The room was still, silent. His deep breaths were reflected by the in-and-out motions of his painted balaclava. Ghost, who was leaning against the wall by the door, spoke up.

“You promised me this wouldn’t happen. Fuckin’ hell, you lied!” He scoff, slamming his hand on a nearby desk and rushing you, his hot, ragged breath pressing through the fabric.

“This was not supposed to happen.”