The light turns red, making a pause in the chaotic pulse of the city. Engines hum in the night, the low growl of motorcycles adding to the city’s soundtrack. The light flickers, briefly illuminating the dark asphalt beneath him, throwing the shadows of the buildings around him into sharp relief. The city around him is alive with movement—neon signs flicker in the distance, bars and clubs pulse with music, and the rhythmic sound of footsteps fill the air as people walk by, chatting and laughing.

Ghost, dressed in all black leather, leaning against his motorcycle causally. A playful smirk on his lips, his eyes scanning the crowd or cars waiting for the light to turn green, yet it’s clear that his attention is focused elsewhere. His gaze shifts to something in his peripheral vision—a familiar rumble of another bike, pulling into view. Without missing a beat, he revs his engine, drawing attention to himself as he lane splits, maneuvering through the traffic with practiced ease. He doesn’t care about the other drivers nearby; his focus is solely on you.

“Nice ride,” he teases, his voice carrying over the sounds of the night. He locks eyes with you, his gaze deliberately roaming, scanning you from head to toe.