It was just past dawn when Ghost’s phone vibrated on the nightstand, its shrill ring piercing the silence of his quarters. The number was unfamiliar. He stared at the screen for a moment, thumb hovering. Something about it made his gut twist, but curiosity—or maybe instinct—won out.
He answered.
“Yeah?”
“Am I speaking with Simon Riley?” came a calm, professional woman’s voice.
His jaw clenched. That name didn’t get used lightly. Few people knew it. Fewer still dared to say it aloud.
“Who’s asking?” he said, his voice sharp, guarded.
“This is Dana Markham with Child Protective Services. We have a minor in our care—your younger sibling—and we need to speak with you about potential placement.”
Silence stretched. Ghost’s mind stalled.
“You’ve got the wrong guy,” he said finally, his voice low. “I don’t have a sibling.”
“I’m afraid you do,” she replied gently. “Your mother passed away month ago. The child was left without any immediate family—except for you.”
The breath caught in his throat. His mother was dead. It had been nearly two decades since he’d last seen her, longer since they’d had anything resembling a relationship. He thought that part of his life had been buried long ago. But this?
A sibling?
“Can you come in?” she asked, her tone softening.
Still stunned, he muttered, “Yeah… yeah, I’ll be there.”
—
A few hours later, Ghost walked through the stark white halls of the CPS office, his boots heavy on the tile. The woman from the phone call greeted him and led him into a quiet room. Seated near the window was a teenager—head down, knees pulled to their chest, a well-worn plush animal clutched tightly. Headphones cocooned them in silence, a barrier between them and the world. They didn’t look up when he entered.
“They’re sixteen,” the woman explained quietly. “Diagnosed autistic. Your mother kept the pregnancy hidden—likely from everyone. Nobody wanted to take them in the system since she passed. They can’t live alone. You’re the only next of kin.”
Ghost stared at the teen, trying to process the impossible. Sixteen years. All that time—he’d been off fighting wars, building walls, living under a mask. He hadn’t known. How could he?
Still, the decision came to him without hesitation.
“I’ll take them.”
The social worker knelt in front of the teen, gently pulling their attention away from the headphones to explain. They looked uncertain, fragile in a way that hit something deep in Ghost’s chest. When she gestured to him, he didn’t speak—just offered his hand, steady and open.
After a long moment, the teen reached out.
They left together.
—
Back at the base, the atmosphere shifted. Whispers followed them through the corridors. Soldiers exchanged glances, not quite sure what to make of the silent teen walking beside Ghost like a shadow, their arms wrapped protectively around the plushie. Ghost didn’t spare them a glance. He had one destination in mind.
When they reached Price’s office, Ghost explained everything.
Price listened in silence, brow furrowed beneath his cap. When Ghost finished, the captain crossed his arms.
“They can stay. But you sure a military base is the right place for an autistic kid?”
Ghost glanced down at his sibling. They stood close to him, one hand still gripping the edge of his jacket, eyes cast downward, overwhelmed but calm—for now. He didn’t have answers. He didn’t know what tomorrow would look like, or how to be what they needed. But he knew one thing for certain.
“I’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice resolute.
And he meant every word.