Binara ran down the corridor as fast as her little legs would carry her. She was smaller than the other children in her class, but she was still a fast runner. Her breaths puffed out, sharp and loud, while her heart thundered with each footfall. The windows she passed let in daylight and gusty winds, which brought with it the laughter of children playing in the school yard.

Go, go, go! Her panicky eyes focused on the door that led outside. As she hurtled on, she flung a look over her shoulder.

At the end of the corridor, shadowed under old wooden beams, a female figure hovered. Mist shifted and curled around her, as if caught in a languid breeze. An osari of a bygone style hung from the woman's frame, the loose end trailing back, and her hands were bloated, with bluish veins criss-crossing the skin. What stood out the most was her mouth—it gaped open and the tongue lolled out, blackened and swollen.

A scream exploded out of Binara as she tore away her eyes and quickened her pace, almost tripping over her own feet. She panted, sucking in one lungful after another, while her frenzied heart pumped out adrenaline. The woman's presence wasn't as strong as that of the boy in the well, but it pressed against her, heavy and palpable—not unlike humidity. Binara stifled a sob.

She pushed through the door that opened into the playing field, hemmed in with mossy terraces and gnarly trees. School buildings soared in the backdrop, perching at varying heights on the uneven terrain. Their roofs sloped up, tipped with finials, and the dark tile soaked in the sun.

Her classmates stopped their game of hopscotch and looked up at her approach.

"T-There's a scary l-lady." Binara doubled over to catch her breath and pointed a finger at the old building behind her. "There. At the end of that corridor."

The girls exchanged looks and giggled.

"You're always making things up," one girl said, scowling. "Momma says it's not good to lie."

"I'm not lying!" Binara tried to steady her voice. "S-she's there. I think she's a dead teacher."

"You're doing it again." The girl shook her head and patted her friend, whose eyes widened like saucers. "And you're scaring Lila."

"I'm telling the truth!"

"You're lying."

"I'm not." Binara gave her a push as tears stung her eyes. "I'm not, I'm not."

"Stop it!"

"Let's just play," another girl said, turning away. "There's no dead lady there. How can she be there if she's dead? Binnie's crazy."

That elicited a wave of nervous giggles. Binara's protests fell on deaf ears as they went back to their game. A lump formed in her throat, growing bigger and bigger until it was a rice ball that refused to budge. Lila started hopping, her white skirt swishing with the motion.

Words tumbled out of Binara's mouth, almost incoherent, "No, no, she's there. She's—"

"Binnie's crazy," one girl said loudly.

The others joined in, chanting it again and again until they drowned out Binara's voice. Even the trees rustled and swayed to the rhythm, making her shrink back. Pressure built up within, squeezing her all the way to her core. One sob after another racked her form, and the uniforms merged into a white blur.

A honking noise made her jump, and her eyes snapped open.

It took several seconds to get her bearings. It's a dream. Just a dream. She had fallen asleep in the bus.

Binara drew in a shaky breath and straightened up in the seat. She rubbed her eyelids as if to erase the memory. The image of the dead teacher was etched in her brain to haunt her to the grave. She wiped her clammy hands on her skirt and looked around.

Muted conversations drifted into her ears, rising and ebbing against the drone of the bus. The backpack she had retrieved from the cemetery now lay on her lap, full to the brim with her broken gear and the bag of sand. She need not have worried about looting—not even tramps had thought of wandering into the old cemetery relic.

Soon after the reunion with her gear, she had stopped at a secondhand shop to buy a phone, since her own never survived the fateful night of the Black Prince encounter. She had no idea how long it would take to recover all of her losses—she certainly couldn't see herself owning a new camera in the foreseeable future. Her head whirled at the mere thought of what befell her prized possession.

She hastily opened the paper bag that contained a seeni sambol bun she had bought along the way. She took a big bite, reveling in the aroma of fresh bread. The sweet, spicy filling ignited her taste buds. How come this isn't a national dish?

As Binara leaned back with a contented sigh, the bus zoomed up an overpass. She blinked out of the window in time to witness downtown Hevana.

High-rises ascended into the firmament in monoliths of dark metal and glass. The Stupa Tower dominated the city center, its spire sticking up from the dome and piercing the clouds. As a new addition to the cityscape, it presided over renovated buildings—all reduced to mere dwarfs next to the giant. Hills marked the horizon, covered with lush green forest, while the manmade lake sprawled to one side, dotted with floating Vesak lanterns.

The sight resonated with her soul, sending warmth coursing within. This was her home, and she would fight to her last breath to defend it. Binara wolfed down the bun and grabbed her phone. It took only a minute to install essential apps, including Ghostly Times. She logged in to find several replies to her comment on the Black Prince survivor. They were asking for more information, except one.

Bubbles: Maybe she's just freaked out. Maybe she hasn't left town. I mean, if it happened to me, I'd want people to believe I did. Just so they'd leave me alone. :)

Argh. Binara made a face. There had to be at least one person who wanted to make life hard for her. Bubbles. What a stupid name. Her finger hovered over the reply button, but she changed her mind at the last nanosecond.

Soon afterwards, the bus took her to a working class neighborhood. Old flats choked the space, their shadowed facades mottled with cables, AC units and lines of drab linen. Octagonal lanterns hung from many balconies and dangled down lines that zigzagged above the road. People scurried everywhere, carrying groceries and bawling infants, while stray dogs prowled around food stalls, in fierce competition with equally hungry crows.

As the bus neared her stop, Binara picked up the undercurrent that tickled her sixth sense. Kaluon was markedly different from raw ectoplasm, but it powered everything from stoves to vehicles in this congested neighborhood.

"Hello, girlie."

