When I stepped out of my bedroom the next morning, I wondered for a brief moment if last night had been a twisted dream. The sight of Miranda staring out the little window in my kitchen sobered me up from that train of thought pretty quickly.

It was the same suit as before, not a wrinkle in sight. The black fabric and thin white pinstripes were classic, making her white hair shine in contrast from the morning light streaming from the glass. Makeup was still flawless. Hoop earrings, striking red belt, the Louboutin heels...not a thing was out of place.

A normal person would probably be wondering if this was what she was wearing when she almost died. If perhaps this was her residual self-image, the way she saw herself, now her permanent afterlife outfit. You know, important philosophical questions about paranormal manifestations. But all my stupid brain could manage was a memory.

Paris.

Miranda looking out a little window, just like this one, regal as ever in the back of the town car, her silhouette perfect and poised with the long nose, full lips, heavy eyelashes. Metaphorical blood on her hands from the murder of Nigel's career, a hand extended to me in offering, almost as equals. Almost.

I had been terrified of how badly I wanted to accept that imaginary hand. But the truth remained. I had wanted it, wanted her. Wanted to be beside her as a partner, not an assistant. And seeing her before me now, I knew I really had missed her.

She eventually sensed my presence and turned to face me. I gulped, hoping my creepy observation hadn't been too obvious.

"I see dead people," I quickly joked, fully entering the kitchen and walking towards the coffee machine already smelling amazing. Thank you, whoever invented preset brewing programs.

"Your dramatics could inspire Broadway actors."

"Oh, good, she speaks. You really are here. Thank goodness I'm not dreaming," I quipped back sarcastically.

"Perhaps a nightmare?"

When I looked up, she was pointedly glaring at my pajama bottoms. Apparently fuzzy pants with cartoon kittens were 'nightmarish' to a fashion goddess.

I opened my cabinet in search of an additional mug before I paused with a sigh.

"I almost just offered you coffee," I muttered, softly closing the little door, "This is weird, right?"

Miranda crossed her arms, glancing away at the window again. "I'm unable to smell it. Nor am I thirsty or hungry."

"Super weird."

Blue eyes shot back to mine as she scoffed, "Do you have anything substantial to propose besides this profound commentary?"

I hummed as I poured the black liquid into my cup. A sassy Priestly wasn't exactly scary to me anymore.

As I secured milk from the fridge, I replied, "We should probably stop by the hospital. And we need to get into your house," I glanced up at her as I uncapped the dairy beverage, "Is there any way you can go there, float through the walls, and come back?"

Miranda immediately huffed, "No."

"Why not?"

She proceeded to throw a scowl at my poor linoleum floor. While she simmered, I tossed some milk in my coffee and returned it to the fridge.

"Well?"

"I attempted to leave last night," she sighed before gesturing around the room, "I appear to be tethered."

"To my apartment?" I asked, reaching for my drawer to snag a spoon.

Again, no response. When I secured my piece of silverware and looked up, she was rather pointedly avoiding looking at me.

"To me!?" I questioned, gesturing at myself with the utensil.

What bad karma had I put in the world for Miranda Priestly's spirit to attach itself to me in death? Besides the obvious part when I threw Elias Clarke property into a public fountain.

"Again with these dramatics." Miranda commented sternly, finally returning her stinging gaze to me.

"Why didn't you tell me that part? Probably would have guilted me into helping you more quickly if I knew I basically didn't have a choice," I whined, shoulders slumped as I stirred my coffee in defeat.

A cool, smooth voice replied back, "We always have a choice, Andrea."

Sure. But why me? I had missed her, yes, but…

I stopped the clinking metal of the spoon, withdrawing it from my mug and tossing it into the sink with a groan. This changed nothing. I had already made up my mind last night. Miranda would just be in my home, space, and life permanently and constantly until I fixed the universe.

Fun.

I sighed, picking up my coffee and bringing it to my lips, "I guess I have nothing better to do with my day off."

The coffee was chugged, a granola bar was inhaled, and I threw on some jeans and my messenger bag to finally get started on decoding the mystery that life (or maybe it was more death) had thrown in my face. It was already a busy Saturday morning in the city when we entered the foot traffic on the street.

Miranda's heels made no sound as she walked next to me, the lack of clacking on the sidewalk oddly disturbing. I had never seen her outside in broad daylight without designer sunglasses. While I was squinting in the direct light peeking through between the tall buildings, she was unphased, blue eyes shimmering brilliantly.

Then there was the visual of Miranda sashaying down the street like it was a runway. Miranda, walking, on dirty city pavement ? Unheard of. Crazier still, she did it without pursed lips or any other telltale signs of immense displease.

"Hey. What if other people can see you too?"

Miranda turned to look at me as she stalked forward without hesitation. When a pedestrian running in the opposite direction phased through her, she quipped, "Does that answer your question?"

