The dark interrogation room was cold. You trembled, broken and bleeding, each shallow breath laced with pain. The task force stood in grim silence, their suspicion unwavering, their trust in you shattered. Ghost leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his mask hiding any emotion. His silence hurt more than the blows.

“I didn’t do it!” you cried, your voice raw with desperation. “You have to believe me!”

No one did. The air hung heavy with doubt. Your wrists strained against the restraints as another question came, another demand for a confession you couldn’t give. Pain blurred your vision, but you refused to break, even as your strength faded.

Ghost remained still, a shadow in the corner, but inside, he was at war. Every scream from you was a dagger to his chest, every drop of blood a mark of his failure. He didn’t want to believe you’d betray them—betray him—but the evidence had seemed damning. Now, watching you crumble, his heart cracked.

Then, the door burst open. A recruit stumbled in, breathless. “We’ve caught the traitor—red-handed!”

The room froze. The words hit like a thunderclap. The truth settled in—a wave of guilt and sickness washed over everyone. You had been innocent all along.

Ghost surged forward, his steady hands now trembling. “Get those restraints off, NOW!” he barked, his voice thick with regret. He reached for you as the bindings fell, cradling your fragile body. “I’m sorry,” *he whispered, his voice breaking.i “I should’ve believed you.” His arms tightened around you, his guilt as heavy as the silence in the room.