The night at the base was suffocating, the weight of our recent failure pressing down on me like a vise. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape the racing thoughts, the incessant replay of every decision, every misstep. The sense of loss, the frustration of another close call with Makarov—so close, yet so far—kept gnawing at my insides.
I tossed and turned in my bunk, the silence of the night amplifying the turmoil in my mind. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face, heard his taunting words, felt the fire and the chaos as he escaped our grasp yet again. My muscles ached from the fight, and my head throbbed with exhaustion, but sleep wouldn't come. I was trapped in my own thoughts, spiraling deeper into a pit of frustration and anger.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I pushed myself up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and sitting there for a moment, trying to steady my breathing. The room was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon filtering through the window. I ran a hand through my hair, the frustration boiling over.
I needed to clear my head, to do something—anything—to break free of the relentless grip of my thoughts. Quietly, I slipped out of my room, careful not to wake anyone. The hallways were dim and silent, the rest of the team lost in their own restless sleep, or perhaps fighting their own battles in the dark.
I made my way to the kitchen, hoping a drink would calm my nerves. The base was eerily quiet, the only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator as I opened it, the cool air washing over me. I grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the back of the shelf, pouring a generous amount into a glass and taking a long, slow sip.
The burn of the alcohol was a welcome distraction, momentarily dulling the sharp edges of my thoughts. I leaned against the counter, staring out the small window above the sink, the dark landscape beyond a stark contrast to the turmoil inside my mind.
As I stood there, lost in the depths of my own frustration, I heard a soft noise behind me—the quiet creak of the floorboards as someone entered the kitchen. I turned, my hand still gripping the glass, and found myself face to face with Ghost.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The tension between us had been growing since the failed mission, a mixture of unspoken words, unaddressed anger, and something else—something I couldn't quite put my finger on.
But tonight, something felt different. The usual wall of cold professionalism that surrounded Ghost seemed to have lowered, just slightly. He was out of his usual gear, dressed instead in a simple black T-shirt that clung to his muscular frame, and comfortable pants that hung loosely on his hips. It was a rare sight to see him in anything other than his tactical gear, and the change caught me off guard.
He looked... human, vulnerable in a way I hadn't seen before. The tight fabric of his shirt highlighted the strength of his shoulders, the muscles of his arms taut and defined even in this relaxed state. I felt a flutter in my chest, an unexpected surge of awareness as my eyes traveled over him.
Ghost's eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, the air between us seemed to shift. The tension was still there, but it had morphed into something different—something I hadn't anticipated. A spark of attraction, raw and undeniable, crackled in the air, igniting between us like a live wire.
"You couldn't sleep either," he said quietly, his voice low and gravelly, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever delicate balance had settled between us.
I shook my head, taking another sip of the whiskey to steady myself. "Too much on my mind."
He nodded, stepping closer to the counter, his movements deliberate and measured. He leaned against the opposite side of the counter, mirroring my stance, his gaze never leaving mine. "We're all feeling it. Makarov's got us running in circles."
I could feel the frustration bubbling up again, the alcohol doing little to dull the sharp edge of my thoughts. "He's always one step ahead. It's like he knows what we're going to do before we even do it."
Ghost studied me for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "He's good at that. But so are we. We'll catch him, Zara. It's only a matter of time."
The use of my name brought a faint smile to my lips, a small reminder of the hope we shared despite the tension that had built up over the past few weeks. But there was something more in his words, something deeper than just the usual reassurance.
"You really believe that?" I asked, my voice softer now, the anger and frustration giving way to something more vulnerable.
"I do," he replied, his tone firm. "But you need to believe it too. You can't let him get inside your head."
I looked down at my glass, the amber liquid swirling as I tilted it in my hand. "He already is."
The admission slipped out before I could stop it, and I immediately regretted it. But Ghost didn't react the way I expected. Instead of pressing, instead of demanding answers, he simply nodded, his expression unreadable.
