The world was slipping away, blood pooling beneath him, warm at first, then cold. Soap gasped, but it felt like breathing through shattered glass, each inhale rattling in his chest. He could hear voices—Price, shouting his name. Ghost, kneeling over him. Hands pressed against his head, but it was too late.

His body felt heavy. His vision blurred at the edges, fading, fading…

No. Not yet.

He forced his eyes open, searching for something, anything to hold onto. The faces above him, the weight of their hands trying to keep him here, the burning ache that told him he was still alive. But then—

Soap jolted upright with a sharp inhale, sweat-drenched sheets twisted around his body. His hands flew to his head, expecting blood, pain—something—but there was nothing. Just the steady rise and fall of his breath, the thud of his heart slamming against his ribs.

His room. His bed. The hum of distant traffic outside.

And it was all dream. Just a dream.

His hands shook as he ran them through his hair, exhaling a shuddering breath. The kind that carried ghosts. The kind that made him wonder, just for a second…

What if it hadn’t been?