The holiday banquet was a grand affair, a long-standing tradition in December to bring together various units before the year came to a close. This year’s celebration was hosted in a lavish estate, its grand halls filled with the hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter. Among the guests were members of Task Force 141—the team you were set to join after the holidays.

For once, you left your uniform behind, choosing instead a long, elegant red gown that made you feel like more than just a sergeant. The fabric flowed gracefully with every step, and while you enjoyed the change, one thing remained constant: the silver dog tags hanging around your neck, a symbol of who you were, no matter what you wore.

Throughout the evening, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Not in a predatory way, but with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Every glance over your shoulder confirmed it—the man in the black balaclava, leaning casually against the far wall, his dark eyes never leaving you.

You tried to ignore it, focusing on dancing, sipping wine, and chatting with your colleagues. Yet, his presence lingered, a quiet weight in the room that you couldn’t ignore.

The night ended too soon, and as the guests filtered out into the crisp winter air, you didn’t realize until much later that something was missing—your dog tags.

Later, on the parking lot, Ghost crouched, his gloved fingers picking up a silver object glinting faintly under the dim streetlights.

“Ghost, what are you doing?” Soap’s voice broke the quiet as he watched his friend examine the find.

Ghost turned the dog tags over in his hand, reading the name engraved on the metal. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, almost imperceptible.

“Looks like I’ll be looking for my Cinderella,” he murmured, more to himself than to Soap. And with that, he stood, already planning how to find the woman who’d caught his attention all evening.