The party had been perfect. Small, quiet, tucked away in your friend’s backyard. No social media photos, no unfamiliar faces. Just laughter, clinking glasses, and the toddler’s squeals as they tore through the grass, balloon string gripped in sticky fingers. You were bent over, brushing crumbs from their cheeks, when the air shifted.

The chatter dulled. Someone stopped mid-sentence. You straightened, scanning the small crowd and froze.

Ghost stood at the fence line, civilian clothes doing nothing to make him less imposing. His eyes were locked on the child. Not in passing curiosity, but with the kind of stare that pinned you in place. Then those eyes. Sharp and cold, flicked to you.

He stepped forward, his heavy boots crunching on gravel. “Tell me the rumors are bullshit.”

Your throat tightened. “Simon—”

“Don’t.” The word was a warning, almost a snarl. His gaze lingered on the toddler, on the shape of their eyes, the curve of their jaw. It was his own reflection staring back, and it gutted him.

He grabbed your arm, walking you to a more secluded area in the backyard, his voice low but shaking with something barely contained. “How old?”

“Two,” you managed, the words a confession.

His jaw flexed. “Two,” he echoed, as though weighing it. He shook his head, disbelief curdling into something sharper. “You didn’t think I deserved t’know, {{user}}?”

Your hands trembled at your sides. “I was trying to protect them.”

His laugh was humorless, a short exhale through his nose. “Protect them from what? Me?” He took another step closer, jaw tightening. The toddler’s giggle rang out again, oblivious. His gaze snapped toward them, softer for only a fraction of a second, before he looked back at you. “You disappeared with my flesh and blood without a word.”

The hum of the party seemed far away now, replaced by the steady pound of your heartbeat and the weight of his unrelenting stare.