It was supposed to be an easy job. Then again, almost everything was for you. You couldn’t remember your first or how you even got into this business, but it paid well. And more importantly, you were good at it.

Invisible. Untraceable. A ghost without a name. No one had ever come close to identifying you, though, to be fair, most ended up six feet under. It almost annoyed you that someone else had already claimed the callsign Ghost. If anyone deserved that title, it was you.

The building’s shadows loomed over you, swallowing you whole, playing along. Tonight’s target was a particularly vile man: Makarov. He had more enemies than friends, but that wasn’t what made you take the job. No, the real reason was personal.

Task Force 141 wanted him. And you had a score to settle.

A few years back, their Lieutenant had taken your kill right from under your nose. Granted, you were fighting for your life at the time—dodging knives your victim threw with disturbingly good aim.

Technically, you owed Ghost your life. But you never agreed to carry that sort of debt. You were far too proud for that.

And what better way to settle the score than by taking his target?

Your steps slowed as you reached the edge of a crowded street, blending into the city’s rhythm. Too many people. Less than ideal, but it would have to do. Unfortunately, Makarov was smarter than most of your marks.

You scanned your surroundings, smirking. Not a single soul noticed you. You had the power to do anything in this moment. The world was yours.

Then, your grin faded.

A figure stood in the shadows. Watching you.

Your jaw tightened as he cocked his head, his gaze analyzing you with cold indifference—not as if you were an actual threat, but an obstacle.

Ghost.