Novel & Cerita Ghost's Son

It was a lot to take in. I needed a long time to process it all. My ghostly roommate was actually a legendary former employee of my own company. I closed my laptop with mixed emotions. “So… did the accident trap you here?” After a long silence, Nathaniel’s voice echoed softly in my head. It was faint, almost hazy. “It wasn’t an accident.” My heart dropped. Before I could ask for details, the voice vanished. The next few days at the office were quiet.

It was displayed. My chest tightened as I lifted it with a gloved hand. The scent hit immediately, chemical, sharp, layered with something metallic underneath. Chlorine and cold steel. A smell I had not encountered in years but recognized all the same. It was the same ghost note that had clung to the air the night my parents died. This was not chaos. It was not a fight gone wrong or a rogue passing through. This was intent. Someone had gotten close enough to Owen to inject him, or had taken him elsewhere and left this behind as a message. Either option required control, preparation, and knowledge of what we were.

Brandon has appeared out of nowhere; he’s standing just behind Gideon with Low and he’s watching me like I’m some kind of fascinating show. “Ghost has no pups, no mate and his momma has two other sons. He’s also not interested in you in the slightest other than your skills at killing; you need backup, and he’s who you get.” Brandon says as he crosses his arms over his chest. Gideon nods along with what he’s saying so I know I don’t have room to argue.

"Craig, son. You need to save your dad and the throne. Hurry. Time is ticking." I blinked in bewilderment and my heart hammered in my chest. Did she just call me her son? "Who the fuck are you?" She turned her back and disappeared. Frightened beyond measure, I woke up, panting heavily, my body filled with sweat. My mind raced, and the encounter with the ghost left me unsettled. How could a ghost call me her son when my real mother was alive? My eyes tore open, doubling in size when I spotted a shadow at the door.

But that fleeting moment of hope is crushed instantly. “Boys, enter,” Ghost’s father calls out, his voice sharp and commanding. I groan quietly, my jaw clenching. Of course, I can’t escape him. Ghost strides ahead, his smugness oozing as he glances back at me with that infuriating smirk.

a voice rasped from the darkness. An older man stepped into the light. He was thin, dressed in a sharp but dated charcoal suit, his hair white and slicked back. He was the Silver Patriarch—the man the city’s underworld called The Ghost. "My father is dead," I said, my voice cracking but firm. "Whatever you think I owe you, I don't have it." The Ghost chuckled, a sound like dry leaves skittering across pavement. "Oh, Lena. I don't want your money. I want the man who used us to get it."

“That is the spirit. But tell me, Adrian, do you even know where it is?” Adrian didn’t answer. Because for the first time in years, he was faced with something even he hadn’t accounted for. A legacy his parents had left behind. And a war that was only just beginning. So, let me also ask you this. Is Ghost among those who killed my parents or do you know anything about it? Specter frozed on his seat, his hands shaking secretly he doesn't expect Adrian to ask that kind of question. Adrian saw his reaction but decided to keep quiet, he h da so already gotten his answer.

And then, a final image — the Grayson Veronin symbol painted across the wall in blood-red pixels. The same mark that had burned itself into the warehouse hours ago. The Ghost hadn’t just resurrected my father’s systems. He’d resurrected his enemies. For a moment, none of us spoke. The air inside the vault felt heavier than oxygen, like the walls themselves were breathing with us. Roman D’Angelo.

"Worth... every moment..." Matthew hadn't let go of his other hand, his healing magic still wrapping protectively around his father. Through their family bond, Ghost felt how his coma had affected his son's confidence. "My boy," he said softly. "You did... everything right..." "I thought we'd lose you," Matthew admitted, his voice catching. "Thought I'd failed to heal you in time." Ghost squeezed his son's hand as firmly as he could. "Never fail... always proud..." Sarah moved to touch his arm hesitantly. "The blade was meant for me. You shouldn't have—"

He looks at his own son as if he is just another piece of trash to be swept away. The old man begins to squeeze the trigger again, the barrel leveled at my face. He wants to finish the job. But he forgot one thing. He isn't the only ghost in this house. From the thick, swirling smoke behind him, a figure emerges like a wraith. It is Lorenzo. His face is blackened with soot, his eyes wide and bloodshot, leaking tears from the sting of the fumes. He lunges, his arms wrapping around his father’s waist, driving the old man backward toward the jagged edge of the collapsed hallway.