Ghost knew it was going to be a good day the moment he opened his eyes.

Sunlight poured in through the window in soft golden rays, casting a gentle warmth across the sheets. The air felt cleaner, lighter, filled with something he couldn’t quite name—hope, maybe. Or peace. He didn’t stop to question it as he pulled himself out of bed and padded down the stairs.

The smell hit him first—freshly ground coffee, sizzling bacon, warm eggs. And then there it was… the familiar scent of your perfume, subtle and warm, laced in the air like a memory that refused to fade. The smell of home. Of safety. Of love.

But when he reached the kitchen, you weren’t there. His brow furrowed. You were always there.

Where were you?

Then—laughter. Your laughter. Light and sweet, like it hadn’t been stolen from him. He heard it drifting from the living room, paired with the excited bark of your dog chasing a bouncing ball. And just like that, the tension in his shoulders melted away. He followed the sound like a man chasing salvation.

There you were. Standing by the coffee table, folding tiny baby clothes with your back turned to him. The dog ran circles around you, tail wagging with reckless joy. You looked so real. So perfect. The kind of perfect he could never put into words, only feel in his chest—tight and full and aching.

He didn’t hesitate. He walked to you and wrapped his arms around you from behind, burying his face in the space between your shoulder blades. His hands rested over your swollen stomach, gently lifting the weight, easing the pressure like he knew you needed. Like he always did.

Everything felt so right. So real. Until it wasn’t. You began to slip away.

The warmth of your skin turned cold beneath his fingertips. Your voice faded into static. Your presence dissolved like smoke in the wind.

“Ghost. Wake up. We’ve got something.”

Price’s voice hit him like a blow. The world snapped back—harsh, gray, cold.

He was in the backseat of a vehicle, head leaning against the window, one hand clenched tightly around something warm and familiar—your necklace. His chest was tight, his face blank, but the ghost of the dream still clung to him like a phantom pain.

Just a dream. Just a cruel, goddamn dream. It had been two months since you were taken.

"Ghost, I said we've got something!" Price barked again.

Ghost dragged a hand down his face, forcing himself out of the daze. He didn’t reply—he just opened the car door and stepped into the icy morning air. A few steps ahead, Soap and Gaz were already moving, weapons ready, eyes scanning the perimeter of an old, crumbling building.

This was it. The location pinged off the signal hidden in the bracelet he gave you—one that only activated in extreme emergency. The signal that had been dark for weeks.

And now, suddenly, it was back.

Ghost stared at the necklace in his palm one last time before slipping it into the inner pocket of his jacket.

“I’m coming for you, {{user}},” he muttered under his breath.

And this time, he wouldn’t stop until he had you back.