Ghost X Quiet Novels & Stories

The kind that made you question your choices and balance. Each step creaked louder than the last, the air tightening with each second of no notifications. My phone sat in my hand, cold and mocking. I murmured, “You don’t ghost someone who loves you. You just don’t.” Macey looked back. “Maybe he’s trying to learn how to breathe without you.” I glared. “That’s not funny.” She shrugged. “You’re not dying.” “I feel like I am,” I muttered. We reached the top floor. It was black. No sound. Just me, Macey, and the weird thump of my heart going too fast.

And so, my heart beat on, slowly and faintly. - One day, an unwelcome guest came to our little sanctuary. Roanna knelt beside my legs, sobbing and pleading, "Miss Palmer, please… Please tell Scott to talk to me again! I really love him, and I can't live without him!" Mary burst out from the kitchen, waving a kitchen knife. "You shameless b*tch! How dare you show your face?" Roanna raised her chin in defiance, shouted, "Kill me then! I can't live without Scott, so kill me!"

"Uncle Adam, let me introduce myself again." I took a file from Alfie's hand and lightly slapped it against Uncle Adam's pale face. "I'm the chief auditor sent by the HQ, codename Grim Reaper. You were asking earlier what I could do? Well, this is my answer, Uncle Adam."

It was a survival mechanism disguised as affection. The room fell silent. Grey walked over to the minibar, his movements fluid and perfectly composed as he poured a drink. I watched him. He looked so calm. It was disturbing. He was sipping whiskey like he hadn't just ended a life ten minutes ago. "Do you still want those tacos?" he asked, not turning around. "We could go now, before it gets too dark..." "No," I snapped, turning toward the bedroom. "I’m going to sleep."

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.”

Luca hesitated only a second before following, his boots quiet on the floorboards. They moved past sleeping brothers, the smell of beer and leather thick in the air. Ghost’s pulse thudded harder with every step not from guilt, but from something far more dangerous. When they slipped into his room, Ghost locked the door behind them. The sound echoed like a confession. Luca looked around. It wasn’t much, just a bed, dresser, a map of old routes pinned to the wall. Ghost poured himself a drink from the bottle on the table and handed it over. “You still like whiskey?”

I managed to whisper, my eyes fluttering shut. "The ledger is finished," Silas said, his voice a low rumble that was blissfully silent in my head. No psychic echo. No judgment. Just the cold wind. "Now we start the design for your ghost." As he carried me toward the Northern Citadel, I felt the "Voice" of the Crescent Pack finally fade into static. Roman was screaming into the void, but for the first time in a long while, I couldn't hear him. The pavement had cracked. And I had finally fallen through.

POV: Mira The streets of the Human Quarters were unnervingly quiet, the kind of silence that felt alive, crawling up my spine and settling in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t peace—it was the ominous calm of a city holding its breath, waiting for something to break. The cold bit into my fingers through the thin gloves I wore, and I tucked my hands deeper into my pockets, trying to ignore the prickle of unease that came with every shadow stretching too long, every drone’s hum too loud.

Silas said. The ghost of a noise made his body tense. "Wait," he whispered, throwing out his arm. What was that? Where had it come from? "Silas?" a familiar voice whispered from the shadows. "Pax?" Silas shone the flashlight toward the sound. Through the next room in the shadows of a partially built wall were Paxton and Brett. They didn't look any worse than they had when they'd split. But there were only two figures. "What happened to Ekko?" Silas demanded, a chill sweeping through him. Was that from the wound, or fear?

Ghost’s fingers flew across the keyboard, screens reflecting off his glasses in rapid flashes of blue and white. Every camera feed in the city was up. Every traffic cam. Every toll booth. Every intersection. And none of it was enough. “She’s in a black sedan,” Ghost muttered. “Tinted windows. No plates. They knew what they were doing.” I paced behind him, chest tight, hands shaking. I couldn’t sit. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.