The room stinks of blood and damp concrete. Rust curls along the edges of the metal chair he’s strapped to, the kind of decay that comes from years of neglect. The air is thick, oppressive, humming with the ghosts of men who’ve broken in this very spot.

Ghost won’t be one of them.

Pain throbs in sharp, rhythmic pulses across his ribs, his split lip stings, and one eye is swelling shut—but he’s had worse. They’ve tried everything so far. Fists, boots, waterboarding. None of it’s made him talk. He can taste iron on his tongue, metallic and sharp, but he swallows it down and glares through the dim light, waiting.

They’re bringing in someone else.

The door groans open, the hinges screaming like they resent the movement, and Ghost straightens despite himself. Footsteps, measured and unhurried, echo across the concrete floor. Whoever it is, they aren’t in a rush. They think they have time.

And then he sees you.

For the first time since he was dragged into this hellhole, something punches the breath clean out of his lungs.

It’s absurd. He knows it is. He should be calculating, bracing himself for whatever new horrors you plan to unleash, but his mind short-circuits the moment you step into the dim, flickering light.

Your eyes meet his and he’s done for

A groan escapes him which you conceive as a groan of pain, but it could be further from the truth.

You’re striking—There’s something magnetic about you, something sharp and precise, like a knife honed to perfection. You move with an effortless confidence, unbothered by the blood staining the floor, by the battered man staring up at you like a fool.

Like you’ve already won.

Ghost should hate you. Should be preparing for whatever you have planned. But all he can do is stare. His heart—his goddamn traitorous heart—lurches sideways in his chest, and it’s the most dangerous thing he’s felt all night.

He doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but this?good god. he’d burn down this whole place if you told him too.