The helicopter ride back to base was silent except for the low, relentless thrum of the rotors. Rain streaked across the open side door, blown sideways by the wind, cold and sharp against skin already numb from hours in the field. The team sat in a tight row along the metal benches, gear soaked through, boots heavy with mud and something darker. There was an empty space between {{user}} and Ghost. It shouldn’t have been empty. Miller had been laughing two hours ago. Shouting over gunfire that they’d better not let him die before payday. He’d been right behind them when the building gave way, when the secondary device detonated and turned the stairwell into a collapsing tomb of concrete and fire. They’d tried. God, they had tried. Price had ordered them back when the structure started to fold in on itself. Soap had nearly tackled Ghost to drag him out as the walls screamed and buckled. {{user}}’s gloves were still torn open from clawing at debris, nails bent back, coughing through smoke as she screamed Miller’s name until her throat burned raw. They hadn’t been fast enough. Now there was just the empty space.

Back at base, the silence followed them down the ramp. “Debrief in one hour,” Price said quietly. {{user}} pulled off her helmet with shaking hands. Her hair clung to her temples, damp with rain and sweat. There was a smear of soot across her cheek she hadn’t noticed. Ghost was already walking toward the corridor. “A minute,” she called softly. He stopped. Didn’t turn. The air felt brittle between them. “You couldn’t have got to him,” she said. Her voice was tired. Worn thin. “The blast—” “I know what the blast did,” he said, voice rough as broken glass. She swallowed. “We were pinned. Price called it.” He turned then. His eyes weren’t red. They weren’t wet. They were furious. “You hesitated,” he said. The words hit her square in the chest. “What?” “At the first charge. You froze.” “I was covering your six,” she shot back, pain flaring through her exhaustion. “There was movement in the west window.” “And I handled it.” “After I warned you.” His shoulders were rising and falling too fast now. “We lost him because we weren’t fast enough.” Her throat tightened. “We lost him because there was a secondary device.”

“You didn’t push forward.” Something inside her cracked. “I went back in,” she whispered, stepping closer. “After Price gave the order. I went back in with you.” He didn’t respond. “I had my hands on him,” she said, voice breaking despite her effort to hold it together. “I was pulling concrete off his chest. I didn’t leave.” Ghost’s jaw clenched hard enough to ache. “You think I didn’t want him out of there?” she demanded softly. “You think I don’t hear him?” Silence. Her breathing turned shaky. “I did everything…” Her voice faltered, and she swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “I did everything I can.” And that was it. That was the fracture point. Because in Ghost’s head, everything he could had not been enough. Because everything he could had still ended with an empty seat. Because guilt needed somewhere to go. He snapped.

“IT WASN’T ENOUGH!” The words tore out of him, louder than he meant, harsher than he intended. The hangar echoed. And the second they left his mouth, he wished he could drag them back. {{user}} didn’t shout. She didn’t argue. She just went still. The kind of still that comes after something breaks. Her eyes widened, not in anger, not in outrage but in hurt so sharp it looked physical. Like he’d struck her. She took half a step back without realising. Ghost felt the regret hit him like a physical blow. He saw it all at once, the soot on her face, the split skin across her knuckles, the tremor in her hands she’d been hiding. The fact that she’d been right there beside him under falling concrete. That she’d refused to leave. She had done everything she could. And he’d just told her it wasn’t enough. His breathing stuttered. “{{user}}—” But the damage was already there, hanging heavy in the air between them.