An accident. A mistake. An unnoticed movement. Something of the same—those were the thoughts circling like vultures in Ghost’s mind as he watched {{user}} sit slumped in the chair.

My fault. It was my fault. The words echoed over and over in his head, each repetition heavier, sharper, more suffocating. His eyes stayed locked on her, but his hands were useless at his sides, fists curling so tightly his knuckles ached beneath his gloves.

Every sound tore at him—her strangled screams, the raw, cracking edge of her voice, the helpless sobs that followed. The dim light caught the streaks of tears cutting through the dirt on her face, and still, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t intervene. Not without getting them both killed.

The restraints that held her might as well have been on him too. Every second felt like another nail driven into the coffin of his own control. He was Ghost—calm, calculated, unshakable—but right now, all he felt was powerless.

And that, more than anything else, was breaking him.