Read Ghost Mga Nobela at Kwento

Yucky. We finally asked the right question and he told us Mabel was alive. I killed someone a year ago but it wasn't her. She glamoured a human then ghosted her. Ghosting is illegal and punishable by death. Ghosting as it's called here is against the law for the simple fact it takes a life to be able to ghost then it takes another life when the ghoster reverts back to their own body. It is basically sucking the life out of one person so that their soul inhabits your body and keeps it alive while you transfer your soul into the vessel you've chosen to possess. It alters the vessel's appearance and changes their voice to give the illusion that it's you. If the vessel is killed or found out the

Onin, not believing Agatha, turned to me for confirmation. "Bestie, 'goose' is a goose in Tagalog. The word for ghost in English is G-H-O-S-T," I corrected her. "Well, that's close enough. They sound the same," Agatha justified. "I knew she was wrong. Good thing we have a smart friend," Onin remarked. "Fine. Whatever. But tomorrow, okay? Wait for Carmelita and me at the White House, Onin. Around six in the evening," Agatha said.

Marcus, the quiet guy from accounting leaned against the door, arms crossed, with a bitter smirk twisting his lips. “McAllen,” he said. “You’ve been looking real happy lately. I see you enjoy your late night with the boss.” My stomach dropped. “What the hell are you talking about?” He stepped closer, I could see the jealousy in his eyes. “ I saw you leaving the private elevator. Looking like a man whose ass has taken some cock. You’re not the first, you know. The Ghost destroys anyone who tries to get close. You’re just the latest toy.” “The Ghost?” I laughed it off, but my voice sounded shaky even to me. “Sounds like some movie legend bullshit.”

He tried to trace the IP; the Ghost bounced the signal off a satellite in Antarctica, a toaster in Tokyo, and a library in Brazil. But Altair was Vespera Thorne’s son. He didn't just know code; he knew architecture. He realized the Ghost wasn't trying to steal the money. The Ghost was leaving a tag. Altair stopped fighting. He watched the Ghost reach the center of the vault. It didn't take the billions. It simply planted a flag—a small, ASCII art skull—and vanished. CONNECTION TERMINATED. The room went silent. The red lights faded back to blue. "Damage report," Altair asked.

I managed to whisper, my eyes fluttering shut. "The ledger is finished," Silas said, his voice a low rumble that was blissfully silent in my head. No psychic echo. No judgment. Just the cold wind. "Now we start the design for your ghost." As he carried me toward the Northern Citadel, I felt the "Voice" of the Crescent Pack finally fade into static. Roman was screaming into the void, but for the first time in a long while, I couldn't hear him. The pavement had cracked. And I had finally fallen through.

Leon panted, scanning the dim corridor as his breath came in uneven bursts. Suddenly, a faint figure emerged out of the shadows—the female ghost. Her face was blurred and indistinct, her presence otherworldly. She didn’t speak but raised a hand that glowed faintly blue, pointing silently in a specific direction. Leon froze, instinctively stepping back half a pace. But time was slipping through his fingers, and hesitation was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Clenching his jaw, he forced himself to follow the ghost’s lead.

It was displayed. My chest tightened as I lifted it with a gloved hand. The scent hit immediately, chemical, sharp, layered with something metallic underneath. Chlorine and cold steel. A smell I had not encountered in years but recognized all the same. It was the same ghost note that had clung to the air the night my parents died. This was not chaos. It was not a fight gone wrong or a rogue passing through. This was intent. Someone had gotten close enough to Owen to inject him, or had taken him elsewhere and left this behind as a message. Either option required control, preparation, and knowledge of what we were.

The chair squealed when she sat, and she startled, laughed at herself, and then didn’t, because the laugh felt like a bird hitting a window. She pulled up Venom’s live transponder on the internal screen. A blue dot trudged the perimeter. A second dot—Blade—hovered near the south gate. Ghost was a phantom until he wanted not to be, but his devices left polite footprints when you knew how to read the snow. Velia found one of his little ghosts sleeping in the network, smiled, and left it a digital candy. It stole it and left her a middle finger in return. “I see you,” she whispered to the screen, and it comforted her to be seen back, however rudely.

The other two… Those were where the fun happened. I dropped into my chair, set the plate beside the keyboard, and cracked my knuckles. “All right, Ghost.” My fingers danced across the keys. “Where are you?” A dozen command windows sprang to life. Lines of code streamed down the screens faster than most people could read them. Numbers, IP addresses, encrypted tunnels, relay nodes… Beautiful. Most people looked at this and saw gibberish. I saw fingerprints. Ghost was good. Better than good. They managed to stay invisible while making half the underground think they knew where they was. That alone was impressive.

I called out but she did not respond. I decided to excuse her and allow her satisfy her curiosity when I saw her phone on the floor. How clumsy of her. I was just going to pick it up and drop it on the table when I saw the words she was searching displayed on her screen. 'How to get rid of the devil's gift in a werewolf.' I read it to myself and laughed but Ghost did not find it funny. I scrolled a bit through her search history and I saw another one. 'Alternative to quench the thirst of a blood sucking soul.'