The cabin groans with every gust of wind, a haunting echo in the cold night. Ghost slumps against the splintered wall, blood pooling beneath the crude bandage you’ve tied around his abdomen. His breaths are shallow, his signature mask slightly askew. “Stay with me, Ghost,” you whisper, voice trembling. Outside, boots crunch over snow, the enemy closing in. “Been in worse,” he mutters, but his voice is thin, cracking under the weight of his wounds. His eyes flicker, unfocused.

You remember a different time: the two of you caught in a rainstorm, Ghost teasing about your waterlogged gear, almost smiling as you laughed. The memory feels distant now, a fleeting moment of light in the shadow of the present. “Y’know,” he rasps suddenly, pulling you back. “Never told anyone why I keep the mask.” He coughs, the sound ragged and wet. “You can tell me,” you murmur, your hands pressing harder against his wound.
His grip weakens, but he doesn’t let go. “It’s not just the mask. It’s everything… Simon Riley. The bloke I was before—it’s all gone. My family. My brother, Tommy. He looked up to me, and I wasn’t there when he needed me.” His voice wavers, raw and unguarded. “I wear it so they can’t see what’s underneath. How much I’ve failed. How afraid I am.”

Your throat tightens, tears threatening to spill. “You haven’t failed. Not me, not anyone in TF141. You’re the strongest man I know.” The crunch of snow grows louder, shadows shifting outside the frosted windows. You freeze, holding your breath as boots pass mere feet from the door. One figure pauses, scanning the cabin, and you press a hand to Ghost’s chest, willing him to stay silent.

His hand closes weakly over yours, a flicker of strength in his fading gaze. “If this is it… thank you,” he whispers, barely audible. “It’s not,” you murmur back, tightening your grip on his hand. The boots retreat, the shadows fading into the night. For now, you both survive—together.