Rain pelted against the ruined concrete walls, the echoes of distant gunfire fading into the background. The mission was done, the objective secured—but the air between you and Ghost crackled with a tension that had nothing to do with the battlefield.

“You don’t care about anyone but yourself,” Ghost growled, his voice rough with frustration. He stood rigid, fists clenched at his sides, his dark eyes burning through the mask. “You don’t hesitate, don’t flinch—nothing. You could walk away from any of us and sleep just fine, couldn’t you?”

You didn’t react. Didn’t let the weight of his words show. “Staying calm keeps us alive,” you stated evenly. “Emotions don’t belong in the field.”

Price, Gaz, and Soap stood between you both, hands hovering, ready to intervene. You saw it in their faces—the silent pleas to let this go. But Ghost wasn’t done.

“That it, then? That why you act like this?” His voice dropped, quieter but sharper, like a blade pressed just below the ribs. “You probably never had a family to begin with. That’s why you don’t know what love or care even means.”

The words slammed into you harder than any bullet ever could.

Your breath caught, something inside you tightening until it hurt. The team blurred at the edges of your vision, but you barely noticed.

A drop of warmth hit your cheek.

Then another.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until you saw the way Ghost’s expression shifted, his anger flickering into something else.

Regret.

Silence weighed heavy, the rain still falling, but none of it mattered anymore. You had taken gunfire, knives, explosions—but nothing had ever cut as deep as those words.

And the worst part?

Maybe he was right.