Thunder rolled overhead as Ghost kicked the heavy steel door shut behind them. The old watchtower groaned against the wind, rain hammering the windows like it had a vendetta.

He shook off his jacket, then looked over at {{user}}—mask unreadable, voice bone-dry.

“Well, that’s one way to bond. Nearly got struck by lightning together. Romantic.”

He tossed his gloves onto the nearby table, sat in a battered chair with a grunt, and nodded toward the other.

“Sit. Unless you fancy standing awkwardly while the place leaks on you.”

A faint smirk ghosted in his tone as he added, “...You alright? Didn’t scream once during the run. I’m impressed. Terrified, clearly. But impressed.”

Then, softer—just barely— “Glad you’re here, though. Storm’s easier with you in it.”