“Please?”

“No.”

“Come on, Drift. Pretty please?”

“I said no.”

“Pretty please with onions and sour cream on top?”

“…what?”

Two weeks. It has been two weeks since Fresh Breath started working at the Canterlot Scroll Archives, and I must officially revise my earlier assessment. Fresh isn’t just strange—he’s crazy. And there’s a very significant difference between the two.

“Look, Fresh,” I begin, my tone sharp with exasperation. “I do not want ponies throwing scrolls around the Archives. Our current cart transportation works perfectly fine, and your suggestion is liable to cause injuries.”

“But it’s so boring,” he groans, his ears suddenly perking up as if struck by divine inspiration. “What if I can figure out a fun way to transport them that doesn’t involve throwing?”

I raise an eyebrow, fixing him with a skeptical look. Scrolls. In a cart. Move the cart around. It’s not rocket science; it’s basic efficiency. Why complicate what already works?

“If you want to spend your free time devising an alternative system for transporting scrolls, by all means, go ahead,” I say with a sigh. “Just don’t let it interfere with your actual work.”

This seems to brighten his mood, and he darts out of the sorting area with renewed enthusiasm. Moments later, he reappears to grab the cart he originally came for, giving me a cheeky grin before trotting off.

I take a deep breath and return to my work, trying to push the interruption out of my mind. Scrolls glide past me in neat order, each finding its place among the shelves. I would have been done by now if not for the disruption.

But, alas, the universe seems intent on testing my patience today. A high-pitched scream echoes off the walls, sharp enough to make my ears flatten. It sounded like Miss Belle Bottom. Abandoning my work, I rush toward the reception area at a brisk trot.

I arrive to find Fresh patting Belle Bottom on the back, her eyes wide with panic as she glances around the room.

“Miss Belle Bottom, what is the meaning of this outburst? Are you injured?” I ask, already preparing for the worst. An injured employee would be disastrous right now.

“Ah! Mr. Catcher, sir!” Belle wails dramatically. “It was awful, absolutely horrible! I was just stamping a nice stallion’s card when suddenly…” She flings a hoof upward for emphasis. “I felt a hoof touch my… my…”

Her voice trails off, and I turn my gaze toward the aforementioned stallion. “Did you touch one of our employees inappropriately?” I demand, my voice cold. “You understand that such behavior is—”

Belle cuts me off, waving her hoof frantically. “It couldn’t have been him, sir! He was in front of me the entire time.” She lowers her voice to a hushed whisper, leaning in conspiratorially as Fresh mirrors her movement to listen. “…I think it might have been the ghost of the Lost Ledger.”

I blink, staring at her with an unamused expression. “A ghost, Miss Belle Bottom?”

“Yes! It must be! Nothing else makes any sense!”

“Right,” I deadpan. “Because the possibility of someone using magic from around a corner is completely out of the question. You are aware that Peeping Tina’s exist, correct?”

“Yes, but they weren’t peeping—they were touching!”

I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Fresh, help me out here—” I stop mid-sentence, my words evaporating as I take in the sight before me.

Fresh, who mere moments ago was dressed identically to myself and Belle, is now clad in a tan jacket with green highlights. Strapped to his back is our janitor’s vacuum cleaner. Said janitor is standing twenty feet away, frantically searching through her supplies as though something vital has gone missing.

Fresh holds the vacuum nozzle in one hoof, his expression unnervingly serious. “Seems we’ve got our work cut out for us, Chief Inspector.”

I gape at him. “Fresh, what are you wearing? Wait… Chief Inspector?”

Without missing a beat, he grabs my shoulders and locks eyes with me. “There’s no time to waste! If we’re gonna get this ghostly ghoul gone, then we gotta get going!”

Before I can protest, he pulls me along, dragging me deeper into the Archives. Behind us, Belle Bottom dabs her eyes with a handkerchief, giving us a teary farewell wave as though we were embarking on some grand, perilous quest.

