
By mid-afternoon, an alert flashed on her tablet:
Reception – Guest Dispute: Suite Allocation Error.
Serene arrived to find a tired couple at the desk and a nervous junior receptionist near tears.
"Good afternoon," Serene said warmly. "I'm Miss Caelis from Guest Relations. How can I assist?"
The wife exhaled. "We booked a terrace suite. We were given a standard room."
"Let me check," Serene said, taking the tablet. She scanned quickly and there's terrace suite requested, overlap due to late checkout. Nothing impossible.
Behind the counter, Leo peeked through the monitor.
"Suite 1203's free. Turnover finished early."
Serene kept her eyes on the screen. "Suite 1203 just opened," she said pleasantly. "If you don't mind a short wait, we'll upgrade you at no extra cost and include an anniversary amenity."
The wife's annoyance melted into surprise. "That's… very kind."
"We believe special occasions deserve the right view," Serene said.
Ten minutes later the couple was smiling over elderflower spritzers in the lobby.
The receptionist whispered, "Thank you."
Serene answered gently, "Breathe. Guests remember tone longer than words."
From the corner, the businessman ghost lowered his paper.
"Orange peel garnish would have been classier."
"Duly noted," Serene said quietly.
The junior staffer blinked. "Pardon?"
"Just thinking aloud." Serene smiled. "Let's add orange peel next time."
Up in his office, Lucien watched the scene on the lobby feed for precisely one minute.
Calm movements. Measured words. Even the way she listened looked deliberate.
"Efficient," Rowan remarked, standing behind him.
"Empathetic," Lucien corrected. Then, more softly, "Rare combination."
Rowan hesitated. "Should I schedule a follow-up review?"
Lucien considered, eyes still on the screen where Serene was handing a child a balloon someone else had dropped.
"Next week," he said. "After she's had time to settle."
And then, because it was not his habit to say it out loud, he added inwardly, She reminds the place to breathe.
At dusk, the resort glowed amber. Serene finished her reports at a small desk in the staff lounge, typing efficiently.
Daily Summary:
– Suite 704 complaint resolved.
– Anniversary suite upgraded.
– No further guest issues.
– Staff training feedback positive.
"Concise," Leo remarked, hovering upside down above the tablet. "You should add 'hero of the day.' Modesty's bad for karma."
"I don't believe in karma," she said mildly.
"Then believe in good PR."
The diva ghost appeared on the sofa, applying phantom lipstick.
"I saw the CEO today. He looked at you like a subplot waiting to happen."
Serene did not look up. "I'm an intern, not a subplot."
"Darling, everyone's a subplot until the writers notice them."
Serene pressed save, stood, and smoothed her blazer. "Good night, ladies and gentlemen of the afterlife."
"Sleep tight," Leo called.
"If you see Vivian again, tell her the coffee machine's in heaven now."
"I'll send her the memo."
When she exited into the hallway, Lucien was just locking his office.
For once he was without his jacket, sleeves rolled, expression softer under the dimmed lights.
"Miss Caelis," he greeted.
"Good evening, sir."
"How was your first day in Guest Relations?"
"Educational."
"Specifics?"
She thought a moment. "Most problems disappear once someone listens. Even the ones that don't technically exist."
He tilted his head slightly, amused. "Interesting phrasing."
"I mean maintenance reports," she added quickly.
"Of course." He locked the door. "You handled yesterday's incident well. I appreciate discretion."
"Discretion is part of hospitality, sir."
"Indeed." He paused, then offered a rare half-smile. "Enjoy your evening, Miss Caelis. And try not to argue with any walls."
She met his eyes, the spark of humor unexpectedly warm. "No promises, sir."
He chuckled quietly, like a secret and walked away.
Down the hall, Leo popped into view, floating backward like a victorious coach.
"He laughed again. That's two days in a row. You're changing the weather."
Serene smiled as the elevator doors closed. Maybe she was.
The sea outside seemed to agree, its rhythm steady and content as if the living and the dead had, for once, decided to share the same peace.