Jenna stared up at the vaulted iron roof of the station. She wondered how many people walked through it every day and never noticed the stark beauty of its construction, or the melancholy of its evident, albeit slow, decay.

The shade was up there somewhere, she had spotted it by the stairs leading off towards the Hammersmith and City Line, and once it had noticed her it had flitted up into the rafters of the station.

Shades often flee from those among the living that can see them; Jenna was used to this kind of thing. Still she preferred it when they were curious rather than scared, it made it a lot easier to connect with them. She closed her eyes and stretched out with her emotional self, broadcasting waves of compassion upwards. She slowed her breathing and tried to focus on the shade and let the hustle and bustle of Paddington on a Friday evening fall away into the background. When she opened her eyes the shade was directly in front of her, its face looking right at her;

“Who are you?”

“Jenna.”

—

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