The moment your voice crackled through the comms, asking for the go-ahead like this wasn’t the most harebrained move you’ve pulled to date, Ghost felt his teeth grit behind the mask, already regretting ever trusting you'd keep things clean and quiet.

"Fine. Go on then," he muttered with a sigh that sounded more like a growl, his tone drenched in irritated disbelief. "Might as well dive headfirst into enemy territory with no backup and pray your luck holds, because clearly, the concept of caution’s been lost on you since day one."

He adjusted his aim from the cover of the dense brush, finger on the trigger, vision narrowed—not out of panic, but out of habit born from a dozen near-death experiences that never left a scar quite as deep as watching someone he used to give a damn about treat her life like it was disposable.

The shot rang out—sharp, perfect, except it wasn’t. The target moved. The comms went quiet.

"{{user}}."

No answer.

"What’s your status? Respond."

His voice faltered, the clipped professionalism cracking at the edges, betraying something closer to panic, though he’d rather eat dirt than admit it.

"I swear, if this is you trying to prove some point—"

The silence stretched.

"then congratulations, you’ve succeeded in scaring the hell out of me!"