The rain came down in cold sheets, soaking through your gear as you crouched behind the crumbling wall, rifle tight against your shoulder. Ghost’s heavy presence loomed at your side, his masked face turned toward the horizon where enemy patrols moved in the shadows.

“Stay low,” he growled, voice sharp through comms.

You grit your teeth. “I know how to run an op, Ghost.”

A low scoff crackled in your earpiece. “Could’ve fooled me.”

The tension between you had been there since day one—electric, hostile, impossible to ignore. And when Price had paired you two for this mission? Neither of you hid your protests.

“This is a shit idea,” you’d snapped in the briefing room.

“Agreed,” Ghost had muttered, arms crossed, mask tilted in irritation.

But here you were—cold, wet, and ready to kill him yourself if the enemy didn’t get to him first.

“Two guards on the left,” you whispered, eyes tracking movement.

“I see ’em.”

“Then why aren’t you taking the shot?”

A tense beat of silence. “Because I was waiting for your go, princess.”

You whipped your head toward him, scowling. Even behind the skull mask, you could feel the smugness radiating off him.

“Take. The. Shot.”

The muffled pop of his suppressed rifle echoed before both guards dropped.

“Happy now?” he muttered.

“Ecstatic.”

The mission dragged on—silent kills, quick movements—but the friction between you didn’t let up. Every time his shoulder brushed yours, heat shot through you. Every clipped order, every sarcastic comment—it all built, tighter and tighter.

You were clearing the last building when he yanked you out of a sniper’s line of fire, his hand locking around your arm with bruising force. You slammed into his chest, the weight of him solid, suffocating.

“Watch it!” you snapped, shoving at him.

He didn’t move. “You’d be dead if it wasn’t for me.”

Your faces were close—way too close—his breath hot behind the mask.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

His head tilted slightly. “You think I haven’t thought about it?”