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Maya sat back. “You’ve been dead since 1885. How do you still know this stuff?”

“And yet,” the ghost sighed, settling onto the arm of the sofa, “they remain the only thing worth haunting.”

The ghost of the Victorian poet drifted through the library’s afternoon light, trailing the faint scent of dried violets. The living woman—a romance editor named Maya—looked up from her laptop. Www Sexe Ah Com

She pointed at Maya’s screen. “That scene you just wrote—the one where he leaves the coffee on her doorstep even though she told him to go away? You think that’s about coffee.”

She faded slightly as a cloud crossed the sun. Maya sat back

“And yet?” Maya prompted.

“Isn’t it?”

“So yes,” she whispered, “ah, relationships and romantic storylines. They’re not escapism. They’re the evidence.”