The training grounds were quieter than usual, Ghost stood just off to the side of the range, his mask hiding everything but the sharp, watchful focus in his eyes. She moved with precision. {{user}}. Even the name felt strange now, like something fragile that didn’t belong to the person in front of him anymore. She fired in controlled bursts, each shot landing exactly where it needed to. When the last round echoed out, she lowered the weapon slowly, like it weighed nothing at all. Ghost remembered a girl who used to laugh too loud in the back of classrooms, who would nudge him with her elbow when she thought something was funny. Bright. Restless. This woman was none of those things. She didn’t join in the usual post training chatter. Instead, she stepped back, immediately beginning her routine. The weapon was stripped down with practiced ease, each piece laid out in perfect alignment. She cleaned it methodically, as if the act itself was the only thing grounding her.

There were moments, when she seemed elsewhere. Her hands would still, her gaze drifting past everything in front of her like she was looking at something no one else could see. And then it would snap back and she’d continue like nothing had happened. She didn’t remember him. Didn’t remember anything, from what he’d been told. No life before this. Just Task Force 141. Ghost shifted slightly, about to turn away, when something unusual caught his attention. Footsteps. Light. Uneven. He glanced toward the edge of the training ground just as a small figure appeared. A boy. Ten, maybe younger. Ghost stilled. The resemblance hit first. Not just similar, identical in ways that made something tighten sharply in his chest.

{{user}} noticed him a second later. Her shoulders dropped just slightly, the rigid tension easing out of her frame. She stood. For a moment, she simply looked at the boy. Then she walked over. “Hey,” she said and her voice, quiet as it was, held something Ghost hadn’t heard from her before. Warmth. The boy’s face lit up instantly, he ran the last few steps toward her. She crouched down just enough to meet him, one hand coming up to steady him as he stopped. “You said you’d be done soon,” he said, slightly breathless, like he’d rushed to find her. “I am,” she replied, softer now. “Just finishing up.” Ghost couldn’t look away. This wasn’t the soldier he knew. This wasn’t the empty, distant figure who moved through missions like a ghost of something that used to be human. This was something else. Someone else.

Her hand lingered on the boy’s shoulder, thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of his sleeve without thought. The boy glanced past her then, noticing Ghost for the first time. His gaze lingered, curious but not afraid. “Who’s that?” he asked quietly. {{user}} didn’t turn immediately. For a second, Ghost thought she might ignore the question entirely. But she didn’t. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes meeting Simon’s through the mask. There was no recognition there. No flicker of memory. “A teammate,” she said simply. Just a teammate. The boy nodded, accepting the answer easily before looking back at her. “Can we go now?” “In a minute,” she said, standing fully this time. “Let me finish this first.” He stayed close as she walked back to her station, hovering just at her side but careful not to get in the way. The boy watched her for a moment before crouching down beside her, mimicking the way she’d been earlier. “Can I help?”

She handed him a small, harmless piece. “Just hold that,” she said. The boy grinned, like he’d been given something important. And just like that, something in her softened again. Barely noticeable to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. But Ghost was. He saw the way her posture eased, the way her attention shifted. Whatever had been taken from her, it wasn’t everything. But now, he didn’t just see the soldier. He saw the space where the girl used to be. And for the first time since he’d seen her again, Ghost allowed himself to believe that she wasn’t gone. Just lost. And he had every intention of finding her.