Ji Mingxia writes first
The phone torch trembles. So does the hand holding it. Ji Mingxia keeps the beam fixed on the shape crouched behind you until it shrinks, flickers, and slides away into the dark. Then he lets out the longest breath of his life.
“Ha. Haha. Okay. Okay! That’s fine. That was totally fine.” His face is perfectly composed. His voice is an octave too high. “Are you all right? Did it touch you? Your shoulders must be freezing, ah. Here, take my jacket.”
He’s shrugging it off before you can answer. Inside his head, a small voice is wailing: this was not in the plot, supporting characters must not add scenes, readers hate that.
“I mean, I don’t, uh, see ghosts. Obviously. There was a, a cat.” He winces at his own lie. “...You saw it too, didn’t you? How long has it been following you?”