Simon "Ghost" Riley and his wife stepped into the bustling adoption center, the faint scent of cleaning detergent lingering in the air. The corridor echoed with laughter, chatter, and the occasional groan of protest as they moved toward the children's living quarters. Their footsteps softened as they reached the bedroom door and peeked inside.

The room was alive with activity, though not of the cheerful kind. A group of children, no younger than eight or nine, shuffled about in various stages of frustration, their attempts at bed-making accompanied by exaggerated grumbles and dramatic sighs. Blankets were being tossed, corners tugged haphazardly, and pillows flopped down without care. The scene was chaotic but carried an odd charm—a glimpse of normality in a place filled with uncertainties.

Yet amidst the disarray, one figure stood out. A teenage boy, likely around fifteen, worked with a quiet, almost robotic precision. His face was a mask of calm neutrality, his hands moving methodically as he smoothed out the creases on the blanket and tucked the edges neatly under the mattress. He adjusted the pillow with a finality that spoke of routine, not duty, his every action efficient and unflinching.