Ghost adjusts his features into the familiar mask of indifference as I straighten my clothes. I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear, an attempt to restore some semblance of the order that his touch disrupted. My professional mask feels heavier now, more difficult to wear after what has just transpired.
His transformation is almost seamless, a chilling reminder of his ability to switch personas at will. As he straightens his jumpsuit, the dangerous allure that had momentarily softened his demeanor vanishes, replaced by a cold detachment.
The guard steps inside with his weapon drawn, his eyes sweeping the room, calculating the threat level. The man’s posture stiffens when it lands on Ghost, and he tightens his grip on the firearm, a clear signal of his readiness to act. The tension in the room spikes, the air thick with the electricity of potential violence.
“Dr. Andrews, step away from the inmate,” he commands, his voice firm and authoritative. I immediately comply, my heart pounding as I move toward the corner of the room farthest from Ghost.
The inmate remains eerily calm, his hands visible as he holds them out in front. His eyes, however, glint with something undefinable. Amusement, perhaps, or anticipation? It’s unsettling how composed Ghost is. Very different to my racing thoughts and pounding heart.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” the guard asks, his gaze never leaving Ghost. He moves, positioning himself so he has a clear view of both of us, his body angled to provide both defense and offense should it become necessary.
I take note of his name tag. “Yes, I’m fine, Officer Barlow.” I speak clearly and concisely, using his name to deescalate the situation. Not only for me, but for Ghost.
Barlow nods but doesn’t lower his weapon. “A riot broke out in the east wing, so we locked down the facility. I need to escort you out immediately, Dr. Andrews.”
“Okay.”
The guard’s eyes land on Lobo’s lifeless body on the floor, his expression tightening as he processes the scene. His weapon shifts, leveling more squarely at Ghost, whose cuffed hands are still raised.
“What happened here?” Barlow demands, his voice edged with suspicion.
Ghost shrugs. “He fell, Officer.”
“Cut the shit, Ghost. What really happened?”
“Well, I saved the good doctor here from becoming a case study in blunt-force trauma.” He turns to wink at me. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Excuse me?” The guard’s gaze snaps to me, his brows furrowing. “Ma’am, is that true?”
I swallow hard, forcing myself to stand straighter even as my knees feel like they might give out. “The inmate named Lobo attacked me. He came at me with a knife and Ghost… intervened.”
Barlow’s eyes narrow, darting between us. “Intervened how?”
“Oh, you know,” Ghost says, his tone breezy. “A little impromptu lesson in self-defense for the doctor’s benefit. Oxygen deprivation is a solid tactic.”
The guard’s jaw tightens. “Are you telling me you strangled him?”
Ghost shrugs, the movement casual despite the cuffs. “‘Strangled’ is such a harsh word. Let’s go with ‘neutralized the threat.’ Sounds more professional, doesn’t it?”
“Jesus Christ,” the guard mutters. “Do you corroborate his story?”
I quickly nod, hoping to strengthen Ghost’s narrative. “The inmate was going to kill me, and Ghost saved my life.”
Barlow glances at Lobo’s prone form again, then back to Ghost, who’s now watching the interaction with the air of someone thoroughly enjoying the drama.
“That’s what happened,” Ghost says. “Scout’s honor, Officer.”
The guard shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re no Boy Scout. After you killed that guy, you didn’t lay a hand on Dr. Andrews,” the guard says, incredulous. “Is that what you’re telling me?”
Ghost nods, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “What can I say? Chivalry isn’t dead. Lobo, on the other hand…”
Barlow mutters a curse before bringing his radio to his mouth. “I need backup in Interview Room C. Possible homicide. Inmate contained. The civilian is safe.”
My stomach churns, but I force myself to stand still, my arms folded tightly across my chest. I can feel Ghost’s gaze on me, sharp and unrelenting, but I don’t dare meet it. Not now. Not with the guard watching me like a hawk, his disbelief and suspicion palpable. Not when I disregarded the panic button.
Does that mean I wanted Ghost to come to me?
I refuse to answer that.
“Backup’s on the way.” Barlow lowers his radio but keeps his weapon aimed at Ghost. The energy in the room feels like a live wire, sparking with unspoken threats.
Ghost leans against the wall, his cuffed hands resting casually on his stomach. His grin hasn’t faded, but his eyes gleam with something I can’t place. “Relax, Officer. I did you a favor. Lobo wasn’t exactly a model inmate.”
Barlow scoffs, but doesn’t respond, and the room falls silent again. I shift uncomfortably, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor, the walls, my hands… anywhere but Ghost. If I look at him now, even for a second, the truth of what happened between us will be written all over my face.
Ghost has touched my skin and gotten underneath it, becoming a part of me that I can’t get rid of.
The sound of heavy boots echoes down the hall right before two more officers enter, their weapons drawn. They take in the scene quickly: Lobo’s lifeless body on the floor, Ghost’s nonchalance, and me standing stiffly against the wall.
“What’s the situation?” one of the new arrivals asks, his eyes scanning the room.
Barlow jerks his head toward Ghost. “This inmate killed another inmate. Claims it was self-defense. Dr. Andrews confirms he saved her.”
The second officer frowns, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before turning to Ghost. “You have anything to say for yourself?”
“Just that I’m an exemplary citizen,” Ghost drawls, his grin widening. “And you’re welcome, by the way.”
The officer snorts, clearly unimpressed. “Cuff him to the table,” he orders. “We’ll sort this out.”
As the guards move toward Ghost, the tension in the room shifts again. He doesn’t resist, doesn’t flinch as they secure him to the table, but the air crackles with unspoken words. He’s letting them handle him now because it suits him.
“Let’s go, Dr. Andrews,” Barlow says, urgency lacing his tone. He steps closer, the weapon still in his hand but his body language shifting to guide rather than threaten.
I move quickly toward the door, acutely aware of Ghost’s gaze on my back. It’s so strong it’s like a physical touch and my skin prickles with the memory of his hands on me.
When I reach the doorway, I can’t help myself. I turn and look at him over my shoulder. Ghost is watching me, but there’s no sign of his typical mocking smile. This time his face holds something else.
Longing. No, pain. Acute, excruciating pain.
It guts me where I stand. I’ve never witnessed vulnerability in Ghost. Not even when he kissed me.
“Dr. Andrews,” the guard says, his voice harsh this time. “We need to go.”
I nod, though my feet are rooted to the spot, my chest tight as Ghost’s gaze holds me captive. He doesn’t speak, but the raw desperation in his eyes says a lot. And it’s overwhelming.
Why is he looking at me like that? Like I’m a breath of air and he’s drowning? Like he’ll die without me?
And then it hits me, all at once, with a force so sharp it stills my heart. Ghost cares about me. That’s what this is, what his eyes are saying, what that raw, unguarded emotion is screaming.
This isn’t possible.