Binara glanced up at a drunk man who stood on the aisle, one arm tethering his ungainly form to a grab handle. A smile adorned his face.

She scrunched up her nose against the sweat and arrack before yelling, "Perv trying to make a move over here."

The words wiped the smile off the man's face. Heads swiveled in his direction.

"What was that, miss?" the conductor shouted over the thrum of the engine.

"Perv over here. You gonna kick him out or should I?"

The drunk threw around a panicked look and lurched towards the exit while a wave of mutters broke out. A girl with a fringe and ponytail whipped out a phone. Some people craned their necks to catch a glimpse of Binara. She rolled her eyes and took a swig from her water bottle. Nothing like drama.

The bus stopped prematurely to discard the man at the roadside while curses and insults bombarded his back. An old woman whacked him with a rolled-up newspaper just before he leaped out. Peace restored, the vehicle proceeded to the designated stop, right next to rundown flats.

Binara alighted with a sprightly step. Her brain buzzed with the prospect of her new mission, even though it was just one lead. Without further ado, she fast-walked into the dingy bowels of the establishment. It was even dimmer than the apothecary she visited to pick up herbs and ointments for her hunting injuries.

A light bulb flickered overhead as she jabbed at a button to summon the elevator. It creaked its way down, and the person inside pulled the cage open. A mixture of smoke, mold and what may have been a dead gecko made her nose wrinkle.

All the way up to the fourth floor, Binara rehearsed the questions she would ask. Her eyes traced the ornamental iron, which curved into twin swans at the center of the grille.

When the elevator groaned open, she broke into a jog. Her sneakers scuffed against discolored tile as she passed each door, scanning the flat numbers. Music wafted out of one unit, with vocals that might as well have been a monkey howl. She finally arrived at "D-4-5", the letters almost faded to obscurity on the card.

Here goes. Binara drew in a breath, raised her fist and knocked.

A heartbeat later, footsteps approached, accompanied by a child's squall.

The door opened to reveal a woman in a housecoat, balancing a toddler on one hip. "Yes?"

"Hi," Binara said politely. "Mrs. Bentota, yes? I'm sorry to disturb you. I'm a uni student, and I was hoping to speak with—"

"No, sorry, my daughter won't be speaking to anyone now. I've had the police, news reporters and the Yakadura knocking on my door."

She was momentarily lost for words. The woman was more than agitated. The unkempt hair and dark circles bore testament to days that must've been trying, to say the least. The disarray visible through the doorway reinforced that conclusion.

Just when Mrs. Bentota made to withdraw, Binara untwisted her tongue. "Please, ma'am. I'm trying to help. I'm actually an indie ghosthunter."

Sentiment was a weakness—even more so when she was there to glean information, and it was far from wise to divulge her true identity. Yet, in the spur of the moment, she had broken her own rules. She shifted her weight.

"Indie ghosthunter?" The woman frowned, deepening the premature crow's feet on her face.

"That's right."

"Y—you can help my daughter? The Yakadura said she wasn't possessed, and that there was no point in performing an exorcism."

So she believes in ghosts? Or maybe she's had to, after what they've experienced. Binara hung her head. "I'm sorry. I think the demon we're dealing with is too powerful for human hosts to contain. It's more likely your daughter is cursed. If we seal the demon soon, she might have a chance to heal."

The words extinguished the twinkle of hope from the woman's eyes, and she said in a flat voice, "Well, I don't see how you can possibly stop this demon—if the Yakadura couldn't."

She might as well have slapped her. Binara bristled with indignation, but reverted to a dejected slouch when it occurred to her that she had no real plan. The door started to close.

"I might have a better shot at it than the Yakadura," Binara said with as much conviction as she could muster. "Did you know that tech can be used to weaken demons? The right combo of techniques can weaken him enough to seal him. But I need information."

"No, my daughter is in no state for this. It's bad enough that—"

Binara gasped, eyes darting to the sliver of living room visible through the doorway.

A girl appeared behind Mrs. Bentota and crossed the room in a gliding gait. A dress clung to a frame that was mostly skin and bones, and her vacant gaze pointed at a random point in space. She gave no indication that she noticed Binara, whose stare zeroed in on the girl's shoulder, where the strap had slipped off.

It was a livid bruise.

Before she could register the details, the girl disappeared from view.

Mrs. Bentota said bitterly, "Yes, as you can see, she's not in a state to answer your—"

"What's that on her shoulder?" Binara asked in a low voice. Unexplained injury? But that's only associated with possession.

"It was there ever since..." She shook her head and adjusted the toddler, who had started to mewl. "I have to go."

"Wait." Binara almost grabbed the door handle to keep it from closing. "Please tell me this one thing—she reported seeing an animal, right?"

"Yes, she has little memory of what happened, but she did say that on the rare times she's been lucid."

"Could it have been a leopard? With silver eyes?"

"What? No, I'm sure it wasn't. She said it was big, with bushy fur. It—it sounded terrifying. She didn't specify the eye color."

"Thank you for your time, ma'am."

"The Yakadura said it was the mark of the Black Prince."

"I'm sorry?"

"The strange bruise on the shoulder. It—it has a distinct shape, which the Yakadura said had manifested in other victims."

"Oh."

"Be careful out there. May the Triple Gem bless you."

Binara stood for a long minute after the door shut. Her trembling hand reached up to her shoulder and yanked at her sleeve. Her heart rate accelerated as she freed her shoulder and strained for a better look.

Imprinted on her skin was a silver-blue mark the size of a coin.

The world suddenly spun, making her stumble back and hit the wall.

As she corralled her thoughts and steadied her breathing, another irrefutable fact sank in. The Yakadura knew what she did not.