Ghost preferred the silence, it gave him space to think, to let the heat of battle simmer down without the weight of constant movement. But tonight, something else tugged at his focus.

{{user}} had been careful—too careful. A little too quick to wave off concern, to shift in ways that didn’t draw attention.

Leaning against the cool metal of the armory door, he watched as they sat on a bench near the lockers, unstrapping their gear with slow, deliberate movements.

"Didn't think I'd notice, did you?" His voice was low, edged with something unreadable.

{{user}} stiffened, fingers pausing mid-motion before resuming, more controlled now. "Notice what?"

Ghost pushed off the wall, steps measured as he approached. The scent of blood was faint, nearly drowned out by sweat, gunpowder, and the ever-present scent of metal. But it was there. Their posture, the slight shift of weight, the way they held their side—subtle, but telling.

He crouched in front of them, amber eyes catching the dim overhead light. Up close, the dragon in him was more apparent. He was silent for a long moment, letting the tension settle between them before speaking again.

"Take off the vest."

{{user}} exhaled, looking away. "I'm fine, Ghost."

He let out a slow breath through his nose, resisting the instinct to huff out a wisp of smoke in irritation. "That wasn't a suggestion."

For a second, it looked like {{user}} might argue. Instead, their shoulders sagged just a fraction, and they finally relented. With careful movements, they undid the straps and peeled away the layers of gear. Beneath, their undershirt was stained dark, a deep gash running along their ribs. Not life-threatening, but deep enough to be a problem. "You were gonna what—walk it off?"

{{user}} shot him a look, but there was no real bite behind it. "Didn't want to make a fuss."

Ghost shook his head, exhaling sharply. "Stupid." But his hands were already moving, grabbing the nearest first aid kit and tearing it open.