"Are you certain about this decision?"

Grandfather's three lawyers stood at the foot of his hospital bed, the most senior among them speaking.

"Yes," Grandfather replied firmly. "I want everything transferred into Luke's name. I do not intend to wait until I die. He needs to understand the business — even if he claims he doesn't wish to be part of it."

The senior lawyer inclined his head. "We understand. We'll begin the paperwork immediately."

"See that you do."

When the lawyers left, his longtime secretary — a man who had served him faithfully for decades — stepped forward to the bedside.

"I want you to arrange for someone to watch over Luke," Grandfather said, lowering his voice. "Until we know what's going on."

The secretary didn't hesitate. "I understand, sir. Leave it with me."

Grandfather gave a slight nod — then suddenly grimaced, a sharp breath catching in his throat. His hand moved to his abdomen, fingers tightening against his stomach.

"Sir?" The secretary stepped closer. "Should I call the doctor?"

Grandfather shook his head, though the movement cost him. He leaned back against the pillows, eyes closing as another wave of pain passed through him.

"Not yet," he muttered.

The secretary watched him carefully, unease settling in his chest.

Several days had past and Luke had heard nothing from his family and the situation grew more stressful the longer he heard nothing. By the end of the week, his mother had contacted him to meet up after his afternoon class. Luke waited at the front of the university until the family car pulled up and he slid into the rear passenger seat beside his mother.

"Any word about Grandfather?" Luke asked immediately.

"Still the same. He's complaining of stomach pain, but they haven't been able to determine the cause."

"Oh." Luke looked down at his clasped hands in his lap.

His mother reached over and gently took them. "It's going to be fine. He's a stubborn old man. He won't let anything take him out this early."

"Mmm." Luke couldn't say more. The worry sat heavy in his chest.

"About your grandfather leaving everything to you..."

Luke lifted his head quickly. "Were you able to make him change his mind?"

His mother shook her head. "No."

Something in her expression made his stomach tighten. "What is it, Mother?"

"Your grandfather has already made arrangements. Everything is being transferred into your name."

"What?" Luke stared at her in disbelief. "Why? It makes no sense. You said you would take care of this."

"I know, son. Your aunt and I are trying, but your grandfather is being stubborn. He won't listen to us."

"Then maybe I should talk to him."

She shook her head again. "I don't think that's wise. You're still young. Let your aunt and I handle this, okay?"

She cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing gently across his skin. Luke leaned into her touch and gave a small nod.

"Whatever your grandfather is thinking," she continued softly, "you won't face it alone. Focus on your studies. Leave the rest to us."

Luke nodded again.

"Before you go," she added, reaching into her handbag, "the kitchen staff made your grandfather's favourite cookies. I know they're yours too, so I brought you some."

She handed him a small brown paper bag.

"Thank you, Mother."

She smiled and patted his head affectionately. "Remember what I said."

Luke stepped out of the car and watched it disappear down the street before turning back toward his dorm.

The paper bag crinkled softly in his tightened grip.

There was no explanation for his grandfather's decision. And no matter how much he tried not to think about it, he couldn't stop.

As he neared the dorm entrance, a group of students from his floor approached him. None of them resembled the young man who had entered his room the week before — the incident still lingered at the edge of his thoughts.

"Luke!" one called out. "We're heading out for karaoke and dessert. Want to join? We're meeting up with some girls. If you come, it'll make them extremely happy."

Luke forced a faint smile. "Sorry. I've got things to take care of."

"Ah, come on," another insisted. "They'll love us if we can get you there."

Luke glanced down at the bag in his hand, then held it out. "Take these. Tell them they're from me."

"Seriously?" The student brightened. "Thanks! We'll definitely tell them."

They took the cookies and headed off laughing.

Luke watched them go.

A flicker of regret passed through him — they were his favourite. But he had no appetite, and they would have gone stale before he ever felt like eating them.

With a quiet sigh, he turned and entered the dorm.

~

Mick stood outside his dorm room, staring at the key in his hand. For days, he'd hesitated every time he went to enter his room.

He'd never believed in ghosts — but Paul had insisted the only explanation for what had happened was exactly that.

Tentatively, Mick unlocked the door. He pushed it open slowly and paused, listening before stepping inside.

Silence.

"Be brave," he muttered to himself.

