The lights flicker back to life to reveal a gangly young man sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. His glasses as askew and his hair is ruffled, but his expression appears unperturbed, even when a woman’s voice interrupts the silence left by the retreating ghosts.

“In my experience, revenants are rarely very forthcoming. I only wish I knew what was drawing so many of them here. Watch your step, by the way.” He nods at the ward he’s drawn on the floor closest to where the voice is coming from. Most anything, living or dead, who tries to step past it is likely to hit something like an invisible electric fence.