If anyone were to ask me how I ended up in my current predicament—dressed in a matching outfit with Fresh Breath, mini-vacuums strapped to my forehooves—I doubt I could provide an answer that wouldn’t provoke laughter. The truth is something I’d prefer never to speak of again. A stallion must choose his battles wisely.

Unfortunately, I chose poorly.

“Oh yeah, definitely ghost slime. He’s been here,” Fresh declares, crouched low to examine something suspiciously green and wobbly on the floor.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. “Fresh, that’s a cup of jello.”

He looks up at me with mock disbelief before leaning in closer. “Oh really?” And before I can stop him, he slurps it up with an audible gulp. My stomach churns violently. “Yeah, definitely jello. It’s the same lime flavor Mr. Ledger likes too. Gasp!”

Ignoring the bile rising in my throat, I glare at him. “Setting aside how utterly revolted I am, did you just say the word ‘gasp’ out loud?”

“Do you know what this means, Drift?” His voice is low and dramatic, his golden eyes wide with mock urgency.

“Yes,” I deadpan. “It means you need to sanitize both your tongue and your brain.”

Fresh doesn’t miss a beat, hoisting his vacuum nozzle like a knight drawing a sword. “It means we need to have a talk with the big dog.” He pauses, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Not a literal dog. That was a—”

“My entire job revolves around words, Fresh,” I cut him off, glaring. “I know what an idiom is.”

He grins, utterly unfazed. “And that’s why we make such a great team. If only Belle were here to see it. She’ll be missed.” He places a hoof over his heart in mock solemnity. “But there’s no time for grief. I’m gonna need your Double Trouble Nozzle Technique if we’re going to survive this.”

Before I can respond, he dashes off, vacuum nozzle at the ready. I let out a long-suffering sigh and follow at a brisk trot, knowing better than to leave him unsupervised for too long.

By the time we reach Light Ledger’s office, I’m slightly out of breath. I’ll be the first to admit that physical fitness is not my forte, but Fresh, as usual, looks completely unaffected. He doesn’t even have the decency to sweat. The door is already open, and as I step inside, Fresh greets me with an exaggerated bow.

“Ah, there’s my partner. I apologize for his tardiness, sir. It won’t happen again.”

Light Ledger, seated behind his desk, steeples his hooves in an attempt to appear intimidating. “Take a seat, Mr. Catcher. We have much to discuss.” The effect is somewhat ruined by the barely concealed smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Light Ledger is an intriguing stallion—stoic yet secretly theatrical. He holds the distinction of being the first stallion to ever serve as Royal Archivist, a position he earned through unwavering dedication and no small amount of wit. That said, he’s not immune to the occasional fit of melodrama. I respect him, but moments like this test my patience.

With a flash of his pink magic, the door shuts behind me. Ledger rises from his chair and sweeps his auburn mane to the side, the streaks of gray catching the light as he attempts to project gravitas. He reaches for his sunglasses before moving to stand by the window, a maneuver that would have been impressive if not for the awkward way he fumbles with the glasses to block out the glare of the setting sun.

“Mr. Ledger,” I begin carefully as I take a seat beside my “partner,” “this is all a big misunderstanding. You see—”

“I know very well the tragedy of the Lost Ledger,” he interrupts, his tone grave. “You need not remind me of the old tale.”

“…What?”

Ledger continues as though I hadn’t spoken, his voice dropping dramatically. “The legend of the Lost Ledger is as old as time… or ten years, give or take. I trust neither of you will fail me in catching and confining this apparition.”

Fresh stands abruptly, pleading. “Sir, we’ve already scavenged the entire building!”

Ledger spins on his hooves, his sunglasses sliding askew with the motion. “Celestia damn it! Don’t give me excuses, colt. I want answers!”

Fresh slams his hooves on the desk, his expression intense. “Well, I want ice cream, but life doesn’t always give you a cone!”

Without missing a beat, Ledger grabs Fresh by the front of his jacket, locking eyes with him. “Then become the cone you need!”

