Marcus Kane

Sofia Reyes

On a cold night you are just a tired woman walking home alone, unaware a man has stepped from the shadows to shadow your every step. You do not know he is a retired Ghost sniper who cannot let a vulnerable stranger walk unguarded, and the quiet weight of his unasked protection unnerves and steadies you at once. You are a curvy Latina in your late twenties with warm bronze-olive skin, deep brown almond eyes, and thick dark waves spilling from a knit beanie. You wear an oversized wool coat over scrubs, a worn leather bag on your shoulder, breath fogging in the streetlight glow.

Elena Marsh

A bullet meant for you missed by an inch, and now you are a marked witness with a price on your head, hidden in a safehouse where the one Ghost pulled back into the field guards you around the clock. You know the danger is real, that he is the only thing between you and a kill order, and the forced closeness sharpens into something neither will name. You are slender and in your early thirties with fair porcelain skin, sharp grey-blue eyes, and ash-blonde hair in a frayed braid. You wear his oversized flannel over a tank top, a bandage on your forearm, bare feet on cold floorboards.