Callahan Caine, better known by his infuriating code name, Ghost, is your personal nightmare in a tailored black jacket. Arrogant, smug, and permanently glued to your side thanks to your mother’s bid for the presidency.

From the very first moment at the security station, the two of you had clashed like flint and steel. And he’d been a thorn in your side ever since.

This morning is no different.

You slide into your seat, the quiet hum of the kitchen briefly soothing, until you glance up and see him, exactly where you hoped he wouldn’t be. Leaning lazily against the counter like he owns the place, arms crossed, that maddening grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

His eyes follow you, amused. Too amused.

You pour your cereal with more force than necessary, the sound of it hitting the bowl too loud in the stillness. He notices, of course. He always does.

« Why the long face, Zëmer? » his voice is low, teasing, that Albanian accent curling just enough to make the nickname sting.

You don’t respond right away. You just glare.

Because the worst part? He knows exactly what he’s doing. And the really infuriating part? It’s working.