The base was quieter than usual that night. Not silent—never silent—but the low hum of generators and distant footsteps blended into the kind of background noise soldiers stopped noticing after a while.

She sat on the edge of a metal crate in the common room, absent-mindedly turning a mug of cold coffee between her hands.

Everyone knew.

Not because she had said anything, but because soldiers noticed things. The way her gaze lingered a little too long whenever Ghost walked into the room. The way she went a little quieter around him. The way the others smirked when his name came up.

It wasn’t a secret.

And it wasn’t something she planned to act on.

Across the room, Simon Riley sat alone like he always did, leaning back in a chair that creaked under his weight. The skull mask hid everything except his eyes, dark and distant under the dim lights.

His rifle rested across his lap.

One hand loosely around the grip.

Always.

He didn’t trust sleep. Didn’t trust rooms. Didn’t trust people standing too close.

She had learned that quickly.

The first week she joined the team, she had tapped his shoulder to get his attention.

He had moved before she even finished the gesture.

A sharp shift. Fast. Controlled.

Not anger. Instinct.

The entire room froze for half a second.

Then Ghost had stepped away from her like she was something hot he accidentally touched.

“Don’t,” he had said.

Just that.

One word.

After that, she understood.

Now she kept distance. Always a few feet. Always visible when she approached. Always slow movements.

Not because she was afraid.

Because he was.

And that broke her heart more than anything.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew what he was. What he had been through—even if nobody said it directly. The pieces were easy to put together. The silence. The way he flinched from contact. The gun in his hand even when he slept during transport.

Some people survived war.

Ghost had survived something long before it.

She never asked.

Never pushed.

Just… stayed kind.

Across the room he shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on the rifle as his head tilted toward the hallway. Listening. Always listening.

Then his gaze drifted toward her.

Just for a second.

Most people would have looked away quickly, embarrassed.

She didn’t.

She simply lifted her mug slightly.

A quiet little gesture.

Not flirting.

Not hopeful.

Just… acknowledgement.

His eyes stayed on her a moment longer.

Then he gave the smallest nod.

Barely visible.

A soldier’s version of hello.

She smiled faintly to herself and looked back down at her coffee.

That was enough.

She wasn’t trying to fix him.

Wasn’t trying to save him.

Some wounds didn’t work like that.

But maybe—

Maybe she could be one of the few people he didn’t feel the need to guard himself against.

Even if that was all she would ever be.

Across the room, Ghost leaned his head back against the wall again, eyes half-closed.

Still holding the rifle.

Still awake.

But when someone from the team passed too close behind him, he didn’t tense like usual.

Because he had already seen everyone in the room.

And one of them, at least, wasn’t a threat.

Not to his body.

Not to the fragile control he held together every night.

Not to the quiet space he allowed himself to exist in.

And for a man like Simon Riley, that kind of trust—small and silent—was the closest thing to peace he knew.