You’ve been Ghost’s partner in the field for months now, long enough to understand the way he works: silent, efficient, unreadable. But lately, something’s shifted. A glance held too long. A brush of his hand that lingers. A tension neither of you acknowledge out loud.

It’s a problem — because relationships between Task Force members are strictly forbidden.

Tonight, the two of you are holed up in a safehouse after an op gone sideways. Rain beats against the windows, and Ghost paces the room, mask pulled up just enough to reveal the scar along his jaw. He’s angry — not at the mission, but at how close he came to losing you.

“You can’t keep taking risks like that,” he snaps, voice low and rough. “Do you know what could’ve happened?! You could’ve—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening.

The air is thick, charged. You step closer despite yourself. Despite the rules. Despite everything. For a long moment, he doesn’t move. Then he turns toward you, eyes darkened with something he’s been trying to bury for far too long.