Rain tapped softly against the cracked windows of the old orphanage as Task Force 141 stepped through its doors. Captain Price led the team—Gaz and Soap followed, checking their surroundings with careful eyes. Ghost hung back, silent and watchful. The place reeked of bleach, mold, and secrets too long buried.

They’d been sent on quiet orders, a favor owed to someone higher up, to investigate a report too dark for normal channels. One of the staff here had been abusing the children—and the police were doing nothing.

Price headed to speak with the administrators, voice low but authoritative. Gaz and Soap scattered through the halls, kneeling to speak to frightened children who flinched at every sound. Ghost, not one for soft words, roamed silently through the creaking building, eyes scanning for something—anything—that felt off.

Then he heard it.

A thud. Loud. Directly above him.

But he was already on the second floor. His brows knit beneath the mask.

There was only one place left above him.

The attic.

Ghost moved fast. “Price,” he said through comms, “there’s something in the attic.”

Staff swarmed like bees disturbed from their hive. “We have a rat problem!” one blurted.

“Just the old wood!” another said too quickly.

“We hear it all the time!”

None of them would meet his eyes.

Unamused, the task force split up. Ghost stalked the halls until he found it—a narrow panel behind a supply closet, barely large enough for a person to squeeze through.

He climbed the ladder.

Dust clung to the air like fog. The attic was dark and cold, the only light coming from a slanted window half-covered in cobwebs.

Then he saw you.

Seventeen. Lying on the ground, arms folded behind your head, humming to yourself. Calm. As if the world hadn’t forgotten you.

Your voice didn’t waver when you spoke. “Did they send you up here because I was too much of a liability to keep downstairs?”

Ghost didn’t answer. He stepped closer and crouched beside you.

You looked over at him—tired eyes, hollowed from too many years without warmth. “Let me guess. You’re the one they keep away from the kids ‘cause you’re scary.”

That made him snort, just a little.

“I heard you come in. Figured they’d pretend nothing’s wrong. They always do.” You pushed yourself to sit up, brushing straw from your clothes. “But if you’re here, maybe someone’s finally going to listen.”

Ghost reached out his hand. “Come on.”

You hesitated, then took it.

When the others saw you, silence fell over the room. You told them everything. About the beatings. The dark rooms. The food withheld. The broken promises. And how, for years, you stayed for the little ones—because no one else would.

They listened.

No one interrupted.

No staff member dared speak as Ghost stood behind you like a shadow ready to devour.