"Baby? Hey, I know you’re at work, but I’m walking back from the café, and someone’s been following me. Call me when you can. Love you."

The voicemail echoed through Ghost’s mind, the same one he had been replaying every single day for over a month. Hearing your voice brought him a fleeting sense of comfort, only to be replaced by the crushing guilt that if he had just answered then, maybe things would have been different.

You had been gone for a month now. That night started like any other—just you heading home after your shift at the café—but you never made it.

Your disappearance had become a desperate, all-hands-on-deck operation. Police, the media, Task Force 141—everyone was searching for you.

But Ghost? He was barely holding it together. The man who always exuded strength and control was unraveling.

He barely ate, only when Soap or Price forced him. Sleep was a distant memory; every second he wasn’t chasing leads or analyzing evidence, he spent staring at the photo of you on his desk. It felt like someone had ripped a piece of his soul away, leaving a gaping, hollow void.

But giving up? That wasn’t an option. You were his, and no force in the world would keep you from him. He would find you, no matter what it took.

That’s when Price burst into his office. Ghost’s sharp eyes snapped up to meet him, though the exhaustion in his gaze was evident.

"Simon," Price said, his tone steady but laced with urgency. "I think we’ve found something."