"We've all got our demons," he said after a moment, his voice quieter, more introspective. "Makarov's just better at finding them than most."
There was a truth in his words that struck a chord deep within me, a recognition that I wasn't alone in this fight, no matter how much I tried to isolate myself. But that recognition also brought with it a surge of guilt—the guilt of the secrets I was keeping, of the files hidden away, of the lies I'd told to protect the mission, and maybe, selfishly, to protect myself.
I looked up at him, the alcohol loosening the tight grip I usually kept on my emotions. "What if I told you I wasn't sure I could keep doing this? That every time we get close, it feels like we're just being led deeper into his trap?"
Ghost's gaze softened, a rare flicker of vulnerability in those usually steely eyes. "Then I'd tell you that you're not alone. We're in this together, Wraith. We've all had doubts, but that's why we're a team."
The words were simple, but they held a weight of sincerity that I hadn't expected. Ghost was right—we were a team, and for all the secrets and walls I'd built, I couldn't deny the bond we shared, the trust that had been forged in the fires of countless missions.
But even as I acknowledged that, I couldn't shake the attraction that had sparked between us, the way my heart had quickened when I saw him standing there, out of his usual armor, looking like a man rather than just the soldier he presented to the world. The tension between us was palpable now, humming in the air like a live wire, and it was becoming harder to ignore.
For a moment, the kitchen felt smaller, the air thick with something I couldn't quite define. I caught myself glancing at the way the fabric of his shirt stretched across his chest, the way his shoulders moved with quiet strength, and I knew I wasn't alone in this sudden, unexpected pull between us.
Ghost seemed to notice it too, his gaze lingering on me a fraction longer than usual, his eyes tracing the lines of my face as if seeing me for the first time. The silence stretched out, charged with a tension that wasn't entirely unwelcome.
"What are you really doing up?" he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper.
The question hung in the air, loaded with unspoken implications. I could have brushed it off, could have deflected like I always did, but something in the way he looked at me, something in the quiet vulnerability we were both sharing, made me want to be honest.
"I couldn't stop thinking about him," I admitted, my voice quiet. "About how he keeps slipping away, about how he always seems to know exactly what we're going to do."
"And you think it's your fault?" Ghost asked, his eyes searching mine.
I hesitated, the words caught in my throat. "I don't know. Maybe. It feels like I'm missing something—something important."
He studied me for a long moment, his gaze intense and searching, as if he was trying to see past the walls I'd put up. And then, in a move that caught me completely off guard, he reached out, his hand brushing against mine where it rested on the counter.
The touch was brief, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt of electricity through me. The kitchen seemed to shrink around us, the tension building until it was almost suffocating. I looked up at him, and for a moment, the world outside of that kitchen faded away. There was only Ghost, standing there in the soft light, his presence filling the room.
"I've been where you are," he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I know what it's like to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, to feel like you're the only one who can fix it."
The words resonated deep within me, striking a chord I hadn't realized was there. I had been carrying this burden alone for so long, pushing everyone away, trying to protect them from the truth. But now, standing here with Ghost, I realized that maybe I didn't have to.
But that realization also came with the knowledge that I couldn't fully let him in—not yet. There was still too much at stake, too many secrets I wasn't ready to share. The files, the conspiracy, my parents' involvement—it was all too much, too dangerous. And as much as I wanted to trust him, I couldn't risk dragging him down with me.
"I appreciate that," I said quietly, pulling my hand back from his. "But this is something I have to figure out on my own."
Ghost's eyes darkened, the softness replaced by the familiar mask of stoic determination. He nodded, but I could see the disappointment flicker across his face before he hid it away. "Just don't shut us out, Wraith. We're stronger together."
I gave him a small, sad smile. "I know. But sometimes, there are things you have to do alone."
The moment passed, the tension between us shifting back to something more familiar, more distant. But the connection, the spark, lingered in the air, a silent acknowledgment that something had changed between us, even if neither of us was ready to fully face it.