He moved toward the desk, the key still clutched in his hand — and stopped.

The lamp was on.

"Did I forget to turn it off?" he murmured.

He turned slightly, about to hang the key on the hook by the door, but something tugged at his attention. The desk didn't look right.

The lamp should have been on the left side.

Now it was on the right.

Mick frowned.

And his phone charger — which usually sat on the right — was gone.

He slipped the key into his pocket and set his bag down beside the desk. Kneeling, he checked behind it, assuming the cable had slipped down the back.

Nothing.

He moved the desk slightly. Still nothing.

Slowly, he straightened and shifted the lamp back to the left side where it belonged. The movement felt oddly weird — as though he were correcting something that shouldn't have been disturbed.

But the charger was still missing.

Mick scratched his head, unease prickling at the base of his neck. This was the second strange thing in a matter of days.

"Ghosts don't exist," he muttered firmly, clenching his fist as if that alone could make it true.

He grabbed the towel from the back of his chair and headed into the bathroom without looking back at the desk again.

The lamp remained on.

And the charger was still nowhere to be found.

The moment the bathroom door closed, the bedroom door open. Luke stepped inside, placing his key on the desk, and immediately noticed the lamp had been moved. Slowly, he scanned the room, telling himself, 'ghosts don't exist.'

The room was empty, silent except for the ticking of the clock above the desk. He reached for his towel—only to find it gone. It wasn't the disappearance that unsettled him, but the black bag sitting beside the desk.

Luke's eyes drifted to the bathroom door. Had he left it closed? He was sure he hadn't. Heart tightening, he approached it and pushed it open. Darkness greeted him. He flipped the light switch. Empty.

He stepped back into the bedroom, staring at the bag. Tentatively, he lifted it. Heavy, the weight of several books, yet its presence made no sense. A shiver ran down his spine. He held it away from his body and carried it toward the door, setting it outside.

An afterthought stopped him. He should check whose bag it is. He opened the door—but the bag was gone. Two steps into the corridor, he looked around. No one could have taken it so fast. Another shiver ran down his spine. Luke hurried back to his room, slamming and locking the door behind him.

~

Ken sat at his desk, staring at the clock on the wall. The piece of paper in front of him had been folded and refolded so many times that some creases had begun to tear. Sticky tape now held it together. He glanced down at it again. It had begun—and Ken was finding it harder than ever to keep himself together.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed. The message on the screen read: "Don't do anything."

Ken let out a long sigh and turned his phone over, trying to ignore it.

A moment later, it buzzed again. Reluctantly, he picked it up. This time, it was from Paul—inviting him to dinner in his room. Ken stared at the message, then back at the worn piece of paper. He'd have said yes without a second thought, but not tonight. He knew why he couldn't. The reason annoyed him, yet he had agreed to follow the plan—and he intended to stick to it.

He typed a reply: "Apologies, I can't do tonight. Can I take a rain check?"

"Well. I didn't want to eating alone. Joking. Of course you can get a rain check." Paul replied.

Ken's eyes returned to the paper. The first event was about to take place and thanks to the timeline, he realised: if he didn't intervene, that event wouldn't happen. It frustrated him to know the future while being clueless about when—or how—he would fit into it. He was working with Luke's timeline, not his own.

Raking his hands through his hair, Ken typed a second message. "There's a special on tonight at the chicken shop on the corner..." He paused, deleted it, and thought again. "Thanks for thinking of me. But rather than eating in, why not see if Mick is free and go get yourself something to eat together? I'm sure you could both do with a good meal before hitting the books."

Message sent. Unsure of what to do next, he dropped his head onto the desk and waited.

The reply came: a single thumbs-up. That was it. Ken growled, stood, and pressed his ear against the door. Moments later, he heard the sound of another door opening and closing down the hall. Counting to five, he peeked out to see Paul waiting at the lift. Quickly retreating into his room, Ken slumped against the door with his eyes closed.

"Damn you, Luke," he murmured, returning to his desk. He tapped out a final message to the first one: "First event about to be completed."

Mick stepped out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, drying his hair with a smaller one. As he lifted his eyes they immediately fell on the charging cable on his desk.

"What the..." He stepped closer, fingering it. Something was off.

