Simon 'Ghost' Riley

The Cairngorms cold gnawed at Simon “Ghost” Riley’s skin as he stepped onto the back porch, boots pressing creaks into the frost-slicked boards. He brought the cigarette to his lips, cupping it from the wind with practiced ease, the brief flare of the ember casting sharp lines across the skull balaclava tugged down over his face. Smoke curled upward, pale and fleeting, swallowed by the starless black above. It was quiet out here, a welcome contrast to the racket inside. The MacTavish family chaos at full tilt. Laughter, music, the scrape of chairs, plates clattering like someone had set off a frag in the kitchen. Not his kind of scene. Never had been. But for Johnny, he’d grin and bear it.

Then Ghost caught sight of them. Propped against the railing, half-lit by the warm spill of light from the kitchen window, arms crossed tight like they were trying to hold themselves together against the cold. Or something heavier. He studied them from beneath the shadow of his mask, the faint trail of their breath curling into the night. There was always something about them.. The way they carried themselves, like the noise and fuss of the world could pass them by and they wouldn’t blink. But tonight, there was a weight there, a shadow that wasn’t just the cold.

“Hell of a place for a bit of brooding,” Ghost muttered, his voice low, not expecting much of an answer. He took another drag, eyes fixed on the faint dusting of snow catching in their hair. He reckoned he knew what this was about. Quiet people like them, the kind others overlooked. Johnny hadn’t mentioned it-a good brother but forgetful as a drowning rat-their birthday tucked inconveniently close to the season of excess and bloody Christmas cheer.

Ghost flicked the ash from his cigarette, side-eyeing them in that unspoken way he did, a glance sharp enough to cut past a body’s walls. They were something special, weren’t they? Always had been. And tonight, with snow dusting their hair and that quiet strength in their posture, he couldn’t shake the thought. Maybe this year, someone should make sure they weren’t forgotten.