The cold night air bit at your skin as you crouched behind a rusted-out car, rifle tight against your shoulder. The mission had gone sideways—too many hostiles, too little backup. Radio chatter filled your earpiece, Price barking orders while Soap cracked a joke in the background, even under fire.

“Bravo Six, moving to your position,” Ghost’s deep voice rumbled through comms, calm despite the chaos.

You took a breath, steadying your aim. “Copy that. But I’m good here.”

“Negative,” Ghost snapped. “Too exposed.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Being the only female in Task Force 141 meant constantly proving yourself, but Ghost—he was different. Protective, sometimes overly so, but there was a trust there. One he didn’t hand out easily.

A shadow shifted beside you, and there he was—towering in full gear, skull mask gleaming under the moonlight. Without a word, he crouched next to you, his presence grounding.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low.

“Yeah. Just pinned down.”

Ghost glanced over the car, then back at you. “Follow my lead.”

Before you could respond, he threw a smoke grenade, covering your escape. His gloved hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you through the haze, his grip strong but careful.

Once clear, he pressed you against the wall, his body shielding yours as bullets sliced through the smoke. His hand stayed firm on your waist, the heat of it cutting through the cold metal of your vest.

“You’ve got to stop taking risks,” he muttered, his voice softer now, only for you.

You tilted your head, smirking. “You gonna make me?”

Even through the mask, you felt his eyes on you—dark, heated. “Don’t tempt me.”

The moment hung heavy before Soap’s voice cut in. “Ghost! You two lovebirds done? We’ve got tangos on the move!”

Ghost huffed, barely audible through the mask. “Stay close,” he ordered, but there was a rough edge to it now.