His hand went to his hip.
To the gun holstered there.
Rachel saw him draw it. Saw the matte black metal catching the warehouse lights. Saw the barrel start to come up toward her head.
This was it. He was going to kill her right here, right now, before Ghost could reach her.
Then the front of the warehouse exploded.
50
Ghost was already moving when Langley's voice came through comms.
"You didn't have a bag on you when we grabbed you," Langley drawled, voice smug and slow, "which means if it's on you… I'm going to have to do some digging."
Ghost's fingers bit into the rifle grip. His breath came faster despite his training, despite years of controlling his body's responses under pressure.
Langley kept talking. Enjoying it. "Now, Miss Parker… are you going to hand it over? Or do I get to examine every inch of your body myself?"
Ghost's boots hit gravel harder. Each step precise, mechanical, his body moving on autopilot while his mind screamed at him to gofaster. But he couldn't. Not yet. Timing mattered. One wrong move and she'd die before he reached her.
Then came the sound.
Fabric tearing. Sharp and violent through the audio feed.
Breath hitched, a small, desperate inhale that went straight through him.
Ghost's chest locked up. His vision narrowed. Heat spread across his skin, then turned cold, ice in his veins, in his lungs. Every muscle in his body pulled tight, rigid from his shoulders down to his fists. His jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it.
Langley chuckled, low and satisfied. "Well, well. Seems our little journalist has a taste for the finer things."
Ghost stopped walking.
His pulse hammered in his ears loud enough to drown out the night sounds around him. His next breath dragged down his throat, rough and painful.
He'd been through ambushes. IED strikes. Firefights where he'd watched teammates bleed out in his arms. Kunar. All of it. But this, Rachel, tied up, stripped, terrified, this cut deeper than any of that. This bypassed every layer of training and discipline and hit the raw part of him that would destroy anything to keep her safe.
He pressed his finger to the mic. When he spoke, his voice came out low and deadly calm. "Get your fucking hands off her."
Ghost was already moving before the words finished leaving his mouth. His boots ate up ground, crossing the open space between his position and the warehouse perimeter. Reaper materialized from the shadows to his left, Torch to his right, the team flowing into formation.
They hit the exterior wall and stacked up. Ghost's shoulder pressed against cold metal siding. His breath came controlled now, measured, his body shifting into the familiar rhythm of a breach. This was what he'd trained for. What his body knew how to do even when his mind was screaming.
Torch's hand landed on his shoulder. Ready.
Ghost counted down on his fingers. Three. Two. One.
The charge blew.
Metal shrieked and buckled inward. Smoke and debris filled the air. Ghost moved through it before the echo faded, rifle up, eyes scanning through the haze.
The first guard never saw it coming. Ghost's round hit center mass. The suppressor kept it quiet. The man dropped.
The second started to turn, caught a blade through the throat instead. He staggered, gurgling, then collapsed in a spreading pool of blood.
Ghost moved through the breach. Rifle up, eyes scanning, clearing sectors while his mind stayed locked on one thing: Rachel.
Movement caught his eye, Langley sprinting for the rear exit, boots hammering concrete. The coward disappeared around a corner into the darkness.
