Tired.
But real.
Then his expression turned serious again.
“Dylan will return.”
The humor vanished from Isabelle’s face.
“Great.”
She rubbed her temples.
“And I’m guessing he’s not coming back for a friendly chat.”
“No.”
Adrian stood slowly.
His form wavered but steadied.
“He will try again.”
“To eat your soul.”
“Yes.”
“Well that’s rude.”
Adrian studied her for a long moment.
“You should leave.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“This apartment is dangerous now.”
He gestured toward the door.
“You should go somewhere safe.”
“Like where?”
“Anywhere that is not here.”
Isabelle stared at him.
Then she laughed.
Not happily.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head.
“You think Dylan won’t follow me?”
Adrian didn’t answer.
“Exactly.”
She folded her arms.
“So running doesn’t fix anything.”
“It might protect you.”
“I don’t want protection.”
Her voice hardened.
“I want answers.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You underestimate the danger.”
“And you underestimate how pissed off I am.”
The room fell silent.
Isabelle stepped closer.
Close enough that if he’d been human she could have touched him.
“Three years of my life were a lie.”
Her voice shook.
“A monster used me to hunt you.”
Her eyes burned.
“So no.”
She shook her head again.
“I’m not running.”
Adrian stared at her.
Something like admiration flickered in his gaze.
“You’re brave.”
“Or stupid.”
“Not the same thing.”
Isabelle sighed.
“Okay.”
She gestured toward the destroyed apartment.
“So what’s the plan?”
Adrian blinked.
“The plan?”
“Yeah.”
She shrugged.
“If Dylan’s coming back and you’re apparently his favorite snack…”
She crossed her arms again.
“…we should probably do something about it.”
For the first time since the fight—
Adrian looked genuinely surprised.
“You intend to help me.”
“Obviously.”
“Why?”
Isabelle stared at him.
“Because you didn’t lie to me.”
The words landed quietly.
“But I barely know you,” Adrian said.
She shrugged.
“I barely know myself right now.”
Her eyes softened.
“But I know you protected me.”
He looked away.
“That was instinct.”
“Well it worked.”
Another pause.
Then Adrian spoke carefully.
“There may be… one solution.”
Isabelle straightened.
“I like solutions.”
He hesitated.
“As I said earlier, ghosts require an anchor.”
“The thing tying you to this world.”
“Yes.”
“And yours is damaged.”
“Yes.”
“So fix it.”
“If it were that simple, I would have.”
She frowned.
“What does it need?”
Adrian’s gaze shifted toward the painting still lying beneath the fallen easel.
The rose.
And the skyline.
“Emotion,” he said quietly.
Isabelle blinked.
“…what?”
“Strong emotion strengthens spiritual anchors.”
Her brain struggled to catch up.
“You mean like… feelings?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the fix?”
“Partially.”
She stared at him.
“You’re telling me your ghostly survival depends on emotions.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
She rubbed her forehead.
“This is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had.”
Adrian’s voice softened.
“You are an artist.”
“And?”
“You already work with emotion.”
He gestured toward her painting.
“You channel it into your art.”
Understanding slowly dawned in her eyes.
“Wait.”
She pointed between them.
“You think my paintings can… strengthen your anchor?”
“Possibly.”
Her heart started racing.
“That’s insane.”
“Yes.”
“But it might work.”
She looked at the canvas again.
Then back at him.
“So if I paint…”
“…it could help stabilize me.”
Isabelle exhaled slowly.
“Okay.”
She cracked her knuckles.
“Good news.”
Adrian raised an eyebrow.
“What good news?”
“I’m very motivated to paint right now.”
He tilted his head.
“Motivated by what?”
Her eyes darkened.
“Rage.”
Adrian smiled faintly.
“That is an effective emotion.”
Isabelle dragged the easel upright again.
“Great.”
She grabbed a fresh canvas.
“Let’s save your ghost life.”
Adrian watched her for a moment.
Then he asked quietly—
“Why do I feel like you are enjoying this situation slightly too much?”
She dipped her brush in paint.
A dangerous smile appeared on her lips.
“Because if Dylan wants a war…”
Her brush struck the canvas.
Hard.
Red paint exploded across the surface.
“…he just picked the wrong girl to mess with.”