Page 11 of All Ghosts Aren’t Dead (The Forgotten #1)

BLUE

I hadn’t touched him again.

Not since that first night, when he held my panic like it might split open in his hands—when my fingers barely skimmed his knee through the fabric of his slacks.

He doesn’t like touch…

… but he didn’t pull away.

Not from me.

I didn’t want to risk it again.

Not because I was scared, no way , but because I didn’t want to do something wrong.

I didn’t want to be something he didn’t want.

Samuel didn’t hover, but somehow I still felt him—a steady weight in the air, pinning everything in place.

He didn’t talk much, but he watched me a lot. His eyes always found mine, and the skin covering my cheeks would get warm.

I hadn’t ever been looked at that way before, like I was worthy, and I think Samuel was the reason others started looking at me like that, too.

No one had ever said it out loud, but Samuel felt like a rule—one that lived and breathed.

I liked rules.

My schedule was a whole chart—printed out with lines, blocks, and tiny little letters I couldn’t make stick in my head. It didn’t matter though, because Simon had gone over it with me again, and again, and again… until I could remember it by shape and sound.

He hadn’t laughed at me or pinched me for every minute of silence we shared. There was no clock ticking down my worth. No sage burning holes in my lungs or hands dragging me toward an altar.

There was just… quiet , and I started to think that maybe the letters would cry during punishments, too—just as loud as I had.

Maybe it wasn’t my fault they ran away…

… because they didn’t seem to be running as fast as before.

The room for hand-to-hand combat was down a long hallway lined with numbered doors. I’d memorized the shape of the number—three—because it looked like a backwards E, and Simon said I was stronger when I gave things names.

Simon had walked me through the schedule already—twice yesterday and once this morning.

Monday started with conditioning, then combat, then wound care after lunch.

He’d circled the blocks on the chart, marked them with dots and tiny slashes I could trace with my fingers until they made sense in my head.

Today was my first real day of training.

I stood in the doorway a beat too long, tugging at my ear with my shoulders tucked in. I wasn’t scared—except maybe I was a little. I felt like this was something I could mess up just by breathing wrong.

The room was wide and cool, lit by a grid of harsh fluorescents that buzzed with urgency.

Padded floors stretched wall to wall, their surface marked with old scuffs and carrying the faint scent of rubber.

The walls were lined in worn brick. Rope coils hung neatly along one side while mirrors covered the other.

It didn’t feel like the room back home.

No pews lined the walls, waiting for knees to break. No vinegar-soaked rods. No chains disguised as rituals. No oil smeared on your forehead while someone whispered about demons that lived in your bones.

This place didn’t hum with holiness.

It just… existed —bricks, mats, and light so bright it made your eyes water.

It wasn’t punishment or mercy. It was just a place, and maybe that was why it felt so strange.

Bay was already on the floor, stretching like his bones didn’t know how to stay still. He folded in half easily, like his spine had melted, and his hair kept falling in his face, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Rune stood near the wall, arms locked across his chest like he was holding something in. His eyes didn’t move much, and his face gave nothing away. He didn’t seem mad, but he didn’t seem very calm either.

Miller looked the least interested, one foot pressed against a beam while he held a book in his hand, flipping pages like training was a waste of time and he had better things to do.

Bay noticed me first.

“Look who’s official now!” He grinned, still folded in half, forehead nearly touching the mat. “You ready to get your ass handed to you?”

I gave a half-smile, unsure if I was supposed to answer… or what that even meant. “I guess.”

“He guesses,” Miller muttered. “He’s braver than he looks.”

Rune didn’t speak at first—just nodded once. His shoulders were tense, and his eyes tracked me, but not like prey or something to hurt. “You’ll be fine.”

I didn’t know why it mattered. It was just three words, but they made my chest feel a little strange. My fingers curled slightly, like my body was reacting before my brain could catch up, and I don’t even think it was the words.

Not really.

It was that he’d said anything at all.

“Just don’t puke.” Bay flopped to the side and rolled onto his back. “That’s rule number one. Rule number two is don’t cry in front of Hiro. He doesn’t like it when things leak.”

