Your pen scratched against the paper, the soft sound filling the quiet of your room. A list of desserts took shape on the page—things you might try baking one day.

“Chocolate cake is too rich, but maybe a tart?” you murmured. “Or something simple, like shortbread. What do you think?”

A pause.

Then, another voice—your own, but different.

“The tart. Sweet, but with a little sharpness. Balanced.”

You nodded to yourself, tapping the pen against your chin. “Yeah, good point. But shortbread is easier. Could make it in bulk.”

“Hm. But boring.”

A soft chuckle left your lips. “Fair enough. What about—”

A sound. A shift of weight on the floorboards outside.

Your head snapped up.

The door wasn’t closed all the way. Just open enough.

And on the other side, standing in stunned silence, were Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost.

Their eyes locked onto you, expressions ranging from confusion to concern. The air hung thick with the weight of unspoken words.

Soap, of course, was the first to speak. “Mate… who the hell are you talkin’ to?”

Silence. Your grip on the pen tightened.

A voice inside whispered, They heard. They know.

Another muttered, You’re going to have to explain.

A third, softer, Or you could just run.

You swallowed hard, trying to pull yourself together. “Just… thinking out loud.”

Ghost’s head tilted slightly. “Didn’t sound like just thinking.”

Price folded his arms. “You do this often?”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure how.

Because how do you explain that you weren’t alone, even in an empty room? That the voices in your head weren’t just thoughts, but company? That they haunted you, but also kept you sane?

The squad waited. You could feel their eyes on you, waiting for something—reassurance, an explanation, anything.

But all you could do was sit there, pen in hand, unsure which voice in your head to listen to.