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When 23-year-old Luna disappears without a trace, the world believes she’s dead. But her spirit lingers, tethered between life and death—and only one man can see her.

John Carter has been cursed with the ability to see ghosts ever since the tragic death of his twin sister at age ten. Haunted by her spirit and the ridicule of a world that called him crazy, John turned his curse into a mission: help the lost find justice.

But nothing prepared him for Luna.

As Luna’s memories return in disturbing flashes, John pieces together a string of horrific murders linked by surgical precision and eerie identity swaps. All the clues point to one man: Dr. Elias Voss, a disgraced surgeon turned psychopath known only to the media as The Sculptor. His twisted obsession with “fixing” lives has left a trail of mangled corpses and swapped identities—all hidden beneath the surface of society.

Luna is not dead. Not yet. Her body is alive—trapped in a medically-induced coma, hidden somewhere in the depths of Voss’s secret lair. And time is running out.

Together, John and Luna must outwit a brilliant, deranged killer who has turned human lives into his art. But the deeper they go, the more blurred the lines between life, death, and madness become.

Can they bring Voss to justice before Luna’s tether to life snaps forever?

Or will they become his final masterpiece?

A Psycho's path

**Chapter Nine: The Girl Who Remembered Nothing**

The girl's scream was a raw, shattered thing—the sound of someone who had forgotten how to use their own voice.

She couldn't have been older than sixteen. Her dark hair was matted against her forehead, her eyes wide and unblinking, pupils dilated with terror. She scrambled backward on the bed, limbs jerking like a marionette with tangled strings.

Luna recoiled, but not fast enough. The girl's fingers lashed out, clamping around her wrist with surprising strength. Her nails bit into Luna's skin.

"Who are you?" the girl gasped. "Where am I?"

John was at Luna's side in an instant, prying the girl's grip loose. "Easy. We're not going to hurt you."

The girl's breath came in frantic bursts. She stared at them like they were ghosts. Maybe, in her world, they were.

"What's your name?" Luna asked softly.

The girl opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

A flicker of panic crossed her face. She touched her throat, as if searching for something lost.

John and Luna exchanged a glance.

Luna reached for her again, slower this time. "It's okay. We're getting you out of here."

The girl flinched but didn't pull away. Her gaze darted around the room, lingering on the other covered beds. "Are they… like me?"

John's jaw tightened. "Yeah. And we're coming back for them. But right now, we have to move."

A noise echoed from the hallway beyond—footsteps, heavy and deliberate. Too close.

Luna's pulse spiked. The cold inside her chest twisted, whispering something she couldn't quite understand.

John grabbed the girl's arm, pulling her upright. "Can you run?"

She swayed, unsteady, but nodded.

They bolted for the door, Luna leading the way, her body protesting every movement. The hallway outside was darker now, the flickering bulbs casting jagged shadows. The air smelled like rust and something older—something buried.

They reached the stairwell, the metal steps groaning under their weight. Up was the only way out. Up was the world they'd left behind.

But as Luna took the first step, the girl froze.

The girl's eyes were fixed on the darkness below—the stairs that descended further into the hospital's belly.

"I remember something," she murmured. "There's… another door. Down there."

John shook his head. "We're not going deeper."

"But—" The girl's voice cracked. "I think he took something from me. And it's down there."

Luna felt the cold inside her coil tighter.

And then, from the shadows at the bottom of the stairs—

The girl's face went pale. "Do you hear them?"

John's grip on his gun tightened. "Hear what?"

The girl who remembered nothing