“Yes, sir!” Fresh shouts, saluting as he stands to attention. “Come on, Drift.”

I watch in dumbfounded silence as Fresh charges out of the office, leaving me alone with Ledger. Slowly, I turn to face him, my expression a mix of disbelief and bewilderment.

“…What?”

Ledger adjusts his sunglasses and sits back in his chair, smiling serenely. “Good talk, Mr. Catcher. Dismissed.”

Currently, Fresh and I are stalking down the halls of the Archives—or rather, he is stalking, crouching low like some exaggerated predator, while I follow behind at a perfectly normal pace. My patience, already worn thin by the day’s antics, is now nearing its breaking point.

“Fresh, stop,” I snap.

The stallion freezes mid-step, turning to face me with his ever-present grin. “Something wrong, Drift?”

“Yes, there is,” I groan, my frustration spilling out in a heavy sigh. “You’ve been dragging me around for the better part of twenty minutes on this wild goose chase for a ghost that does not exist.”

He tilts his head, feigning innocence. “How do you know it doesn’t exist? Did you already catch it?”

“What? No. Enough of this.” I step forward, locking eyes with him to ensure I have his full attention. “There is no evidence—none—to suggest that a ghost is haunting this building. And even if, by some absurd chance, one was here, it would be the job of a Dispelling Crew to deal with it. Not us. Meanwhile, there’s a very real issue involving someone harassing Miss Belle Bottom.”

Fresh shakes his head dismissively. “Oh, I already know who did that.”

I stare at him, my tone flat. “…The ghost?”

He chuckles. “Nope. It was the stallion at the front desk.”

I raise an eyebrow, incredulous. “Miss Belle Bottom said it wasn’t him. He was standing in front of her the entire time.”

Fresh shrugs. “He was hiding his horn with an illusion spell.”

I squint at him, my skepticism growing. “And how exactly do you know this?”

“Easy. His mane is parted in the center, despite there being no horn visible. Only unicorns style their mane like that to accommodate their horn.”

I blink, processing his explanation. “…Then what are we doing here? We need to call the guard on that molester.”

Fresh waves a hoof, brushing off my urgency. “Already taken care of. While you were finishing up in the sorting area, I told Mr. Ledger what happened. He had a letter sent to notify the authorities.”

My mouth falls open. I stare at him, speechless for a moment, before shaking my head. My voice rises, sharper than I intend. “So the entire issue is already handled? Then what in Luna’s good name are we doing right now? What was the point of the last twenty minutes?”

Fresh meets my frustration with the same unflappable smile he’s worn since the day we met. His response stops me cold.

“I wanted to spend some time with my best friend.”

The wind leaves my sails. The fire fueling my annoyance is snuffed out in an instant, replaced by a wave of shock and… something else. Warmth blooms in my chest, unbidden and unwelcome.

His best friend? The words repeat in my mind, their weight growing heavier with each pass. We’ve only known each other for a couple of weeks. We’re coworkers—nothing more. I want to deny it, to dismiss the statement as another one of his jokes, but the look on his face is sincere. There’s no trace of guile or jest. When he opens his eyes, I see nothing but honesty shining in their golden depths.

It hurts, and I know why.

After a moment, I take a steadying breath, forcing myself to think. “Fresh, why—”

My question is abruptly cut off as a cluster of scrolls falls from the shelves above us, hitting the floor with a muffled thump. Before I can react, a bone-chilling wail echoes down the corridor, freezing me in place.

We both look up. Floating above us is a translucent figure in the unmistakable shape of a mare. Her ethereal form drifts through the shelves, her hollow eyes fixed on us. She pauses, poking her head out from behind a row of scrolls, and releases a piercing scream that reverberates through the Archive before disappearing into the shadows.

I stare at the spot where the ghost vanished, my heart hammering in my chest. “Wait, there really is a ghost!?”

“Oh shit.”

Author's Note

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