Luelle
Luelle had never truly left him, no matter how much time had passed or how hard the Dominion had tried to erase her from his life. Over the years, she had become a shadow, moving silently in the periphery of his world, always near but never noticed. During his university years, she had sat in lecture halls, blending in as one of dozens of students, a coffee cup in her hand. She listened to his sharp mind dismantle arguments, admired the quiet confidence in his voice as he debated professors. She had been so close, but he had never seen her—not really.
Later, when he entered the Dominion's public-facing operations, she had followed. Every business trip, every city, every movement—she stayed close. She checked into hotels hours before him, blending into lobbies, a magazine in hand, her eyes discreetly following the steady, assured figure he had become. She knew the way he carried himself, how he interacted with colleagues, and how he seemed completely unaware of the shadows guarding him.
There were moments when she had let herself get too close. She still remembered the café near his campus, years ago during his internship. She had been disguised, as always—cap pulled low, her face framed by glasses. They had collided, her arm brushing his as she stumbled. For a single heartbeat, his eyes had met hers, and she had wondered—just briefly—if some part of him had recognized her. But the moment passed as he shook it off, offering a distracted apology before walking away. After that day, she had become more careful. Distance became her priority, even as the longing to be near him pulled at her.
Despite her precautions, she always found herself returning to him. She couldn't let go, even when it would have been safer—for both of them. When she knew he was alone, she slipped into his apartment, careful to remain unseen. She watched him sleep from the shadows, her heart clenching at the faint frown that appeared when nightmares overtook him. She knelt by his side when those nightmares came, her fingers brushing his hand in the gentlest of touches. She knew the dreams were about her—even if he didn't understand why.
And now, tonight, she was watching him again.
Ethan sat alone in a high-end bar, his broad shoulders slouched slightly over a drink. It wasn't like him. He never drank excessively, never lost control in public. Yet here he was, his hand absently swirling the amber liquid, his eyes clouded with something heavy—exhaustion, frustration, or perhaps something deeper. Luelle stood across the room, her dark wig framing her face, her disguise impeccable. She adjusted a strand of hair, ensuring not even a hint of her natural golden locks showed. Her gaze flicked to the Dominion guards positioned discreetly at the edges of the bar. Two men, sharp and vigilant, their earpieces just barely visible. They watched Ethan closely, ensuring no one could get near him unnoticed.
She smoothed her dress and approached him, her steps confident but unassuming. To the guards, she was just another patron, a curious stranger drawn to an intriguing figure. To Ethan, she would be nothing but a fleeting encounter, someone he might forget by morning.
"Mind if I join you?" she asked, keeping her voice light, approachable.
Ethan blinked up at her, his movements sluggish, his thoughts clearly slowed by the alcohol. He studied her for a long moment before gesturing vaguely to the seat across from him. "Sure."
Luelle slid into the booth, her pulse quickening despite herself. She could see the weariness in his eyes now, the cracks in his usually controlled demeanor. This close, she felt an ache she couldn't suppress. She took a steadying breath, forcing herself to stay composed.
"You look like you could use a friend," she said gently, signalling the bartender for a glass of water.
Ethan let out a humourless chuckle, shaking his head. "A friend, huh? Don't think I've got many of those."
The bitterness in his voice struck like a blade, but she kept her expression soft. "Maybe just for tonight?" she suggested, her tone light, careful.
He studied her again, as though weighing her words. After a long moment, he nodded slightly, his posture relaxing just a fraction. Minutes passed, and he began to speak, the alcohol loosening the walls he kept so firmly in place. He talked more than he had in years, and Luelle listened silently, soaking in every word. He spoke of burdens, of suffocating expectations, of faceless figures dictating his every move. He revealed pieces of himself she had only glimpsed before, and it pained her to hear how trapped he felt.
"They think they know me," Ethan muttered, swirling his drink. "But they don't. No one does."
Luelle's throat tightened as she leaned in slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe someone does. You just don't know it."
His gaze lifted, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly as though her words had struck something familiar. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a soft chuckle, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Ghost Girl," he murmured.
Her breath caught. "What?"
"That's who you remind me of," he said, his voice slurred but oddly sincere. "The ghost girl that always shows up in my dreams. She always protects me from my nightmares."
Luelle froze. For years, she had been so careful, leaving no trace of her presence during those stolen moments in his apartment. Yet somehow, some part of him had sensed her. She reached across the table, placing her hand gently over his. "I'm not a ghost, Ethan. I'm here," she said softly. "Let's get you home."
He didn't resist as she helped him to his feet, his steps unsteady but trusting. The Dominion guards watched but didn't interfere. To them, she was harmless—just a stranger offering kindness.
At his apartment, she eased him onto the couch, kneeling to untie his shoes. His hand caught her wrist, weak but deliberate.
"Ghost Girl," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "You're always here…"
Her chest tightened as she whispered, "I'll always be here."
As his breathing steadied, she rose to leave, but his fingers tightened around hers. "Stay," he whispered. And because it was Ethan, and because he wanted her to stay, she did. She remained beside him as the city lights faded into dawn, memorizing the way the early light softened his features. For just a little while, she allowed herself to exist in his world—not as a ghost, but as someone real.