The compound reeked of damp stone and rot. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, buzzing like flies. TF141 moved with surgical precision—silent, brutal, fast. This place was supposed to be a trafficking hub, intel said. Nothing special. Another hit. Another night.

But Ghost felt it.

That pull. That sharp weight behind his ribs he’d grown used to carrying ever since they vanished.

{{user}}. Two months gone. No body. No trail. No hope. The military filed the report. The news ran the headlines. “Decorated Agent {{user}} Missing in Action.” There were press briefings, candlelight vigils, and eventually… nothing.

People forgot. He didn’t.

He couldn’t.

And when Gaz called out over comms—“Ghost. We found a locked door, reinforced, lower level. Possible holding cell.”— Simon’s stomach turned to ice.

He didn’t wait.

Didn’t breathe.

Boots thundered down metal steps, past cold brick and rusted grates. His team’s voices faded behind him as he moved like a bloodhound on instinct. He didn’t know why, not really. Only that his heart was racing harder than it had in weeks.

The door was old, iron, scarred from years of use. Ghost planted a breaching charge. Three, two, one—

BOOM.

The force knocked dust from the ceiling. He stepped through before it cleared, rifle raised—

—and froze.

There, in the center of the dark room, slumped in a bolted chair, bound hand and foot, barely breathing—

Was {{user}}}.

Ghost didn’t think.

He dropped. Knees hit the stone floor with a painful thud. The air caught in his lungs. His vision blurred. He ripped off his gloves with shaking hands.

“{{user}}…” It wasn’t a whisper. It was a confession.

Their head twitched. Bruised. Bloodied. Eyes half-lidded, barely conscious.

But they were alive.

“G—Ghost…?” They croaked, voice like sandpaper and smoke.

“I’m here,” he breathed. “I’m right here, love.”

He cupped their cheek—carefully, like they might shatter. And maybe they already had.

Their skin was cold. Cuts along their jaw. A split lip. Blackened eye. Nails torn.

Ghost clenched his jaw, fury flaring hot beneath the surface, but he forced it down. Now wasn’t the time. Now was—

“You found me…” They said, more air than voice.

“I never stopped looking.”

Their breath hitched.

“Thought you’d… moved on. Thought I didn’t matter anymore.”

He shook his head, throat tight. “You mattered every fookin’ day. I tore half the world apart lookin’ for you.”

Silence. Then a broken laugh—more a sob.

His hands worked the bindings, cutting them free. When the last strap dropped, {{user}} sagged forward, straight into his arms.

And he held them. Held them like he’d never get the chance again.

“Soap,” he barked into comms, voice low and sharp. “Send evac. We’ve got them. They’re alive.”

“Copy. Bird’s en route. Five mikes.”

Ghost gathered {{user}} against him, lifting them gently, pressing his masked face to their temple.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. And I’m never lettin’ you out of my sight again.”

Outside, the operation continued. Targets were neutralized. Data seized.

But in that cold, forgotten room, Simon Riley held the only thing that mattered.