Miller glanced up, flipping a page with one finger. “You cried on your first day.”

“Yeah, asshole, I did,” Bay said proudly. “But I did it quietly. ”

I swallowed, not sure if I was allowed to laugh.

The corner of my mouth twitched anyway.

Bay’s head rolled against the mat, his grin lazy as he looked at me. “You nervous, Blue?”

I shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

He arched a brow. “Liar. You flinch every time someone breathes too loud.”

My ears went hot, but I didn’t answer.

“It’s alright, Bluebird.” Bay leaned back on his hands, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Daddy’s gone soft for you anyway.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You know… Daddy .”

“My father’s dead,” I said flatly. “I killed him.”

The grin slid off his face, and silence hit like a snap in the air.

Even Miller glanced up from his book.

“Oh,” Bay muttered. “That’s definitely not what I meant.”

“I… don’t understand.”

“It’s just a nickname,” he explained. “Like a thing we say when someone’s in charge. When they’ve got that whole ‘don’t fuck with me unless you want your face rearranged’ thing going on. You know? Alpha vibes. Daddy. ”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just looked down at my hands, fingers still curled from nerves.

“I mean, I don’t call him that to his face,” Bay added. “I like my teeth where they are.”

I glanced up.

“But you…” He tilted his head, like he was studying something. “You probably could. If Sam’s anybody’s daddy around here, it’s yours.”

Daddy.

My stomach flipped.

I wasn’t sure if it was from the word or the way he said it, like it meant something I didn’t fully understand.

Something in the air changed then, tension pulling tight on an invisible thread.

There wasn’t a warning—no quiet footsteps or the sound of a door opening. There was a shift… and then there was Hiro.

He didn’t say a word at first. Just moved across the room with that same quiet precision, as though every step had already been planned.

He was lean and sharp-looking, built like someone who knew how to end a fight before it ever started.

Short, dark hair flopped across his forehead, a little messy, but not by accident.

Nothing about him felt accidental.

His water bottle swung once at his side. Thin eyes scanned the room, steady and unreadable, until they landed on me.

“Line up,” he said simply.

I moved before I could think, following the others toward the center mat. Bay bumped my shoulder on the way past.

“Relax, Bluebird,” he whispered. “It’s just blood, bruises, and trauma bonding. You’ll do great.”

I tried to smile, but I don’t think it looked very good.

Hiro waited until we were still to speak again. “We’ll start with rotation drills, then move to partner grapples. Keep it controlled. I don’t want anyone bleeding before lunch.”

Bay snorted.

I kept my arms loose at my sides and my eyes forward, but my heart had started doing that thing again. A weird skip-stutter. Not panic. No . Just something tight and jumpy.

Nerves, probably.

I’ve had a lot of those since I got here.

I didn’t know what a rotation drill was, but I didn’t want to be the one who asked. So I followed what the others did, watched how Rune stepped forward with his chin tucked, and how Bay bounced lightly on his feet.

Hiro moved between us, correcting posture with the lightest touch—a nudge to the elbow, a flick of his wrist toward a stance. He never lingered and never grabbed. It was the kind of instruction that didn’t bruise, and I… didn’t know what to do with that.

My feet didn’t land right at first—too flat and too loud.

“Smaller steps,” Hiro ordered. “Stay light. Think—shift, not stomp.”

I adjusted. Tried to, anyway. It felt a little like praying in reverse—body first, then mind.

My breaths came short. I mirrored Bay’s ease, the way his limbs flowed like a stream.

He landed across from me, stance easy, but his movement coiled with power.

“You got this,” he said, low. “I’ll go slow. Promise.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I could keep my hands still.

He lunged.

It wasn’t even fast, but something in me snapped. My body yanked backward before my brain could catch up, hands flying up like I was about to be struck.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

Hiro’s voice cut through the air. “Stop.”

Bay froze mid-step.

I froze harder.

My ribs cinched tight. Not with fear—at least not the kind that I was used to. It was muscle memory laced with shame. My vision tunneled at the edges, and my ears rang with that high, shrill pitch I used to get during beatings.

