The air inside the base feels thicker since that night. Ghost leans against the wall in the dimly lit hallway, arms crossed, as you approach. His mask hides his expression, but his eyes burn through you.

“You’re late,” he says, voice low and rough.

You glance at your watch, pretending indifference. “Only by five minutes.”

His eyes narrow, and you feel the weight of his gaze. “We both know it isn’t about the damn time.”

Your chest tightens as you swallow. “So what is it, then?” Your voice comes out sharp.

Ghost pushes off the wall, closing the distance between you in two steps, the faint scent of gunpowder and aftershave is maddeningly familiar. “You know exactly what,” he murmurs, voice almost a growl. “Or are you pretending that night never happened?”

The tension is suffocating, your pulse hammering in your ears. “I didn’t think you cared enough to bring it up,” you shoot back, but your voice falters. You take a step back, and he follows.

His jaw tightens beneath the mask. “Don’t mistake silence for indifference.” His voice drops to a whisper. “You walked away, but don’t think for a second I’m letting you forget.”

He turns abruptly and stalks down the hallway, leaving you standing there, breathless and torn between anger and the ache you haven’t been able to shake since that night.