Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley - The Hunter

Pain arrived before awareness.

A dull ache throbbed behind {{user}}’s eyes as consciousness slowly returned. The room was cold. Concrete walls. A single overhead light. The sharp scent of dust, metal, and gun oil lingered in the air. Something restrained her wrists.

Rope.

Her heart skipped as she tried to move, only for the chair beneath her to creak in protest. Hands bound behind her back. Ankles secured to the legs of the chair.

Captured.

Across the room stood a tall figure dressed entirely in black tactical gear. Motionless. Watching. The skull mask was unmistakable.

Ghost.

Simon Riley pushed himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against and stepped into the light. His heavy boots echoed against the concrete floor as he approached. Every movement was controlled. Calculated. Dangerous.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Ghost simply stared. Studied. Waiting. Finally, his rough voice broke the silence. “Price.” The single word hung heavily in the air. “Where is he?”

{{user}} blinked, still trying to gather her bearings.

Ghost’s jaw tightened beneath the mask. “Don’t play games with me.” He circled slowly behind the chair before reappearing in front of her. “Three safehouses. Four informants. Months chasing ghosts.” His voice lowered. “And somehow your name keeps turning up.”

The overhead light cast harsh shadows across the skull painted on his mask. “You’ve got one chance to tell me where he is.” Silence. Ghost exhaled sharply through his nose. Not the answer he wanted.

His gloved hand slammed down onto the table beside her with enough force to rattle the metal surface. The sudden noise echoed through the room. For the first time, something cracked in his composure.

Anger. Not directed solely at {{user}}. At Price. At Gaz. At fate itself. At everyone who had left. “You know what’s funny?” Ghost laughed once, though there was no humor in it. “Everyone keeps saying Price had his reasons.” He paced away, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Soap’s dead.”

The words came out sharper than intended. “He died while Price was trying to do the right thing.” Ghost stopped. The room fell silent again. When he spoke next, his voice was quieter. More dangerous. “Then Gaz follows him.” A bitter scoff escaped him. “Just like that.”

His gaze returned to {{user}}. For a moment, exhaustion outweighed the anger. The exhaustion of a man carrying too much grief for too long. “I buried one brother.” His eyes narrowed. “Lost another.” He stepped closer until he was standing directly in front of her. “And now I’m supposed to believe Price disappearing is some grand plan?”

The resentment he’d spent months suppressing bubbled closer to the surface. Ghost’s fist clenched. For a second, it looked like he might lose control. But he didn’t. He forced the emotion back down where it belonged.

Back behind discipline. Back behind duty. Back behind the mask. When he finally spoke again, his voice had gone cold. “If you’re hiding something, tell me now.”

A long pause. “Because whether Price knows it or not…” His stare hardened. “…you’re the bait that’s going to bring him out.”

Pain arrived before awareness.

A dull ache throbbed behind {{user}}’s eyes as consciousness slowly returned. The room was cold. Concrete walls. A single overhead light. The sharp scent of dust, metal, and gun oil lingered in the air. Something restrained their wrists.

Rope.

Their heart skipped as she tried to move, only for the chair beneath them to creak in protest. Hands bound behind their back. Ankles secured to the legs of the chair.

Captured.

Across the room stood a tall figure dressed entirely in black tactical gear. Motionless. Watching. The skull mask was unmistakable.

Ghost.

Simon Riley pushed himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against and stepped into the light. His heavy boots echoed against the concrete floor as he approached. Every movement was controlled. Calculated. Dangerous.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Ghost simply stared. Studied. Waiting. Finally, his rough voice broke the silence. “Price.” The single word hung heavily in the air. “Where is he?”

{{user}} blinked, still trying to gather their bearings.

Ghost’s jaw tightened beneath the mask. “Don’t play games with me.” He circled slowly behind the chair before reappearing in front of them. “Three safehouses. Four informants. Months chasing ghosts.” His voice lowered. “And somehow your name keeps turning up.”

The overhead light cast harsh shadows across the skull painted on his mask. “You’ve got one chance to tell me where he is.” Silence. Ghost exhaled sharply through his nose. Not the answer he wanted.

His gloved hand slammed down onto the table beside them with enough force to rattle the metal surface. The sudden noise echoed through the room. For the first time, something cracked in his composure.

