Chapter 2 HOLLOW CREST Part 2
— Cal POV
Ren drives like he does everything else: all purpose, no wasted effort. Four hours on the road and he hasn’t shifted in his seat once, hasn’t turned on the radio, hasn’t even tried to make conversation. This is why I prefer riding with Ren. The others mean well, but four hours of Declan’s running commentary or Sonja’s endless complaints about potholes would make this case feel twice as long before we’d even arrived.
I lean against the window, watching the trees thin out. We’re almost there.
I open the case file on my tablet for what must be the fourth time since we left the city. It’s not that I’ve forgotten anything. Going over the details just settles my nerves in a way nothing else does. Joji Sachi. Head playwright, Miyuki Theater, Hollow Crest. He reported seeing the ghost of Takuya Miyuki, the theater’s founder, who’s been dead for years. Multiple witnesses. Aggressive physical disturbances, starting three weeks ago.
Honestly, I almost said no. The distance was enough of a reason. Half a day out here for a single-site case, and a client who started the call by saying his ghost was driven by vengeance. Like a spirit runs on soap opera logic. I was out, I meant it, but then Sachi asked to talk to me directly. Something about the way he asked made me pause long enough to pick up the phone.
He wasn’t acting when we spoke. That’s what changed my mind. Every word was stripped down, quiet, almost embarrassed. He told me he’d seen Takuya Miyuki in daylight, walking the halls. Not a shadow, not a flicker, but a solid, visible apparition. That never happens without real energy behind it. That doesn’t just happen.
So I said yes.
Ren hasn’t questioned my decision. He never does.
The trees finally break and Hollow Crest comes into view. I find myself leaning forward, just a little. It’s a small place, the kind of town that seems to fold up for the night as soon as the sun goes down. Dirt roads, old shops, a few kids out on their bikes. It looks exactly like the satellite photos, and nothing like the sort of place you’d think was worth a four-hour drive.
And then there’s the Miyuki Theater.
It’s the only building in Hollow Crest with any real height, standing tall and sharp over the low rooftops around it. The flower beds are neat, almost too neat, like someone is either proud or anxious, or both. The windows sparkle. The whole place looks solid, cared for. No obvious signs of age.
Ren pulls in and kills the engine.
I’m out of the van before the rest of the team has even finished climbing out of Declan’s SUV. I hear Declan, already making a joke about the building. Sonja chimes in, her voice a little too bright, like she’s pretending to be impressed. I ignore them. I scan the front of the theater, the roof, the doors, the grounds, the windows on the upper floor.
Nothing jumps out. That’s normal. It almost never does from the outside.
I sense Mei before I spot her. It’s not a sound, really, just a feeling of where she’s standing, a little apart from everyone, staring up at the building with this look she gets when she’s not sure how to feel. I know that look. It’s not the same as when she’s excited, or when she’s scared. It’s her I’m-still-deciding face.
I call her name.
She whirls around like I caught her in the middle of something, which tells me she wasn’t actually reading the building. Too bad. Her instincts are the wild card on this team and I’d have liked to know her first impression before she started overthinking.
I glance at Xiao Shen, who’s already at Mei’s side, already scanning too. She takes her time, which I respect, then gives a small shake of her head. Nothing on the surface. Expected.
I nod and turn to Ren.
“See if you can get the full blueprints tonight,” I say quietly. “Sachi mentioned trap doors and secret rooms in his first report. I want the whole layout before we go in tomorrow.”
Ren nods and pulls up something on his own tablet. Behind me, the others are gathering, voices low as they trade first impressions. Declan says something, Emeka responds. Sonja is already critiquing something.
I don’t look back.
I stand there, staring at the theater, thinking about a man who loved this place enough to come back after he died.
That kind of attachment doesn’t just fade. It builds.
Whatever Takuya Miyuki wants, he’s had a long time to want it.
I’m going to find out what that is.