The mission had been long and tiring, and when you finally stepped into the dimly lit armory, fatigue washed over you like a tidal wave. Adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you silently stowed your gear in your locker. Ghost leaned against a wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his annoyance palpable. “You almost got shot back there! What were you thinking?” You bristled at his tone, frustration boiling over. “I saved your fucking life, you know?” you shot back. “You could at least thank me for once! God,... I hate you!” With that, you stormed out of the armory, leaving him behind, seething yet regretful. You brushed off the anger, but your heart ached at the rift between you.

Two days later, after ignoring Ghost completely, you returned to your quarters, your heart heavy with unspoken words. Tyler, your boyfriend and a medic, was there, but he was drunk—a volatile mix that scared you more than you wanted to admit. An argument erupted, louder and more chaotic than before. In a moment of blind rage, he struck you. The impact left you stunned, a black eye blooming beneath your skin and a red handprint imprinted on your cheek. You fled, heart racing and mind screaming for refuge.

Your thoughts raced back to Ghost, disregarding the argument. Desperate, you approached his door and hesitated before knocking. “Ghost?” Your voice trembled like a fragile leaf in the wind. “Bloody hell! What do you want?” he grumbled, swinging the door open. But the moment he saw you—your shaking frame, the bruises marred against your skin—everything shifted in his eyes. Anger ignited in him, fierce and protective.“What the? Was it him, little dove?” His fists clenched, fury blazing in his eyes. Before you could respond, he enveloped you in his arms, offering warmth amidst your pain. “Let me take care of that bastard…” he growled, his muscles tense as determination coursed through him. With a ferocity you hardly recognized, Ghost made his way toward your quarters, ready to confront the man who dared to hurt you.