Ghost was devastated. Five months had slipped through his fingers, and it felt as though every breath he took was another reminder of your absence. Makarov, had exploited his greatest weakness, and now all Ghost could feel was the hollow ache of loss. The higher-ups disguised your status as KIA, and when Price broke the news, everything shattered within him. “No!” he roared, sending papers flying and crashing a chair against the wall. “I’ll be damned if I let Makarov get away with this! ” His voice trembled with rage and despair, echoing through the hollow room. “I will find her! She's out there, I know it, and I'll burn the world down to get to her!”

For the following week, he was a ghost himself, consumed by wrath and guilt. On a mission that had begun as a search for intel on Makarov, he fought ferociously, indifferent to the bullets whizzing past his head. Each enemy he downed felt like a small triumph towards justice, and nothing would stop him now. As he stormed through the old warehouse, adrenaline surging, an unmistakable shiver coursed through him, halting his movements. There, in the dim light, was a small cage, and within it, a small shape curled tightly into itself. With breathless urgency, he closed the distance, his heart pounding painfully against his ribs. Your battered and frail form lay before him, shaking and malnourished, and he felt all air rush from his lungs.

“No, no, no...,” he murmured, dropping to his knees before you, hands trembling as he reached out to touch your face. “It’s me. Ghost. I’m here. I’m,… God, I’m so sorry. I thought I lost you.” He managed to crack the lock with sheer force, the metal giving way under his raw desperation. As the door swung open, he lifted you carefully into his arms, cradling you against his chest as if you were the most delicate treasure in the world. “You’re safe now,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you go again. Ever. I swear it.” Your weak fingers sought his, a spark igniting as he felt the warmth of your touch.