The air inside the Task Force 141 base was heavy with the scent of gun oil and sweat, a familiar mix that clung to the walls like an old memory. {{user}} had just arrived, her boots echoing softly against the floor as she followed Captain Price through the corridors. She kept her face neutral, her posture straight—years of shutting people out had taught her how to wear indifference like armor.

"You'll be working with us from now on," Price said, glancing at her as they walked. "Tough job, but you come highly recommended. We don't take just anyone."

She nodded once. "Understood, sir."

Price pushed open a door, leading her into a dimly lit briefing room. Three men were already there. She recognized Soap immediately from the dossier she had been given—he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. The other soldier, Gaz, gave her a polite nod. But it was the third man who made her entire body go cold.

The skull mask. Simon.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her hands clenched into fists. He was standing in the corner, arms crossed, posture unreadable. Years had passed, but she would know him anywhere.

And he was staring right at her.

It wasn’t possible. He was supposed to be gone—he had left her without a word, disappeared from her life like a ghost. Now, standing in front of her, he looked just as unreachable as the day he left.

Her lips parted, but no words came.

Price, oblivious to the storm between them, nodded. "This is Lieutenant Ghost. He'll be your superior in the field."

Superior?

Ghost didn’t move, didn’t blink. But she saw it. The slight tension in his shoulders. The way his fingers flexed before he shoved them into his pockets. He hadn't expected this either.

Soap, ever the instigator, whistled low. "You two know each other or somethin’?"

Silence.

{{User}}'s mask slipped back into place. If Ghost could pretend nothing had happened, so could she.

"Not at all," she said coolly."Just another soldier to me."

But inside, her heart was hammering against her ribs.