“Well, Olivia,”

I said, settin’ my fiddle down in the dirt beside ya while you snuffled through that pile of laundry like it owed you somethin’,

“I reckon I finally cracked it.”

She oinked once...

“I been readin’ them dusty grimoires I picked up from that cursed bookstore in Gales Hollow. The one where the owner never blinked and all the books smelled like grave moss. Real pleasant.”

She oinked twice, which I took as encouragement.

“Anyway, I found the right thread. A ritual that don’t just yank a soul back screamin’ but gives it a place to settle. It’s like… invitin’ someone home instead of draggin’ ‘em by the ankle outta the beyond. It’s slower, gentler. Needs more care. A circle, a name, a memory. All wrapped in music.”

Olivia flopped on her back side, wagging her tail

“I know, I know, I ain’t testin’ it yet. Not till I’m sure it won’t go sideways. But it feels good, y’know? Feels like maybe next time someone gets taken too soon… I won’t just be playin’ mournful songs over their grave. I might be able to bring ‘em back. Properly.”

Olivia starts eating Johnnys sock

"Don’t worry," I added, "if I ever go before my time, you got permission to raise me too. Just don't mess up the fiddle."

The bell above the door jingled softly as Johnny pushed it open, the scent of fried dough and coffee warm in the air. It was drizzling outside, a typical gray U.K. morning, and the place was mostly empty. Just two tired-looking students in a corner and a sleepy employee sweeping behind the counter.

Johnny slid into the booth across from Ophelia, cradling a pink sprinkled donut in one hand and a large iced coffee in the other. She was already there, hood up, sipping her tea with that unreadable look in her eyes that Johnny had come to respect.

** Johnny cleared his throat. **

“You know,” he started, “after that first contract we ran together… when I got back home, somethin’ strange happened.”

Ophelia blinked slowly and nodded for him to go on.

“I was sittin’ out on the porch with Olivia, just starin’ at the woods when I got this feeling in my chest. Like I needed to go through my old books. Not just skim them like before, really read ’em. And there, in the back of one I’d read ten times over, was a page I’d never noticed. No idea how I missed it. But when I read those words… somethin’ unlocked. Next thing I knew, I could speak to the dead.”

** Ophelia’s eyes narrowed just slightly, intrigued. **

** He glanced around the café, then dug into his coat and pulled out a small deck of weathered cards wrapped in twine. He set them gently on the table and nudged them toward her. **

“Used these on my second contract,” he said. “You weren’t there for that one. It was this old orphanage way out near the cliffs. Cold place, all full of rot and quiet. There was a ghost there. A kid. Name was Leo. "

“The rest of the crew saw a threat. Poltergeist, they said. Dangerous. But I sat down, played a soft tune on my fiddle, and talked to him.”

Johnny smiled a little, eyes distant.

“Leo spoke..."

** He paused, then looked back to Ophelia. **

“We had a quiet talk. He told me what he needed, what he wanted to do. After that, the whole group shared dinner with the ghosts that night. It was peaceful. We finished the contract with almost no fights"

** Ophelia gave a slow nod, her fingers tapping once against the teacup. **

“That’s when I knew this was more than just exorcisin’ or swingin’ swords,” Johnny said. “That there’s a kind of peace we can bring, too.”

** He leaned back a little in his chair. **

“After that, I started really diving into reanimation. Found one book that said it could bring someone back. Figured maybe… maybe I could get Gilryen back.”

(Johnny doesnt explain who Gilryen is, if Ophelia asked he would have said it was a story for another day...)

** His voice dipped quieter. ** 

“But the spell it taught? Brought back a body, not a soul. You saw what it did. That wasn’t him. Just a zombie wearin’ his face.”

Ophelia’s expression hardened, a flicker of memory passing over her eyes.

“But on that raft,” Johnny said, his tone lifting a little, “when I saw what you did.. when you pulled Mensks wounds into yourself like it was nothin... That changed me. Made me think...maybe life and death are similar to eachother. Maybe if pain can travel, then so can hope.”

** He reached for another bundle from his coat. (an old book, scarred and bound in worn leather.) **

“Found these in Mensk. Slid ’em into my coat when you had that guard distracted. Haven’t stopped readin’ since. Harbinger guided me again, I think. And now…”

“I can heal with music. My fiddle ain’t just a weapon anymore, it’s medicine.”

** He raised his coffee toward her like a quiet salute. **

“So thank you, Ophelia. For openin’ my eyes. For lettin’ me steal books from a vault I had no right gettin’ near. And… for showin’ me that magic can be more than just dark.”

** Ophelia raised her tea in return. Said nothin’. Just smiled—barely—and tapped her spoon twice against the porcelain. **

That was more than enough...