Knife to Meet You

  (The fine line between training and ghost abuse.)

  ---

  Favored Targets (Literally)

  I should’ve known.

  Of all the things Aaron could ask for in return for helping me hunt down my copycat, it had to be this.

  Not intel. Not recon. Not even some morally gray favor involving his double life.

  Nope.

  This man wants me to be a mobile target while he hurls daggers at me like a damn circus act.

  “Of all the things you could’ve asked for,” I say, crossing my arms, “you want to use me as target practice?”

  Aaron shrugs, casually flipping a knife between his fingers. “Makes sense.”

  “For who?”

  “For me.”

  I glare. “You do realize this is ghost abuse, right? I should call the afterlife police.”

  Aaron rolls his eyes. “You’re a ghost. It’s not like I can kill you again.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "Can you hear yourself? You're literally making a poor, helpless spirit your personal pincushion—"

  A dagger sails through the air, slicing clean through my shoulder.

  I blink. Then glance down.

  "Huh." I poke at the hole in my jacket. "Rude."

  Aaron smirks. "You'll live."

  I scowl. "Debatable."

  ---

  Dagger Physics & Existential Confusion

  Another dagger whistles past my ear, lodging into the target behind me.

  I don’t flinch.

  Mostly out of principle.

  “This is ridiculous,” I mutter. “I should be out there hunting my impersonator, not standing here being a damn dartboard.”

  Aaron throws another knife. “Business first. I collect payments upfront.”

  I narrow my eyes. “I should start charging interest.”

  Aaron just smirks.

  I sigh, rubbing my temples. "Anyway, you're not even using your freaky ritual knives. This doesn't count as real training."

  Aaron raises a brow. “Oh? You mean these?”

  He reaches for his belt, pulling out one of them.

  I take an instinctive step back.

  The dark blades. The ones that hum with something… wrong.

  They’re not normal.

  And I don’t like them.

  Aaron twirls the dagger between his fingers. "Fascinating little toys, aren't they?"

  I scowl. "They look like they were pulled out of a satanic prop store."

  Aaron throws the knife.

  I don’t move fast enough.

  The second the blade touches me, I feel it—a sharp, searing burn that ghosts shouldn’t be able to feel.

  I yelp. “Ow, you psychopath!”

  Aaron’s eyes light up with interest. “So you can feel those.”

  I clutch my arm, glaring at him. "Duh. What the hell are those things?"

  Aaron tilts his head, studying me like a lab experiment. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  I groan. "Unbelievable. You’re throwing cursed daggers at me out of scientific curiosity?"

  Aaron smirks. "Exactly."

  I rub my temples. "Okay, but seriously. Explain. How do these work but normal knives don’t?"

  Aaron leans against the table, arms crossed. “You tell me. You’re the ghost.”

  I blink. Then shrug.

  “I don’t know.”

  Aaron narrows his eyes. “But… you’re the ghost.”

  “Exactly.”

  A beat of silence.

  Aaron sighs. "To be honest, I really don't know what to do with you."

  "Join the club," I mutter.

  ---

  Back to Business (Finally)

  Aaron finally—finally—puts the damn knives away.

  "Alright," he says, rolling his shoulders. "Now that you've paid your debt, we can start tracking your copycat."

  "Great," I deadpan. "Can't wait to see who’s dumb enough to think they can steal my act."

  Aaron smirks. “Oh, don’t worry.” He cracks his knuckles. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

  I raise a brow. "Tricks, huh? You mean more creepy ritual weapons?"

  Aaron chuckles. "You'll see."

  I groan. "Why does everything with you involve ominous foreshadowing?"

  Aaron just winks.

  I scowl.

  This is going to be a long night.