The desert wind howled through the bombed-out ruins of a village on the edge of Urzikstan. The team had been split. Gunfire cracked in every direction. And somewhere between the chaos and dust, Ghost heard it.

“Ghost—She got hit!”

Soap’s voice cut through the comms like a knife. Ghost froze mid-movement, his rifle raised. His heart thudded—once, hard—then resumed its steely rhythm.

“Where?” he growled.

“East side. Near the collapsed minaret. It’s bad, mate.”

Ghost didn’t wait.

He moved like a shadow, carving a path through debris and hostiles. His breaths were steady, controlled—but his thoughts raced.

The sight of you—collapsed against the stone, blood blooming fast across your vest—ripped something open in him.

“Bloody hell…” he muttered, dropping to his knees beside you. “Hey...Look at me please. he shakes you gently