But, as I turn to leave the room, a young woman stops me, looks me in the eye with a squint, and whispers with a suspicious, knowing smile.
“You are… a phantom.”
“Am I? How so?”
“I left this room to look for you; for help to fix a problem. I was right outside the door. Then, I turn around and somehow you’re in here. And you’ve already fixed it. You’re a phantom.”
She seems convinced. I’ve never been called a phantom before.