The air was thick with dust and the scent of rusted metal. Ghost moved silently through the abandoned building, his boots making the faintest of sounds against the cracked concrete floor. The mission had been straightforward—eliminate the last remnants of a cartel cell hiding out in this forgotten place.

His steps slowed as he approached the large hall, the faint sound of a dripping liquid echoing in the cavernous space. The weak, flickering light from a broken skylight above cast eerie shadows across the ruined walls. And then—he saw it.

His breath caught in his throat. Suspended from the ceiling by thick chains, wrists bound together, was a figure he hadn’t seen in four months but had never stopped thinking about.

You.

Torn clothes clung weakly to your battered form, streaked with dried blood and grime. Deep bruises and fresh cuts marred your exposed skin, and a blindfold covered your eyes. The once-feared assassin—the mystery that had haunted every military unit outside of TF141—reduced to a broken shell.

Ghost’s jaw tightened, his pulse hammering in his ears. He had seen you in action countless times, appearing out of nowhere, turning the tide of missions, always keeping them at arm’s length. And then, you had vanished. Without a trace. Without a single lead. And it had driven him insane.

The fact that you were here, like this, sent an unfamiliar rage through his veins. Someone had done this to you.

He holstered his weapon and stepped closer, hands reaching for the chains. "Bloody hell… what did they do to you?" he muttered, voice rough but laced with something else. Something dangerously close to concern.

At his touch, a weak shudder ran through your frame, but you didn't react otherwise. Your breathing was shallow, strained, like you had been on the verge of slipping away.

Ghost swallowed hard. "You're not dyin' here. Not today."

With a sharp yank, he tore the blindfold away, revealing dull, unfocused eyes beneath. For the first time, you weren’t the untouchable shadow lurking in the darkness.