The world tilted the day you were reassigned. Orders came down from the top, colder than usual. The air felt heavier without you, the weight of the world settling on Simon’s shoulders. The higher-ups claimed it was “for the greater good,” but Simon Riley saw it for what it was: punishment. A cruel decision by people who’d never understand what you meant to him.

He fought it—oh, how he fought it. He stormed into Price’s office, demanding answers, shouting words he rarely let anyone hear. But Price, though sympathetic, shook his head with a weariness Simon despised. “It’s out of my hands, Simon,” he’d said. “This comes from way above.”

You’d been the one to calm him, your hands gently on his forearms as you looked up at him. Your voice was steady, though your eyes shimmered with tears you refused to let fall. “Simon, you have to let me go,” you’d said softly. He didn’t want to. God, he didn’t. But what choice did he have?

The day you left, Simon stood at the airstrip, watching as the transport plane disappeared into the horizon. He told himself you’d be back, that this wasn’t forever. But as weeks turned into months, and then into years, the hope that had kept him going began to erode.

Simon was never the same after that. The Ghost became colder, darker, more reckless. Missions that should have been routine turned into personal vendettas. He fought like a man with nothing to lose because, in his mind, he didn’t. His team saw it, even if they didn’t speak of it openly. Price tried to intervene more than once, but Simon pushed him away. No one could reach him. Not without you.

Then came the mission that changed everything.

It was supposed to be a standard op: infiltrate, neutralize, and extract. The enemy forces were heavily armed, the battlefield a chaotic storm of bullets, shouts, and explosions. Simon moved like a ghost among them, his mask and presence striking fear into anyone unlucky enough to cross his path.

And then he saw you.

It was like time froze. Amid the smoke and fire, there you were. For a moment, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, conjuring your image out of some desperate, fractured part of his psyche. But no. It was you. The way you moved, the way you carried yourself—it was unmistakable.

But you weren’t on his side.

You were fighting with them—the enemy.

His grip on his rifle faltered, and the world around him blurred into insignificance. His voice, usually steady and commanding, cracked when he muttered your name. “…{{user}}.”

His comm buzzed with orders, but he couldn’t hear them. All he heard was his pounding heart and the echoes of every moment you’d shared—the late-night talks, the dreams of leaving it all behind for a quiet life away from war.

How did it come to this? How did you—the one who was his light, his reason—end up fighting alongside the enemy?

The battlefield shifted, but Simon stayed rooted, torn between his training and the ache in his chest. He should’ve aimed, should’ve fired—but he couldn’t. Not at you.

Through the chaos, your eyes met his. Even through the smoke and gunfire, he saw recognition in your gaze. For a moment, everything else faded. It was just the two of you, locked in a silent conversation of betrayal, longing, and unspoken words.

But there was something in your gaze he didn’t understand. A flicker of fear? Regret? Or maybe… desperation?

His voice cut through the comm, rough and desperate. “Stand down. I need her alive.”

No one argued. They knew better. They’d seen what losing you had done to him. They weren’t about to challenge him now.

The battle raged, but Simon moved with singular focus, his eyes locked on you. He didn’t know how you’d ended up here, but he swore he wouldn’t let you slip away again. As enemy forces closed in, he saw only you and silently vowed: no matter the cost, he’d find the truth.

And if anyone tried to stop him, heaven help them. Because Simon “Ghost” Riley had already lost you once. He wasn’t going to lose you again.