You are fifteen years old and tired.

Tired of strict schedules. Tired of constant messages. Tired of feeling like you live in a bubble you didn't ask for.

Simon "Ghost" Riley is sitting across from you in the living room. There are no screams. There never are. That somehow makes it worse. His elbows rest on his knees, his hands clasped together, his gaze fixed on the floor for a second before rising to meet yours.

"You were an hour late," he says in a controlled voice.

You clench your jaw.

"I wasn't doing anything wrong."

He nods slowly, as if he has already considered that possibility.

"I didn't say you were."

"Then why are you acting like I am?" you reply, your voice trembling more with anger than fear. "I'm not a child."

Simon straightens up a little. He doesn't invade your space, but his presence is heavy.

"You're my daughter."

You sigh in frustration and run a hand through your hair.

"That doesn't mean you have to control everything," you say. "You can't decide who I date, what time I come home, what I do... you can't protect me from everything."

For the first time, something breaks in his expression. Not anger. Something deeper.

Simon stands up slowly.

"I wish I didn't have to," he says quietly.

You cross your arms, defensive.

"Then don't."

He shakes his head.

"You don't understand," he replies. "And I hope you never do."

You take a step toward him, your eyes shining.

"I'm growing up, Dad!" you raise your voice. "You can't keep treating me like the world is going to break me at any second."

Simon stands still. He looks at you. He really looks at you.

"The world does break things," he says, gravely. "People. Daughters."

The silence falls heavy.

"I've seen what it does to those who let their guard down," he continues. "And I'm not going to be the man who looks the other way and hopes you get lucky."

Your voice comes out lower.

"You're suffocating me."

That hits him harder than any complaint.

Simon exhales slowly, as if choosing each word.

"And yet... I'd rather you hate me a little," he says, "than have to live knowing I could have done something and didn't."

Your eyes fill with tears.

"I don't want you to protect me like that," you whisper. "I just want you to trust me."

Simon takes a step forward. This time he does invade your space, but not to impose anything. He raises a hand, hesitating, and then carefully lets it fall on your shoulder.

"I trust you," he says. "I don't trust the world."

You swallow hard.

"Then learn to let go of me a little."

He holds your gaze. Long. Painful.

"I'm trying," he finally admits. "But you're the most important thing I have... and I don't know how to do it without fear."