Ghost hadn’t noticed the whispers and side-glances aimed at {{user}}—not until Jenna joined Task Force 141 as the newest rookie.

{{user}} wasn’t just his girlfriend; she was a fellow sniper, a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Despite holding such a lethal and elite role within the SAS, she was the gentlest soul he’d ever known. Soft-spoken, kind, and quietly fierce. Ghost cherished that about her—he craved the warmth of her touch, the comfort of her voice. No one had ever seen him the way she did. No one had ever understood him like she did.

But Jenna noticed too—and it bred something bitter inside her. Jealous of {{user}}’s rank, her effortless camaraderie with the team, and most of all, the closeness she shared with Ghost, Jenna let envy fester into something cruel.

She began to spread rumors. Petty lies whispered with a smile, masked as concern. And slowly, they took root. Some teammates, naive or easily swayed, began to pull away. Ghost saw it in subtle ways—{{user}} grew quieter, more distant. The brightness in her eyes dulled, her laugh less frequent. She brushed it off when he asked, always with a soft smile and a quick subject change. But he could tell—she was hurting.

After a grueling mission one evening, victorious but draining, Ghost entered the rec room expecting to find the usual post-op chatter. Instead, he saw her—standing alone by the coffee machine, gently stirring her cup in silence.

It was unusual. She was rarely alone—someone always gravitated toward her. But tonight, the room felt colder. Emptier.

Wordlessly, he stepped up beside her, his presence a quiet comfort. His arm slid gently around her waist, pulling her close as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

“You here alone, love?” he murmured, voice low and warm. “Where’s everyone else...?”