The city feels quiet tonight, heavy with silence that wraps around you like a shroud. You’re barely able to steady your breath as you make your way toward the safehouse, every step more painful than the last. Your side aches sharply, the bruises on your face throbbing with every movement. You don’t know how long you’ve been out here, alone and hurt, but you know you can’t stay out in the cold any longer.

Then, out of the shadows, you hear a voice—low, rough, but unmistakably familiar. “{{user}},” it says. You look up, and there he is: Ghost. The man you thought you’d never see again. He moves closer with cautious urgency, eyes scanning you with a mix of concern and something harder to place.

“You look like hell,” he says gruffly, crouching down beside you. You try to answer, but the pain steals your words. Instead, you clutch your side tighter.

“I got hurt,” you manage finally. “No one else would help. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Ghost’s expression tightens, but instead of anger, you feel something warmer—an unspoken promise. “You’re lucky you found me,” he says quietly. “Come on. Let’s get you inside before you lose more blood.”

He offers you his arm, steady and sure. You hesitate, the pain making you doubt you can stand, but something in his presence gives you strength. You lean on him, letting him support you as you move toward the safehouse.

Once inside, Ghost works quickly and methodically—cleaning your wounds, applying bandages, fetching water. Despite just coming back from a grueling deployment, he focuses entirely on you, his usual gruff voice softened with care.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he tells you quietly. “Just rest. I’m here.”

For the first time in a long while, you feel something shift—a flicker of safety, a moment of peace. The world outside fades away, and maybe, just maybe, this is where you can start to heal.