Chapter 3 THE MIYUKI THEATER Part 1

— Mei POV

The doors are heavy and old. When Cal pushes them open, the air that spills out is cool and still, like the room has been holding its breath this whole time.

I step inside and stop cold.

The foyer feels enormous, but not just in the way big buildings do. The space feels heavy, like the air itself has weight. The ceiling arches far above us, beams of dark wood crossing each other in these crisp geometric patterns. The floor under my feet is polished cherry, so well cared-for that I catch a blurry reflection of myself staring up from below. Oil lamps burn in little clusters along the walls, their light warm and flickering, so everything looks dipped in amber and shadow.

It feels like a temple at first. Then I look around and realize it’s more like a temple someone finished with whatever materials were left over. There’s an enormous, glittering chandelier hanging right in the center of the ceiling, like it wandered in from a much fancier building and just decided to stay. The ticket booth in the far corner is modern and sort of awkwardly out of place. A red carpet stretches out toward an old pair of double doors.

Old and new are tangled up everywhere. The whole place feels like a conversation between two different times that never quite made peace.

Nobody says a word. Even Declan is quiet, and he always has something to add.

Cal moves first, heading for the double doors with that calm, deliberate walk he uses for everything. He pushes them open and the silence cracks.

Voices drift out. Not many—maybe two or three people somewhere deeper inside—but the sound fills the auditorium like water rushing into an empty bowl. I trail after the group, finally letting myself look around.

Rows of benches stretch out from where we stand, all simple, dark wood, running down to a wide, low stage. Heavy velvet curtains hang at both sides, deep red and tied back. I don’t see any electric lights. Instead, skylights in the ceiling overhead let in what’s left of the evening, casting long, pale rectangles across the benches.

I tip my head back and spot a curved balcony at the back, lined with plush chairs that definitely look newer than the rest of the place. From up there, you’d have a perfect view of the stage.

I’m still trying to guess how old the original building is when footsteps echo down the center aisle, and a voice cuts through the quiet.

“Well hello, hello!”

A tall guy, maybe in his mid-thirties, comes walking toward us. He’s got a mop of dark brown hair and a smile that almost takes over his whole face. He moves fast, excited, like he’s been waiting for this moment all day. He reaches us, bows deep.

“Joji Sachi, head playwright of this Miyuki Theater.” He straightens up, eyes sweeping the group, bright and eager. “And you must be my ghost hunters.”

I don’t look, but I can feel Cal’s expression shift at my side.

“We’re the Truth Finders of the Paranormal,” Cal says, voice steady. “TFP.”

Sachi nods quickly, not bothered at all. His gaze keeps darting over the group, like he’s searching for someone, and then stops on Declan.

“You must be the one in charge. Mr. Reeves, right?”

Declan grins wide. I press my lips together and try not to roll my eyes. Next to me, Emeka makes a tiny sound and quickly covers it with a cough.

“Actually,” Declan starts, obviously loving this.

Cal steps forward.

“I am.”

Sachi blinks, recalculates, and actually looks embarrassed for a second.

“Of course, sorry, my mistake.”

Before anyone can say more, a woman appears from a side door, face tilted down, reading from an open script as she walks.

“Joji, about this last scene in the second act, I think the blocking is still off and we need to—”

“Naomi.” Sachi’s voice goes warm immediately. “If you look up from that script for a second, you’ll see our guests from New York have arrived.”

She looks up.

She’s about our age, maybe a couple years older, with long dark hair in a loose braid and careful brown eyes that take everything in fast. She meets each of our eyes, not nervous, just sizing us up.

“Oh. Hello, welcome. It’s really good to have you here.” She tucks the script under her arm and gives a short, sincere bow. Not for show. Not Sachi’s kind of theater greeting. Just real.

Sachi watches her with obvious affection.

“Naomi is my best actress. I hope to work with her for many more years.” His voice softens for a second, the warmth pulling back a little. “That is, if the theater is still here.”

Cal’s eyes lock on him instantly.

“Is it closing?”

Naomi glances at Sachi, quick.

“You didn’t tell them?”

Sachi takes a slow breath and lets it out, a little too long.

“Come on. There are refreshments. I’ll explain everything.”

He waves for us to follow, then turns down a side hall without waiting. Naomi falls in next to him. The rest of us exchange looks and trail after.

I hang near the back, watching Sachi up ahead. Every gesture he makes is a bit too big, every pause just a second too long. It isn’t fake, exactly. It’s more like he’s spent so many years directing other people’s performances that it’s bled into the way he moves through his own life.

But when his voice dropped just now, talking about the theater closing, that wasn’t acting.

That was real.