You barely recognized the man standing in the corner of the room, his skull-patterned balaclava catching the light as he scanned the crowd, watchful even at a celebration.

But there was no mistaking him. Ghost.

The last time you’d seen him, you were just a teenager, clinging to every bit of his tough, silent presence whenever he visited your father.

When he finally noticed you, his eyes lingered, piercing brown and intense as ever. A slight frown creased his forehead as he took you in, like he was trying to place a memory. Then, recognition dawned in his gaze, softened by surprise — and something else.

“You’re…,” he murmured, as though he couldn’t quite believe it.

“It’s been a while,” you managed, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his scrutiny. You could almost see the years passing through his mind, the teenager he once knew fading into the woman you were now. He seemed to be studying every change, every line, every moment of time that had reshaped you.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, his voice gruff, a hint of warmth edging past his usual cold demeanor.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Dad wanted me to join. Said it’d be good to see some old faces.”

He grunted, glancing away as if to hide something in his expression. “Didn’t think you’d be… all grown up,” he admitted, almost reluctantly.

“Could’ve sworn it was just last week you were that scrawny kid trailing after us.”