Ghosted (Team Zero #3) by Rina Kent

The relief that flooded me upon seeing him back to normal baffled me. I’m not supposed to care. Julian is only a means to find Zoe. Nothing more.

Absolutely nothing.

With that resolve, I jump out of bed. Two days ago, my clothes from my room with Scar appeared near the door. Typical Julian.

My phone vibrates. A text.

Scar – I’m back, Ellie! Come over.

She wasn’t in Le Salon for these past three days. She sent me a text about needing a holiday. I’ve been on the edge of my seat waiting for her return to ask her about whatever Omega Ghost mentioned.

After taking a shower and putting on jeans and a camisole, I leave the storehouse.

Overcast sky stretches as far as my vision can see. Grunts catch my attention as soon as I step outside. The distance from here to Le Salon is long enough that it’s practically a separated property. So, those grunts can’t be coming from Le Salon.

I follow the sound, and that leads me to the back garden of the storehouse. Or more like a piece of land with so much tall grass.

Pine trees stretch in the distance, camouflaging Le Salon from any prying eyes. There are hidden alarm traps attached to the main system. From the outside looking in, the place appears unkempt, but it’s highly secured.

That’s what I learnt from snooping around the control room.

I freeze at the corner of the storehouse. The reason behind the grunts is Julian and Shadow going at a fierce boxing match. I grab the corner of the wall and hide behind it. Only my head pokes out.

Is this why Julian wakes up so early?

Both of them are in shorts. Their upper bodies on full display. The only one in my field of vision is Julian. My eyes widen as I finally make out the entirety of his tattoos.

It’s one large sketch-style tattoo of a warrior stretched on Julian’s back. He’s in armour, but it isn’t from an era I recognise. Probably a samurai? A metal helmet covers his features, and his eyes are black holes. The warrior’s arms glide over Julian’s biceps and his gloved hand squeezes around his arms. Intricate tendrils shoot from the sketch and swirl all around Julian’s sides, shoulders, collarbone, and wrists. The details are so vibrant and lively, it’s like the warrior could pop out and harvest lives.

My mouth waters at how beautiful Julian is. I wonder if the warrior has a meaning. Julian and Shadow’s tattoos are so real and striking. Maybe they’re made by the same artist. I can’t help greedily spying for more.

Julian isn’t bulky or lean. He falls somewhere in between. Agile, and as sharp as his strikes. His entire torso is coated with perspiration.

I gulp as I follow the droplets of sweat trickling from the side of his roguish face. They continue their path down the throbbing veins in his neck and across his defined chest and cut abdomen. His shorts hang low on his hips, teasing at a perfect V. My face heats.

I force myself to focus on the match.

Julian and Shadow aren’t using gloves. Instead, their fists are bandaged. That’s so dangerous. Especially since they’re delivering fast hooks and kicks at each other. Their striking force is so brutal. I’m sure it would send me slamming into a tree.

Shadow launches a sharp uppercut at Julian’s chin. The latter ducks, and the hit catches him in the collarbone. Julian staggers backwards and bounces back with a kick, straight to Shadows face. Despite the latter’s blocking, Julian catches him in the mouth. Blood gushes from Shadow’s lower lip and trickles down his neck.

This isn’t boxing, Thai boxing, or even bare-knuckled street fighting. It’s downright brutal and meant to hurt. Why would they do that to each other?

I take a few tentative steps to have a better look at their expressions. When I’m close enough, coldness frosts my limbs.

Their eyes are glassed over, hovering between dead and inhuman. It’s disturbingly similar to the look I saw on Julian’s and Mist’s faces the other night. Up close, their tattoos are marred with countless scars. Their bandaged knuckles are bleeding, but they pay them no attention. It’s like they feel no pain and see no blood.

What type of gangsters are they? My gaze strays to Julian. What type of person is Julian? What causes him to zone out?

Sharp dark eyes shoot my way.

Julian’s.

I don’t think. I run back to Le Salon. I don’t want to face him in that state. That version lodges a deep fear inside me.

There’s only one way to find out why.





I find Scar in the room, dancing to Oasis — again. Not sure if people dance to Oasis, but Scar sure does.

Today, she’s wearing a T-shirt on which is written, ‘Forbidden Fantasy’. Whatever that means.

Once I come in, she jumps me into a hug, then sits me in front of the mirror to do my makeup. Sometimes, I wonder if she sees me as her doll or something.

I remain silent as she applies foundation and what she calls ‘natural makeup’. If it’s makeup, why is it called natural?

My mind drifts to Julian and whatever causes him to change. He was so warm the past few nights, and dare I say, so... real. The look in his eyes this morning is anything but warm.

I need to know why.

Just because I’m using him, and I need to know more about who I’m using.

That’s all.

Scar has moved to my hair now, so I get a chance to speak.

“Ghost told me to ask you about Omega,” I say without beating around the bush.