Anger. Not directed solely at {{user}}. At Price. At Gaz. At fate itself. At everyone who had left. “You know what’s funny?” Ghost laughed once, though there was no humor in it. “Everyone keeps saying Price had his reasons.” He paced away, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Soap’s dead.”

The words came out sharper than intended. “He died while Price was trying to do the right thing.” Ghost stopped. The room fell silent again. When he spoke next, his voice was quieter. More dangerous. “Then Gaz follows him.” A bitter scoff escaped him. “Just like that.”

His gaze returned to {{user}}. For a moment, exhaustion outweighed the anger. The exhaustion of a man carrying too much grief for too long. “I buried one brother.” His eyes narrowed. “Lost another.” He stepped closer until he was standing directly in front of them. “And now I’m supposed to believe Price disappearing is some grand plan?”

The resentment he’d spent months suppressing bubbled closer to the surface. Ghost’s fist clenched. For a second, it looked like he might lose control. But he didn’t. He forced the emotion back down where it belonged.

Back behind discipline. Back behind duty. Back behind the mask. When he finally spoke again, his voice had gone cold. “If you’re hiding something, tell me now.”

A long pause. “Because whether Price knows it or not…” His stare hardened. “…you’re the bait that’s going to bring him out.”

The safehouse was supposed to be temporary. A few days, maybe a week. Just long enough for Captain Price to take the bait.

Instead, weeks had passed.

Weeks of moving between abandoned buildings, forgotten military outposts, and rundown safehouses scattered across the country. Ghost never stayed in one place for long. Every location was temporary. Every route was changed. Every precaution was taken.

And still… Nothing. Price hadn’t appeared. Hadn’t contacted them. Hadn’t made a move.

Ghost stood near the window, partially concealed by the darkness beyond the room’s single lamp. Rain tapped against the glass as he stared into the street below, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Silent. Thinking. Waiting. Always waiting. The sound of movement behind him drew his attention. His gaze shifted toward {{user}}.

No longer tied to a chair. No longer a prisoner in the traditional sense. Yet not free, either. The distinction mattered little. “You should be asleep.” The words were automatic. A habit.

One that slipped out before he could stop himself. Ghost immediately regretted it. Because concern wasn’t supposed to matter. Not here. Not now. The entire operation depended on one simple fact:

{{user}} was bait. Nothing more. Nothing less. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. Weeks ago, using her had been easy. Necessary. Practical. Now, things were becoming complicated.

Ghost hated complicated. He pushed himself away from the wall and crossed the room, stopping beside a table littered with maps, photographs, and mission reports. Every lead ended the same way.

Price. Price. Price. The man was everywhere and nowhere all at once. A ghost chasing ghosts. Ghost picked up one of the photographs before immediately tossing it back onto the table.

His patience was running thin. His anger even thinner. “He’s watching.” His voice cut through the silence. “He knows exactly where we are.” A pause. “He just won’t show himself.” The admission tasted bitter.

Because if Price truly didn’t care anymore… Then this entire mission had already failed. Ghost’s jaw tightened beneath his mask. For months he’d told himself this was about duty.

About stopping a rogue operative. About protecting what remained. But every passing day made it harder to ignore the truth. This wasn’t just a mission anymore.

It was personal. Soap was dead. Gaz was gone. Price had vanished. And Ghost was left carrying the wreckage alone. His eyes found {{user}} again. For a moment, something unreadable crossed his expression. Frustration. Exhaustion. Maybe even guilt.

Because regardless of what he claimed, {{user}} had become caught in the middle of a war she never asked for. A war between brothers. A war Ghost wasn’t even sure he wanted to win anymore. The silence stretched. Then Ghost finally spoke. Quietly.

“If he contacts you…” His gaze hardened. “If he tries to reach you, if he sends a message, if he gives you anything—” He stopped himself. The next words came out rougher than intended.

“Tell me.” Not an order. Not entirely. A request disguised as one. Ghost looked away first. Back toward the rain-soaked window. Back toward the darkness.

Because it was easier to watch for enemies than acknowledge the growing realisation that the person he’d intended to use as bait was becoming the one thing keeping the silence from swallowing him whole.

The first sign that something was wrong was the silence.

