Brady didn’t like haunted houses. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he was scared. He wasn’t. Not even a little. He’d just had a bad experience getting lost in one when he was five, and that bad experience had soured the whole thing. He couldn’t imagine going into a haunted house without reliving that childhood terror of hiding behind a fake gravestone surrounded by creepiness until finally his parents had gotten the staff to turn on the lights so they could find him. It was the old trauma that had him sweating, not any actual fear. (He almost believed that.)