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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 Eighteen: The Markings**

**The blood wouldn't wash off.**

Luna scrubbed at Lilian's palms in the sink, the water swirling pink down the drain. But the stains remained—faint crimson crescents under each tiny fingernail.

*"It's okay, Mommy,"* Lilian said, patting Luna's cheek with a damp hand. *"The man says it's supposed to stay."*

John stood in the doorway, his face granite. He'd been silent since the police left, since he'd locked the scalpel in his gun safe. Now he crossed to the fridge and tore off the grocery list magnet, revealing the stainless steel beneath.

Luna pressed Lilian's palm to the cold metal.

The reflection showed no blood. Only clean, pink skin.

John exhaled through his nose. "It's not real."

Lilian giggled. *"Daddy's wrong again."*

**Detective Ruiz called at 3:17 AM.**

Luna knew the time because the digital clock blinked it in angry red as she fumbled for the phone. John was already awake, sitting stiff-backed on the edge of the bed.

"They found another one," Ruiz said, no greeting. "By the old playground. No hand, just like—"

Luna watched his shoulders tense as Ruiz continued: "The lab says the cuts are identical to your wife's scars. Down to the millimeter."

"John, there's more. The victim's tongue... it was carved into a *flower*."

Luna's own tongue tingled. She remembered the hydrangea petal in Lilian's crib.

John hung up without another word.

**The drawings started at breakfast.**

Lilian hummed as she scribbled with crayons, her toast forgotten. Luna peered over her shoulder and froze.

Page after page of meticulous red spirals.

Luna grabbed the crayon. "Where did you see these, baby?"

Lilian blinked up at her. *"The man showed me his collection."*

Luna found it while gathering laundry—a single word scratched into the back wall at toddler height:

The letters oozed something thick and black. When Luna touched it, the substance *writhed* up her finger like a living vine.

She stumbled back, crashing into the dresser. The impact knocked loose a photo album she hadn't opened in years.

It fell open to their wedding day.

Where John's smiling face should have been, a shadow loomed. Tall. Thin.

*Polished shoes peeking from beneath the tuxedo.*

**Lilian's bathwater turned red at 7:46 PM.**

One moment clear, the next—a swirling crimson cloud. Luna yanked her daughter out with a scream, but the child just laughed, kicking her feet.

John came running, skidding to a halt at the bathroom threshold. The water was clear again.

Luna's hands shook as she toweled Lilian off. That's when she saw it—a new mark on her daughter's shoulder blade.

The markings