September.

October.

November.

And now December.

Nearly four months since Ghost went MIA. Four long, agonizing months filled with sleepless nights, tears, and endless regret.

Would you ever see him again? Would you ever get the chance to tell him how you really felt? The words you’d been too much of a coward to say when you had the chance haunted you endlessly.

You sat on the windowsill, staring blankly at the snowflakes dancing outside. The first snowfall used to make you smile, but now? You felt nothing. With trembling hands, you scribbled another letter—another confession destined never to be sent. Writing was the only way to keep from breaking entirely.

A tear rolled down your cheek, smudging the ink, when your phone buzzed on the desk. You thought about ignoring it—interacting with anyone was the last thing you wanted—but something compelled you to check. Soap.

"Helipad. NOW."

What? There hadn’t been any alarms or mention of an urgent mission. Still, your gut twisted, and before you knew it, you were pulling on your boots and heading out.

The air bit at your skin as you reached the helipad, finding Soap and Price already there, both tense as they stared at the descending helicopter. You opened your mouth to ask what was happening, but the words froze on your lips when the helicopter touched down.

Everything after that was a blur—and yet, every second felt like an eternity.

The doors burst open, and two medics leapt out, shouting for assistance. Then you saw him. Stretchered out, battered, bloodied, unrecognizable—but unmistakably him.

Ghost.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you toward him as your heart pounded in your chest. Soap tried to hold you back, but you fought against him, desperate to get closer.

He looked… broken. Unconscious, pale, like he’d been to hell and back. Medics rushed him toward the infirmary, and you could only watch, helpless, as Soap finally managed to pull you back.

But he was alive. He was home.