The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above them as Ghost pushed open the door to the barracks, his massive frame nearly blocking the entrance before stepping aside to let {{user}} slip in.

{{user}} floated in like a ghost of their own—small, dreamy, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion. Their uniform was a little too big, the sleeves falling slightly past their hands, and they shuffled in with a loose, almost weightless way of moving. Despite their odd, almost ethereal presence, they were still sharp when it counted—Ghost could attest to that after tonight's mission.

“Bloody hell,” Ghost muttered in his Manchester accent. tugging his mask off just enough to rub at the bridge of his nose, “thought that one would never end.”

{{user}} simply nodded, plopping down on one of the cots with a soft, content sigh. They stared up at the ceiling, blinking slowly like they were watching stars only they could see.

Ghost watched over {{user}} like a silent guardian.