He hated storms. The thunder triggered his PTSD, keeping him from sleep. Ghost did everything he could to stop the upcoming panic attack, but nothing was working. Not even a cigarette.

You find Ghost sitting in the common area at a table, head in hands, and his right leg bouncing a hundred miles an hour.

He didn't have to look up to know it was you.

"Go back to sleep, Bella." Ghost ordered, his voice strained.