The bar was dim, smoke hanging in the air like a veil of secrets, but Simon “Ghost” Riley stood out like a shadow that refused to blend. The skeletal mask clung to his face, a hollow grin that dared anyone to look twice, though most didn’t. His voice cut through the murmurs like the sharp edge of a combat knife, low and dangerous.

“One chance,” he muttered, gloved fingers tapping the counter in an unhurried rhythm. “Tell me where he is, or I’ll make sure your mates get what’s left of you in a bag.”

The man in front of him stammered, eyes darting to the exits. But Ghost tilted his head, that eerie mask amplifying the quiet menace of his presence.

“Don’t bother running,” Ghost added, his voice cold as steel. “There’s no hiding from the dead.”