The air carried a mix of exhaustion and anticipation, a sharp contrast to the rigid formation of soldiers standing at attention on the parade ground. Their uniforms were crisp, boots polished to perfection, but the weight of the last mission still clung to them like a second skin.

Among them stood Simon “Ghost” Riley, now a Lieutenant. The new insignia gleamed on his chest, an honor earned through blood, sweat, and sheer determination. He kept his posture straight, muscles locked, hands behind his back—an unmoving statue, just like the others. The tap-out ceremony had begun.

Family members and loved ones gathered around the field, eyes scanning the line of soldiers, looking for their own. Some moved hesitantly, others with teary-eyed determination. A few feet away, a father embraced his son, a wife clung to her husband's neck, and friends exchanged firm, lingering handshakes.

But Ghost remained still. His breath was steady, gaze fixed straight ahead. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Not really. He had long since buried the need for that kind of thing. The ceremony was for the others. For the ones who had someone waiting.

Then, there was a familiar shuffle of boots on the pavement behind him. Turning around him teasingly.

A pause.

Then a firm, deliberate tap on his shoulder.