Glancing around the room, another anomaly caught his eye: his towel—the one he'd left on the cupboard door last night—was back in place. With the towel still wrapped around his waist, Mick realised he now had a second towel. A shiver ran down his spine. Shaking his head, he clasped his hands together in a silent prayer to the gods.

Quickly getting dressed, Mick inspected the rest of the room. Nothing seemed out of place—until he reached for his bag. It was gone. He searched again. Still nothing.

"What is going on?" Mick muttered, hands on his hips in frustration.

A sudden knock on his door made him jump, and he accidentally kicked his chair. "Aww," he groaned, hopping over to the door. Paul stood there, holding up the missing bag.

"Surprise," Paul said, looking slightly bemused.

"How did you get my bag?" Mick demanded, scowling.

"It was by your door. Thought you'd left it out here by mistake," Paul replied, confused by Mick's reaction.

"No! It was in my room. How did you really get it?" Mick pressed.

"I swear, it was right here," Paul insisted, handing the bag over. Mick took it, examining it carefully.

The look on his face made Paul frown. "Why are you here?" Mick asked, his eyes scanning the lamp, the cable, and the extra towel now draped over the back of the chair. Something strange had happened, but he didn't plan to linger over it, as shiver went down his back.

"Did you want to get dinner with me?" Paul asked.

Mick didn't hesitate. "Yes. Let's go now." He grabbed his wallet from his bag and dragged Paul out of the room, leaving the mysteries behind—at least for now.

~

After class Monday afternoon, instead of heading back to the dorm, Luke and Ken stopped at the local café to catch up. They had barely seen each other over the weekend.

"How did it go with your grandfather?" Ken asked.

Luke slumped in his chair, a forlorn expression on his face.

"Not good?" Ken pressed, concern in his voice.

Luke leaned forward, speaking quietly. "Grandfather... he's put everything in my name."

"Is he that unwell?" Ken asked softly.

Luke shrugged. "Everyone says he's fine. But why would he do this if something wasn't wrong?"

"Exactly. So... what are you going to do?" Ken asked.

"What can I do? He's made up his mind."

"And your family? What do they think?"

"My mother and aunt are handling everything."

"And your cousins?"

Luke shook his head. "I haven't had a chance to speak with them yet."

"Think there'll be problems?"

"I get along with Jan and Jamie. I don't see this being an issue. But I should contact them, discuss it. It's going to affect everything—I don't want it causing any tension between us."

Luke ran his hands through his hair and let out a long sigh. "What is grandfather thinking?"

Their order arrived, and Ken leaned back. "Oh, did you hear? Some of the boys in our dorm ended up in hospital over the weekend."

"I didn't. What happened?" Luke asked.

"Food poisoning, apparently. Some were pretty bad," Ken explained.

"What? How?" Luke asked, startled.

"No idea. I saw it in the group chat this morning," Ken replied.

"Oh... how did I miss that?"

"Probably because you're more worried about your grandfather than what's happening around here," Ken said with a knowing smile.

Luke nodded, a faint grimace crossing his face. "You're right. Of all times for something to happen, it had to be now. Couldn't it wait until after exams?" He sighed again, running a hand over his face. "All I really want is to know my grandfather's okay. Everything else... my family will take care of."

~

On his return to his room after Monday's class, Mick hesitated before entering, recalling the strange incidents from the end of the previous week. He had been so spooked that he'd even considered buying a lucky charm to ward off bad spirits. Closing his eyes, he muttered repeatedly, "There is no such thing as ghosts," before finally unlocking the door.

At that moment, Luke heard a door unlocking. A young man entered, eyes half-closed, posture tense and fearful. Shocked, Luke could only stare, mouth agape, as the stranger reached out to place his keys on the wall. His hand froze midair, trembling, and he whispered again, *"There's no such thing as ghosts."*

Unable to contain himself, Luke finally demanded, "Who are you? Why are you in my room?"

Startled, Mick slammed back against the entrance wall, turning to stare at the stranger standing beside his desk.

'Ghost,' the word formed silently in Mick's mind as wide eyes met Luke's, both filled with terror.

Luke stepped closer. Panic flared in Mick, and he tried to retreat—but stumbled. Just as he began to fall, Luke grabbed him around the waist, holding him firmly.

For a brief moment, they froze like that, the tension between them thick and unspoken. And in that instant, both men realised: neither of them was a ghost.