The mission earlier had been rough—more brutal than usual. Everyone felt the weight of it as they returned, but Ghost seemed more distant than usual. You had noticed him slipping away from the debrief without a word, disappearing down the hallways, his shoulders tense under his gear. Ghost always preferred to be alone, especially after a hard mission. But something about the haunted look in his eyes had made you pause and follow him.

With a breath, you stepped down the hallway toward his door. As you got closer, you heard something unusual—a sound that didn’t belong in the stillness of the night. It was ragged breathing, harsh and uneven, like someone struggling for air. Your steps slowed, and your brow furrowed with concern.

You reached his door, which was slightly ajar, and peered inside.

Ghost was there, sitting on the edge of his cot, his head buried in his hands. His skull mask was tossed carelessly on the floor beside him, and for a moment, you were struck by how unfamiliar he looked without it. His shoulders heaved with each breath, his hands clutching his hair as if trying to keep himself anchored. It was a side of him you had never seen—a side he never let anyone see.

You took a step forward, your boots scuffing against the floor. His head snapped up, eyes wild, raw, and unguarded, like a man caught in a storm with no way out. Panic attack…