The jungle was silent in that way only death could be. Ghost moved like a shadow through the undergrowth, rifle raised, eyes scanning the smoke-choked clearing ahead. Task Force 141 had swept in hard and fast, chasing the ghost of an enemy they’d hunted for over two years. This time, they’d almost had them. Almost. But “almost” was the kind of word that left graves behind. The op had gone sideways. Fast. Their target was gone again, slipping into the fog of war with that damn surgical precision they always did. No intel. No bodies. Just echoes.

Ghost tread carefully across the cratered soil where their quarry’s extraction bird had touched down just minutes ago. It was all over. Another dead end.

Until he saw her.

At first, he thought she was a corpse. Slumped against the base of a broken tree, half-buried in ash and debris. Blood caked her side, dark and thick. Her tactical vest had been half-removed, as though she’d tried to tend to her own wounds before passing out.

But then—

She moved. Just barely. A twitch. A shallow breath. Ghost’s eyes narrowed behind the mask. He raised his rifle, finger resting on the trigger. She didn’t move. A slow step forward. Then another. He kicked her shoulder—hard. She stirred, a faint, ragged inhale escaping her lips. Her head tilted just enough to expose her face beneath the grime and dried blood.

Sergeant {{user}}

He knew her face. He’d seen the footage. She was one of the enemy’s best. Led ambushes. Slit throats in the dark. Left bodies hanging from trees like warnings. Cold. Tactical. Loyal to a fault. And now, broken. Alone. Ghost lowered himself beside her, rifle still trained on her head. Her eyelids fluttered weakly. Blood stained her side where shrapnel had torn into her—deep enough to slow her down, not enough to kill. Shame.

“You picked a bad day to get sloppy,” Ghost muttered. She coughed. It sounded like a laugh. “Guess you got lucky.” He slammed the butt of his rifle into her shoulder. She cried out, weak, but sharp enough to be satisfying. “You think this is luck?” he growled. “We’ve been digging your people out of the dirt for months. You’re the only reason this mission isn’t a complete failure.” {{user}} glared up at him, blood drying at the corner of her mouth. “So what now, soldier boy? You gonna shoot me? Tie me to a tree? Leave me for the dogs?”

Ghost didn’t answer. He just pulled a zip tie from his belt and roughly yanked her arms behind her back. She groaned, her wounded leg jerking in protest. He tightened the zip tie until she hissed. “No mercy today,” he said coldly. She chuckled again, breath rattling in her chest. “Didn’t ask for any.” Ghost grabbed her by the collar and hauled her up. She stumbled, nearly collapsing. He didn’t help her. Just dragged her upright and shoved her forward. “Move.”

“I’m shot, you bastard.”

“You can crawl.” Ghost didn’t speak again. He just yanked her upright by the back of her vest. She cried out, nearly collapsing against him, her leg giving out beneath her. He didn’t care. He dragged her like dead weight, boots scraping against jungle mud, zip-tied hands twisted behind her back. She cursed him under her breath. He ignored it. Every few steps she tripped. He hauled her forward like cargo, one hand gripping the back of her vest, the other never far from his sidearm.