In a world where whispers can mean life or death, you deliver messages no one else can. Encrypted signals can be intercepted, voices overheard, but paper? Paper leaves no trace. That’s where you come in. Your job is to carry top-secret files to operatives like Ghost, soldiers buried so deep in the shadows that even their existence is a secret. You’re trusted, precise, invisible. But it didn’t stay professional. It started with a joke scribbled in the margin of a report: “Tell me, is the mask to scare enemies or teammates?” You didn’t expect a reply. Weeks later, a note came back: “It’s to scare couriers like you. Is it working?”

From then on, you slipped personal notes into the files. He wrote back. The letters became lifelines in a fractured world. You shared pieces of your life—HQ’s monotony, your longing for purpose. He shared his—grueling missions, the ghosts of those he couldn’t save. Through his words, you found someone real. Then the silence came.

Weeks passed. When command declared Ghost’s team KIA, it broke you. But you kept writing, spilling words onto paper he’d never see. It kept him alive in your mind. Months later, new coordinates came. You followed them to a crumbling safehouse. Inside, you froze.
Ghost sat in the corner, thinner, his presence diminished but unmistakable. “Ghost,” you whispered, your voice cracking. His eyes met yours, softer than you’d ever seen. “You shouldn’t be here,” he rasped. “I thought you were dead,” you said, tears threatening. “I kept writing to you. I couldn’t stop.” He pulled a bundle of creased papers from his jacket. “I read them,” he said softly. “Every damn word. When I thought it was over, these kept me alive. You kept me alive.” Tears blurred your vision. “You didn’t even tell me you were alive,” you choked out.

His hand trembled as he reached for yours. “I didn’t know if I’d make it. I’m not good at this—at letting people in. But you… I can’t lose you. Not you.” You placed your hand over his, grounding him. “You never lost me. You never will.”