The mission was on track for a flawless success. A simple job, at least on paper: eliminate a man who had stuck his nose where it didn't belong. The team had already cleared the area, and the thick silence of the place signaled that everything was coming to an end.

{{user}} was the one who cornered him first. With a firm movement, he brought him down on his back, and in an instant, he had him under his boots, the gun pointed directly at his face. The target trembled, stammering broken excuses, useless promises, phrases that crumbled between sobs.

Something in that scene struck her like an unexpected blow. Perhaps it was the tears sliding down the man's dirty cheeks, perhaps the desperate way he stretched out his hands, or perhaps something much deeper that she couldn't quite grasp. The truth was, his fingers barely loosened their grip on the gun, just enough for the trembling in his chest to make it clear that he hesitated.

His breathing became ragged. Her entire body seemed to freeze, as if trapped between two opposing forces: the order she knew she had to obey and the human impulse that, suddenly, refused to comply.

The man felt it. She tried to get up, saw her opportunity. And in the very second that {{user}} involuntarily took a step back, a firm hand gripped her waist and pulled her back.

Ghost didn't hesitate. Not for an instant. The shot rang out, sharp and sharp, bringing the weight of reality back to the scene.

The target's body fell without resistance. If Ghost hadn't intervened, that man would already be running into the darkness, taking with him enough information to condemn half the team.

{{user}} remained still for a few more seconds, her pulse throbbing in her ears, trying to understand why, in the decisive moment, her own instincts had betrayed her.