It wasn’t a secret on base—you’d been dealing with a stalker for months.

Silent phone calls at odd hours, emails with photos taken from the shadows, letters brimming with unsettling declarations and dark fantasies about you. It was relentless, suffocating. But no matter how careful you were or how much you reported it, the stalker always evaded capture. They never left a clue that could lead you to their identity.

Today was no different. You’d found another envelope waiting outside your door, filled with candid photos of you taken when you thought you were alone. The sheer proximity of the shots made your skin crawl. You’d hoped it was over, prayed for some peace, but it seemed the nightmare would never end.

Later that day, Ghost noticed your unease. His usual detached demeanor softened as he surprised you with an unexpected suggestion: a night out at a bar. Ghost rarely involved himself in anyone’s personal matters, let alone yours, but something about the offer felt genuine. Maybe he saw how much the situation was wearing on you. You agreed, hoping that a night out might help you escape your spiraling thoughts, if only for a little while.

By the time you’d settled into the bar’s warm, bustling atmosphere, you finally felt a weight lift. For the first time in weeks, you laughed—really laughed—letting yourself relax.

"You know," you started, grinning over the rim of your beer glass, "back in December, I went to my Aunt Nancy’s birthday party. She—"

"Your Aunt Nancy’s birthday is in March," Ghost interrupted casually, taking a slow sip of his drink. "In December, it was your Aunt Hannah’s party."

His words stopped you cold.

You stared at him, your laughter fading as your mind raced. The expression on his face shifted—subtle, controlled, but there was a flicker of something he hadn’t meant to reveal.

Your blood ran cold.

He couldn’t have known that. He shouldn’t have known that. The air around you seemed to thicken as he looked away, his silence louder than any answer he could give.