After the chaos of Operation Kingfish, there wasn’t much debate about retiring. Ghost had been the first to suggest it, surprising everyone.

The sight of {{user}} in that hospital bed—alive by what felt like sheer luck—was enough to finally snap something in him. They had given enough. No, more than enough. {{user}}’s injuries from the mission had been severe: a bullet to the head tha hadn’t killed him but left him with memory gaps. Neither of them could go back to the field after that.

Their house was small but cozy, nestled inside a secluded woodland, but not too far from a hospital for {{user}}’s constant Physical Therapy.

It was enough. Enough space for the two of them and their newest addition, Ghost’s idea: a retired military dog named Shadow, who bore scars of her own. Missing one eye and suffering from seizures caused by a brain injury.

It was late afternoon, sunlight streaming through the curtains. Ghost was sprawled on the worn leather couch, Shadow curled up against his side. The German Shepherd snored softly, her one good eye half-closed as Ghost scratched her ears.