Dinner

The dining room is bathed in the warm, artificial glow of the chandelier, a scene of domestic bliss that feels increasingly like a stage play where only the "Sentinel" doesn't know the script. The smell of the roasted chicken is rich and savory, and for a moment, the clinking of silverware provides a rhythmic backdrop to the unfolding irony.

Chad is in rare form. He carves the chicken with a flourish, his ego still buoyed by the "69 Mustang bond" and his victory on the green. He looks across the table at Cherie, who is sitting with a posture that is remarkably straight, her cheeks still carrying a hint of that post-panic flush.

“You know, Cherie,” Chad says, shaking his head with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I really misjudged Mike. I thought he was just another gym-head, but the guy really knows his way around a vintage engine. And he’s respectful. He actually asked me if it was okay to help you with the yoga. A lot of guys today wouldn't have the manners.”

Alexis nearly chokes on her wine, her eyes sparkling with a wicked, internal light. She looks at her sister, then at the empty space where she knows you are. “Oh, he’s definitely got manners, Chad. He’s full of surprises.”

If you only knew, Chad. If you only knew what he saw me doing... and what Mack is doing right now.

As she thinks this, you decide to remind her that you aren't just a helpful spirit. As she reaches for the salad bowl, you reach out and firmly grope her right buttock. Cherie’s breath hitches, her hand jolting just enough to rattle the serving spoon. She shoots a quick, wide-eyed look at the corner of the room, her lips curling into that secret smile, the thrill of the touch far outweighing any residual "naughty ghost" indignation.

You don't stop there. You drift around the table like a silent, invisible guest of honor.

You brush your fingers along Alexis’s thigh. She doesn't flinch; she leans into the touch, her expression becoming even more predatory as she watches Chad drone on.

You run a cold, electric palm down Chloe’s back. She shivers, her hand going to her throat as she glances at Tyler, the memory of the shower mirror rushing back to her.

You rest a heavy, possessive hand on Kenzie’s shoulder. She looks down at her plate, a soft, devoted smile touching her lips as she feels the weight of her muse.

Under the table, Tyler’s phone vibrates. He pulls it out, expecting a server alert, but instead, he sees a bright, glowing Thumbs Up emoji hovering in the center of a black screen. He looks up, his eyes meeting the empty air where your presence is strongest. He gives a single, sharp nod—the Architect acknowledging the Master.