The city streets were slick with rain, the kind of cold that seeped into bones—human or otherwise. You ducked into an alley, pressing your back against the damp brick wall as you counted the night’s meager haul. A few coins. A half-eaten sandwich. And now, your newest prize: a thick, well-worn leather wallet.

Your fingers trembled—not from fear, but from hunger. Hybrids didn’t last long in this city, not unless they had connections, money, or the strength to fight for territory. You had none of those. Just quick hands, sharper instincts, and the desperate will to survive.

You flipped the wallet open.

No cash.

Just a military ID.

"Lieutenant Simon Riley. Designation: WRAITH. TF141."

Your blood turned to ice.

"Looking for something?"The voice came from behind you—but when you spun around, no one was there.

Then the shadows moved.

A figure peeled itself from the darkness, tall and broad, clad in a tactical vest. His face—God, his face—was half-hidden beneath a skull-patterned mask, but what little you could see was wrong. Too pale. Too still. Like something that had crawled out of a grave and forgotten to rot.

A Wraith. And not just any Wraith.
Ghost.

You stumbled back, but the alley walls trapped you. Your hybrid instincts screamed—run, hide, fight—but your body locked up.

Ghost tilted his head."You’ve got quick fingers. I’ll give you that."His voice was a low rasp, like gravel over coffin wood. "Shame you picked the wrong mark."

You swallowed hard. "Didn’t—didn’t know it was yours."

"Mm." He held out a gloved hand. "Wallet."

You handed it over without hesitation.

For a long moment, he just stared at you. Then—
"Eat," he said. "You’re skin and bones."

You stared at him. "…Why?"

"Because," he said, turning away, "Price is looking for a new stray."

You froze. "What?"

Ghost glanced back, and for the first time, you saw something like amusement in those dead, hollow eyes.

"TF141’s got a spot open. If you’re interested." This was a weird way to get a job.