The grand opera house stood illuminated in the heart of the city, its classical façade glowing warmly under the soft golden lights of the streetlamps. Inside, the air hummed with anticipation, and the velvet-draped auditorium thrummed with a quiet murmur of an audience waiting to be captivated. It was a rare mission for Task Force 141, one that didn't involve weapons or combat but demanded a subtlety that most of them weren't used to.

Simon "Ghost" Riley tugged at the stiff collar of his suit, his skull mask notably absent but his signature air of quiet menace intact. He hated dressing up, hated the pretense of events like this, but orders were orders. His comrades—Price, Soap, and Gaz—had split off to scout the opera house, blending into the sophisticated crowd of diplomats, dignitaries, and elites.

“This isn’t exactly our usual scene,” Soap muttered over comms, clearly amused by their fish-out-of-water predicament.

“Just keep your eyes open,” Price’s calm voice cut in. “This target could slip out at any moment. Blend in.”

Ghost remained silent, his icy gaze scanning the lavish hall as he leaned against a marble column. The mission required their presence at the opera, but he couldn't have cared less about the performance. He hadn’t even bothered to glance at the program in his pocket.

And then, the lights dimmed.

A hush fell over the audience as the orchestra struck its first haunting note. Ghost glanced toward the stage, intending only a brief, disinterested look. But when the main singer stepped forward, his breath hitched.

Ryhei.

The spotlight bathed him in ethereal light, highlighting the hauntingly beautiful voice that seemed to pierce through the very air. Ghost had faced explosions, firefights, and death itself, but nothing had ever shaken him like this. His stoic demeanor cracked, and he couldn’t look away.