I lay down, thinking hard.

The recent moonlit stroll with me and Lockwood (the seventh) had ended very nicely. My nerves were still humming. It was so strange for both of us, agents, to have weeks to ourselves. What was there to talk about besides ghosts, and ghost cases?

Mostly we ended up talking about the Other Side. It was guesswork and theorizing (which didn't seem to be Lockwood's specialty) but it was interesting, and it kept some memory of the Problem alive.

Things had been getting better—the haunting rates had plummeted rapidly, mortality rates have almost diminished. Ever since excursions to the Other Side had stopped, hauntings had all but disappeared. There were hardly any of them left.

George has become the head of the Orpheus Society, leading the country in theories and ground-breaking research. He's still a part of Lockwood and Co. of course, but he had his own things to do, his own adventures. After all, there were barely any hauntings left.

Holly had her own pursuits, and she could be practically anything. A nutritionist, secretary, model… her possibilities were endless.

Quill had recently become an art critique, which we all thought suited him very well. He dropped by from time.

So, as you can see, things were going very good, incredibly good-

It left me feeling hollow.

I had built my whole life around fighting ghosts—and now it seemed like there was no more to be fought. What was I to do now? Me and Lockwood were like the moldy leftovers that George sometimes left in the fridge—we had a purpose, but it was long gone, it was no longer needed.

Lockwood and I had been invited by inspector Barnes to help crack the underground network of relic-men. Now that hauntings were becoming rarer and rarer, each ghost source became even more valuable. It was hard work.

As for me?

I went back and forth, sometimes with George and his team of researchers, discussing the original source of the Problem, and sometimes with Holly, helping her out with whatever was her newest endeavor at the time. I attended art galleries with Kipps. Mostly, though, Lockwood preferred me by his side with DEPRAC, on adventures in dark tunnels and smuggling sources. With each passing adventure, Lockwood became more and more suicidal.

You see, last year, Lockwood had wanted to die, to go out with a bang, a sacrifice to a noble cause, a glorified figure in history. And I deprived him of that satisfaction. You see, I needed him too much, far too much.

I could tell, I knew, and no matter how much he confided in me with those evening strolls, he was holding back.

"The only thing keeping me here is you." He had told me, just this night, and it had terrified me.

I was lonely, and desperate, and feeling useless. And I missed my skull.

You heard me right, don't make me say it again. That charred piece of skull that I had depended on, that was so much a part of me was gone and I wanted it back. The remnants flashed green from time to time, but not strong enough for a physic connection. It was frustrating.

So I lied half-asleep, mulling all of my problems over in my head, while George snored downstairs, and the blade of Lockwood's thudding rhythmically as he practiced swordplay, right below my room, when a soft breeze ruffled my hair, and with it, an agonized whisper.

"Lucy…"

My fogginess dissipating in an instant, I sat up, and cradled the skull in my arms. The deep cracks that had scared the bone faintly glowed.

"Skull?" I whispered.

"…"

And it was silent again, the connection severed, and I let out a whoop of outrage. Lockwood's swordplay halted.

I had been so close. But I had heard it. Somewhere, the skull was still there.

It had been barely a whisper, but I was sure it was real. It had sounded strained in pain. I stood up and started pacing. The skull was in trouble. But where could it be?—

"Luce?" A frowning Lockwood stood in the doorframe.

I glanced up.

"I heard you shout. Are you alright?"

"No." I sat down and shivered. "But it will be fine. I need sleep." I needed to sleep on this.

"You look as if you've just seen a ghost." Lockwood said, before laughing softly at the accidental joke.

But my eyes were already closing.