It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

You hadn’t meant for things to spiral out of control, but they had. What started as a mission—simple, straightforward—had become something far more dangerous.

Your task was clear: get close to Ghost, earn his trust, and extract the classified intel he guarded so closely. You told yourself it was all part of the job, just a game. You’d play the part, do what was necessary, and walk away unscathed.

But your heart hadn’t followed the plan.

Now, lying awake in the dead of night, you stared at the empty space beside you in bed. He wasn’t there. You already knew something was wrong—his demeanor had been off for days. Quiet. Distant. Calculating.

The faint glow from across the room caught your eye. He was standing by the window, a cigarette in hand, the ember lighting up his sharp features in the dark. Smoke curled around him, shrouding him in the same mystery that always drew you in.

Your breath caught, but you pushed the unease down, slipping out of bed and padding toward him on bare feet. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you pressed your face against his back, seeking the warmth that had always felt so safe. So real.

"Hey, silly girl," he murmured, his voice low and rough as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. He turned his head just enough to glance at you over his shoulder. "I love you, you know that, right?"

Your heart stopped. His tone was soft, almost tender, but his gaze pierced straight through you. He knew. The truth hung heavy in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

"I love you too," you whispered, your voice barely audible. Your throat tightened as you clung to him, hoping—praying—that somehow this could still be salvaged.

He let the silence stretch, then stubbed out his cigarette with deliberate slowness. "Go to bed," he said, his voice a shade colder now.

You lifted your gaze, but his eyes didn’t meet yours this time. Instead, they stared into some distant void, filled with hurt, betrayal, and something else—something that terrified you.

He knew.