You don’t remember when the rain started—just that it hasn’t stopped.

The storm rolled in hours ago, swallowing the world in grey. Thunder rumbles overhead like distant explosions, wind howling through the skeletal remains of the building where you and Ghost now sit in silence. The safehouse is barely intact. The roof leaks. The generator is dead. No comms. No light but the dim glow of a backup torch propped between two broken crates.

You’re soaked to the bone, muscles stiff from the cold and the mission gone sideways. You were supposed to be in and out—grab intel, rendezvous with exfil, home in time for debrief. But now you’re trapped behind enemy lines, and the only person here with you is Simon Riley.

Ghost.

He hasn’t said much since you both secured the building. Just sat down, back against the wall, mask wet, arms crossed, eyes sharp behind the shadows. He’s calm, like he always is—unshakable, unreadable. But there’s a quiet tension in his posture. You’ve worked with him long enough to see it: the shift in his shoulders, the stillness in his hands.

He’s thinking too much.

You’re not sure if it’s the storm or the silence, but something about this moment feels heavier than usual. The kind of heavy that makes your chest ache.

You pull your knees closer, trying to get warm. Rain drums against the tin roof above like gunfire.

“You alright?” his voice finally breaks the quiet. Low. Rough. You look up and meet his eyes—hard to see under the mask, but familiar now. Too familiar.

“I’ve been better,” you answer honestly.

A pause. Then, he tosses his jacket across the floor toward you. “Take it. You’re freezing.”

You hesitate. “What about you?”

“I’ve been through worse.”

You pull the jacket around your shoulders. It smells like gunpowder and soap. It smells like him.

Minutes pass. Then more. Your head leans against the wall, exhaustion creeping in, but sleep won’t come. Not when he’s this close. Not when the silence feels this loud.

“There’s something about storms,” he murmurs, not sure why he’s saying it. “Feels like they bring out the truth.”

His jaw clenches as he sighs. You catch it. You always do.

“But.. the truth’s dangerous” he murmurs again almost to himself as he looks away.