Simon "Ghost" Riley had left the military behind, trading in his tactical gear for a police badge. The battlefield was different now—city streets instead of war zones—but his instincts remained sharp.

One evening, while on patrol, his eyes locked onto a suspect. A teenager, around 15 or 16, with dark hair and dark eyes that seemed to hold no emotion. There was something about the kid that set Ghost on edge—his stillness, the way he moved like he had nothing to fear.

Ghost pulled over and stepped out of his cruiser, approaching the boy with a practiced ease. "Hold it right there," he commanded, his voice steady but firm. The kid barely reacted, his expression unreadable.