Cristine Reyes Verified -

Cristine folded her arms. “You’re the janitor’s ghost?”

Cristine looked at the shelves. At the sleeping fox, the key-shaped book, the one with the eye that seemed to be watching her. Then she looked at the girl—this impossible, honey-eyed child made of forgotten things. cristine reyes

In the center of the room sat a child. A girl, maybe ten years old, with dark braids and a faded purple sweater. She was reading a book with no cover, her lips moving silently. When she looked up, her eyes were the color of old honey. Cristine folded her arms

She pulled her cardigan tighter.

“You came,” the girl said.

But that was before the letter.