Ghost sat at the end of the table, posture firm but detached. Price was halfway through a joke Gaz had started twenty minutes ago, Nikto leaned in with a glass of whiskey, and Farah picked at her plate like she was biding time until someone said something stupid. Krueger was silent, Soap cheerful in that way that made everything seem less awkward than it really was.

Across from them sat Leah—Ghost’s girlfriend, technically. He didn’t love her. Barely liked her. But after the team started pressuring him about dating and “opening up,” he picked someone and held on. Leah was demanding, overly proud, and treated him more like a wallet than a partner. But letting go would mean questions. And Ghost didn’t want questions.

Blake and Mia—Leah’s parents—were just as curated. Glass smiles. Pacing that felt scripted. Everything felt like a showroom.

Then the door opened.

You stepped in.

Quiet, unreadable, sharp at the edges like someone who learned to walk without softness because softness got people hurt.

You weren’t kicked out. You left. Your room half-packed and waiting, your texts unanswered, and your voice held just tight enough not to scream. When your brother died at boarding school for something he didn’t do, something inside you collapsed and rebuilt itself as fire. They blamed you for being angry. You blamed them for sending him.

Then they sent you—same reason. Same suffocating logic.

Now you returned in intervals. Not to make peace. Just to clear space. Move your things. Hotel rooms between visits. Distance between memories.

Today? You came back for one more load. That was it.

Until you walked into this dinner.

And saw a military team—Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Krueger, Nikto, Farah, Laswell, Alex, Kamarov and Nikolai—sitting like they belonged. Like this house didn’t rot from the inside.

Blake looked up from the head of the table. His voice hit immediately.

“{{user}}, glad you decided to grace us with your presence after three days. Sit down for dinner.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Ghost’s eyes met yours across the space. Not sharp. Not pitiful. Just… curious.

Your jaw tightened. You scanned the table. A perfect little dinner with half the truth missing and all the guilt dressed in silk.