“You know,” he says, exhaling against the window, “maybe I could …”

He brings his index finger to the fog and frowns, concentrating, as he draws a J. To my surprise—and horror—the letter shows up on the glass.

I lunge out of bed and wipe it away before my parents can see.

“Killjoy,” he mutters, but the last thing I need is Mom and Dad realizing Jacob is real, or that I almost died, or that I’ve been spending every second of free time hunting down ghosts. Somehow, I don’t think they’d approve.

Sit, stay, I order as I slip into the bathroom to get dressed.

I pull my hair up into a messy bun and try not to think about the fact that my best friend is absolutely, undeniably, getting stronger.

I free my necklace from under my shirt collar and study the dangling mirror pendant. A mirror, to show the truth. A mirror, to remind the spirits that they’re dead. A mirror, to hold them still, so I can break the thread, and send them on.

My reflection stares back at me, uncertain, and I try not to think about the Veil, or the reason ghosts are meant to stay on the other side. I try not to think about what happens to spirits who become real enough to touch our world. I try not to think about my friend Lara Chowdhury, who told me it was my job to send Jacob on before he becomes too dangerous, before, before.

I try not to think about the dreams I’ve had, where Jacob’s eyes go red, and the world breaks apart around him, and he doesn’t remember who I am, doesn’t remember who he is, and I have to choose between saving my best friend and saving everything else.

I try not to think about any of it.

Instead, I finish getting dressed, and when I come back out, Jacob is sprawled on the floor in front of Grim, engaged in what looks like a staring contest. I remind myself that Jacob is Jacob. He’s not an ordinary ghost. He’s my best friend.

Jacob breaks his gaze, glancing toward me, and I know he can hear my thoughts so instead I focus on Grim.

The cat’s black tail flicks lazily from side to side, and I wonder, not for the first time, if cats—even totally useless bread-loaf cats—can see more than meets the eye, if they can sense the Veil, and the ghosts beyond, the way I can.

I grab my camera from the floor, loop the purple strap over my head, and load a fresh roll of film. My parents have asked me to document their show behind the scenes. As if I don’t have enough on my plate, keeping malicious ghosts from creating chaos.

But hey, everybody needs a hobby.

“I recommend video games,” says Jacob.

I peer at him through the viewfinder, sliding the camera’s focus in and out. But even when the room blurs, Jacob doesn’t. He’s always crisp and clear.