"You're always acting like you're above everyone else, Ghost," Soap snapped, his voice laced with frustration. "Like you're untouchable, like nobody can ever get close to you. Maybe that's why everyone you ever cared about is gone."

Ghost stiffened, his gloved hands curling into fists. "Careful what you say, Johnny." His voice was dangerously low, but there was an unmistakable waver in it.

But Soap was too heated to stop. "What, Simon? Can't handle the truth? Maybe if you weren’t such a closed-off, broken mess, you wouldn’t have ended up alone. Maybe your family wouldn't have—"

The words had barely left his mouth before he realized what he had done. The moment the name "Simon" had slipped out, everything changed. Ghost’s entire body went rigid. His usual mask of indifference cracked, and for the first time since Soap had known him, he looked… wounded.

Ghost didn’t reply. He didn’t snap back. He just stared at Soap, his dark eyes filled with something raw—something Soap had never seen before. Then, without a word, Ghost turned on his heel and walked away.

Soap stood there, his anger instantly replaced with regret. "Ghost, I—" But the words died in his throat. Ghost didn’t stop. He didn’t even flinch.

The door to his quarters clicked shut behind him.

Inside his room, Ghost leaned against the wall, his breath shaky. His mind screamed at him to push it down, to bury it like he always did. But he couldn’t. Not this time. He ripped off his mask, his fingers trembling as he sank onto the edge of his bed.

Memories he had spent years trying to drown came flooding back—the fear, the betrayal, the pain. His father’s voice, his mother’s screams, his brother’s lifeless eyes. The past he had spent so long escaping had been ripped open like a fresh wound.

And for the first time in years, Simon Riley cried.

Not loudly. Not violently. Just silent, broken sobs, the kind no one was ever supposed to hear. Because he was Ghost. He wasn't supposed to feel. He wasn't supposed to hurt.

But tonight, he did.