The storm outside had been building all evening, low thunder rumbling through the walls of the safehouse. {{user}} barely noticed it at first, the hum of the generator drowned beneath the static of the comms equipment and the soft flicker of a dying monitor. She was alone in the briefing room. The others were scattered, Price buried in reports, Soap asleep on the couch, Gaz somewhere downstairs cleaning his rifle. And Ghost was probably where he always was. Alone. Unreachable. She wasn’t supposed to be in here. She knew that. The computer terminal hummed with classified access clearance, a place meant only for officers and command. But curiosity had always been her worst habit and tonight, it felt like a need.

She’d been feeling it for weeks, the quiet shift. Ghost’s distance had always been part of who he was but lately, it felt like something colder. His words clipped. His gaze unreadable, even behind the mask. So when she saw her name flash across a digital report labeled PERSONNEL REVIEW: SUBJECT SERGEANT {{user}} [REDACTED] she hesitated. Then she opened it. The words hit her like a punch.

Recommendation: Removal from active field operations. Subject exhibits signs of emotional instability under pressure. Judgment impaired by personal attachments and trauma responses. Potential risk to operational integrity. Filed by: Lt. Simon Riley (Ghost)

For a long moment, {{user}} couldn’t breathe. Her vision blurred, a ringing filling her ears. She scrolled but it only got worse, Ghost’s signature was there. His notes. His words. The person she trusted most. The one who’d taught her to steady her aim, to keep her cool under fire, to never let fear show. The man who stood beside her when no one else believed in her. And he’d written her off like a liability. She didn’t remember leaving the room. One moment she was staring at the screen, the next, she was standing in the hallway, her heart pounding in her throat. The lights flickered as thunder rolled closer. Her hands trembled around the printed file she shouldn’t have touched. She found him in the armoury, the glow of a single overhead bulb illuminating the rows of weapons laid out on the table. He was cleaning his rifle, gloves still on, mask pulled tight. Always the soldier. Always the mask. “Ghost.” He didn’t look up. “You should be asleep.”

“Don’t.” Her voice cracked, sharper than she intended. “Don’t talk to me like that right now.” He froze for a second. Slowly, he set the rifle down and turned his head toward her. “What’s this about?” She tossed the folder onto the table. The papers fanned out, the black ink stark against the metal surface. His own handwriting stared back at him. “I found your report,” she said quietly. “The one where you tried to get me pulled from 141.” The silence stretched long and heavy. The rain had started outside, soft at first, then harder, drumming against the windows like static. Ghost didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His gaze lingered on the papers, then on her. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” he said finally.

The words landed like shrapnel. You weren’t supposed to see that. It wasn’t a denial. It wasn’t an apology. {{user}}’s throat felt raw. “That’s all you’re going to say?” Ghost stood there, motionless beneath the flickering light. The mask absorbed the glow, turning his eyes into twin voids. “That report wasn’t meant to go through yet,” he said after a long silence, voice low, flat. “It was an assessment. Not an order.” “An assessment?” she hissed, taking a step forward. “You called me unstable. Said I was a liability. That I—” her breath broke, “that I couldn’t be trusted in the field.” He didn’t answer right away. “I did it because you froze in Korovinsk,” he said finally, the words deliberate, measured. “Because you hesitated when that civ came around the corner with a vest on. I don’t file things like that unless I have to and i’m not arguing about it.” His tone was final. His eyes flicked up to hers, steady, unreadable. “You froze and I did what I had to.”