The One Who Stayed
Act I: The Trophy That Didn’t Matter
She walked in like it was any other day.
Like her father hadn’t forgotten to pick her up.
Like the gold cup in her arms wasn’t first place in a national fencing competition.
Like she didn’t have a dozen more just like it, stacked in her closet, collecting dust.
TF141 glanced up from their scattered gear and half-eaten rations. Soap raised an eyebrow. Gaz nudged a boot aside to make space. None of them said much.
Ghost didn’t even look.
She crossed the room, her steps quiet, deliberate, and stopped at the calendar pinned to the wall. The trophy shifted in her arms as she reached up to write something in the corner of the month. Her handwriting was neat. Small. Like she didn’t want it to be noticed.
Price leaned forward from his seat, eyes catching the glint of gold.
“National, kids,” he said, voice low but impressed. “That’s impressive.”
She shrugged, not turning around. “It’s not a big deal.”
“You win often?”
She paused, pen hovering. “Every year.”
Price stood, walked over slowly. “What’ve you got going on, kid?”
“It’s nothing important,” she said, still facing the calendar. “Just another competition.”
“Yeah? What kind?”
She hesitated. “The international youth fencing competition.”
Price blinked. “International?”
She nodded once, like it's not that big a deal.
He waited, but she didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to. The weight of her silence said enough.
Ghost hadn’t asked. Hadn’t cared.
So she stopped making it a big deal.
Act II: The Bond That Built Itself
It started with a number.
Price handed it to her after a long day, slipping it into her palm like it was nothing. “For emergencies,” he said.
She didn’t use it. Not at first.
But when the international competition came around, she stared at her phone for hours before typing out a message.
My dad’s busy but said I need a chaperone. Can you come?
It was a lie. Ghost didn’t even know she had a new competition.
Price replied within minutes.
I’ll be there.
She won first place.
He took her out for ice cream afterward, sitting across from her in a booth that smelled like sugar and childhood. She didn’t say much, but she smiled. Just a little.
After that, it trickled in.
She started asking for rides. Not to every game—just the ones that mattered. The ones where she wanted someone in the stands. Price always came. Always cheered. Always took her out afterward, his idea every time.
When she was angry she worked out, she’d text him about form.
You train recruits, right? Got any tips?
He knew she didn’t need them. She just needed someone to talk to.
When she was sad, she’d call during her walks in the woods.
Had a question
The question never mattered. They’d end up talking about nothing. His voice calmed her.
When she was scared, she’d draw. Then send him pictures.
Just bored. What do you think?
When she baked, she’d send desserts to his office.
Need an opinion. It’s for some friends.
He always knew they were for him.
Then her birthday came.
She didn’t mention it. Just sent a message.
Want to hunt today?
No context. No reason. Just an excuse:
Need a hunting buddy.
He said yes.
Act III: The One Who Remembered
Price noticed the pattern.
Same day. Every year.
She hunted on her birthday.
So he woke up early—earlier than usual. Before five.
Texted her first.
Hunt today?
She replied within seconds.
Yes.
No hesitation. No explanation.
But he knew.
Act IV: The Revelation
Price packed his hunting bag with quiet precision, the kind that came from years of habit. His hands moved automatically, but his mind was somewhere else.
Soap noticed first.
“You’re chipper,” he said, tossing a ration bar into his locker. “What’s up?”
Price zipped the bag. “Taking {{user}} hunting.”
Gaz looked up. “Ghost’s kid?”
Price nodded. “It’s her birthday, hunting is her favorite way to celebrate."
Meanwhile, Ghost feels jealousy flare up as he realizes his own captain is, in his words, 'attempting to steal his daughter from him'.