Ghost From Star Wars Rebels Novels & Stories

“I already have shadows. I need results.” “I think I found him.” He opened another folder. Black dossier. No name on the cover, just a silver insignia burned into the leather. “Killian Reeve. Former Blackguard Division. Elite recon. Officially dead on paper. Five years deep ops. Quiet. Lethal. No political ties. No online presence. Perfect for what you need.” “And why would a ghost come work for me?” “Because ghosts like money, and he’s been paid. He’ll arrive in twenty minutes. I want to give you a shield, someone trained to neutralize threats before they materialize. We’ve vetted him; he’s clean and lethal.”

Marcus, the quiet guy from accounting leaned against the door, arms crossed, with a bitter smirk twisting his lips. “McAllen,” he said. “You’ve been looking real happy lately. I see you enjoy your late night with the boss.” My stomach dropped. “What the hell are you talking about?” He stepped closer, I could see the jealousy in his eyes. “ I saw you leaving the private elevator. Looking like a man whose ass has taken some cock. You’re not the first, you know. The Ghost destroys anyone who tries to get close. You’re just the latest toy.” “The Ghost?” I laughed it off, but my voice sounded shaky even to me. “Sounds like some movie legend bullshit.”

Silas looked at the rift—the wound in reality that was still bleeding energy. "We jump," he said. "Again." "But this time," a new voice said, "you're going to have company." I turned around. Standing in the ruins was my father, Aris Vance. But he wasn't dust. He was a "Ghost-Code," a shimmering blue figure that looked like a hologram. He was holding a small, silver device—the same one he had used in the lab.

"Look what crawled out of the drain." Three men stepped into the light. They wore oversized hoodies and tactical vests scavenged from the raid. In the center stood Ghost. He was thinner than I remembered. A jagged scar ran from his ear to his jaw—a gift from the last turf war I’d led before I disappeared. "Ghost," I said. I didn't lower the pipe. "Don't 'Ghost' me, you golden-eyed prick." He spat a glob of phlegm onto the concrete. He raised a heavy-duty revolver. "Except your eyes aren't gold anymore, are they? You look... ordinary. Like the rest of us rats."

This feels lighter, automatic—like stepping where the ground has already been mapped. They call me Ghost. It simplifies things. Ghosts don’t leave witnesses. Or questions. Or pieces of themselves behind. Conversation thins as I pass. People shift their feet. I registered the looks without meeting them. Curiosity from the younger ones. Calculation from the handlers. And something closer to superstition from everyone else. I am twenty-two years old. I’ve been killing since I was fourteen. The numbers don’t settle into pride or shame. They sit like inventory. A medic steps aside as I pass. His eyes drop to the insignia stitched inside my collar—black thread on gray. Ghost-class comes without ra

Then the rider lifted both hands. Not in surrender. With caution. Like someone approaching a wounded animal. Their voice came out distorted through a modulator. “Ghost,” they said softly. Everything inside me stilled. Only three people ever called me that. One was dead—Saint. One should’ve been dead—Shade. And the third… The third was an ally long buried in the dark. A ghost from my old life. The rider reached up and slowly—very slowly—removed their helmet. My breath caught.

But your mother's about to die—I know you'll show up. Her words jolted me back to reality. I pressed a hand to my chest, where my heart ached with a dull, numbing pain. How I wished I could tell her myself. That I've been here all along. It's just that... I've been dead for four years.

"With everything that happened. Starting with me trying to go back to Boston, then realising I'm a ghost. I went back there and jumped into that empty grave, Trying to kill myself" "Wait wait wait." Austin interrupted her, smiling. "You knew you were a Ghost, and you tried to kill yourself " he raised his hands in apology, as he couldn't control his laughter. He saw she wasn't having any of it, and stopped laughing, but the smile on his face couldn't fade away.

She lightly out the glance on him and had to stop. That man was Gael. Gael Greyson. The person who died three months ago. She paused and looked at him rather confused. "You can see me right?" He took a step towards her making San took a step back. "I thought so." He walked towards her and lifted his hand as tried to touch her face but his passed through her. San suddenly felt scared. "But I can not touch you." He nodded. "G...Gh...Ghosttttt" San suddenly shouted as she ran towards her apartment. It was a ghost. It was definitely a ghost.

I call ghost, he got more than one skill, and opening closed-door virtual and real ones are one of his many skills. He uses his key locks tools and messes with the door for a bit until it opens. Finally, I walk down with ghost behind me, I find a small girl laying naked on the floor. She's thin, too thin, her blond hair match mine only hers is dirty and matted on her head. Her blue eyes are hardly open, I can see bruises all over her fragile body. Taking off my shirt I cover her quickly and pick her up leaving this hell behind. "You're safe now baby sister" I whisper in her ears she closes her eyes letting darkness take her.