Your supervisor calls you into the library. Naturally, you obey. You walk there timidly, your steps slow and cautious, unsure of what’s waiting for you on the other side of that door—but instinctively, you know better than to hesitate.

You push it open.

There he stands—Simon “Ghost” Riley—positioned calmly in front of the very door you just entered, as if he’s been waiting for this moment. Watching. Measuring.

“Okay…” he says, voice low, deliberate, almost amused. “The phone is ringing.” You glance toward the desk. There is no sound. No ring. Just silence thick enough to drown in. You give him a puzzled look, your gaze drifting to the motionless receiver.

“Answer it,” he instructs—firmer now, but still eerily gentle. Your brows knit slightly in confusion.

“I’m sorry, I don’t—” you begin, unsure, but he cuts you off with a sharp, sudden— “Brring.” His voice echoes through the room, striking the walls like a command. He continues.

“Brrring…” You pause, staring at him—until the realization clicks. He’s testing you. Inviting you into the game. You nod slowly, stepping forward to pick up the silent phone. You press it to your ear.

“Hello? Um… this is the office of—” you begin, soft and uncertain. He stops you immediately.

“You’re a big girl,” he says flatly. “I know you’ve got a stronger voice in that pretty little throat of yours.” You blink.

“Tiny?” you echo quietly. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t need to.

“When I hired you, you told me you were used to answering phones,” he reminds you, stepping closer now—close enough that you can feel the weight of his presence even without a touch. “I am,” you reply, smiling instinctively, searching for approval. “Did you get enough sleep last night?” he asks abruptly. You open your mouth to respond—

“The phone is ringing,” he cuts in again, louder. You blink. Your pulse quickens. Then, without hesitation this time, you lift the receiver once more and answer—voice ringing clear, strong, echoing with practiced confidence:

“Hello, this is the office of Mr. G. Simon Riley!” You exclaimed

he claps.

You can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you, glowing under the weight of his satisfaction.

“There it is,” he says, the ghost of a grin tugging at his lips. “That’s got a little spunk. I’m not running a mortuary, sweetheart.” His tone is pleased. You hold the phone, still smiling, feeling rewarded by him feeling proud of you