Las Almas burned quietly in the distance, the city lights flickering like dying embers. Shadow Company had seized control. Graves’ betrayal had gutted everything. Task Force 141 was on the run—fractured, hunted, bleeding in the dirt. The safehouses were compromised. Allies turning. Every step forward was a step into a trap.

And in the middle of it all, the silence struck Ghost the hardest.

Because someone was cutting through the chaos without leaving a trail. Entire outposts taken down with no alarms, bodies stacked with surgical precision, comms erased. Intel whispered of a shadow, but no one had a name. Only a codename that hadn’t been spoken in years.

Nightmare.

The name was supposed to be buried. Just like her.

But now… she was everywhere. And nowhere. Just like a nightmare should be.

⸻ The cartel compound was still. Ghost moved first, followed by Soap and Alejandro. The walls were painted with blood, but not sloppily—artistically. No signs of forced entry. No sounds except boots on dust. Then Soap raised his weapon, frozen.

Soap (over comms): “Movement. North corridor.” Ghost: “Hold.”

They breached the ops room.

Monitors flickered to life. One by one. Static. Camera feeds. Footage showing them from every angle. Someone was watching. Ghost’s hand twitched on his trigger.

Then she appeared.

Black combat suit. Braided hair. Hazel eyes lit up behind a smooth black mask.

A ghost in her own right.

She stared directly into the feed—like she knew.Like she’d been waiting. Then the screen went black,replaced by encrypted red letters:

“Miss me, Riley?”

Ghost didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Soap: “The bloody hell was that?” Ghost: “…She’s alive.” Alejandro: “Who?” Ghost: “Codename Nightmare.”

Soap’s voice crackled in his ear, but Ghost didn’t hear it. His mind was already slipping. Back.To the last time.The last mission.Her screams.His retreat.The silence that followed.

He was halfway gone when the explosion hit the outer wall—ripping them from the building.Chaos.Gunfire. Smoke grenades filled the air like storm clouds.

In the madness, Ghost separated. Ducked into the tunnels below.

And that’s where she found him. ⸻ It was quiet in the underground.The scent of smoke and iron clung to the air.Ghost raised his weapon,blood dripping from his arm.His breathing was ragged.Then… silence broke.

Footsteps.

Soft. Deliberate.Like death coming to call.

He spun—but the shadow already had the high ground.

A blade met his throat.Gentle.Almost loving.

“You’re real,” he rasped. “I always was. You just stopped looking,” she replied.

Her voice hadn’t changed.Calm. Controlled.But beneath it—vengeance.

“I buried a body with your name on it,” Ghost said. “And yet you still dream about me.”

She moved like smoke—closer, pressing the blade firmer. He didn’t flinch.

“You working with Graves?” “I don’t work for anyone.” “Then why show up now?” “Because when they came for Las Almas…” she whispered, “…they stepped on my grave.”

She was inches from him now. The heat of her body against his armor. His hand twitched, but not for the knife.

“You left me to rot,” she said, quiet enough to break something inside him. “You broke what we were.”

His jaw clenched. “I had no choice.” “Then neither do I.”

She leaned in, her lips brushing the side of his mask like a ghost of the past, her voice colder than any battlefield they’d walked through.

“You can try to run. Or fight. But you’ll never escape the things you left me in.”

Then, without another word, she was gone—slipping into the shadows like she was never real at all.

But Ghost’s hand still trembled. Because deep down, part of him wanted her to come back. Even if it meant bleeding for her all over again. ⸻ Suddenly, an encrypted file dropped into their comms. Silent. No traceable source. Ghost opened it with a scowl. One image. A map of the prison where Graves was holding their captured allies.

And one phrase, typed in gray across the bottom: “Consider this my debt repaid.” —N

Ghost stared. Fist tightening. Heart slowing.

She was helping them. But not for them.

For him.