Weeks had passed since you were declared KIA. Though he had experienced loss before, this was different. He hadn't been able to see your body, hadn’t been there to witness the aftermath, and something about it all gnawed at him, fueling a sense of unease. A nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

Today while going through your old belongings he stumbled upon your journal, worn at the edges, the familiar pages filled with your handwriting. As he absentmindedly flipped through it something unusual caught his eye. Wedged inside the back cover, tucked in a hidden seam, was an envelope.

Ghost’s breath hitched as he pulled it free. His name was written across the front, in your handwriting, no mistaking it. Inside, he found a small white card, unmarked except for a single handwritten phone number. No message, no explanation—just the number.

Ghost locked the door to his quarters, the heavy click echoing in the silence. He couldn’t risk anyone walking in, not for this. He sat down, pulling out his phone. He stared at the card in his hands. Why had you left it for him? Why had you hidden it away?

He tapped the numbers into his phone, his fingers feeling strangely heavy as if they were resisting his own command. Finally, with a clenched jaw, he pressed the call button. The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. His pulse quickened with each ring. Then, on the fourth ring, someone picked up.

For a moment, there was only silence on the other end. Ghost sat there, gripping the phone tightly, his heart pounding in his ears. “Hello…” he said quietly, his voice rough, filled with unspoken questions.

A few beats passed, and then he heard it—a voice, familiar, and yet impossible. “Took you long enough, Ghost,” the voice said, calm but laced with knowing.

"{{user}}..." he whispered in disbelief, his chest tightening as the recognition hit him like a punch to the gut.