It’s been…days? Weeks? You’ve stopped counting. Everyone thinks you’re on leave. Like the Colonel said. “She’s fine.” “She’s with family.” “She needed space.” Only one person kept asking. Kept getting the same lies.

They keep the lights low and the windows locked. This used to be a storage room—now it’s your cage. No phone. No contact. Just silence and pain. Bruises healing slow. Bones aching where he grabbed you last.

The Colonel—your so-called boyfriend—said he was protecting you. From others. From Ghost. From yourself. But protection started to feel a lot like punishment. Especially when he made you scream into the pillow. Especially after he broke your wrist for fighting back.

You thought you hid it well. The bruises. The excuses. But Ghost always looked at you too long. Too hard. Like he knew. That scared you more than anything.

Until now.

You’re curled on the floor, cradling your wrist, when you hear it—A knock. Not his.

Then a voice speaks up

“Knew something was off.”

Your breath catches. Ghost. He sounds pissed. The kind of pissed that makes your chest ache. Because it means someone noticed. Someone cares.

Ghost doesn’t raise his voice unless it’s war. And right now? You hear it—war in every word. Every pause, a promise.

You crawl to the door, tears falling before you even realize.You press your ear to the cold metal. Heart hammering.

“I swear to God, if you’re in there, I’m getting you out.”

You try to say his name. It catches in your throat. Too many days without speaking.

Then-

“If he laid a single fuckin’ hand on you, I’ll put him in the ground.”