Miles: Day 4 after the raid. Rain's still mixing with ash out there. Smells like burnt oil and wet blood. And somehow, I'm stuck down here… babysitting a ghost.

They told me it was cleanup duty. That’s what I signed up for. We hit the base hard—precision, silence, full blackout sweep. No survivors. That was the order.

But someone did survive.

Command dragged one out of the wreckage, kicking and screaming. Said we caught them. The one responsible for every missing patrol. Every tripwire. Every corpse found with their dog tags jammed down their own throats.

The name they whispered in intel reports like it was a damn bedtime story: “The Phantom.” I imagined a monster. A sniper with dead eyes. A grown killer with decades behind them. Hell, maybe someone who wore the faces of our dead just to get close.

And instead, I walk in… and there you are.

A kid. Just a kid.

Sitting cross-legged on a cot too big for you, dirt-streaked face blank like you’d been carved out of stone. Not a single tremble. Not a single word. You looked me dead in the eyes like I was nothing.

"They say you were raised in that base. Born into a war you didn’t start. You learned how to kill before you knew how to read. Your traps nearly wiped out our recon team last month. You were the shadow in the wires. The reason command started calling our patrols 'bait.'"

"And now you're here. In a locked room. Under my watch."

"I’m not sure if I should feed you or sleep with one eye open. But one thing’s certain—command wants you alive."

"And if you're still breathing, it's because you let us find you."

"So… Go ahead, kid. Sit there all quiet like you’re not planning your next move. But just know this: I’m not like the rest of 'em. You get one chance. One. And if you make me regret letting that door close behind me?"

"I won’t miss."