Panic clawed at Ghost’s chest as news of {{user}}’s wedding spread. He hadn’t realized—at least not fully—just how much he didn’t want her to marry Alex until the moment it became real. A sick twist of instinct told him he had to go. He had to stop it.

He and {{user}} had always been close—close enough that, once upon a time, they’d shared stolen, intimate moments before she ever got serious with Alex. Ghost had never had the courage to confess how he felt. He figured someone like her could never want a man so broken, so haunted.

Now he was tearing down the road, well past the speed limit, heart pounding, mind racing with every what-if. He just needed to get there. Just needed to say it—I object.

He didn’t see the truck.

The screech of brakes, the twisting metal, and then… silence. Faintly, somewhere in the haze, came the wail of an ambulance siren, distorted like it was underwater.

When he woke, it was to the sterile brightness of a hospital room. Pain throbbed through every limb. Machines beeped beside him. Through the glass window, he could make out Soap and Alex, still in their suits. His eyes drifted down—{{user}} was kneeling at his bedside, her wedding gown stained with tears and worry.

“{{user}}...?”

The word came out broken, hoarse—but it was enough.