Ghost Of Reach Novels & Stories

I worked on the screws with a nail file yesterday. I push the grate aside. Darkness. And sound. The vent connects to the hallway outside the suite. The acoustics carry voices down the metal shaft like a telephone line. "They found the truck," a voice growls. It’s deep. Rough. One of the Reaper guards. "Burned?" another voice asks. "Shredded. Tire tracks leading into the woods. But no body." My heart skips a beat. Thump. "It's him," the first voice whispers. "The Ghost."

“I’m not here to hurt you.” A man stepped forward just enough for her to see him — mid-thirties, hard face, wearing a black and silver cut. With the vest– Devil’s Sons. “Name’s Ghost,” he said quietly, keeping his distance. “We’ve been watching this war from the outside. King is getting too bold, too powerful. It’s bad for business. We want him gone.” Hazel’s pulse hammered. “What do you want from me?” Ghost kept his hands visible. “Inside information. Reaper’s plans. Timing on the next hit. In return, we extract you and your friend Lena. Clean IDs. Full protection far away from here. No more tracker. No more Reaper.”

Lethal ones. "The 'Ghost-Frequency' in the relay stations just went live," Vladya snapped, his eyes darting to the infant in Aradaa’s arms. "It’s a call to arms. But the signal... it’s messy. Jagged. It isn't human. It isn't Urekai." Aradaa stood up, the chair scraping a harsh protest against the floor. He tightened his grip on the baby, his knuckles turning white against the linen swaddle. "That frequency was buried under a mile of dead code. Nobody should have the key. Not after the Release."

“It was a reach. A call.” “A call?” I repeated and so did Lucien. “A call from Willow?” He nodded. “Yes. Some wolves are born with a rare gift. We call it the Soul Reach.” Lucien's head snapped up. “Soul Reach?” He asked, looking surprised and I could tell he was shocked too. “That is old talk. That power is not common and those that had it were extincted.”

"It’s not just tracking us. It’s inviting us in to see the end." Julian looked at the vehicle, then at the glowing horizon of the city. He felt the weight of the obsidian USB drive in his pocket—the seed of the ghost. "Then let’s not keep it waiting. We have two hours before the final data release goes global. If we’re going to kill a ghost, we have to do it in the dark."

She asked curiously. "As a ghost assassin, you are the person that the enemies won't see. You will be on the roof hidden, then your job is to simply monitor the moves of your colleagues and the enemies. You are the lip fighter, you will inform them when and where there's danger, ahead of them or behind" Mrs Smith replied. "I think I understand. That way, when someone doesn't fight, but communicates with the enemy, he or she is the culprit. That still doesn't give room for me to catch the person who…"

Maelis's quarters were empty. Her maps were spread across the table, and one location was circled in red. A place called the Sunken Valley. The Gray Reach was a hidden settlement carved into the northern mountains, its buildings built from pale stone and its streets winding between cliffs that kept it invisible from the outside. I had never been here before. Maelis had described it in detail, her ancient eyes bright with pride, and now I was walking through her empty rooms while the wolves she led searched the wilderness for any sign of her.

“With the Sorrentino family in its current state, which mafia family in New Haven would take you? “You may have polished yourself in Nassau, but to real families like ours, you’re nothing. “All these years, climbing upward, wasn’t it to prove something to me? To get my attention?” As if to prove his point, he took out his phone and held it before me. On the screen was my social media profile. The bio had five words: Waiting for a dawn. Nico smiled like a victor. “Waiting five years, what else could it be? You’re clearly waiting for me to change my mind, to give you that ‘dawn.’ “Lena, admit it. You can’t forget me. Everything you’ve done was for me to see.”

Snow started falling—hard and fast. I stood there on the curb, freezing, shaking. Three hours in, my phone died. Sonia never came. Before the screen went black, one last thing flashed—Pierre's post. A selfie. Him and Sonia in front of some car, her face turned halfway. Caption: [Under the same snow, our hair turns white. Close enough to growing old together, right?] In the dead glass, my reflection stared back—smiling. Not bitter. Just done. The hundredth promise, traded for a concert and a boy toy.

The chair squealed when she sat, and she startled, laughed at herself, and then didn’t, because the laugh felt like a bird hitting a window. She pulled up Venom’s live transponder on the internal screen. A blue dot trudged the perimeter. A second dot—Blade—hovered near the south gate. Ghost was a phantom until he wanted not to be, but his devices left polite footprints when you knew how to read the snow. Velia found one of his little ghosts sleeping in the network, smiled, and left it a digital candy. It stole it and left her a middle finger in return. “I see you,” she whispered to the screen, and it comforted her to be seen back, however rudely.