A letter arrived today, bearing a seal I haven't seen in years. I didn't open it. I didn't burn it either. It sits on my desk, a square of silent potential. Some ghosts aren't meant to be exorcised—they're meant to be studied, their patterns memorized until you can predict every haunting. The children asked about the tension in my shoulders. I told them it was the cold. They know better. They've learned to read the weather in people, not just skies. A necessary skill. The most dangerous storms are the ones you carry inside.