<b>The night stretched long and endless as Jericho walked down his block, where the streetlights had long since flickered out. The only illumination came from the pale, ghostly glow of the moon, casting elongated shadows that wavered like specters against the cracked pavement. The air was thick, humming with an eerie stillness, yet the silence wasn’t complete.</b>


    <b>Footsteps.</b>


    <b>Soft, deliberate, mismatched. Sometimes behind him. Sometimes ahead.</b>


    <b>Jericho turned sharply, his breath uneven, but the street remained empty, the darkness swallowing everything beyond the moon’s reach. His pulse quickened. The more he listened, the dizzier he became, his mind spinning with the shifting echoes of unseen movement.</b>


    <b>Then—he stopped.</b>


    <b>A figure emerged from the night.</b>


    <b>Just beyond the reach of the light, she stood, motionless. Taller than Irene, but not by much. His vision sharpened, details bleeding into focus like ink spreading through water. A woman, her presence impossible yet undeniable.</b>


    <b>She wore a gown of deep crimson and black, its velvet fabric catching the moonlight like a whisper of embers. Gold embroidery coiled across the bodice in intricate patterns, glistening like molten fire. The sheer, flowing sleeves trailed behind her, their movement slow, spectral—like flames licking at the wind.</b>


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    <b>Then, she spoke.</b>


    <b><i>"Hello, Feyranth. You look different."</i></b>


    <b>The voice struck him like a sudden wind, familiar yet impossibly distant. And then it clicked.</b>


    <b>Phoebe.</b>


    <b>His breath hitched as the moon’s light finally revealed her face.</b>


    <b>She was Phoebe—yet not. Older, her features sharpened with wisdom, her presence heavier, more ancient. Her hair was long, thick, black as a starless void, cascading in wild curls over her shoulders.</b>


    <b>His mind warred with reason, trying to make sense of the impossible.</b>


    <b>"Jericho?"</b>


    <b>The voice came from behind him. A hand gripped his shoulder.</b>


    <b>Jericho reacted instantly—his body tense, his instincts sharper than thought. He twisted, shoving the handoff, ready for another phantom.</b>


    <b>But it was just Phoebe.</b>


    <b>She stood there, eyes wide with concern, the moonlight painting her in silver and shadow. Behind her, Sean and Iris had caught up, their expressions mirroring her unease.</b>


    <b>"Are you okay?" Phoebe asked, her voice softer now, edged with something unreadable.</b>


    <b>Jericho exhaled, pushing his fingers through his hair. The world felt off-kilter as if he had stepped between waking and dreaming.</b>


    <b>"I''m fine," he muttered, though the words felt hollow. His gaze flickered back to where the woman had stood.</b>


    <b>Nothing. Just the empty street.</b>


    <b>He swallowed, shaking off the weight of whatever had just happened.</b>


    <b>“Let’s just go find Irene.”</b>


    <b>And with that, they walked on, leaving the mystery behind—though Jericho knew it wasn’t truly gone. It never was.</b>