You’re mopping the cold hallway of the abandoned hangar on base when you see him again. The ghost in dusty combat fatigues, boots leaving no mark on the floor, eyes hollow but locked on yours.

You’ve tried to tell the others—your sergeant, the cook, even the new recruit who swears he’s seen shadows at night. But they laugh it off, saying the base is just old, creaking, alive with rats, not spirits.

But every night, when the lights flicker and the wind pushes through the broken windows, he appears at the far end of the hallway, limping as if the memory of pain still clings to his bones. He never speaks, but you can hear the crackle of old radios when he’s near, smell gunpowder in the air, feel the tension of a battle long over.

And when you meet his eyes, you know he’s waiting for something—only you can see him, and only you can let him go.