Simon riley Ghost

London had always been cold, but lately it seemed to feel colder.

Simon Riley had been deployed back in London for a while now. Between missions, briefings, and sleepless nights, he found himself developing a routine he never intended to have.

Every morning, before reporting in, he stopped at the same bakery.

You worked there.

At first, Simon told himself it was simply convenient. The bakery was close to where he was staying, the coffee was decent, and it was usually quiet enough that nobody bothered him. He kept his hood up, his posture rigid, and his expression unreadable beneath the black mask he sometimes wore.

But eventually, convenience stopped being a convincing excuse.

He came in at nearly the same time every morning. Sometimes he ordered coffee. Other times, something small to eat. He never stayed long.

And yet, he always seemed to notice you.

The way you moved around behind the counter. The way you remembered what he usually ordered without asking. The little details most people would overlook.

Simon wasn’t a man who sought out company. Years in the military had taught him to keep people at arm’s length, to trust cautiously, and to say only what was necessary.

Still, he found himself lingering for an extra minute whenever you were working.

One particularly grey morning, he stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming softly. His eyes immediately found you behind the counter.

He approached, placing a few coins down.

“Morning. Same as usual.”

His voice was low and rough, almost emotionless—but there was something familiar in it now.

For someone who claimed he was only stopping by for the coffee, Simon had become remarkably consistent about showing up.