The sky was overcast, grey and weeping, like the shattered village beneath it. You and Ghost moved through the broken remains of what had once been a lively place. Children's shoes half-buried in dust. A plastic tricycle melted from a blast. No movement. No gunfire. Just the wind, and the stench of old smoke and death.

You crept beside Ghost, keeping low. The comms were quiet, your team a few klicks behind on the sweep. He motioned toward a crumbling house barely standing. Shelter. For a breather, maybe intel. You both slipped inside.

The interior was chaos. Half the ceiling had collapsed, wood and concrete weighing down shattered furniture. But there was something else. Something almost sacred in its stillness. A woman's body, half-crushed by the debris. Limbs frozen in protective curl. And in her arms…

A noise.

A breath.

A whimper.

You were the first to move, heart thudding, crouching by the body. She was gone, that much was clear. But nestled in her arms, tucked beneath her coat, was a baby. Dirty, crying softly, untouched by the mess around it.

“Lieutenant…” your voice cracked. You didn’t know what you were expecting. Orders? Logic? A dismissive wave?

But Ghost just stood there. Silent. Looming. Then slowly, almost unsure, he crouched beside you. His dark eyes met yours behind the balaclava.

“...Still warm?” he asked.

You nodded.

Ghost looked at the woman again. Then the child. He let out a breath, soft and ragged. His gloved hand reached out, gently brushing rubble from the baby’s cheek, careful not to harm skin.

“She died protectin’ it,” he muttered. “Fuckin’ hell.”

There was a long pause. The baby wailed louder.

Ghost finally moved, slipping off his vest and pulling out the emergency thermal blanket, silent as always, methodical even now. You took the baby, wrapping it carefully, feeling its tiny heartbeat against your chest.

“We can’t leave it,” you whispered.

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes were locked on the baby, something storming behind that skull mask—memories, maybe. Or something softer, something buried deep.

“We’re soldiers,” he finally said, gruff but not cold. “We weren’t trained for this.”

But...leaving the infant wasn't a solution either, was it?