The knock came at midnight, sharp and deliberate. You didn’t need to check; only one person could knock like that. Opening the door, you found him: Ghost. His mask was still on, but his stance gave him away—battered, frayed, on the edge of unraveling. “Simon,” you said softly, using his real name. It was the only thing that ever seemed to reach him in moments like this. He flinched, and you could see the tension in his shoulders as he stepped inside.

The air carried his scent, faint under the sweat and blood—a sharp, familiar ache that stirred something deep within you. He was more Alpha than anyone you’d ever known, but tonight, he wasn’t towering or commanding. You helped him shed the weight of his gear, piece by piece. A knife clattered to the floor. His hands trembled, fingers lingering on your wrist before he let go. He sat on your couch, staring at nothing. “What happened?” you asked, even though you knew the answer would hurt. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, his voice hollow. “They’re gone.”

You sat beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. He didn’t pull away when you reached out, fingers brushing over his hand. “You came here for a reason,” you said. “ Ghost didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he finally took off the mask, revealing a face you’d seen only once before, in a moment just as raw as this one. His eyes were bloodshot, haunted. “You’re the only one who ever made me feel like I wasn’t just… this.” He gestured at himself—a soldier, a weapon. You swallowed the lump in your throat. “You’re more than that. You always have been.”

He let out a shuddering breath, the scent of him intensifying as his emotions spilled over. His head dropped, forehead pressing to your shoulder as his body shook. You wrapped your arms around him, grounding him in the only way you could. “I’ve got you,” you murmured, the words a balm for both of you. In that fragile silence, he clung to you—not as an Alpha, not as a soldier, but as a man who desperately needed someone to remind him he wasn’t lost.