The mission had been a disaster.

The hostages were gone. The operation, meant to be clean, had spiraled into chaos in an instant. Ghost had been there—right alongside you—but no amount of training, no amount of preparation could’ve changed the outcome. The loss weighed heavy, a burden no amount of armor or gunfire could shield from.

The air was thick as you made your way up to the roof. You didn’t speak to anyone, not even Ghost, who had been giving you that unreadable, haunted look. His usual silent presence didn’t comfort you this time. You needed space, away from the noise, away from the mission’s failure. You needed to let your guard down.

The roof was still and empty, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions inside you. The wind tugged at your hair, the city below flickering in its evening lights, but none of it mattered. You sat on the edge of the rooftop, legs hanging over, your hands gripping the cold metal to steady yourself.

You closed your eyes, letting the silence envelop you. It was rare to allow yourself to feel the weight of your failure. To stop pretending like everything was under control. But here, alone, with nothing but the haunting wind to listen, you let the tears fall—quietly, but steadily. You didn't want anyone to see you like this. Didn't want anyone to see the cracks.

For a moment, there was peace in just letting go.

But then you heard the soft tread of boots on the rooftop. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Ghost.

You didn’t move, didn’t speak. You knew he was there, probably with his arms crossed, his skull mask still hiding any emotion. He was always in control. But tonight... tonight you weren’t. You were just you.

The sound of his breathing was steady. He said nothing, just stood a few feet away, a silent sentinel in the dimming light.

"How are you holding up?" he finally asked, his voice low, rough, the kind that seemed to vibrate through your chest when you heard it.