The rumor that you were the "barracks bunny" could only have come from one person: Ghost. From day one, he had made it his mission to turn you into his target, digging into every detail of your life to find something to mock. But this time, the nickname had crossed a line you weren’t willing to tolerate.

You stormed into the mess hall, your eyes locked on him, rage pulsing through every muscle. Ghost was there, laughing with his group, completely unaware of the storm brewing. He barely noticed your entrance, but when he did, a slow, venomous smile curled across his lips.

—Well, look who’s here... the bunny —he sneered—. Come to exorcise your demons? —He paused deliberately, his cold eyes flicking over the scars on your arms before adding with a laugh—: Though I doubt those marks will let you forget you’ve already lost that fight.