"Run!" Ghost's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding. His grip on your wrist was unrelenting, pulling you forward as bullets tore through the air around you. "Don't look back, just keep running!"

You obeyed. Every muscle in your body screamed for relief, the searing pain near your hip threatening to take you down. But the adrenaline surging through your veins refused to let you stop. The night was a blur—gunfire, distant shouts, the smell of smoke thick in your lungs.

This mission had been a dangerous game from the start. A month undercover, slipping seamlessly into the enemy’s ranks, gaining their trust, their secrets. You had played your part too well—until one mistake shattered the illusion.

And just like that, you became the hunted.

Your desperate call for extraction had been a gamble. One last hope before death closed in. And the one person who answered? The man who had spent months making it clear he wanted nothing to do with you.

Ghost.

The same Ghost who had never trusted you. Who barely looked at you unless it was to remind you that you were reckless, a liability. And yet, here he was, tearing you from the jaws of death, leading you through the inferno you had set ablaze.

"You're the most reckless person I've ever met!" he snapped, shoving you into the passenger seat. His breaths were ragged, his hands moving fast—ripping off his jacket, pressing it against the wound at your side. You gasped, fingers curling around his wrist.

"Keep pressure on it," he ordered, voice rough with something that sounded dangerously close to panic. "I’m getting you out of here. Just—hold on."

He was behind the wheel in an instant, tires screeching as he floored the gas.

Ghost had never been one to show emotion. He was a wall of discipline, of control. But now, in the dim glow of the dashboard, you saw something that made your blood run cold.

Fear.

Not for himself.

For you.