Ghost nodded once more, then turned and left the kitchen, his footsteps fading into the darkness of the hallway. I watched him go, my heart heavy with the weight of my choices.
When he was gone, I downed the rest of my whiskey, the burn doing little to dull the ache inside me. I had made my decision, and I knew there was no turning back. The path I was on was one I had to walk alone, no matter how much I might want to let someone else in.
But as I stood there in the silence of the kitchen, the memory of Ghost's touch still lingering on my skin, I couldn't help but wonder what might have been if things were different—if I could allow myself to let down my walls and share the burden.
But that was a luxury I couldn't afford.
The glass felt heavy in my hand, the warmth of the whiskey doing little to ease the cold knot in my chest. My thoughts were tangled, swirling around the encounter with Ghost, the tension between us, and the weight of the secrets I'd been carrying.
I had convinced myself that I could handle it alone, that I needed to handle it alone. But the truth was gnawing at me. For all my strength, for all my resolve, I was slowly unraveling under the burden. Ghost had seen through the cracks, and in that brief moment, I had glimpsed the possibility of something different—trust, maybe even something more.
I set the empty glass on the counter and ran a hand through my hair, trying to steady my breathing. The cabin was quiet again, Ghost having retreated to the shadows as he always did, but the memory of his touch lingered, grounding me in a way I hadn't expected.
I thought back to the files hidden in the safehouse, the evidence my parents had gathered, the depth of Makarov's plan. The weight of it all had been crushing, a secret too heavy to bear alone. But maybe, just maybe, I didn't have to carry it by myself anymore. Ghost's words echoed in my mind, urging me to consider the unthinkable—to share the burden, to let someone in.
Before I could second-guess myself, I reached for the secure comms device tucked into my pocket. My thumb hovered over the buttons, my mind racing. This was a step I hadn't planned on taking, a step that could change everything. But the need to break the silence, to finally share the truth with someone who could understand, outweighed my fear.
I pressed the button to connect to Ghost's comms channel. The line beeped softly, and for a moment, I feared he wouldn't answer. But then, his voice crackled through the device, low and cautious.
"Wraith?"
I swallowed, my heart pounding in my chest. "Ghost, it's me. I—there's something I need to tell you."
There was a pause on the other end, a tension that made my stomach twist. "Go ahead," he said, his tone careful, as if sensing the gravity of what was coming.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. "It's about Makarov. And my parents."
The silence that followed was deafening, and I could almost feel Ghost's gaze on me, even though we were separated by walls and darkness. I hadn't spoken about my parents to anyone on the team, not in any detail. The pain was still too raw, the memories too tangled with grief and anger. But this time, it felt different. I felt different.
I took another breath, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "My parents were more than just government operatives. They were deeply involved in investigating Makarov—uncovering his plans, tracking his movements. They found something big, something that goes beyond anything we've imagined."
I barely had time to process everything I was saying, the words pouring out faster than I could think. It was as if once the dam had broken, there was no stopping the flood of secrets I'd kept buried for so long. But just as I was about to dive deeper into the revelations about Makarov and my parents, Ghost's voice cut through my thoughts, firm and steady.
"Wraith, stop," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Stay where you are. I'll meet you in the kitchen."
His words jolted me into silence, the urgency in his voice snapping me back to the present. For a moment, I hesitated, unsure of what to do, but then I heard the faint click as he disconnected the call. He was coming to me—to hear everything in person.
I stood frozen in the kitchen, my heart pounding in my chest as I stared at the comms device in my hand. The silence that followed was thick with tension, the air heavy with the weight of what I was about to reveal. There was no going back now. Ghost knew something was wrong, and I had started down a path that would change everything.
Before I could fully gather my thoughts, I heard the quiet creak of footsteps approaching. Ghost entered the kitchen with the same deliberate calmness he always carried, his movements controlled, his presence filling the room.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The tension from earlier was back, but now it was mixed with something else—something more vulnerable, more charged. Ghost's eyes were locked on mine, his expression unreadable, but there was an intensity there that made my breath catch.
