The kettle whistled softly as June poured hot water into her chipped mug. A faint curl of steam rose in the still morning air. Lily sat cross-legged on the windowsill, legs phasing slightly through the wood, watching the city outside begin to stir.
"You snored again," Lily said, swinging one translucent leg like a child dangling her feet over a stream.
June didn't look up. She stirred her tea with lazy precision. "Did not."
"You did. Like a little cartoon bear."
"I'll take it under advisement," June muttered.
They moved through the morning like dancers in a well-worn routine—Lily's presence a flicker in the corner of June's eye, June's responses practiced and dry. There was no need to announce the familiar. But behind every word they exchanged, a faint echo lingered. Not quite grief. Not quite peace. Just something unfinished, quietly sitting between them.
June sat at the tiny kitchen table with her mug and a journal she hadn't touched in weeks. She opened it halfway, flipped through a few pages, and then closed it again. Her eyes landed on a photo tucked into the inside cover—two girls, identical, grinning and holding ice cream cones. One of them still existed. The other floated by the window.
"I remember that day," Lily said quietly.
June didn't answer. She tucked the photo deeper into the journal and placed it back in the drawer.
The bookstore smelled like paper and cedar oil, familiar as breath. June padded across creaky floorboards, unlocking the front door and flipping the sign to OPEN. Lily followed, drifting more than walking.
The morning moved slow, like most days. Customers came and went, often the same faces. June rang up books, gave tight smiles, and avoided eye contact longer than necessary. Lily hovered in and out of sight, her form flickering with the late morning light.
One customer, a man in a dark coat, paused before paying. "Do you live upstairs?" he asked.
June blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Above the shop. You just seem... like you're always here."
She gave a polite smile, paper-thin. "I am."
He looked like he wanted to say more but didn't. She handed him his change, and he left with a book under his arm.
Later, Gladys arrived in her usual oversized sunglasses and a scarf that looked older than June. "Well look at you, already vertical."
Gladys was a kind woman. She was the only reason June had a place to sleep at night. She allowed June to stay in the apartment upstairs. In exchange, June ran the bookstore.
June gave a tired smile. "Morning, Gladys."
Gladys leaned close. "Dream of her again?"
June nodded once. "Same as always."
Gladys gave her arm a gentle pat. "She's still watching over you, hon'. Always has."
June said nothing. Lily, unseen by Gladys, made a face and stuck out her tongue. June rolled her eyes.
As afternoon light spilled golden across the wooden floor, June sat behind the counter with a half-read novel in her hands. Lily lay upside down on the ceiling, humming to herself.
"You ever get the feeling something's about to change?" Lily asked, her voice too light to be casual.
June looked up. "You mean like an earthquake? Or existential dread?"
Lily smiled but didn't answer.
June tried to return to her book, but the quiet had shifted. The air felt heavier, somehow—thick with the kind of silence that waits for footsteps.
As the afternoon faded into early evening, June began shelving the last few returns and sweeping the front step. She stared out at the street for a long while before turning the sign to CLOSED.
She didn't need to be out tonight. There was no appointment, no errand. But there was a weight in her chest that hadn't lifted all day.
"Let's go for a walk," she murmured aloud, not really expecting a reply.
Lily blinked from the stair railing, where she was half-leaning, half-floating. "Seriously?"
"I just... need air. I've been stuck inside all week."
"You run a bookstore. That kind of comes with the territory."
June gave her a sideways look. "And you've been stuck with me."
"Best haunting gig I've ever had."
June smirked despite herself, grabbed her coat, and slipped out the door.
June stepped out into the cool dusk, pulling her jacket tighter around her. Lily hovered just behind, unusually quiet.
The city felt... off. Sounds were muffled, like someone had thrown a heavy blanket over the world. Cars passed, lights blinked on, and everything moved normally—but June's skin prickled with unease.
Suddenly, there was yelling down a side alley. June picked up the pace.
"This is very relaxing," Lily said sarcastically.
June glanced over to see Lily floating along comfortably on her side.
June raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, it's nice to stretch your legs from time to time."
Lily shrugged, arms folded as she hovered beside her. "I can walk," she said, and began moving her legs back and forth in a cartoonish imitation of walking.
It struck June how absurd the whole display was—partly because it had been so long since Lily had actually walked that her timing was off. She looked like a poorly animated, faintly glowing girl moonwalking down the sidewalk.
June laughed then. Hard. Snorting and everything.
Lily beamed with pride. "That's what I live for."
That prompted another burst of laughter from June—laughter at the irony of the words more than the joke.
As they settled down, Lily—now back to her usual drifting posture—got a distant look in her eyes.
"This was a good idea," she said.
"I do have those occasionally," June replied.
"I really do wish you would make some real friends," Lily added wistfully.
June tensed. This conversation had come up often lately. It seemed Lily was pushing harder and harder.
June opened her mouth. "I—"
"Gladys doesn't count!" Lily cut her off. "Or Albert!"
June gave her a blank look. "Albert?"
Lily waved a hand like it was obvious. "The cat."
June's face remained unchanged.
"The stray."
"Yes?"
"She's a girl," June said flatly.
Lily blinked. "Oh."
June crossed her arms. "That cat has been hanging around for at least a year."
"I'm only ten years old!" Lily protested. "I don't know the difference between boys and girls."
"You may have died at ten, but it's been fifteen years—and we were in biology class together. I know because it was nearly impossible to concentrate while you were snickering at every word."
Lily cracked, grinning. "Mrs. Painsworth would've lost it if she'd ever seen me."
June smiled despite herself.
Lily scrunched her face into faux wrinkles and said in her best impression, "I will not have any laughter in this class. We all need to be serious."
They turned down a side street flanked with brick buildings, the sidewalk cracked and dappled with fallen leaves. June didn't know what she was looking for, but her feet did, and she maintained a steady pace.
They walked in silence for a while. A distant siren wailed and faded. Somewhere a dog barked once and then stopped.
"Do you ever think it's strange?" June asked quietly. "That this is still going on? You. Me. All of it."
Lily didn't answer right away. When she did, her voice was faint. "I think about it all the time."
June stopped walking. The streetlights stretched long shadows over the sidewalk. Her eyes lifted, and for just a moment, she thought she saw something shimmer in the air above the crosswalk ahead. A flicker. A ripple.
But then it was gone.
Lily's gaze was already there. Watching.
June's voice was barely a whisper. "Something's really coming, isn't it?"
Lily just nodded.