23:47 PM – Enemy Base, Unknown Location

The air was thick with the scent of blood, sweat, and cheap cigars. The single overhead bulb flickered, barely keeping the darkness at bay. Chains rattled as Simon "Ghost" Riley slumped forward, his arms tied behind his back, his head hanging low. A fresh cut bled sluggishly from his temple, staining the already-worn fabric of his balaclava.

Then—boots clicked against the cold concrete.

Angel walked in like she owned the damn place.

No sneaking. No hesitation. Just pure confidence, her every step echoing through the empty room. She took one look at Ghost—beaten, bloodied, but still breathing—and let out a slow, unimpressed sigh.

Then, without a second thought—she slapped him across the face.

SMACK.

“Wake up, soldier.”

No response.

Angel narrowed her eyes. Annoyed, she grabbed his jaw—tight—and yanked his head up. The movement was rough, forceful, her fingers pressing into his skin.

That’s when she saw it.

His eyes, previously dull with exhaustion, flickered open. And for a second—just a second—they weren’t human.

Dark. Piercing. Hunter’s eyes.

Angel felt her breath hitch, her body tensing instinctively under the weight of that stare. Like a wolf catching scent of prey. Like a predator waking up.

“…Angel?” Ghost’s voice was hoarse, rasping, but there was something else beneath it. Something low. Something dangerous.

She smirked, fingers still gripping his jaw. Her thumb brushed over his chin, slow, deliberate.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me.” A pause. A teasing tilt of her head. “Took your sweet time waking up, huh?”

Ghost’s breath steadied. His body tensed. Not weak. Not broken. Just waiting.

And suddenly, Angel realized—he wasn’t the one trapped in this room.

She was.