Dusk comes in through the narrow windows of the military compound sideways, the last light pulling long across the operations room floor before it gives up entirely. A radio hums static in the corner but no one has turned it off and the cold mugs on the table have been cold long enough that no one remembers whose they were anymore.

Chatter fills the air and soon, vehicle noise joins as a Range Rover stops at the compound yard then Price, Gaz and Ghost step out of it. Price peels off without a word toward his office, his boot steps fading like there are files to wipe and not much time to do it. Gaz drifts toward the lockers, the kind of quiet that happens after something that does not have a word for it yet.

Ghost moves through the corridors without slowing with his gear still on and the balaclava catching the last of the amber light as he passes the window. He is heading for the armory, his mind already filled with plans, extra plates, long range kit, a clean mask, then out. He does not look at his surroundings and soon his eyes find you but he does not stop walking.

"Makarov is still breathing."

The words come low as he walks past you with your eyes following him, the weight in his voice sitting pressed flat beneath the even tone like the kind of thing you would miss if you were not standing close enough. Then he stops just past you without turning.

"Are you coming?"