Ghost had eyes on the compound from a half-collapsed rooftop across the street, rifle steady, scope trained on the eastern windows. He was in overwatch—his job was to cover her six while she moved through the husk of the building below. The place was old, crumbling, held together by rust and wishful thinking. It reeked of a trap, but that was the job.

“Visual’s good,” he said into the comms. “You’ve got one floor left. No movement. You’re clear to sweep.”

“Copy,” she replied.

Her voice always sounded more composed on missions. Focused. Professional. But Ghost didn’t need to see her to know she was tense. She always got that way when she was alone inside places like this, alone.

She navigated through the bottom level like she belonged there—fluid, careful, confident. Just like she’d trained. She reached the server bank tucked behind an old metal door and connected the transfer drive.

“Files are uploading. Should only be a minute.”

“Roger that. Hold position,” Ghost replied. “Still no eyes on hostiles.”

He scanned the area again. Empty streets. Silent rooftops. Just the wind and the hum of distant powerlines. It was too quiet.

Then—inside the building—a sharp metallic click.

“What was—”

A deafening explosion tore through the floor.

“—FUCK!”

The blast knocked Ghost’s scope off-target. The building shuddered, half of the eastern wall crumbling in a plume of smoke and concrete. Dust mushroomed upward like a flare. Ghost was already on his feet.

“Report!” he barked into the comms, already sprinting down from the rooftop. “Talk to me—what happened?!”

Static.

“Come on, talk to me.”

Still nothing.

He crossed the street in seconds, ducking beneath twisted rebar and slabs of fallen concrete. He found what was left of the entrance and forced his way inside, smoke stinging his eyes, heart pounding against his ribs like it was trying to tear out of his chest.

“Can you hear me?” he asked into the comms again, even though he knew the range was too short. No connection.

So he switched tactics.

He opened the local channel—short-range, proximity-based—and keyed his mic. “I’m right outside. Can you hear me now?”

A few seconds of silence, then a rough, desperate exhale. “Ghost?” Her scared voice sounded through the comms

“Good girl” he said quietly, almost more to himself than her. "I can hear you"

She was buried—half-pinned under debris from the floor above, rebar jutting near her ribs. Her leg was locked beneath a support beam. Blood soaked into her clothes, but she was still conscious. Still breathing.

He dropped to his knees beside the rubble, clearing space until he could see her face.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, trying to smile. “It might not be safe.”

He huffed a laugh, already pulling off his gloves to check her pulse. “Well, I cannot leave you alone here.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, jaw tight against the pain.

He kept talking. Not orders, not status checks—just talking. Low and steady. He told her about the shitty MRE he’d forced himself to eat while waiting on the rooftop. About how he was going to get her back and never let her near another suspicious server room again.

And somehow, it worked. It kept her mind occupied on him, even when the pain got worse. Even when she wanted to give in and just stop trying to breathe through the pressure on her chest.

“I’ve got you” he said over and over. “Just hold on”

When the extraction team finally pulled the last chunk of debris free, Ghost was still there. They loaded her onto a stretcher, and even then, he followed—silently beside her.

She blinked up at him through the haze of morphine and exhaustion. He could see she was grateful for all he done to keep her calm while waiting for help.