Just breathe.
54
The front door clicked shut behind them. The moment the team stepped into Ghost’s house, the debrief started.
Brick dropped his go-bag on the hardwood with a solid thud and raked a hand through his hair, sweat-dark strands sticking to his temple. His gaze swept the room, then found Ghost.
"Alright," he said. "Let's lay it out. We got Rachel back. Carver took a round. And we lit up a rat nest that's been rotting under our feet for months. What's next?"
Carver had already pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside, blood smeared across his chest and shoulder. He sank onto the couch, teeth gritted as Frost crouched beside him with gauze and pressure.
"Jesus," Carver muttered, hissing as Frost pressed down. "Be nice if I could go five goddamn minutes without getting punched, stabbed, or shot."
Ghost didn't look up.
"Quit bitching," he said, voice low. "You're lucky I didn't kill you myself."
Brick's jaw ticked. Reaper shifted his weight at the edge of the kitchen, arms crossed.
Carver held Ghost's stare for a long moment, then exhaled slowly. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I know."
Ghost scanned the room, pain pulling at the corners of his eyes and mouth, but he kept his voice level.
"Hale's not finished. We all know that. Langley was just one piece. We've hit back hard, but that won't be the end of it. We need to move before they do."
Reaper nodded from the doorway. "That means exposure. We drag this shit into the light, fast.”
Torch had taken up a post near the window, one shoulder to the frame, eyes on the perimeter. Frost kept pressure on Carter’s wound, face set in a grim line.
Ghost stood in the doorway with Rachel at his side, his arm wrapped low around her waist. He couldn't bring himself to move away from her. Not yet. Maybe not for a while.
Bruises had already darkened along her arms and ribs, visible even through his shirt where the fabric pulled across her skin. Each mark was a reminder of what Langley had done. What Ghost hadn't been fast enough to stop.
Rachel hadn't spoken since they walked through the door, but Ghost felt the tension in her body. The way she watched the team move around the living room. Listened to every word of the debrief.
Then her voice cut through the conversation, quiet but certain. "I can do that."
Heads turned.
"I know where to start. I know what they're afraid of. And I know how to make it hurt."
Ghost's arm stayed firm around her. His body turned just enough to meet her eyes. The look he gave her held weight, intense enough to catch her breath for half a second.
"You're sure?" he asked, voice low.
Across the room, Bear stepped in from the back hallway, his long frame filling the archway. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, dog tagscatching the light as he folded his arms across his chest. He looked between her and Ghost.
"She's got guts," Bear said after a beat, voice quiet but firm. "But if we're putting her back in the line of fire, it's not gonna happen without backup."
Ghost’s jaw worked. He didn’t answer right away. His hand stayed at Rachel’s waist, fingers pressing in slightly, then he moved, guiding her toward the kitchen with a gentle but firm touch at her lower back.
"Give us a minute," he said over his shoulder.
The team didn't argue. Torch turned back to the window. Bear joined Frost and Reaper near the gear pile. The quiet hum of conversation resumed behind them, but it felt distant.
Ghost led her through the doorway and into the kitchen. The overhead light was off, only the dim glow from the living room spilling across the tile. He guided her to one of the barstools at the island, his hand steady at her lower back.
"Sit," he said quietly.
