Charon hadn't had a good cry since Simon died. She worked hard at it and felt better afterward. Then she started a new painting, a full moon in a dusky sky over a mirror-like lake. It was a simple composition, and keeping her hands busy helped her think.

Phantom thought the condition of the soul dictated a Guardian's ability to bond to a ghost. And he said hers was healing. She wanted to believe him so badly - but she had also read so much material that said otherwise. She hardly dared hope.

But if he was right and she did heal enough, she hoped Phantom would be her ghost. He'd certainly stuck to her without offering any real reason. Everything he'd said implied his admiration of her, even when he lost his temper.

Light, ghosts were cute when they got mad.

Charon glanced around for Phantom, didn't see him, and sighed. Hopefully she hadn't hurt his feelings too badly. He had been a good combat partner, even saving her with a sparrow when he couldn't heal her. Simon never would have thought of that. Phantom's mind worked so differently from Simon's.

A little hope trickled in from a different direction. If she could partner with a warlock who could keep her healed, she wouldn't need a ghost's healing, right? She could go back to being a proper Guardian. Running missions. Fighting the forces of Darkness. Sheen-6, while an excellent combat warlock, barely knew the rudiments of healing.

But then ... if Charon did bond with a new ghost ... she'd have her life back. Her whole career. She could try out for Crucible teams again. Light, she missed that. It was like a door had cracked open in her mind, letting in a thin beam of light from a grand party from which she'd been excluded.

Charon stayed overnight in the hospital bed, even though she felt perfectly well. They released her early the next morning. She had just enough time to run home, shower, and change before work. Phantom was nowhere in sight, and she was beginning to worry about him.

"Phantom?" she called as she brushed her hair.

The ghost flickered into being and peeked around the armor rack at her.

"There you are," Charon said, smiling at him in the mirror. "I was afraid I'd hurt your feelings and you'd left for good."

He flew up and hovered over her shoulder. "I wouldn't leave," he told her quietly. "And I'm sorry for making you cry."

"I needed to," she told him. "I do hope you're right. About the spark thing."

"I am," he said with arrogant assurance. "Just wait and see."

Did he hope to become her ghost? How could she weasel it out of him?

"So," she said, "once my spark is fixed, will a ghost just ... show up?"

"Maybe," Phantom said.

Charon glanced at him in the mirror. "What would you do if another ghost turned up as a match?"

Phantom said nothing, but his blue eye slowly turned a dark, smoldering red.

Charon held back a laugh. "Does that make you angry?"

Phantom bobbed up and down.

"Why should it?" Charon said. "You're not my ghost. You're my friend."

Phantom zipped out of the bathroom and shot around and around the living room, still without saying a word.

Well, he refused to tell her if he wanted to be her ghost, but he was certainly infuriated at the idea of another ghost butting in.

"Phantom, hey," she said, stepping into the living room and holding out a hand. "Calm down. Come here."

He zipped up and floated over her palm, his eye still red.

"Look," she said quietly, "when I'm ready to look for a new ghost, you'll be first in line. All right?"

The red faded from his eye, leaving it blue once more. "You mean it?"

Charon nodded. "Don't get so upset. I was only teasing. Now, come on, I'm a day late for work and Matilda will have my head."

Maybe it was the remains of his rage, or maybe she was growing sensitive to him. But as she left her apartment, she was aware of the warmth of his Light against her left cheek.

Charon arrived at the ghost network office and settled into her tiny chair, as usual. Phantom phased from sight. Matilda was a few minutes late, so Charon made a good start on catching up on the pile of work that had appeared on her table.

Matilda arrived, her hair tied back in its usual bun, in a brown dress that resembled a sack tied at the waist. "Well," she said, surveying Charon. "You're finally back."

"Yes, ma'am," Charon said meekly. "Do I need to file a report about my absence?"

"I already know," Matilda said, sitting heavily in her own chair. "Apparently the ghost network has been talking about you. And an unattached ghost who has been courting you." She stuffed a sheaf of papers under Charon's nose.

An electric prickle of panic raced through Charon as she took the reports. The way Matilda said courting you made it sound like a misdemeanor on level with vandalizing the Vanguard Commander's office.

The report had been compiled from several ghost statements. All bonded ghosts, she noticed, looking at their ID tags. The unbonded ghosts hadn't ratted her out.

The statement said that an unbonded ghost had been following a severed Guardian around the tower, courting her and building rapport, claiming that she could be his Guardian someday. He had said that she had named him, securing their attachment, and had solicited advice from the network about what to do next. He also swore that their sparks weren't quite compatible, but hers was getting closer.