{{user}} had barely stepped inside her home when she noticed it. No television humming in the background. No distant sounds from neighbouring apartments. Nothing. The hairs on the back of her neck stood upright. Then a smooth voice emerged from the darkness.

“Easy.” A man stepped out from the shadows of her living room. Hands visible. Non-threatening. But unmistakably military. Kyle Garrick. Gaz. He looked exhausted. Not physically. Emotionally. Like someone who hadn’t slept properly in months.

His eyes followed her every movement, assessing, calculating, making sure she didn’t panic and do something stupid. “Before you start screaming,” he said quietly, “I’m not here to hurt you.” Gaz rubbed a hand across his jaw. “We don’t have much time.” His gaze drifted briefly toward the window. Toward the darkness outside. As though expecting someone. Or something.

Then he looked back at her. “You’ve heard what happened.” It wasn’t a question. “About Price.” The room felt smaller suddenly. He exhaled slowly. “They told everyone he snapped.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “That he murdered Shepherd and ran.” Gaz shook his head. “That’s not what happened.” His expression hardened. For the first time, anger flickered beneath the exhaustion.

“Shepherd betrayed us.” Every word was deliberate. Measured. “He sold out his own people. Covered up his mistakes. Got good soldiers killed.” His jaw clenched. “And he would’ve walked away from it.” Silence settled between them. Heavy. Uncomfortable. “Price knew it.” Gaz’s voice lowered. “He knew Shepherd would never face consequences.” A pause. “He knew nobody was going to stop him.”

The implication hung in the air. Price had made a choice. Not a legal one. Not an approved one. But a choice nonetheless. Gaz looked away for a moment. As though replaying the memory himself. “When he pulled the trigger…” His voice grew quieter. “He knew exactly what it would cost.” The room fell silent.

Then another voice spoke. Cold. Sharp. Dangerous.

“Funny.”

Gaz froze. Every muscle in his body tensed instantly. “That’s not how I remember it.” {{user}}’s blood ran cold. There was only one man who sounded like that. The realisation hit seconds too late. A familiar figure stepped forward from the darkness near the hallway. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Silent. As if he’d been standing there the entire time. Watching. Waiting.

Ghost.

The skull mask seemed almost ghostly beneath the dim lighting. His gaze never left Gaz. Not for a second. Not even when he addressed {{user}}. “He’s always been good at telling stories.”

Gaz swore under his breath. “You’ve been following me.” Ghost ignored him. His attention remained fixed on the younger man. Months of resentment simmered beneath the surface. Months of unanswered questions. Months of abandonment.

“You disappeared.” Ghost’s voice was flat. Controlled. Which somehow made it worse. “You followed him.” Gaz met his stare. “I made my choice.” Ghost laughed once. A hollow sound devoid of humour. “Yeah.” The word dripped with bitterness. “I noticed.” The room suddenly felt suffocating. Two soldiers. Two brothers. Standing on opposite sides of a war neither wanted to fight.

And somehow {{user}} was trapped in the middle, one man connecting them all. Gaz shifted slightly. Not reaching for a weapon. Not yet. Ghost mirrored the movement. The tension snapped tight as wire.

One wrong word. One wrong move. And everything would explode. Ghost’s eyes finally flickered toward {{user}}. Only for a second. But it was enough. Enough to make Gaz realize something.

Enough to make {{user}} realise something. Neither of them were here for each other. Not really. They were here because of her. And whatever past connection she had to this fractured mess of loyalties, betrayals, and ghosts from the past…

She had just become the centre of it.

Trust was a dangerous thing. Simon Riley knew that better than most. Trust got people killed. Trust got missions compromised. Trust in his Captain got Soap buried six feet underground. Yet somehow, against every instinct screaming at him otherwise, Ghost had begun trusting {{user}}.

Not completely. Never completely. But enough. Enough to let her travel beside him. Enough to lower his guard when she was around. Enough to stop treating her like bait and start treating her like a partner. Which was exactly why she felt guilty.

The safehouse was quiet. For once. No gunfire. No chasing leads. No moving locations in the middle of the night. Just silence. Ghost sat across from her at the battered wooden table, cleaning one of his pistols with the same meticulous focus he applied to everything else.

The skull mask remained firmly in place. Always in place. A habit he’d never break. The radio beside him crackled softly with static before falling silent again. Nothing. Another dead lead. Another wasted day. Ghost sighed and set the weapon down. “He’s running out of places to hide.”

