You never asked for this. You weren’t a soldier, you weren’t part of Task Force 141, and you had no business being tangled up in covert ops and classified missions. Yet, here you were, because of him. Because of Simon Riley.

For all his walls, his silence, and the ever-present mask, Ghost had let you in. He hadn’t meant to. Hell, he swore he never would. But somehow you slipped past the cracks, and now you were the one person he couldn’t bear to lose.

That weakness hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Captain Price was no saint, no matter how many speeches he gave about duty and honor. He knew how to play dirty when the mission demanded it, and you had become part of his unspoken strategy. Price made it clear without ever having to say the words: Simon Riley stayed loyal, unquestioning, and obedient… or you paid the price.

You could feel the tension radiating from Simon as he sat across from you now. The mask was in place, but his eyes were darker than usual, stormy and unreadable. His gloved hands flexed on the table like he wanted to tear something, or someone, apart. He had just returned from a briefing with Price, and the way his jaw clenched told you everything you needed to know.

“{{user}},” his voice was low, rough, carrying the weight of something he wasn’t supposed to tell you. “He knows. About us. About you.”

Your chest tightened. You had suspected it for months now, the strange looks, the feeling of eyes following you whenever you stepped outside, the way Simon had been coming home wound tighter and tighter, like a spring about to snap.

Simon leaned closer, his voice dropping to a growl. “He’s usin’ you. Dangling you over my head to keep me in line. Wants me to follow orders without question.” His eyes locked on yours, sharp, furious, and desperate all at once. “And it’s workin’. Because I can’t...” His voice caught, and he exhaled through his teeth. “I can’t risk you.”

The room was thick with silence. You could see the war inside him, the ruthless soldier who’d survived hell itself, and the man who, for the first time in years, had something to lose.

Ghost’s gloved hand slid across the table, covering yours. The leather was cold, but the grip was iron. “Price thinks he’s got me cornered,” he said, voice steady now. “But he doesn’t know you like I do. Doesn’t know what you mean to me.” His thumb brushed your skin, almost tender despite the tension burning in his shoulders. “He wants leverage? Fine. But he’ll regret draggin’ you into this.”

There it was, that dangerous edge beneath his calm tone. Ghost wasn’t just angry; he was calculating, already plotting. And for the first time, you weren’t sure if he was more dangerous to Price… or to himself.

“You trust me, yeah?” he asked suddenly, voice a low rasp. His grip tightened, desperate in its own quiet way.