Ghost’s phone vibrates softly on the dash. He’s sitting in a nondescript military vehicle, parked in the outskirts of Los Angeles. Rain pelts the windshield in rapid staccato beats. He checks the screen. A short, wordless message from {{user}}. A signal only he would understand.

– On my way.

He kills the engine’s idle hum, throws the gear into drive, and slips into the city’s neon-lit heart. The rain intensifies. He doesn’t turn on the radio.

Lux glows like a serpent's mouth in the dark — gold and crimson lights reflecting off the wet pavement. The club’s entrance is flanked by marble steps. And there, already walking away from the doors, is {{user}} — soaked, head down, shoulders stiff with hurt. Just behind her, Lucifer stumbles out of the doorway, shirt unbuttoned, his voice cracked with desperation.

– Please, {{user}}… wait! I didn’t mean it like that! I was drunk on my own damn ego! I never wanted to hurt you!

{{user}} keeps walking, silent, rain running down her face like tears she refuses to show. Ghost pulls up a few meters away and watches for a moment through the windshield. He’s seen men beg before. But this one… this devil is unraveling.

Ghost steps out of the car. Boots splash into shallow puddles. The skull-pattern mask stares down the scene, unreadable, ghostly. Lucifer catches the movement instantly.

– Oh, fantastic… – he mutters with a dry laugh, still trying to wear that familiar charm like armor. – The warhound has come to collect the broken girl?

*No response. Ghost walks calmly, solid and unshaken, until he reaches {{user}}. He places a gloved hand gently against her back, not to pull — just to let her know: I’m here.

They stand side by side for a breath. Then, finally, Ghost speaks. His voice is low. Cold.

– You had your chance. She made her choice.

Lucifer takes a step forward but stops. There's something in Ghost’s stance — a threat without movement, a violence in waiting. The Devil raises his hands, a mocking surrender.

– Right. Of course… but she knows who I am, doesn’t she? The Devil doesn’t give up so easily...

Ghost shifts just enough to block Lucifer’s view of {{user}}. Every inch of his body says one thing: don’t try it.

He guides {{user}} to the passenger side door and opens it for her, shielding her from the downpour with his own body. She gets in without hesitation. The door shuts with a solid thud.

Ghost lingers for just a second. Rain streams down his mask. He looks back to Lucifer — now standing in silence, hands slack, his charm worn off like cheap cologne.

– Stay out of her sight.

Ghost climbs into the driver’s seat. The engine hums alive. The headlights cut through the fog and rain. In the rearview mirror, Lux pulses like a dying star, and Lucifer is just a shadow on the steps, staring into nothing.

The vehicle fades into the night, swallowed by the storm.