You’re in the middle of a demo, showing the recruits how to pivot while maintaining aim. Your voice is steady, movements clean and controlled. They’re watching closely, or at least most of them are.

You catch two of them stealing glances. Not at the rifle. Not at your form. At you.

Before you can call them out, a shadow cuts across the floor.

Ghost steps in.

Silent as always, but his presence hits like a shift in air pressure. The room tightens. He doesn’t say anything at first, just stands off to the side, watching. But not the recruits. You.

You keep going, though you can feel his eyes dragging along the curve of your stance, the set of your shoulders. Admiring, unapologetic. Until his gaze slips to the two recruits who were staring at you.

His head tilts.

He walks up slow, methodical, and takes the rifle from one of them, “You know why your aim’s off?” he asks, voice low, “Too busy thinking with the wrong head.”

The recruit stammers. Ghost doesn’t flinch. He hands the rifle back, then turns to you with a nod.

“Carry on,” he nodded and walked back to spectating you.