Written in black and white like that, it looked like the worst sort of emotional manipulation. Charon's hand shook a little. "Phantom," she whispered.

He phased into sight, stealthily, using her to shield him from Matilda, and read the report. His pupil widened, and he blinked up at Charon, slowly shaking his head as if to say, No, it isn't true.

"Well?" Matilda snapped. Phantom vanished.

"It's not true," Charon said coolly, handing the paper back.

Matilda took the report back. "I know you've been circulating around with that ghost. You even took it on patrol. It didn't heal you, which you seem to have overlooked."

"He's not my ghost," Charon said, bluffing for all she was worth, although her heart beat so hard it threatened to suffocate her. "He's just following me until he finds his Guardian."

But inwardly she thought, He already thinks I'm his? And our sparks aren't compatible yet? And he's been asking advice from the other ghosts? Has Phantom been a creepy stalker all along?

Matilda's expression softened. She patted Charon's hand. "Honey, this happens sometimes. People see you at your weakest and try to take advantage of you."

"I thought ghosts didn't do that," said Charon, more lost by the minute.

Matilda shrugged. "Possibly he's malfunctioning. I've had to pass this on to the Ghost Oversight Committee. You and the ghost have an appointment with them at noon."

Charon's thundering heart nearly stopped, then raced on, twice as hard. The Ghost Oversight Committee had a lot of power, though they hardly ever used it. They worked under the Consensus, itself. If they thought Phantom had been a lying, manipulating little creep, which she began to wonder, herself, then they had the authority to do anything from dismantling him to outright executing him.

But ... what if this accusation was correct, and he'd been manipulating her? To her, his end goal of winning himself a Guardian was innocent enough. But who wanted a ghost who lied and faked his way into her confidence?

Of course, the accusation might be false, or just putting a bad spin on a small number of facts. In which case, seeing him hauled off and dismantled would probably kill her.

Slowly she turned back to her table and picked up a random report. She read it three times without seeing it and put it down again.

By the time noon arrived, Charon had accomplished very little. Moving in a haze of horror, she slowly got up and left the office. Once outside, she whispered, "Phantom?"

"I'm here," he replied, appearing over her shoulder.

Charon's feet carried her unwillingly toward the stairs that would lead her to the committee chambers. "Did you really ... do all those things?"

"Yes," he snapped. "And a lot more besides. They left that out because they wanted me to look as bad as possible. You're not my Guardian, so there's things I just ... can't tell you, yet."

"Like the truth?" Charon said, reaching the foot of the stairs. One step. Two. Three.

"No!" Phantom explained. "Personal things about spark compatibility. And - and - Light and Darkness, will they kill me?"

"I don't know." Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Charon's face felt frozen in place. "You want me to be your Guardian, right?"

"With my whole core," Phantom said quietly. "But ... I shouldn't even have said that much. Your spark will take years to mend, and I didn't want to ... to break it further."

Charon whirled around, there on the eighteenth step, and cupped him in both hands, touching him for the first time. "You little moron," she whispered. "If they decide to execute you, I swear I will summon my golden hammer and kill everyone in the room."

He sat quietly between her hands, as if terrified to move. "Please, don't. I can escape. And - and let me go, I'm not yours."

Slowly Charon released him. Phantom gazed at her with a soft expression. "I'm sure we can explain. It'll be fine, you'll see."

The Ghost Oversight Committee seldom had reason to meet. When they did, it was an excuse to play cards, drink, and try the latest pastry invention from the restaurants downstairs. Guardians took exquisite care of their ghosts. While sometimes a case came along that required their input, like a strange one about a mute ghost, they seldom had to intervene much.

There were only three of them, a Cryptarch and two retired warlocks who now worked in the Tower archives. When the case of Charon and Phantom reached their desks, it was the first time in years that they'd gotten a truly sticky case. The whole committee was excited.

When Charon and Phantom entered the room, they faced three imposing elderly Guardians sitting soberly behind a desk stacked with folders and papers. They hid their excitement well.

The Committee read the report with the accusations. It was the same one Phantom and Charon had read. When they finished, one of them waved Phantom forward. "Are these allegations true?"

Phantom spun his segments very fast, his eye darting from face to face. "Yes. But it's all taken out of context. I didn't mean any of that the way it sounded."

"Please explain," said one of the warlocks. "Judging by this report alone, you're a master manipulator."

