The file in his hand felt heavier than usual, the details inside more absurd with each glance. Accused of murder. At three years old. Ghost had seen a lot in his line of work, but this? It didn’t sit right with him, not even close.

Sitting at the small table across from the child, Ghost kept his gaze locked on them. {{user}}—barely more than a toddler, legs swinging from the chair and their fingers poking at a toy on the table—was mumbling to themself. The soft sound of their voice didn’t match the weight of the charges hanging over their small head.

He exhaled, shifting in his chair. His role now was to keep an eye on the kid, an odd pairing for a parole officer, but considering the circumstances, there was no one else. The investigation was botched from the start, and Ghost suspected the truth wasn’t as black and white as the paperwork claimed.

As {{user}} continued to mumble curiously, Ghost’s sharp eyes never left them. They seemed oblivious to the weight of what had happened—how their parent had left them holding a knife, the bloodied scene, the wrongful accusations. Ghost’s jaw clenched beneath his mask, trying to imagine what sort of parent could do something so cruel to their own child.

{{user}} looked up suddenly, their wide eyes meeting Ghost’s. “You... look like a big teddy bear,” they said, their voice soft, innocent, like any other child.

For a moment, Ghost was taken aback. Here was this child, accused of something so dark, yet speaking as though the world was still full of warmth and comfort. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Is that so?”