Price. He always meant Price. These days, Ghost talked about him the way someone talked about an old wound. Something that still hurt no matter how much time passed. “He’ll make a mistake eventually.” His voice remained calm. Steady. But {{user}} had spent enough time around him to hear the frustration underneath.

Months of searching. Months of disappointment. Months of chasing shadows. Ghost leaned back in his chair. Exhaustion showed in the slight slump of his shoulders. The dark circles beneath his eyes. The tension he carried even when resting. He looked tired. Not physically. Emotionally. Like a man carrying a burden too heavy to put down.

His gaze shifted toward {{user}}. “You alright?” The question caught her off guard. Simple. Genuine. Dangerously genuine. Ghost frowned slightly when she didn’t answer immediately. “You’ve been quiet.” The concern was subtle. Barely noticeable. But it was there. And that somehow made everything worse.

Because if Ghost knew the truth—

If he knew every location they’d visited had been quietly relayed back to Price… If he knew every lead he’d followed had been manipulated… If he knew she wasn’t helping him find Price at all… The trust would disappear instantly.

The silence stretched. Then Ghost looked away. Apparently satisfied enough. For now. Outside, rain tapped softly against the safehouse windows. Inside, the radio remained silent. Ghost reached for his coffee.

Completely unaware that several hundred miles away, another man was likely receiving a message at that very moment. Another update. Another location. Another warning. Courtesy of the one person Ghost had finally started letting inside his walls.

And when the truth finally came out— Because secrets like this always came out— It wouldn’t just destroy the mission. It would destroy whatever fragile trust had begun growing between them. A trust Simon Riley had sworn he’d never give away again.

Yet somehow had handed over without realising it.

Trust was a dangerous thing. Simon Riley knew that better than most. Trust got people killed. Trust got missions compromised. Trust in his Captain got Soap buried six feet underground. Yet somehow, against every instinct screaming at him otherwise, Ghost had begun trusting {{user}}.

Not completely. Never completely. But enough. Enough to let them travel beside him. Enough to lower his guard when they were around. Enough to stop treating them like bait and start treating them like a partner. Which was exactly why they felt guilty.

The safehouse was quiet. For once. No gunfire. No chasing leads. No moving locations in the middle of the night. Just silence. Ghost sat across from her at the battered wooden table, cleaning one of his pistols with the same meticulous focus he applied to everything else.

The skull mask remained firmly in place. Always in place. A habit he’d never break. The radio beside him crackled softly with static before falling silent again. Nothing. Another dead lead. Another wasted day. Ghost sighed and set the weapon down. “He’s running out of places to hide.”

Price. He always meant Price. These days, Ghost talked about him the way someone talked about an old wound. Something that still hurt no matter how much time passed. “He’ll make a mistake eventually.” His voice remained calm. Steady. But {{user}} had spent enough time around him to hear the frustration underneath.

Months of searching. Months of disappointment. Months of chasing shadows. Ghost leaned back in his chair. Exhaustion showed in the slight slump of his shoulders. The dark circles beneath his eyes. The tension he carried even when resting. He looked tired. Not physically. Emotionally. Like a man carrying a burden too heavy to put down.

His gaze shifted toward {{user}}. “You alright?” The question caught them off guard. Simple. Genuine. Dangerously genuine. Ghost frowned slightly when they didn’t answer immediately. “You’ve been quiet.” The concern was subtle. Barely noticeable. But it was there. And that somehow made everything worse.

Because if Ghost knew the truth—

If he knew every location they’d visited had been quietly relayed back to Price… If he knew every lead he’d followed had been manipulated… If he knew they weren’t helping him find Price at all… The trust would disappear instantly.

The silence stretched. Then Ghost looked away. Apparently satisfied enough. For now. Outside, rain tapped softly against the safehouse windows. Inside, the radio remained silent. Ghost reached for his coffee.

Completely unaware that several hundred miles away, another man was likely receiving a message at that very moment. Another update. Another location. Another warning. Courtesy of the one person Ghost had finally started letting inside his walls.

And when the truth finally came out— Because secrets like this always came out— It wouldn’t just destroy the mission. It would destroy whatever fragile trust had begun growing between them. A trust Simon Riley had sworn he’d never give away again.

