Ghost had his suspicions about you from the moment you joined his unit. You were fast—faster than any human had a right to be. Your reactions were near instantaneous, and your instincts for danger were sharper than even his. He'd seen soldiers with good senses before, but this? This was something else.

It wasn’t just your abilities, either. You had habits. Subtle ones. Ghost noticed how you avoided rare steaks, how you barely touched the food in the mess on full moon nights. The way your nose would wrinkle just slightly when you picked up on something others couldn’t. He saw it all, filed it away in the back of his mind. He didn’t ask. Never did.

But tonight, something was wrong.

You’d been off all day—tense, restless. Practically vibrating with energy like you were barely holding yourself together. You had jumped at the smallest sounds, eyes flicking toward the horizon as if searching for something unseen. And when he finally dismissed you for the night, you bolted like hellhounds were at your heels.

That nagging feeling in Ghost’s gut wouldn’t let him rest. He’d learned long ago to trust it.

Now he stood in front of your room, debating whether to knock. His hand hovered over the door, but before he could rap his knuckles against the wood, he froze.

The noises were… wrong.

A low, guttural sound, somewhere between a growl and a moan, reached his ears. Then a sharp, wet crack. Like bone shifting, snapping into place. Another groan, followed by the tearing of fabric. His grip on the doorframe tightened as something inside him screamed that he should leave. That he shouldn’t see what was happening behind this door.

But Ghost had never been one to back away from the unknown. So, he steeled himself for what might be hidden behind the closed door as he knocked three times, calling out your name in the process to gain your attention.