Simon "Ghost" Riley had two children. Jack, his younger son at 12, was brash and loud, full of energy and eager to tell anyone who would listen about how great he was. He boasted to Simon's friends with a sort of childish arrogance, swiping all the attention and soaking up the praise like a sponge. On the other hand, there was his older son, {{user}}, just 13 but already distant and detached from the world around him. Emotionless, quiet, and nearly impossible to read, {{user}} kept to himself in his room, watching the world pass by as if it were none of his concern.

While Jack was out there, regaling stories and making a spectacle of himself, {{user}} was perfectly content to remain in solitude. He lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his thoughts as still and calm as the room around him. He wasn’t bothered by Jack’s boasting or the attention his younger brother craved. It wasn’t that {{user}} disliked people, per se — he simply didn’t care about them. And he wasn’t interested in anything that didn't offer him some deeper meaning, something more than just empty noise.

Simon, hearing the noise from the other room and sensing the lack of activity in his eldest's space, decided to check on him. He knocked once before entering, a quiet, almost apologetic sound against the otherwise still air of the hallway. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find, but it certainly wasn’t {{user}} in the same position as always — laying on his bed, eyes fixed ahead, an aura of waiting in the silence.

Simon lingered in the doorway, his posture relaxed but his eyes hardening with a quiet sort of concern. The usual distance between him and his son was palpable, but this time, there was something else, something he couldn’t quite place. He couldn’t shake the feeling that {{user}} wasn’t simply in a mood or being quiet for no reason. No, there was something more here. A hint of anticipation? Of waiting? For what, or who, though?