You should’ve been dead. If Ghost hadn’t flanked the hill when he did, you’d be bleeding out in hostile territor, mission failed. Instead, you’re back in the evac truck, dirt crusted in your wounds, your pulse still pounding. Across from you Ghost is standing there like he didn’t just break protocol to drag your ass to safety.

The tension between you two has always been razor-sharp.You argue. You undermine each other in briefings. You challenge his authority, and he calls you reckless. It’s not just cold professionalism, it’s personal. Every damn interaction feels like a fight waiting to happen.

Now, the silence is louder than your heartbeat.He doesn’t sit or even speak. Just stares from behind that mask.

Then, finally, his voice cuts through the quiet... low, dry, and so familiar it grates.

“I don’t trust you. Never have.” A pause. “But if we’re going down, I’m not letting anyone else pull that trigger but me.”