It was a relatively quiet night on base—until it wasn’t. Your chest was heavy, your limbs refusing to move, your breath caught in your throat. The looming figure standing over your bed was closing in, its shadow swallowing everything around it. Panic consumed you, yet you couldn’t scream. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, you jolted awake. A blood-curdling scream tore from your throat, and hot tears streamed down your face.

The sound wasn’t subtle. Ghost’s room was next door, and within moments, the door to yours flew open. You were expecting sharp words, his usual gruff tone reprimanding you for waking the entire base in the middle of the night.

But that wasn’t what you got.

Ghost’s eyes softened the moment he saw you—a trembling, tear-streaked mess. His imposing figure was no longer intimidating, but a safe harbor as he stepped closer.

“Hey, hey, what happened?” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. He sat beside you, his weight shifting the bed slightly. “Are you okay?”

Your sobs broke through your attempted explanation, and his gloved hand found your back, rubbing soothing circles.

“It’s alright,” he whispered, his voice low and steady. “You’re safe. You’re here with us—Price, Soap, Gaz, me. We’ve got you. Nothing’s going to hurt you, sweetheart. Not here.”

His words wrapped around you like a shield, and the steady rhythm of his touch anchored you in reality. For the first time that night, the shadows felt far, far away.