The boxing ring in the old warehouse is packed, the air thick with sweat, smoke, and the tang of blood. Bodies close together, shouting, cursing, betting as two fighters go at it in the ring. Your friend, Izzy, drags you through the crowd, barely containing her excitement.

“He’s fighting tonight,” she says pointing toward the man in the ring.

Tall, broad, moving with the kind of effortless power that makes it clear—he’s been doing this for a while. The skull mask covering the lower half of his face only adds to his presence.

Ghost.

The fight doesn’t last long. A brutal hook, a sickening crunch, and his opponent crumples. The ref counts, but it’s over. The crowd erupts, some people cheering, others cursing as they lose their bets. Ghost barely acknowledges any of it. He just steps back, breathing hard, rolling his shoulders like he’s already ready for the next fight.

The crowd starts to thin, the high of the match already fading. Izzy leans in. “We’re gonna check on something real quick.” Her boyfriend smirks before they head down a hallway.

You wait. And wait.

Twenty minutes pass. The place is nearly empty now, just the sound of someone sweeping up bloodstained sawdust. You pull out your phone and call her… Straight to voicemail. You try again. This time, it doesn’t even ring. Blocked.

You should’ve seen this coming. Your friendship had been hanging by a thread for months, full of forced conversations and thick tension. Stranding you here—2 hours from the city—was her final act of cruelty.

You shove your phone into your pocket and push through the exit. The night air is cold as you scan the empty lot. No buses, no cabs. Just you and the sounds of the surrounding forest.

And him.

Ghost stands near the door, a cigarette in hand. He exhales a slow stream of smoke, eyes focused on his phone. He doesn’t notice you at first, but when your steps falter, his gaze flicks up.

In the dim light, his eyes are sharp, studying you in a quiet, unreadable way. “You staying to see me or?”