It was October in the town of Half-Mast Road, a place that barely qualified as a town—just a post office, a diner, and a stretch of asphalt that ended at a locked gate. Luna's cousin, Emma, had moved there for a job she wouldn't talk about. When Luna drove out to visit, Emma showed her the read receipt. It was from an email she had never sent. The timestamp was three years old. The recipient's name was Emma's own, but the message inside... it wasn't from her. It listed things Emma had done that no one could have known. No one living, anyway. Luna watched as Emma opened the email client again, and there it was—a new draft, unsent, addressed to the same ghost. This is a story about a small town, a locked gate beyond the diner, and an inbox that refuses to stay empty.