Ghost Trauma
Grave Dagger flash fiction #3
Mallory Smith balanced a carryout coffee tray in one hand, brushing hair out of her face with the other. The breeze off Lake Altana — humid and warm on this autumn evening — could be equally pleasant and annoying.
“You named it what?” Zoe Foxshade-Andeneka’s face showed a mix of humor and skepticism. “‘Ghost trauma,’ huh? That’s a new one.”
“Gotta call it something,” Mallory replied with a casual shrug.

The corner of Marine Avenue and Market Row buzzed with activity. The weekend Wharfside Market had all but concluded, and pedestrian traffic was almost as aggressive as the cars speeding through the intersection.
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