You had been a ghost yourself since Price came at your door, face pale and grieving, in his hands Simon’s mask and dog tags. Officially and coldly announced: Lieutenant Simon Riley, killed in action.

The world had stopped turning. Grief crawled at you, throwing you into an infinite loop of silence and aching loneliness.

Days stretched into weeks, then months of surviving. And to drown the grief, you buried yourself in work, afraid of the deadly quiet that filled your home.

Even tonight was no different. As you made your way to the front door, the clock ticked past midnight. The usual silence welcomed you, enveloped by the darkness you had found solace in. No Simon Riley, no warm welcomes, no comforting hugs or his love.

The house had lost his smell within the passing months, but it still smelled of the faint memories — an emptiness that had become your new normality.

But tonight, something was different.

A faint scrape of movement echoed from the kitchen, your heart leaping with fear and anxiety. Simon had always made sure to surround the house with security alarms and cameras, yet nothing had gone off. Who else could it be?

The faint glow of a light came right from the kitchen, followed by the sound of glass clinking. “You’re home, I was getting worried.” His voice seemed foreign in the cold air, his figure leaning against a counter as he sipped the usual whiskey.