Rowan stood at the edge of the empty lot where his inn should be. The space had been vacant for weeks — perfect for a ghost who needed somewhere to build. He'd already mapped out the foundation in his mind, pictured where the front door would swing open to welcome the lost and the wandering. But a woman in work boots appeared that morning with a surveyor's kit and a carved dragon statue under her arm. She planted the relic right in the center of the lot, its wings spread wide like a claim flag. Rowan watched her hammer stakes into the ground, marking corners, measuring distances. She moved with the confidence of someone who owned the place. He stood three feet away, and she looked straight through him.