Ghost loved {{user}}—her cheerful nature, her unwavering optimism that never failed to lift his spirits, no matter how dark things got. But they were soldiers. He couldn’t understand how she remained so calm, so unshaken, after witnessing the same horrors that left men their age struggling to sleep at night.

Yet, for all the years they had spent together, she never spoke of her childhood. Never mentioned her past. Anything before she turned eighteen and enlisted was a locked door she refused to open.

Recently, Price had ordered the entire 141 into private therapy sessions. No exceptions. Not even for Ghost or {{user}}, despite their protests. Each of them was assigned a therapist, and there was no way around it.

And Ghost knew it was wrong—knew it was a breach of trust—but after all these years, curiosity gnawed at him. He needed to know. Needed to understand the past she kept buried. And there was only one person who had those answers.

It took some coaxing. Some intimidation. Eventually, with enough pressure, the nervous therapist caved. And what Ghost learned?

He wasn’t ready for it.

Her therapist. But even she struggled to speak about the things {{user}} had gone through that no sane person could survive.

She had survived every nightmare imaginable before 18.

“…What the hell…?”

The words barely left his lips, his usual stoic expression shattered, for once, he felt like he couldn't breathe.