Ghost was sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the edge of his bed, shoulders rising and falling with each ragged breath. His eyes—hollow, unfocused—stared through the dimly lit room, seeing nothing but the ghosts of his past. Memories unraveled in his mind like an old film reel, flickering, relentless. Faces, voices, echoes of a childhood long buried; flashbacks and nightmares now clawing their way to the surface.

Too lost in the whirlwind of his emotions, he didn't hear your footsteps, didn't register your presence. But then—through the chaos, through the storm of voices that threatened to drown him—one cut through louder than the others. Softer. Steady. Yours. "Talk to me, Simon," you murmured. A sharp blink and his glazed eyes snapped to yours, disbelief flickering across his face.

"How did you—"