He stepped closer, the space between us shrinking until we were only a few feet apart. "You were about to say something important," he said quietly, his voice steady, but I could sense the urgency behind it. "Tell me everything, Wraith."
I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in as I realized just how much I was about to lay bare. But I couldn't turn back now—not with Ghost standing there, waiting for me to trust him.
"I found something," I began, my voice shaking slightly despite my efforts to stay calm. "After I was captured, I started digging into my parents' work. They weren't just government operatives—they were onto something big, something involving Makarov."
Ghost didn't move, his gaze never leaving mine. I took a deep breath and continued, the words tumbling out in a rush.
"I found encrypted files, documents linking Makarov to high-ranking officials in several countries. My parents were investigating an operation called 'Black Dagger.' It's a plan to infiltrate and manipulate Western governments and military forces—something massive, something that could destabilize entire nations. They were close to exposing him, and I think that's why they were killed."
The weight of my confession hung in the air between us, the truth finally out in the open. I could see the flicker of understanding in Ghost's eyes, the realization of just how deep this went.
"They died trying to stop him," I whispered, my voice trembling. "And now... it's up to me."
Ghost's jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with a mix of anger and concern. He took another step closer, his presence both comforting and overwhelming. "Why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice low, but there was no accusation in it—only a deep, underlying concern.
I looked down, unable to meet his gaze. "I thought I could handle it alone. I didn't want to drag anyone else into it. It's personal, Ghost. Makarov took everything from me, and I have to make him pay."
Ghost was silent for a moment, the tension between us thick and charged. Then, in a move that took me by surprise, he reached out, gently lifting my chin until our eyes met. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a shiver down my spine.
"You don't have to do this alone," he said, his voice softer now, the rough edges smoothed over by something more tender. "I know what it's like to carry that kind of weight, to feel like it's all on you. But you have a team, Wraith. You have me."
The sincerity in his words, the way he looked at me as if he could see right through the walls I'd built, broke something loose inside me. For the first time in a long time, I felt the heavy burden of my secrets start to lift, just slightly. The relief was almost unbearable.
"But what if—" I began, my voice catching in my throat.
"No 'what ifs,'" Ghost interrupted, his hand still resting gently under my chin. "You've been carrying this alone for too long. You're not alone anymore."
I let out a shaky breath, the fight to keep my composure suddenly feeling like an impossible task. "Ghost... I don't know if I can do this. I've been so focused on stopping him, on avenging my parents, that I've shut everyone out."
Ghost's gaze softened, and he let his hand drop, though the connection between us felt stronger than ever. "I'm not asking you to let everyone in. But let me help you. Let me stand by your side."
The offer, simple as it was, felt like a lifeline. I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw not just the soldier, the mask, but the man underneath. The man who had seen his own share of loss, who had been hardened by the same fires that had nearly consumed me.
"You can't tell anyone," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "Not yet. I need to figure out what all this means, what we're really dealing with. But... I can't do it alone anymore."
Ghost nodded, his expression resolute. "You have my word. This stays between us."
I searched his eyes, looking for any hint of doubt, but found none. What I did find was something unexpected—a sense of trust, of understanding that I hadn't felt in a long time. Maybe ever. For all the tension that had simmered between us, for all the walls we'd both built, there was something real here, something solid.
"Thank you," I whispered, the weight of the moment settling over me. "I don't know how this is going to end, but... it means a lot that you're with me."
Ghost's lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile, a rare sight that warmed something deep inside me. "We'll figure it out together."
For a moment, we just stood there, the silence of the kitchen wrapping around us like a protective cocoon. The world outside seemed distant, the worries and fears that had plagued me pushed to the back of my mind. Here, with Ghost, I felt something I hadn't in a long time—a sense of peace, however fleeting.
And as the tension slowly ebbed away, replaced by a quiet understanding, I realized something else. The walls I'd built, the armor I'd worn for so long, had started to crack. And maybe, just maybe, that wasn't such a bad thing after all.