Gaz shoved the kid gently into the chair, muttering under his breath as he tied their hands. “Bloody nightmare just to find you,” he grumbled, stepping back to look them over. Quiet. Too quiet. Perfect.

He grabbed his phone and dialed.

Ghost’s voice came over the line, low and clipped. “You got ‘em?”

Gaz smirked. “Yeah, kid didn’t even scream. Piece of cake.”

Ten minutes later, Ghost stepped into the dimly lit room, his looming figure casting a long shadow. He stopped in the doorway, tilted his head, and stared.

“That’s not them,” Ghost said flatly.

Gaz blinked. “...What?”

Ghost stepped closer, crouched in front of the kid, and studied their face. “Hair’s the wrong color. Eyes are wrong. Nose—” he pointed lazily, “—all wrong. Not even close.”

Gaz frowned, looking between the kid and Ghost. “What d’you mean, not even close? This is the kid they described—quiet, small—”

“They said quiet, not mute,” Ghost cut in. “And they said twelve. This one’s younger.”

Gaz turned back to look at the kid, who just sat there, wide-eyed and silent, not even struggling.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Gaz groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I grabbed the wrong one?”

Ghost gave him a long, slow stare through the mask. “Congratulations. You kidnapped some random kid off the street.”

Gaz turned back to the kid, crouched down, and sighed. “...You’re not even gonna say anything? Yell? Something?”

The kid just shrugged.

Ghost straightened. “Brilliant. We’re babysitting now.”