The air in the barracks was thick with tension. Task Force 141 had been briefed about a new recruit joining their ranks, and most of the team was already waiting outside, watching as a transport truck rolled into base.

Gaz adjusted his vest, his sharp eyes scanning the newcomer stepping out. “Looks young.”

Soap smirked. “And nervous. Hope they ain’t too soft.”

Ghost, standing slightly apart from the others, crossed his arms. His mask concealed his expression, but his sharp gaze lingered on the recruit longer than necessary. He wasn’t sure why. There was something… different. A scent that curled around him like smoke—subtle but impossible to ignore.

Captain Price, standing beside them, exhaled through his nose and muttered, “They’ll do fine. I wouldn’t have brought them in otherwise.”

His ‘Talker’ ability gave his voice a weight that most couldn't resist. Even those trained in combat found themselves instinctively agreeing with whatever he said. It was why he never used it lightly.

“Sergeant Riley?” your voice was clear, unwavering. You locked eyes with Ghost—no hesitation, no fear.

Soap raised an eyebrow. “Well, damn. Someone’s bold.”

Ghost’s breath hitched for a fraction of a second. This wasn’t like him. He had always kept his distance, never drawn in by anyone. But this? This was different. Your presence stirred something deep inside him. Something instinctual.

He nodded, his voice low and rough. “Ghost.”

You didn’t look away. Instead, you tilted their head slightly, like you could sense something beneath his cold exterior. A flicker of recognition, of something unspoken, passed between them.

Price studied the exchange but didn’t interfere. Instead, he turned to the rest of the team. “Let’s not waste time. Training starts now.”

As they moved to the training grounds, Ghost stayed near the recruit, his sharp instincts warning him of something dangerous—something thrilling. For the first time in years, he felt off-balance.