"No way!" Phantom exclaimed. "Look, when I met Charon, she ... her spark ..." He stumbled to a halt and gave Charon an embarrassed look. "We have some compatibility."

"But," said the Cryptarch, "why didn't you bond, then? Why follow her around and solicit the other ghosts for help?"

"Because nobody's ever done this before!" Phantom retorted. "I can't ... it can't work right now."

"Why?" asked a warlock. "She's standing right there. Bond your sparks, as you should."

Phantom turned to Charon, trapped. Her spark was still so broken. He didn't even know how a bond might work, at this point - he might bond to only half her spark, or a smaller fraction, forever limited to a corner of her spark, his healing and resurrection powers barely operating.

"I can't," he said to Charon. He spun to face the Committee. "I can't. Not yet."

The three wrote down notes in ominous silence. The Cryptarch said, "You've been building rapport with a Guardian you can't bond with. In essence, you're attempting to steal a Guardian who is vulnerable after the loss of her ghost."

"No!" Phantom shouted, spinning to look at Charon, then back at the Committee. This accusation stung all the more deeply because it appeared he'd done exactly that. "It's not like that at all! Her spark is still too cracked."

The Committee exchanged grave looks.

"Sparks don't sustain damage that way," said a warlock. "It's a bit of insubstantial Light. It cannot crack."

That Vanguard dogma again. Phantom lost his temper. He threw his shell open and raged at the Committee. "You don't know anything about ghosts or sparks! You can't drag me in here and accuse me of such nonsense when you don't even understand how the ghost bond works! Your photometers measure brightness, not condition! How can you give me a fair trial when you don't understand what's happening?"

One of the warlocks summoned his ghost. It flew to Phantom and shone a narrow, concentrated beam of red light into his eye.

Phantom shuddered, his eye fizzing into static. His shell snapped closed. He dropped out of the air and landed on the table before the Committee.

"Is he dead?" Charon gasped. She was shaken and a little sick - but she wasn't sure if that was Phantom's fault, or the Committee's.

"Only stunned," said the warlock, retrieving his ghost. "He'll be fine. Now, Guardian, tell us your side."

Charon told them the story from the beginning, never looking away from Phantom's inert form. When she reached the part about naming him, the whole committee groaned.

"Do you realize the significance of naming an unattached ghost?" exclaimed the Cryptarch. "You essentially handed him an engagement ring."

Charon covered her mouth with both hands. She'd had no idea ... and it had bothered Phantom, too, although he hadn't told her why.

She continued her story. The committee listened intently, jotting down notes. When she finished, they reviewed their notes in silence for a while, comparing them to the original report.

Finally, the committee took a break to confer in a back room. One of the warlocks kindly offered Charon a box of danish before leaving.

Charon ate one, but had no more appetite than that. Phantom looked so helpless, lying on the table with his eye fizzed out. She lifted him and held him in her lap. "Whatever they decide," she whispered, "I won't let them kill you." She stroked his shell and waited, her stomach clenched with dread. This little trial had forced Phantom to all but proclaim his feelings for her, and she was awfully embarrassed for him. He did seem like a manipulator, even if he hadn't meant to. Light, they had enough grounds to execute him.

The committee finally returned, looking solemn.

"While we can't rule out the possibility of compatibility between you," said a warlock, "we also can't let possible manipulation continue. We've decided that it's best if you are both separated for a period of time. Let the fire die down, as it were."

Charon's lips could hardly form words. "Wh - what's that mean?"

The Cryptarch lifted a wire cage into view from behind the table, the kind used to house rabbits or other small animals. "This Phantom will spend a year in confinement. We'll make sure he can't phase free. Pass him here, miss."

Charon didn't want to pass Phantom to them, didn't watch to see them attach an anti-phase device to his shell, didn't want to see them shut him in the cage. And she especially didn't want to see them wake him up and tell him his sentence.

"What?" Phantom raged, crashing against the cage's sides and top. "You can't do this to me! It's inhumane! Charon, don't let them!"

"I can't," she said helplessly. "It's not a death sentence. Just a ... a boredom sentence."

The ghost stopped careening around the cage and stared at her though the bars, his eye wide. "Do ... do you think I deserve to be in here, Charon?"

Charon couldn't answer or she would cry. Ultimately, she was the one passing judgment on him, and she didn't know what to think. So she simply turned her back and walked out of the committee office. But she still heard Phantom's soft, wounded, "Charon!" as she left.