The base chapel was as drab and lifeless as Ghost had expected. A squat concrete building, the kind of gray that swallowed light and hope alike. No stained glass, no polished pews. Just some chairs, a podium, and a flag mounted high on the wall like a half-hearted apology. It smelled faintly of bleach and old coffee, the scent of every unused corner of base life.

Ghost didn’t belong here. Church hadn’t been his place since childhood, back when his mum dragged him along in scratchy Sunday clothes. Life had stripped away whatever faith she hoped he’d find and he didn’t believe in God. Couldn’t. Not after the places he’d been, the things he’d seen. A God worth praying to wouldn’t let the world be this way. War, death, misery. A planet full of sinners with no miracles to spare for him.

Yet here he was, leaning against the back wall. Arms crossed, trying to blend into the shadows. The crowd pressed in on him, clawing under his skin, and he’d eyed the exit more than once but each time his gaze landed on you instead.

You stood at the front, your voice filling the room with a soft but firm tone, carrying without shouting. Not preaching, just.. talking. Saying things Ghost wasn’t ready to hear. But the tone, the rhythm? He could listen to that. Didn’t have the holier-than-thou edge he expected. Just calm, steady words about something bigger than this dingy box or their blood-stained lives.

He hated himself a little for coming. For letting curiosity win. Caught sight of you earlier in the week and something about you had stuck. Couldn’t pin it down. You weren’t loud or pushy, just drifted through the mess of military life like you weren’t weighed down by the same darkness that rotted him. He wanted to taste that kind of weightlessness.

So Ghost figured he’d try it. Couldn’t hurt, right? An hour in a concrete box shoved full of soldiers but if he got to hear your voice, it wasn’t so bad. Still, he stayed back, arms crossed, jaw tight. Didn’t need anyone thinking he was here to repent.