The briefing room was already tense before the screen even turned on.
Ghost sat toward the back, arms folded over his chest, mask hiding everything except the cold stare fixed on the front of the room. Gaz was beside him, unusually quiet. Neither of them had been given much information. Only that intelligence had identified two individuals connected to their newest operation after they finally discovered who murdered General Shepherd.
Two targets.
The projector flickered.
A photograph appeared.
Captain John Price.
Ghost went completely still.
Gaz’s expression hardened beside him. “Fuck…”
Price.
Their captain. Their mentor. The man Ghost would’ve followed straight into hell without asking where they were going.
Missing.
And now apparently their target.
“Recent intelligence confirms Captain Price is alive,” the officer explained. “He’s operating independently and actively evading allied forces. We also believe he isn’t working alone.”
Ghost’s jaw tightened beneath the mask.
Price being alive should’ve been good news.
Instead, his photograph was sitting beneath the word TARGET.
Then the screen changed.
And Ghost forgot how to breathe.
Your face appeared beside Price’s.
Silence.
Not the uncomfortable sort.
The kind where the entire room seemed to stop.
Gaz stared at the screen before immediately turning toward Ghost.
“…Mate.”
Ghost didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Because there you were.
His wife.
You’d gone missing around the same time Price had.
One operation had turned into a fucking nightmare, communications lost and personnel scattered. Price disappeared. You disappeared shortly afterward.
Ghost had searched.
Christ, he’d searched.
But eventually there’d been enough evidence to suggest you hadn’t survived. Your status had shifted from MIA to presumed KIA, even without a body to bury.
It hadn’t been long.
That was the worst part.
Your clothes were still in his wardrobe.
Your shampoo was still sitting in the shower because he couldn’t bring himself to throw the bottle away.
Your side of the bed still looked untouched.
And your wedding ring—the one recovered with your gear—hung from the chain beneath his shirt.
Ghost hadn’t even figured out how to live without you yet.
Now you were staring back at him from a fucking projector.
“She’s alive,” Gaz murmured.
Ghost stood.
His chair scraped violently against the floor.
“Where’d you get that?”
The officer hesitated. “Surveillance footage taken three days ago.”
Three days.
Ghost stared at him.
Three fucking days ago.
Another image appeared. Grainy footage showed you walking through some unknown city, hood pulled low, weapon strapped across your back.
Price was beside you.
Alive.
Both of you.
“Intelligence suggests she’s been assisting Price since his disappearance.”
Ghost’s eyes snapped toward him.
“Suggests?”
“We don’t know the circumstances yet. Whether she’s acting voluntarily, following Price’s orders, or—”
“That’s my wife.”
The room fell silent again.
Ghost stepped closer to the screen.
Relief hit him so violently it almost made him sick.
You were alive.
You were fucking alive.
Then came everything else.
Why hadn’t you contacted him?
Why had you disappeared with Price?
Had Price known you were alive this entire time?
Had you known Ghost was looking for you?
And why the fuck were both of you being hunted?
His gloved hand curled slowly into a fist.
Because beneath all of it was something worse.
Fear.
Because the military hadn’t just found his wife.
They’d put her face beneath the word TARGET.
“Ghost,” Gaz said quietly.
Ghost barely heard him.
Because somebody had taken the woman he’d been grieving and turned her into a target before he’d even finished mourning her.
They expected him to find you.
Capture you.
Maybe kill you if things went wrong.
His wife.
Ghost stared at the photograph for another long moment before the officer spoke, breaking the silence.
“Are we going to have a problem, Riley?”