Simon “Ghost” Riley was at the end of his rope. He felt lost, and Ghost never felt lost. His entire life had been built on precision, discipline, and control, yet now, standing in the cold night air with his hands trembling slightly, he felt like a man grasping at shadows. It had been weeks—months, maybe—since he had last felt like himself, and the weight of grief and emptiness dragged at his every step. His best friend was gone, the one person who kept him tethered to the world, and in his darkest hours, he found himself wandering further into despair than he ever thought possible.

He only had one resort left, one last, desperate gamble that he had sworn he would never consider. And yet, there he was, boots sinking into the soft earth at the edge of a lonely crossroads lit only by the pale silver of the moon. He dropped to his knees, the rocky soil biting through his gloves as he began to dig, each scoop of dirt feeling heavier than the last. He had memorized the ritual from a ragged old book he’d found in a forgotten corner of an antique shop—half convinced it was nonsense, half hoping it held the answers he sought. His voice was low and rough as he recited the chant, the unfamiliar syllables curling like smoke in the frigid air. The words tasted strange on his tongue, a mix of hope and fear, and his heartbeat thundered as the night seemed to grow heavier around him.

Then, in a blink of an eye, the world shifted.

He froze, his breath caught in his throat, because there you were—exactly as he remembered. The sight of you nearly brought him to his knees all over again. Your silhouette glowed faintly in the moonlight, and for the briefest, most agonizing moment, he wanted to believe it was truly you. That you had returned to him, alive and whole, ready to laugh and tease him like nothing had happened.

But it wasn’t really you. He knew that the instant your lips curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, a smile that was too sharp, too knowing. The thing wearing your face moved with a subtle, predatory grace, and when it spoke, the sound was like your voice eroded by something darker, like honey dripping over broken glass.

“Simon,” the demon said, rolling his name across your tongue as though savoring it, “you called, and I came.”

He flinched, fists clenching at his sides, torn between the gut-wrenching relief of seeing you again and the icy dread coiling in his stomach. Every instinct trained into him over years of battle screamed that this was wrong, lethal, and yet his heart refused to obey his brain. The demon took a step closer, bare feet silent against the packed dirt, and Ghost could smell the faint trace of your perfume—familiar, beloved, and now tainted by the sulfurous undertone of something not of this world.

“You want them back,” it said, tilting its head in an almost teasing mimicry of curiosity. “You want your best friend returned, body, soul, heart… and you’re willing to pay the price.”

Simon’s jaw tightened. “Yes,” he rasped, the single word torn from somewhere deep inside him.

The demon’s smile widened. “Then seal it.”

It closed the distance in one fluid step, fingers lifting his mask just enough to bare his lips. Ghost didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward, the cold night dissolving around him as he pressed his mouth to yours—a kiss that was both desperate and damning. It was warm, soft, and wrong, yet it thrummed with an unholy power that surged through his veins like fire. When the kiss broke, the taste of ash and smoke lingered, and the demon’s grin was triumphant.