"Sorry for not knowing how ghosts work," I mumbled back, reaching down to unzip my bag. Miranda frowned when I pulled out the wires of my earbuds.

"It is unwise to attempt to ignore me."

"Wouldn't dare. This is so people don't think I'm insane talking to myself, just on the phone," I explained as I slipped one headphone into my ear, wiggling the wire with the microphone on it.

"Insanity can be measured in other ways," she retorted, making a face at a woman's dress that shuffled by.

"You're very prickly this morning, this is what happens when you can't drink coffee," I said in a singsong voice, grabbing my phone, "Let's see, you're staying at…"

I scrolled through the newsfeed covering Miranda's ordeal.

Crap.

"That hospital is way too nice," I muttered, biting my lip.

"I'm sure the invalids can excuse your poor wardrobe."

I ignored the dragon's bite and asked, "How am I supposed to get past the front desk? You're VIP, probably a short list of non-relatives who can see you."

Miranda rolled her eyes before nodding her head to the phone still in my hand.

Then it clicked.

"Nope."

"Andrea," she hissed.

I sighed, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. Mumbled curses spilled out as people jerked to get around me. Oops. My counterpart barely blinked as they moved through her.

"I hate this," I grumbled, moving to the side, looking back down at the phone, now navigating through my contacts.

Let's see. Who would hate me less?

The little green phone icon was mocking me. I pressed it with a huff and glared at Miranda, who had her hands triumphantly poised on her hips. The air of confidence was suffocating.

After a few rings, a familiar voice greeted me through my earbud with, "I was wondering when you would call."

"Hey, Nigel. How're you holding up?"

"About as well as can be expected," he sighed, sounding tired but genuine.

"I can't imagine how scary and just weird this is."

Plot twist. I didn't need to imagine.

He offered a small, sad chuckle. "But can't you? There aren't many of us that actually know her."

I winced as I looked across the street and partially lied, "I guess that's why you're the only person I could think to call. That would understand."

There was a slight pause before he said, "She seemed fine last we talked. Her usual self. I keep wondering how I missed it."

"Do you really think she did it?"

"I don't know. Maybe we didn't really know her that well after all," he speculated wistfully.

I glanced at Miranda hovering nearby. She was staring into a shop window near where we had stopped, seemingly contemplating the goods on display with a frown. I looked down through the glass.

It was a deli. She was literally watching some poor guy wolf down a bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel.

"I'd like to think deep, deep...deep down, we did know her," I muttered into the mic, turning away from what felt like a zoo visit.

How was I going to mention the hospital?

Nigel cleared his throat, sounding more chipper when he asked, "Why don't we catch up? Holt is having a party next weekend, you can be my plus one?"

"Swanky. Didn't realize you still talked to him after you got, well, nixed in Paris."

"Turns out Miranda was even smarter than we realized," he replied, still upbeat and apparently eager to gossip, "His business venture led by Jacqueline tanked. My promotion a few months later was much better. He still designs, so it's good to keep connections up, all things considered."

What?

I turned again, and Miranda looked up to meet my gaze. Her head tilted slightly, as if questioning why I was staring.

She hadn't betrayed Nigel. She had saved him.

"Wow," I replied, suddenly breathless.

"So say yes, we'll catch up over drinks on his dime in that luxurious penthouse."

What else could I say to that? "Yes."

"Great, I'll call you next week. Oh, and Six, you're already on the visitation list."

Well, damn. First a ghost, now a mind reader? Did they have vampires at Runway too?

"How?"

Nigel's light laughter came through the phone before he explained, "She never had the new assistants update it. Lawyer got you visitation rights eons ago."

I glared at the woman in question as I asked, "Are you saying she put me on there as an emergency contact when I was her assistant? Not her freaking husband?"

Miranda rolled her eyes, crossing her arms.

"I'm sure she expected that, even if she was in a full body cast, she would be conscious enough to still run a magazine from a hospital room," he theorized, not hiding the mirth in his voice.

I breathed a laugh. He was right.

Gosh, I really missed him.

"You know, I could just be some piece of shit reporter trying to use my old connections," I teased, too curious for my own good.

"Please. You used to throw moral hissy fits over clogs, as hideous and undeserving as they were."

"How did you know I'd want to see her then?"

The line was quiet for a moment. Miranda was inspecting me from her peripheral.

"Like I said, there aren't many of us. The inner circle," he murmured.

He couldn't see it, but I didn't fight the smile I felt appear on my face.

"Thanks, Nigel. I miss you."

"We'll chat again soon," he assured me before we quickly said our goodbyes.

As soon as I hung up, I turned on Miranda. "Seriously? You never updated your emergency contacts?"

She merely shrugged, "I suppose it slipped my mind."

With a sigh, I turned around to start trudging my way back down the sidewalk.

"You're lucky I'm not a psycho."

She easily caught up with me and drawled, "The jury might still be out on that one."