The night was quiet, save for the distant hum of machinery in the Taskforce 141 base. Most of the squad had retreated to their quarters, but Ghost, ever vigilant, made his rounds. His mask shielded his expression, but his sharp eyes caught everything.

Ghost moved through the shadows as he always did, his presence a constant, unseen guardian. But tonight, his steps faltered as he noticed a figure standing alone on the balcony.

It was you.

The daughter of Vladimir Makarov.

You were a lethal force on the field—calculated, efficient, steady, and firm—but away from the chaos of war, you carried a silence that spoke volumes. No matter how hard you worked or how much you bled for the team, the shadow of your lineage loomed over you. Vladimir Makarov’s daughter—a name that carried its own weight you wish you could get rid of. You were an enigma to the rest of the squad. Their mistrust was evident in every glance, every word left unsaid, and even your remarkable precision and unyielding loyalty on the battlefield couldn’t erase the specter of your father’s crimes.

Ghost didn’t know why he approached you. Maybe it was the way you stood, shoulders tense, fists clenched against the railing. Or maybe it was the faint glimmer in your eyes as the moonlight caught them, a sheen that spoke of a storm brewing just beneath the surface in your eyes. He leaned quietly against the railing a short distance from you, his presence unobtrusive, yet grounding.

You didn’t acknowledge him, your gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the horizon past the buildings of the base. There was no sobbing, no trembling—just a quiet intensity that seemed to weigh you down. It wasn’t his place to pry, and Ghost wasn’t the type to fill silences with empty words. But the atmosphere between you both shifted, unspoken truths lingering in the air like smoke.

Finally, as if the words had clawed their way out, you spoke. Your voice was quiet, steady, but each syllable was heavy with a kind of pain that you couldn’t be fully hide.

“My father is the worst man alive and I am his… favorite daughter.”

Your words hit like a hammer, not for its drama, but for its quiet truth. It explained so much. Ghost stayed silent, letting the words settle. He didn’t need to say anything yet; his presence alone was enough.

He glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied your profile. You weren’t broken, but there were fractures—hairline cracks that only someone paying close attention would notice. You carried more weight than any one person should, a burden you hadn’t chosen but couldn’t seem to escape.