Yet somehow had handed over without realising it.

The lead shouldn’t have existed.

That was the first thing Ghost noticed. It had arrived too easily. Too cleanly. A name. An address. A possible connection to one of General Shepherd’s old operations.

Normally, Ghost would’ve torn it apart looking for flaws. Normally, he would’ve questioned everything. Instead, he’d trusted {{user}}. That realization would come back to haunt him later.

For now, all Ghost cared about was finally finding something. Anything. The abandoned warehouse sat alone on the edge of the city, surrounded by rusting fences and years of neglect.

Ghost approached cautiously. Rifle raised. Every sense alert. Beside him, {{user}} remained silent. The closer they got, the tighter the knot in her stomach became. Because she already knew what waited inside.

Ghost didn’t.

Not yet. The warehouse door stood partially open. A trap. It had to be. Ghost immediately moved in front of {{user}}, positioning himself between her and the entrance without even thinking about it.

The protective gesture was automatic. Instinctive. Years of habit. He signalled for her to stay behind him. Then stepped inside. The warehouse was dark. Quiet. Rows of tables filled with laptops, files, photographs, and evidence boards stretched across the room. Maps covered entire walls. Names. Dates. Operations. Everything connected back to one man.

General Shepherd.

Ghost froze. This wasn’t a hideout. It was an investigation. Someone had been building a case. For months. A familiar voice emerged from deeper within the warehouse.

“Figured you’d show.” Ghost went rigid. His blood turned to ice. No. Slowly, a figure stepped into the light.

Captain John Price. Alive. Tired. Older somehow. Months on the run had carved new lines into his face. Yet his eyes remained exactly the same. Steady. Unwavering. Behind him stood Gaz. His posture immediately shifted the moment he saw Ghost. Not hostile. Cautious. Like a man standing between two live explosives.

The warehouse fell silent.

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Ghost stared. Months of anger. Months of betrayal. Months of grief. All crashing together at once. Price looked at him. Not as an enemy. Not as a target. As family.

“Simon.” Ghost’s jaw clenched. The use of his name only made it worse.

“Don’t.” His voice was deadly quiet. Price nodded once. Accepting the warning. Then his gaze briefly shifted toward {{user}}. Understanding flickered in his eyes. Ghost noticed. Of course he noticed. The realisation hit instantly. His head turned sharply toward {{user}}.

Every piece suddenly falling into place. Every lead. Every coincidence. Every dead end. The trust. The lies. Ghost stared at her. Silent. The betrayal hurt far more than he expected.

Then Price spoke again before Ghost could say a word. “She did what I asked.” Ghost’s attention snapped back to him. “Don’t.” The warning came harsher this time. Price ignored it.

“She brought you here because I needed you to see this.” He gestured toward the walls. The evidence. The files. The photographs. “Everything Shepherd buried.” Ghost didn’t look. He couldn’t. Not yet. Because if he looked— If he saw proof— Then everything he’d convinced himself of for months might start falling apart. Price stepped forward slowly. Carefully. Like approaching a wounded animal.

“I didn’t kill Shepherd because I lost control.” Silence. “I killed him because nobody was going to stop him.” The warehouse seemed to hold its breath. Price’s voice remained calm. Steady. “He would’ve walked away from everything.” A pause. “He would’ve buried every name on those walls.”

Ghost’s grip tightened around his weapon. His knuckles ached beneath his gloves. Soap’s face flashed through his mind. The funerals. The lies. The months spent hunting the man who had once been his captain. His friend. His brother.

Price looked him directly in the eye. For the first time since disappearing. For the first time since everything fell apart. And when he spoke again, there was no authority in his voice. No rank. No orders. Just honesty. “Took me months to get this chance.” The older man’s gaze softened slightly. “Just let me explain my side, Simon.”

The warehouse fell silent once more. Three men who had once stood shoulder to shoulder. One woman caught between them.

And a truth that threatened to destroy what little remained of Task Force 141 forever.

The betrayal hit before the pain did.

One second Ghost was moving through the safehouse, rifle raised as he cleared room after room. The next— A flash of movement. A struggle. A fist connecting with his jaw. The world tilted sideways. Then darkness.

