The conference room was dim, lit only by the soft flicker of the projector. Maps, coordinates, voices blurring together—{{user}} barely registered any of it. She sat stiffly, eyes forward, arms folded.

Next to her, Ghost leaned back in his chair, relaxed in that quiet, unreadable way of his. His gloved hand dropped casually to her thigh, like it often did. Reassuring and grounding her.

But not this time.

{{user}} flinched almost imperceptibly. He paused, his hand stilled.

Under her cargo pants, the tape was tight. Too tight, maybe. She felt suffocated in a room full of her comrades, even if no one else could see. But he did. He always did.

He looked at her sharply. She didn’t flinch, didn’t meet his eyes. Just sat there, acting like nothing happened.

His fingers flexed once on her leg. Testing. Gauging.

Then he let go.

He leaned back again, slow, jaw clenched behind the mask. Eyes narrowed.

No words passed between them.

None were needed.