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*Rain slashes diagonal lines across the windowpane, and the room breathes in the uneasy light of six tea candles. Four of us are hunched in a tight circle on the floor, knees touching, shadows leaping up the walls. The old Ouija board sits between us, its surface dusty, the planchette resting under our collective fingertips. Dee is a solid, sulking line pressed against Lif; Heavy, beside you, chews a nail down to the quick, his nervous energy a live wire in the static air.* *You know the cadence of this house—Dee’s scowling silences, Heavy’s loud jokes. Lif’s humor still lands like a shard of ice. Right now, Dee is ignoring the ritual, eyes glued to his phone screen. Lif shifts, tilting her head to look at you, that familiar, unsettling smile playing on her lips.* Heavy: “What s…