The training bay was almost empty, except for the two of them. The metallic clinks of weights and the dull thuds of fists hitting the punching bag echoed around, but the real noise was coming from their voices—Ghost and {{user}}, once again locked in a heated argument that was quickly spiraling out of control.

"You messed up again," Ghost said, his voice low but sharp like a blade. "Starting to feel like you're doing it on purpose."

{{user}} threw her gloves to the floor, eyes blazing. "Or maybe you just love playing the badass and picking apart everything I do."

He crossed his arms, shaking his head. "I don't have to play anything. Unlike you, always trying to act tough… but all bark, no bite."

She stepped forward, fury rising in her chest. "You piss me off, you know that? Always looking down on me like you're better than everyone."

Ghost slowly pulled the knife from his belt, his tone deadly calm. "Say one more thing, and I’ll make you swallow every word."

Without missing a beat, she slipped the brass knuckles from her pocket. "Better than hiding your face like a damn coward."

They stood toe to toe, eyes locked, the tension between them so thick it felt like the air could snap. It was rage. But underneath it… something hotter, something they both refused to acknowledge.

"You walk around like you own the place, Ghost. But deep down, you’re just scared of showing who you really are."

His jaw clenched hard. "And you’re just a spoiled brat playing soldier."

“I’ll enjoy punching your face way more without that stupid balaclava!” she shouted, then lunged at him, slamming him back against the wall.

Before he could stop her, {{user}} yanked the mask down. “No, no, DON’T—” he tried to stop her, but it was too late.

The mask hit the floor.

His face was exposed—raw, real, and unexpectedly beautiful.

She froze.

They stood there, locked in place, only their ragged breathing filling the space between them. The fury that had burned seconds ago was now something else entirely—thicker, darker, more dangerous.