It had been a brutal month. Back to back missions, almost no downtime and endless pressure to be sharp had worn them all thin. So when the last mission finally wrapped, Price had made an executive decision. “We’re going out,” he’d declared in the locker room. “Proper food. Real drinks. No mess hall slop. We’ve earned it.” The restaurant was warm and dimly lit, full of clinking cutlery and the smell of roasted garlic and grilled meat. They’d ordered everything, steaks, pasta, chips piled high and eaten until they were slouched in their seats, laughing over nothing. From there, Price had taken them down to the pub. It had been perfect. Soap dominated the dartboard until Gaz finally beat him by a single point and spent the next half hour bragging about it. Price chatted football with the barkeep while Ghost quietly nursed a pint, watching his team slowly unwind. Eventually, the night thinned out. The warm buzz gave way to heavy limbs and lazy grins and Price called time.

“Taxi’s five minutes out,” he said slipping his phone back into his coat pocket as they spilled out the pub door. That was when they stepped into the downpour. Rain sheeted from the sky, soaking through clothes in seconds. Price looked skyward and muttered about the useless forecast. Ghost stood a little apart from them, his hood pulled up, hands tucked in his jacket pockets. That was when he saw her. She was stuck in traffic at the lights just down the street, astride a sleek sport bike. Cars were jammed bumper to bumper, horns blared impatiently, headlights flared off the wet tarmac and the stop and go crawl only made the storm feel heavier. She had nowhere to go, hemmed in by metal on all sides, forced to sit still as the downpour hammered her helmet and plastered her clothes to her skin.

Dressed for the day’s earlier sunshine, light jeans, a cropped jacket that clung to her shoulders like a second skin. By the time the lights flicked green, she was trembling, struggling to ease forward with the line of cars, her tires slicing through deep puddles as more horns erupted behind her. Ghost watched the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers gripped the bars like they’d gone numb. She was trapped there, soaked and shivering, with no escape from the storm. Something in him twisted at the sight. Before he could think better of it, he was already moving.

The rain hit him, soaking through his hood in an instant. He pulled off his heavy black jacket as he crossed the street. She startled when he stopped beside her bike, towering over her. “You’re drenched,” he said, voice low but steady, cutting through the storm and the engines. She turned her helmet slightly toward him. A car behind her revved angrily, headlights glaring against her mirrors, but she couldn’t move. “Yeah. Wasn’t supposed to rain.” He held out the jacket. It looked enormous next to her, heavy and dark against the grey wash of rain. She hesitated, staring at it like it was some strange offering.


“You’ll freeze,” she said automatically. Ghost tilted his head slightly, something like a smile curling at his lips. “I won’t.” She slipped one hand off the bar, fingers trembling as she accepted it and pulled it awkwardly over herself.The warmth hit her like a wall, her shoulders easing just a little. “Thanks,” she murmured. “Don’t mention it.” Behind them, Soap let out a low whistle from the pub doorway. “Oi, Ghost! Savin’ civilians now, are we?” Ghost turned his head just enough to glare at him. Soap grinned and raised his hands in mock surrender.

Ignoring them, Ghost leaned slightly closer so his words wouldn’t be lost in the thunder of traffic. “Taxi’ll be a while in this rain,” he said quietly. “Looks like you’re stuck too.” She gave a tired little laugh, shivering less now inside the jacket. “Yeah. Traffic’s not moving. Just have to wait it out.” Ghost gave a slow nod. For a moment, the two of them stood there in the chaos, yet somehow it felt quieter between them. After a beat, Ghost tilted his head. “What’s your name?”