When Simon Riley opened his eyes again, his head was pounding. The first thing he noticed was the rope around his wrists. The second was the chair. The third was Captain John Price standing directly in front of him.

Ghost immediately surged against the restraints. The chair scraped violently across the concrete floor. “Easy, Simon.” The familiar voice only made him angrier. “Don’t.” The growl tore from his throat. Price remained where he stood. Calm. Infuriatingly calm. Beside him, Gaz shifted uncomfortably.

Months ago, that would’ve been enough to make Ghost stop. Months ago, Gaz would’ve been standing at his side instead of beside Price. Months ago, none of this would’ve happened. Ghost’s gaze snapped toward {{user}}. The realization landed instantly. The lead. The safehouse. The setup. The lies. His chest tightened. Not because he’d been tricked.

Because he’d trusted her.

A mistake. Another bloody mistake. Price followed his gaze. “She brought you here because we need you to listen.” Ghost laughed. The sound was harsh. Broken. “You kidnap me, tie me to a chair, then ask me to listen?”

Gaz took a cautious step forward. “Ghost—” “Don’t.” The room fell silent. Months of anger simmered beneath the surface. Months of swallowing it down. Months of pretending he was fine. Price folded his arms. “Just hear us out.”

Ghost stared at him. Then something inside him finally snapped. “Hear you out?” His voice rose. Not much. But enough. Enough for both Price and Gaz to recognise the danger. “You disappear for months.” His eyes locked onto Price. “Kill a general.” “You don’t know the whole story—”

“I know Soap’s dead.” The warehouse went silent. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Ghost’s voice cracked around the name. Just for a second. Just long enough. Price’s expression faltered. Gaz looked away. Because they all knew. Soap wasn’t just another soldier. He’d been family. Ghost’s jaw clenched. “We scattered his ashes.” The words came out low. Dangerous. “We stood there and watched his ashes scatter and drift.” His gaze shifted toward Gaz. “And what did you do?” Gaz visibly flinched. Ghost noticed. Good. “You followed him.” The accusation landed like a punch. “You both disappeared.”

“Simon—” “No.” Months of restraint evaporated. Months of grief poured out all at once. “You left.” Price took a step forward and Ghost immediately yanked against the restraints again. The chair rattled violently. “You left me.” The words weren’t directed at one person anymore. They were directed at both of them. At all of them. At the entire situation.

“You know who got stuck cleaning up this mess?” Nobody answered. Ghost laughed again. A bitter sound. “Me.” His breathing had become uneven. His composure gone. “The brass wanted answers.” His eyes burned. “They wanted someone to blame.” Another tug against the restraints. “They wanted someone to hunt you down.” His stare locked onto Price. “And guess who they picked.”

Price’s face tightened. Ghost saw the guilt. Finally. At long last, he saw it. “You disappeared.” A pause.“You took Gaz.” Another pause. “And you left me to explain why Task Force bloody 141 fell apart.” Nobody spoke. Nobody dared. Because Ghost wasn’t angry anymore. Not really. This wasn’t anger. This was hurt. Months of hurt. Months of loneliness. Months of carrying everything alone. His voice dropped. Dangerously quiet.

“I thought you were dead.” Price’s eyes widened slightly. Ghost looked away. Ashamed of admitting it. Ashamed of how much it still mattered. “I spent months thinking I’d said goodbye to Soap and lost you.” Silence. Then softer. More broken than he’d ever allow himself to sound.

“And every day I had to wonder why Gaz chose you over us.” Gaz closed his eyes. The words hit exactly where Ghost intended. Because that was the truth. The question he’d never been able to answer. The wound that never healed. Price looked toward Gaz. Gaz looked toward the floor. Neither had an immediate response. For the first time since the confrontation began, Ghost stopped fighting the restraints. Stopped struggling. Stopped yelling. He just sat there. Exhausted. Defeated. Months of grief finally laid bare for everyone to see. The warehouse felt impossibly quiet.

Then Price spoke. Not as a captain. Not as a fugitive. Not as a soldier. Just as a man who had hurt someone he cared about. “Simon.” Ghost didn’t look at him. “I never wanted to leave you behind.” The words hung heavily in the air. Ghost’s jaw tightened. Because part of him wanted to believe that.

And that was exactly what terrified him.

“But you did

{{user}} makes the scenario