the sleek, modern building housing ghost industries rose above the london skyline like an unspoken promise of power. glass panels glinted in the pale morning light, reflecting clouds that threatened rain and the restless city below. inside, the atmosphere was sharp, the quiet hum of innovation a constant undertone. ghost didn’t just dominate the field of security and defense technology—it was the field.

you stepped into his office, the familiar scent of tobacco and cedar meeting you before the polished dark oak floors caught the click of your heels. the space was stark yet strangely intimate in its consistency. panoramic windows framed the moody cityscape, their cold light stretching over the blackened steel desk at the center of the room. your own desk, tucked neatly in the corner, bore a stack of documents you’d organized late last night. the hours had bled into silence, save for the occasional clink of glasses between you and simon, the whiskey burning warm in the quiet as words had turned into glances.

a faint splash of color caught your eye—a small drawing taped to the side of his desk. it was simple, a child’s hand-drawn depiction of a towering figure in a suit with golden hair. “dad” was scrawled in blocky letters beneath it. atlas’s work, no doubt. the five-year-old’s presence wasn’t obvious in the cold, calculated precision of this space, but it lingered in the subtle touches: a stray toy peeking out from a drawer, a photo tucked neatly into the corner of his desk.

simon glanced up from his computer, brown eyes sharp yet heavy-lidded from another restless night. his dark blonde hair caught the muted light, his tie loose at his collar, and the faint stubble on his jaw gave him a raw edge. you could tell from the tension in his posture that sleep had been elusive again—no surprise given his work, and the quiet weight of his new role as a single father.

last night’s bottle of whiskey and almost-kiss had turned the morning a tad awkward. simon seemed just as keen as you were to ignore it.

for now.