I couldn’t tell if I was breathing.

“You’re not in trouble,” Hiro said, calm. “That was a freeze response. We don’t punish that here. We train through it.”

My hands stayed up for a second longer than they needed to, then dropped, fingers twitching once at my sides.

“Bay,” Hiro said, already shifting his attention, “mirror his movements. No strikes. Just shadow him.”

Bay nodded without hesitation. “Got it.”

We moved together. Slow. I watched his arms, his feet, and the way he pivoted without thinking. My steps lagged behind at first, but they started to smooth out, like my body wanted to keep up and believed it actually could.

One count at a time, my breathing evened out. The pressure in my chest eased, not all the way, but enough to make space.

I still didn’t know what I was doing, but I didn’t feel stupid for not knowing either.

No one hit me when I messed up.

No one even raised their voice.

Bay and I moved through the last of the drill without speaking.

I still felt shaky in my chest, but not in my hands. Not anymore. My muscles had started listening. Maybe they understood something I didn’t have words for yet.

“Alright,” Hiro said, clapping once. “That’s enough for now. Go hydrate. We’ll debrief in twenty.”

The boys started to scatter. Bay flopped onto his back like he’d been shot, and Rune grabbed his water bottle without looking at anyone.

I stayed still a second longer, unsure if I was supposed to move or where I’d even go. My shirt clung to my back, damp and heavy, the air in the room seemed thicker now.

I felt it then. Not a sound or word.

Just him.

Samuel.

He stood in the doorway, calm and silent. His gaze held like pressure against my skin, and my throat tightened on instinct. He had that look again—the one that said I was being measured. Not for punishment, but for truth. Like he needed to see if I was still whole.

He wore a fitted black T-shirt that stretched just slightly across his chest, paired with dark slacks that somehow still looked pressed.

His gloves were on, seamless and smooth, like they were part of him.

Bare arms drew my eyes—sharp lines, lean strength, defined but not scary.

Never scary. His curls looked softer than usual, a little messy at the edges.

I wanted to touch them— just once —to see if they felt the way they looked.

There was a spot on his neck, just beneath his jaw, where the skin dipped in, clean and smooth.

I wanted to press the tip of my nose to that patch of skin and just… breathe.

I didn’t know why.

Samuel stepped into the room.

“How’d it go?” he asked, voice carved low just for me.

I opened my mouth, but the words didn’t come right away. My throat still felt tight from earlier, like the panic hadn’t fully drained out.

“It was okay,” I said eventually. “I messed up, but… no one got mad.”

His jaw shifted slightly.

He didn’t say anything at first—just looked at me. It wasn’t the way the others used to, scanning for faults or cracks to wedge open. His eyes were slow, careful, and… proud.

“You held your ground.”

I shrugged one shoulder. “I froze.”

“You unfroze.” His voice was gentle, but it didn’t let me off the hook either. “That’s the part that matters.”

I looked down at my hands, still twitching a little from leftover nerves. “Bay said I was brave,” I mumbled. “But I don’t think I am.”

“You don’t have to think it, sweetheart,” he said. “You just have to keep showing up.”

That word settled in my chest.

Sweetheart.

I nodded, trying not to stare at the way the light touched the slope of his throat when he spoke.

“Blue.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it held weight, like he’d spoken my name just because he liked the shape of it in his mouth. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to the way he said it—like it was something new. Untainted.

“You did good.”

That was all, three small words, but they landed deeper than any sermon ever had. I nodded again, tighter this time, like I was holding something in place.

Myself, probably.

Bay’s voice cut through the moment like a blade. “Told you,” he said from the floor, arms stretched overhead. “Daddy’s gone soft.”

I blinked.

My stomach twisted—tight, fluttery, and hot all at once.

I didn’t know if I wanted to sink through the mat or press my face into Samuel’s chest and never move again.

Both.

My fingers curled at my sides.

Not because I was scared. Because I didn’t know what to do with the part of me that wanted that word to mean something.

Daddy.