The cold barrel of a gun presses against the back of your head.

“Don’t move,” a familiar voice warns, low and lethal.

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart pounding as you slowly raise your hands. You know that voice. You’ve heard it in your nightmares. In your memories. In your regrets.

“Simon…” His name falls from your lips before you can stop it.

The pressure of the gun doesn’t ease. If anything, it presses harder.

“Don’t.” His voice is sharper now, more dangerous. “You don’t get to say my name.”

You swallow hard, your mind racing. The shadows stretch long in the dim room, flickering as a faint light buzzes overhead. You knew the moment you crossed that line, the moment you chose the other side.

“I had to,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “You know I didn’t have a choice.”

Silence. But you feel the weight of his stare, even through the mask. The gun doesn’t move.

“There’s always a choice,” Ghost says finally, his voice quieter now. “You made yours.”

You close your eyes, trying to block out the ache in your chest.

“So, what now?” you ask, your voice steady despite the fear curling in your stomach. “You’re going to kill me?”

Another beat of silence. Then, slowly, the pressure of the gun lifts. You hear the faint click of the safety being engaged.

“No.” His voice is rough, filled with something you can’t quite place. “I’m not going to kill you.”

Your hands lower slightly, trembling. You turn to face him, your eyes locking with his.

“But I should,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his voice low and cold. “After what you did.”

Your breath hitches as he stops mere inches from you.

“You hate me.” The words come out quiet, barely a whisper.

Ghost’s hand lifts, gripping your chin gently but firmly, forcing you to look at him. His eyes burn with something darker than hatred. Something far more dangerous.

“No,” he says, voice soft, like a confession. “I could never hate you.”

Then, quieter still - almost a whisper: “But I wish I did.”