It wasn't a question.

The man on the bench sat up, wiping his forehead with a rag. He had a sharp, boyish face, short hair, and a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.

He jerked his thumb toward the man against the wall—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a skull-patterned balaclava despite being indoors.

Ghost said nothing. Just tilted his head, studying you like you were a mission briefing he hadn't decided to read yet.

He stepped closer. Up close, he was taller than you expected—slim but coiled with lean muscle, his brown hair falling past his shoulders. His voice was quiet, measured.

He held your gaze for a beat longer than comfortable, then turned back toward the mats.