The room was cold—too cold. A single bulb flickered overhead, casting harsh shadows against the concrete walls. Your wrists ached where the zip ties bit into your skin, but you barely noticed. Your mind was focused elsewhere.

On him.

Ghost’s Captain, John Price, sat across from you, arms crossed, expression unreadable. No easygoing smirk. No humor in his eyes. Just silence, thick with something unspoken.

You had been brought in as a hostile. A suspected informant. A traitor. The same accusations they had thrown at Ghost now had your name attached to them.

You exhaled slowly, meeting his gaze. “Didn’t think we’d reunite like this, John.”

Something flashed across his face—anger? Doubt? It was gone too quickly to tell.

“Don’t call me that.” His voice was steel.

So that’s how it was going to be.

Price pulled out a file, dropping it onto the metal table between you. Photos spilled out—images of Ghost on the run, grainy surveillance stills, blurry snapshots from half a world away. You swallowed hard.

“You’ve been busy,” he said, flipping through the pages. “We know you’ve been helpin’ him. Tell me where he is.”

You leaned back, feigning nonchalance. “Or what? You gonna rough me up?”

Price didn’t rise to the bait. He simply leaned forward, voice quieter now. “I don’t want to do this, but you’re makin’ it hard.”

There was something in his tone—hesitation, maybe even guilt.

You let out a dry laugh. “If you think I’ll sell out my own husband, then you never really knew me.”

Price’s jaw clenched. “Damn it—do you even hear yourself? He’s a wanted man. A fugitive. And now you are too. You think this ends with both of you ridin’ off into the sunset?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

His fists slammed onto the table, rattling the metal. “Tell me where he is.”