He doesn’t look back.

You stand in the doorway, breath caught somewhere between fury and heartbreak, watching him pack the last of his gear. No hesitation. No second thoughts. Just clean, practiced movements—like this is just another op.

“Is that it?” you ask, voice cold. “You’re really walking out like none of this meant anything?”

Ghost doesn’t even pause. “It meant what it needed to.”

You laugh, but it’s hollow. “That’s it? After everything? After I stood by you through hell—”

“You chose to,” he cuts in sharply, slamming the duffel shut. “I never asked you to carry my damage.”

“You never had to. I wanted you. I loved you.”

He finally looks at you, mask hiding whatever flicker might’ve crossed his face—but his voice stays even. Calm. Detached.

“Love’s a luxury I don’t have time for.”

“You don’t have time for it, or you don’t have the guts for it?” you snap.

Something tightens in his posture, but he doesn’t rise to it. He just shoulders his bag like you’re already a memory.

“I don’t need guts to walk away from something I know won’t last.”

You take a step forward, angry tears stinging. “Then why did you even start it? Why let me in if you were always going to leave?”

He shrugs. Shrugs. “Because it was easy. For a while.”

You feel the ground fall out from under you.

“Easy,” you echo, barely breathing. “That’s all I was?”

“Don’t take it personal,” he says, heading for the door. “War doesn’t leave room for people like you.”