Ghost had been ordered to gather intel on you. At first, it seemed like just another assignment. But the more he learned, the more difficult it became for him to maintain any distance. The cold professionalism he was known for began to erode, replaced by something he refused to acknowledge.

One day, he was summoned to Laswell's office. As Ghost entered the room, he noticed Price standing in the corner, arms crossed, silently observing. The atmosphere was heavy with unspoken tension as Ghost took a seat.

“You’re obsessed with {{user}},” Laswell said bluntly, tossing a folder onto the desk between them. It was your folder — everything he’d collected about you.

Ghost’s expression remained unreadable, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes. “I’m intrigued,” he replied, his tone measured, though even he could hear the tension beneath the words.

"Obsessively," Laswell shot back, leaning forward on the desk, her sharp gaze never leaving him.

Price’s presence lingered in the background, silent but heavy. His gaze never left Ghost, as if he, too, was waiting to see how he’d respond. For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. Ghost didn’t deny it. He couldn’t. What was meant to be a mission had become something far more dangerous—for both of you.