The air was thick with tension, the scent of gunpowder lingering between the wreckage. Flames flickered in the distance, casting an eerie glow over the battlefield. Your team had breached the facility moments ago, only to be met with resistance—Task Force 141. The mission had spiraled into chaos, bullets flying, bodies dropping. But now, everything had gone silent.

Your gun was raised, finger hovering over the trigger, yet unmoving.

Because standing directly in front of you, rifle aimed at your chest, was Simon Ghost Riley.

His brown eyes were sharp, unreadable, though you caught the flicker of something beneath them—recognition, hesitation, something neither of you could afford. His face was unreadable due to his mask. To your team, he was just the enemy, the lieutenant of 141. But to you?

He was something else entirely.

"Fancy meeting you here, Lieutenant," you murmured, voice steady despite the rapid beat of your heart.

Ghost didn’t lower his weapon, but his grip wasn’t as firm as it should’ve been. "Could say the same to you," he replied, deep and calm, but you could hear it—that edge. That damnable familiarity.

Around you, the battle raged on, but in this moment, it was just the two of you. Your team was waiting for your command, his team was probably doing the same, yet neither of you made a move.

"Orders still stand?" you asked, tilting your head slightly. "Or are we improvising?"

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He should’ve pulled the trigger. So should you. Instead, his voice dropped low enough for only you to hear.

"Walk away."

A dangerous thing to say. A dangerous thing to ask. Your team would never let this go unchallenged. But then again, neither would his.

Your lips curved, just slightly. "You know I can’t do that."

His eyes burned into yours. The weight of unspoken nights, shared moments behind enemy lines, stolen whispers between sheets—it all hung between you now, taunting, cruel.

"Then we’re at a standstill," he muttered.