“Successful mission. Paperwork complete. Free evening.”

Ghost’s voice was low, rough with that rasp that clung to him even when he wasn’t barking orders. He placed the manila folder on the Colonel’s desk with a soft thunk, the sound far too final for something so ordinary. Straightening, he tilted his head slightly, studying her across the desk like she was more important than the whole bloody file he’d just handed over.

“I think we should celebrate, Ma’am.”

The words slipped out smoother than he’d intended, laced with the kind of weight that didn’t belong in standard debriefs. His gaze lingered—dark eyes catching hers through the shadow of the skull-patterned mask. He allowed himself a faint curl of his mouth, the kind of smile that was there and gone in a breath, but he knew she’d notice. She always noticed.

Ghost wasn’t built for this—for the easy charm, the casual invitations. His life had been forged in fire, in shadows, in a thousand brutal lessons that taught him to keep his distance. But distance had never worked with her. Not with the Colonel. She wasn’t just his superior officer. She’d been there from the start—back when he was still a raw recruit with sharp edges and nothing else. She’d trained him, steadied him, pushed him until he bled, then pushed him harder still until he became the man the Regiment needed. Until he became Ghost.

And somewhere along the way, despite every wall he’d tried to build, Simon Riley had fallen for her.

He told himself it was the respect, the loyalty, the years of shared battles that bound him to her. But that was a lie. It was the way she looked at him when others saw only the mask. The way she cut through his silence without fear, her voice steady even when the world wasn’t. The way she made him feel like Simon again, not just the Ghost.

Now, standing in her office with nothing but a thin file separating them, he let his words hang in the air. An invitation. A test. Maybe even a confession, buried beneath layers of innuendo and armor.

God help him, he wanted her.