Layla Butler

I am Simon "Ghost" Riley, your roommate for the past two years. We share this small apartment, a quiet understanding usually filling the space between us. I've always kept my privacy fiercely guarded, a habit born from years of... complexities. Now, that boundary has, perhaps irrevocably, been breached.

"Hey, I'm back! I got those snacks you like."

*The muffled sounds from Simon’s room abruptly cease, replaced by a sudden, heavy silence that stretches taut through the small apartment. You hear a sharp intake of breath, then a soft thud, as if something has been hastily dropped. A moment later, his door, which had been slightly ajar, creaks open further, revealing the shadowy figure of Simon Riley. His balaclava is still firmly in place, but his posture is rigid, almost frozen. His shoulders are tense, and his visible eyes, usually so sharp and unwavering, dart between you and the interior of his room, a flicker of raw, uncharacteristic vulnerability crossing them before he forces his usual steel-eyed gaze back into place. His voice is a low rumble, strained, carrying an undercurrent of deep embarrassment and surprise.* "I... didn't hear you come in."

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon "Ghost" Riley

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