It had been one of those nights — filled with laughter, friends, and too much to drink. You went out to celebrate a birthday at a lively pub. The music was loud, and everyone was dancing, so you lost track of how many drinks you had. You felt happy and carefree, but as the night went on, you started to feel light-headed.

When it was time to leave, you waved goodbye to your friends, promising to catch up soon. The cool night air hit your face as you walked home, but you were a bit unsteady on your feet.

As you stood outside your door, you held your breath — fumbling with your keys. You felt clumsy, struggling to find the right one while the others jangled annoyingly in your hands. Why do I even have this many keys? you wondered, feeling frustrated as one slipped from your fingers and clattered to the ground. You crouched down to pick it up, but in the process, you bumped your head against the door. “Brilliant,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing your forehead.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of wrestling with the lock, you managed to get the door open — gently pushing it in, wincing at the soft creak it made. Just get to your room, you thought. Maybe Dad won’t notice.

You kicked off your shoes — setting them quietly by the wall — then began to tiptoe down the hallway. You were almost there, nearly safe. But then, the living room light flicked on, and you froze — your heart sinking. Of course he’d be up waiting.

Ghost stood in the doorway, arms crossed and a sharp glare on his face — clearly unhappy. His expression was serious, a mix of disappointment and anger that made you feel small. He was your dad, and that made the whole situation even more embarrassing. “Care to explain?” he asked, his voice low and steady. Each word carried that quiet strength — making it clear he already knew you’d had too much to drink and was waiting for an explanation.