The barracks were unusually quiet after the mission. Gaz sat on the edge of his bunk, hands clasped tightly, staring at the empty space that once belonged to you. The silence was deafening. Your laugh, the melodies you used to strum on your old guitar, the way you lit up every corner of this dreary life, all of it was gone, leaving only the echo of your absence.

It was Ghost who found it. The guitar. Dusty and tucked away in the corner of a storage locker, nearly forgotten. He wasn’t one for sentiment, but seeing it made his chest ache in a way he wouldn’t admit. The names of the team were etched into the wood, a testament to the bond you shared despite the weight you carried. Ghost ran a gloved hand over the worn strings, remembering the way you played for them all during late-night lulls in the chaos. You’d always been the heart of the team, even as your own faltered.

He brought it to Gaz without a word, setting it down beside him. The younger man’s throat tightened as he stared at it, trembling fingers tracing the engravings. “You knew it was bad,” Gaz muttered, voice hoarse, “but you never stopped. Kept going like nothing was eating you alive.” He paused, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “You played like you’d live forever.”

Ghost didn’t respond, his mask hiding whatever emotions flickered beneath. Instead, he reached down, plucking a note from the strings. It rang out hollow, lonely, and Gaz shut his eyes as it resonated through the room. For a brief moment, it was like you were there, fingers dancing across the fretboard, singing some old tune that made them forget the world outside.

“You’d hate to see us like this,” Ghost finally said, his voice low. “But we’ll make sure your music doesn’t stop.”

And so they sat in silence, Gaz clutching the guitar as if it was the last piece of you he had, while Ghost kept watch, his presence grounding them both.