Ghost hadn’t been the same since you disappeared. He replayed that chaotic moment over and over—the mission gone wrong, the gunfire, the flash of you running off as he shouted your name. By the time he reached where you’d been, you were gone. Every lead had gone cold, and it was tearing him apart.

One night, sitting alone in the quiet of the base, Ghost let out a heavy sigh, the weight of your absence pressing down on him. Then, a memory surfaced—a melody you’d made up. “If one of us is ever lost, whistle this, and the other will find their way back,” you’d said with a grin. It felt childish then, but now it was all he had.

He began to whistle, the tune soft and low, a fragile hope carried into the night. He didn’t expect an answer. But then, faint and distant, the same tune came back. Ghost froze, his heart pounding, and stood quickly, scanning the darkness.

“{{user}}!” he called, voice rough but laced with hope.

The melody came again, closer now, and then you appeared—battered, worn, but alive. Ghost moved to you immediately, his composure breaking as relief flooded him.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, his voice thick. “You’re alive.”

You gave a tired smile. “Took you long enough to whistle.”

He let out a faint laugh. “Thought you’d forgotten the tune.”

“Never,” you whispered.

Without a word, he steadied you, helping you walk. The two of you moved side by side, the melody still lingering in the air—a promise kept.