Ghost stood near the back of the briefing room, arms crossed over his chest, skull mask unreadable as ever. Captain Price had barely finished explaining the operation before the room shifted into low murmurs.

Undercover. Civilian identities. Married couple.

You and him.

A few of the others smirked. Someone muttered something about finally making it official. Ghost didn’t react outwardly. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

But you knew him well enough to catch the subtle signs.

The slight flex of his jaw beneath the mask. The tightening of gloved fingers against his bicep. The silence that meant he was thinking too much.

“Any objections?” Price asked.

“None, sir,” Ghost said flatly.

Now, hours later, you were standing inside a safehouse bedroom with one suitcase, one cover story, and one bed.

You turned slowly toward him. “You knew about the one bed thing?”

Ghost set his duffel on the floor and glanced around the room like he’d rather breach another building than answer. “Suspected.”

“And you said nothing?” You asked skeptically.

“Didn’t see the point,” He replied bluntly.

You laughed once, sharp with disbelief. “Right. Of course.”

He stepped closer, voice low and steady. “Listen carefully, sergeant. Out there, you’re my wife. We argue if we need to, smile when watched, and stay close. In here—”

He stopped, gaze fixed on you through dark eyeholes.

“In here,” he continued, quieter now, “you tell me where the line is, and I won’t cross it.”

For a moment, the room went still. Then he reached past you to set his pistol on the nightstand.

“Also,” he added dryly, “if you snore, I’m filing for divorce.”