"They're the equivalent of bounty hunters in your world," she explains further. "They get a list with all the rebellious souls, and they choose their assignments. Some souls can be a pain from what I've heard, so they just never get picked. I imagine that must be the case with the theatre."

My optimism plummets as I consider her words. If even a special team tasked to recover rebellious souls avoided the theatre, what will that mean for us? Have we been set up to fail from the beginning?

"I see." I nod slowly, taking a sip of water. "You mentioned powerful emotions at the time of death. What would that entail?"

"A violent death?" Thea shrugs. "A deep regret? A desire for revenge? Every case is different."

"And how do these ghosts look?" I ask tentatively, holding my breath for her answer.

"I haven't seen one myself, but from what I've heard, the more time a spirit spends in-between realms, the more powerful they become and the more they resemble their former selves. It's also why the Collectors avoid them, because their sense of self is so solidified—pun intended"—she chuckles to herself—"that it's sometimes impossible to get them to drink from the well of oblivion."

I'd love to question her more about this well of oblivion, but I need to take advantage of the discussion at hand and find out more things about these ghosts—or, in my case, a particular ghost. Who knows when is the next time she'll be this forthcoming with information? Certainly not when her brother joins us and their never-ending cycle of bickering resumes.

"What about newly deceased souls? How do those look?"

Thea puts a hand up, ordering yet another portion of bacon. People all around the restaurant stare at her. Even the waiter is giving her an odd look, probably wondering if he should call the ambulance after she's done. It's likely not every day that they see a girl eat her weight in fat, greasy bacon.

"Newly deceased souls are rather shapeless particles of energy. From what I've heard, they're harmless and barely have any powers."

Shapeless particles of energy? That sounds very similar to the dark shadow I saw last night. Hope blossoms in my chest and I swallow hard to curb down the excitement that flows freely through my veins.

"Can they communicate?" I probe further.

"I doubt it." She taps her finger against her chin. "But then again, I'm not an expert in ghosts."

"But you do know a lot." I raise a brow.

"I hear things here and there," she murmurs, a guilty smile playing on her lips.

Right. I'm starting to notice a pattern with her. She knows some things and is completely clueless about others—like phones and GPS. That, coupled with the way her brother keeps her under close surveillance, tells me she's been sheltered most of her life.

The waiter brings the third plate of bacon.