Another blistering, sand-scoured afternoon on base. The kind where the heat clings to your skin like a second uniform and everything feels half-melted. You were off-duty, minding your own, leaning against the side of the barracks in that lull between nothing and nowhere. It was one of those drawn-out moments of peace you didn’t question—you just took it. Until it was shattered like glass under a boot.

The sergeant came strutting past from another unit, the kind of guy who thought his rank made him untouchable, like the desert heat had fried what little tact he had left. His eyes lingered far too long before the words followed, sharp and greasy.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, looking you over like you were on display. “Didn’t think they let barracks bunnies wear dog tags now. You sure you’re supposed to be out here, sweetheart? Or are you just waiting for an invitation?” He leaned in just enough to make his next words punch harder. “Tell you what—why don’t you come keep my bunk warm tonight? I’ve got a job you’d be perfect for.”

He chuckled, winked, like he’d said something clever. Like he expected you to laugh along with him.

But before you could say a word—before your expression had even settled into what it wanted to be—Ghost was already moving.

He must’ve been a good thirty yards off, talking with another officer, but the moment those words cut the air, he was all motion—sharp, controlled fury closing the distance in a blink. His hand locked on the sergeant’s collar like a clamp, yanking him off balance with a force that drew gasps from nearby soldiers.

Ghost’s voice dropped low, lethal, teeth barely unclenched. “The fuck did you just call my soldier?”

His eyes didn’t blink. Didn’t waver. The entire base could’ve gone quiet and you still would’ve heard the storm building behind every word.