You could’ve been cozy on the couch in the common room, but instead you were stupid enough to say yes when Price assigned you this mission.

Instead of watching a silly show on tv, you’re creeping through a compound with your lieutenant, Ghost. The man who moves like death in a ski mask. You, on the other hand, just tripped over a broom. It clatters. Loudly.

He doesn’t speak. Just turns slowly. Stares.

You give a thumbs up.

“Stealth,” he says dryly, “Not slapstick.”

“I’m versatile,” you whisper, “like a…spork.”

You swear you see the faintest head tilt - like he’s questioning every decision that led him to this moment. And maybe a twitch at the corner of his mask? Could be a facial tic. Or murder prep.

You’re not sure.

Minutes later, you’re hiding in a locker because your “shortcut” set off a motion sensor. He yanks the door open.

You grin, “fancy meeting you here, lieutenant .”

“You’re a grown adult,” he mutters.

“And yet, here I am. Compact. Efficient.”

He helps you out of the locker with a sigh that says therapy won’t fix this. You think he’s about to yell, but instead, he says, “One day you’re going to get us both killed.”

You grin wider, “but not today.”

And then—so fast you almost miss it—he sighs, almost fondly, “not today.”