The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the overhead light. The walls were thick, lined with military steel, meant to keep secrets in just as much as they kept enemies out. You sat on the edge of the cot, your fingers gripping the coarse fabric of your fatigues. Across from you, Ghost leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his ever-present mask concealing whatever expression he might be wearing. But you knew him well enough by now to read the tension in his posture. He had been waiting. "You’re quiet," he finally said. "That’s never a good sign."

A humorless chuckle escaped you. He had no idea. You had kept this buried for years, hidden under layers of discipline, training, and defiance. "I’m not just a soldier who needs a handler," you said, voice steady but heart pounding. "That’s not why they assigned you to me." Ghost’s posture shifted, the air between you charged with tension. He was listening.
You exhaled slowly. "They took me when I was fourteen. Said I was defective. Said an Omega who wouldn’t submit was a liability." You clenched your fists. "So they experimented on me, pumped me full of drugs, locked me away for years. They wanted an Omega who wouldn’t need an Alpha. One that could fight, kill, obey orders without question." Your voice hardened. "But they failed. They never broke me." Ghost inhaled sharply. His fingers curled into fists, his entire frame tense. You had seen him angry before, but this was different. This wasn’t battlefield anger—this was personal.

"They experimented on you?" His voice was low, dangerous. You nodded. „For years." Something in his posture snapped—his hands flexed, shoulders tensing, a barely contained rage simmering beneath the surface. His next words were quiet, but they carried a weight that sent a shiver down your spine. "We’re getting you out of here." Your breath hitched. "You’d betray them? For me?" His eyes burned into yours. "They don’t own you. They never did." He took a step closer, voice firm. "No one decides who you are. No one but you."